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eerizon · 3 months

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i’m trying to write now i guess??

follow me there if you wanna see me try and fail to be a writer lol

dog-eat-dog: part 1

can’t breathe.

tlou fanfic summary: You swore you would avenge her. Karma. What goes around, comes around. Before the story starts, you already cut through the hunters that had actually killed your sister and almost killed you. But now, you were on the hunt for a pair of brothers who needed to pay. word count: 1.7k warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader is nearly an OFC, but I’ll try to keep it as vague as possible (reader is in her late 20s/early 30s), dog imagery/inferences (shocking I know), based in a slightly altered game timeline, (TW) lots of blood imagery, violence, death, good ol’ revenge, allusions to abuse/torture, manipulation, trauma, physical scars, panic attacks, NO USE OF Y/N

a/n: Might write more for this?? Dunno yet. This isn’t necessarily going to be a Joel x fem!reader fanfic since well, your endgame is killing him (or close to it). Let me know if any of you would actually like me to continue this. This is kind-of a proof of concept, I guess. I thought the og plan for Abby was super gut-wrenching. So basically this is playing off that concept except earlier in the story, maybe a couple months after Ellie and Joel arrive in Jackson.

Apologies if this isn’t super well written. I’m not really a writer, but I’m trying to get better at it lol.

———

Outside Boston, Massachusetts | 2019

The woman in front of you begged for a scrap of mercy. Spit flew out of her mouth as her screams scrawled into your eardrums. A bandana hung from her neck, soggy and wet seemingly from once being used as a gag.

“Please, I’ll do anything! I won’t tell anyone, we won’t tell anyone! Just let us go! Please, I will–”

A devastating crack rang in the still, stuffy air for a few moments.

You choked on your breath, caught off guard by the sudden noise. Her cries ceased, only to leave a dead silence hanging on every breath of air you took. It was suffocating. Heavy and thick, almost as if you forced yourself to swallow each gasp of air to keep it from escaping out of your throat.

Her hair was matted. Brown, once shimmering, coils of hair knotted and tangled into an undistinguishable disarray concealing her face.

A moment prior, she had mirrored yourself. Kneeled and hunched on the spotted tile floor. Bound by a makeshift rope, her hands were covered in splatters of blood and sweat. Her attention frantically searched the bleak room before locking onto your eyes. Even in the darkened lighting, her eyes were distinct. Filled to the brim with complete, unadulterated terror.

The glint in a person's eye just before their internal clock is shattered flickered into view as she stared.

Her motionless body now laid on its side on the floor. A constant shake that enveloped her entire body was absent.

Eyes devoid of any notion of life.

Just as you peered down, a mixture of blood and brain matter inched its way beneath where you knelt and soaked the knees of your jeans. Every thread held onto what was once the woman’s lifeline, her experiences, her emotions, her triumphs, her resounding failures. All to be left to the heap on the floor and the pooling blood soaking the knees of your jeans.

It was uncomfortable. Everything in the room felt hollow. You couldn’t help but focus on the unbearable, warm wetness of your pants. Your skin crawled. You needed the sensation to stop.

It didn’t matter anymore what was being said. It didn’t matter that you could barely see through the blockade of tears obscuring your vision. It didn’t matter that all parts of you were being tugged at. It didn't matter how it was demanded for you to look into the eyes of your captures. Everything glazed over. All of the things you looked at carried a translucent, dark wash overtop. Your intense focus barred you from making out the fuzzy details in the gloomily lit room. Knives that had once made you sear with pain felt like a nail being dragged against your skin. None of it mattered.

You could only pay attention to your jeans.

The woman, your sister, was gone, and you were up for slaughter.

———

Wyoming | May 2034

Surviving by the skin of your teeth had taken a toll on you.

Day in – day out, each passing minute felt like white, hot, sweltering pain. An ever-present rumble persisted in your mind. Across your back, each movement, tight and stiff, felt like a fucked-up mnemonic omen to your past. Reminders were strung across the pavement, painted along cracked walls, hidden in the bleak corners of your sight. Closing your eyes never helped. The black void moved. It writhed into crude shapes resembling her. Shadows resembled the lifeless bodies that seemed to cling to you, no matter where you went.

Living left you battered and bruised. At the turn of your adolescence, being used as bait was what kept you fed. Supplied a cot to sleep on. Hunters dangled rations above your head on the condition you performed your 'trick' accordingly. You’d set off, hooked onto a leash of watchful eyes, feigning injury to lure unsuspecting do-gooders into a trap. A trap that left their corpses sizzling in a horrific bonfire and their belongings stacked on tables for auction. Cry for help as a ploy for the attack, get rewarded. If you escaped, you'd be stripped of essentials. You were a kid. Surviving on your own never posed as a viable option. It was hard to admit to yourself, but you’d be dead the moment you were let out of your cage. Other members drilled that fact into you. You knew even without their teeth snapping in your ears. The “Huntsman” provided an alternative far from feeling comfortable, but you could grin your teeth and bear it. Scars that sizzled along your back would be returned in due time. You laid in wait.

Into your adulthood and new-found 'freedom', surviving on your own was far more manageable. You were capable. Knowing how to defend yourself and manipulate those around you made being alone an easier plate to consume.

Long gone were the days of innocence and naivety. The cracks of bone and the tear of flesh had become your normal. You reeked of it.

The stench lingered off of you. A bloodthirsty curtain hung heavy over your eyes, dowsing all of the light they once harbored. Your experiences shaped you entirely, and not in a good way.

You were angry. Enraged. Frenzied.

A thick, heavy sheen of viscera seeped into every single waking moment and each minuscule second of your unconscious mind. You couldn’t escape it, even if you tried.

You took it in stride; no other choice was thrown to you.

Every ounce of fury ached in your bones. You used it in all facets of your existence.

You were living in a premonition. A desire. A need.

And you —

You would stop at nothing until that obligation became your reality.

Infected were commonplace. Nothing but a measly obstacle in your cyclic routines.

At first, you had been so hesitant to kill them. What if they could feel? What if they were still human? Sometimes, you thought you heard runners retching, fighting out the word 'stop', while devouring their kills. Avoiding them at all costs was a priority. You couldn’t bear the weight of the guilt if those thoughts were the truth.

Now, you had no choice.

Killing was made practical. Methodical. You had a way of going about it.

Thinking about the act too strenuously made you feel sick. Torture and the drawn-out ‘satisfaction’ of draining something of life wasn’t a pastime you enjoyed. Blood building around the eyes, it dripping from the mouth, made it too real. Death was delivered as swiftly as you could within the circumstances you were in. You’d only go the mile if it was something you deemed necessary. Or deserved, rather.

It boiled down to a quick draw of your revolver or a sweeping heave of a machete, and foes were left as nothing but flesh that oozed. They were puppets pulled on fungal strings for an organism that barely kept them alive. An infection pawning creatures as a means for motion and viability. Or, they were empty husks of people, lost too deep in the compensation for being ruthless and lusting for blood.

If anything, you were putting them out of their misery, right?

You convinced yourself to believe that.

Walking along barren, cracked roads had become a dull environment quickly. Dilapidated storefronts, battered farmhouses, and run-down neighborhoods muddled into a blur of lush greenery and rotted wood. It was calming, in a twisted way. Civilization plummeting into a remnant of what it once was felt fitting, warranted, from what little you remembered. Bricks that had been chipped away by the elements littered the ground. Structures were left as ruined time-capsules of an easier way of life. A life you didn't know long enough to stow away attachments to. A bygone era. Much of their worn, cement bones were picked clean, unlucky for you.

A few stragglers inside an abandoned home you were rummaging through became a welcome change of pace. Heart racing in your ears, the adrenaline gave you a high. You’d press yourself against a wall, letting your hearing acclimate to the subtlety of a pin drop. You’d ambush. Quick on your feet, you’d rush behind a clicker, driving your pocket knife deep into its throat. It would choke out. Gurgling and hissing for a few moments, it would give a sad attempt at clawing its way out of your grip. Promptly, it would fall limp, and you’d allow it to crumple to the floor.

Rinse and repeat.

In a jam, you’d slide over tables and counters to create distance, trusty revolver in hand. A shotgun holstered on the side of your backpack was useful if you were cornered. You’d had countless close calls, but you’d always managed to slip past. Injuries such as a broken arm or snapped ankle wouldn’t stop you regardless.

Beams providing support to a nearly collapsed roof sometimes fell from their deteriorating posts; the crash stealing your breath away. You felt rickety floorboards beneath you, then suddenly they were gone. It's dark.

She’s screaming.

She’s crying out your name. She can’t stop saying it. You can’t breathe. You’re taking in breaths; why can’t you breathe? What happened? She won’t stop shouting your name. You can’t feel your hands anymore. What’s happening? Your arms are numb. You keep blinking, but you can’t stop seeing her. You weren't here a second ago, right? Why won’t you answer her? She’s gagging on her tears. On the floor now. She’s relentlessly calling for you. Say something. Ears are buzzing. She’s coughing up blood. Can’t breathe. She’s crumbled on the floor. Legs are cold.

She isn’t yelling for you anymore.

You’re screaming.

You couldn't take it anymore. You were so close.

Nothing could stop you now. There is only so much an ability to fight could do you good for. You’d have to be smart and play your cards right.

Because you knew damn well that waltzing in with a loaded gun and a seemingly empty threat would get you nowhere.

It didn’t matter how long it’d take. You were more than ready to play the long game.

Fuck, you'd been playing the long game. This resolution had been brewing in your mind for nearly fifteen years.

This was personal. You would make it personal.

After all was said and done, you couldn’t give a shit. But until then, you needed to act the part and end this perpetual nightmare.

And kill Tommy and Joel Miller.

Or, die trying.

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