#so we just be sitting in the dark all the time and using our flashlights and it makes it hard to do things

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 34: Anything

You're left behind in Jackson when Joel goes on overnight patrol. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-33 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. Smut :). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 9.2k

A/N: We are heading into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter

September, 2013

The gunshot made you jump. 

It was distant but sharp, the crack jarring against the quiet of your cabin. Marisa’s head shot up from her book, a frown on her face in the flickering firelight. 

“Was that…” 

“Shhh,” you sat up from where you’d been lying against her, held a hand out to her, ear perked and listening. Another crack, a little louder this time. You set your book down and went to the front window, drawing the curtains and pinning them shut so no light from the fire would slip through. 

“What…” 

“Stay here,” you said, your heart pounding as you got your rifle off the wall. 

“You’re not going out there!” She shot up, her eyes wide. 

“Not gonna sit here and wait for whoever that is to show up at our door,” you replied, grabbing a flashlight, too. 

“Well, I’m going with you,” she said, going to get her gun, too. 

“No,” you said, grabbing a saddle bag with ammunition and turning to face her. 

“Yes, I am,” she narrowed her eyes at you but there was a tremble of fear in her voice, her rifle clutched tightly in her hand. 

“No,” you said quietly, reaching out and gently taking her face in your hand. “You’re not. You’re staying here to look after Savannah…” 

“But what if something happens to you?” Her eyes searched yours, wide and frantic. “You’re her mom, not me. I can’t be that for her like that, just… stay here, we’ll figure it out if they find us just…” 

“Not lettin’ them that close to the two of you, baby,” you said, brushing your thumb over the arch of her cheekbone. You kissed her gently. Her eyes were wet. “I’ll be back soon. But… if I’m not, take care of Savannah for me.” 

You didn’t wait for a response, going to jump on Nike, not bothering with a saddle. You were too afraid to take the time, you had to protect the people who had become your home. You couldn’t lose them, you couldn’t let anyone take them away, you had to make sure they were safe. 

There was another gunshot and you followed the sound, your heart racing, eventually finding a man with two infected nearly ripping him apart. You shot them quickly, the man’s fearful gasps loud in the night. 

“Fuck,” he panted as you turned on the flashlight, shining it around the nearby forest. You caught a glimpse of another infected on the ground about 20 feet away before turning the light on him. He was limp on the ground, his eyes wide. “I think I’m bit, I think… I think they got me.” 

You knelt beside him and looked at his exposed skin. There was a vicious bite on his hand, the flesh already looking sick and wrong and so like Justin’s bite all those years ago. 

You sighed. 

“Yeah, you are. I can make it quick for you, if you’d like. Can’t let you leave here, though. You can wait ’til you turn, if you’d rather.” 

He blinked a few times, staring up at the dark canopy of trees as moonlight filtered through the leaves. 

“Just do it,” he said, turning his eyes to you, cocking his head slightly. “Is it just you out here?” 

“Kind of,” you said. “Got my girlfriend, my daughter. No one else, though.” 

He looked back to the sky and nodded. 

“That’s good,” he said. “It’s hard, being alone. Been alone for a few months now, wife got bit back in June. Should’ve just ended it then, don’t know why I waited this long.” 

You nodded slowly. You understood that. You stood up again, rifle in your hand. The man’s eyes were still wide, looking up at the trees. 

“Here OK?” You asked. “Might be able to get you somewhere you can see the sky…” 

“No point,” he said, still staring up. “Just do it.” 

His eyes refocused, looking at you. 

“And thank you. Know it’s not easy.” 

You aimed the gun at his head and he went back to looking at the trees. 

“I’m sorry it’s endin’ like this,” you said. “Hope you get to be with your wife again.” 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Me too.” 

You took a deep breath, pulled the trigger and he was gone. 

You stayed for a little while after, waiting to see if there were any clickers that would come for the noise you’d been making but none showed up. You realized you didn’t even know the man’s name. You were the last person he spoke to and you didn’t know his name. 

You cleaned the blood off your hands as best you could and made your way back home, Nike moving slowly through the trees and you didn’t rush her. When you opened the door, Marisa damn near knocked you down, you barely catching her as she threw herself at you. 

“You’re OK,” her voice was thick and wet and she clung to you for a moment before pulling back to look in your eyes. “I was so scared, I heard more gunshots, I didn’t know…” 

“I’m sorry, baby,” you said gently, kissing her, her lips plush and soft on yours. “Didn’t mean to scare you…” 

You got cleaned up and took her to bed and made her come on your fingers before she had to swallow the desperate sounds of your orgasm to keep from waking the baby. You held her close after, telling her what happened in the forest, that you’d go bury the body in the morning and do a check for infected, that she was safe here with you. 

“I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,” she said quietly, toying with your fingers, her breath warm on your skin as she lay her head on your chest.

You scoffed. 

“Don’t feel very brave. I was scared shitless the whole time, thought my damn heart was going to beat out of my chest.” 

“Oh baby,” she whispered, adjusting so her face was over yours, the light of the moon making her dark skin glow. “That’s what makes you brave, that you’re scared and you do it anyway. You don’t let the fear own you. That’s why you’re going to make it through all this, I just know it.” 

You hummed, not really agreeing or disagreeing, just wanting her close again. She rested her head on your chest again and you gave her a squeeze, focusing on how she felt against you as she fell asleep. 

It didn’t really matter if it was bravery or not, you supposed. If it kept the people you loved most alive, you could push past the fear. Life wouldn’t matter without them, you would do anything if it meant it would protect them. 

Anything. 

May, 2028

“No way.” 

You cleaned the last of the gunk out from Shimmer’s back left hoof and set the pick down. 

“Bambi,” Ellie drew out your hame, whining it. “Please? I swear, I’ll owe you forever…” 

“I am not coming out to your dad for you,” you grabbed the file. “Absolutely not.” 

“But…” 

“Ellie,” you looked up to her as she perched on a stall in the barn. “No. That’s not something you just do for someone else. If you want Joel to know you’re gay you need to be the one to tell him, I can’t do that for you.” 

“But why not!” She pouted. “You already know and you get it and you can help him get it and…” 

“I’ll help you do it,” you cut her off. “I can be there when you tell him, I can intervene if he reacts badly - which he won’t - but I’m not doing it for you.” 

“That’s bullshit,” she huffed. “I don’t want to tell him…” 

“Then don’t,” you shrugged, finishing filing the hoof down and getting the next horseshoe ready to go on. “Live the rest of your life in the closet if that’s what you want to do.” 

“But that’s not what I want.” 

“Then tell him,” you shrugged again. “Those are your options, kiddo, hate to break it to you.” 

“You know, straight people don’t have to come out,” she kicked at the stall post. “This is dumb.” 

“That I can agree with,” you said. “But, unfortunately, that’s not the way the world works. If you want to be out, you need to come out. It sucks but that’s the way of things.” 

Ellie sighed and crossed her arms, leaning her head on the post at her back. 

“Do you really think I should?” She asked. 

You shrugged. 

“I think you have a father who loves you more than life itself,” you said. “And I think he’s also a man who has proven that he really does not care what a person’s sexuality is, given that he’s married to me. I think you should do what feels right but you should know that Joel is going to love you to pieces regardless.” 

She sighed again. 

“You’re right…” 

“Usually am.” 

She glared at you before going back to staring straight ahead. 

“I just don’t know why I’m so freaked out about it.” 

You shrugged.

“It’s a big deal. You’re telling him ‘hey this person you think I am? I’m actually different than that.’ It’s hard.” 

She considered you for a moment. 

“Did you come out to your parents?” She asked. 

You laughed. 

“No, I did not,” you said. “Never had the chance. I would have eventually, I think. But I was about your age when the world ended and it felt a lot safer to hide it from my parents when I was that age. I lived far away and they weren’t as… open to other ideas as Joel is.” 

Ellie scoffed. 

“I mean it,” you said. “They had a hard enough time handling the fact that I wanted to get thrown off horses for a living. They’d have had a hell of a time understanding why I was bringing a girl home for dinner. You know Joel ain’t that way. All he cares about is that you’re safe and happy. Everything else don’t really matter.” 

You finished shoeing Shimmer and set her hoof down. She twitched her tail and chuffed in response. 

“Can you at least tell Joel you gave me…” She scrunched her nose in disgust. “The talk?” 

You laughed a little. 

“Yeah, that I can do,” you said. “I’ll tell him I told you everything you need to know. Which is be smart about who you take your clothes off with and if a man ever tries anything, cut his dick off.” 

She barked a laugh. 

“Yeah, that I can handle,” she said. “I can’t believe he thought someone needed to talk to me about sex…” 

You were less surprised about that fact than Ellie, but then, you had the full context. 

You’d been watching Savvy and Kyle from what you hoped was a respectful distance, giving her the chance to fall for a boy in the way you always wanted her to be able to. But there was the other part of that, too. You knew what teenagers were like and, while Savvy knew about sex, you’d never given her the sex talk in the context of her being around boys. She had questions about seeing animals mating when she was a girl and you’d answered them and explained that humans worked much the same way. She’d scrunched her face in disgust and you laughed a little, not bothering to tell her that, one day, that was going to be damn near all she was interested in doing. 

But that had come with the knowledge that, in all likelihood, it would be years - if not decades - before she even had the opportunity to find someone she wanted to do that with. You figured you’d update things as she got older or when there was a person she was interested in. 

Now, the time had come. You just weren’t sure how ready you were for that. You’d gone to Joel for advice about it, feeling like you were flying particularly blind in this arena. 

“Shit, baby, been a long time since I’ve had that conversation,” he said as he traced abstract little patterns over your bare skin. “Tryin’ to even remember how I brought it up with Sarah now… My face was burnin’ up the whole time, that much I know.” 

“There were perks to being hermits,” you sighed, pressing yourself closer to him. “Didn’t have to worry about my kid getting knocked up as a teenager for one.” 

“Mmm,” Joel hummed in agreement. “Least she has boys to flirt with now.” 

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” you muttered but smiled against his skin all the same. 

“I can talk to her with you if you think it’ll help,” he said. 

“Let me give it a shot on my own,” you sighed. “See if she will actually listen to me. If she doesn’t, I’ll call in the reinforcements.” 

Savvy had, mercifully, been at least open to the conversation. 

“I already know this stuff, Mom,” she’d rolled her eyes, arms crossed as she sat on the couch.

“You know the biology of it,” you said. “But it’s… different. You’re older now, there are going to be feelings you have that you want to act on…” 

“Ugh!” She buried her face in the arm of the couch. “Please don’t!” 

“You’re young,” you said. “Too young to really understand the risks. Do you feel like you’re ready to raise a child?” 

“No!” She pulled her head up. “Obviously not!” 

“Then you shouldn’t be having sex right now,” you shrugged. “That’s the risk. Not to mention that there are a lot of emotions that come up when you do that with someone, it can complicate relationships and you’re too young to figure that out on your own…” 

“I’m not a baby,” she practically scowled at you. “I can handle emotions!” 

“I’m not saying you can’t,” you said gently. “I’m saying that adult relationships are complicated for adults and, as grown up as you might think you are, you’re still a kid. I understand that you might want to feel close with someone and, honestly, there’s not much I can do to stop you. But I want you to understand what you’re risking if you go that route and I want you to not let anyone pressure you into it, even if it’s someone you care about. OK?” 

“Alright, jeez!” She groaned. “Can we stop talking now? Please?” 

After that conversation, though, Joel became worried about how much time Ellie was spending with Jesse. 

“Never really thought about what she did or didn’t learn in the QZ,” Joel said gruffly that night when it was just the two of you. “What if she don’t know how to keep herself safe?” 

“I don’t think you have much to worry about,” you said, trying to avoid telling Joel exactly why he didn’t need to worry. 

“Would you be OK talkin’ with her for me?” He’d winced as he asked it. “Feel like you’re her mom, think she’d be a little more… receptive to it coming from another woman.” 

You’d said yes more to buy time than anything else. 

You weren’t thrilled about the idea of lying to your husband but you could tap dance around the truth of it well enough. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself. 

“While you’re trying to decide whether or not you want to tell your dad,” you said, getting up to lead Shimmer to her stall. “Think I’m going to call in that favor you owe me…” 

“What favor?” She demanded. “You’re not telling him for me!” 

“No,” you shook your head. “But I’m also not telling him that I didn’t give you the talk and he needs to do it himself…” 

“Jesus…” 

“So,” you continued. “Can I ask you to keep a closer eye on Savvy while Joel is out on patrol the next few days? She’s still… more comfortable talking with him than with me. Want to make sure she’s doin’ OK…” 

“Of course I will,” she said, relaxing a little. “You know, I still think…” 

“Ellie.” 

“I’m just saying!” She said. “I know she’s doing her best to move past shit, she really is, but it would be a lot easier if she knew what she was actually moving past, that’s all I’m saying.” 

“She’s getting there,” you said, giving Shimmer a scratch. “You don’t understand this yet but it’s hard when you know you can’t protect your child from everything. I can protect her from this.” 

“Whatever you say,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m going to the mess hall. As far as Joel knows, you’ve talked to me, right?” 

“Right,” you said. “Feel free to act all awkward and lay it on real thick…” 

“Alright, bye,” she rolled her eyes and stalked off and you laughed, watching her leave. 

It was good to see Ellie acting like she normally did. You knew she was worried about Joel going out on a longer patrol, too.

You were trying not to panic about it. It was time. Consciously, you knew that. He was ready for it, his body as healed as it would ever be. He still had a bit of a limp - one you knew he tried to disguise when he thought you were watching - but he was fully capable. You’d seen it on patrol with him the two times you’d gone, the second one thankfully far less eventful than the first. 

He’d since gone out just him and Tommy, never going too far from Jackson. It still made you nervous, even though he always came back whole and well. You always clung to him when he got back and he let you, holding you against him, a hand running soothingly up and down your spine as he did. 

But this was his first overnight patrol. He was going to be gone for a few days on a route that had been calm lately, you knew you didn’t have much reason to worry. That didn’t make it much easier. 

“What’s got those wheels turnin’?” 

Joel’s voice made you jump as you brushed Shimmer down in her stall. He was leaning against the entrance to the stable, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you, his denim shirt rolled up to his elbows. 

“Who said they were?” You asked, giving the horse a final brush before leaving the stall and walking up to your husband, your own arms crossed over your chest. He smiled and quirked his jaw, shaking his head ever so slightly. “What brings you here, cowboy?” 

“Tryin’ to get my wife all to myself for a bit,” he said. “Think I can entice you away from the mess hall for the evening?” 

“I dunno,” you stepped closer. “What’d you have in mind?” 

He shrugged. 

“Just have to see.” 

You laughed, dropping your arms and the pretense. 

“Lead the way.” 

He draped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in to kiss your temple before walking slowly back to your house. When you stopped to think about it, it still struck you as funny that it was your house and that you thought of it that way and not as Joel’s place. But you did, it was the place you’d made your life together, feeling more like you belonged here than you had almost anywhere else you had ever lived. 

When you got in the door, there was a small bouquet of wildflowers in a glass in the middle of the kitchen table, a table that was set for dinner for two. You looked at him, brows raised in surprise. 

“What’s this?” 

He shrugged, a sly smile on his face. 

“Wanted a night in with my girl. Might have talked my way into a steak or two. Think you take yours… medium rare, right?” 

“Yeah,” you laughed. “I do.” 

“Well,” he pulled you in for a long, deep kiss. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up and when you’re done, there’ll be a medium-rare steak waitin’ here for ya.” 

“Think I can be convinced,” you smiled against his mouth before kissing him again. “Feel like you’re butterin’ me up or something here…” 

“Just tryin’ to make sure you remember why you’re married to me while I’m gone,” he said. “Try to keep you from getting too fed up with my shit…” You laughed and he smiled. “Go on so I can get this going, you’re too distracting standing this close.” 

You rolled your eyes but obeyed, going to shower and, instead of putting on jeans or sweats after, finding one of the dresses in your closet, one that Joel had never seen you in. You got your wet hair out of the way and went downstairs again, strangely aware of how the dress hugged your curves. 

Joel’s back was to you when you came in but the plates were on the table, steak and green beans and a pile of fresh potato chips on each one. 

“Are you kidding me?” You gaped at them. “You realize we’re already married, right? You don’t have to try this hard.” 

“Like tryin’ hard for you,” he turned around, glasses in hand, and his mouth fell open, blinking a few times in surprise. “Hot damn, baby…” 

“Shocking, know,” you smirked. 

“I ever tell you you’re the most beautiful goddamn thing I’ve ever seen?” He asked, setting a glass down at your place. “Now, let me feed you before I change my mind and try to pull that dress off right here in the kitchen.” 

Joel really did grill a mean steak. He’d even made the two of you whiskey cocktails with a recipe he’d gotten from Julie and, by the time dinner was done, you were pleasantly tipsy and full. 

“Where did you get the flowers?” You asked, trailing your fingertips over the tiny white blooms. 

“Might have gone outside for a bit,” he winced a little. You raised your eyebrows. “Not far, the kids in town sneak out that way all the time…” 

“Wait, what?” You gaped at him, practically jumping out of your seat. 

“Not Savvy and not Ellie,” he said quickly and you settled. “Made sure they know better. But lot of the other kids do. S’pretty out that way, have to take you sometime. Still owe you a trip to the lake. But, in the mean time…” he got up and offered you his hand, pulling you to your feet. “I’ve got someplace to take you tonight.” 

He led you to the living room, a nest of pillows and blankets and sleeping bags set up in front of the TV. 

“Just one second…” he turned the TV on, the opening sepia toned shot from Titanic on the screen. 

“Joel!” You gasped. “Where’d you even get this?” 

“Asked around,” he smiled. “Would’ve gone and hunted it down just to see you get all excited though.” 

You elbowed him lightly in the side and he laughed as the two of you settled into the pile on the floor, you in Joel’s arms with your head on his chest as his fingers trailed up and down the bare skin of your arm. 

The movie was just as good as the last time you’d seen it with Joel. Better, really, because you got to watch it pressed completely against his broad, strong body. But you could only really pay attention so long, twisting in his hold so you were looking at him and not the screen. 

“Know it ain’t exactly a date like before,” he said softly. “But… I do OK?” 

“Oh you blew past OK a while ago,” you laughed a little and he smiled. “This was… thank you, Joel.” 

“Course, baby,” he trailed his fingers over the outline of your face. “Gonna miss you when I’m out there.” 

“You could just not go,” you said. “Don’t think anyone’s holdin’ a gun to your head about it…” 

He laughed once, softly. 

“I know,” he said. “But… I do appreciate you lettin’ me go. I know it ain’t easy for you. Don’t blame you for it. But I’m feeling a lot more like myself since I’ve been patrollin’ again. I feel useful. I missed it. Thank you for letting me find that again.” 

Your eyes searched his. You couldn’t really argue that with him, not when he was being so damn open and honest about it. 

“Just need you to come home to me,” you said quietly. “You can have and do whatever you want, long as you come home.” 

“Long as you’re here to come home to?” He said. “I’m comin’ home. Every time.” 

He kissed you, gentle at first but deepening, until he was shoving your skirt around your waist and pulling your underwear down your legs. He sank into you, slow and firm, his breaths heavy and hot on your skin. You sank your fingers into is skin, holding him close and tight and the worries you had about clutching onto him too hard were far away. 

Joel kept his pace, his body so large and strong on top of and inside of yours. You could feel his heartbeat, his eyes locked on your own and you focused on how close he was to you, how you knew he was safe and whole like this. How you knew he wouldn’t lie to you, that he would do everything to come back home to you. Your body got tight and needy, the heat inside you pulling into the center of you and burning hotter and brighter with every desperate stroke. 

“You’re gettin’ close baby,” he pressed his mouth into your throat, nipping at the tender flesh there before soothing it with a brush of his tongue and a kiss. “Want you to come for me. Love makin’ you feel good, fuckin’ live for it…” 

“Promise it’s not the last time,” your voice was tight, too, the intensity of your orgasm crashing into the fear that you couldn’t seem to shake. 

“Promise,” he pulled back from you enough to look in your eyes again, his large hand coming to cradle the crown of your head. “Nothing’s keepin’ me from you, baby, nothin’, it’s OK, it’ll be OK, promise it will…” 

Your back arched, last ounces of tension gripping you for a moment before releasing in a forceful, desperate wave. 

“Fuck, there you are,” Joel panted, fucking you through it, never easing, chasing his own orgasm through yours. “Feel so good, so goddamn good, fuck, that’s it, keep comin’ for me, know you can…” 

As your own orgasm started to ease, his took hold, pressing himself deep inside and emptying himself into you there. 

Joel pulled himself from your fucked out body with a groan and collapsed beside you, immediately pulling you tightly to him as you gasped short, shaky breaths. 

“You’re OK,” he said gently, still breathing heavy himself. “I’ve got you, s’alright…” 

You buried your face in his neck and fought to catch your breath, focusing on his scent and the feel of him against your skin. 

“I’m sorry,” you said eventually. “I thought I was stronger than this but ever since… I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to never seeing you again and I just…” 

“I know,” he said gently, pulling away from you enough that you could see his face. “I know how you’re feeling. I feel it, too. But I need you to know that I mean it when I say I’m comin’ back. I am, baby.” 

You just nodded and focused on the feeling of him tracing the outline of your face in the dim light of the TV, his body close beside your own. He pressed a soft kiss into your lips, holding you closer as he did and staying close after he pulled away, so close that his nose brushed yours. You stayed like that, not bothering to turn to watch the movie let alone put in the second tape when the first one ended. Instead, you just memorized how he felt against you, how his eyes looked into your own, how his fingers found their familiar paths along your skin. 

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep but you were still entangled with him in the morning, his forehead against yours, his breaths easy and deep in sleep. You ran your fingers through his graying curls and his face tensed a little in his sleep before he adjusted, sliding down your body to bury his face against your chest. You just stroked his hair and held him there, the early morning light becoming pink with the sun. 

When you couldn’t avoid it any longer, you woke him reluctantly and the two of you made your way to the stables, your body tucked against his. He gave you a squeeze before separating from you, the two of you working together to get the horses ready to head out on patrol. You walked with the patrol to the front gate, Joel leading his horse by the reins instead of riding him so he could hold your hand on the way. 

“Be safe,” you said quietly as he faced you, every other horse on the other side of the wall now. 

“Promise,” he said gently, his large hand going to the back of your neck and holding you at just the right angle to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “Take care of yourself and our girls. Gimme somethin’ to come home to, OK?” 

You smiled a little. Like something was going to happen in Jackson. 

“Promise.” 

You watched the patrol leave until they were out of sight, trying to calm the thudding of your heart as you headed for the stable to get started on all the work for the day. 

You’d purposely set yourself up for a busy few days with Joel gone. If you were occupied, your mind couldn’t wander. So you focused on training horses. 

It was the hardest part of your job but also the part you liked the most. You had to concentrate on it otherwise you’d get thrown. The horse could always tell when you were distracted, if you gave them an inch they would take a mile at this stage. 

You were finally thinking about finishing up for the day, the sun low in the sky and your back sore after getting nearly thrown off a horse more times than you cared to count when Ellie and Savvy wandered into the stable, giggling to each other as they made their way over to you. 

You took a moment to fully appreciate what they were to each other. You’d always felt bad for Savvy, having just you in the world, no one closer to her own age to bond with. Now, she and Ellie were attached at the hip, sharing the kind of bond you’d always longed to have with the sister who had never materialized, no matter how much you begged your parents for one. Both of them meant so much to you, the whole of the future wrapped up in them. You had survived a lot to get to this point, horrors you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, but you’d do it all again to see these two girls find sisterhood in each other. Conspiratorial whispers and knowing laughs and deep love was everything you wanted for your daughter and she had found it here. 

“Terrified to know what this is about,” you half smiled as they walked over.. 

“Why does it have to be about something?” Ellie rolled her eyes. “What if we just wanted to come say hi.” 

“Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two stop by to just say hi,” you said. “So that would be highly suspect. What do you want?” 

“Can we go spend the night at Dina’s?” Savvy asked, the words all spilling out of her at once. “I promise we’ll behave and…” 

“Dina’s?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at Ellie. 

“Yeah, my friend Dina’s,” she gave you a firm look as she said it. 

“And what will you be doing at Dina’s?” You asked, turning your attention back to Savvy. 

“Just hanging out with some friends,” she said. 

“Any boys?” You asked. 

“No,” Ellie said quickly. “Mostly some of the girls who just finished up school and the girls who are about Savvy’s age, nothing crazy…” 

“Please Mom?” Savvy interrupted her. “It’s going to be so fun and I haven’t done anything like this before but I’ve read about it and it sounds so cool and I really want to go and…” 

“And Dina’s sister will be there?” You asked Ellie, who perked up at the question. 

“Yeah,” Ellie said. “And she doesn’t let Dina get away with shit…” 

“You do realize that you’re 18 and I can’t do a damn thing to stop you, right?” You said to Ellie. “Adults don’t need to ask their moms for permission.” 

“I know,” Ellie said. “But so is Dina. And it’ll be more fun if Savvy can go. I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise.” 

You looked between them, Savvy looking more happy and open with you than she had in months, so like how she used to look at you when asking for something when she was small. Her eyes were so wide and hopeful and you couldn’t say no, not when she was looking at you like that. 

“Alright,” you sighed. Savvy squealed. “But you have to behave. Savvy, no drinking. If there are boys, you come home. No doin’ stupid shit like climbing buildings…” 

“Oh that was like one time!” Ellie protested but you silenced her with a look. 

“And I expect everything to stay PG,” you finished. 

Ellie frowned. 

“What the fuck does PG mean?” 

You shook your head a little, some things still surprising you about how different the world was, even after all these years. 

“It’s a saying from before,” you said. “Means make sure whatever you do, it’s family friendly. That means if you say you and Dina are friends, you act like friends.” 

“We are friends,” Ellie rolled her eyes. 

“Oh sure,” Savvy drew out the last word, laughing. “I always want to kiss my friends…” 

Ellie elbowed her and she laughed harder before quieting down. 

“We won’t cause any trouble,” Ellie said. “Promise.” 

“You two have fun,” you said. “And come by the stable in the morning so I know you’re still alive.” 

“OK Mom,” Ellie rolled her eyes, nudging a giddy Savvy toward the door. 

“Thank you, Mom!” Savvy called, giving you a wave as Ellie urged her outside. 

You just laughed and watched until you couldn’t see them anymore before taking your time getting everything set for the night. Your house would be empty overnight for the first time since you’d gotten married. You hadn’t slept without Joel beside you in months, you weren’t in a rush to get home and feel his absence there. But, after a while, you couldn’t stall anymore. You made your way to the mess hall, already mostly empty, but found Maria there with William next to her. She smiled and waved you over and you joined them, sitting across the table as William crashed a carved moose and deer into each other, complete with sound effects. 

“See you’re putting off being home, too,” she said, putting one hand in the middle of William’s back. 

“Yeah, well,” you sighed. “That’s a damn big house for one person.” 

She smiled tightly, knowingly.

“It’s always hard, thinking about them out there like that,” she said. “But this one feels harder.” 

“Yeah,” you said, laughing once, darkly. “It really does.” 

“Hey Aunt Bambi,” William looked up from his toys, his brown eyes reminding you of Joel’s. There was so much of the Miller men in his face it made your heart ache. “Did you know that moose are the biggest deer sp…sp…” he frowned and looked up at his mom. 

“Species,” Maria finished for him before looking over at you. “He’s been obsessed with that carving ever since Joel gave it to him for Christmas so we’ve been learning about moose…” 

“Well, moose are pretty cool,” you said knowingly. 

“I want to see one,” he said. “Mommy says I can’t ride it but I bet I could ride it.” 

You tried really hard not to laugh, William’s springy curls bouncing as he looked down at the carving in his chubby hand. 

“I don’t think ridin’ it would be a good idea,” you said. “They’re big, could be very dangerous. But they are neat to see.” 

“They’re not dangerous,” he frowned. “I bet we would be friends, just because they are big doesn’t mean they’re dangerous…” 

“OK let’s I’d rather not think about you riding a moose,” Maria rolled her eyes. “We can start with seeing one from afar once you’re older.” 

He just sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world were on his small shoulders, and went back to playing with the carvings. 

“I remember when Savvy was that age,” you smiled a little. “She was all about horses, though…” 

“Wonder where she got that from,” Maria smiled back. 

The three of you were the last to leave the mess hall, the clean up team heading to the kitchens  before you started heading out. 

“You’re welcome to come over if you don’t want to be at home,” Maria said, carrying William as he started to fall asleep on her shoulder. “Our door is always open…” 

“Thanks but I need to bite the bullet,” you sighed. “If Joel’s going out on longer patrols again, I need to get used to spending some nights home alone.” 

“Well, the offer still stands,” she said. “As long as you don’t mind my kid babbling to you about moose, apparently.” 

You laughed a little. 

“He can babble to me about whatever he wants,” you said. 

You parted ways and walked around Jackson for a few minutes before heading for the barn where the dogs were kenneled overnight, leaving a note on the log and taking Gatling from her designated place. She trailed behind you home, happy to be under your control again, and you fell asleep with her curled up against your stomach. 

It was a relief to start the next day. You were halfway through your days with Joel outside, not sure if he was safe, too far away for you to see our touch. You could do one more night. You brought Gatling back to her kennel before heading to the stables and getting to work.

The girls came by in the late morning, both looking exhausted but otherwise OK. 

“We’re going to go home and take a nap,” Ellie said, talking for Savvy who was staring straight ahead, looking dazed. “But we’ll be in the mess hall at lunch…” 

“Go sleep before you fall over,” you smiled and shook your head. “Fill me in on everything later.” 

Ellie steered Savvy out of the stable and you laughed a little. Savvy had friends, friends she was staying up all night with. It was everything you wanted for her, watching her grow up both beautiful and sad, thinking she would never have friends like this. 

The girls beat you to the mess hall, their backs to the door you came in, their heads together, talking conspiratorially. 

“She can’t know,” Ellie said quietly. “She’d freak out…” 

“We can handle it,” Savvy said, quiet but sharp. 

“Handle what?” You asked, making both of them jump, their eyes going wide. They looked at each other quickly and you frowned. “Girls. Handle what.” 

“Nothing,” Ellie said quickly. Savvy was looking at you with a strange expression on her face. “Just… there’s a girl we know, this guy is being a dick. I think we can handle it without talking to her because I think if she knew it’d just be extra shitty.” 

You frowned. 

“Not gonna go pick a fight, are you? Because…” 

“No,” she said. “Not picking a fight.” 

“OK,” you said, still uncertain. “But I think…” 

“Actually, Bambi, if it’s OK, we’re just going to head out,” Ellie said, cutting you off. “We got here early and I need to go bug Jesse about something.” 

“Alright,” you frowned, looking between the two of them. “Are y’all sure everything is OK? Because…” 

“It’s fine,” Ellie said before you could finish. “Right, Savvy?” 

“Yeah,” she said, still looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. Part of it like she didn’t know you at all. “It’s OK.” 

“Alright,” you didn’t really believe either of them. “Look, if this boy is a serious problem…” 

“Nothing like that,” Ellie cut you off again. “C’mon, Savvy.” 

She got up and took Savvy’s hand, pulling her to her feet, too. 

“Where can I find you two later,” you said. “Because…” 

“We’ll be home,” Ellie said. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.” 

She started pulling Savvy along behind her but Savvy just stayed where she was, her feet planted, eyes locked on you. 

“Are you sure you’re OK?” You asked, brows knitting together. “If there’s anything you want to talk about…” 

Savvy threw her arms around your waist, catching you totally by surprise, burying her face in your shoulder. You slowly, cautiously, put your arms around her, too, just holding her for a moment. It was so foreign yet familiar, so long since she’d latched onto you like this but holding her one of the only things it felt like you’d been made to do. 

“You can always talk to me,” you said softly, running your hand over the back of her mass of curls and pressing a kiss to her temple. “About anything, I’m always here for you.” 

“I know,” she said, stepping back and looking at you again. “I love you, Mom.” 

You just stared at her for a moment, heart feeling like it was cracking open. 

“I love you, too,” you said, your hands still on her shoulders. “More than anything.” 

“C’mon Savvy,” Ellie said, taking her arm and tugging her away. “See ya, Bambi.” 

You watched them go and debated following them before deciding to give Savvy some space. But, by the time you finished having lunch, you’d thought better of it. You were heading to see if they’d actually gone home but Olivia stopped you as you went past the stables, needing help with the horse you’d been working with the day before. It was hours before you could make it back to the house, bypassing your front door and heading straight for the back yard, knocking on Ellie’s door instead. 

“One sec!” Ellie called and you heard her scramble for the door, breathless when she opened it. “Hey Bambi, what’s up?” 

“Nothing,” you shrugged, not asking for permission and just stepping inside. Savvy was sitting crosslegged in the middle of her bed looking a little more like herself. Or, at least, the self you’d come to recognize her as lately, a little angry with her mouth set in a firm line. “Wanted to see what you girls were up to tonight, make sure everything was OK.” 

“We’re fine,” Savvy said, sounding less angry than she looked. “Just pretty tired.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“Get that stuff figured out with your friend earlier?” You asked, looking between them. 

“Think so,” Ellie said. “We can handle it. Right?” 

“Right,” Savvy said, giving her a firm nod. 

You looked between them, hoping one of them would elaborate. Neither did. 

“Alright, look,” you said. “Both of you are actin’ real weird. I need you to tell me what it is you’re schemin’ up because, while I understand that you want to take care of your friend, you can’t just go around causing problems here in town over something like a break up…” 

“We’re not causing any problems in town,” Ellie said reassuringly. “I promise, we’re not going to go beat up some kid in Jackson or anything like that, I swear.” 

You looked to Savvy. 

“She’s right,” she said. “We really aren’t.” 

You clenched your jaw for a moment. Something felt… off. They were telling the truth but you were uneasy. Something was up. 

“We’re actually still really tired,” Ellie said after a minute. “So, if it’s OK with you, we’re just going to call it a night…” 

“You swear you’re not going to go beat up some boy?” You asked, looking between them. 

“Promise,” Ellie said. “The Jackson boys are safe from us.” 

You sighed, hoping to get Joel’s help getting more out of them when he was back the next night. 

“Alright. You two actually get some damn sleep, OK?” 

“OK Mom,” Ellie rolled her eyes and you smiled a little. At least that seemed like Ellie. 

You went back to the house, sitting at the window to the backyard with a cup of tea for a bit, until the lights went off in their little house. Something still pulled at you but you went and settled on the couch, putting on an old VHS tape that had been in Joel’s house, whoever had lived here before’s recording of some episodes of Seinfeld. You didn’t fast forward through the commercials, marveling at how far away the world that sold things like Oreos seemed. You’d only been about Savvy’s age when this had been recorded. Your relationship with your mother had been fraught, too. As hard as it was to have the only reason you’d fought so hard to survive be distant, she’d done more with you today than you would have with your own mother at that age. You sighed. Maybe you were through the worst of it. Maybe this was just what it was like parenting a teenager, strange distance interspersed with shocking moments of vulnerability. 

You dozed off halfway through the third episode and the pounding on your front door made you sit bolt upright, shocking awake with a gasp. 

The sound was relentless, a fist slamming into wood instead of rapping against it. You scrambled off the couch and pulled the door open without bothering to see who was on the other side of it, your heart in your throat. What if it was Maria? What if something had happened to Joel?

But standing on your porch was Kyle, the boy Savvy had been spending time with, his shock of red hair slick with sweat, his freckled skin blotchy and red. There was a gash on his cheek.

“Mrs. Miller,” he panted, looking at you with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry, they let me go, they let me go to come find you…” 

“Slow down, kid,” you said gently, heart still pounding. You put your hands on his shoulders and guided him inside. “Take a deep breath, what’s goin’ on, is everyone OK?” 

“No,” he shook his head, his eyes still wild and frantic. “No, they’re not OK. He’s got them, he’s got them, I tried to stop him but I couldn’t, there were too many and…” 

“Who’s got who?” You frowned. “Need you to slow down, you’re not making any…” 

“Savvy and Ellie,” he said. Your heart stopped. “He’s got them.” 

***

“Swear to God this is the longest damn patrol I’ve ever been on,” Joel said, happy he could actually recognize some of what was around them now. 

“And we’re even gettin’ back a few hours early,” Tommy gave him a cocky smile. “At least it was an easy one.” 

“Jesus, don’t know if I’d call it easy with how my damn leg is feelin’,” Joel said. “Swear all I’m doin’ tonight is soaking in the damn bath…” 

“See how your wife feels about that,” Tommy teased and Joel rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen how you two look at each other…” 

“Fuck off,” Joel said, smiling all the same. 

“S’what I thought,” Tommy said. 

It had been an easy few days, all things considered. They’d picked off a few stray infected but no signs of a larger group. No immediate signs of raiders, either, the territory they covered broad and quiet. They’d made good time coming back, closing in on Jackson around noon instead of that evening. It was one of those times that Joel was glad that you worked in the stables, happy he’d have an excuse to go right to you the second he was in the gate. He didn’t care that he knew that he smelled, days of sweat and dirt stuck on his skin and clothes. You wouldn’t mind. You’d damn near tackle him, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your body into his and he’d forget for a moment just how bad his damn leg was hurting after spending two and a half days on a horse. 

But Joel knew something was off the second the gate opened, guards whispering low to each other as Joel and Tommy dismounted. 

“Who died?” Tommy frowned, looking around. 

“Maria’s on her way up,” Jason, one of the guards, said. “She knows what’s going on…” 

Joel frowned at Tommy, who’s face had fallen, skin going pale. 

“I’m sure s’all fine,” Joel said, limping more than usual as he went to stand beside his brother, clapping a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s Jackson, what could happen?” 

Maria appeared then, walking quickly and talking seriously with Warren. 

“Oh Jesus,” Tommy said softly. “This is bad…” 

“Think we lost someone?” Joel asked, voice low. 

“Feels like we’re about to go to fuckin’ war,” Tommy said, matching Joel’s tone. 

“Good to see you two back and in one piece,” Maria said, Joel’s stomach lurching at her tone. She was talking like a member of the council not like his sister-in-law. “Jason, take the horses to get settled. I need to talk to Joel and Tommy.” 

Joel’s heart beat a little faster. She said it like she needed to talk to him, like Tommy was there to make sure he didn’t fly off the handle. She put her hand in the middle of Joel’s back and guided him to the Tipsy Bison, the bar empty this early in the day. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Tommy asked the second they were in the door. “Is William OK? Why’s everyone actin’ like someone fuckin’ died?”

“William is fine, he’s with the neighbors,” Maria said gently before turning her attention to Joel. “I need you to stay calm…” 

“Why,” he demanded. “Maria…” 

“We don’t know everything,” she cut him off. “We’ve only known about it for maybe two hours, we’re still coming up with a plan and…” 

“Known about what,” Joel demanded. “What’s goin’ on?” 

Maria took a deep breath and looked him dead in his eyes. 

“Bambi, Ellie and Savvy are gone.” 

Time slowed. His heart dropped and there was a high pitched whine ringing in his head. 

That didn’t make sense. This was Jackson. Things were safe here, everything was supposed to be safe here, that’s why he’d stayed here, risked everything to bring Ellie back here, done everything to keep you here when you’d tried to leave before and something had taken you from him anyway. 

“What do you mean they’re gone?” Tommy’s voice snapped him back into his head. “Where’d they go? What happened?” 

“This is everything we know,” Maria held a folded piece of paper out to Joel, his name in your handwriting on one half of it like you were addressing a letter. “We’re doing everything we can…” 

Joel unfolded the page with trembling hands, the crinkle of the paper almost sharp in his ears. 

Joel, 

I know I promised to be here to come home to but Cody has our girls and I’m going to get them back. He told me to come alone or they die and I can’t risk them. Please don’t come after me, not until we know they’re safe. I’ll do everything I can to come back to you but if I don’t, protect them and take care of yourself. They need you. 

If I never see you again, I want you to know that loving you was worth surviving for. Getting to be your wife and taking care of our girls with you was the best thing that ever happened to me. 

Be safe. 

I love you. 

You signed your name, your real name, like you had the tape you gave him for Christmas but there was one notable difference: your last name was Miller. 

Joel’s fist got tight around the paper. He’d lost you and his girls. He’d let the man who had hurt you live and now that had all three of you, doing who knows what to you. 

“They were here yesterday,” Maria’s voice sounded far away. “It must have happened overnight. When Bambi didn’t show up at the stables today, Olivia sent someone to check on her around 10 a.m. and they found the note…” 

Joel wasn’t listening, turning and stalking for the door, taking mental stock of the supplies he still had on him. How much ammunition? He was pretty sure he had a good count of how many rounds he’d fired on patrol but now he was less certain. 

“Joel!” Maria’s voice was sharp, making him stop, one hand on the door, the sunlight pouring through the glass of it oddly bright. How could anything be bright right now, at a moment like this? “What are you doing? You can’t just…” 

He looked back over his shoulder, his brother and sister-in-law, the pair of them standing and watching him with cautious looks on their faces. 

Joel hoped they wouldn’t try to stop him. He loved them both, they were family, but if he had to choose from you and the girls or his brother, his brother would lose every single time. He wouldn’t hesitate to go through them. 

Joel had felt like he’d been meant to do very little in his life. Before, he’d worked a job that let him pay his bills and watched college football for a school he’d never had a shot at getting into. Since, he’d done plenty to get by and distract himself from the emptiness of his existence, none of it feeling like it was worth a damn thing. The one different, constant piece had been how he felt about the people his world revolved around. Sarah, Ellie, you, Savvy. The four of you were his calling. The four of you were why he was here at all. He’d survived the loss of Sarah by the skin of his teeth. In so many ways, he never really recovered. He wouldn’t have recovered at all if it weren’t for Ellie. 

He wasn’t doing that again. He wouldn’t survive it again. This was life and death, not just for the three of you but for himself, too. 

Joel met his brother’s gaze.

“That monster’s got my wife, my daughters,” Joel said, voice dark and firm. “I’m gonna hunt him, I’m gonna hurt him and I’m gonna bring them back.” 

A/N: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I know, more angst. I don't know why I'm like this either. Feel free to yell at me in the comments or my ask box or my DMs. I'll still love you.

Thanks for putting up with me and all my shit and for continuing to read this story. It really does mean so, so much to me.

I love you!!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #smut fic

[inkskinned]

for the longest time my family used to host one of the biggest haunted houses on my block: elaborate, themed amateur haunts that pearled out along our lawn for one-night-only. spinning circus wheel-of-terrors and walkthrough alien crash-landings and spiders that arched over our driveway, leaking venom onto your feet.

we didn't have a lot of money; and honestly i don't know how we afforded what we did have. there were not going to be pneumatics or projectors or any supply over 20 dollars - and even 20 was a stretch. we were lucky, and we lived in a town that had a "swap shed", where people would drop off any banged-up-but-usable items that they wanted to get rid of. the whole year, my family would pick over someone else's discarded fans and lights and weird decorations, asking each other - what do you think? for halloween?

we would strip the motors out of rusted fans and spraypaint vases and saw broom handles in half and apply a very thick coat of cardboard and duct tape to everything. for our pirate year, i made the mistake of individually drawing woodgrain onto each strip of cardboard that made up the ship. i then gently painted and distressed the "boards" so they'd each have lichen and cracks and unusual patterns. i hid eyes in the knots and shaped skulls. you couldn't see any of it in the dark, even under our "spotlight" (someone's target-branded workshop flashlight).

i have a lot of very strange skills as a result. i know how to make a flying ghost appear both physically and in the mirror. i know how to make a witch's brew that stirs itself. i know how to burn and cut and paint until there is an iron throne you can sit on, or an alien brushing your ankles, or a hearse trundling along. i can't say we ever made it beyond our local newspapers, but we tried so hard that the town would regularly shut down our street.

i can't put any of these skills on a resume, and i haven't been able to put them to use for a while. i live in an apartment, there's no lawn for me to decorate. for years i've wanted to do an alice in wonderland theme, and have been collecting ideas like coins in a fountain. at other houses, i am transfixed by 12 foot skeletons and paper mache spooky lanterns; easily wooed by the knowledge of how much time people put in.

someone asked me once - so what was the point? and why didn't you guys charge anything to show up?

in truth, we probably needed the money. for years there, we were a 1-meal-a-day kind of a family. i was being polite earlier up in this essay: we furnished both our house and our halloweens using things left a recycling center. we live in new england and still didn't turn on the heat until the end of november, no matter how low the temperature.

every year we would collect donations for unicef and other charities. on an average year, we would collect enough to pay for our food for weeks. every year, without fail: we donated every penny.

this endeavor took months to plan and design and execute. we had to organize any volunteers and check safety and hope-for-the-best. it took at least 24 hours to set up, a week to take down. the motors and fans and lights all had to be packed tight. the cardboard would scatter, pangea in the rain and sleet. i remember picking up a plank from that pirate ship, the paint blown clear off, all my hard work completely erased. a new kind of driftwood.

if this was a poem, and not a memory, i could wrap this up prettily. i could say that these skills landed me a cool job in the haunting industry or that it taught me the value of friendship and responsibility. but i actually think it's something better, something very pretty: there wasn't ever a moral to it.

the night was a long one. yes, there were assholes, people who broke stuff. but mostly it was just kids like us in cardboard costumes, dressed as an incredibly niche kind of truck. good parents who were friendly and laughing. teenagers who slunk in at late hours, wide-eyed and secretly delighted; who asked us can i help next year? like, do y'all take volunteers, or whatever? every year more people came, and told their friends, and offered to pay. and every year we said maybe next year and meant absolutely never.

we did it because it was enough to love something, and to make that love visible. we did it because there is very rarely an excuse to have fun. i think maybe especially, for me - we did it because every year, there was one first "customer" somewhere around 3-4PM, while we were still putting on the final touches. the sun would still be up, and we were frazzled and always-running-late, and these kids saw our vision unfinished in the bright light of day.

something about their parents murmuring say thank you and telling my mom this setup is so sweet while this little kid would grin up at us, dazzled by our artistic mediocrity. the fall air and the chill and their coat-over-a-panda-princess-costume. that first phrase of the night awkwardly managed over a pair of overly-large vampire teeth: a beautiful and excited trick or treat!

#wholesome #happy halloween #writeblr #just something to maybe warm ur heart in these times #my parents also usually let me take nov 1st off #this is the first year in like 20 years im not taking it off bc it became like a family holiday #i regret not taking it off but alas. capitalism.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 47

part 1 | part 46 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking; fatal levels of fluffy idiocy

They make their way over to the kitchen, where Eddie snags them two cans of beer off the counter — warm, but unopened, which is really as much as you can hope for at a house party by this time of night.

Steve doesn't mind, anyway. Doesn't want Eddie's hands to be cold.

"You think you're good to step outside for a few minutes?" he asks, tugging at the hem of Eddie's leather jacket. The black hoodie he has layered underneath. They're not nearly thick enough for an extended stroll through the two-inch blanket of snow outside, but he's hoping it'll do for just a few minutes.

Eddie cracks his beer with a grin. "Why? You wanna have a snowball fight?"

"Something like that."

Eddie follows him out back, down the slope of the lawn toward the property's edge. Away from the rest of the party until theirs are the only footprints in the powdery sheet of fresh snow.

It's bright out tonight. Moonlight bounces so fully off the white canvas that Steve doesn't even need to use a flashlight, and Eddie's pale skin shines; dazzles in the moonglow, all shimmer and sparkle and so utterly alive, his limbs in constant motion to keep the cold out of his bones. He's taking these big exaggerated hop-steps, shaking the snow from his shoes with each lift, compressing the fluff beneath his feet with each heavy stomp down so it doesn't creep into the eyelets of his boots and wet his socks.

Steve's gonna thrift him a new jacket. A big, puffy one, he decides. New boots, too, next chance he gets; gonna wrap him up in a big knitted scarf and crocheted mittens and a hat with a silly little pompom on top. He'd look cute like that, all bundled up. Warm and safe.

"What are you smiling so big for?"

"No reason," Steve smiles wider with a shrug. He doesn't bother trying to explain himself, 'cause he never sounds half as eloquent out loud as he thinks he does in his head; shit gets all jumbled up on the way out of his mouth, but he just thinks, "You look cute."

Eddie stops short. "Excuse you!" he squawks, one foot still hovering in the air. Arms out wide to keep his balance on one leg. "I am not cute."

"Uh huh," Steve licks his lip. Your eyes are bigger than the moon and your cheeks get all pink when you're offended, but sure. You're not cute. "Whatever you say."

"That's right," Eddie insists. He sticks his nose up in the air with a little hmph! noise. "I'm mean and big and scary, and you like doing what I say."

"Also true," Steve agrees.

Eddie's face comes back down, expression softening into something sickeningly sweet; desperately so, almost unbearable to look at.

Steve's heart squeezes hard enough in his chest to bruise his lungs.

"Where are you taking us, anyway?"

"Not much further," Steve says. The party’s on a cul-de-sac that backs up to Maple, to Tommy’s old street — weird, considering how much newer and nicer this neighborhood is compared to Tommy's, but that's how all of Hawkins is. The zones stacked on top of each other, new money swooping in and taking over them like kudzu.

In between the neighborhoods there’s a stretch of untouched woods: old trees and tall grass, brambles and dark mulch and the remains of reedy stalks, and through the center of it all runs a massive, winding storm drain. Like the bones of a concrete snake, blanketed by moss and leaves and snow.

Steve and Tommy used to play here. Used to perch where the drain pipe let out to a shallow open groove; dangle their legs over the edge and pretend they were sitting on a lake dock instead of sweating their asses off in the woods beyond Tommy’s yard.

“This one year,” Steve says as he leads Eddie toward the spot, pausing to hold a branch back so it doesn't pop them in the face. “There was this, like- this crazy flood, and the water got so high that we could almost splash our feet in it from the top of the pipe.”

He points out the drain in question. It’s smaller than he remembers; comes up to maybe shoulder height, but it used to be huge. Used to be that he could stand up in the opening and spread his arms out wide and only just scrape the tips of his fingers against the gritty walls.

Now it looks like he’d tweak his back trying to hunch over to crawl in. Guess he was a lot smaller than he remembers then, too.

"Okay..." Eddie says as he takes wide steps toward it, eyeing the curve of snowy concrete. "I can't tell if this is secluded in a romantic way, or if this is just some creepy Stephen King shit."

Before Steve can so much as roll his eyes, Eddie gasps and spins on his heel; snow spraying under his feet, eyes impossibly wide. "Oh, my fucking god," he breathes.

It puts Steve on high alert. "What is it?" he asks as he steps in close; gets Eddie by the elbows, backs him up against the side of the pipe and uses himself as a shield so he can look over his shoulder and scan the undergrowth. Is there an animal out here? Something worse? Did Eddie see something? "What-?"

When he turns back around, Eddie's clamping his lips shut so tight it looks like it hurts. "I just realized..."

His nostrils flare as a snort escapes him.

Oh, goddammit. Steve thought it was something serious! He slouches in relief, letting his hands slip around Eddie's waist; underneath his jacket, to the dip at the small of his back. "Yes?" he sighs, prompting Eddie to spill whatever's got him trying so hard not to laugh.

"Your- your name is Stephen."

Uh. "Yeah?" What the hell...? "I mean, it's Steven with a V, but- yeah?"

Another giggle breaks free. "And- and you're The King."

"...Oh, my god."

He's so stupid. He is so fucking stupid. Eddie's snickering so hard it's making his nose wrinkle up, his whole face flushed a brilliant pink, and there are fireworks going off in the neighborhoods all around them; Steve can hear the countdowns starting, the muted chorus over the hills, people shouting 'ten! nine! eight!' and Eddie's so fucking tickled he can barely get his words out.

"Baby," he gasps as the crowds chant four! and three! "You're Stephen King."

Two!

Steve has to kiss him.

One!

Has to kiss him and never stop.

"You're an idiot, Eddie Munson," he smiles against laughing lips, and their tongues meet in the middle as they ring the new year in.

—

part 48

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

[sturniololoco]

Hiii idk if you’ll be able to do this request but I wanted to ask!! Do you think you could do a SLS story based of Sam and Colby’s recent yt vid with the triplets? Like maybe she gets rlly scared and her brothers comfort her or smth like that. I love your work btw :)) 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Scared Shitless

Sturniolo Little Sister (SLS) x The Sturniolo Triplets

Warnings: Ghosts, panic attacks, crying, etc.

SLS/N's POV

I was beyond excited once my brothers and I got invited to collaborate with Sam and Colby.

I started counting down the days till we left for Austin, and it had finally arrived!

I was sitting in the back of the van, my legs across Nick's lap. He was quietly scrolling through his phone while Matt and Chris talked quietly upfront.

I had one of my headphones in, watching some old Sam and Colby videos, just to see what I was getting myself into.

I was so excided, but that excitement turned to fear as we pulled up into the hotel parking lot.

-

We met the two YouTubers in the lobby of the creepy hotel, giving them side hugs, having met them once before.

"Who ready!?" Sam asked us, giving us a smile as we looked curiously around the hotel.

My brothers raised their hands and cheered in excitement while I stayed quiet, a little on edge while being in the hotel.

Soon after meeting Sam and Colby, our tour guide came over and introduced herself to us and the camera, starting the tour, totally flirting with Chris the whole time.

But not even that could ease the feeling in the pit of my stomach.

-

The tour had gone smoothly and we were now starting to film our experiments.

It started with the flashlights. You asked us questions and responded, almost perfectly every time.

This made my skin crawl and my breathing uneven, but I held in my panic, not wanting to spoil the video or my brother's fun.

"Hey, you okay?" Chris asked me in a whisper, nudging my arm slightly with his own.

I nodded, saying,

"Oh- yeah, yeah, yeah! I'm totally good."

At this point, I was trying to convince myself. Trying to talk myself into calmness.

Chris gave me a disapproving look as I continued to nod, trying my best to sell my lie, but not doing a very good job.

"Just get me, Matt, or Nick, if it gets to be too much, okay?" He said, rubbing my arm slightly while giving me a soft smile.

I nodded, his words already comforting me as I felt my heartbeat go down. And thankfully, it was time to move on to the next investigation.

-

The room was dark and closed in, no matter the ghost-sensing lights and camera light. I was feeling absolutely sick to my stomach at the thought of being trapped in this room with ghosts.

And the fact that they were answering our questions perfectly did not help.

At all.

My breathing was short and detached by the time we stopped the camera to move on to the next thing.

the lights were still off in this tiny room, possibly filled with spirits.

"M-Matt..." I stuttered, my heartbeat moving at a rapid pace, banging against my rib cage.

"hey, Sam, you mind if we take 5?" Matt asked, grabbing my hand and leading me outside as the blonde boy nodded.

He took me out into the dim light of the corridor outside the creepy room and sat me down against the wall, kneeling in front of me, still holding my hand.

"Hey, breathe sweet girl. Just breathe...In...and out... that's it." He said, tracing shapes on the back of my hand while I struggled to get my breathing right.

I could feel the tears trickling down my face, but Matt's soft, calm voice was easing me out of my panicked state.

Once I was slightly back to normal and the tears weren't falling like a waterfall, my other two brothers came out in the hallway and sat next to me.

"We can stop if you need to get out of here," Nick said, giving me a side hug.

I immediately shook my head no, saying,

"i-I think I'll be fine. Just don't leave me anywhere."

Chris grabs my other hand gently and gives it a little squeeze.

"of course not sis, we'll be right here the whole time.

I nod and stand up, clutching onto Chris's hand as we walk back to Sam and Colby, ready to start the next challenge.

-

The rest of the night went off without a hitch! One of my brothers stayed with me at all times, helping me face my fear.

"I'm so proud of you for facing your fear kiddo!" Matt said as we began to drive back to our non-spirited hotel.

He looked at me through the rearview mirror, giving me a proud smile.

I smiled back, thinking,

I wouldn't have been able to do it without my amazing brothers.

I have some more Sam and Colby x SLS if y'all want me to do that! Let me know!!!

@idkwhosnyla @babypat08 @eyelessdemon00 @christopherowensturniolo @sturnsxx @freshloveforthefit @matty443355 @sleepysturnss @emeraldgreenbeautiesstu @sunsetsturniolos @hoesturniolo @x4nd3rsukz @chr1sgirl4life @sstvrnioloo @sturns-posts @chrisstopherfilmed @kylasrealityx @zoeysturnioloooooo @comet235 @islaasblog @sturnioloblogs @defnotayonna @mattsleftnipple03 @thematthewlover @mattsaq @idkhowtosleep

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo sister #sturniolo sister x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo x reader #sam and colby #colby brock #sam golbach #colby brock x reader #colby x reader

[pippytmi]

If you are possibly still doing song promts, not sure if you're into country music however, "Unforgettable" by Thomas Rhett is a very cute, romantic song that I believe will suit Supercorp very well, thank you.

It is a warm, sticky summer night, and the stars have never been clearer.

Kara watches them, wistful and maybe a little buzzed, stretched out in the back of her pickup while Alex flicks bottle caps below at the guys. James and Winn don’t even notice; they’re still arguing over whether they should take whiskey shots or shotgun beers, both staunchly on opposite sides of this dilemma.

“Hey,” a thought occurs to Kara suddenly, “where did Sam go?”

“To find Lena, I think,” Alex says, squinting at her next target with halfhearted commitment as she leans over the side of the truck. When she throws the next cap, it misses Winn entirely. “Damn. Open another beer, Kara, I need another shot.”

“Who’s Lena?” The name is somewhat familiar, but Kara can’t place it immediately.

“The Luthor girl. Sam’s friend, you know her.” Alex leans back to root through their cooler, and comes up with two more beers. “She’s the one who flaked when Sam tried to set up that double-date, remember?”

“Right, and I had to third-wheel you guys all night.” Kara sits up in order to scan the crowd curiously, one question at the forefront of her mind: “Is she related to Lex Luthor?”

“Yes, that’s why I said the Luthor girl,” Alex says like one might say keep up. “She’s his half-sister or something, I don’t know.” She uses the bottle opener on her keys to pop open one of the beers, handing it over to Kara and immediately moving on to her own.

Kara takes a distracted swig as she continues to look out into the crowd. The lights strung through the trees offer very little in terms of visibility, and it’s hard to make out faces. “I didn't know he had a sister,” she says.

“It's not something he exactly advertises.” Alex takes a re-do of her earlier shot now that she has a fresh bottle cap, and this time it nails Winn right on the side of the head. “Hey, losers! Quit fighting and come get a drink!”

“Not unless you have some beer cans we can shotgun!” Winn shouts back.

“No, no, he means we need some Jack Daniel’s,” James interjects, and they’re off again, shoving playfully at each other’s shoulders as if they are going to push each other into the bonfire.

Alex rolls her eyes. “Boys,” she says derisively. “Let’s get Nia instead, she deserves a drink far more than they do.” She reaches over to bang at the truck’s backseat window. “Wake up, sleeping beauty!”

“Whoa, watch it!” Kara almost spills her drink in her haste to bat Alex’s hand away. “Take it easy. I just got her all fixed up.”

“Oh sure, when Siobhan takes a baseball bat to the glass it’s all fine and dandy, but I can’t even give it a tap?”

Kara crinkles her nose. “She thought it was her ex’s car in the dark, come on. You can’t blame her for that.”

“You are also her ex,” Alex says impatiently.

“But not the ex she was trying to get revenge on,” Kara points out. “She even apologized to Brittney. I think you should, too.”

Alex gives her a dirty look. “For the last time, I will not call your car that.”

“Don’t be a hater, Alex.”

“Don’t be a fucking weirdo, then—”

Before Kara can even enact her own revenge for that comment, she is briefly blinded by one of two flashlights aimed at her face. Beside her, Alex yelps and covers her eyes.

“There you guys are,” Sam exclaims. “I got lost trying to remember where we were. Why did you park so far away?”

“To keep our drinks from the masses, mostly,” Alex says, and she hops up over the side of the truck to pull Sam into her arms. “And for privacy.”

“Ew,” Kara says, and Alex glares at her over her shoulder.

“For Nia, who is sleeping.”

“Still?” Sam grins, momentarily distracted, when Alex presses a kiss to her cheek. “I wanted to introduce her to Lena.”

Just like her name, Lena Luthor has something about her face that strikes Kara as vaguely familiar. Something in the shine of her eyes in the moonlight, in the way she bites on her bottom lip, in the slope of her nose and the cut of her jaw and the hint of a dimple in her cheek. Kara has never laid eyes on Lena Luthor before, but she finds herself unable to look away.

The only reason Kara even realizes she's been staring at Lena too long is when she hears her name:

“And this is Kara, she's Alex’s sister. She drove us here.”

Now it's Kara's turn to be stared at—or more accurately, scrutinized. “While drunk?” Lena says.

Kara snaps back to reality. “I'm not drunk,” she hastily denies, lest that somehow affect her chances with impressing Lena (coincidentally, something she had not been concerned with until this very second). “I've only had two beers, I'm practically sober.”

But when anyone else might be skeptical, Lena merely tilts her head curiously. “Okay, if you say so,” she says in a manner that’s almost…amused. Kara counts it as a win, either way.

“So are beers all we have around here?” Sam asks. “Clearly, Lena and I need to catch up to everyone.”

“We also have whiskey,” James chimes in, while Winn makes a show of gagging.

“Yeah, just beer and whiskey,” Alex affirms. “Kara did the shopping, so….”

Kara bends down to lift up their cooler as if it’s a treasure chest. “We also have Mang-O-Ritas,” she says magnanimously, passing it down to James to pop open.

“Just a regular beer for me, then,” Sam says. “Lena will have the Mang-O-Rita.”

“I’ve never had one before,” Lena says, crossing her arms and leaning against the side of the truck as Sam procures her drink. “Are they any good?”

Kara jumps off the truck in order to fully join their circle (and, okay, closer to Lena. Maybe). “They’re awesome. Don’t listen to whatever Alex tells you, she will 100% drink three of these in one sitting.” 

“Only when there’s no other option,” Alex protests.

Lena cracks open her can and takes a cautious sip. “Hm,” she says. “That’s…vile.”

“Poor little rich girl,” Sam coos. “Always such a snob about your liquor.”

“Excuse me for preferring a glass of red over this,” Lena says, but she takes a longer drink immediately afterwards, and Kara falls a little bit in love.

It's always been like that, really—Kara falls in love like breathing air. Eliza used to call her a hopeful romantic because she never liked the term hopeless romantic. (“There is nothing hopeless about finding beauty in everything,” Eliza would promise as she kissed Kara's head. Alex would always be nearby gagging, of course).

Eventually, as the fire begins to die down, they break out the whiskey bottle for shots. Lena, Kara can't help but notice, grimaces at the taste in a way that shouldn't be as cute as it is.

“I need a palate cleanser,” Winn gasps afterwards, ever the drama queen. “Stat.”

“I’ve got one right here for you, it's called Bud Light,” Alex quips.

“Blegh.”

And while Alex and Winn playfully tussle, Kara’s gaze drifts past them and back to Lena. Lena, surprisingly, is looking right back.

“You have grass stains on your jeans,” Lena tells her, and quickly looks away.

Kara glances down. “Oh,” she says, “yeah, it’s the hazard of working on a farm.” She actually got the stains from kneeling down to pet a puppy on the way here, but the farm thing sounds better. “So what do you—” 

She never manages to get the question out, because two cars down, someone screams bloody murder and Kara reflexively whips out the pocket knife in her boot. Everyone else is equally alert, until:

“It’s just fucking Mike Matthews again, falling off that eyesore he calls a truck,” Alex scoffs. 

“Again? They need to impound that thing,” James says.

Kara is about to chime in with her own horror story about Mike’s truck when she feels a tap at her shoulder; Lena waits until Kara whirls around, befuddled, before she asks,

“Can you pour me another shot?”

Kara blinks. Then blinks again. “Yeah,” she says, even though Winn is the one holding the whiskey bottle. “Yeah, of course.”

Winn gladly relinquishes the bottle when Kara asks, and he and James walk down to Mike’s group to “see if they can help” (i.e. gossip). Sam and Alex take advantage of the chaos to sneak away together (probably to make out somewhere). And Kara is left, terrifyingly enough, alone with Lena Luthor.

Lena coughs after downing the second shot, frowning down at her cup like it’s wronged her. “That is still…not good.”

Kara tries to hide her smile as she looks down, nudges an empty beer bottle away. “Why drink it, then?”

“I don’t know.” Lena pauses to chase the taste away with her Mang-O-Rita before musing, “To get out of my comfort zone, maybe. But then again, pretty much everything here is out of my comfort zone.”

“Oh, I get it,” Kara says. “Rich girl pretending to be normal. It’s very Maid in Manhattan. Or…whatever the opposite of that is.”

“You are…definitely drunk,” Lena says with the tone of someone two seconds from laughter.

Kara vehemently shakes her head. “Nope, no, absolutely not.”

“Mm, you kind of seem like you are,” Lena says.

“I am not, and I can prove it to you.” Kara cradles the whiskey bottle to her chest and prepares herself: “I can do the running man.”

“And that proves you’re not drunk how?”

“Because it's going to be the most flawless dance you've ever seen,” Kara says, immediately kicking her leg out in a shaky attempt, and Lena’s laughter explodes until she is actually hunched over with the force of it.

“Oh, God, please do that again.”

“I'm not sure I like your reaction,” Kara sniffs, taking a mock-defensive step back. “I don't want to do it now.”

“No, come on, I loved it. Really,” Lena says. Her Mang-O-Rita has spilled into the grass, and she has to stoop down to pick up the can, ruefully shaking it when she notices it's empty. “Maybe I need to slow down. Is there somewhere we can sit?”

“Yeah,” Kara says, waving the whiskey bottle to beckon Lena to follow, and she guides her to the back of the pickup. She shrugs off her jacket, laying it out for Lena to sit, and Lena gives her a small smile when she does; it feels like they’re in their own world, kept company only by the stars and the occasional crackle of the dying bonfire.

“So you work on a farm?” Lena has to lean slightly against Kara to get comfortable, and Kara holds her breath to keep from jumping.

“Yup, my parents’ farm,” Kara barely remembers to answer. “Nothing glamorous like you and your brother, I'm sure.”

“I didn't know you knew about…that,” Lena says.

Kara shrugs, feels her shoulder directly move against Lena’s. “Kind of hard not to,” she says apologetically. “I mean, the Luthor name is on just about every business in town.” She twists the whiskey bottle between her hands, listens to it slosh. “If it helps…none of us care about that.”

“Really,” Lena says, disbelievingly but still light enough to invite a follow-up, which Kara wastes zero time in grasping.

“One hundred percent,” Kara promises. “We never judge a book by its cover. Not even,” she pauses to whisper this next part, “people who stand up their dates on a dreaded double-date with their sister.”

Lena gasps. “That was not you.”

“It was,” Kara laughs, just self-conscious enough to slick her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t Sam tell you?”

“No—all she said was you were fun,” Lena says. “And she promised to try and set me up again, another time.” She shifts, now fully shoulder-to-shoulder against Kara. “Oh my God. Is that what tonight is?”

“Alex didn’t tell me anything,” Kara wonders, “but it would make sense…”

Lena scoffs. “This would be a horrible date,” she says, almost to herself. Then, hurriedly, “Not because of you, but because of everything else. The drinks, the place, the…lack of indoor plumbing…” 

“So you’re too good for whiskey, tailgate parties, and porta potties,” Kara lists off. “Hm. I don’t know, Lena. This date is off to a rough start.”

“Oh, shut up.” Lena reaches across their bodies for the whiskey bottle, and her fingers tangle with Kara’s as she takes it. Lena uncaps it and takes a swig, coughing as soon as she lowers the bottle, and Kara smiles even if Lena can’t see it.

“What happened to slowing down?”

“That was before I realized this was a date,” Lena says without a lick of shame. “Sue me—I’m nervous.”

“You don’t have to be,” Kara says softly, and she shuts her eyes, inhales the smoke of the fire and the sweet, floral scent of Lena’s perfume. “We can just be friends, too. No pressure.”

“And you’d be okay with that?” Lena asks, her voice quiet but undoubtedly curious. “Am I not the kind of girl you want to date?”

Kara immediately straightens up. “Are you kidding? I would marry you, probably, if I could. In a good way,” she hastens to explain. “In a…general, you-seem-like-the-kind-of-nice-to-marry. Hypothetically.”

Lena exhales, and there’s a hint of a smile in her own voice when she says, “You’re coming on awful strong for a first date, Kara Danvers.”

“Sorry.” Kara slumps against the floor, sighing as the whiskey finally starts catching up to her, leaving her slightly dizzy and uncoordinated as she stares up at the night sky.

But then Lena is moving, twisting until she is half-hovering over Kara, beautifully framed by moonlight and the haze from the fire beside them. “I can’t promise marriage yet,” she says, “but I think I can do a second date.”

Kara blinks, slowly, and her grin forms before she can even try to hide it. “Really?”

“Only if I can choose the place,” Lena says. “And if you never make me drink that awful margarita again.”

“Deal,” Kara says, making room for Lena to squeeze in beside her, light-headed for a whole new reason as Lena rests her head on Kara’s arm. “But I really think you should give the Mang-O-Rita another try. Just, for the record.”

“Shhh, don’t ruin this,” Lena says, tapping Kara’s mouth with her finger, and Kara keeps on smiling.

(And later, when they’ve sobered up, Kara will kiss Lena goodnight; later still, Lena will deny that she tasted of that damned Mang-O-Rita, but only Kara will know the truth).

#this ask is...years old in my inbox so forgive me for this but i HAD to express my love for sc + this song in a fun little AU #supercorp #supergirl #i need a fic tag #i love hearing new songs that i vibe with - this one is now on my 'country i will allow' playlist <3 #jaykr13 #i have countless old prompts still in my inbox but. would yall believe it if i say im trying to clear them lmfao

[luveline]

For zombieau requests, before r and steve make it to the college, the story of their first kiss?

thank you for your request <3 first kisses are confusing. fem!reader 2k

The beam of your flashlight is weak and stuttering. Steve has somehow managed to fix it for you yet again, but he's no miracle worker. Or, that's what he'd said. 

It feels rather miraculous to you. Nearly everything he does delights you these days, even his chastening snips. 

"You'll run down the battery." 

You look at him through the beam. He's wearing a simple short sleeved t-shirt, much more skin than you're used to seeing on display. His muscles shift under skin as he pulls back his hair. 

You let the encyclopaedia you'd been reading shut with a soft thud. "Did you know that our solar system orbits the centre of the milky way galaxy? We're spinning double." 

"That sounds sickly." 

You smile at him and put the book back in your bag. 

You ruffle through your things to get ready to sleep and sigh, irked. "Have you seen my– uh, my leather thingy? The square?" 

He sits up. His movements are distinguished in the quiet, the cotton of his clothes shushing against hardwood floor. Steve knows exactly where the leather square is, fingers slipping inside the pocket of your bag to procure the small zip lock bag you keep it in. 

You grind your teeth in your sleep sometimes, anxiety-driven, and this is the most sanitary solution Steve had been able to think of. 

"You need painkillers?" he asks, offering you the ziplock back. 

"No, not really. Just worried, I guess." You get killer toothache from the teeth grinding, all tenderness. Some days you haven't been able to eat, which is never good in these conditions. "I don't want you to have to pull my tooth one day. That would suck for both of us." 

He claps your wrist loosely, a quick and fond squeeze that genuinely makes your night. Every time he touches you is better than the last. Sometimes, you sit next to him, and you want him to hold your hand so badly it's like you can feel his fingers between yours. 

"If something like that needed to happen, we'd take care of it." 

It's a nice sentiment. In reality, an at-home tooth removal would probably traumatise you, or kill you via infection. 

"Well," you say, softened by his closeness, "lucky you, it's fine. It aches a little, but it's not hurting." 

He reaches into your lap, which is an entire thing, your stomach twists and your eyes widen. The heat of his hand ghosts your thigh as he clicks off the torch. 

You don't put the leather square in your mouth yet. You reach out for his side and use him to navigate the dark, lying down on the blanket beside him, hip to hip. Talking to him in the dark is your favourite part of the day. 

You take your hand back and drape it over your own stomach. It isn't long before Steve's hand is on your hip, not flat or caressing, just there, like it fell there incidentally. 

"What are we gonna do tomorrow?" he asks. 

You feel your eyebrows jump. "I don't know. Same as we always do." 

"If you… wanted to stop, we could stop. We don't have to keep going." 

He sounds tentative, like he's worried about your answer. 

"I would never ask you to stop looking for your friends," you say, trying to work out his angle. 

"I'm not saying stop forever. I just figure we don't need to always be moving. Not when you're…" His teeth click together as he shuts his mouth. 

You turn your head to his face though you can't see him in the dark, not one detail. You're in a small house in the middle of nowhere and the isolation hasn't felt as startling as it does now. 

"When I'm what?" 

"I'm putting you through the wringer." 

You understand what he means. You're not the kind of girl meant for this life, and it could never be his fault, but you're constantly on the road even when there's food for weeks and shelter. He wants to find people, you would never stop him. You're sick often, injured when you're not. 

"I…" You swallow. "I didn't realise I got to call the shots." 

"You do. If you want to stop, we'll stop. We can stay here for a week or two, we have the food for it." 

You're scared of going too far with Steve. While you know he cares about you indisputably, you're afraid —petrified— of his rejection. No matter how sure you are that he likes you, that he wants you, it isn't worth messing up what you have with the wrong assumption. But if you want to stop? That feels like a confession, at least in part. 

"It never mattered to you before," you say. 

True and not true. 

"I know," he murmurs, and you swear he's looking at you too, "I made you follow me around. But I've always taken care of you, haven't I?" 

"You have." 

"And I always will." 

Yeah, when you'd first met, alone and unhappy, he'd let you tag along with him out of duty and nothing else. If you hadn't saved his life, he probably never would have agreed to take you with him, because he has a fierce loyalty to the people he loves. If you got in the way of his finding Robin, there was a time when he would have left you behind. 

That time period was remarkably short, to his credit. He warmed to you reluctantly and then less so. And now he touches you all the time, your face and your neck and your hips. He zips up your coat for you because the cold makes your fingers shake, and he lets you sleep in the dip of his lap with your arms around his back, and he says nice things when you're not expecting them. When you lost weight at the beginning, he was concerned, and when you said you had it to lose, he was disbelieving. He keeps the good shampoo for you. He smiles when you talk, now. All these flags. 

His hand opens against your hip. You feel it unfurl, and the gentle thrust of him offering it to you. 

Steve works your hands together. Just like that. One of those perfect wood joints where the seams disappear, two hands linked together tightly, like they were made to hold one another. 

"Does the leather really help?" he asks. 

"I think so," you say, wanting more than anything to rest your face against his naked bicep. 

"Maybe you have a locked jaw, or something." 

"Maybe I do. Know any chiropractors?" 

"No," he says, tip of his thumb roving over the meat of yours, like he's marking down the lines of your skin. "I could try it." 

You laugh nervously. "I'm alright." 

"You don't think I could fix it?" 

"Not really, Steve." 

"That's offensive." 

"Letting you mess up my jaw rather than offend you, though?" you tease. 

"Is it bad right now?"

You make a curious sound as he sits up. "No, I already told you, it's fine." You feel rather than see him looking down at you. When his free hand touches your shoulder, you breathe out. "Steve?" 

"It's not gonna hurt if I try to kiss you?" 

You still under his soothing hand. His fingers brush up the length of your neck. 

"No, it won't hurt," you choke out. 

He leans down slowly, his hair tickling your forehead, the heat of his breath fanning over your lips and chin like a wave. 

"Are you sure?" he asks. 

You don't even think he's flirting. 

"It won't hurt," you say. "Please." 

He slips his fingers under your head and encourages you up toward him just a little. You close your eyes despite the pitch dark as he closes the gap, your breath shuddering against his lips as they find yours. He kisses you once and indulgently, a soft and searching thing, the pad of his thumb rubbing a  trembling arc under your jaw. 

You're still holding hands. Your fingers flex in his and reaffirm, worried he's going to pull away, that this moment will end too soon. 

He cushions your head with his hand and kisses deeper. At this angle you have to twist yourself to meet him, and you're quick to do so, kissing back with a shy ardency — you want to kiss him more than anything but you don't have a clue what you're doing. 

Like he can tell, he slows, and the tips of your noses touch as he pulls, nudging your nose until you lift your chin.

"Just–" His thumb strokes your throat again, saying more than he does physically. "Just kiss me," he encourages gently. 

You nod and almost bite him as he moves in again, too enthusiastic, maybe, your eager hand in his hair and your fizzing lips under his enough to make him smile. 

He's soft. He's warm. Your heart spins, hurtles. The earth orbits the sun, and the sun, the whole solar system, orbits the centre of the milky way galaxy at almost a million kilometres an hour. Steve's weight against your chest and his fond kisses: you swear you can feel it, you can feel the orbit, the spinning. You're dizzy with it. 

A sound disturbs the peace, ripping all the sweetness from the air in a millisecond. 

Steve flinches up, hand cradling the back of your head. He pulls the other free from your panicked fingers and grabs your shoulder like it might protect you from whatever it is that's coming. 

A silence ensues, the two of you waiting for another sound. 

"Probably an animal," he says. 

"Yeah," you say, heart racing. 

"It's late. You should try and get some sleep." 

You nod though he can't see it, heartbroken as he takes back his hands, as he settles again in the place where he'd been. Your hand feels strange without his fingers filling the empty spaces. 

"Don't forget your mouth guard," he whispers. 

You search the floor beside your impromptu bed for the ziplock bag, find it, and peel it open. You slot the leather between your bad teeth at the back and sigh, disappointed and exhausted and, somewhere underneath it all, excited.

"Steve," you mumble, disrupting the stifling awkwardness between you, "I want to keep going." What was it he'd said? He always takes care of you? "You know I'll follow you anywhere." 

"I know. I want you to have the choice." 

You do as he'd done, your open hand an offering over his hip. He draws lines in your palm with two fingertips before weaving his fingers through yours. You tighten your grip. 

If it's a choice, you’ll choose Steve. 

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

[half-oz-eddie]

One week after being taken in by Joyce and Jim, Billy's found it hard to kick his old habits.

He's found himself rather dependent on drugs and alcohol. So, he does what he usually does to deal with time at home— he gets high and drunk.

He always did it to numb himself, mind and body. So he wouldn't feel the punches. So the screams wouldn't sound so loud. So his body could still feel relaxed in frightening situations. So he could still sleep at night after facing the waking nightmare which was Neil hargrove.

He didn't need to do it anymore, but he still did.

Jim wasn't trying to smother the boy. Eighteen's still an adult, even if he's a kid in Jim's eyes. So he just...waits for Billy to eventually come home, hoping to God he doesn't have to go out looking for him.

10:30 PM...11:42...12:20...1:35...

2:32AM, Billy finally stumbles in the house, quite noisily. His keys hit the floor, he mumbles curses under his breath, he bumps into the coffee table because he's not used to navigating this house in the dark just yet.

He sighs in annoyance and just plops down on the couch. He's already feeling a little uneasy because he made so much noise.

Jim surfaces from his bedroom and sits next to Billy. He shines a flashlight in his face, answered by a groan and the quick reflex of Billy slapping the flashlight away.

"You're wasted, aren't you?" Jim assumes. "Joyce has been worried sick about you. I stayed up all night waiting because she sat by the window waiting to see you park in the driveway."

"Mmh." Billy groans. He's not coherent enough to respond, to apologize.

"How the hell did you drive like this?!" Jim questions.

"I do it all'a time. S'no big deal."

"It's a big deal. Are you crazy? You could've gotten yourself killed!"

"So what?"

"So what?! Billy! How do you think we would feel if something happened to you?"

"I'unno. I just got here. Wouldn't matter."

"It would matter. Jane loves you. Will and Jonathan really like having you here, and Joyce, psh, forget it. You're her baby, just like her other boys. She knows what you went through and all she wants to do is take care of you."

Billy whimpers in response before a soft sniffle can be heard.

Jim places a comforting hand on Billy's shoulder. "Don't cry, alright? Let's sober you up so you can say goodnight to Joyce."

"M'kay." Billy nods.

Jim makes him a cup of coffee and a sandwich.

"Listen. You don't have to check out whenever you come home. Things're different now. It'll be nice if you're present so we can feel like a family."

"You don't need a screw up like me in your family."

"We're all screw ups, Billy. We've all screwed up in one way or another, or been screwed over by life. That's what makes our family so great. We understand each other."

Silence filled the kitchen. The kitchen clock ticked and the lightbulb above them softly buzzed.

"Sorry." Billy finally said. "I'm not used to this."

"I know. You want some cookies and milk?"

"I'm not a kid." Billy rolled his eyes.

"You're my kid. And you can have cookies and milk if you want 'em."

Billy chuckled. "I guess I do want them."

"Atta boy." Jim excitedly opened up a pack of Oreos and poured himself and Billy some milk.

They'd eaten nearly half the package when they heard someone clear their throat.

They both turned to see Joyce standing in the doorway, her arms folded over her robe.

"Having a late night snack, are we?"

"Sorry." Jim apologized. "Did we wake you?"

"No. I was already up. I went to check Billy's room to see if he'd come home and...here he is with you, eating all the snacks."

"I'll replace the oreos." Jim promised.

"I don't care about the oreos, honey. I'm just glad you're home." She said, smiling at Billy. "I was worried you wouldn't come back, then I wouldn't know if you were safe or taking care of yourself."

Billy frowned. "I didn't mean to worry you. I-I swear I won't do it again."

"I hope not." She approached him and kissed his forehead, then snatched the oreo out of his hand and dipped it in his milk, before shoving the whole cookie into her mouth.

Billy laughed as she strutted away, bidding a quiet goodnight before returning to bed.

"I guess I'd better turn in too." Jim said with a stretch as he stood. "What about you?"

"Yeah. I think I'm gonna do the same."

"Goodnight, kid."

"G'night dad."

They looked at each other wide-eyed. Billy didn't mean to call him dad. Not this soon.

"Sorry was that...that was weird, right?"

"Not to me. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."

They smiled at each other before heading to their rooms.

Billy snickered at the pajama set Joyce had laid out for him on his bed. He hadn't worn a pajama set since he was 8 years old, but the red lounge pants and matching cotton shirt were so soft, and the made bed was even softer.

He didn't want to feel numb anymore. He wanted to feel the comfort of his bed, and the warmth of his loving family.

#couldn't sleep so here you go #abuse tw #drugs tw #alcohol tw #adopted billy #billy and hop #billy hargrove #jim hopper #joyce byers #ivy.doc

[kiwiraccoon]

Behind You

San x reader

Description: y/n explores a building her family used to own with her best friend only to find not something but someone inside.

Word Count: 782

Notes: mature language, first person POV, use of nicknames “honey” “dear”, annoyance at best friend

part 1 | part 2

“What are we doing here y/n?”

“Shhh will you?” In the dead of night my best friend and I wander in the woods to take a peek at the old hotel my family used to own. When I found the maps and pictures in our attic, I knew I had to learn more. And what better place to figure it out than the building itself. My best friend knows this yet she still remains confused, scared, and worried. I wish she had a little faith in me.

So what if we were searching out in the dark, it made the whole experience more thrilling for what could possibly be a waste of time. She keeps voicing her concerns and worries like I never heard her the first time and I had to admit what was first cute, was now annoying. 

Finally stepping up to the building I reach into my pocket and retrieve the old key hoping the locks haven’t been changed. And just my luck, they haven’t. We step into the dust covered and pitch black foyer, using our flashlights to find our way around. I have no clue what exactly I am looking for, but I know there is something here for me, waiting for me.

“Can you just hurry up? It feels bad in here.” Her voice penetrates the silence, erasing the god awful ringing along with it.

“Feels bad?” I ask, wondering what exactly she means as I have never felt more calm and at peace in a building. Nothing about this feels sketchy or wrong, it feels like I was meant to be here.

“You don’t get a bad vibe about this? Like there could be ghosts here for all we know. Maybe even worse, you seriously don’t feel it?” She rambles as we continue through the building making it into the large sitting area that seems to have held a bar as well.

I sigh and turn to face her growing tired of her complaints, “I feel nothing, my family owned the building and maybe still do. I just want to know more about it, and I actually feel like I belong here. If I would have known you were goi-“

“Y/n.” She cuts me off as fear overtakes the features of her face, widening her eyes into a size I had never seen before. “B-“ she gulps, “behind you.” 

Without second guessing I turn my head to look over my left shoulder and instantly make eye contact with a strikingly perfect man who held a sinister smile on his face. One that should make any sane person feel immense fear and want to find the nearest and quickest escape. Instead a smile pulls its way across my lips, tugging them just enough to show this odd loving feeling I have within my body. 

I have never met this man before in my life, but just the presence of him around sends dopamine and serotonin to course through my veins as if I had injected drugs. This man was perfection personified whether that was the universal truth or simply my own opinion, it didn’t matter. I have read about soulmates in books of fiction, wishing such thing were real and right now I think it is.

He moves slowly behind me and I turn my head to my right with a smile still on my face to meet his eyes again. “Hi, honey.” I say so simply as if this man had been in my life for decades and it was a common greeting for us.

“Dear, I’ve been waiting for you.” His voice sends chills across my skin raising bumps along the surface as it travels through me. The name, it felt so normal that it didn’t even cross my mind.

“What the fuck.” I hear my best friend whisper but I don’t even acknowledge her as my attention is entirely wrapped in him. His sharp, sinful eyes captivate me entirely. His smile sends euphoria running through my heart, increasing the speed to show me how happy it is.

His arms wrap around my waist and pull me back into him and it’s as if my whole body was submerged in gold. I felt priceless, cared for, loved. How could a man I have never met before make me feel ways I could only ever dream about. “What took you so long?”

“I’m sorry honey, how long have you been waiting?” I close my eyes as I lean into him more embracing the feel of his skin against mine, his chin on my shoulder, his breath tickling my neck, and his arms holding me tighter at the name.

“Too long. Way too long.”

#ateez #ateez x reader #choi san #choi san x reader #san x reader #San imagine #choi san imagines #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #san fic #san fanfic

[twinszka]

TORMENT — 01

WARNINGS: STRICTLY 18+. MDNI. themes of horror, death, demons, vampires, alcohol, fear, cursing, smoking, choking, smut will be indicated when it is included. feel free to message me if i forgot any warnings.

hi! this part is purposefully shorter than the other parts. i have a few more written, and plan on continuing this as a project depending on its success. please share with friends and enjoy!

—

I watched as raindrops bounced off the window pane, my head resting comfortably in the palm of my hand. My legs were sprawled out across my best friend Aubrey’s lap, and the rest of our friends were sitting around the coffee table playing what seemed like a never ending game of cards.

I had invited everyone over for dinner since this would be the first full weekend I would be spending in my new home, and I figured company would be a nice comfort in this new season of life. We ordered takeout, watched two movies, and did face masks together while we conversed about which games to play. Once the girls had finally made their decisions, I tapped out, more interested in a bottle of wine than whatever else everyone wanted to do. Maybe I should have never invited them over and enjoyed my time alone.

“You know what?” I start, my tone cheerful as I jump up from the sofa. “I think I’ll grab us a bottle of wine.”

A joyful cheer erupts from the five girls in my living room, and I smile as I make my way down the stairs to the basement.

The air is damp, and the stench coming from below feels like a warning. I ignore it and turn my iPhone’s flashlight on to provide myself with at least a sliver of light, though it doesn’t do much. Whoever lived here last didn’t care to clean up, or hadn’t been down here in a while…you can tell by the thick coat of dust covering everything but my unopened boxes.

When I look through the bottles of wine I have collected as housewarming gifts, I notice something sitting on one of the boxes next to me. My head tilts as I move closer and notice the item is a…box? I hum, simultaneously dragging the pads of my fingers across the rosewood. A chill rolls down my spine, causing my whole body to shake.

I quickly grab a bottle of wine, pick up the box to examine later, and start for the steps. Before my feet even touch the first step, a blistering heat emits from the box, causing me to drop it and the bottle of red in my hand.

“Shit!” I whisper-yell, so creeped out by the box I completely forgo cleaning the broken glass and race up the stairs. My mouth falls open when the door slams in front of me and my heart begins pounding against my ribcage. “What the-“

The pace of my breaths quicken, and I place a hand on my chest. I take a step backward, missing the step and almost taking a tumble down the stairs. My heart jumps in my chest. I reach for the door, pounding on it as hard as I can.

“Help! I’m stuck!” I scream, my fist not letting up on the door. “Aubrey!”

I think I hear shuffling behind me, but I will myself into thinking I’m just hearing things. That is, until I hear an unfamiliar voice break through the darkness behind me.

“They can’t hear you scream,” it speaks, deep and sinister.

“Who are you? Please, don’t do this,” I beg as droplets of sweat beginning to form at my brow. This is it. This is how I’m going out. Taken by a random stranger in the basement of my new house. I guess freedom isn’t all it’s chalked up to be.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the voice says, laced with a chuckle. “How did you know I like it when they beg?”

I feel the presence getting closer to me, and tears begin to roll down my cheeks. I continue to scream and pound against the door, confused as to why nobody has come to help.

Once my desperate attempt to call for help proves to do no good, I turn around so my back is facing the door and slide down onto the top step while squeezing my eyes shut. Tears have stained my face at this point, and I just let them fall. I give up, hanging my head and accepting the reality that tonight could be my last night on Earth.

Hot breath grazes the top of my head, and I look up in an attempt to see who or what was tormenting me. But there’s nothing. Nothing but blackness surrounds me. As soon as I think it’s gone, it’s back, wrapping it’s long and icy fingers around my neck and squeezing until I’m seeing stars. I try to choke out words, but my oxygen supply is being cut off quickly, so I make no noise.

Right before my body slumps to the ground, the door swings open and light floods the basement. I gasp for air, clawing at my neck with wide eyes. Scrambling around, I point down the stairs where the thing was, and start to move backwards up the steps. My eyebrows shoot up when I look down at where my encounter occurred and realize there is nothing there. The basement is completely empty.

The girls are shouting my name and snapping fingers in my face, but all the noise is muffled. Two of them have left, and I am left alone with Aubrey and Jenna. My vision blurs, and suddenly I fall into that unfamiliar state of unconsciousness.

—

#greta van fleet #danny wagner #gvf imagine #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #danny gvf #jake gvf #josh gvf #gvf #jake kiszka fic #vampire #vampire fanfiction #demon jake fic #demon fanfic

[j-nope-not-today]

OKAY SO I HAVE THE BEST IDEA EVER, SO LIKE WHAT IF YOU WROTE JUST LIKE QUOTES WITH LIL ITTY BITTY SCENARIOS FOR THE BAY!BOYS JUST FUNNY AND CUTE LIL ONES IN THE SAME WAY PPL WRITE HEAD CANNONS BUT INSTEAD, ITS QUOTES?!

TMNT quotes!!

A/N: Love this!! Thanks for requesting! I hope you like it!!

These are all quotes I'm sure the guys would say (But it's just my opinion). All credit to the original people who said the quotes btw.

Raphael

"One day..I'm gonna make the onions cry." Raph mutters while cooking.

"Some things are better left unsaid. Which I generally realize right after I've said them." -Raph after an argument

"Hi I don't care, thanks." Glares at Leo

"I never said most of the things I said." Raph after every argument with Leonardo.

"If you haven't got anything nice to say to anybody come sit next to me."

"Were all born mad. Some remain so." "Take back what you said."

"Well if I called the wrong number then why did you answer the phone?" "Because I thought you needed something!"

"I have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it." Looks at his arguing brothers.

Leonardo

"Friends are god's way of apologizing to us for our families." Leo sighs lovingly looking at his brothers.

"When we ask for advice we're usually looking for an accomplice." Motions to Mikey and Raph sneaking out.

"Before I refuse to take your questions, I have an opening statement." Leo announces to Master Splinter as they all sneak back into the lair.

"There cannot be a crisis next week my schedule is full." "Leo their still gonna rob the bank Friday!"

"I'm sorry, if you were right I would agree with you." "But I am right!"

"Don't talk about yourself. It will be done when you leave." Glares at Raph

"It's always funny until someone gets hurt. Then it's just hilarious." "Just help me up.."

Donatello

"Sometimes I wonder if this is all happening, because I didn't forward that email to ten people.." Donnie mutters to himself as he looks at his brothers.

"Before you marry a person you should make them use a computer with slow internet first to see who they really are." Donnie smiled at Mikey. Patting his shoulder.

"I just asked if you wanted to go to the arcade.."

"It's okay if you don't like me..not everyone has good taste." Cue Donnie flipping imaginary hair, striking a pose.

"People who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those of us who do." Glares at everyone in his vicinity.

"The problem with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it." Donnie anytime his brothers suggest something to him.

Michelangelo

"I never make the same mistake twice..I make it three or four times just to be sure!"

"This is why we can't have nice things!"

"Some days I have it together and other days I find toast I made three days ago still sitting in the toaster oven." "That was you?!"

"All right everybody line up alphabetically according to your height!" "I swear I didn't push him that hard!"

"Laugh and the world laughs with you..snore and you sleep alone." Glares at his brothers.

"The weather forecast for the night: dark." "Why did we leave him in charge of the flashlights?"

"Never fight an inanimate object." Looks down at the broken vase

"Food is an important part of a balanced diet." Proceeds to eat another slice of pizza.

#teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt imagine #tmnt x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt mikey #tmnt leonardo #tmnt ralph

[stiles-o-dylan24]

King of My Heart Chapter 4 - The Body

Author: @stiles-o-dylan24​ Pairing: Steve x Summer Byers (eventually) Word Count: 7k Warnings: canon violence and themes, language, smoking, mentions of drowning, death, and funerals A/N: officially on a schedule babes- Tuesdays & Fridays SERIES SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

|| << PREV ||  MASTERLIST  || NEXT >> ||

The cruisers and ambulance stop behind our car with Hop’s truck leading the way. He gets out of his truck and walks up to us, the three of us sharing a confused look before we turn to face him.

Hop looks between us, his brows drawn together in his obvious worry. He clears his throat and asks the expected question giving our current location “What are you three doing in the middle of the road like this?”

“Oh” Jonathan starts and mom points back towards the direction of our house “Something was chasing me out of my house!”

Hop’s face clears and turns into Chief mode as he steps closer “Someone chased you out of your house?”

Mom lifts her arms up, clearly rattled from the whole situation and shakes her head a few times “No– no– no, not someone– something!” 

“What–” Hop starts and she slams her arms down against her legs “Some kind of creature crawled out of my wall and came after me!”

I reel back with that, looking between Jonathan and mom a few times as Hop makes a noise, the look that comes over his face showing just how hard he’s trying hard to understand what mom means “What came out of your wall?”

Mom opens and closes her mouth a few times, her terrified eyes wide when she frantically answers “It was big and– and tall and– and I don’t know, just come back with us to the house” mom insists and Hop is quick to hold up his hands towards her “All right, wait, wait, wait– we’ll come back and check it out with you but Joyce, we need to talk first.”

“We can talk at the house, Hop, let’s go” mom says, lifting her hands up to brush him off. She quickly walks around the side of the car and opens the passenger door, looking back expectantly at us to hurry up.

Hop sighs and turns around so he’s facing Jonathan and I, moving his eyes between us. He nods his head indicating the road behind us that leads back to our house “What exactly happened with the wall?”

Jonathan shakes his head as his answer while I stumble over my words, my thoughts crashing together with what I saw last night to what I think might have escalated to tonight “We don’t– I mean, something almost happened last night but not– it wasn’t to this extent–” I stop and breathe in deeply, settling my frantic thoughts before answering more clearly “We were on our way home just now so we didn’t see what happened at the house– we don’t know.”

“She was running down the middle of the road towards us when we found her” Jonathan says and Hop nods his head once, indicating towards the car with his arm “All right lets go check it out. Just stay with your mom by the car when we get back to your house, yeah?”

“Yeah” Jonathan and I nod with his instruction and we all get back into our respective cars, me climbing in the backseat so mom can stay sitting up front while Jonathan leads the convoy back to our house.

When we turn down the driveway and head towards the house I notice how the house is completely dark, zero flashing lights to be seen– which isn’t the greatest news since I’m pretty sure getting Hopper to believe what happened will be about a million times harder than it was getting Jonathan to believe me this morning.

The Chief and officer Powell go inside after mom explains to them in more detail what happened with the lights flashing on and off, much like how they did last night. Difference from last night to tonight though was that the alien looking creature succeeded in its rendition of the chestburster scene via our wall. Mom saw it break through the wall and she wasted zero time in running out of the house, not stopping until we found her in the middle of the road.

We see their flashlights shine in the windows for a few minutes while we stand outside by the hood of the car with the other officer after he guided the ambulance to keep driving back towards town. Hop and Powell walk past the window to our right and head towards the front corner of the living room where mom said it broke through the wall. 

I wrap one of my arms around my front, lifting the other up so I can chew on the side of my thumbnail with my anxiety this is all bringing on. Jonathan wraps his arm behind mom’s shoulders when he notices that she has started to wring her hands together just under her chin. 

When they deem it safe and that there is absolutely no sign of anything terrifying inside, Hop comes outside and leads us back inside with a tilt of his head towards the open front door.

As soon as we walk inside I open my mouth in a silent gasp, my eyes slowly moving around the room and taking in the hundreds of turned off Christmas lights that are hanging everywhere– and when I say everywhere? I mean everywhere. There are lights strung up and down every wall, going across the ceiling in every single direction imaginable– it’s completely covered.

Jonathan looks over his shoulder at me, the same questions I’m thinking written all over his face as we walk further into the living room behind officer Powell. This was why she was so insistent on us going to the school today– so she could do this and we couldn’t say anything. 

Hop walks mom further into the room and stops with her after she flicks on the switch for the single not really bright ceiling light in the middle of the room. He takes his hat off and nervously fidgets with it between his hands, sadness overcoming his eyes and I immediately brace myself for what he’s about to say.

The ambulance being with them slams to the forefront of my thoughts, that paired with Hop saying he needed to talk to mom before anything else... no. I widen my eyes and slowly look over at Jonathan and see him coming to the same realization I am– this isn’t going to be good news.

Clearing his throat, Hop looks around at us all, his eyes landing on mom “Joyce, we were coming here because– well, uh– a trooper found something in the, uh... water that’s at the quarry.”

Jonathan steps closer to me, the movement drawing Hop’s eyes our way before he again clears his throat and continues “Our, uh– our working theory right now is that Will... crashed his bike, he... made his way over the quarry and, uh... accidentally fell in. The earth must have given way.”

With his words I wrap one arm around me, lifting the other to cover my mouth with my hand. No this cannot be real, Will was not found in the water tonight… Will is not... there’s no way this is happening.

“Joyce?” I hear Hopper say and I look back over at them seeing mom staring off in the distance while Hop leans closer towards her in his attempt to gain her attention “Joyce? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No,” mom says and Jonathan turns away before her voice trembles through her disagreeing statement  “Whoever you found... is not my boy– it’s not Will”

“Joyce,” Hop whispers like this is causing him just as much pain to have to be the one to break this to her. Mom shakes her head and lets us all know “No, you don’t understand. I talked to him... a half hour ago.”

Jonathan shares a look with me and I shake my head, wondering what the hell actually happened tonight. Mom sniffles and continues as she walks over and opens the cupboard near the corner with the creature sighting “He was... he was here,” she says and turns around with a bundle of Christmas lights in her hand and she lifts them up “He was… he was talking with these.”

“Talking?” Hop repeats and mom agrees before lifting her fingers up while she explains “Uh-huh– one blink for yes, two for no. And…” she turns around and drops the bundle of lights back onto the ground, stammering as she walks to her left towards the couch and pointing at the wall behind it “And, uh... and then I made this so he could talk to me.”

I move my eyes around with her words, seeing how the wall above the couch has all the letters of the alphabet painted with black paint. The letters are in three rows with a strand of Christmas lights nailed along the rows with each bulb on the strand lining up with one letter from A to Z.

Mom looks over her shoulder towards Hop as she explains all of this, turning to face him as she points towards the front corner again “’Cause he was hiding... from that... that thing”

“The thing that came out of the wall?” Hop asks, nodding his head a few times “The thing that chased you?” His tone is gentle like he’s talking to a child, but it’s clear he does not believe what she’s saying happened... and I can’t really blame him. Even I’m starting to question everything I was believing– especially if Will’s been in the quarry this whole time.

“Yeah” mom nods, the look on her face like she is desperate for him to believe her “Yeah”

Jonathan apparently has had enough because he walks up towards her, reaching his hands out to grab onto her arms “Mom, come on, please– you’ve gotta stop this”

“No, maybe he’s…” she also reaches out to grab onto his arms, yelling now “It’s after him! He’s in danger” she turns towards Hop, reaching out to hold onto him as she desperately exclaims “We have to find him! We–”

“What exactly was this thing?” Hop stops her, continuing to keep his voice even to not make her more distraught  “It was some kind of animal, you said?”

Mom pulls away from him, moving her hands around as she tries to find the right way to describe what she saw “Uh, no, it was... it was almost... human, but it wasn’t. It... It had these long arms” she moves her hands down her arms, trying to achieve the visual in her head before she’s reaching up towards her face and continues “And... it didn’t have a face”

“It didn’t have a face?” Hop carefully repeats, and I draw my brows inwards as I try to picture what she’s describing. The long arms match to what was pushing against the wall. 

Her description though is where Jonathan draws the line because he scoffs and turns to walk out of the living room towards the hallway. 

Mom’s face falls and she reaches out towards him, however she’s stopped from calling out to him when Hop sets his hands on mom’s arms and leads her over towards the couch “Joyce–”

I make a move to go after Jonathan, my steps halting though when he slams his bedroom door and I flinch back with the noise at the same time that Hop guides mom to sit down and he kneels in front of her.

“It didn’t have a face” mom mutters once more and I share a look with Hop before I step out of their view and further into the hallway. I lean my back against the wall, slowly sliding down against it until I’m sitting down on the carpet. I keep my knees up and rest my elbows on them, clasping my hands together as I lean them against the side of my head.

Hop’s gentle voice filters through the living room in between mom’s whimpers and sniffling “Joyce, listen to me– listen to me. After Sarah... I saw her, too and I heard her. I didn’t know what was real– and then I figured out that it was in my mind, and I had to pack all that away. Otherwise, I was gonna fall down a hole... that I couldn’t get out of.”

“No, you’re... you’re talking about grief. This is different.” mom insists, her voice cracking and succeeding in cracking my heart just that much more. I was lost on how to console her when Will was just missing... but this? Him being gone? She’s never going to be the same... none of us are. 

Hop makes a noise and tries “I’m just saying that you–” however mom is quick to interrupt him “No, I know what you’re saying, Hop–” she pauses, her voice hoarse when she continues “I swear to you, I know what I saw and I’m not crazy–”

“I’m not saying that you’re crazy” Hop doesn’t waste a second to insist and mom is just as quick with her reply “No… you are– and I understand, but... god, I... I need you to believe me. Please” she whispers “Please.”

“Listen... I think you should go down to the morgue tomorrow and see him for yourself. It’ll give you the answers that you need.” Hop switches tactics and I lift my arm off my head, keeping my elbows on my knees and move my arm to the side to rest my chin on it.

“But tonight…” Hop continues “...I want you to try to get some sleep, if you can”

I just hear mom sniffle again before Hop’s shadow fills the hallway and I look up at him, watching as he kneels next to me and taps me with his hat “Hey kid, if you need anything– anything at all tonight please call me at the station okay?”

“Yeah” I croak, clearing my throat and trying to smile as I nod “Yeah, I will”

Hop takes a second, the unsaid words he doesn’t know how to say written all over his face, before ultimately he nods and says “Okay.”

He stands up and officer Powell nods in a goodbye towards me, the sadness stretching over his face as well. The door clicks shut and I lean my head back against the wall, figuring I should probably get up and check on mom. Tears well in my eyes and I let a few fall before I need to reel in my emotions so I can be strong for her. 

Mom however beats me to it and walks into the hallway a minute later, her steps faltering when she sees me still sitting down. I quickly wipe my eyes while hers move from me and over towards Jonathan’s door, her mouth opening to say something but nothing comes out. 

Her eyes drop the the floor, completely at a loss for words and I reach my hand out towards her. She steps closer so she can grab my hand and I offer her a reassuring squeeze that she returns, lifting her free hand up to wipe over her face. 

        ⋇⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆⋇

I wake up with a start, seeing Jonathan step back with his hands up in a small surrender “Sorry, it’s almost 8″

“Yeah– I’ll be 5 minutes” I croak and he nods, heading back into his room to change out of his pajamas. My eyes sting as I try to open them and I reach up to rub them with my palms, groaning through the sleep that wants to keep its hooks in me. I don’t even feel like I actually slept, just feels like I was hit with a truck instead.

After climbing out of bed and throwing on the same pants as yesterday, I spin in a circle before finding a long sleeve shirt and sweater hanging on the back of my desk chair and call it good on the outfit. 

I open my door and start putting my hair in a ponytail when Jonathan also opens his door, smiling sadly which I return before we go to wake up mom. We find her room empty, however, so we walk out into the living room in search of her. He begins to head towards the kitchen, though I’m quick to stop him with a tap to his shoulder when I see her asleep on the couch.

I furrow my brows when I see an ax laying across her lap, figuring when we left each other in hallway in our agreement to get some sleep she must have chosen to instead keep watch.

We walk in front of the couch and I try to wake her up, shaking her shoulder and saying “mom” to no avail. 

“Mom!” Jonathan shouts and she gasps, finally opening her eyes and widening them slightly when she looks at us “What... what time is it?”

“It’s almost 8” I say, Jonathan continuing a little more urgently “We have to go.”

“Go where?” she squints her eyes in her sleepy state, looking around “Where?” she asks again and I lick my lips before gently saying “To see Will.”

Once mom stands up she says she’s ready enough to go so we head towards the door, mom grabbing her purse off the hook while Jonathan grabs his keys. We walk outside and all three of our steps stop when we see Hop’s Chief truck still in our driveway, with our dear old Chief fast asleep in the front seat with his hat covering his face.

Mom scoffs light heartedly, shaking her head as she walks down the porch steps and over towards his driver’s side door. She knocks on the window and we see him startle awake, rubbing his hand over his face and saying something to her.

A few seconds later and he’s starting up his truck while she walks over and climbs in the passenger seat of our car, Jonathan turning the car on and following Hop down our driveway towards the main road.

We get to the morgue and Hop leads us inside, telling us he’ll wait for us in the lobby while we follow behind the receptionist. She leads us down the hallway to where the coroner is waiting for us to identify the body that was found in the quarry last night.

I wrap my arm around mom’s back and pull her into my side, needing her support as much as I hope I’m giving her mine as we walk down the cold and bleak corridor. I’ve never been surrounded by this much death before but that’s exactly what it feels like and it’s suffocating.

We’re led over to a window looking inside a medical room where the coroner stands with a scrub cap on his head and a surgical mask hanging around his neck. He’s standing behind a silver slab of a table with a small body that’s covered by a blue sheet the same color as his scrub cap.

Jonathan crosses his arms and leans his elbows on the edge of the window and I feel mom’s body go completely still while I feel like I’m experiencing an out of body experience looking into this room where my usual full of life little brother lays completely still– never to smile or laugh hysterically while he explains a campaign to me.

My throat feels dry and the tingle in my nose signaling tears are on their way becomes so painful that I have to clear my throat in my attempt to alleviate one or both of the issues. It doesn’t work though so I instead just focus on what’s going on in the room we’re looking into. 

The coroner seems to be waiting for some kind of signal from us and I look at mom. She remains completely still and is just staring at the sheet covered body so I look over at Jonathan and he nods ever so slightly at me before looking at the coroner and doing the same.

The coroner instantly reaches his glove covered hands to the end of the sheet, pulling it back to reveal what definitely looks like Will’s head and up to his chest where the coroner folds and lays the sheet down.

Seeing his pale face knocks the wind out of me and with my free hand I reach up and cover my mouth. He just looks like he’s sleeping– a stark contrast to the harsh reality we’re now facing with it definitely looking like Will on that table and what it actually means.

Jonathan makes some gagging noises, coughing as he quickly turns and crosses to the other side of the hallway from where the window is. He leans into the wall and I can hear him start to cry. 

Mom steps out of my grasp and closer towards the window. She says that he has a birthmark on his right arm and asks to be shown that– I, however, have seen enough and I head back towards the lobby.

I open the door a little louder than I mean to and Hop stands up when he sees me. Being out of the suffocating stuffiness of the morgue hallway I feel like I can finally breathe and I let out a louder than I’d like shaky breath. Hop wastes no time in walking towards me, reassuring me with two words “It’s okay.”

He nods and I try to return his nod, however, instead I suck in an involuntary sharp breath and set my hands on my hips, tears welling in my eyes instantly as I breathe out shakily through a whimper “It was really–”

Blinking quickly I make a noise and take a step back, Hop following with his own step forward and hesitantly reaching towards me “Hey, you’re okay– take a deep breath” he sets his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eyes “Having to see that is never okay, but it’s over– you did great, kid.”

I nod with his words, breathing in deeply and slowly releasing it– not as shakily this time. He looks my face over and when he’s satisfied I’m not going to hyperventilate he nods and leads me over towards the chairs, grabbing a tissue from the reception desk and handing it over towards me.

I mumble my thanks and lift it up before dabbing it against my eyes and once under my nose. I crumple the tissue in my hand, fidgeting with it and uncrumpling it when Hop clears his throat and looks towards the door I walked out of “How’s your mom doing?”

Not looking at him I shake my head softly, my voice barely above a whisper “I don’t know– she was asking to see his birthmark when I had to leave.”

He nods in understanding, taking a few moments before he looks at me again and questions further “How long has this stuff been going on? With the lights and, uh... Will and the thing in the wall?”

“Um” I start, clearing my throat and scooting back in the seat I’m sitting in “Since that night with the phone call and the storm.”

Hop nods, reaching up to scratch the side of his head “Last night you said something almost happened the night before with–” he trails off and I close my eyes.

I don’t answer right away and he makes a noise “It’s okay– you can tell me anything.”

“It’s not okay” I croak, opening my eyes and looking at him “Everything she’s talking about I saw too, Hop.”

“You saw something crawl out of the wall?” he questions and I fidget in the seat “Well not out of the wall but it– it– something pushed against the wall like it was trying to get out.”

I groan and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and rubbing my hands over my face.

“How much sleep have you gotten?” he asks and I drop my hands down and sit up “I’m not sleep deprived to the point I’m seeing things, Hop. Something weird is happening with the lights and some kind of creature and Will–” my voice cracks and I shake my head, looking at him again “But I can’t explain any of it because it doesn’t make sense especially if Will is in that room.”

“Okay,” Hop says, clasping his hands together as he leans his elbows on his knees and I nod as I lean back in my seat again, repeating “Okay.”

The coroner yelling “Ma’am” gets our attention and we look over, seeing Jonathan following behind mom who is quickly walking away from the coroner who’s following them with a clipboard and holding out a pen “Ma’am, I need you to sign!”

“I don’t…” she yells and turns around to face him, stopping his steps as she points back the way she came and continues to shout “I don’t know what you think that thing is in there, but that is not my son!”

“Joyce, wait a second” Hop tries after he stands up and faces mom– who turns towards him as well as she counters back with a simple “No!”

“Mom!” Jonathan says at the same time she shakes her head at me and turns, slamming her hands against the bar on the entrance door to push it open.

“Ma’am, I– Ma’am!” the corner continues to shout at her retreating back as she leaves the building.  

Hop looks back at us and I shake my head, lifting my arms out to my sides before we quickly run out after her. When we walk out the second door and into the parking lot we don’t see mom anywhere.

“Where could she have gone that quickly?” I ask and Jonathan shakes his head “Come on, let’s drive around and find her.”

We pull out of the parking lot and it doesn’t take long until we see mom making her way down the sidewalk a couple blocks from us.

Jonathan pulls up next to where she is walking and I shout through the open window “Mom, will you get in?”

She jumps and throws her arms up, stammering “No, I... I need to think. Just go on home.”

“Mom, will you just get in, please?” Jonathan also shouts through the window and her only response is to lift her arm out towards us as a sidewalk tree gets in our way of seeing her.

Jonathan pulls over and stops the car before the stop sign, both of us getting out and calling after her as she crosses the crosswalk in front of us “Mom!”

“Mom” Jonathan yells and rushes across the crosswalk as well, me quickly following after him and lifting my arm out in thanks to the car waiting for us to cross..

He catches up to her first and sets his hand on her shoulder, pulling her to turn around and face him “Mom– stop!”

She shakes off his hand and fully turns around to face us as I come to a stop next to him and in front of her. She lifts her hands up towards us, urging “Just go home, both of– just will you please both go home”

“No, this is not an okay time for you to shut down” Jonathan says and I grimace while she questions back “Shut down? What…–”

“We have to deal with this, mom” he continues and she makes a face “Deal with what?”

“We have to deal with the funeral, mom” I say as gently as I can and she reels back, her eyes wide when she looks at me and repeats “The funeral? For... for who?” she points past my head as she loudly keeps shouting “For that thing back there?”

Jonathan scoffs and doesn’t hold back his anger now as he moves his hands around with his words “Okay, let me get this straight. Will, that’s not his body, because he’s in the lights, right? And there’s a monster in the wall? Do you even hear yourself?”

Mom closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, releasing it and opening her eyes as she lifts her arms out to her sides, exasperatedly yelling “I know it sounds crazy– I– I– I sound crazy”

“Yeah” Jonathan nods, agreeing without hesitation while people walk past us and stare. Mom ignores them and keeps her unwavering eyes connected to his “You think I don’t know that? It is crazy! But I heard him, Jonathan. He talked to me! Will is— is calling to me! And he’s out there, and he’s alone, and he’s scared, and I... I don’t care if anyone believes me!”

She connects her eyes with mine, her anguished accusation like a slap in the face “I thought you believed me.”

I open my mouth and rush out “I did– I do, but mom we saw Will–”

“No!” she interrupts, her eyes determined as she looks between us “No, I am not gonna stop looking for him until I find him and bring him home,” she points, yelling even louder “I am going to bring him home!”

With that she turns around and continues walking down the sidewalk away from us. Jonathan scoffs and yells at her retreating back “Yeah, well, while you’re talking to the lights, the rest of us are having a funeral for Will! We’re not going to let him sit in that freezer another day!”

“Johnny” I whisper and he pants, looking around at the small crowd that has gathered a few feet away from us. He glares at them and throws his arms out to his sides “All right, show’s over.”

We get back to the car and Jonathan hits his hands on the steering wheel a few times, roughly rubbing his hands over his face “Fuck!”

I jump with his outburst and he’s quick to lift his hands up “I’m sorry– I’m sorry”

“It’s okay” I whisper and he shakes his head, lifting his tear filled eyes up to the top of the windshield “No– nothing about this is okay but I’m sorry for...”

“I know” I whisper and he nods. My nose tingles painfully once again and I chew on the side of my lip, shaking my head to ward off any thoughts about crying right now because I don’t have the energy for it. 

I clear my throat and try to stay on the task at hand, indicating with a point out my window “Let’s head to the funeral home and see how soon we can get this all planned out and put Will to rest.”

    ⋇・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・⋇

The funeral director was very prompt in helping us with the timeline of things we need to do in order to have the funeral tomorrow, first and foremost apparently is finding a coffin.

He leads us into a room that has every shape and color you can imagine for coffins– which I never really stopped to think about just how much of a variety there would have to be but I guess it makes sense when you have to think about it.

I try not to get overwhelmed as he walks us through the display room, explaining all the details about each model.

“It’s made of soft wood with a crepe interior” he finishes talking about the one we’re stopped in front of right now, pointing over his shoulder behind us “Uh, now, I... I don’t know what your budget is, but over here, we... we have copper and bronze.”

He turns around and starts to lead us towards the copper and bronze coffins and Jonathan sighs, sharing a look with me before we step after the director.

When we walk past the open side doors though I jerk my head back a little when I see the last person I would have guessed to be here with us.

I softly hit the back of my hand on Jonathan’s chest and he looks over at me, his eyes moving past me and to the open doors where he also sees Nancy slowly walking into the doorway.

She hesitantly walks closer towards the open doors and grips onto her bag a little tighter. Sensing us not behind him anymore the funeral director turns around to see what has stopped us and Jonathan makes a noise, barely pointing towards Nancy as he asks him “Can you just give us a second?”

“Of course” the director answers back softly, nodding and walking away from us while we head towards Nancy.

She looks between us, her eyes landing on Jonathan who shoves his hands in his front pockets “Hey”

“Hey” she replies and smiles in greeting at me, explaining “Your guys’ mom, um… she said you’d be here. I just…” she inhales deeply, pointing over her shoulder “Can I talk to you for a second?”

We walk out of the somber coffin display room and into the side hallway where there’s a bench that we head towards. Nancy sits down and digs in her bag, pulling out a picture that is very quickly recognized as one of the ones that was ripped up in yesterday’s confrontation.

Jonathan sits down beside her and I lean against the wall on his other side, looking over his shoulder at the picture when she hands it over to him.

Jonathan takes the photo from her and looks it over while she explains about thinking she can see something in the far edge of the picture in the dark behind Barb.

“It looks like it could be some kind of perspective distortion, but I wasn’t using the wide angle,” Jonathan offers, ultimately landing on “I don’t know– it’s weird” as he hands the photo back to her.  

“And you’re sure you didn’t see anyone else out there?” she asks and he’s quick with his response “No,” he looks down as he recalls “And she was there one second and then, um... gone. I figured she bolted.”

Nancy looks forward “The cops think that she ran away– but they don’t know Barb,” she shakes her head with her annoyance, offering further “And I went back to Steve’s... and I thought I... saw something. Some... weird man or... I don’t know what it was.”

She looks over at him, her eyes landing on me for a second before she shakes her head “I’m sorry. I... I shouldn’t have come here today,” she reaches down and grabs her bag, standing up and looking at me as she walks past “I’m... I’m so sorry.”

“What’d he look like?” I ask and she stops, turning back around towards us “What?”

I look back at Jonathan and he nods, connecting his eyes with Nancy’s while I look at her and he elaborates my previous question “This man you saw in the woods. What’d he look like?”

Nancy looks between us and stammers out her answer “I– I don’t know” she stops and narrows her eyes in thought a little “It was almost like he... he didn’t have–” she trails off and I just know what I say next is going to be right “Didn’t have a face?”

Nancy looks at us curiously, tilting her head slightly to the side as she asks “How did you know that?”

    ⋇・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・⋇

We finish up at the funeral home, making the plans we think mom would have chosen if she were here, and then we decide for Nancy to go with Jonathan to the school so he can use the dark room again. 

He’s hoping he can brighten and enlarge the photo that Nancy had brought to him so then he could get a better look at whatever is standing just at the edge of the photo behind Barb. 

If we’re right and the thing in the picture turns out to be the same human like, non face having creature that mom and Nancy saw then maybe, just maybe, we can figure out what happened to Will and Barb. 

Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans I head to the mom and pop coffee shop around the corner, not at all wanting to go home right now. 

When I walk past the corner market, I can’t help but roll my eyes and internally groan when I noticed the person leaning against the side of the building and smoking.

Steve’s eyes look over, instantly connecting with mine and he pushes off his lean on the building. “Byers” he says around the cigarette in between his lips and I shake my head “Seriously not today, Harrington, okay?”

“I’m not– I wasn’t–” he steps in front of me, dropping his cigarette onto the ground and smashing it out with the toe of his shoe “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Raising my brows with his insistence, I drop my eyes down to the ground and the cigarette butt still on the ground. Steve makes a face and follows my line of sight, rolling his eyes as he leans forward and picks it up. He rushes over to the garbage can in front of the market and I use that as my opportunity to escape. 

I continue down the sidewalk on my previous caffeine mission and I hear him grumble behind me “Should have figured you wouldn’t make this easy”

Shaking my head, I don’t look back at him with my over the shoulder reply “Pretty sure I said not today, Harrington”

“But I just–” he starts and I turn around, almost causing him to crash in to me when he takes his hands out of his pockets to brace himself with his hands hovering near my upper arms. 

I look at his hands close to touching me and he drops them back down to his sides while I nod once “You just wanted to say sorry–”

“Yeah” he says and I make a little agreement noise “Yeah, I heard you”

“Then why did you walk away?” he asks and I scoff, “I can only deal with so much in one day and unfortunately for you, and wanting to talk, I’m at my limit for today.”

“That's why I wanted to talk to you” he tries and because everything about today is finally catching up to me– I can’t help the tears that well in my eyes when I look at him “What exactly are you sorry for?” I make a noise, lifting my shoulder in a half shrug “For– for yesterday because that should really be directed at Jonathan”

I shake my head and look away, hastily wiping my hands under my eyes before I continue “Or– or did you see the news about last night and my–” my voice cracks and I close my eyes. 

“I saw the news” comes Steve’s almost whisper of a reply a few seconds later and I sniffle once, opening my eyes to look at him “Well since this time yesterday you were boasting about how you solved the case about an hour before they were pulling my little brother’s body from the quarry maybe you can understand how much hearing you saying ‘sorry’ is the last thing I want right now”

“Summer–” he tries but I shake my head and step away from him “You are not seriously going to try to comfort me right now”

Steve scoffs and throws his arms out to his side “Why not– who do you have?” 

“What?” I ask dumbfounded and he opens and closes his mouth a few times, quickly justifying “All day you’ve been there for your mom and probably Jonathan but who has been there for you?”

“I’m fine” I counter and he nods slowly, looking like he doesn’t believe me in the slightest “I’m sure you are anything but fine right now.”

“Man I’m really starting to regret not punching you in the face yesterday,” I glare at him, moving to step past him. He turns with me but thankfully doesn’t keep following me. I don’t even want coffee anymore and I mentally add this encounter to the list of reasons Harrington actually deserves to be punched in the face.

“Yeah, well why didn’t you?” he asks to my back and I stop my steps, arguing with myself to just keep walking– but I don’t listen and instead turn back around to face him again. I watch as he shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets “I probably deserved it.”

“You did” I state matter of factly, sighing out a deep breath while I confess “But I won’t be like other people I know.”

He tilts his head to the side curiously and I leave it at that, spinning on my toes to head back towards the coffee shop I won’t be walking into. Maybe just a stroll around downtown will be enough before I’m ready to head home to deal with what awaits me there.

“I was wrong yesterday!” Steve shouts, causing me to jerk my shoulders up with his outburst. Slowly I turn around, and look at him like he needs to be quieter– he, however, just walks towards me, closing the space between us as he rushes out “About all of it– I shouldn’t– I shouldn’t have said any of it”

“No you shouldn’t have but tell me something, Harrington” I question and he licks his lips, nodding once as he sets his hands on his hips “Yeah?”

I narrow my eyes in thought at him, moving my eyes between his a few times before I ask “Are you just saying you were wrong for yesterday because you actually know you were a grade A douchebag or are you only saying you were wrong because they found Will’s body and for once you actually feel bad about something that you said to me?”

Steve doesn’t respond right away and I see him chew on the inside of his lip to give himself time to ponder what I said. 

He reaches up and scratches the side of his jaw, lifting his hand out “Does it matter?” he finally asks and I scoff lightly, shaking my head as I turn around and walk away from him “Yeah it fucking matters a lot.”

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Posted: 21 June 2023

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[bellarkeselection]

Yellowstone

Lee dutton

Reader and Lee are dancing in the middle of the feild one night and get caught by Mr Dutton " marry that woman already son " mr Dutton said

" working on it dad " Lee said

Marriage in Our Future

I squealed like a child even though I am an adult as my childhood best friend chased after me in the middle of a field in the complete darkness. The only light was given from the moon shinning above our heads. I stopped trying to catch my breath until I screamed getting tackled to the ground by Lee himself. We rolled a few times until I was on my back and he was hovering above me. His dark brown cowboy somewhere else but we just grinned up at each other not a care in the world until we heard someone call out. "Marry that girl already, son!" Lifting my head up I looked around frantically until I heard a horse halt seeing his father John riding a horse pointing a flashlight at us smiling.

I felt my cheeks heat up a little at our current position. This wasn't the first time we would come out here and act like wild animals. When his mother Evelyn was still alive she would always have to come find us five minutes after she put us to bed during a sleepover. Only to find us out here since we snuck on his bedroom window. Lee ran a hand through his hair glancing down to me with a slight smirk on his face. "I'm workin' on it, dad...it needs to be special." John nodded turning his horse back towards the main house waving us to come on. "Well I'd like to have some more grandkids besides Tate. So could you make her a Dutton please. Now come on before the coyotes get ya." Lee pulled me to my feet and we both climbed on his horse following after his father.

John had went off to bed for the night where I leaned back in the porch swing just watching the stars. Lee comes back handing me a cup of hot chocolate with a smile sitting down beside me. Laying my head on his shoulder I threw out an idea in the air to him. "Lee if we ever had a girl I was thinking we could name her after your mom. What do you think?" Lifting my head up to meet his gaze I could see some tears forming at the mention of her name then he leans down capturing my lips with his softly. I kissed back smiling into the kiss until he broke it resting his forehead against mine. "That's a great idea. Dad will love it-" Suddenly we both jumped throwing our drinks in the air seeing Beth banging her fists on the window at us. "You know what we would all love for you two to get married already!" Lee and I slowly stared at each other before we couldn't stop cracking up in laughter where he draped an arm over my shoulder kissing my forehead watching the stars above.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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[nightowlwoman]

My Thoughts on a Spring Snowstorm in Maine.

In case anyone was wondering where I've been the past few days -- Maine (where I live) was hit by a massive Spring Snowstorm that started late in the evening of Wednesday, April 3rd, and continued until mid-day on Friday, April 5th. In our area - somewhat northwest of Portland - the accumulation of heavy, wet snow amounted to 12" to 15".

We lost the power (along with some 300,000 other households) some time in the early hours of Thursday, April 4th. Repair crews made it to our street this morning and electricity was restored to us by 10:30 a.m. After a bit less than 3 days managing without electricity, heat, running water, a functioning septic system, hot coffee and, of course, internet service and other modern amenities -- my husband and I were very, very happy to be returned to the 21st century!

However, I have been reminded, once again, of all the people in this world of ours who are struggling to live without what we consider the basic necessities of life - much less the modern amenities and comforts we are so fortunate to enjoy. My husband and I had food to eat that didn't need cooking (PB&J, bread, cheese, muffins & raisin bran cereal), bottles of clean water, flashlights and candles and extra matches and batteries. We had plenty of warm clothes for layering and extra blankets for warmth when we went to bed. We had a sturdy roof over our heads and felt safe in our dark and quiet neighborhood. Most importantly, we had the knowledge that there were people working out in the storm to fix things and the absolute certainty that in a few days, at most, things would be returning to normal! How awful it is to know that so many people in our world today have none of these things and, tragically, little to no hope of their lives returning to the normal they once knew. Solutions are neither easy nor simple - what is necessary is good will, kindness and generosity of spirit and action from most of us - not just some of us. I persist in clinging to the belief that while there is life, there is hope - but sometimes the world makes it very hard to continue to believe.

The worst thing about this last hurrah of Winter given to us as a slightly tardy April Fool's gift by Mother Nature is the terrible damage done to the trees and shrubs and plants - all budded and waiting for Spring warmth to open - to leaf and flower. My neighborhood is filled with giant pine trees - very old and straight and tall. The ground is now covered with their branches, from small to huge. The maples and oaks and birches fared little better. When the snow finally melts, the sound of many people and their chainsaws clearing it all will fill the air. From my kitchen window, I can see a huge pine now missing its top half - snapped like a matchstick! Amazingly, it didn't fall on the house that sits near it. I don't think the tree can survive that damage, but it will require a crew of professionals to safely take down what remains.

The smaller plantings also were heavily damaged. A row of small-leaf rhododendrons that we planted nearly 40 years ago - that have survived countless snow and ice storms over the years - are lying bent to the ground by the weight of the snow. Far too many of their branches are snapped and broken away - it remains to be seen what may survive of them and be salvageable. I and countless pollinators and hummingbirds will miss their sweet, pink beauty this Spring!

A lilac varietal that we planted over ten years ago looks to have lost almost all its branches. We had been told it was a "miniature" variety that would stay small, so we planted it in front of our walkway porch. This lilac ignored its label and embraced growth with an enthusiastic abandon - reaching the porch roof, aiming for the sky and the sun. I resisted trimming it back - even as it obscured the view and overhung the railing onto the walkway, because it's purple flowers were so abundant, so fragrant and so beautiful - well, I just couldn't bring myself to limit its zest for life! It blossomed after the rhododendrons, when the weather was warmer and the windows were open, and its fragrance filled the whole house. I shall miss everything about that lilac that is still so young and hope that enough of it survives to eventually grow and blossom again.

Our single broad-leaf rhododendron, thankfully, seems to have weathered this storm with minimal damage. It has not been so lucky multiple times over the last nearly 40 years! It is battered and yet unbowed! I am hopeful that we will be able to enjoy its bouquet-sized blossoms this Spring!

I haven't had the chance yet to assess the damage to various lilacs and forsythia - the snow needs to melt and time will tell. The "grande old dame" of our lilacs, however, took some heavy wounds - not for the first time, either. This lilac has very fragrant and abundant white blossoms and was growing here before we built our house. It has lost major branches, been split in half in a massive ice storm - but it is a survivor and has always healed and continued to grow and blossom - even as it has assumed a different shape and silouette each time. It looks like it may lose about one-third of itself this time, but it's too soon to tell. Some major branches are snapped right off and many more are flat to the ground and trapped in the snow. As I watched it today, one long branch that was held by a lighter layer of snow seemed to break free and flung itself skyward and managed to stay upright on its own - a hopeful sign! When it is completely freed, we will lend it some support where necessary, perhaps do a little trimming and I trust it will heal itself and we will all get used to the new iteration of its appearance.

There has been a lot going on for me and my husband and family throughout 2023 and so far in 2024 - with no end in sight. Multiple crises, small and large, have been overwhelming at times and have occupied much of my mind and my time. These last few days, however, have had a narrow and more simple focus. The problems weren't really personal, because they were shared by so many. I went to bed early because my old eyes don't do well by candlelight and because it was warmer under a stack of blankets! I slept long and well and recharged my old battery. I had no control over events and, thus, no need to fret or feel responsible for it. Considering that I am a world-class fretter and worrier - that was a novel experience for me! Most of all, I had some very quiet time to think and just be.

I have experienced many difficult and painful things over the years and continue to do so, but if I've learned one thing in my 72 years, it is that things can always be worse! My experience of this storm certainly could have been much worse. Except for my dismay over damage caused by the storm - and Nature will eventually heal and be restored (with a little help from us) - looking at the last few days honestly - they weren't really all that bad at all! That being said - I am totally ready for the snow to melt and for Spring to finally arrive!

#april blizzard #spring snowstorm #april 2024 #my thoughts #personal #my writing #thanks for indulging this old owl

[eldritchqueerture]

Chapter 12: All That Matters

Chapter Summary:

All things must change. All things must end.

CW: suicidal ideation, arguments, death and murder, shock (a bit), child violence (kindof?? but not really), self-deprecation Jarchivist style, themes of chronic illness, themes of terminal illness

Author’s Notes: um. you may want to sit down for this one. in my defense - i did warn you. i did warn you, okay?

god. i can't believe this is it. take a deep breath, mind the content warnings and see you on the other side.

Work Summary: Jon awakens with a tidal wave of memories that don’t make any sense. In an attempt to go on with his life, he searches for the cause of the turmoil in his mind. He knows, though, that something inside him is waking up.

Likes are greatly appreciated, but please consider reblogging so other people may see it! Thank you 💜

-

The tunnels are just as cold, damp, and unwelcoming as Jon remembers them. The darkness looms with a promise of something lurking just around the corner. Under their boots, the squelching painfully reminds them what has been creeping in the walls.

Tim grimaces, casting a half-horrified, half-disgusted glance at the floor. “Geez, this is… They've all been here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Jon answers. “Biding their time. Waiting.”

He steps around the carcasses carefully but without need for light, using the cane as additional support when his recent wounds flare. Tim glances back at him briefly, keeping his flashlight focused on the worm-riddled floor.

“Waiting for what?”

Jon shrugs and winces at the sting in his shoulder. “Until there was enough of them to overpower the Archives. But they weren't ready. The Web wanted them to fail.” He scoffs to himself. “Not that they would succeed in any substantial way at any rate.”

“The Web...” Sasha frowns, searching the rough, stone walls with her light. “The spider Tim killed?”

“Yes.”

“And there's no chance it could've just been… A coincidence?” Tim offers weakly, at which Jon barely stifles a pitying chuckle.

“There are no coincidences where the Web is involved.”

He carefully keeps his voice soft; he's finding it hard to keep explaining things that seem so obvious to him now, but he knows that's just one of the things defining his inhumanity. He casts a glance at Martin who's been quiet ever since they descended into the tunnels. His gaze is fixed somewhere ahead, and there's a slight frown on his forehead.

Jon laces their fingers together to make him look down. He doesn't say anything - he wouldn't know what to say. There are so many things between them now and yet no words spring to mind. They need to kill Jonah Magnus, end this once and for all, and then...

And then hopefully we can live happily ever after, Martin thinks. Jon averts his gaze, blinking rapidly. He hasn't thought about what comes after — after Jonah Magnus, the heart of the Institute, is dead. What happens to him. He doubts the Eye will let him go; in fact, he's quite aware that's not possible anymore.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sasha speaks up in the silence. Her voice joins the echo of their steps reverberated on the stone walls.

“Of course,” Jon replies.

“You said there was an apocalypse, right?” She starts. “Various domains of fear, you travelled through them to get to Elias—”

“—Jonah Magnus—”

“Yes, yes, Jonah Magnus, in this… Panopticon.” She hesitates. “Where do other universes come into play then?”

Jon takes a breath to launch into a detailed statement, something about a grand plan and apotheosis, but Martin precedes him.

“Basically the Web fucked us over,” he says. “There was a rift on Hill Top Road, something about multiple entities converging on one place or some such. The catch was that if Jon killed Elias in the tower, he’d have to take his place. But Annabelle offered us another way. We could stop all of it. We could send the Fears to other realities and turn the world back to normal.”

Something dawns on Jon — a realization coated in dread that makes his heart stutter and his throat close up. He stares down at the floor, pressing his lips together. He knows he should speak up —they still have time, they can still come up with a plan— but his throat seems to have lost the connection to his brain.

“And you did?” Tim raises his eyebrows.

And maybe that’s for the better. Maybe this is his one last chance to do something right. It wouldn’t fix all the wrongs, nothing ever would, but maybe that was some sort of justice he could offer the world. Maybe it would be for the better.

“Well, Jon wanted to kill the whole world to contain them, so we didn't exactly have an alternative,” Martin scoffs, catching Jon’s attention with the tone. “And we were hoping that the Change doesn't happen in other worlds. The Fears would have marginal access to them, just like they did before the Change happened in ours. And—And we couldn’t exactly be held accountable for what could possibly, maybe happen in alternate universes, now, could we?”

Jon grinds his teeth to stop himself from arguing. There's no point reviving the same discussion, not after the fact. They've got to press forward and face what’s awaiting them. One way or another.

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you ended up here,” Sasha points out.

An uncomfortable silence follows her words. From the corner of his eye Jon sees Martin look away and bite his lips. Something heavy makes itself at home in his chest.

“We had an argument,” he speaks, taking extreme care that his voice doesn't show any emotions. “Martin and I. I… I could really destroy them all at the source. I had a chance to end it all for good. I had to take it.”

“You mean, you had to orchestrate the most elaborate suicide—”

“Martin.” Jon's voice takes on an exasperated edge. “This isn't about me, it’s about all the worlds and all the people I’ve—”

“No, Jon!” Martin stops and looks at him with desperation in his eyes, letting go of his hand. “It is about you, it's all about you! The Web chose you, the Eye chose you, and you keep putting yourself in danger because of some fucked up martyr complex—”

“They didn't—They didn't choose me, Martin, I was just” —Jon lets out a frustrated breath. “There's nothing special about me. I was just a conveniently placed chess piece that did exactly what it was meant to.”

“You're not a—a chess piece to me!” Martin says, his eyes glistening.

“I know,” Jon says as softly as he’s able to, and takes Martin's hand. "But the world doesn't care about—"

Martin takes a step back. “I had to kill you,” he whispers shakily. “I really thought I wouldn’t be able to, if it came to that, but I did. I had your fucking blood on my hands, Jon, I had to watch you die. Do you have any idea what it was like? I don't give a fuck what the world cares about and frankly, I feel like we deserve something nice for a change! So, if that’s alright with you, I would like to focus on us this time, without involving the entire world in it.”

Jon stares at him, too stunned for words for a moment. Martin clicks his own flashlight on and steps past Tim and Sasha, who are equally speechless, albeit for slightly different reasons.

“Come on, let's go,” Martin says.

None of them look each other in the eye for a while and the silence hangs heavy. Jon bites the inside of his cheek to stifle the self-loathing lapping at his core in powerful waves, as he rewinds Martin's words in his mind. Of course he's still reliving what happened in the Panopticon, why didn't he think of that? How could he be so heartless? Talking about the Web and the grand scale of things… Martin is still human, it must have been awful for him. How could he—

“A fork. Left or right?” Martin asks.

“Uh, forward,” he says without really listening.

Martin stops and all three of them look back at Jon.

“Jon? There's no forward,” he supplies.

“What do you mean there's” —Jon looks up and pauses. “Oh, good lord.”

“What is it?”

Instead of answering, Jon limps past them and turns to the right.

“Jon—?”

As they all light the corridor, the beams stop at an unmoving figure of an old man, slouched down by the wall. His head is drooping forward, with the chin resting on his bloodied chest, and his eyes are half-lidded, unfocused. A pool of dark liquid has gathered on the floor beneath him, already substantial but still fresh.

“Shit,” Martin hisses between his teeth. “Is that who I think it is?”

“In the flesh,” Jon replies gravely, as he kneels carefully next to the body. “Jurgen Leitner.”

“Wait.” Tim blinks in confusion. “You don’t mean—”

“Yes, Tim,” Martin presses his lips together. “That Jurgen Leitner.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Guess we mark him as no longer missing,” Sasha mutters under her nose. “What d’you think happened to him?”

“Jonah Magnus,” Jon supplies, rising to his feet, and shoots a glance at Martin. “He took the book as well.”

“Is there a way to get there without it?”

“We’ll find a way around.” Jon frowns and looks off to the side. “He might try to stop us.”

“Can he even find us here?” Martin asks. “I thought this was a blind spot.”

“I don’t know.” Jon shakes his head lightly. He glances at Tim and Sasha hesitantly. “This could get dangerous very fast. The tunnels are—”

“We know what we signed up for, Jon,” Sasha replies, her face changing instantly from concern to stubborn determination.

“Do you?” Jon quirks his eyebrow inquisitively at Tim, who has been rather hanging back.

Tim looks up at him startled, as if feeling his gaze on his skin. There’s a moment where the entirety of Tim’s identity is sprawled open before Jon — every thought and feeling, every memory, both remembered and lost — everything that makes him who he is for Jon to Know. He vividly remembers rebuilding this identity from the very core. There’s nothing inside Tim that could be hidden now.

Tim lets out a breath and the quiver of his lips is the only sign of his distress, invisible to the eyes of others. Jon sees the fear in the glint of his eye as he relives the memory of being ripped apart and put together again every time he closes his eyes.

“I—I mean,” he stammers out and laughs to relieve some of the tension. Does he even know where it’s coming from? Does he realize Jon was the one to put the pieces of him together? “We can’t turn back now, can we?”

Jon blinks, forcibly withdrawing himself back to his own body. He grips his cane so hard his knuckles go white, unable to fight off a grimace. Or is it a smile?

“Yeah, we can’t. Let’s go.” Sasha waves her flashlight further down the corridor.

“What do we do with him though?” Martin asks, pointing at the body. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“What else are we supposed to do?” Sasha shrugs. “We can call the cops later, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

“Yeah, she’s right,” Tim says and clears his throat. “We do not want to be found near his body with a knife.”

“Okay, fair.”

Jon limps behind the rest of them as they continue forward through the tunnels. He entertains the thought of sneaking off and finishing this on his own, but that wouldn’t do anyone any good. He knew extracting Tim from the NotThem would have its consequences, but this… If Tim and Sasha are bound to him rather than to the Institute, then killing Jonah Magnus will do nothing to set them free. Better to continue with the former plan. And as for Martin…

Jon frowns at the ground. Can he do something like that to him, after everything?

Then again, he is already beyond redemption. Another unforgivable sin on his record wouldn’t make much of a difference.

He doesn’t notice Martin sidestepping him until his hand is taken hold of. He looks up to meet his concerned gaze.

“Hey,” he says in a hushed tone. Jon averts his eyes, the ache in his chest too strong to bear. He hears Martin sigh softly. “I understand if you’re angry with me.”

Unwittingly, Jon looks back up, ready to wipe away doubts of this sort, at least.

“I’m not!” He assures and squeezes his hand. “I’m not angry with you, I promise.”

“Then what’s going on?” Martin asks. “Talk to me, Jon.”

Jon looks ahead and bites his lip. They’ve lagged behind a bit, but Tim and Sasha seem to keep their distance, apart from the occasional glance back. Giving them some space, perhaps.

“I’m just worried,” Jon says carefully. “About what we’re going to do. What we’re going to find.”

Technically not a lie. Martin frowns and studies his face, but Jon knows he can’t see very well in the dark.

“Seems pretty straightforward to me,” he replies cautiously, as if daring Jon to reveal a detail that would derail the whole operation. “We go in there, we stab the bastard, we get out. Right?”

Jon can’t bring himself to look Martin in the eye.

“He’s going to be there,” he says half-heartedly. “He won’t go out without a fight, you know that.”

“There’s four of us and one of him, I think I like our chances,” he chuckles and gently nudges Jon with his elbow. “What’s on your mind? Honestly. I can see it’s not that.”

Jon stops with a sigh and passes a thumb over Martin’s palm, looking down at their hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Jon—”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he continues, looking up into Martin’s eyes. “Back then. It must have been horrible. I didn’t think… I—I can’t even imagine…”

Martin’s features smooth out in a sad smile and he brings up his hand to Jon’s face.

“It’s okay,” he mutters. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I got… A bit carried away.”

Jon stares into Martin’s eyes for a moment and wishes it could become eternity. This is the face of the man he sacrificed everything for — the destruction of the very beings of fear, the thing he deemed the right thing to do. His life was more important than all the other universes, all the other people in them; all the people in this universe, Tim and Sasha included. And still, he was so close to losing him…

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to carry the sound. He feels tears forming in his eyes, so he closes them. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He’s pulled into a hug that lightens the load he bears just a little bit, for a little while. Martin passes a hand through Jon’s hair and turns his head to press a kiss to his temple.

“I’m glad you stayed here long enough,” he whispers, and a new pit opens in Jon’s stomach. He feels the emptiness acutely when Martin pulls away. “Let’s go finish the job, yeah?”

Jon hesitates as Martin directs his flashlight away. A hurricane of thoughts and guilt-ridden feelings rises in his mind, but one thought is clear: he can’t do this to Martin. Not again. Not like this.

“Shit,” Martin speaks before Jon can say anything. “I can’t see them anymore.”

He starts ahead, faster than Jon can keep up with, and the words die in his throat, replaced with the low thrumming of dread. Martin sweeps the corridor with his light, but there is no trace of Tim or Sasha anywhere.

“They’re gone,” Jon realizes.

Martin turns to him, alarmed. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“They’re… Not here anymore,” he forces out through the tightness in his throat. The tunnels —the presence of them— encroaches on his mind, making itself known.

They’ve left the Archives’ territory and stepped into Something Else. He remembers the hunger of the earth, the walls pressing in on him from all sides — this is the domain of the Buried.

And he let his assistants out of Sight.

***

“Should we wait?” Tim asks, casting another backward glance at Jon and Martin. They’d slowed their pace to build some distance, and both Tim and Sasha took it as a sign not to interrupt the conversation they clearly needed to have. Now, it seems they’ve stopped altogether, and they’re already far away as it is.

“It’s fine, they’ll catch up,” Sasha waves her hand. “Besides, with Jon’s all-knowing abilities, they’ll find us if we get lost.”

“You know, it would be best not to get lost, if we can help it,” he says, but he still follows her lead forward.

“Think of this as scouting ahead,” she suggests with a smirk. “It’s not like we can make a wrong turn here or anything.”

Indeed, the corridor continues forward seemingly without end or so much as an alcove on either side. The farther they get from the archives the more decrepit the tunnels look, some more earthy and some roughly hewn in stone. Water and age have taken their toll on the state of the place, carving the walls and, in places, even forming stalactites.

Tim casts another look behind. It’s getting colder the deeper they descend, and a nagging feeling of anxiety has been buzzing in his stomach for a while now.

“Oh, what the hell?” Sasha mutters. “Look at that.”

Her beam of light points at a break in the wall, quite narrow and steeply descending downwards. The steps are uneven and no doubt slippery, but what immediately draws Tim’s attention is the simple, stark-white arrow pointing down the passage.

“Don’t tell me you wanna go in there,” Tim scoffs half-heartedly.

“Someone must have drawn it,” she says, lightly touching the arrow with her finger. A chalky residue sticks to it.

“Who, Elias?” Tim laughs. “If you just go right this way, this claustrophobic, horror passage will lead you to your death, where you can’t bother me and my Wednesday scheduling anymore.”

“Ha ha.” She rolls her eyes. She directs her light further down the stairs, but it doesn’t reach the end. “I wonder what’s down there.”

“With our luck, probably some kind of a sculking nightmare,” he mutters, taking another look back. His light doesn’t reach Martin this time. “I think we should—”

“Hold on, I think I see something.”

He turns back around to find Sasha already a few steps down the staircase.

“Sasha!” He hisses. “I’m not going down there with you.”

“I’m just taking a look!” She turns around with an amused expression. “I’m sure the lovebirds will catch up in no time, might as well take a peek, alright?”

“Famous last words,” Tim sighs in defeat. He knows this brand of excitement in her voice — she will not be deterred until her curiosity is sated. “I’m not coming to your funeral if something eats you.”

“If something eats me I probably won’t even have a funeral,” Sasha counters with a scoff. “Thanks a lot, Stoker.”

“You brought this on yourself, Miss Have To See It For Myself!”

Sasha’s reply is unintelligible, distorted by the echo of the stone. Tim is about to ask her to repeat when she yelps, scrambling back a few steps.

“What happened?!”

“I just felt the wall move,” she breathes out. “I’m getting out.”

“Finally, reason has graced you once more,” Tim sighs with relief. “What was that about walls moving though?”

Sasha climbs up the narrow stairs, helping herself up on the walls. “I felt the wall move under my hand,” she says. “As if it was getting narrower. I might be too curious for my own good, but I’m not stupid.”

“Clearly,” Tim says sarcastically. Sasha swats him on the arm.

“Alright, where are they then?” She asks, directing the light the way they came.

“I can’t see them.” The words come out of his mouth weaker than he expects them to. Anxiety churns in his gut and a cold feeling constricts his chest. He takes a step forward, searching the darkness frantically.

A dead end.

What he previously took as darkness where the light of his torch didn’t reach, now turns out to be a solid, stone wall right where the tunnel used to be. There are markings of age on the stone which seamlessly connects with the walls on both sides of the corridor, as if the structure hasn’t changed in years.

“Sasha…” Tim says as if she somehow hasn’t noticed.

“Impossible corridors…” She mutters, eyeing the walls suspiciously. “It’s got to be Michael, right?”

“What would it be doing here?” Tim scoffs, carefully stepping backwards.

“I don’t know, what would it be doing anywhere?” Sasha shrugs. “We should move.”

“God, we’re going to die here,” he groans.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she nudges him in the arm. “He’s helped us before. Maybe he’ll lead us back to Jon.”

Tim lets out a weak, noncommital sound. He sweeps the walls with his light every now and then as they walk down the tunnel, trying not to let the shaking of his hands show. The silence around them presses heavy on his shoulders, and the echo of their steps makes an uncomfortable amount of noise. How long have they been underground? What time even is it? He imagines daylight and a clear sky, and for a second they both feel like a dream that’s never been real.

The corridor starts gently curving to the left. If Tim’s spatial skills are anything to go by, they should be heading northwest from where they split up with Jon and Martin, so at the next crossroad they should keep to the left and hopefully catch up to them from that side. A side look at Sasha tells him she’s making similar calculations in her head.

“Hey, Sash,” he whispers. “What do you think about… All this?”

She glances at him briefly. “’All this’? I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

He chuckles weakly. “Just… Jon and his… whole thing. Killing Elias? Just...” He sighs. “If I knew what this job really was, I never would’ve taken it.”

“Well, that’s probably reasonable,” she shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe it hasn’t really hit me yet, you know? But I’m just going with it, spooky distorted people, worm women, omniscient bosses…” She lets out a laugh. “I think I knew something like that would happen to me eventually.”

“What about Jon?” Tim asks tensely.

“What about him?”

He looks away with a frown. “I don’t know. Don’t you get a… Weird feeling around him? Ever since…” He hesitates.

“Weird how?” She inquires with a side look at him.

“Just… Like he’s watching you all the time, noticing every single thing you do.” Tim grimaces as a shiver climbs up his spine simply at the memory. “Like there’s nothing you could possibly hide or keep away from him.”

“That does sound in line with what he told us about the Eye,” she offers. “I haven’t really felt like that though. Not to a noticable degree at least.”

Tim’s throat tightens with an unnamed anxiety. He grits his teeth, staring down at the floor ahead.

“Are you okay?” Sasha peers up at his face.

“It’s just…” He hesitates again, his lungs feeling slightly too small for comfortable breathing. “Don’t tell Jon,” he starts quietly. “But… You know how he told us we can’t quit the Archives, right?”

Sasha nods attentively.

“Well. I sort of. Tried,” he continues. “Wrote up all sorts of resignation letters, more or less professional. Almost wrote Elias an email to just fuck off and let us go. I even searched how to get law reinforcement involved, but I just… Couldn’t follow through. I’d always somehow end up deleting the drafts or just abandoning the attempts.”

“Yeah,” Sasha smiles slightly. “I tried that myself once, just to see if I really couldn’t, but I obviously don’t actually want to quit, so...”

“But…” Tim tightens his hold on the flashlight to stop his hand from shaking. “I didn’t want to come here. These tunnels… They’re too much. I was going to stay at the archives, maybe call up Gerry and help with whatever mess you three would surely end up creating down here.”

Sasha stops, staring at him with a frown. “What? Why didn’t you say so?”

He chuckles stiffly. “I couldn’t. Jon looked at me like he could… Pierce me to the core, like he knew every single little thing I was afraid of and still wanted more. And it was just like with those resignation letters. Not worth the hassle. Too late to turn back now. Always some excuse not to follow through.”

Sasha blinks at him, concern and doubt visible in her eyes. Tim shakes his head self-consciously and looks away.

“You don’t believe me.”

“No, I,” —she tuts. “I do believe you, I just... Are you sure it’s that? It’s normal to have doubts about places like this, but Jon wouldn’t force you to come with us if he knew you didn’t want to.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “Do we still know what he would do? Martin got his memories back and instantly proposed murder!”

“Okay, so what exactly are you saying?” She frowns with concern.

“I’m not saying anything, I’m just…” He groans. “Maybe they’re not the people we know anymore, Sash. If they’re still people.”

Sasha bites her lip. “That’s a pretty bold statement.”

“And causing an apocalypse and forcing people to spill their trauma isn’t?”

“You’re saying we shouldn’t trust Jon anymore,” she gives him a serious look. “That’s different.”

An echoing sound of quick footsteps down the corridor turns their attention towards the yawning darkness. First, they see the faint light of a flashlight — the next second Jon appears in their view, clumsily leaning on his cane, with eyes wide and full of barely hidden fear. Behind him, Martin shows up with a similarly concerned expression that soon melts into relief.

“Here you are,” Jon sighs heavily. He leans one hand on his knee to catch his breath. “Are you okay? Did anything get you?”

“Get us?” Sasha frowns. “No. Just some weird stuff happened with the corridor, so we might get a friendly visit from Michael, but otherwise—”

“What, Michael?” Jon asks, surprised by the name. “No, that’s not him. The—The tunnels are something else.”

“There’s something else in here?” Tim raises his eyebrows.

“Not to my knowledge.” Jon shakes his head. “The tunnels themselves are… something though.”

“Best not to think about it too much,” Martin offers with a faint laugh, seeing Tim’s distaste.

“I’m glad you’re okay. We’re not far now,” Jon says, looking them both over again and turning his gaze away. Tim gets that uncomfortable feeling again; he feels Jon’s stare on his skin, in his eyes, into his very core. Don’t tell Jon, he told Sasha. How utterly naïve.

His legs start following Jon’s lead without caring to check in with his brain as they walk in the direction he and Sasha have just come from. When he glances at her, he finds her already looking back with a question in her eyes — What do we do? Tim swallows heavily, not knowing how to answer.

She must get something from his expression though, because she turns to Jon and stops abruptly.

“Jon,” she starts with conviction in her voice. He turns around, startled.

“Y-Yes?”

“Do you know the way back to the archives?”

Jon blinks at her for a second, as if he did not expect a question like this.

“I—I think so? I mean, if you’re worried about getting back, there shouldn’t be any trouble after—after everything…” He trails off, blinking heavily. “Why do you ask?”

“Would we make it there if we wanted to go back now?” She asks, gently pointing with her head towards Tim. He looks between her and Jon with stiff anticipation.

“You, uh… You want to go back?” Jon’s eyes stop at Tim and immediately widen with realization. “Oh. Uh, I…”

“You know what we talked about,” Tim states with a sinking feeling.

“I—I…” Jon takes a breath. “Tim, I didn’t…”

“You didn’t what?” Anger starts to bubble in his chest. “Don’t say you didn’t know.”

Jon takes a step back, horror written on his face. Martin places a steadying hand on his arm, looking beween them all with confusion.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“I can—I can explain,” Jon looks at Tim pleadingly. A part of him is growing to hate this expression that tries to play innocent, yet begging for forgiveness. As if he knows he’s already done something unforgivable.

“Apparently that’s the only thing I can ask of you,” he growls. “So please, go ahead.”

Jon shakes his head in disbelief. “I didn’t… Tim, I didn’t intend any of this. I didn’t think… I didn’t know this would happen.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Martin insists.

“In—In the Artifact Storage, when I, uh, pulled Tim from the NotThem,” Jon says, frantically searching the floor with his eyes, as if the solution was misplaced there somewhere. “I had to… I had to remake him. Extract the pieces of his being as knowledge I could glean from it and put him back together. I… I’m not even sure how I was able to do that,” he lets out a laugh. “By all accounts that should be impossible. But… I didn’t think it would have consequences like this but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Damn it.” He closes his eyes, in pain or in shame — or both.

“What consequences?” Martin asks with horror dawning on his face. Jon looks up at Tim, his voice quiet but dispassionate.

“You belong to the Eye now.” He pauses and adds, quieter. “You belong to me.”

Tim’s world shrinks to contain only Jon —or whatever he’s really become— and the impassive eyes that watch and drink in the horror of realization on his face, in his body, and mind. Tim didn’t know if he’d believed in a god before, but it doesn’t matter anymore — right now he stands face to face with his literal maker, who feeds on his fear. Who is his fear.

What kind of life awaits him, if his fear knows everything there is to know about him?

“Stop it,” he hisses, stepping back and shaking his head. “Just… Stop. Get away from me.”

“I’m really sorry, Tim,” Jon says quietly. “If I didn’t do it, your fate would be worse than death. This really is the better outcome.”

“I get it! I get it, okay?” He shouts, glaring at Jon. “D’you expect me to just magically be okay with it? You expect me to go on my merry way knowing my friend turned into a monster?”

“Tim!” Martin looks at him with indignation.

“No point skirting around it anymore, is there?” He takes a breath and grits his teeth. “You should’ve told me.”

Jon finally looks down, and Tim feels ever so slightly vindicated in a way.

“I really didn’t know,” he says. “But I could have. If I paid attention sooner. I wanted to give you time to recover.”

“Don’t paint it as some sort of charity on your part,” he hisses. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have even been here in the first place.”

To his surprise, Jon lets out a mirthless chuckle. “I am sorry, Tim,” he speaks. “There’s nothing more I can give you.”

“Fuck this.” Tim shakes his head and makes up his mind. “And fuck you. I’m done being scared for your sick enjoyment. I’ll find my way back even if it kills me.”

He turns around and forces his feet to walk away.

***

In his mind, Jon curses the lack of foresight to all hells.

He stopped himself from digging deeper into Tim’s mind, extending Martin’s rules from the apocalypse to the rest of them as well as he could. He wouldn’t willingly look in their heads; the fact that he had to scrape every little piece of knowledge about Tim from the NotThem notwithstanding.

Or so he thought.

If he only looked further, probed deeper, maybe he could’ve noticed Tim was unable to turn back on his own. Maybe he could understand why.

As it is, he watches him turn heel and stride the other way. Martin calls after him and, when that proves unfruitful, looks at Jon incredulously.

Jon’s eyes meet Sasha’s for a moment. She draws her eyebrows together, clearly weighing choices in her mind. Then, she shakes her head slightly and runs after Tim.

“Aren’t you going to stop them?” Martin asks in disbelief.

“Do you think I could?” Jon replies, clearly knowing the answer. “I did this to him.”

“Jon…”

“I know what you’re going to say, Martin,” Jon interrupts, still staring at the lights disappearing in the darkness. Then he turns around and starts walking. “And it doesn’t change anything. We have to kill Elias.”

“So, you’re just not going to talk about this?” Martin follows.

“What is there to talk about?” He sighs heavily. “This was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“It’s not your fault,” Martin insists. “You saved his life.”

“I appreciate you saying that,” Jon says almost automatically in a tired voice.

“I would like you to agree, though.”

Jon keeps staring forward like his life depends on it. The weight of their destination sits heavy in his chest. One more reason to follow through with his plan. He’d be leaving a mess behind, but… At least he’d fix something.

Martin sighs. “Are they going to be safe out here?” He asks.

“I think so.” Jon nods. “I don’t know for sure. Nothing ever actually happened to us in our time, though.”

“Will they find their way back?”

Jon smirks slightly despite everything. “The archives will act like a beacon to Tim, whether he acknowledges it or not. I suspect they’ll be fine.”

The walls of the tunnel soon open up to a vast space of the chamber. Stone-hewn openings yawn from the circular walls at various heights, hundreds of corridors leading further into the maze. And at the centre of it all, the tower.

It's smaller than the one they climbed after the Change, and definitely less daunting. It still looms over them, surrounded by silence as thick and oppressing as if material, and both of them feel it would not be wise to disturb it.

“I can’t believe we’re here again,” Martin mutters almost inaudibly. “Where is he?”

“Inside.” Jon hesitates. The tower radiates finality, and he’s suddenly very aware of Martin’s hand in his own. He squeezes it, mostly to reassure himself. Is he really prepared to let him down one final time?

“Martin…”

“Hello, Jon.” A voice echoes from the entrance to the tower, and Elias comes into view to greet them. With a spark of vindication Jon notices a bandage on his right hand. “Martin. You really took your time getting here.”

“It’s over,” Martin announces and draws his knife. “Prepare to die.”

Elias smirks and tilts his head curiously. “Straight to business, then? Somehow, I don’t think that’s quite how this little meeting is going to go. Am I wrong, Jon?”

Jon curses in his head. “I’ll kill you myself if I have to,” he growls.

“And deprive Martin of his sweet revenge?” Elias raises his eyebrows. “How selfish of you.”

Jon grits his teeth, guilt twisting his insides.

“Martin,” he mutters, as if that provided them with a shred of privacy in this place. “You have to trust me now, okay? Give me the knife.”

“What?” He looks down at him with a confused frown. “You really want to argue about that right now?”

“Trust me.”

Elias chuckles in genuine amusement. “Oh, sweet, ignorant Martin. It is a kind of joy to be able to play such mind games with people, isn’t it, Jon? Knowing so much they just have to trust that you know what you’re doing.”

“Shut up!” Jon snarls.

“Such a shame you’re so self-destructive,” he tuts. “You really showed great promise.”

Jon sees Martin tighten his grip on the knife, ready to close the distance. He lets go of his cane to grip Martin’s other hand.

“Don’t!” He hisses. “Please, trust me. Let me do this.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Martin looks at him desperately without comprehension. “What does it matter?”

“You really haven’t told him, have you?” Elias shakes his head. “Maybe you and Gertrude aren’t that different after all. You keep surprising me, Archivist.”

“Told me what, exactly?” Martin growls at Elias, keeping a strong grip on the knife.

“Martin, I…”

“That if you kill me, you’ll kill him as well.” The smirk on his face betrays just how much he’s enjoying this revelation.

“What?” Martin laughs. “You can’t seriously believe this bullshit will work on us.”

Jon squeezes his hands tighter, and that must give him pause, because he looks back at Jon. His smile falls away.

“No,” he lets out. “Don’t tell me that’s true.”

“I was going to tell you,” Jon whispers, clinging to Martin’s faltering hands. “I just…”

“You wanted to use poor Martin to kill yourself out of guilt,” Elias finishes for him. “No need to sugarcoat it for him now.”

Martin drops the knife to the floor and pulls away from Jon, all blood draining from his face.

“You just what?” He asks shakily. “When were you going to tell me, exactly?”

“I—I just thought…” Jon grimaces at his own inarticulacy. “You are all still bound to me. Not to him, not to the Institute — to me. Killing him would not give any of you freedom. And Tim… You said it yourself, you all deserve something nice for a change! You deserve a life away from all of this! And I could—”

“You can’t be serious right now,” he laughs disbelievingly. “You were going to make me do it again…”

“No!” Jon steps towards Martin, instinctively reaching out, trying to make him understand. “I wasn’t! I—I promise, I wasn’t going to actually let that happen. I wanted to tell you.”

“You wanted to be the one to kill him,” Martin points out, grasping for the detail like it could save him from drowning. “Why? What difference does that make?”

“I—I, uh…” Jon glances at the knife and takes a breath. “I am the Institute’s Archive,” he says quietly. “If it dies, I die as well. But Jonah Magnus’ death doesn’t have to mean the death of the Institute.”

“You’re kidding me.” Martin looks horrified. “You want to take his place?”

“I don’t!” Jon’s voice raises without his intention in the heat of the moment. “I don’t want any of this! I didn’t mean for it, I didn’t want any of it, and it still happened! There are no right choices anymore, all of them are incredibly bad or worse, and I’m the one who takes responsibility! When I say the world doesn’t care about our feelings, Martin, this is what I mean. We’ve never had any other choice than that between inhumanity and death.”

With that, he picks up the knife and looks up at Elias. The dawning terror on his face shows he’s just realized his miscalculation.

“Jon—”

“You thought I really wanted to let Martin do it,” he speaks out of breath. “And you knew Martin never would. But I’m afraid you were wrong.”

He closes the distance between them before Elias has a chance to get his bearings, and he pushes the knife deep between his ribs.

“No…” Elias groans, gripping Jon’s wounded shoulder tightly. In the fervor of his fury he barely even feels the pain. “I—”

Jon lets him fall to the floor when his body goes limp in his arms. For a moment he just stands there, his hands shaking uncontrollably. The blood covering his skin is warm and sticky, and the smell makes him nauseous.

“This body doesn’t really matter,” he says emotionlessly. “It’s the original one that counts.”

“…What happens when you kill it?” Martin’s voice behind him is quiet. Sad.

“It won’t destroy the Institute,” Jon replies, still unmoving. “It won’t free any of you. But we will be rid of him forever.”

“What happens to you?” Martin repeats a bit impatiently.

“I don’t know.” Jon shrugs numbly. “I don’t imagine much will change. I’m already…” His voice cracks. “I’m already something entirely else.”

“Jon—”

“It feels right to do it,” Jon says in disgust. “Just as it felt right to walk the apocalypse world. I can feel the pull of the Eye, which is why I didn’t want to do it, but…” His voice becomes thick and he can feel the prickling in his eyes. His hands still tremble, and he knows he won’t be able to stop the tears this time. “I just couldn’t do that to you again. Everything I do comes back around to hurt you and I just...” He stifles a sob, his legs barely supporting his weight. “I just wanted to do this one thing right for you—”

Martin catches him before he falls, and pulls him into a tight embrace. “Oh, Jon…”

“My conscience didn’t let me let you send the Fears away but I still did,” he continues, words tumbling out of his words before he can stop them. “I thought—I thought I had to atone for that. I was ready to make myself pay for all the… the transgressions if I could take him with me, if I could give Tim back his freedom,” he lets out a laugh. “But I can’t. I’m weaker than you, Martin, so much weaker. I—I couldn’t watch you die. And I couldn’t hurt you like this again. I don’t want to hurt you ever again.”

“It’s okay, Jon.” Martin places a hand on the crown of his head, gently rubbing his fingers on his scalp. “It’s okay now.”

“I—I tried to cling to my humanity, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore,” he whispers. “And I think it might not even matter. Time and time again I prove to myself that I just can’t. Do it.”

“Jon. It’s alright. You don’t have to—”

“Because of you,” he whispers somewhere near to Martin’s ear, gripping his arms tight. He falls quiet. “You’re all I have left, Martin. You’re all that matters to me. S-So if I have to live as a monster who can only inspire fear? If that’s the only way I can be here with you? Then so be it.”

Jon feels Martin’s arms tighten around him. He looks up at his face to see silent tears on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. For all of this,” he adds quietly.

“It—It would be easier if you’d just talk to me, you know?” Martin lets out a laugh. “We’re supposed to figure it out together. You have to… You’ve got to tell me stuff like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Jon looks down. “I almost did a couple times, but there was always something… And then I’d feel like it’s too late. There was a voice in my head that wanted to… I thought maybe some good would come out of it, you know.”

“I know, Jon.” Martin’s palm cups his face, and he passes his thumb on Jon’s cheek. “But you can do more good being here. We can do more good. Together. Okay?”

Jon sniffles and nods, trying for a smile. “Where you go, I go.”

Martin smiles, spilling more tears onto his cheeks. “Yeah. That’s the deal.”

Jon casts a glance at Elias’ body lying just under their feet, and lets out an unwitting chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Jon looks away almost bashfully. “I just remembered something about you wanting to make out over his corpse.”

After a second of processing what he’s heard, Martin bursts out laughing.

“We just had a tearful heart-to-heart and this is where your mind’s at?” He teases.

“Well, we are just standing here, aren’t we?” Jon tilts his head with a faint spark of playfulness in his eyes. “Would you rather I ask if you’re a ghost?”

That’s all the invitation Martin apparently needs. His lips are warm and familiar when he presses them against Jon’s. His eyes falling closed, Jon hooks his arm around Martin’s neck to pull him closer and, in doing so, smushing his nose against his glasses.

Like riding a bike after a long break, they find their rhythm almost instantly after that. Martin lets out an involuntary sigh, his hand diving deeper into Jon’s hair, while Jon himself deepens the kiss like a man starving. He savours Martin’s sure and solid presence pressed against his own body, rediscovering just how much safer he feels in his arms. He breathes Martin in, and he smells like home.

They pull away, out of breath and shaking slightly from emotion. Martin’s eyes glisten, now less with tears and more with something far more meaningful — hope.

“What happens now?” He asks almost inaudibly, as if afraid of dispelling the feeling.

“I’ll go up the tower,” Jon says, painfully reminded of the task ahead. “End this.”

“I’m coming with you,” Martin announces, in a voice that is prepared to argue. Jon just smiles fondly.

“Alright.” He nods.

“Do you have to…” Martin hesitates. “You know. Actually take his place? With that whole… uh, eye-jumping thing?”

Jon’s eyes widen and he lets out a surprised laugh. “No! No, good lord. Thankfully, that’s not necessary.”

Martin heaves a sigh of relief. “Oh. Good. Good, that we can do.”

He picks up Jon’s cane and the knife from the floor. Jon frowns with amusement while he takes them.

“Would you… I mean, I’m obviously not going to do that, but… Would you still be on board if I said I had to?” He looks up to observe Martin’s reaction keenly.

He looks at him, startled at first, then his cheeks turn a bit red when he realizes Jon is teasing him.

“Look,” he presses his lips together in barely held in laughter. “I’m just glad you don’t, okay? Don’t laugh at me.”

“Just wanted to hear you say it.” Jon gives him a self-satisfied grin.

“Fine. I would still love you if you had to pick someone’s eyeballs.” Martin rolls his eyes. “But I’d be picking the people you’d jump into.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you have standards now,” Jon replies, as they make their way towards the entrance to the tower.

“Of course I do,” Martin smirks. “Tired, academic, oblivious. Sweater vests are a must.”

“Hilarious, Martin,” Jon deadpans, not hiding his amusement very well.

“Oh, they also have to play up the accent for shits and giggles, otherwise no deal.”

“I’m not playing it up—”

“Mhm,” Martin hums sceptically.

“Well, it’s definitelly not for shits and giggles.” Jon grimaces with distaste.

“So, you admit—”

“Oh, shut up,” Jon rolls his eyes with a smile.

Ascending the stairs is a feat with Jon’s wounds, but the tower is nowhere as tall as the one in the apocalypse world. The chamber at the top is open, with thirteen openings in the outer wall looking out all around the structure. At the centre, there’s a stone-hewn throne, upon which sits the two hundred year-old body of Jonah Magnus.

The body is visibly withered and slightly decayed, but there is no smell of rotting flesh, and most of the bones are still hidden under the skin. His hair has mostly fallen out, as have his teeth, and his eye sockets yawn with emptiness.

“Is it weird that I sort of expect him to move?” Martin asks in a whisper.

“Let’s make sure he doesn’t.” Jon adjusts his grip on the knife and walks up to the body.

From this point he can feel the power of the Eye and the others, like electricity condensing in one spot. His hairs stand on end as his hand is directed over Jonah Magnus’ chest almost without his conscious input. He’s been denying the Eye for far too long. With one push he can finally seize power from the man who had ruined the world; step above the boundries and redefine them however he wishes.

This world is nothing compared to the rich landscape after the Change, but that is not to say it is without any merit. There is plenty of fear to be found, plenty of people who beg to be heard, noticed and Seen — plenty of them he can yet make his.

As he plunges the knife into the chest of the founder of the Institute, his eyes fall closed, and something in his chest lurches. Images and feelings flash before his eyes, spanning years of searching, cataloguing and gathering statements of fear. Trying to understand and if not that, then to know and see how this thing called fear works, just to answer one simple question.

How do you stop being afraid of death?

The answer found itself in witnessing the fear of others, of watching and revelling in it, of wanting more. In finding a Power, something other than god, something more — something real. Something that bestowed upon him the gift of evading that which he was always most afraid of.

Naturally, he sought to give back to the power that had become his life, forsaking the ways of mortals who never really knew, never understood how the world worked. Naturally, he sought to remake the world, like so many others attempting before him, so that the power he served would thrive, and that he would thrive with it.

Then it’s over. His hand still grasping the knife trembles, his eyes fill with tears, and a giggling laugh escapes his lips. Jonah Magnus lies dead before him, and Jon can feel the deep, primal fear in his mind. He watched with sightless eyes as the knife approached and sunk in his chest, and Jon can witness him standing on the precipice of his greatest nightmare.

Jonah stands at the edge of a dark cliff, with a yawning, hungry abyss behind him, and Jon watches. He watches the little redheaded boy, in fancy, colorful frills of the nineteenth century look up at him with brown-grey eyes, wide open in fear. He sobs, trying to climb away from the crumbling precipice, but something just doesn’t let him. He calls out to Jon.

It would be all too easy to reach out and help him. Grasp his frail little hand and pull him out of that deathly chasm. But Jon stays back, the pleas of the child falling on deaf ears.

“Jon!”

He feels something touch his body — did the boy manage to grab purchase? Jon flinches, swats the touch away, pushes whatever it is towards that chasm — nothing but him is allowed the safety. Everything but him must be afraid.

The boy screams as he loses his footing on the shifting stone. His eyes flash before Jon’s face, presented perfectly for him to savour the final moment of overbearing terror as he falls to his demise. His cry still reverberates in his ears, even as he disappears in the darkness below.

Jon finds himself back in the Panopticon, sprawled on the floor, his cane abandoned nearby. Martin has retreated to the wall; his hands are outstretched in a placating gesture.

His face paints a stark picture of fear.

“You’re afraid of me,” Jon mumbles, his voice cracking slightly.

“Just because you tried to wrestle with me,” Martin says defensively. “I was afraid you’d hurt yourself. What happened?”

“I—I, uh…” Jon looks around to bring himself back to reality. “I saw Jonah Magnus meet his end.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Martin snorts nervously. “Why did you attack me?”

“Ah… Attacked you?” Jon blinks at him without comprehension.

“I thought you were going to pass out, so I tried to help.” Martin keeps observing Jon cautiously. “But your face… And you pushed me away, started fighting when I tried to bring you back…”

“Christ, I’m sorry, Martin.” Jon winces as he tries to stand up. Martin instinctively comes closer to help, but falters halfway. “I—I have to admit I wasn’t exactly myself.”

“Are you… Back?” He asks.

“Yes. Yes, I think so.” Jon tries to smile, but his shoulder wound has chosen this time to be particularly painful. He ends up grimacing and clutching at the bandage.

“So it’s done?” Martin looks at Magnus’ body. “He’s dead dead?”

“Dead dead.” Jon nods. “I’m… I’m the heart of the Institute now.”

Martin gives him a tense look. “What does that mean for us?”

Jon chuckles mirthlessly and shakes his head.

“I have no idea.”

***

The legal aspect of it all is a new kind of nightmare Jon has not anticipated to ever deal with. The documents have not magically amended themselves, so any claims to the position of the Head of the Intitute would be refuted, if not ridiculed. And they didn’t exactly have time to ask Elias for an express promotion before Jon killed him.

Martin’s suggestion to just let the fate of the Institute run its course while sound, would not be viable. Throughout the years, the place had become a sort of stronghold to the Eye, a place of power (to avoid the use of the word ‘temple’), and it would be a great loss to let it go.

Martin then offers to help — while his legal forgery isn’t the strongest, he could easily lie his way through as many interviews and negotiations as needed. Jon meagerly suggests he could hold some information over some people’s heads, but this line of thought is quickly shut down and not spoken about again.

“Can’t you just Know what we need to do?” Martin whines, sorting mindlessly through the papers on Elias’ desk. Jon rolls his eyes.

“That’s not how it works,” he says. “Elias could wing it however he wanted because if someone had a problem—”

“—He threw their trauma back at them, yes, yes, I know,” Martin sighs. “Obviously, we’re not doing that.”

“Obviously.” 

Martin eyes Jon carefully. After a moment, Jon chuckles.

“I’m not suggesting it, stop looking at me like that.” 

“So, what do we do?”

“Sasha used to be good at this stuff,” Jon says grimly. “We could use them. Both of them.”

“Only they could be anywhere at this point,” Martin sighs, rubbing at his face.

“Not quite. I’m pretty sure they…” Jon looks away for a moment. “Yes. They’re both at Sasha’s place.”

“That’s not far,” Martin picks up. “We can still catch a tube.”

“Right now?” Jon looks over his bloodied clothes and sighs in defeat. “Let me grab my coat.”

The ride there is quiet; under a layer of a newly established peace, there is tension brewing about the imminent conversation. Jon keeps his eyes glued to the ground most of the time, occasionally looking up at Martin to exchange glances.

When they’re about to walk into the building, Jon stops, grabbing Martin’s arm.

“I think,” he says carefully, “it would be better if I waited here.”

“What?” Martin frowns. “Why?”

“I’m not exactly popular with Tim at the moment,” Jon winces.

“All the better for him to see you’re not some evil entity out to get him, then.”

“That’s the problem,” Jon says. “I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me.”

Martin stares at him for a moment without understanding.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like…” Jon tuts. “You’ve walked through the Change with me. You’re used to it. But people can tell something is… Off. With me. I don’t think it’s exactly pleasant for them.”

“Well, Tim is not people,” Martin points out with indignation. “He’s… Well, Tim! You guys used to be friends!”

Jon lets out a bitter laugh. He knows it isn’t Martin’s intention, but the phrasing still stings.

“You saw him back there,” he says quietly. “He’s scared of me. Do you think he’ll approach it with sense, when he sees I followed him here?”

Martin presses his lips together, clearly unable to deny Jon’s reasoning but not thrilled about it either.

“And you’ll be okay staying here?” He finally asks with a sigh.

“If it helps you get through to them? I’d do anything.”

Martin’s concerned gaze doesn’t leave his face. “Not sure I like this energy, given it’s the Institute we’re talking about,” he mutters. “But okay. I’ll be just up the stairs if you need anything.”

“I know, Martin.” Jon gives him a warm smile and a brief kiss.

Once Martin disappears inside the building, Jon finds a bench nearby and sits down. Instinctively, he reaches into his pocket and produces a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He focuses on the sound of the lighter, on the warmth of the flame near his hand, and on the taste of the smoke; trying to distract his mind from the conversation Martin is about to have. He knows he could listen in — Tim’s mind is a part of him; it would be all too easy to just reach and take all he knows.

Instead, he closes his eyes and listens to the small sounds of the neighbourhood. There are quite a few trees around, and the evening wind rustles in their leaves; an echo of children playing somewhere nearby mingles with the everpresent sound of cars. The smoke burns on his tongue ever so slightly — the familiarity of it calms his mind. He idly wonders whether nicotine even works on him anymore.

“That’s a nice lighter you’ve got there.”

Jon jumps at the dreadfully familiar voice. Next to the bench stands Annabelle Cane, dressed in a vintage black and white suit.

“You,” he breathes, scrambling to his feet. Annabelle lets out a light laugh.

“Relax, Jon. Can I still call you Jon? I’m just here to talk.” She gestures to the bench. “Shall we?”

“What do you want?” Jon asks, disregarding the suggestion.

She rolls her eyes and sits down, leaning her cane against the bench.

“I thought congratulations were in order,” she shrugs. “You’ve got a promotion, from what I hear.”

Jon grits his teeth. “What of it?”

Annabelle sighs. “Are you really so opposed to a bit of friendly conversation?”

“Yes,” he hisses.

“Well, that’s a shame. We both got what we wanted, though. We don’t have to be enemies.”

“You made me send the Fears away,” Jon growls, anger boiling in his chest. “You made me become the Archivist, my whole life just a series of carefully manipulated strings, so you could have what you wanted.”

Annabelle raises her eyebrows in surprise. “And you really think I did all that? Me, personally?”

Jon falters.

“I really wish I could take credit,” she laughs. “But I am just a very small part of something greater. Much like you.”

Jon frowns and looks away. In a sense, she is right. In a sense, there is something greater at work here; something that he doubts he —or she for that matter— could control.

“You brought the tapes to the Institute,” he says. “Why?”

Annabelle gives him another shrug, and he runs out of patience. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to,” she chuckles at the compulsion. “You still don’t see the big picture. You weren’t the only one being puppeteered, Jon — just the only one trying to resist it. I knew that my actions were motivated by what the Mother wanted, but I could tailor them to my advantage. By fulfilling the Mother’s plan, you’ve freed both of us from the Grand Web. My actions are my own once again, and so are yours.”

She puts one leg over her knee. “I told Martin the tapes were a thank-you gift, and I meant it. And, of course, I suspected you wouldn’t be able to eliminate Jonah Magnus without him.” She smirks.

“I’m surprised the Web didn’t want to repeat the last success,” Jon points out snarkily.

“I’m not,” she says. “The world of fear is delightful, but you already know it’s finite. Terminus claims all in the end.”

“So, this outcome is preferable,” Jon grimaces. “Sustainable for longer.”

“Exactly.” She flashes him a smile.

With his adrenaline dropping, he sighs and sits back down. His cigarette has almost burned out, but he takes a last drag. It tastes tangy and bitter.

“You haven’t really answered me,” he speaks. “If it was your decision to bring us the tapes, then why? There must be something else.”

“Must there be?” She chuckles. “Fine, if you must know. I believe it will be more interesting to see what happens next, with him around. You are too easy to predict. No offence.”

Jon looks up at her with a frown. “Interesting how?”

“You and your boyfriend, managing the Institute on your own?” She raises her eyebrows. “I’m curious what you do with it. How you’ll choose to stay alive. And the whole situation with your assistants…” She lets out a giggle. “Really a mess. I’ll be enjoying the show to come.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’ll be very entertaining,” he scowls, knowing there is nothing he could do to really stop her.

“And, of course, there is the case of Martin’s future,” she continues with a slight smirk. “He is mostly human after all.”

A nameless dread grips Jon’s heart.

“He will die, eventually,” she speaks mercilessly. “I wonder what you’ll do with it. Will you try to keep him here at all costs? Or will you let him die a human death? Will there be enough left of you to even want that? Or, maybe he spurns the One Alone and joins us after all, to stay alive. So many possibilities...” She shakes her head with a sigh. “But know one thing, Jon. I may be watching, but I will not interfere. All decisions both of you make will be entirely your own. The question is, whether that is better or worse.”

With the help of her cane, she stands up and tilts her head at him.

“Either way, good luck. You’ll need it.”

Jon swallows and grits his teeth, stifling his emotions for the moment.

“You have an interesting definition of a friendly conversation,” he remarks.

She laughs. “Perhaps. Or, perhaps I am still the director of your story, and this was an important conversation to have. I guess we’ll never know.”

She winks at him and walks away.

Martin takes a big, steadying breath before knocking on Sasha’s door. For a moment there’s only silence, as he figdets with his hands. Will they want to talk to him? Will they be angry? Betrayed? He can’t help but think back to the state of the Archives before the Unknowing in their own timeline. Can they prevent that from happening?

Then the door unlocks and opens to reveal Sasha’s frowning face.

“Where’s Jon?” She asks immediately. There is a surface level of hostility in her voice, but Martin sees that deep down, she is curious. Maybe even glad he showed up.

“Downstairs,” he sighs. “He decided it’d be best if we talked without him.”

“Hm,” Sasha presses her lips together. “Come in, then.”

The flat hasn’t changed since the last time Martin was here, although he barely remembers it through the layers of fog and fear. He remembers Jon’s arms on his shoulders, calling him back from the Lonely in the centre of this very room. The armchair he sat in.

Tim sits on the sofa with a disgruntled look on his face. He eyes Martin suspiciously.

“Hi, Tim,” he tries for a smile, which isn’t reciprocated. Feeling slightly awkward, Martin takes a place in the armchair and leans forward. “We figured, we need to talk.”

Tim scoffs. “Boss didn’t think to show up himself?”

“I can call him up if you want,” Martin offers genuinely. “He’s just down the stairs.”

Tim grits his teeth and looks away.

“I thought so,” Martin says. “And he did as well. It was his idea that I come here alone.”

“So what?” He growls. “He probably knew that I didn’t want him here, because apparently he knows everything about me now.”

Martin glances at Sasha. She’s standing a few steps away from the two of them, listening with her arms crossed. There’s a focused look on her face, and she’s biting her lip, as if she’s silencing herself.

He takes another deep breath. “I’m sure you both know that Jon isn’t… Entirely human anymore.”

“Figured that, did you?”

“Tim, please,” Martin says. “I’m trying to help you approach this.”

“Why should we approach this at all?” He asks. “He’s clearly gone, we should fucking run. All of us.”

A flash of anger passes through Martin’s face, but he quickly regains control of himself.

“We’d die. Most probably,” he says. “We’re all still tied to the Institute whether we want it or not, and we have to approach this somehow. Better together than apart, trust me. We’ve done this before.”

“Institute?” Sasha speaks up. “You didn’t kill Elias?”

Martin deflates. “The situation was… more complicated than we thought. Turns out destroying the Institute would kill Jon as well,” he says quietly. “But if he was the one to kill Elias, he’d… Well. He did take over Elias’ role.”

“Fucking hell,” Tim sighs, hiding his face in his hands.

“So…” Sasha starts carefully. “So, he’s in charge now?”

“Essentially, yes.”

Sasha frowns, looking between Tim and Martin.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” She asks, as if it’s an obvious thing they’re missing.

“We’re still trapped,” Tim points out dispassionately.

“And Jon has no control over it,” Martin finishes. “We’ll probably be stuck here for the rest of our lives.”

“Peachy.”

“There must be something we can use that for,” Sasha insists. “If he’s more powerful—”

“Yes, well, we haven’t gotten there yet,” Martin interrupts her, waving his hand. “We’ve got a bit of a, uh… Paperwork problem. Elias must have gotten these things done through blackmail, but we obviously don’t want to do that, so—”

“Consider it done.” Sasha shrugs, making Martin huff out a laugh. He looks at Tim, carefully choosing his next words.

“I know Jon can be… A lot, sometimes,” he says. “He used to be worse back during the apocalypse, all cryptic phrases, doom and gloom… But he’s still himself, deep down.”

“How can you know that?” Tim grimaces at the table in front of him. “That he’s not something that puts on an act, that tries to get us to let out guard down—”

“Because I know him,” Martin replies gently. “You do too, and if you give him a chance you will see that. He cares about you, and he— We really don’t want to lose you again.”

For a moment, Tim battles his thoughts, staring at the table. Then, he lets out a deflating sigh and looks up at Martin. “Fine. Fine, I’ll give him a chance. Where do we start?”

***

4 Years Later

Jon lets out a heavy sigh and tries to rub the exhaustion from his face. The written statements do make him feel slightly better but they’re not… Enough. They’re not nearly enough, and Jon knows sooner rather than later, he’ll have to face that fact.

“Recording ends,” he says quietly to the recorder and pushes the STOP button. He doesn’t have the energy to resist recording the statements he reads, but he doesn’t leave any follow-up on most of them anymore. The recordings get transferred to the library for any students or other researchers in need, and Jon never sees them again.

A knock on the door catches his attention, and Martin’s head pops up into view.

“Am I interrupting?” He mouths, eyeing the recorder on the desk.

“No, just finished.” Jon shakes his head with a small smile. At least there is one thing in this world that still brings a smile to his face unprompted. An anchor to hold onto. A reason.

“Good.” Martin smiles and enters the office with a mug in his hand. “Brought you some tea.”

He accepts the hot mug and feels Martin press a kiss to his head.

“Thank you,” he whispers over the mug.

“You will never guess what happened,” Martin starts, sitting at the edge of the desk. He goes into detail about some innocent mistake Lisa made that led to a renovation team arriving at the wrong address, so now they have to go to Sasha for additional funding, because the team is charging them for expenses.

Jon really intends to listen —he really does!— but he’s quickly distracted by Martin’s genuine amusement. The sight of him smiling like he’s got no cares in the world is so rare these days. He cherishes the glinting sparks in his eyes.

“—And you know, I’ve worked for years to win Diana’s approval, I’d really hate to lose that just because someone put the books on the wrong shelves—”

Jon wonders how he’s gone from additional funding to Diana and the library so fast. He takes a sip of his tea with a smile, and nods along.

“Well, anyway,” Martin says with a sudden realization. “Seems I’ve rambled for quite a bit, haven’t I?”

“I don’t mind,” Jon murmurs. “I was due for a break anyway.”

“How are you feeling?”

Jon looks away, his smile souring. “I’m fine.”

Martin’s expression morphs into concern. Jon really tries not to hate himself for always managing to wipe that lovely smile away, but it’s hard not to.

“Do you want to get lunch?” He asks with a heaviness in his chest. “Tell me about that upcoming Winter Holidays party.”

Martin laughs. “You really want to hear about that? Tim almost laughed Sasha out of her own office when she suggested it.”

“All the more reason to know what the deal is,” he raises one eyebrow, satisfied with the successful change in subject. He grabs his cane and gets up with effort.

His vision swims for a second as his stomach lurches. It’s worse than he thought. His skin goes cold, whether from fear or hunger, he cannot tell.

“Well, Tim’s been doing better!” Martin says, opening the door of the office for him. “And Sasha says he used to love organizing these things.”

Jon smiles. “Oh, did he now?”

“So, she put him in charge of that,” Martin laughs. “I think he’s never realized her chaotic potential as the Head of the Institute.”

They walk through the Archives, accompanied only by the hundreds of thousands of files. Martin’s laughter echoes in the space.

“You know,” Martin picks up, as they go up the stairs to the ground floor. “I think it was a good decision to put him back in Research. He seems to be doing better there.”

“I know,” Jon sighs. “Truth be told, it wasn’t exactly my idea.”

Martin glances at him.

“Is that why you told me to say I thought of it?” He asks. “Oh, Jon.”

“I know he’s doing better,” he says quietly. “He doesn’t see me as often anymore. That’s not a coincidence.”

Martin tilts his head in concern and stops to grab hold of his hand. “Jon…”

“Don’t. There’s no point pretending, when I Know what the truth is.” He looks away. “I have to accept my losses.”

Martin presses his lips together and squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Jon squeezes back and gives him a half-smile. They ascend the few last steps and make their way towards the canteen.

“I am glad he’s doing better, though,” he says. “And it’s sort of nice to have the Archives all to ourselves.”

Martin chuckles. “Careful, or you’ll have someone filing an HR violation. We actually have that now, if you’ve forgotten.”

“Right.” Jon huffs. “I did forget Sasha—”

“Oh! Mr. Blackwood-Sims!” A voice behind them interrupts. “I have these files you said I should—”

As they turn around, they see a young woman with a startled expression drop three file folders onto the floor. The papers spill everywhere, but her wide eyes are glued to Jon.

“Lisa, I told you, just Martin is fine,” Martin chuckles and steps forward to gather up the files.

“I’m… Uh, that is, I—I wanted to…” She stammers, frozen in place.

Jon finds himself frozen as well. Locked in her stare, locking her in place. He should do something, step aside, introduce himself, anything… But oh, isn’t this fear something? Isn’t this what he’s owed from these people who work under him without even realizing?

He doesn’t blink, not even a twitch in his muscles; is he afraid he’d do something to hurt her? Or would that break this delightful spell in which they found themselves without his intention? Surely, it wouldn’t be bad if he indulged himself, just a little bit.

After all, when was the last time he felt like this? He needs it.

He needs it.

“Jon!”

He finally blinks, broken out of the trance. Martin’s face comes into view, looking at him in alarm but trying not to show it. For Lisa’s sake. Right.

He blinks heavily a couple times.

“I wanted to introduce you,” Martin says with a tight smile. “Lisa, this is my husband, Jon.”

“The Archivist,” she whispers almost inaudibly, and then shakes her head, as if waking up. “I—I, uh. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” he mutters. Forcibly, he drags his gaze away, digging his nails deep into his palm. He can hear the rustle of paper as they pick up the remaining files from the floor.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Lisa laughs nervously.

“Don’t mention it,” Martin says gently. “Happens to everyone.”

“What I wanted to ask you is, uh…” The rustling stops, as she takes the folders from Martin. “These files are all ready to be transferred to the archives, but you said we can’t—, I mean, uh, where should I leave them?”

“Rosie’s desk will be perfectly fine, she’ll know what to do with them. We’ll pick them up on our way back.”

“Okay! S—Sorry for making a mess and, and for bothering you. I’ll get on, get on those files.”

“No worries. And be careful!”

“Okay, I will!”

Jon hears her turn around and almost flee the corridor. He shuts his eyes tight and focuses on the pain in his hand, as something inside him wails in despair.

“Love,” Martin whispers and grabs his shaking fist. “Can I ask what that was?”

“That,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “was a mistake. That is why I barely leave the Archives.”

“No, Jon, that was worse.” Martin’s concern is almost palpable in the air. “How bad is it?”

Jon swallows around the lump in his throat. “Bad.”

Martin sighs softly and gently pries Jon’s fist open. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I could—” He trails off and leans his head on Martin’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m always going to worry,” Martin says quietly. “Is it time to reconsider?”

Jon grimaces in pain. “I’m afraid it is,” he says hoarsely. “I won’t last on stale ones much longer.”

Martin takes a breath and nods. “Alright. I’ll bring it up with Sasha.”

Jon grabs his hand and shakes his head. “No. I’ll do it. It’s my responsibility.”

“Jon…”

“Come with me, if you insist. But I should be the one saying it.”

Martin looks at him with a grim understanding in his eyes, and nods. “Okay.”

***

September evenings this year have been surprisingly warm, so this one finds them curled up with blankets on the balcony, staring out at the sky. Martin combs Jon’s hair with his hand, a soothing habit he’s developed through the many sleepless nights spent cradling an equally sleepless Jon to his chest.

Jon is looking down, playing with the rings on his hand. One of them is black, an old little thing he’s had since uni all those years ago —almost in a different lifetime altogether. The other is much newer — glistening with gold in the evening light.

“It’s our anniversary today,” he says out of the blue. Martin’s hand stops, and he looks down at him, confused.

“What? Jon, we got married in May.”

Jon tuts impatiently. “I know that. I mean Scotland.”

“Oh,” Martin lets out.

“I barely even remember it now,” Jon muses.

“Me too,” Martin chuckles. “But that might have been the Lonely.”

Jon smiles at Martin and plants a small kiss on his lips.

“It pales in comparison to what we have now,” he whispers. Martin pulls him back for a longer kiss, stroking his head.

“I can’t imagine wanting anything more,” he says when they part. “Although… I wouldn’t say no to visiting some good cows.”

Jon laughs, cuddling up closer to him. Martin’s hand strokes his back, but then travels up to his neck and folds his shirt collar back. He feels Martin tense up beneath him.

Jon lets out a sigh. “I was going to tell you.”

“When did it appear?” Martin asks.

“I think I felt it… At the Institute.”

“When Lisa—?”

“Earlier.”

“Hm.” Martin presses his lips together and strokes Jon’s head.

Jon rolls up his sleeve. In the middle of his forearm his skin turns darker — almost black, and textured. Hundred thin, glistening bands that seamlessly turn into muscle and bone; and nestled among them a lidless, green eye.

“How long are we going to ignore this?” Jon asks under his breath. “Because it’s not going to stop.”

“I know,” Martin says. “And we’re not ignoring it. We’re just not worrying in advance.”

“Not worrying in advance?” Jon pulls away to look Martin in the eye.

“Look, we can’t stop it from happening by freaking out, can we?” Martin points out. “All we can do is enjoy here and now. That’s all we have, Jon. That’s all that matters.”

Jon blinks to stifle the tears that spring to his eyes for a reason that doesn’t quite register in his head yet.

“And besides, it doesn’t change anything,” Martin adds softly. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jon nods. “I’m scared,” he whispers. Martin pulls him close, as if with his arms alone he could protect him from all the dangers of the world and beyond.

“I know,” he says. “I am, too. But right now we’re safe. Here. Together.”

And that’s all that matters.

-

I don't even know what to say. I wanted to make a bunch of jokes but now that I'm here, I'm just really emotional. I've been working on this for more than two years and I sort of can't believe I actually managed to bring it to a close. I can't thank you guys enough for taking such interest in this silly little story and keeping my motivation up with so many comments. I'm sorry it took so long to actually get here, but we all know how writer's block works. I also have the most incredible beta reader without whom I would not have gotten this far at all and I feel like it needs to make an appearance in the end notes. I love you, Nessie <3

I've laughed, I've cried, and I've screamed when writing this story, but most importantly it brought me an unmeasurable amount of joy over these two years, so I hope it brought you at least a fraction of this emotional rollercoaster. I think I'm going to cry for a bit :')

Seriously, thank you for being here. Say hi in the comments. Or scream and cry. I'm right there with you. If you've got any questions, my tumblr ask box is also open whenever. I'm always up for screaming about this fic. You know how it is.

This chapter's title inspiration: "All That Matters" by Blanco White

OftM playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6YAyVIilJ0ZikpttT1kvkH?si=cce0e408d7644623

#tma #tma oftm #niki.writes #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #this was a MONSTROSITY to post on tumblr let me fucking tell you. this post editor was NOT made for a 13k text.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Many Roads Diverge in the Woods - Part Seven

A JSE Interactive Fanfic

The Beginning | Previous

The results are in.

Your path has been altered. Strange how such a small choice can change so much. Guys, seriously, we're so close to ties all the time dhjfkaslh It's interesting how we started out with very decisive choices and now we're here.

The poll to decide what happens next is only open for one day, expiring on October 20th at 12:00pm PST. Part Eight will be up on October 22nd at the same time.

<><><><><><><><><><><>

“Bro... no way.” Chase shakes his head firmly. “We need to stick together, not separate the group. And we can’t drag Jackie down to the basement. Let’s go back to him and Marvin.”

JJ sighs. I suppose you’re right. I just... I have this feeling. Like we need to go after him.

“That’s fucking weird. I mean, there are probably reasons for it, but it’s a bad idea.” Chase puts his hand on JJ’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go back to the others.”

Alright, alright. JJ shakes his head, dismissing that feeling. Let’s go. He walks up a couple stairs, then stops again. But what do we do? Do we just close the door and leave Schneep down here?

“I-I mean... I guess?” Chase says. “We need to keep an eye on it. I don’t know if he could break it down like he did upstairs.”

Should we move our base of operations down here?

“I don’t know. Maybe we should get Marvin down here so we can talk about it. Why are we stopping to talk about this now? We’re getting out of the creepy dark basement!” Chase pushes JJ a little, making him stumble. “Go!”

They climb up the stairs, with JJ waiting for Chase at the top. One of us should go upstairs and get Marvin while the other stays here to keep an eye on—

“Where are you going?”

Chase stiffens. That voice—Schneep’s voice, but again, missing his German accent. He spins around, shining his flashlight down the stairs. The circle of light lands on Schneep, standing at the bottom with one hand behind his back. For the first time, Chase realizes how much blood covers his clothes. Is this really his friend? He looks so different. “JJ,” Chase says quietly. “Go.”

“Don’t go,” says Schneep. “Stay and play!” In one swift motion, he pulls his hand from behind his back and throws something at them.

Chase ducks instinctively, but JJ is looking the other way, preparing to run through the basement door. The thrown object hits the back of his head with a distinct THAK! sound. JJ stumbles forwards, then tries to recover and steps backwards again—

“JJ no!” Chase reaches out. But he’s too slow. JJ’s foot steps off the edge of the stair and he loses his balance. He only has time to let out a small squeak of surprise before he falls, tumbling down the staircase until he stops at the bottom, right at Schneep’s feet. “No!” Chase shouts.

Schneep grabs JJ by the arms and starts pulling him down the hall. Chase’s heart drops and he runs down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He jumps from the last one and lunges towards Schneep. But he drops JJ and dodges Chase’s grasp, running into the first door on the right—into the same room where he supposedly died. Chase runs after him, putting on a burst of speed and diving after Schneep. He collides with him. The two roll to the side, running into a pair of cardboard boxes that then tip over, spilling their contents over the floor.

Chase is dazed by the impact but Schneep recovers unnaturally fast. He grabs Chase by the throat, growling like an animal. And starts to squeeze. Chase flails. One hand pries at Schneep’s fingers while the other searches across the floor for anything that might help. Where? Where?! There! He feels something cool and heavy. Grabbing it, he swings it up towards Schneep’s head.

CLANG! The object hits Schneep in the side of the head. He falls, instantly unconscious, grip loose again. Chase pushes him off of him and sits up straight, gasping for air. He looks around the room. Light comes from his phone, which he dropped during the roll earlier. The whole room is filled with cardboard boxes. JJ is visible in the open doorway, lying on the floor but propping himself up with his arms. His eyes are wide, staring at Chase.

“I-I’m... fine,” Chase breathes. “I knocked him out. With... this.” He picks up the object from earlier: a crowbar. Then puts it back on the floor. “Wh-what about you?”

JJ shifts position, starting to stand up. Then he flinches and stops, sitting on the floor. My ankle hurts, he says. I must have twisted or broken it.

“Damn it.” Chase gets to his feet, picking up his phone. He stares down at Schneep. “What... what do we do with him?”

I’m not sure. JJ shakes his head. He’s clearly dangerous. And he won’t be out for long.

“...Hang on.” Chase crouches to the ground and pats Schneep’s pockets until he finds what he’s looking for. “Got it. The house keys. We can lock him in a room or something.”

This room? JJ asks.

“No, I don’t think it’s a good idea to lock him in the room with the power box,” Chase says, grabbing his phone and putting it in his pocket with the flashlight still on. “Let’s find somewhere else down here. How about across the hall?”

JJ nods in agreement. You check it out. I don’t know if I can stand up.

“Right. Hang tight there, I’ll just...” Chase hesitates, then picks up Schneep and stands up. “I’m not gonna leave him unattended.” He walks out into the hallway, sidestepping JJ, and goes over to the first door on the left. After a moment of fumbling, he manages to unlock it. He pushes the door open. The room beyond is pitch black. “Uh, JJ, can you... provide some light?”

JJ looks around the floor and spots his own phone—luckily not too far away. He starts to stand up, winces, then decides it’s better to crawl. He reaches over and grabs it, then moves to the other side of the hall and points his flashlight beam into the new room.

Chase steps into the room—and immediately stops, shocked by what he sees. The room is completely devoid of furniture, but its walls are plastered with different papers. The one directly across from them is filled with what look like newspaper articles, while to the left are photographs and maps, and to the right are papers ripped from books and handwritten notes. Everything is old: yellowed and fragile looking. The only empty spots on the walls are where things have fallen down.

“What the fuck...?” Chase breathes.

JJ looks a bit pale. We should probably find some other room.

“Hey, you wanted to check out the basement. You don’t want to look at... whatever the fuck this is?”

I do, but we need to find some place to put Schneep first.

“I... yeah, but... what the fuck? Th-this... is probably important. You don’t want to look at it now?”

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jacksepticeye au #chase brody #jameson jackson #dr schneeplestein #antisepticeye #brigid writes fanfiction #manyroadsdivergejse

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 2, Chapter 15

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

Posting this a bit early because I’m out of town the rest of the week.

Enjoy!

————–

PART 2

Chapter 15

20 minutes earlier…

Calina picked the lock on the rooftop access door, relying on feel rather than sight. She'd stashed her motorbike in an alleyway two blocks over, then scaled the back of her and Matt's apartment building under the cover of darkness. Suddenly waving a flashlight around up here would defeat all her attempts at stealth.

And she needed to be stealthy - if Volkov's men were watching this place, she couldn’t let them see that she'd returned.

The lock gave way with a quiet *snick* and Calina slipped down the stairs into Matt's apartment. It was empty, as expected. At this time of night, he’d be out Daredevilling, and would be gone for another few hours at least.

She dumped her bag on the floor and flicked on the lights…then stifled a laugh at the sight of the new sofa sitting in the middle of the living room - with the plastic wrap still on it.

“…the new couch was delivered yesterday. But I couldn’t bring myself to sit on it. It feels like our couch. And it didn’t feel right for it to be there, in the apartment, without you…the place feels so lifeless now. So cold and empty without you…”

The suppressed laughter turned into a sob and she covered her mouth to hide the sound. Her emotions were all over the place. And all the joy and love and guilt and fear that she was feeling kept spilling over as tears - she’d spent half of the four-hour ride here crying beneath her motorcycle helmet. Thankfully the roads were fairly deserted, so her blurred vision hadn’t endangered anyone apart from herself.

She just...needed to be here. Despite her annoyingly fragile emotional state, and her barely-healed wound, and the risks involved…she needed to be here.

She needed to see Matt.

Yelena had freaked out at the idea, of course. “It’s too dangerous! Volkov knows you spent months living in that apartment building - and now that we got rid of the trackers, its the only place he has to start his search for us.”

“I get that, Yelena,” Calina had argued. “But I still need to speak to Matt.”

“So call him!”

“I’ve been calling him. For hours! He won’t pick up.”

The moment she’d finished watching the footage of Matt’s confession…she’d pressed play and watched the whole thing again, unable to believe the words spilling from his lips.

“I deluded myself that I didn’t feel this way about you…”

“You need to wake up so that I can tell you I love you.”

“You’re…everything.”

“There was just something about you, standing there on that rooftop”

“I’ll always be here - if you’ll have me.”

“Please come back to me…”

Each line was a euphoric, impossible jolt of pure joy to her heart. And watching him say those words while clutching at her hand and stroking her cheek and pulling her into his arms to hold her all night had been like watching all her dreams play out before her.

He loved her.

He really and truly loved her.

He’d dropped everything to come to her. He’d put his life in the hands of women he barely knew and didn’t trust, and he’d bared his heart and his soul to her.

And then she’d ghosted him for a week and a half.

She couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling. He must think she was still angry with him. That she was still hurt by what Foggy said in the bar and was ignoring him on purpose.

After the second viewing of the footage, she’d scrambled off the bed and grabbed her phone then punched in the number she’d memorised months ago, desperate to tell him the truth - that she’d been sick. That she hadn't known about his visit. That she felt the same way he did.

But he never answered.

She’d paced the floor of her room, the device pressed against her ear as she listened to it ring and ring. She’d stood on the balcony and stared out over the harbour, the phone clutched in her hand as she’d tried again.

And again. And again.

But each time it just rang out.

And with each failed connection she started to worry that they’d missed their chance. That each miscommunication and separation was pushing the possibility of them further away.

The need to speak to him grew more urgent with each passing moment. Until she’d finally given up on the phone and grabbed her rucksack from under the bed. If he wasn’t answering…she would just go to him in person.

That’s how Yelena had found her - shoving clothes into her bag and trying to ignore the twinge of pain in her side from the rough actions. “At least wait a while,” Yelena had said, trying a different tack. “You only got back on your feet a few days ago.”

“I have to go now, Yelena. I can’t explain it - at least, not in any logical way. I just…need to go. I promise I’ll be careful. And I’ll be back as soon as I’ve talked to him.”

“So you are coming back?”

The hint of vulnerability in Yelena’s voice surprised Calina. She paused her packing to look at the other Widow, who seemed uncharacteristically…anxious.

“Yes, of course,” Calina answered. “I know the risks about staying in New York. I know it would just put Matt - and us - in danger.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“What’s this about, Yelena?”

Yelena picked at the chipped polish on her nails. “I was worried that you hated me. For what I did. And that you were leaving for good.”

Calina laughed bitterly. “You’re not exactly my favourite person in the world right now…but I don’t hate you. You made some choices - some very questionable choices, like dumping Matt in Connecticut and then not telling me - but I know you didn’t do it out of malice.”

Calina zipped up her bag and slung it over her shoulder then grabbed her winter biking gear from the closet. She stopped next to Yelena on her way out the door and issued the ultimatum she’d been contemplating ever since she found out what Yelena had done. “But you have to accept that Matt is part of my life now. You can’t keep making unilateral decisions that affect both him and me - especially decisions that serve to keep us apart. If you can’t do that, then I will find somewhere else to live.”

Yelena shook her head. “This is your home, Calina. As much as it is ours. I’ll…respect your relationship with Murdock.”

Calina squeezed Yelena’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Be safe.”

“I will.”

“And keep in contact. I don’t want to have to send any Widows to come find you in New York if you go off the grid.”

“I will,” Calina had repeated.

And in that spirit, she fired off a quick text message to Yelena and Katya: Arrived safely.

Then she shrugged out of her leather jacket and unzipped the heated liner underneath. It had done a good job of keeping her warm during the ride here but she was starting to feel over-heated in Matt’s cosy apartment.

She wandered over to the new couch and started stripping off the plastic wrap, eager to have something to do to pass the time. It felt wrong to just make herself at home again after everything that had happened…but she wasn’t sure what else to do while she waited for Matt to return.

Halfway through the task, there was a loud banging on the front door, quickly followed by Foggy’s bellowing voice. “Matt? You better be in here, you son of a bitch! MATT!”

Calina raced to the door and swung it open.

“Calina?” Foggy’s double-take at her sudden appearance would have been comical under other circumstances, but he looked frantic…and scared. And she started to get a very bad feeling.

“Foggy, what’s wrong?”

“Is Matt here?”

“No. I assumed he was out…doing what he usually does at this time of night.”

“Shit!”

Calina pulled him into the apartment and closed the door behind them. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

Foggy raked his hand through his hair. “I met up with a contact tonight, to see if he knew anything about our fear pheromone problem. And he did know something. Something bad.”

“What?”

“Whoever’s in charge of the operation - and my contact didn’t know that, unfortunately - knows we’re snooping around. They know Daredevil is snooping around. So they set a trap for him.”

“What kind of trap?”

“They’re going to lure Matt to some old base of theirs and blow it up.”

Calina's bad feeling exploded into full-on panic. “Where was Matt going tonight, Foggy? You guys must have narrowed the next location down by now. Where was he going?”

“He wasn’t supposed to be going anywhere tonight. He agreed to take a break - he hasn’t been doing so well these past couple of weeks.”

Guilt slammed into Calina, but she pushed it aside. There would be time for that later - once Matt was safe. “Regardless of what Matt was supposed to do, he’s obviously out there. So where, Foggy? Give me somewhere to look!” She was practically shouting at the other man, and she had to fight the urge to shake the information out of him.

“Down by the Chinese Consulate. But I’ve just come from there - there’s no sign of him.”

Calina pushed passed Foggy on her way to the stairs. “I’ll look again. I’ll look everywhere.”

She raced up to the roof and backtracked her earlier movements. Within minutes, she was swinging her leg over her bike and roaring down the street towards the Hudson. She didn’t have a plan beyond getting to Matt’s last known location then scouring the city - street-by-street and building-by-building if she had to.

But it turned out she didn’t need to. She’d only managed to travel a few blocks when thunder rocked the night and a fireball lit up the horizon.

Matt!

Calina stomach tried to lurch out of her throat. But she ignored the spike of terror and steered the bike towards the site of the explosion. She rolled the throttle and accelerated, veering in and out of the sparse traffic at a reckless speed.

Minutes later she skidded to a stop on the street behind the destroyed building. Her throat went dry as she imagined Matt beneath that flaming pile of rumble.

No. She couldn’t think like that.

Matt was smart. He wouldn’t have fallen for a trap like this. He would have made it out before it blew up. She just needed to find him - preferably before the sirens in the distance got here - and the best way to do that was from a high vantage point.

She dismounted her bike and ran through the lot behind the building - it looked like a taxi depot, with rows and rows of yellow cabs. She jumped up on one and used the extra height to grab the drain pipe of the adjacent building. She shimmied up it onto the roof then ran along the edge, peering over the side to survey the damage below. 

But her view was obscured by all the smoke.

“Matt, where are you?” she whispered, her voice tight with fear.

She swore as she saw the firetrucks peeling down the street. She heard sirens come from the opposite direction and swivelled her head to see a bunch of cop cars racing along the greenway.

And then a sliver of dark red caught her eye, peeking out from the other side of the water tower.

“Matt?” she called. “Is that you?”

There was no answer.

On alert now, she inched around the structure, until she could make out more than a sliver - it was an arm, clad in familiar material, holding an even more familiar baton.

She exhaled sharply in relief. “Matt.”

She reached out her hand to touch him…and he exploded into action.

He batted her hand away and swung his club in her direction. She ducked, and just managed to avoid taking a hit to the side of her head.

“Matt! It’s me!” She grabbed the baton before he could swing again, and hit the nerve cluster in his elbow. His fingers jerked as a result, making him drop the baton to the ground. The move had been a reflex on Calina’s part - she’d seen a weapon and disarmed its holder. And a moment later she was glad she had, because Matt attacked her again with a fast series of punches.

She blocked most of his strikes, but took a few hits to the arms and one that glanced off her cheek. “Matt!!” she yelled again, her voice desperate.

What was wrong with him?

Had he been dosed with the fear pheromone?

Her confusion led to a moment of distraction, which Matt used against her. He grabbed one of her arms and trapped her wrist. Then he spun her around and caught her other arm, pinning both behind her.

It was a familiar hold - and one she knew she could escape. She used her Aikido training to free herself and send Matt rolling to the ground.

He sprang to his feet again, but the move was clumsier than usual. Slower, and less graceful.

And that’s when she realised - he wasn’t in the grip of some adrenaline surge.

He couldn’t hear.

The blast from the explosion must have damaged his ears. She’d seen that type of injury before when one of the widows she’d trained with had strayed too close to a bomb while out on a mission. The Widow had suffered tinnitus for a week and never recovered her full hearing.

And she'd never returned to the Red Room as a result.

“Matt?” Calina called, testing her theory.

There was no response. He just stood in front of her looking lost and confused.

“Oh, Matt.”

He must be so scared. Without his hearing, he was as good as blind. She remembered what he was like when his ears were affected by the common cold. This must be a million times worse. A million times more disorientating and terrifying.

And she had no way of reassuring him that he was safe. No way of letting him know who she was - the minute she got close to him, he would interpret it as another attack.

The sirens were right below them now, and the night sky was lit up by the flames of the building next to them. They were completely out in the open, visible to anyone who looked up at this rooftop too closely. And she had no way to get him out of here if she couldn’t convince him who she was.

“C-Calina?”

At the sound of her whispered name, she nearly cried with relief. He recognised her somehow!

But he sounded so tentative and unsure, as if he couldn’t believe that it was true.

To be fair, from his perspective, her presence here was a little unexpected. She took a few steps closer to him, until his body blocked the warm heat radiating from the fire behind him. She carefully took his hand, and tugged of his glove, exposing his bare palm.

And she spelled out a single word in braille in answer:

YES.

He grabbed her hand and let out a shaky breath. Then he dropped his head to rest his forehead against hers. “Hi,” he breathed.

“Hi,” she replied, despite knowing he couldn’t hear her. She wound her arms around his waist and leaned into him, the waning adrenaline making her feel unsteady. She’d spent the last twenty minutes terrified that she would never see him again…

The thought made her clutch him tighter.

He seemed to need the contact as much as she did. He wrapped his own arms around her shoulders and dragged her close, until every inch of them was pressed together. He dipped his head and buried it in the crook of her neck. He breathed deep, as if trying to capture her scent, but ended up barking out a series of hacking coughs instead as whatever was in his airways protested.

She leaned back and used her hands to lift his head up, wanting to look at him properly. Black soot rimmed his nostrils and there were streaks of ash on his skin. There were no major injuries that she could see, but she’d need to get him home to check more thoroughly.

And they needed to get off this roof before anyone saw them.

She grabbed his palm again and tapped out the braille for ‘GO’, trying to use as few a words as possible to get her message across.

It seemed to work. He nodded and grabbed her hand. “Lead the way,” he croaked out. It sounded like he was trying to make light of the situation, but she knew him. She knew how much his helplessness must be killing him.

She squeezed his hand and used it to guide him along the rooftop, back the way she’d came. Luckily, the first responders were all congregated at the front of the building, and the back route was still clear.

But getting Matt down to ground level would take a bit of work. They couldn’t descend the drain pipe she’d used earlier - Matt’s spatial awareness had been thrown off by his deafness and there was too much risk that he’d fall.

So she found the access door leading to the stairs and kicked it open. Then the two of them slowly descended through the - thankfully - deserted building. When they reached ground level, she disengaged the tight grip he had on her hand and tapped out another single word, ‘WAIT’.

He nodded so she took a couple of steps away, ready to scope out the street for any bystanders…but he immediately tensed up, his hands clenched by his sides, and his his head locked at an angle, as if he was desperately trying to hear the world around him.

The sight of him - the man who normally seemed so strong and invincible - standing there, seemingly lost without her guiding touch made her heart ache.

She rushed towards him again, uncaring of the time she was wasting, and the risk she was taking with their safety. She grasped his head in her hands, leaned up, and pressed her lips against his cheek. She lingered there in the kiss, trying to convey everything that she couldn’t say with words. She wanted him to know that she knew he was scared, but she was with him. That he could trust her. She would get him home.

That she loved him.

He leaned into the contact, his own hands latching on to her waist and holding tight.

After several long moments, she broke away and approached the front door. She checked the street outside, but it seemed deserted - all the action was taking place around the corner where the firefighters were still tackling the blaze.

She twisted the lock and stepped outside. She raced to her bike and wheeled it closer to the door, then rummaged through the top box for her windbreaker. It was sized to cover her bulky winter riding gear, so it should hopefully fit Matt and hide his suit on the ride home.

She dashed back into the building and shook out the coat. She guided one of Matt’s arms through the sleeve, and he seemed to grasp what was happening because he took over and slipped the jacket on. It was snug across his broad shoulders and wouldn’t zip up, but it would do the trick.

The last thing to do was remove his mask - there was no point hiding his suit if he still looked like The Devil from the neck up. She reached up and tucked her thumbs under the edges of the mask - and his hands immediately shot up to stop her.

She paused, and brought her thumbs down to stroke his cheeks, trying to calm his fears - it must make him feel even more vulnerable to be without that last layer of protection.

She kept caressing his face, running her fingers over his cheeks and his lips, even down the back of his neck where she pressed into the knotted muscles beneath his skin. She kept soothing him with her touch until she felt his spike of anxiety pass.

Eventually he nodded and dropped his hands, permitting her to remove his mask. The fact that he didn’t do it himself, but left it to her, felt symbolic of…something.

Something she really didn’t have time to contemplate just now.

She allowed herself a second to smile at his ruffled hair, before smoothing it down, knowing how much the wayward strands annoyed him. Then she pulled the hood up over his head, grabbed his hand again and led him onto the street.

She guided him onto the back of the motorcycle then slipped into the space in front of him. His arms immediately wrapped around her waist, and she smiled again. Her grin widened further once she kick-started the engine and accelerated away from the burning building.

Away from danger, and towards home.

Matt shifted his weight until his front was pressed against her back, and tightened his hold on her. She had the feeling it had nothing to do with the unfamiliar mode of transport, and everything to do with being close to her.

She knew the feeling.

She leaned back against him and tilted her head to the side, allowing him to rest his chin on her shoulder. She ignored the smoke and ash she could smell on his skin and tried to imagine they were just two people in love riding together through the streets of New York for the sheer joy of it.

Maybe she could convince him to try this again, under better circumstances. Once they’d cleared the air between them. And once the Widows had resolved the Volkov situation and she was free to live her life again, maybe they could just…enjoy each other. Without mind control and misunderstandings and explosions.

They could just be two people in love.

The thought kept her warm as they sped through the cold, dark night.

----------

Chapter 16

Be sure to check out the reference page - updated with the building on Google maps that I decided to blow up!

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