#those that live and breath canon and everything else is an enemy
Text
my talent is to invent ships that i know the fandom will hate
#especially some like shadow and bone fandoms#those that live and breath canon and everything else is an enemy#it's boring#just saying#live a little
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
📰 | part nine: capulet.
info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers, finally they kiss, enemies with benefits, based on s7 finale, secret relationship except they’re not in a relationship, Carl almost dies.
summary: Alexandria has regained their power, and Carl narrowly escapes death. Finally, your feelings catch up to each other. Season 7 finale.
-> masterlist <-
okay!!!! FINALLY i got this done! this will be our LAST sorta canon chapter, because we all know the tragedy of season 8……so now i’m diverging the story into my own canon ;)
also entering a new phase of the carl and reader relationship..definitely a more exciting one! don’t worry, it’s still slowburn, just a bit more heated!
You were trying your best to ignore Carl, the past couple of days. Maybe you were a tad embarrassed that he’d seen you during a vulnerable moment. There was a part of your brain that still hadn’t accepted it, and knew that being around Carl would only remind you, that you’d receive the brunt of his sympathy.
Sympathy was not what you wanted.
But as always, sooner or later, you wound up within those walls once more.
Tensions were high.
They had weapons, too many of them. This surely wasn’t it, right? The Saviours had been through worse. But these people were like cockroaches, their spirit didn’t die, they kept coming back up and rebelling. You were getting sick of it. Negan was, too.
Everything went sideways when Sasha’s zombified corpse fell out of the coffin. It all ramped up too quickly, and before you knew it, there was gunfire.
It was relatively easy to get under control, yet still, there was always that voice that wondered if this would do it, this is the fight that kills you. It never does, yet you consider it.
A few members of Alexandria are killed in the process. One you take with your metal bat, disarming the man initially, yet his persistence to live claws at your feet, dragging you down onto the concrete. He’d pulled a knife from his sheath, trying to stab you, leaving you to finally crack the bat down onto his skull.
You were a high ticket item, I guess. It’s a surprise nobody else was itching for this chance to end your life.
Eventually, it all dies down. You take a moment to wipe the blood off your hands, trying to catch your breath and regain your composure before stepping back into the chaos.
When you do, a frown fills your features. Not exactly at upset expression, just something pensive.
Carl and Rick, on their knees. You weren’t listening to Negan, likely able to guess what he’s saying. What he wants. God forbid you try to stop it.
In fact, you didn’t want to.
Carl grit his jaw to ignore that urge to get up, to fight, to try to escape. He glared across the grass, practically into your soul. It wasn’t an urge for help, just a pointed look. This is what your family does.
If this was it, if he died, he’d want you to see it. Maybe just to rub it in your face, that he’d died for a noble cause, whilst you’d eventually fall victim to the uprising of Alexandria. At least, that’s how Carl saw it happening.
When the countdown ends, he unconsciously tenses, eyes screwed shut to combat confronting whatever happens next.
Were you really going to do nothing?
And yet it doesn’t happen.
Shiva mauled a nearby Saviour, taking the attention off of him, and back onto the simmering rebellion. Carl recovers quickly from the shock of near death, forced to rejoin the fight, even if his mind is still reeling.
Maybe he thought you were softening up, after that night in the cabin. It had humanised you. This sort of reversed all that.
The gunfire become unruly, and it was clear who was winning. If this was any indication of the future, then the Saviours were at the end of the line, and Carl was more than happy for it.
He’d managed to escape into a narrow alleyway between two houses, hoping to sneak around and get behind the enemy group, take them by surprise.
However, he makes it a few paces down the alley, before crossing into the gravel path behind the buildings. His senses are sharpened, luckily, for within seconds a dense mass is swinging at his head.
Carl narrowly avoids the bat, ducking fast enough that it swings into the house, getting caught in the wooden boards. They splinter around the metal, concaving inwards, rendering it stuck.
“Fuck!” You swear, tugging with all your might to free it, knowing it’s your only weapon. The adrenaline still pumps through your veins, moreso focused on rearming yourself, less on Carl finally standing within your vicinity.
There’s no doubt he’s angry, hence why you need your weapon back, pulling furiously to try and break the wooden confines. It’s too late, because then Carl harshly shoves your shoulder, pushing you away from the trapped baseball bat.
“What the hell was that?” He sneers, finally letting the frustration and fear towards almost dying pour out. “He was going to kill me, and you just watched?”
You roll your eyes, that snarky attitude resurfacing, reverting to this version of yourself that doesn’t care. “He wasn’t, alright? You would’ve been fine.”
The assurance means nothing, for Carl still invades your space, his face practically inches from your own. “Bullshit!” He yells.
In response, you shove him away. It sends the boy stumbling back into the alley, and the second he’s regained his footing, he’s trying to push you against the wall.
It’s almost childish, the way you fight. Pushing and shoving like toddlers, yet with the strength of two teenagers, fueled by years of surviving and adapting and hormones.
You manage to sweep your foot out, tripping Carl up, letting him fall to the ground. Before he can try to get up, which he attempts immediately, you’re pinning him to the ground, planted firmly on his chest.
One hand lands on your neck, almost putting enough pressure to choke you. Carl’s other hand grips your waist, trying to push you off him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” He shouts, despite how close you are, “You want me dead, huh? After all that bullshit—“
“Shut up!” You yell, cutting him off, slamming your hand over his mouth. It tastes salty like sweat, and little bits of dirt are pressed into his face, but Carl can’t do much but let it happen.
With him finally silenced, you manage to take a few deep breaths, trying to organise your thoughts. You two glare at eachother, before you slowly remove your hand, lifting it away from him.
“You—“ Carl attempts again, only for your palm to reclaim his face. This time you pinch his cheeks with your pointer and thumb, causing a disgruntled expression to overtake his features, trying again to squirm from your grasp.
“Don’t talk.” You hiss, this time not letting go, just needing him to be quiet whilst you try and explain.
That, and it felt a little good to put him in his place. But you didn’t have time to savour the feeling, for Carl tightens his grip on your neck, forcing you to hurry with the explanation.
“Negan is not going to hurt you,” You try to tell him, speaking slowly and clearly, wanting to get it into his thick skull. “Let alone kill you. Okay?”
The suggestion causes Carl to try and protest, likely having ten billion reasons why he thinks otherwise, but you’re quick to silence him with a firm grip on his jaw. He shoots you an irritated look, yet remains quiet.
“As long as you’re alive, we can control Rick,” You explain, “The second something happens to you, he stops caring. Right now, you’re the only leverage we have. So, Negan bluffs. I mean, c’mon, you really thought he was gonna do that?”
Carl gives no response, maybe because he’s thinking about it. But you give him the benefit of the doubt, loosening your hold on his jaw, yet leaving your hand there. The pair of you are still panting, and Carl struggles to breathe slightly under your weight on his chest. As such, you shift down a little, but still remain atop him.
For some reason, you keep talking. Maybe there is an inkling of regret, a bubbling guilt over just standing and observing whilst Carl confronted potentially imminent death.
“But that doesn’t mean you get ‘t do stupid stuff, yeah? Especially not now. Things are getting messy, and now you’ve all got guns, so.. I dunno, don’t get cocky, because we can still punish you for it.” You ramble on.
Carl stays silent, letting you run your mouth. He’s not really listening. This is the closest you’ve been before, and you’re practically sitting in his lap, knees planted either side of his thighs whilst you hover.
The hand on your waist remains, settled there, feeling the warmth of your body. That white tank you always wear is thin, dirtied from todays fight, and rides up just enough to reveal a slither of your stomach. God, this is so irrational. But right now, you’re looking less like the enemy, and more like a pretty girl.
Somehow, you’re still talking, rambling about how these next few days will be dangerous, and how Carl should watch out for any surprise Saviour visits. How Negan will be trying to catch everybody off guard.
You’re not even looking at him, staring down at the dirt next to you whilst your mind runs. Carl let’s his hand shift downwards from your waist, just a bit, wondering how low it could get before you caught on. Those tight black jeans, clinging to your form, have never been so tempting.
“That, and I don’t think..” You trail off when you notice Carl’s silence, finally becoming a little more aware of your position. He’s barely even paying attention. “Carl.”
His eyes flicker back up to you, from wherever they’d been looking at. You realise that he’s essentially eye-level with your chest, causing you to tug at his jaw, pulling his face up to force his attention back on you.
Neither of you speak, as Carl shifts a little, pushing himself into a sitting position, approaching in on your personal space. You stay put, on edge, trying to decipher what he’s up to. The hand on your waist travels lower, to your hip, whilst Carl’s grip on your neck loosens so he’s simply holding you.
“Carl.” You whisper again, almost as a warning, quickly catching on to what’s happening here. There’s still gunfire outside the alley, people fighting. That, and this is definitely a bad idea.
This isn’t the face of somebody who wants you dead. Carl is looking at you with an certain want in his eyes, and it’s precious and innocent yet dirty at the same time. For a second, you actually just feel like a teenage girl. Smitten.
Shaking your head, you try to look away from his face, his lips, his eyes. “We’re not doing this.” You whisper, and yet, make no attempt to get off him.
He clocks this, more aware than yourself of how much you might actually want this, even if you say otherwise. But he doesn’t make a move, trying to coax you into a position of agreement, like he needs to hear you say it first. “C’mon, just a little bit.” Carl whispers back, and you can feel his breath on your face.
It’s ridiculous that you’ve let it get this far. You try to consider all the consequences, all the reasons this is stupid, but your brain feels all foggy and mushy. It takes the slightest movement and your lips are brushing together.
You pull back before it can even be called a kiss. Just the tiniest bit, brows furrowed, looking slightly worried. Carl doesn’t chase you down. He doesn’t move, allowing you to take the lead, as if trusting that you do want this. And you do.
That’s why you go back again.
This time, your lips actually meet, and it’s hesitant and awkward at first. But it doesn’t take long to find your footing. One hand still holds onto Carl’s jaw, tilting his head back slightly, giving you access to lick into his mouth. The other hand shifts into his hair, thumb brushing against the back of his neck, fingers gently twirling in the brown locks.
They’re soft. You’d thought so.
Carl leans backwards so he’s laying down, letting you properly sit on his lap. His arms are wrapped around you, hands planted firmly on your ass over those tight jeans, tugging you further down into his body.
You’ve never kissed someone like this before. Neither has he. The adrenaline in your veins pumps hard, urging you to claim his mouth as your own, to which Carl eagerly kisses back.
Eventually, you have to pull away for air, resting your forehead against Carl’s. Your lips are red and swollen from the kissing, coated in a sheen of spit, an expression mirrored on his features. Except that after a moment of breathing, Carl begins to grin, which makes your expression sour.
“Don’t.” You grunt, not wanting to hear whatever he has to say.
But Carl shakes his head, the movement small to not disturb your rest against him. “I just think you look pretty from this angle.”
You still roll your eyes, even if the compliment settles it’s way into your heart, making an unfamiliar warmth spread in your chest. The blush on your face must be evident, because Carl moves his hands upwards, settling over your waist and holding you close to him.
“I’ve gotta go. They’re still fighting.” You remind him, voice lowered to a hushed whisper due to the proximity of the situation. It’s weird, being this intimate and private with Carl. The person you hate more than anything.
His grip tightens on you a little more, holding firmly so that Carl can roll over, placing you down on the dirty path, leaning over your form. “Or I could take you hostage.” He suggests, a wicked grin on his face. So cute.
You don’t know if he’s being serious, but you don’t really care. That’s why you’re drawn to him. Because Carl is one of the few people who isn’t afraid to challenge you.
“That’s not happening,” You scoff, “You’re on thin ice, Grimes. Especially if you want this little stunt to repeat itself.”
The suggestion causes Carl to let up, rolling off you and allowing you some space. You sit once more, dusting some of the dirt off your white tank, pulling it back down to cover up your skin.
“So… you’d do it again?” He asks, watching as you stand, a hopeful expression on his face.
You move towards the building, where the bat is still stuck in splintered wood. It only takes one firm yank to pull it free, leaving a sizeable dent in somebody’s house.
So you’re not facing him when you answer, which is potentially a good thing, because you’re definitely blushing. “Maybe. Play your cards right.”
A sharp sound cuts through the commotion. That whistle you’ve grown to love, and Carl has grown to resent. To you, it means safety, someone to stand by. To him, it’s disaster.
Knowing you have to leave, that the Saviours are retreating, Carl backs off. He stands a few paces away from you, preparing for your sudden departure, mentally reminding himself of this unspoken divide between the pair of you.
Yet, you shoot him one more glance, an awkward little smile on your face. “Don’t get yourself killed.” You tell him, it likely being the most sincere string of words you’ve ever expressed to the boy.
He’ll take it.
He’ll take anything, at this point. The price of hatred was worth it, if this were the outcome.
So Carl let’s you leave, where you run back between the houses, deftly sneaking away to reunite with the Saviours before they can take their trucks and leave Alexandria. Sure, he probably should have backed up that hostage comment, but experiencing this again? That wasn’t something he could pass up.
Now was to make sure nobody found out.
#carl grimes x reader#the walking dead x reader#twd x reader#carl grimes#twd x you#carl grimes x you#the walking dead
203 notes
·
View notes
Note
Noob saibot yandere hc please!
Sure! Here you are!
Yandere! Noob Saibot (Bi-Han) Concept
Pairing: Romantic/Platonic
Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Violence/Canon typical violence, Murder mentioned, Kidnapping, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Mentioned phantom touching in your sleep in one line, Forced companionship.
When Noob was still known as Bi-Han he already had a ruthless and cold personality.
A fitting personality for Sub-Zero.
He was never all that compassionate and very quick to kill his enemies.
When he's killed by Scorpion he somehow gets even worse.
He is also shown to be arrogant as Noob.
As Noob, Bi-Han no longer utilizes ice and instead uses shadow and phantom attacks.
Noob uses his powers to play tricks on his enemies, such as teleportation and doppelgangers.
Noob supposedly still has memories of his life as Bi-Han, so this is how I think he'd have an obsession:
You'd have to know him or be Bi-Han's darling before he died, that way when he comes back as Noob he has a reason to pursue you.
Oh, and it's scary too.
You thought having Bi-Han, a ruthless Sub-Zero that could kill in an instant if someone looked at you wrong, was scary enough?
Well, now you have that same person capable of lurking around every corner as a shadow in your life.
He'd watch your every move… right up until it's time for him to strike.
I feel Noob would just be worse than Bi-Han.
He's even more ruthless and arrogant due to his newfound strength and stealth.
I never mentioned he can use invisibility, did I?
Yeah, as if things weren't bad enough….
Noob's attachment relies heavily on how Bi-Han felt for you.
Be it a sibling from his clan that he had a soft spot for, or maybe even a potential lover he never got to pursue…
Noob will do anything to “reclaim” you.
He doesn't seem like the person to be all that emotional, even around his darling.
Even when he knew you before his death he's more possessive than caring.
He is power hungry and arrogant, leading to him feeling you belong to him.
After Bi-Han dies and becomes Noob, he probably stalks you for a long while before taking you anywhere.
You may think you're finally free…
However, this is merely the calm before the storm.
While you try to get used to life without Bi-Han breathing down your neck, Noob's crawling out from Netherrealm.
You'd feel eyes on your back and perhaps even phantom touches when you sleep.
Noob is careful to merely be a shadow in your life until he's ready.
It is to be expected that those he does not like around do not live to tell the tale.
They are greeted by a furious and vengeful wraith before dying an agonizing demise.
Noob does it for the good of both of you in his mind, even if his actions leave you devastated.
That goes for a lot of what he does for you.
He cares more for himself than your opinion on it.
If he wants to have you, he will.
He's taking you in to care for you, even from beyond the grave.
Yet you still fight him?
You poor thing.
Eventually Noob will decide it's time to take you away.
Where, you ask?
Well, where else does Noob have to go?
You'll probably be dragged to Netherrealm with him.
That or he manages to work out a private home to keep you.
Either option is essentially the same, Noob finally reveals himself from the shadows to confront you.
He'll remind you of who he was before everything… then he'll tell you it's time to go.
Maybe he'll give you some affection to convince you.
He isn't a big one for it… Yet right now he can't resist the warmth of holding you in his arms and kissing your forehead.
You can't fight him, he's stronger due to being a wraith.
That alone makes him swell with pride.
Finally… After so long, Noob (Bi-Han) has you once again in his arms.
Not even death can take you from him.
86 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ch.7: The Talk
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.
The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.
I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.
These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)
"I'm going to be the best damn fighter pilot ever," declares your now 'husband' with a conviction that lights up his eyes. A smile spreads across your face, both proud and supportive of his determination and dreams. He looked so good in his khaki Navy uniform.
"That's exactly what I expect from you," you reply, your voice laced with pride and affection. "And I'll be cheering you on every step of the way."
His green eyes meet yours, and in them, you see not just the fierce determination of a man set on conquering the skies but also the warmth and gratitude for your unwavering support.
He drew you in closer, his eyes searching yours. "You're okay with this?"
"Jake. I have school to finish. It's not like being a medical doctor, believe it or not. It's actually harder. How long will you be gone?"
"Six weeks."
"And you'll be stationed in Florida during that time?"
"Yes, Ma'am," he responded, his southern drawl adding a layer of charm to his words, paired with a grin that melted your heart. It was hard to believe that you were actually married to this man after just a week and a half. "I'll keep you updated on my next location." Leaning in, he kissed you—a kiss that was soft, filled with love and promise. As you parted from the embrace, your foreheads remained gently pressed together. "I promise, we'll have our honeymoon after everything settles down, Mrs. Seresin." His words, sincere and full of future promises.
You smiled. "Technically, it'll be Doctor Seresin, but I won't hold that against you." The light-hearted jest carried the warmth of your shared understanding and the mutual respect for each other's ambitions and titles.
As the memory gently receded, you completed preparing the hot cocoa, adding a splash of bourbon for an extra layer of warmth. Carrying two mugs into the living room, you found Jake settled on the couch. Handing him one of the cups, he accepted it with a nod.
"Thank you," he said, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation as he wrapped his hands around the warm mug.
Settling on the couch beside him, you draped the Aztec blanket from the back of the couch over your lap, embracing the warmth and comfort it offered. After taking a sip of the cocoa, its warmth spreading through you, you turned to look at him. "Start talking, Hangman."
Jake took a deep breath, the seriousness in your request evident. The cozy setting of the living room, with its gentle lighting and the quiet ambiance, contrasted sharply with the weight of the conversation that was about to unfold. He shifted slightly, turning to face you more directly, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability.
"Alright," he began, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of emotion. "You know the missions we fly aren't exactly routine, but this last one... it was different. It was one of those moments where everything that could go wrong, did."
He paused, searching for the right words, his gaze momentarily drifting away before locking back onto yours. "We were deep in enemy territory, and we got ambushed. It was like they knew exactly where and when to hit us. Maverick and Rooster, they were in a tight spot, almost didn't make it out. And if it weren't for a split-second decision, they wouldn't have."
The weight of his words hung in the air, a testament to the danger and the razor-thin margins on which survival often hung in their line of work. He took a sip of his cocoa, perhaps seeking a momentary respite from the memories.
Understanding the constraints of his job meant he couldn't divulge everything, you appreciated the efforts he made to share as much as he could with you.
He shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Let's just say I saved them at the last minute."
That familiar cockiness, a trait you knew well in your husband, surfaced, bringing a sense of normalcy and comfort to the conversation. It was these moments that reminded you of the strength and confidence that defined him.
The shift in his demeanor was palpable as his voice softened, weighed down by a sorrow that had lingered in the spaces between his words. "But I couldn't save our baby. I couldn't be here to protect you," he confessed, the vulnerability in his eyes as tears began to form, revealing the depth of his pain and regret. It was a stark reminder of the personal battles he faced, battles not against external enemies but against the circumstances that kept him from being there in your moment of need.
You gently set your cocoa down on the coffee table, carefully took his mug from his hands to place it beside yours, and then reached out to clasp his hands in yours. "Jake, I was just starting the third month," you began, holding his gaze with a tender yet steady look. "It was an accident that the horse kicked. We both know I just figured out I was pregnant."
Jake's face softened, the mention of the horse and the accident bringing back a flood of memories, each one tinged with the pain of what had been lost. His hands, strong yet gentle, squeezed yours in response, a silent acknowledgment of the shared heartache.
"I remember," he whispered, the words barely audible, yet laden with emotion. "I remember how excited we were, how much we looked forward to everything that was supposed to come next. And then…"
He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, the weight of the loss momentarily overtaking him. The room seemed to shrink with the intensity of the moment, the air thick with unspoken feelings and the quiet sorrow of what could have been.
Taking a deep breath, he continued, "I know I wasn't there when you needed me most. I was… I was lost, Y/N."
"I know you were, but I love my job." You adjusted yourself. "It's better now. I work with a team now, so if I do, or we do, start a family, I won't be in that predicament." His eyes locked on yours as you took a breath, gathering your thoughts and emotions. "When I was making the cocoa in the kitchen, I thought back to the day you had to leave for your six-week fighter school. I remembered how confident you were—not just in what you wanted to do, but also in my goals and how we were going to navigate it all together. How you, someone I'd known for only a week and a half, could possess such unwavering confidence, I'll never fully understand. But it was in that moment I knew I loved you for it."
Jake's expression softened, the reminiscence touching something deep within him. The memory of that day, the emotions that had swirled between them, was a vivid reminder of the foundation upon which their relationship was built. It was a foundation of mutual respect, support, and an unshakeable belief in each other's dreams and abilities.
"I remember that day," Jake said, his voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and affection. "I saw something in you, Y/N. A strength and determination that matched my own. You had this fire in your eyes, this passion for your work, for your dreams. It was impossible not to believe in you, in us. Hell, that's why I married you."
"I married you for the same reasons, Jake," you responded, your voice steady, laced with emotion.
"After I told you to quit your job because of the baby, I thought I lost you," he admitted, his voice carrying a note of vulnerability.
"Well, not calling or talking was pretty rough, and I can't say I didn't think about divorce," you confessed, the honesty in your voice cutting through the air between you.
Jake looked at you, a depth of understanding and gratitude shining through his gaze. "But yet, you stayed," he acknowledged, his voice soft yet filled with emotion.
You nodded, affirming his words. "I did because I knew you were hurting," you responded, your voice carrying a mix of empathy and resolve. "I got to see the confident and cocky side of my husband before he left. I never got to see what happens when something breaks him," you continued, your voice laced with a mixture of reflection and concern. Jake met your gaze, a complex mix of emotions flickering in his eyes as he processed your words. "And I have this feeling, I'm the only one that has seen that side of you." The weight of this realization seemed to settle between you, a silent acknowledgment of the intimacy and trust that defined your relationship.
Jake leaned forward, closing the distance between you, until your foreheads gently touched.
"You're right," Jake whispered, his voice a soft echo of the bond that tethered your hearts. "You are the only one who's seen me like that. I've always thought showing vulnerability was a weakness, especially in my line of work. But with you, I've come to understand it's a form of strength. Being open, honest, and vulnerable with you—it doesn't make me weaker; it makes me whole."
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, seeking and finding the solace he needed in their depths. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, you've always been my safe haven, a place where I can lay down the burdens I carry and just be me. Not the fighter pilot, not the officer, but just Jake. And I've never thanked you enough for that, for being my rock, my constant in a life filled with uncertainties, even when I wasn't there."
You reached out, your hand moving with a tenderness that conveyed the depth of your feelings, and gently placed it on the side of his face. Then slowly, you leaned in, closing the gap between the two of you with a sense of purpose and affection. The moment your lips met, it was as if time itself slowed down, allowing you both to fully immerse in the tenderness of the kiss.
At his family's ranch in Texas, under the expansive blue sky, you and Jake stood in front of a beautifully crafted country wedding arch adorned with wildflowers and soft, flowing fabrics that danced in the gentle breeze. The setting was picturesque, embodying the rustic elegance and warmth of the ranch that had been a significant part of Jake's life. You in your floral lace country wedding dress, and Jake in his dress whites. In front of the pastor, who wore a kind smile that reflected the joy of the occasion, you both prepared to exchange vows that would bind your lives together.
His sister, radiant in her role as your Matron of Honor, stood by your side, her presence a comforting and supportive force. Next to Jake, his brother-in-law, serving as the Best Man, wore a proud and approving look, clearly honored to play a pivotal role in this momentous day. The intimate gathering of family and close friends, all bearing witness to your union, created an atmosphere of love and celebration that seemed to envelop everyone in a shared happiness.
As you locked eyes with Jake, everything else seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, ready to embark on this new journey together.
"Jake Seresin, do you take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Do you vow to love her, comfort her, honor and cherish her, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and to remain faithful to her alone, as long as you both shall live?" the pastor queried, his voice resonating with the solemnity of the moment.
With a depth of emotion and unwavering certainty, Jake responded, his gaze locked with yours, a silent promise reflected in his eyes. "I do," he affirmed, his words a testament to the strength of his commitment and love.
"Y/N, do you take Jake Seresin to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in the bond of marriage? Do you vow to love him, comfort him, honor, and cherish him, in good times and in bad, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, to be faithful only to him for as long as you both shall live?" the pastor inquired, his voice echoing the gravity of the commitment being made.
With a heart full of love and eyes shining with the promise of a shared future, you replied firmly and with unwavering conviction, "I do."
The pastor, witnessing the sincerity and strength of your vows, smiled warmly before turning to the gathered loved ones. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
As Jake stepped forward, closing the distance between you, there was a sense of coming home. When his lips met yours, the kiss was a deep well of all the love you felt for each other, a promise made not just for today but for all the tomorrows to come.
The applause that erupted from your family and friends filled the air with a joyous cacophony, a celebration of love’s enduring power and the beginning of a new chapter in your lives. As you turned to face the world as husband and wife, hand in hand, it was with the knowledge that together, you could face whatever the future held.
Tags:
@buckysteveloki-me @bellyliveslife @tgmreader @callsign-barbell @86laura11 @dizzybee03 @kmc1989 @guacam011y @nerdgirljen @hookslove1592 @dempy @djs8891
#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin fanfiction#jake seresin x you#glen powell#hangman top gun#hangman#top gun maverick hangman#hangman fanfic#top gun fanfic#top gun maverick#hangman x reader#hangman imagines#top gun hangman#hangman fanfiction#top gun fic
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
the overlook
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader x Tess Servopoulos
Word Count: 23.3k
Rating: Explicit
Summary: When you almost get killed, Joel and Tess are there to rescue you. They take you in and Joel nurses you back to health. When you discover that Joel and Tess are in a relationship, tension rises until it inevitably breaks.
Warnings: threesome (m/f/f) | but it’s also very depressing, so keep that in mind when reading it | masturbation (f) | voyeurism kink | unprotected p in v sex | hair pulling | overstimulation | fingering (f receiving) | hand job | (very brief) cum play | canon typical violence and gore | themes of death/dying | mentions of abuse and rape (nothing graphic) | descriptions of injuries and medical procedures (again, nothing too graphic) | mentions of food and alcohol | and yes I don’t shut up about Joel’s hands
Notes: Well, here it is, one and half months after I first mentioned it. As it turns out, I wrote a short novella about Joel and Tess and their little hideaway high up in the mountains that they suddenly have to share with someone else. HUGE thanks to Dani @joel-tess (which is a very fitting URL lmao) for spending two whole weeks reading this and leaving helpful comments and pointing out that I start half my sentences with 'but' and the other half with 'and'. I hope the end result is worthy of the show, at least I was trying to make this about love and what it means to love in a world that runs on hopelessness and hate.
***
Everything hurts. Every bone, every muscle, every movement, no matter how small. Are your eyes closed or open? Is it day or night? Those things lose all meaning in a world where you’re so close to death. You don’t even feel the clammy wetness of the snow because the ache in your side makes everything else seem less important.
A gurgling sound escapes your throat, and you stop breathing, just for a little while, but long enough for panic to kick in. Your body doesn’t want to die. It hasn’t accepted its fate yet, the one your mind has made peace with. The blood you cough up lands sticky on your lips and chin. There’s really no coming back from this. You don’t want to spend your last minutes on Earth fighting and struggling – you don’t want to die how you lived.
Now you start to feel the cold seeping in through your torn pants, making your legs numb. Or maybe that’s just what dying feels like. Maybe your body is shutting down, limb by limb. First your legs, then your arms, and soon all that will be left will be your brain, your thoughts, all the things you regret, all the things you should have done differently, all the chances you didn’t take. Just like your body that should accept your journey is coming to an end, you too should accept that you did the best you could in a world that has been trying to kill you from the start. Maybe you should be proud you’ve made it this far. There is no shame in dying in a cold, dark forest under the stars, no shame at all in accepting defeat when faced with an enemy that is so much stronger than you are.
Your eyes are open now, and you can see the dark outlines of the trees surrounding you, the darker, more solid shadows moving between the trunks. Maybe they’ve come back to gloat, or to finish the job. It doesn’t matter – why should you spend your last minutes worrying? Coughing, you turn your head to look up at the sky again, at the vastness above you. Yes, you never thought you would die here, today, but there are also worse ways to go, darker, more painful ones. Maybe you should be grateful you’re not dying in an abandoned warehouse, chained, gagged, discarded. You’re free, out in the open, able to breathe clean air, feel a gentle breeze on your cheeks. And you’re not alone, not with thousands of stars twinkling above you, and the forest whispering sweet nothings.
Your eyes are closed now, and you can feel yourself drift off. There is no more fight left in your body, no more struggle against the inevitable. You feel warm all over, as if someone is hugging you, refusing to let go. Surrendering is so simple, so easy. In death there are no more expectations, no reason to worry about snapping branches and heavy steps. All those things are irrelevant now – what matters is to let go. Once you’ve done that, you’ll be free. You already are free you realize with a burst of relief. Those heavy footfalls close to you, they don’t fill you with worry or dread or fear. It’s not even indifference that you’re feeling. You just feel nothing.
Nothing at all.
*******
Death is colder than you expected.
It’s a cold, harsh wind that cuts your face and burns your hand. All those stories about a bright light, about an engulfing warmth were lies. As were those about pain vanishing because you feel it burning, eating away at your side, even more intense than it was before. Or maybe there is a Hell after all, and instead of being filled with fire and brimstone and screams and horrors, it’s this – having to go on how you died, cold and in pain, unable to escape your mistakes and regrets.
Do you deserve to be in Hell? You’re not sure. Probably not any more or less than everyone else you know. Yes, you killed people, but who didn’t? At least you never killed without having a good reason. You didn’t lead an honest life, but no one could under these circumstances. Lying and cheating and manipulating was what kept you alive for all these years. If you hadn’t allowed yourself to make some mistakes, you would’ve died much sooner. But maybe that was the point – if you had stopped fighting, maybe there would be light and warmth waiting for you now.
Blood tickles the back of your throat but you’re too weak to cough. All you can do is lie there, the copper taste filling your mouth before you feel yourself drift off into unconsciousness. At least you’re allowed this short break. Maybe death isn’t so bad after all.
*******
Death smells like gasoline and disinfectant, it smells like burning trash and blood. That doesn’t surprise you now that you’ve made peace with never being embraced by that warm light. Death is also quiet, calm. No more rustling leaves, no more heavy steps – just silence. If the smell wasn’t so bad it made you retch, you would think you were back home, in your childhood bedroom, before the world was fucked up and you lost everything. Or maybe you have to experience it all over again, the loss, the pain, the heartbreak. Maybe that’s your punishment for killing and lying and cheating. It could be worse, you decide. It’s nothing you don’t know, nothing you can’t live with.
Watching your mother being executed by soldiers? You replay those few short seconds every day, and have been for 15 years. Reliving the pain of your brother beating you until you couldn’t get up? You forgave him for that a long time ago because he was right – you deserved it. Being gagged and bound so you couldn’t run off, unable to escape your father selling you to a group of men when you were barely 22? Back then, you thought it was the worst thing that could happen to you. You laugh. Life had so much worse in store for you.
All those memories can’t hurt you anymore, but there is just one … one day you don’t want to relive. Still, there is no sense in worrying about it now. You can submit to the guilt and self-hatred when you get there. And maybe you won’t. Maybe something else entirely is about to happen, something much worse than you could ever imagine. No one knows what happens after death, but you’re about to find out.
*******
The voices have been with you for quite some time, but you still can’t recognize them. You can’t be sure, but you don’t think you’ve heard them before. It’s odd – isn’t this supposed to be about your life, your memories? Maybe you could place them if you could understand what they were saying, but it’s impossible to make out. You’re fairly certain there are at least one man and one woman. Sometimes you can hear her laughing, sometimes she shouts and growls. His voice is always the same, a deep rumble, monotone.
It could be that you know them. You’ve met so many people over the course of your life, so many strangers, some of them good, some of them cold and cruel and dangerous. But if the man and the woman are significant to you, significant to learning one final lesson, then why don’t you recognize them? And why can’t you understand what they’re saying? What’s the point to it all?
When you realize you can open your eyes, it comes as a shock to you, and you immediately close them again. You don’t want to see because you don’t want to know where you are, but your left arm itches and burns, and you can’t move your right hand to feel out what the problem might be. You also can’t move your left arm or your legs for that matter. So, if you want to find out what’s going on, you’re going to have to open your eyes sooner or later.
You’re breathing too fast but you can’t help it. If this is death, then why are you so terrified? The worst thing that could happen to you has already happened. There is nothing worse, nothing more final than dying. Still, you pant like a rabbit caught in a trap, your heart fluttering inside your chest when you finally manage to force yourself to open your eyes. And you see nothing, just darkness, not entirely black but too dense to make out much except a lamp somewhere above your head, the lightbulb cold and dark. It could be worse.
Even with your breathing still too fast and your heart still fighting with everything it has, you manage to turn your head to the left. You can make out an IV bag next to the surface you’re lying on, its line leading to your arm, buried in the crook of it. You groan, and try to lift your right hand again to free yourself but you can’t. You can’t and you don’t know why and the room is spinning and spinning and … you realize.
You’re tied down.
You can feel the coarse leather against your skin now, against both wrists and around your ankles. This can’t be death – it’s too much like life, too much like what you’re used to. A disappointed sob forces its way out of your chest, followed by a dry heave. Not only did you fail to escape, you ended up in a worse situation than before. Panic grips you, cold and hard, and you don’t hear yourself screaming but you must have because a door bangs open and the voices are in the room with you now.
You lose consciousness … you don’t want to know.
*******
You dream of a mountain stream, cold and clear. You dream of the ocean, of waves rolling in, quietly at first, then louder and louder. You dream of birds in the sky, of your gun in your hand. You dream of red sunrises, of fire burning flesh, of the iron taste of blood.
You dream of her.
You don’t want to dream of her, so you wake yourself up. But the only thing that awaits you is the horror of still being alive, of still being trapped in a windowless room, hooked up to an IV bag, tied down, with no idea about where you are, what time it is, and what they want from you. And you wish you had died in that forest under the stars, so the snow could have covered your body, and you would have been forgotten. But you’re refused that one final kindness, even now, when you have nothing left to lose.
There are sounds outside the locked door – it’s bound to be locked, isn’t it? You can’t get up and check, but there is no point anyway. You’ve been confronted with enough locked doors in your life to know better than to expect anything else. The sounds are loud, metallic, like someone is working on something, destroying it. You don’t hear voices anymore, you don’t hear the man or the woman, you don’t know if it’s one of them out there or someone else entirely. And it’s probably best that you don’t. The sooner you find answers to those questions you’re chewing on, the sooner you’ll be in danger again.
The sounds stop and your entire body tenses. You try to move but you can’t – all you get as a reward is a sharp pain in your left side, right where the bullet hit you. But it’s much softer compared to the pain you felt lying in the snow. It doesn’t take up so much of your mental capacity now and you can breathe through it. Almost as if someone tended to the wound and it’s healing. But before you can ponder that possibility you hear a key being turned in the lock of your door and it swings open, bringing a beam of light with it.
You don’t want to see, so you close your eyes, pretend you are still asleep. It won’t save you, it never has before, but it might buy you some time, prolong the inevitable for a little while longer. But your breathing is too fast, your body is too tense – you’re not fooling anyone.
You hear footsteps that sound heavy against the hard floor. One pair of boots, so at least you’ll only have to deal with one of them for now. Not that you can deal with anyone in the condition you’re in, but it’s still a small consolation.
“I know you’re awake.” A deep voice. A man’s voice.
You don’t move. He doesn’t know shit.
He sighs, moves closer to the bed you’re lying on, but he doesn’t touch you, doesn’t hit you. Instead, you feel an uncomfortable tug on your arm as he checks the IV. And that’s it. That’s all he does. Soon, you hear his footsteps receding, moving back toward the door. And you risk one glance at him before he shuts it behind himself.
You should focus on the gun and knife strapped to his side, on the fact that you could easily grab them from your position if you weren’t tied down. Instead, all you can see is his profile, mostly hidden in shadow, his strong jaw and big nose, his furrowed brow. And despite all your instincts, despite everything you had to learn the hard way, you want to believe he’s not planning on hurting you.
What a foolish thought to have.
*******
The next time you wake up, the restraints on your ankles and wrists are gone. You notice it immediately because you’re curled up on your side in a tight ball, hugging yourself. But once you realize that, you shoot upright, pulling the needle from your arm with the quick movement. Before you can jump out of the bed, you feel a yank and a metallic clang puts you back in your place. Yes, the leather is gone, but you’re still handcuffed to the bed. You’re only able to move more as long as you’re not planning on getting up.
“Sleep well?”
It takes everything in you not to scream. You’ve been alone in this room for so long, waking up alone for so long, you weren’t expecting someone else to be there with you. And that’s on you – you really should know better after living like this for 15 years.
The room is still dark, except for a lamp right next to your bed that’s bright enough to let you guess the dimensions of the space you’re in. Outside the circle of light, just beyond what you can comfortably see, the man who checked up on you … hours ago – maybe days ago – sits on a chair, leaned back, legs spread, arms crossed over his chest. Today, you can’t pretend you’re still asleep.
“Who are you?” Your voice is hoarse from screaming, it’s hoarse because you’re parched.
He nods at you. “Drink.”
You take your eyes off him for a second to see there’s a glass of water on a small table next to the bed. You don’t touch it.
He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Who are you?”
Would knowing really help you? Probably not. But it would give you back some control. It would make you feel like you were more than a good he’s going to barter the first chance he gets.
“My name is Joel.” He looks at his hands when he says it, so you can’t see his eyes. You can’t know if he’s telling the truth, but there is no reason for him to lie. Joel. He could be anyone and no one, but he’s the man who’s currently holding you captive.
“Where am I? Why am I here?”
Joel sighs again. “I ain’t the one … I’m just supposed to make sure you don’t dehydrate. Drink.”
You shake your head.
“You almost died out there. Hell, you almost died in here, too. You need fluids.”
What he says makes sense. You were there, after all, lived through the whole thing. But this is after, and no one helps anyone after the world perishes, at least not out of the kindness of their hearts. The water is probably laced with drugs so he can put you under again. You know better than to expect anything from strangers. You knew better before, and you certainly know better after.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
He pushes himself out of his chair, and you push yourself back so your head makes painful contact with the hard metal wall behind you. He doesn’t need to drug you for whatever it is he wants to do to you. You couldn’t defend yourself in the state you’re in, even if it was your life on the line. But he doesn’t touch you. He picks up the glass of water and takes one big gulp, spilling some of it down his chin and chest. The reverberating sound that comes with him putting it back down echoes around your head.
“There. Happy?”
He lets himself fall back into the chair and crosses his arms again. A few drops of water cling to his beard but he doesn’t wipe them away. He doesn’t do anything except stare at you.
You shouldn’t do it. Maybe he’s immune to whatever he put in your glass, maybe a small dose doesn’t have any effect on him. But you’re too thirsty to care. Your mouth is dry and sticky at the same time, and your throat aches for some relief, for some water.
The water is so cold the first sip sends a shiver down your spine and makes your teeth hurt. But after that it gets easier and easier and you drink it down faster and faster until there is nothing left and your empty stomach feels so full it hurts. He doesn’t say anything, just takes the empty glass from you and makes to leave.
“Hey,” you call after him. Hey, Joel, you want to say, but it feels too intimate. “Untie me?”
He doesn’t even shake his head before he closes and locks the door behind himself.
*******
The soup burns your lips and tongue, but you’re too greedy to pay much attention to the pain. It’s nothing special, just some roots and mushrooms, and a few pieces of lean meat, but it’s the best meal you’ve ever had. Joel watches you drink down the soup, one hand resting on his knee, the other hanging down, hovering close to the gun. He expects you to throw the soup in his face, and you can’t even be upset he thinks so little of you because you were considering it for a second.
“Be careful, it’s hot.” It’s too late for that warning, but he says it anyway.
“Do you think you’ll untie me today?” you ask, moving your bound wrist so the handcuff scrapes against the handle you’re tied to. You’re still in the same room, tied to the same hospital bed, but at least the IV is gone.
He smacks his lips. “Nope.”
“I won’t run,” you promise. “Honestly, Joel, where do you think I would go? You still won’t even tell me where I am.”
“You don’t need to be untied if you want to stay right here.” You’ve heard this a million times.
“Don’t you think it’s time you trusted me?”
He huffs. Sometimes he says, “You clearly don’t trust me,” sometimes he gets up and leaves. Today, he just quietly watches you as you drink your soup.
You know he doesn’t want to harm you. He had plenty of opportunities in the three weeks you’ve been living under his roof. That’s something else you know – three weeks. Two of those you spent drifting in and out of consciousness, hovering between life and death. One you spent trying to convince Joel to unlock the handcuffs.
The one thing you still don’t know is why you’re here. What does he want with you? Why is he keeping you alive? Why is he nursing you back to health? Sometimes you aren’t even sure if he knows the answers to those questions himself. But the stronger you get, the more you’re looking for answers. And the more you push him, the more he shuts down.
“Where am I, Joel?” You’ve asked him this so many times that the words have started to sound fake.
“You’re safe.” He replies, and as always, those words sound like a lie.
“If I’m safe, then why are you holding me captive?” Why am I still locked up? Why don’t you want to untie me? What’s behind that door? You’ve tried countless variations on that same question and he’s found countless ways to avoid answering them.
“Would you like some more soup?” He nods at your empty bowl.
Yes, you would, but you also want to get up and move about. Wordlessly, you hold out the bowl and he takes it from you, always careful not to come too close to you, so you can’t grab the knife or the gun. You tried, of course you did, and you failed miserably. You still have the bruise on your arm to prove it.
Joel walks through the door but leaves it open. He sometimes does that because there is nothing of interest to you to see beyond it. Just a table, and a calendar on the wall opposite. August 2003, and a picture of a golden-fronted woodpecker, a tiny red berry held gently in its open beak. Its eye looks red, too. You guess there must be a stove somewhere (or at least a gas cooker) or Joel wouldn’t be able to cook soup. But that’s it. You don’t know how many other rooms there are (if there are any), you don’t know how many other people there are (if there are any). Wasn’t there a woman here while you were fighting for your life? You can’t be sure. And asking Joel is useless – you’ve tried.
“Here.” You take the soup from him and he sits back down to watch you as before. “Be careful, it’s hot.” You’re trapped in a loop.
“Why do you always do that?” you ask, holding the bowl in your hands, letting it warm your cold fingers. “Why do you always watch me eat?”
A puff is your only answer.
“Scared I’m going to whittle a key from a few pieces of boiled potatoes and a sprig of rosemary?” you tease.
“I have my orders,” he answers as if that settles the matter.
You know better than to ask him whose orders they are. This conversation is giving you a headache. So you try a different approach. “What’s your favorite kind of soup, Joel?”
The corners of his mouth twitch like he’s about to smile, but he gains back control immediately. “Any soup that’s warm and keeps me alive.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, what’s the real answer?”
You don’t think you’re going to get an answer since he just looks at you for the longest time. You’re used to it, to his brown eyes on you, assessing you, trying to determine how dangerous you are. Only today it’s a different kind of gaze. He’s not looking for danger but something else. And eventually he finds it.
“Black bean soup,” he answers.
There’s already a witty remark on your tongue but before you can get it out, a siren goes off, loud and jarring, unlike anything you’ve heard in a while. Your body’s reaction to it is instantaneous. You drop your soup, fling it from you, so the bowl hits the ground, bursting, spilling the warm liquid everywhere. Joel doesn’t notice. He’s on his feet and halfway out the room at this point. You have no idea what’s going on, what the siren means, but you know you’ll be safe cowering in the room under your blanket. At least you hope you will be. Whatever is out there, whatever triggered the alarm … Joel is just one man. And isn’t this how it started last time? You thought you were safe too, but there were just too many, and they took whatever they wanted. This time, you’re not even strong enough to close off your mind. This time, you will surely die.
You hear no sounds from the other room, except the telltale click of a magazine being pushed into a rifle. You hear no sounds because you try to block out everything that comes afterwards …
When it’s all over, Joel cleans up the soup you spilled. You’ve lost all appetite, and he doesn’t push you to eat more. Joel smells metallic, like smoke. You don’t want to ask him what happened and he’s not going to tell you anyway. Instead, when he’s done, he softly closes the door to your room, leaving you alone in the darkness. He has things to do now, gruesome things, things you wouldn’t know how to help him with even if you weren’t injured. But you could tell from the tension in his shoulders and the cruel lines around his mouth that whoever tripped the alarm wasn’t infected.
And it never gets easier.
*******
You flinch. It still hurts whenever he changes the dressing, even though he’s so careful now. Joel wasn’t like that at first. The first time you were fully conscious during the procedure, you broke down crying because the pain was too much for you to bear. You definitely weren’t looking for comfort from him, but a kind word would have gone a long way. Instead, all you got was a, “Suck it up, you’ve been through worse.”
The more your wound heals and the more you recover, the more careful he handles you. Still, every time he undoes the bandage around your chest, it feels like he’s tearing the wound open again, as if all the scab your body formed around it is coming clean off. It doesn’t help that the wound is on your left side near your ribs, and you have to take your shirt off every time Joel cleans it. It leaves you exposed and uncomfortably on display. Every other man would have taken advantage of your situation by now, but not him. Maybe that makes you feel even more vulnerable.
“It looks good,” he tells you, examining the wound. He carefully touches the tender flesh around it with the coarse tip of his forefinger, sending an uncomfortable shudder down your spine. “No sign of infection. I think it might be time to take you off the antibiotics.”
“If you say so, doctor,” you say through gritted teeth.
He huffs, removing his finger. “Does it still hurt?”
“Of course it fucking does,” you snap.
He draws back, straightening his back. His face is a blank mask. “Was this your first time getting shot?”
“No,” you answer, protectively slinging an arm across your naked stomach, “but the first time I almost died from it.”
He raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t just the wound.”
There’s no question in it, just an observation. And yes, he’s right, it wasn’t just the wound. It probably wasn’t life-threatening to begin with, but it’s none of his business when he doesn’t even want to tell you where you are and why you’re here. You know better than to open yourself up to a complete stranger who keeps you locked up. In the future, you need to be more careful. You can’t let him come any closer than he already has.
“Like you would know,” you say defensively.
The corner of his mouth twitches, and he flexes his fingers fast, balling them into a fist and releasing them.
“Come on, let’s get this over with,” you sigh impatiently.
Without another word, he gets back to work. He cleans the edges of the wound with some cold water, then he has you press a gauze pad against it while he ties the bandage around your torso again.
“A few more days and we can leave it open,” he tells you once he’s done.
“And then what?”
Is it going to be the same as always?
You glance at Joel, his furrowed brow, as he focuses on tying the bandage tight enough to hold but not tight enough so it will hurt you. He wouldn’t, would he? Hurt you? You shake your head. No, you’ve been there before. You put your trust in people before and it almost cost you your life, and it certainly cost you part of your soul. If anyone should ask, you still have the scars to prove it.
Once he’s done, Joel runs his fingers from the edge of the bandage down your naked side to your hip. It’s not a conscious movement, at least you don’t think it is, since his brown eyes are glazed over, almost empty. But it still pushes all your questions and doubts aside. Joel would hurt you if he could, there is no doubt about that. But he would also protect you, has already protected you. And that’s where the real danger lies waiting. It’s not hidden beneath cruelty and malice. It lies buried beneath care and attention. You either die for the people you love or you live long enough to lose them. And if they betray you, you can never really fully recover from that.
“That’s not up to me,” Joel answers, averting his gaze.
“Please,” you start.
“That’s enough.” His voice is harsh, the words meant as a shove, but all you feel is a pull deep in the pit of your stomach.
“Joel,” you try again, but he shakes his head and stands.
Usually, before he leaves, he tells you to get some rest or holler if you need anything. Today, he stomps out of the room, his boots heavy against the concrete floor, and you turn away from the door because you won’t sink so low as to call after him. But before you can make sense of the whirlwind of feelings holding you captive, before you have time to put your thoughts into order, you hear him return. He grabs your wrist, the one that’s tied to the bed, in a firm hold, one that makes you yelp in surprise.
“Joel, what …?” you try, wanting to get away from him and be closer at the same time.
Before your heart can decide if it wants to stop beating or spin out of control, you hear a metallic click and a weight falls off your wrist. You’re free! Your brain doesn’t have enough time to process that new piece of information before your fingers close around the handcuff and you raise it, bringing it down hard against Joel’s temple. He grunts in pain but you don’t pause – you’re sprinting toward the door as fast as you can after weeks of being tied to a bed. You have the element of surprise on your side because Joel doesn’t come after you, at least not right away. You’ve made your way to the room with the table before he has fully realized what is happening.
Your lungs and legs burn like they’re on fire and your head is spinning, screaming for you to slow down or you will collapse, but you ignore all the warning signs, desperately searching for an exit. There are two doors, one on your left and one on your right. They both look the same – dark green, dirty, paint chipped away, especially around the handles. It’s crazy how much your brain is able to take in and process whenever you’re in danger. But you don’t have time! You can’t linger and stare at the small kitchen corner, maybe even look for a knife you can use as a weapon when Joel finally does come after you. You don’t pick a firearm out of the crate right in front of you either because the rifles and guns probably aren’t loaded and you can’t afford to be slowed down by dead weight.
You make a decision in the spur of the moment, without any plan where you are, any idea about what kind of building you’re in. But you just know that the door on your right will lead you to freedom. And so you make for it, spurred on by the grunts behind you. Joel is in pursuit now, having recovered from the initial shock. If you want to get out of here, it’s now or never.
The door is unlocked. It’s not even particularly hard to push it open, not even for someone in such a weakened state as yourself. It just swings open, and you’re outside – just like that. You don’t see much: snowy mountains, a quiet forest, fences and barbed wire, two abandoned cars, a horse, its flanks steam in the cold winter air. You see your own breath too, and it almost makes you turn back. If you leave in your condition, face the winter without so much as a coat to keep you warm, you’ll be dead within a few hours. You certainly won’t make it through the night. But it’s a fate you can choose, something you can control now that you don’t feel like your own person anymore. And it’s preferable to dying tied to a bed in a dark room.
You run, stumbling like a fawn. If you push through the pain and the cold, if you ignore your cramping muscles, the jab in your side, the iron taste in your mouth, you should be able to climb over the fence. And then you can hide in the forest until it’s too dark for Joel to find you.
Something barrels into you, pushing you to the ground. You scream as your entire world erupts with pain. Lights flicker in front of your eyes, white and red, and your world tilts and spins. You’re so cold but your left side burns red hot. Did Joel shoot you?
“Fuck!” It’s the woman’s voice – you recognize her instantly. She’s the one you heard talking to Joel during those first few days when you had no way of knowing what was real and what wasn’t. She’s lying next to you, covered in snow, one hand firmly wrapped around your arm. “What the fuck is going on here?”
You’re being lifted up by a strong hand wrapped tightly around the collar of your shirt. A desperate gasp escapes you as Joel lifts you out of the snow. His eyes are bright with rage, his breath is a hot cloud between your faces, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to let go soon. If anything, his grip turns harder as he twists your collar in his hand.
“What are you doing?” the woman snaps at him.
“I untied her and she made a run for it.” His honesty surprises you, even if there are other issues right now you should focus on.
“Let go of her,” the woman orders, and there’s just a brief moment of hesitation. Then you’re dropped to the ground, crumpling into a heap in the snow.
The woman sighs and pushes herself to her feet. “Come on,” she hisses at you, pulling your arm. “Get up.”
You try to tear yourself loose, even if your entire body is screaming for you to stop fighting and give in. “No,” you grunt through gritted teeth. “Let me go.”
She laughs in your face. “And where do you want to go, sweetheart? Look around. You’re stuck here, whether you like it or not.”
You look around at her words but you only see the same trees and mountains you saw before, and you still feel like you’d rather die in the woods than live with this helplessness any longer.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” she groans. “Come on.” And with that she pulls you up like you weigh nothing and shoves you. “Get moving.”
You should probably put up a fight – if 15 years living in this world have taught you anything, it’s that the strong survive. It should feel like this situation has just gone from bad to worse, but there is something about the way Joel lowers his head as you walk past him that gives you pause. And you might be imagining it but the woman’s grip feels less hard. It’s not that you think they’re good people, but you’ve been here for more than three weeks and if they had wanted to hurt you, they’ve had plenty of opportunity so far.
*******
“Why am I here?” you ask. You’re sitting at the table, a steaming bowl of soup in front of you, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “What do you want from me?”
The woman, Tess, sits opposite you. In front of her on the table is a loaded gun. It’s as if she’s taunting you. You could reach for the gun, try to shoot her, but she’s faster than you and you’d be dead before you’re fully out of the chair. Joel leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. Maybe his lack of trust hurts you, maybe it’s an uncomfortable pull near your heart, but you also can’t blame him. There is a bruise forming on his temple where you hit him with the handcuffs. You don’t even remember doing it.
“We don’t want anything from you,” Tess answers, and it’s just as unhelpful as Joel’s non-committal grunts.
“Then let me leave.”
Tess shakes her head. “No.” Before you can protest, she adds, “You still need some time to recover.”
“Why are you helping me?” The question is directed at Joel but he keeps quiet.
“You were almost killed, remember that?” It sounds almost like an accusation, the way Tess says it. “We found you and brought you here.”
“Why?” It baffles you. They must have an ulterior motive.
“Where I’m from, you don’t just leave people to bleed out in the snow.”
You laugh at that. “Where I’m from you do. Has it ever occurred to you there might be a reason why I was almost killed?”
“There’s always a reason,” Tess says with a nod. “No one can afford innocence.”
You look at her for the first time, really look. She might be around Joel’s age, but it’s not easy for you to tell. She has long, brown hair that is starting to gray, and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. The look she gives you is cold, hard, but beneath all that there is something else – it’s as if she’s forcing herself to put up a front. Before, when you came in, she took off the heavy winter coat she was wearing. Now she sits opposite you, dressed in a dark sweater that is tattered along the edges. A second gun is strapped to her side with a leather shoulder holster. It looks new.
“And you don’t care about the reason at all?” you press. “Maybe I murdered ten FEDRA officers.”
“Those guys who were trying to kill you weren’t FEDRA.” Joel’s voice is deep, almost hoarse.
You definitely don’t want to talk about that so you change the subject. “If I’m that innocent, why not let me go?”
Tess just glares at you.
“Oh, come on,” you groan. “I’m grateful and all, but I really deserve some answers, don’t you think?”
“It’s the truth,” Tess says after a brief moment of contemplation. “We found you in the woods, we decided to look after you until you were better. You aren’t fully healed yet and we’d like you to stay with us until you have recovered.”
“And what do you want from me in return?”
Tess doesn’t look like she’s going to answer you, but Joel does. “We need a third person to look after the compound, at least until the end of winter. If you want to repay us, you’re more than welcome to stay and pull your weight until the snow melts.”
“For real?” you ask. He’s joking, surely.
Tess nods at Joel. “You’re clearly capable. And you’re strong. We could use someone like you.” She hesitates. “Especially since I can’t be around most of the time.”
You prick up your ears at that. She’s giving you more information than she needs to give you, vital information about one of their weak spots. She probably doesn’t trust you, not fully, but she trusts you enough.
You clench your jaw and nod. “All right, but you have to start answering my questions honestly.”
*******
You’re high up in the mountains, far away from whatever is left of civilization as you know it. No one comes up here – no humans and certainly no infected. It’s just Joel and Tess, at least during the winter. In summer, when the weather clears and the snow melts, they will go back to Boston. Until then, they’re in charge of a warehouse of ammo and guns. They are in charge of a stockroom full of food. And the people who put them in charge aren’t FEDRA.
Mostly, it’s just Joel up here. Tess leaves for weeks on end, travelling around the country on errands they don’t tell you about. Trust only goes so far. And when she comes back, she never stays for longer than a day or two. It’s their third winter up here, Joel’s third winter of being mostly on his own. They both don’t want to come next year, but they go where they’re sent. Tess also makes it clear that it’s best if the people in charge never find out about you staying here.
Here. It’s not home, not exactly, but it’s the safest you’ve felt in a long time. Joel and Tess call it the Overlook. The main building they kept you in, a warehouse where they keep the ammo, the stockroom, and a tower, tall and menacing, that they use as an outlook. Most days, you can’t see much up there. Winter is cold and gray in these parts, the clouds hang low almost every day or it’s snowing constantly. You haven’t seen the sun in weeks.
It’s not easy work what they expect of you. It’s back-breaking, skin-tearing kind of work, but it feels so good to be doing something. Especially now that you’re fully healed you focus on getting back your strength. Seeing the progress and noticing how much more your body can take with each passing day gives you a grim satisfaction. The first time Joel let you out of the house you couldn’t even make it to the fence and back without almost collapsing in the snow. Today, you’re outside, setting traps to catch rabbits, climbing trees, helping Joel skin and gut a deer he shot. And you don’t feel tired. You feel alive, driven by purpose.
Joel’s naked hands and wrists are covered in blood, his face is grim and set. It took you some time to learn that he’s not angry when he looks like this, but that he’s concentrating and you definitely shouldn’t interrupt him when his brow is furrowed like that. So you watch as he works, grunting with the strain of it, his knife quick and fast in his hands. There is no point in carrying a whole animal back to the Overlook; it’s better to carve out the parts you want to use here and now.
Joel has taught you so much in the time you’ve been with him. Sometimes you wonder how you were able to survive the first 15 years without him. And sometimes you wish you could stay with him into spring and all the way through summer and fall, even though both he and Tess made it clear that it’s not possible.
A crack cuts through the silence of the forest, as if something – or someone – close to you just stepped on a twig. Joel drops the knife so fast you almost don’t see it fall. The rifle is in his hands, he’s up on his feet, pointing it into the general direction the sound came from all before your hand has moved to the gun hanging at your side. Three birds take flight, their flapping wings almost as loud as the step you heard. But other than that, nothing moves in the snow-covered forest.
“Maybe it was just an animal,” you dare point out.
“Yeah, maybe,” Joel says through gritted teeth, still observing the trees and the spaces between them.
You know not to say anything more or give any advice until Joel has decided it’s safe to continue his task. You haven’t been living out here for years, you haven’t even been living outside high walls that much. It’s not your place to question Joel or any judgement he makes regarding safety. But, soon enough, he lowers his rifle and falls back onto his knees with a grunt. There is a lot of work left to do and it will get dark soon.
You watch as his knife glides under the deer’s skin, separating it from the meat and muscle beneath. A pungent smell fills the air around you and you wonder if you might be attracting other animals, like wolves. You hear them howling at night, higher up in the mountains, too far away to be of much concern. But the winter is hard and there isn’t much meat to spare. You’re an easy target for a pack of apex predators close to starvation.
Joel puts the knife down next to his knee and begins to pull, tearing away the deer’s skin with a sickening sound. And then, before you can offer Joel help to roll over the big carcass, something jumps Joel with a shout, pushing him to the ground. It all happens so fast you can’t shout a warning – you didn’t even see the assailant coming even though Joel told you to be on the lookout. Your surprised shout comes too late.
A man pushes Joel to the ground. You can’t make out his face, but it’s covered in a trimmed, black beard. Joel, taken by surprise, raises his hands to protect his face, but the man has a knife clasped in a fist, its blade gleaming in the afternoon light.
“Joel, watch out!” you shout, but there is nothing you can do.
The man brings down the knife in a slashing motion, cutting into the red skin on Joel’s wrist. Joel doesn’t scream – he doesn’t even grunt. Instead, as the man draws back for a second attack, Joel punches him so hard he rolls off and Joel can get to his feet. The man assumes a crouching position immediately, apparently unfazed by Joel’s punch. He’s hunching down low, the knife still in his hand, twirling the handle, trying to get a firm grip on it. Joel glares at him, calculating, his face masked in concentration.
You calculate too – how long would it take for Joel to grab the rifle and fire it? Too long. What about the knife? The attacker is squatting between him and the blade. Could you help him? You don’t dare to when you see Joel’s furrowed brow.
The man jumps in Joel’s direction and Joel manages to grab both his wrists and push, so he stumbles back again. With a sickening grin on his face, the man approaches a second time, slower, blade outstretched in front of him. Joel doesn’t take his eyes off the weapon for a second and it’s the first time you see him, that cold, calculating man who knows he has to kill to survive. Sure enough, the man attacks again, going for Joel’s stomach, an easy target since Joel opened his jacket when he was working on the deer. Joel jumps back two steps and the man stumbles. A death sentence.
Joel is on him in a split second, pushing him to the ground, not caring that his face comes dangerously close to the blade. The other man shouts out in surprise as Joel climbs on top of him, his teeth bared. He pins the man’s arms to the ground with his knees, the effort bringing an angry flush to his cheeks, then reaches over the man’s head to where his own knife is lying on the ground. That’s when you know it’s over. Joel buries the fingers of his left hand in the man’s long, straggly hair and pulls to expose his throat.
It’s just one slash. Just one quick move of Joel’s arm and the man stops kicking, struggling, fighting for his life. You don’t look away. You watch as warm blood spills onto the snow that’s now dirty with soil kicked up during the struggle. You watch bubbles of blood form on the man’s lips, hear his last gurgling breath. You watch Joel hold him down, breathing hard, knife raised for a second cut if necessary. Joel’s eyes are empty.
“Let’s finish up here,” he grunts, pushing himself to his feet.
You want to apologize for having failed him, but you’re still too frozen to speak. Even though the whole altercation was shorter than a minute, you struggle with what you just witnessed. Not with the killing – you’ve seen enough of that and you know it was self-defense – but with the speed with which it all went down, with how quickly a life can be taken if you miscalculate and fuck with the wrong person.
“You’re bleeding.” It’s not much, but it’s something.
Joel looks down at his wrist as if he’s only just noticing the injury himself. “It’s okay,” he says, then kneels down and cuts a piece of cloth out of the man’s shirt to tie it around the cut. “Let’s finish up here before it gets dark.”
You nod, then watch him shove the man’s body away from the carcass. There’s nothing you can do to help him with the body or the deer, and you fight down a feeling of uselessness and helplessness. Now is neither the time nor the place to feel sorry for yourself. You can do that later in the privacy of your own room.
Joel finishes up fast, wraps the meat into old sheets he’s brought along, then stows them in his backpack. You get your own load to carry back to the Overlook. The trek back you spend in silence; Joel marches ahead with purpose, you follow, a queasy feeling in your stomach. What if the man wasn’t alone? What if his group is nearby, waiting for an opportunity to attack? Joel can fight off one attacker, maybe even two, but he’s wounded and exhausted from a day of hard work and you’ve proven today that you’re not much use in a fight. Luckily, there is no need for you to worry. You safely arrive back at the Overlook and breathe freely again once the gate shuts behind you.
“Here,” you say once Joel has locked the door to the main building. You’re standing behind a chair, offering Joel a seat. “Let me take a look at that cut.”
He nods and lets himself fall into the seat, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “There’s a first aid kit under the sink.”
You don’t tell him that you know – it’s best if he doesn’t realize how much you’ve been snooping around. So you get the first aid kit without a word and put it down next to the pot of steaming water you boiled while Joel was putting away the meat. Finding some clean towels or even just pieces of fabric wasn’t easy but you managed.
The cut isn’t long but deep, and it takes you a while to clean it. Joel doesn’t complain, but flinches from time to time when you use too much pressure. It will leave a scar but it isn’t his first and it won’t be his last. You don’t have any disinfectant since most of it expired years ago, but someone put a small bottle of clean, stinging alcohol in the kit and you use that to battle any possible infection. It’s the only time Joel hisses through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more vigilant,” you apologize while you’re bandaging the wrist. “You trusted me to keep a lookout and I failed you.”
“Yes, you did,” Joel agrees and even though you know you made a mistake it still stings to hear him confirm it. “Next time, don’t watch me. Keep your eyes on the forest.”
It’s only now, when he points it out, that you realize how much you must have been staring at him. Your face grows hot with shame and embarrassment. “It won’t happen again,” you promise, your eyes lowered, pretending to examine the bandage.
“It’s not just your fault,” Joel adds. “I should’ve been more careful after that twig snapped.”
His admission takes the sting out of it a little bit. “Is it hard to…” you trail off, struggling to find the words to the question that's on your mind.
You look at him for help, watch as a shadow clouds his features before seeing it pass and be replaced by disbelief. “You’ve never killed someone?”
“I have. Just… never like that, with a knife to their throat.”
“It ain’t different from using a gun,” he replies gruffly. “You end their life either way.”
Satisfied with your work on Joel’s arm, you let go of it, ignoring how empty your hands feel without the warmth of his skin against yours. “But you were so close to that man; you could watch him die, you saw him take his last breath, saw him slip away.”
“It was either him or me.” There’s a strain in Joel’s voice when he says it.
“It was him or us,” you correct him, not sure if that makes it better or worse. “I wouldn’t have been able to kill him on my own.”
“You’d be surprised how much you can do when your life is at stake,” he says with a cold laugh.
“Yeah,” you agree.
Then you both fall silent. It’s not until much later in the evening when you’re about to go to bed that he stops you with a hand on your arm, pulling you into the same chair you had him sit down in earlier.
“What happened to you?” he asks then. “Who were those men who were trying to kill you?”
You feel your body stiffen and your jaw tighten as you try to keep down the unpleasant memories of that night and of what came before. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Tough luck,” he growls. “It’s time you gave us some answers.”
The stab of jealousy you feel at his use of the word us is almost strong enough to defeat the rising panic. Almost. “Why?” you snap. “Because you saved my life today?”
“No.” Joel sits down in a chair opposite you so the table is between you. He fills two shot glasses with a cloudy, brown liquid and pushes one across the wood to you. “We trust you enough to let you stay. It’s time that trust was returned.”
You laugh coldly but wrap your fingers around the glass. “It’s not what you think.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” The confrontational tone has gone from his voice. He knows he has you.
You make one last attempt to get out of the situation. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“The beginning is usually a good start.” You expect him to be smirking at you, but he isn’t. There isn’t even much expectation in his gaze. He knows you’re not leaving the table until you’ve given him some answers.
“Well,” you sigh, giving in. “The beginning is always Outbreak Day, isn’t it?”
He shrugs.
“I was luckier than most,” you go on. “I only lost my mother in the days afterwards. She was shot by soldiers because she was coughing. Back then, no one really knew what symptoms people displayed before turning, so they got rid of everyone who was sick one way or another. At least where I’m from.”
“And where’s that?” Joel asks.
“Montana,” you reply, fighting to keep down the memories of your mother crumbling to the ground, gunfire ringing out around you, the sound of it almost shattering your skull. Then you were screaming. And all your father did was tell you to move along. Even now, you’re still screaming sometimes when you dream about that day. “We lived in a small, rural community, but the military found everyone. At first, we thought we were safe. You heard rumors about the cities, but in my town, no one even turned until the second day.”
Joel has a curious look on his face now. “How old were you?”
“20,” you reply. “No, 21. It’s not that easy to keep track of time.” You shoot him an apologetic smile. “I was engaged to a guy from my town, we were supposed to take over my parents’ farm.”
“Is he still alive?”
You shrug. “I have no idea. I got rid of the engagement ring a long time ago.” You take a steadying breath. “After that, my dad and my brother and I went to live in the mountains. There were some vacation rentals up there we moved into with a small community of other survivors. We probably would have survived up there for years if my brother …” Tears prick behind your eyes. No, you’re not going to cry, not yet. This isn’t even the worst part.
“He died?” Joel guesses.
You shake your head. “We lived there for about half a year. I … I started seeing someone. I’m not proud of giving up on my fiancé that easily, but during those times … it really made you realize how short life is, and I wasn’t going to say no when Steve approached me. He was a few years older than me. He lived in Seattle but was visiting his parents when it happened. I kept the relationship secret from my family for the longest time but my brother eventually found out. And he was furious.” Your voice breaks on that last word and you swallow.
For the first time there is something like understanding in Joel’s face.
“My fiancé was his best friend in high school,” you go on. “By seeing Steve, I wasn’t only betraying him, I was also betraying my brother. And my father was on his side.” A cold laugh escapes you. “Maybe I deserved what happened afterwards. Maybe I should’ve waited a year before seeing someone new. Maybe I should’ve been honest with my dad and brother. But I also think that no matter what, they would’ve found a way to punish me.”
You’ve told this story once before, and the person you told it to was full of sympathy, interrupting you constantly, cursing your family for the way they treated you. Joel is quiet. He’s not trying to lead you or push you, he waits for you to tell him the story in your own time and on your own terms. It’s a change, but not an unwelcome one.
“My brother beat me until I could barely walk,” you say next. “I can’t be sure but I think my dad told him to. He was too calm and calculating when he did it for it to have come out of rage. They didn’t dare touch Steve, but they made sure we never saw each other again. There was this group our community traded with sometimes. I thought they were FEDRA at first because they were dressed in military uniforms, wore tac vests, had assault rifles … Once I had gotten better, my dad bound me and sold me to them.”
You feel a grim satisfaction at the shadow that passes over Joel’s face. He’s not indifferent after all.
“I think I don’t need to tell you what happened next.” The truth is you can’t. “I spent the next 14 years escaping, living with different communities, even living in a QZ for a while, being caught, escaping again. As a woman, alone, this world is very hard to survive in. Those men who were trying to kill me when you found me … they were from a community who took me in after I lost the last group I was with. They were friendly enough at first. I was assigned kitchen duty which was fine by me. But then that evolved into having to dance at parties, and that evolved into offering my body to anyone who wanted me. It was far from the first time this was happening to me. But then they forced me to sleep with the leader of that group, a violent man who had just killed a little girl the day before because she had spilled some wine onto his pants and … I couldn’t take it anymore. When he started beating me, I grabbed a knife and slashed his face. Then I ran.”
The silence that follows is unbearable. You know you’ve made mistakes in your life, but you haven’t even told Joel the worst part yet. Surely, he won’t throw you out based on what he knows.
“See?” Your laugh is hollow. “I told you it’s not what you think it is.”
“When we brought you in there were bruises on your legs,” he finally says. “There were cuts on your arms, scars and fresh ones. One of your eyes was swollen shut. I had a pretty good idea of what you’ve been through.”
It’s not much, but your breath catches in your throat nonetheless. He’s not judging you. He knows what you’ve been through, what you had to do to survive, and he accepts you for who you are.
You shrug. “Yeah. I hope that answers your question.”
Joel empties the glass in front of him with one big gulp. “It does put me at ease.”
You mirror him. “So, what about you? What’s your story?”
He bares his teeth at you. “That’s not how this works.”
“Oh, come on,” you groan.
He shakes his head. “It’s late, we have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“Will you tell me tomorrow then?” you press.
“No,” he answers. And that’s the end of it.
*******
It’s completely quiet in the middle of the night when you lie in bed and have nothing else to focus on than your thoughts. Joel is in the other room, the one off to the left side of the kitchen. Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe he left you all alone at the Overlook. You don’t hear another sound apart from your breathing, but you never do. Every night you wonder if he’s still going to be there in the morning, and every morning he is.
He’s still with you, even through the walls and closed doors between you. You spend every waking moment with him and in turn he haunts your dreams. Tonight though, sleep won’t come. Your mind is too preoccupied with the events of the day, too much in turmoil to settle down. Telling him your story brought back all kinds of memories, good as well as bad ones, things you can never get closure on. But no matter how hard you try to focus on the familiar pain, on the regret that is like an old friend to you, tonight your mind keeps wandering back to Joel in the woods, fighting for his life. He didn’t just kill so he could live, he killed to protect you too.
Your breathing gets heavy as you remember the look on his face, his flushed cheeks, the way he didn’t let anger or fear control him. He knew what needed to be done and he did it. You remember how he was straddling the man’s chest, pinning him down to immobilize him, gaining the upper hand even when the other had surprised him. You’ve never seen anyone kill like that. You’ve never felt so safe with anyone.
With a deep sigh you turn onto your back and stare up into the darkness. You can’t make out the ceiling but you know it’s there. Just as you can’t hear Joel but you know he’s just a room away – both thoughts comfort you. You try to focus on that comfort, try to preserve it, but the building tension between your legs demands your attention. Other memories start coming back. A few days ago, when Joel had been cleaning his rifle, his sleeves rolled up so they wouldn’t get in the way, his arms flexing with each movement. The way he didn’t complain when you cleaned his wound today. Last week when he had come back from moving crates around, drenched in sweat – the smell had been so prominent, had lingered for so long that you had to excuse yourself and go to bed early. And then today, restraining that man, killing him with one move, one cut.
Your fingers press against your clit through your underwear before you can stop yourself. Immediately, your entire body comes to life. You bite the back of your other hand to stifle a moan, but roll your hips up, chasing friction. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before, like you haven’t thought about him before, but you’ve always managed to keep yourself under control. It’s too late for that now.
You move fast, kicking at your blanket, tearing your underwear off. Your knees fall open without the restraints, and you bury two fingers deep inside of you, clenching around them desperately. Is he that cool and collected when he fucks someone? Does he know what he wants and takes it? You like to think so. An image comes to you: you, spread out on his bed, maybe even on your stomach, and him thrusting into you without uttering a word. The only sound you can hear are his low grunts. You wish you could give him that, be there for him like that.
When you think about him gripping your hair to bend your back, to make you writhe and moan, the pressure between your legs becomes unbearable. You release your hand, sure your teeth left markings in the skin, and press your fingers against your clit. The moan of relief echoes around your quiet room. Working your fingers in and out of yourself and circling your clit, you can feel yourself rushing toward an orgasm, accompanied by an image of Joel above you, his broad shoulders caging you in, fucking into you, breaking out of the restraints he puts himself in. Your breathing becomes more ragged, louder, and that cautious part of your brain that’s been trained to be quiet for 15 years urges you to be more careful. But how can you when you think back to how easy it was for Joel to defend himself today? How easy it would be for him to take from you exactly what he wants, what he needs.
You turn your head to the side, determined to stifle a desperate moan against your pillow, but before you can take any precautions, the tension that’s been building inside of you snaps; you come hard, working your fingers inside as deep as they will go. You don’t mean to voice your deepest desires, but you can’t stop yourself.
“Fuck, Joel! Yes!”
It hangs there in the thick air afterwards, your desires no longer a secret, at least not in front of yourself.
*******
Tess returns two days later, and that door you’d been opening further and further with Joel falls shut again. Or maybe you’re using Tess’s appearance as an excuse to distance yourself from Joel.
He didn’t hear you that night, you’re sure of it; he doesn’t look at you differently, he doesn’t treat you differently. But something has changed and it’s your fault. Even though you slept better than you had in years after that night, you can’t help but feel ashamed, too. You’re more careful around him now, awkward at times, scared he’ll take one look at you and know. Joel doesn’t look at you the same way you do at him.
So when Tess comes back and Joel spends time with her, bringing her up to speed on things at the Overlook, you can’t be entirely sure it’s them shutting you out or you’re withdrawing. It’s so easy to blame them. It’s so easy to feel resentment when they go out together, even when they try to sell it to you as leaving you in charge. It’s so easy to fall asleep with your stomach tied into a knot because they both go to the other room at night. That’s also partly your fault. After all, they have to share a bedroom because they gave the other one to you. But it’s still easier to tell yourself they’re excluding you on purpose instead of analyzing why you come up with excuses every time Joel asks you to help him with something.
On Tess’s third morning at the Overlook, she offers to show you the top of the tower. It’s a clear day, sunny and bitingly cold. You’d be able to see for miles. And even though you’ve been here so many days you’ve lost count by now, you’ve never been up the tower. It’s not important to Joel and you never asked him. So you agree to Tess’s suggestion.
The climb to the top is hard, the steps are higher than what you’re used to, and you’re out of breath fast. Your wound, almost fully healed by now, starts acting up halfway up the tower, but you grit your teeth and push through. You’re not going to look weak in front of Tess. But once you reach the top, sweat is running down your face and back, and she makes you sit down on a crate.
“Not a lot of people push through on their first climb,” she tells you, leaning against the wall next to you. “Joel hates coming up here, says it’s because of his knees.”
“Shouldn’t someone be keeping watch though?” you ask, trying to hide how hard you’re breathing. “That’s what this place is supposed to be, isn’t it?”
Tess nods. “It was, at first. In the beginning, it was used by a group of people who were looking out for survivors. Then it was used as an outpost by FEDRA. But after a couple of years, everyone gave up on it. There are hardly any survivors left who haven’t settled down in a QZ or are tied to another group. And those who aren’t don’t want to be found.”
“Like Joel,” you mumble under your breath.
“Come on.” Tess pushes your shoulder. “Get up. Let me show you the view.”
You try not to let the awe you’re feeling show on your face, but Tess’s knowing smirk means you’re failing. “You can almost see the ocean from here!”
Tess laughs. “Not quite, but close enough.”
You’re so high up in the mountains that you are looking out over some of the nearer peaks at the forests and lakes beyond. The day is so clear you can see two or three smoke columns from other camps but they’re too far away to worry you. The brilliantly white snow and the endless blue sky are so bright you have to shield your eyes with your hand. Standing behind the glass at the top of the tower makes you feel truly free for the first time since that horrible night.
“This was here the entire time?” you ask, meaning it as a rhetorical question. “I could have seen this every day?”
“Most days the clouds hang too low to see much,” Tess answers. “But on days like these, coming up here makes you feel like you can fly.”
You tear your eyes away from the view before you and glance at her. There’s a wistful smile on her face, like she’s buried herself deep in a happy memory that is none of your business. This might be the first time you truly see her, the first time you look beyond her graying hair and the hardness in her eyes, the first time you look beyond the uneasy feeling you get when you see her and Joel together. The fact that she’s letting her guard down around you, even if it’s just for a few short moments, moves you. It’s more than Joel has given you so far. What you see is a woman who went through unspeakable things to stay alive, a woman who knows how to survive in a world where everything is out to get you, a woman who looks beyond the selfishness of most people. In that moment you’re sure that if her death meant she could keep Joel safe, she would welcome it with a smile on her face.
But then that jealousy comes back ten times stronger. And Tess closes up.
“Joel told me what happened to you,” she says without warning.
“He did what?” Jealousy is joined by a feeling of having been betrayed. It’s so sudden that you can’t stop the anger from bubbling up.
“Don’t be angry with him,” Tess sighs. “It’s part of the deal. What he knows, I know. Why do you think we’re still alive?”
“He didn’t tell me about that deal when he forced me to tell him,” you snap.
“Oh, don’t be naïve.” Her words feel like a slap. “We need to know who we’re taking in.”
“Yeah, well.” The anger burns bright red in your chest now. “Who says I was telling the truth? Who says anything about that story is true?”
Tess looks at you curiously, like a cat who is deciding if catching a bird high up on a branch is worth the effort. “Why would you make up a story like that?”
You can’t think of a single good reason.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Tess goes on.
“Thanks,” you spit. “Don’t you think I know that?” You don’t, because it isn’t true.
“Joel and I, we … we can make sure you’re safe from now on. There are places …”
“I don’t need your charity.” You expect her to lose patience. For most people offering to help you, it doesn’t take more than this. Except she doesn’t. She looks at you like she understands, like she knows exactly what you’re going through, and the fact that she doesn’t pity you makes you bold.
“You’re right not to trust me. Joel and you … you don’t really know me. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“You survived 15 years of torture and abuse. You’re capable of a great many things.”
The fact that she sees you unnerves you. “I didn’t tell Joel the whole story, so don’t think you have me all figured out.”
“I know you didn’t.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Joel, he … he’s not the best at understanding people. Not because the compassion isn’t there, but because he has his own shit to deal with. But I can see there’s something bothering you. It’s eating you up from the inside and if you don’t let it out, it’ll kill you.”
You laugh coldly. “Thanks, but I don’t need your advice on what’s killing me.”
“Tell me or don’t,” she says with a shrug. “But I promise you, whatever it is, it won’t leave this room.”
You want to believe her but you know you shouldn’t. You couldn’t trust people before Outbreak Day and you certainly can’t trust them now. “What about your deal with Joel?”
“I make the rules around here,” she answers with another shrug. “And if it’s something he doesn’t need to know, then he doesn’t need to know.”
You take a deep breath, then another one. She waits patiently while your mind is spinning, trying to decide whether you can trust her or not. Weren’t you just wishing for someone who always has your back, someone you can rely on? But maybe that’s the reason she let her guard down around you … she wants you to think you can trust her. And once she knows the full truth, she won’t hesitate to throw you out. No one can ever trust you again after what you did.
“I’m not trying to trick you.” It’s like Tess can read your mind. “I can see you’re in pain and I want to help you.”
You huff. “No one can.”
“Try me.” It sounds like she’s challenging you – and that’s exactly the push you needed.
“Everyone thinks they have to do such terrible things to survive, but then you ask them about it and it’s just, ‘Yeah, one time I stole this loaf of bread from this old man and kicked him,’ as if people weren’t doing that well before Outbreak Day. And I think … I think most people stay human, no matter what. They see all those horrible things, and pain and suffering and death, and manage to go on. Maybe it’s because they have people relying on them, maybe it’s because that’s just who they are. And I think that whatever you do, you should be forgiven if it’s for the right reasons. Even if you kill someone.”
“Who will judge if you did something for the right reasons?” Tess interjects. “At the end of the day, you only have to justify your actions in front of yourself.”
“Morals, I guess.” Your throat feels tight all of a sudden. “If you round up women and children for your soldiers to use as target practice, then you’re a bad person, apocalypse or not.”
“Not necessarily. If those soldiers gain skills to protect 10,000 more women and children, aren’t a few deaths justified?”
“That’s not the point … Okay, what if you get someone killed? Someone you were supposed to love? And they died because you weren’t there for them when they needed you the most?”
“You made a mistake. You decided to save yourself instead of dying to save someone else. That just makes you human.”
“What if … what if Joel sends you to the next town for some supplies, and you know it’s dangerous, and you ask him to come with you, and he says no, one person will be less suspicious. But you won’t stop pleading, and the only reason Joel doesn’t want to go is because he knows how dangerous it is and he thinks, ‘Better her than me’. So, to get you to go, he promises he’ll come for you if something bad happens. Only he doesn’t. Not when he hears you’ve been captured. Not when they parade you around, stripped naked, tied to a pickup. Not even when they offer the crowd a deal: his life for yours. He doesn’t even come to recover your broken body. He just leaves you there.”
You don’t realize you’ve started crying but Tess raises a hand and wipes the tears off your cheek. “I would forgive him,” she says. “Sometimes we do selfish things for selfish reasons. Sometimes we do them out of fear. Sometimes the enemy we’re faced with is so powerful we feel so helpless we can’t move. Joel didn’t force me to go into town – in the end, I went out of my own free will, knowing the risk.”
“But wouldn’t you hate him when he doesn’t come to save you, like he promised?”
“Sure,” she says with a weak smile, wiping your other cheek dry. “For a while, maybe. But I wouldn’t blame him. Maybe that’s something that’s unique to our relationship, I don’t know. We know exactly what we can ask of the other.”
You and Julia, you hadn’t known that. And you’ve been wondering – if your positions would have been reversed, would she have come for you? You doubt it. But still … for 15 years you wished that someone would come and save you, telling yourself you wouldn’t leave anyone behind. And the second you had to prove yourself, you got scared.
“But doesn’t that make me a bad person? Someone you shouldn’t trust? I shouldn’t get to choose who lives and who dies.”
Tess sighs. “I don’t think it’s that easy. You always have a choice, and choosing to save yourself over another person doesn’t necessarily make you evil. Sometimes the best thing we can do is look out for ourselves.”
“But you would’ve saved Joel, right?”
That makes Tess laugh. “Of course I would have. But not because I think it would make me a good person, but because I don’t see how I could go on if he’s dead.” She says it like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the entire world. “Maybe I got it wrong, too. Maybe I should close myself off more, think more about myself. Maybe I would live longer if I did. But that’s my choice. And I choose to stick with him, no matter what.”
It makes sense what she’s saying. If you had known Julia better, if you had loved her, maybe it would have been easy to follow her into death. But you were basically strangers who had known each other for a couple of months. You also wouldn’t ask Joel and Tess to rescue you. The only thing is … they already did, and you were a stranger to them.
“How do you know what people are worth dying for?” you ask her, feeling dumb. It makes you sound like a child.
“You never know. Not until it happens. I’ve heard stories about people who, before everything, thought they were strong protectors, who’d lead their families through every storm life sent their way. And then they bolted at the first sign of danger.”
“Not you and Joel though.”
“Believe me, we’ve made mistakes too.” She gives you a grim smile. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, things I deserve to die for, probably. But I’ve also done good things, like helping you. You have to find a balance.”
You nod, feeling hot tears run down your cheeks again. That you’re still here unnerves you. Tess should have chased you away; at least that’s what you were expecting her to do. Instead, she opens her arms and pulls you into a hug. You immediately press into her and sling your arms around her shoulders. Maybe you don’t deserve her kindness, but it’s her choice to look after you, and you won’t push her away for it. For the first time in a long time, you feel the burden grow lighter and your heart beat a little freer.
*******
That night, you can’t find sleep. The conversation with Tess is still on your mind. It opened some barely healed wounds you let fester over the last few months, and now the burning is keeping you awake. If Tess is able to see beyond your mistakes, you should be able to do that too. But Julia’s screams still come to you every time you close your eyes. No matter what Tess says, you don’t believe she has done anything equally as bad as this.
There is something about Tess that unnerves you, something you can’t quite put your finger on. She appears to be so strong, but in a different way than Joel, one that is harder to define. Still, the notion that she’s in charge around here makes you want to laugh. You’ve spent enough time with Joel to know how he runs things, and he would never take orders from anyone, not even Tess. It doesn't take away that you think Tess is very capable of doing the things she talked about. If worst comes to worst, she would die for Joel - so would you, but there's less conviction behind your resolution. It wouldn't be the first time you overestimated yourself.
Then again, Joel doesn’t need anyone to die for him, and it’s presumptuous of Tess to think he does. Julia would have needed someone willing to die for her, someone who wasn’t you. You could see it in her rounded shoulders, hear it in her pleading voice. But Joel is nothing like Julia. And Tess is nothing like you.
A stab of jealousy shoots through your body, not directed at Tess this time. You just wish you had someone like Joel in your life, someone you could rely on, someone you knew had your back. It would make dying for them so much easier. You realize that someone like Joel is very quickly turning into just Joel, and you have to confront the fact that your time here is limited, and that you’re not going to share that bond with him that Tess shares, because they will send you away as soon as the snow clears. It’s unfair. If it was just Joel, you could get him to let you stay, but Tess is so focused on her rules and the mission that she won’t make an exception. Not even if she liked you more. And right now, you don’t think Joel cares either way.
Jealousy turns into helplessness, and helplessness opens your eyes wide, making you stare at the dark ceiling. It’s late, it’s cold, you should be asleep by now, but your throat is dry and itchy, and swallowing is painful. What you need is a glass of water. You kick off the covers and stand up, your naked feet hitting the ice-cold floor with a loud slap. You shiver and sling your arms around yourself, careful to avoid the bullet hole in your side. It’s just a few seconds and you’ll be back under the warm covers.
Quickly, you make your way to the kitchen, only pausing briefly by the door to make sure Joel and Tess already went to bed. You don’t really feel like talking to either of them right now. But the kitchen is dark and deserted and no one stops you when you go straight for the water canister. You pour yourself a glass and gulp it down, then pour yourself another one to bring to your room. Your feet are ice cold now and you hurry back over to your door.
Only then you hear it – a faint moan or grunt, and a creaking sound, like someone is writhing in bed, possibly in pain. You’re wide awake now. Was the Overlook attacked while you were lying in bed, feeling sorry for yourself? Did someone break in? Is someone in the room with Joel and Tess? Carefully, you put your glass down on the kitchen table and make your way across the room to their door, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Your cold feet forgotten, you’re determined to find out what’s going on. If there’s someone in the house with you, you won’t run from danger again.
As soon as you’re in front of the door, you hear the moan again, but now you’re less certain it’s one of pain. A different kind of panic grips you, one that is not connected to any danger but the sense that you shouldn’t be here. Then you hear a low grunt, deep and guttural, and you know it’s Joel. You know it is Joel and Tess, and they’re … You’re listening now, really listening, and you can hear all the subtle, repressed gasps, you can hear an urgent whisper, you can hear the sound of naked skin moving against naked skin.
Your face grows hot with shame and you stumble backward, indifferent to any noise you might be making. Let them know you know. They should, and they should apologize. The cocktail of emotions you’re feeling as you rush to your room is a dangerous one: jealousy, hurt, confusion. You feel so fucking stupid. Of course they’re sleeping together! How could you have been so blind? And yet, you still feel led on, like they were toying with you when they were just trying to be nice. This discovery is a slap in the face, a reminder of what you can never have. They both know how hurt and lonely you are and yet it has never crossed their minds to tell you just how deep their connection goes.
You refuse to cry. Joel didn’t mean to hurt you. He probably wasn’t keeping this from you on purpose. But Tess? Didn’t she say she’s making the rules? It was her decision not to tell you she and Joel are a couple, it was her decision to make you look like a fool. It’s so easy to focus all your anger on her because you really thought that by opening up to them, they would let you in, in turn. Instead, they are still keeping vital information from you, waiting for you to stumble across it.
At least Tess is leaving tomorrow. You might not get to have Joel the way you wanted to, you might feel embarrassed about your crush now, about how easily you opened up to him, but at least you won’t have to see Tess anymore. At least it’s just going to be you and Joel again. So it doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t really matter they’re fucking.
You don’t find sleep that night. Your thoughts are too loud, the weight of the world is too heavy. You can’t stop straining your ear, afraid you’ll hear them again. Hoping you’ll hear them again. Because once you’ve calmed down, once your anger has dissipated in part, you feel something else. The moans and grunts are playing on a loop in your head, and once they stop fueling your anger, they start fueling your desire. You don’t do anything about that pull low in your stomach, the pressure between your legs, but you also don’t try to distract yourself. And a part of you is angry with them for not telling you because it feels like they’re excluding you when all you want to do is join them.
******
The next morning, you stay in bed until you’re sure Tess has left. You don’t feel like seeing her, mostly because you have no idea how you would react to her. Joel is easier that way. He never makes you feel wanted or unwanted. The both of you just exist in the same space, working together quietly. It’s exactly what you need today. So once you come out of your room, you try not to look at Joel too closely. Is his hair more disheveled than usual? Do his cheeks look rosy? Are the bags under his eyes less heavy? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.
“Sleep well?” he asks as he puts down a mug of coffee in front of you.
“Yes,” you lie. “How about you?”
“Same,” he says with a shrug. Then he looks at you with raised eyebrows. “Did you leave a glass of water on the table yesterday?”
Hot panic grips you unexpectedly but you force yourself to keep breathing evenly. “I might have. I don’t remember. Why?”
“You shouldn’t do that,” he says, but it doesn’t feel like a rebuke, just a fact. “It can get cold at night; you don’t want the water to turn to ice. The glass could burst.”
“Okay, it won’t happen again.”
And just like that, the issue is resolved. Being with Joel is so much easier than being with Tess.
You spend the day tending to the horses and checking the fence for weak spots. Joel spends his cleaning his weapons and counting the supply in the storeroom. The sun is out again, and it feels warm against your cheeks, even making you sweat as the day moves toward noon. You might have a few short weeks left before spring is here, before Tess will force you to leave. And then you’ll be on your own again.
Joel joins you when you’re working on repairing a tear in the fence, his quick hands making short work of cutting the wire and reinforcing the hole. You want to watch him work, determined to make the most out of your last weeks with him. But today, you catch yourself glancing at the forest and the mountains frequently, almost as if you can’t bear to look at him.
Why don’t you stand up for me? you want to ask. But you don’t. You know the answer, and hearing him admit it would only hurt you – more than the unspoken question anyway. A tight knot in your stomach makes it hard for you to focus on the task at hand. It demands all your attention by chewing and clawing and spitting, like a wild animal trapped in a tiny space. Should you let it out? No, Joel isn’t the one to blame, he isn’t the one you should focus your anger on. Still, you can’t help but feel stupid, stupid and betrayed. It’s your own fault for thinking you had found someone in Joel who wants to keep you, someone who likes having you around, who trusts you enough to rely on you, to seek comfort when the nights are cold and lonely. Why did he keep his relationship with Tess a secret from you? You know the answer to that. Why does she have such a strong hold over him he does whatever she asks of him?
“You okay?” he grunts somewhere to your left.
You’re not. “Yes, sorry. I’m just thinking.”
He makes a sound between a sigh and a cough. “Pass me the pliers?”
You hand him the tool without looking at him. He can probably see it all on your face, and the last thing you want to do is talk about it. But you allow yourself to look at his hands, reddened from the cold, calloused from years of hard labor, swiftly working to repair something broken by harsh weather and time. And you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have those same hands roam across your body, worshipping every inch of it. The guilt of that fantasy almost drowns you, but it’s a familiar pain.
Without warning, a deep rumble fills the forest, shaking snow off sagging branches. Airplane is the first thing that comes to your mind, even though that’s impossible. There hasn’t been one of those landing or taking off in 15 years. To your right, you see a white cloud rise over the treetops, ice and snow glinting in the afternoon sun before swallowing the light with dusty gray fangs. You’ve never seen anything like it, and even though you’re far enough away from it to not feel threatened, it still makes you want to run and seek shelter.
“What is that?” you ask, pointing at the cloud.
“Avalanche,” Joel answers. “The warm weather softens the snow and it slides away.”
“Are we in danger?”
When Joel doesn’t answer immediately, you’re forced to turn and look at him. His brow is furrowed and his mouth is a thin, hard line. His hand is wrapped around the pliers, knuckles white.
“Are we?” you press.
“No,” he finally says, voice low with strain, “but Tess went that way this morning.”
*******
It’s a long afternoon, the longest since you arrived at the Overlook. Joel wants to go out and look for Tess, you beg him not to. You’re not proud of the desperation in your voice, the way you fall to your knees when he refuses to listen, but you can’t bear the thought of being left alone in this place, waiting for hours or even days for some news, coming closer and closer to accepting a horrible, inevitable truth. If they’re both dead, you’ll die too.
Joel doesn’t listen to you, of course. He has a duty to fulfil, and you can’t resent him for it, even though you hate him for a short while. But then he’s gone and you’re all alone, and you’d do anything to get him back. You don’t think about what Tess’s death would mean for you, because you’re scared of what you might discover about yourself; you’re worried about her, but you’re not terrified like Joel. And what if she doesn’t come back? Wouldn’t your life stay the same, improve even?
When the sun sets, two figures approach the compound. You only notice because you’re outside with the horses, too nervous to sit cooped up in the kitchen where everything smells of stale smoke and him. Reaching for the gun in the holster at your side, you’re painfully aware of the vulnerable position you’re in, all alone, far away from anyone who could help you. But before you can take cover, you recognize Tess from the way she pushes her hair out of her face, and you recognize Joel by his gait, a slight limp. You barely manage to stifle a sob.
“The way is blocked,” Joel tells you once you’re back inside. He takes off his jacket and stows away his rifle. “We’ll have to wait for it to clear.”
You don’t really know what that means. Tess doesn’t say anything but slumps down in one of the chairs around the kitchen table.
“Are you okay?” you ask her, not sure if she’s hurt or just exhausted.
“I’m not,” she snaps. You flinch back. “This sets us back weeks.”
Joel puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezes. She takes his hand and squeezes back. Your heart squeezes too.
“What do you mean, weeks?” you push. “Aren’t you going to leave tomorrow?”
“I’m not,” Tess answers, tension in her jaw. “Joel just told you we’ll have to wait until the snow melts.”
“The road is blocked,” Joel adds. “We’re cut off. We could try and go through the woods but …”
“… but we’d get lost,” Tess finishes for him.
“I’m sorry. I – I didn’t know,” you stammer. How long until the snow melts? You look between Joel and Tess, the unspoken question on the tip of your tongue. Tess can’t leave until the snow melts. You have to leave once it does. You’re never going to have Joel to yourself again. That sudden realization hits you like a wave of grief. So much unsaid. And with Tess there, you don’t stand a chance.
“Excuse me,” you mumble, throat tight. The door to your room closes with a loud bang behind you.
*******
The thing you dread most is the thing you desire most, too. It’s an impossible situation, one that makes you reel from its power. Giving in would be easiest. Avoid Tess (and avoid Joel, too), keep your head down, pray for spring to come. But a part of you wants to fight for a few last moments of happiness, for a chance to feel like you belong somewhere before having to face an uncertain future that holds nothing but death. Tess can have him for the rest of their lives. You just want him for an hour or so. But you’re immobilized, curled up under your blanket, fighting back tears. Why is it that whenever something good happens to you in this Godforsaken world, it gets taken away immediately? And why can’t you find anyone to blame? Not even Tess? You understand her, you feel for her, you would probably do the same if your positions were reversed, but why does she have to make everything so difficult with her probing questions and her cruel rules?
If the avalanche hadn’t happened, you’d be preparing dinner now. Joel would mend his clothes or peel potatoes or check the perimeter. And after a quiet meal, he’d talk to you. Or he’d offer you an old paperback to read. Or you’d challenge him to a game of cards. Instead, it’s Tess who’s preparing dinner tonight. It’s Tess who will lead the conversation, Tess who will command Joel’s attention. And it’s going to be like this until the day she’s making you leave. Should you submit to her? Spend the final weeks moping? Or should you try to make the best out of a terrible situation? Before your injury, you’d have picked the first option. Now you’re not so sure anymore.
Joel and Tess are both sitting around the dinner table when you finally come out of your room. There’s a pot of stew on the stove and three empty plates next to that, waiting to be filled. You sit down without a word, facing them, pretending the day hasn’t happened. You don’t yet know Joel and Tess are sleeping with each other. The avalanche hasn’t happened. You’re just as important, just as included as they are.
“I could’ve helped,” you say, nodding toward the stove.
“I thought it would be best to let you sleep,” Tess answers, running a finger along the edge of the table. “You looked exhausted earlier.”
You shrug. “I can still pull my weight.” Are you imagining it or is Joel smirking? “If anyone is exhausted, it’s you,” you go on. “That trek through the woods today …”
Now it’s Tess’s turn to shrug. “I’m used to much worse.”
“Let’s eat,” Joel decides and gets up. You watch him at the stove, stare at the broad shoulders hidden beneath a denim shirt. You’d give almost anything for a glimpse into his thoughts.
“Can I have some whiskey?” you ask when Joel puts down a plate in front of you.
Tess raises her eyebrows at him when he says, “Sure,” but doesn’t say anything. You weren’t supposed to know about the whiskey, were you? And yet Joel decided to share it with you.
“Thanks,” you say when you get a small glass full of golden liquid. “How about you, Tess? Would you like some?”
The corner of her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smirk or bare her teeth at you. “Not tonight, thank you.”
You down the whole glass with one big gulp, then wait for Joel to join you at the table while a familiar warmth is spreading from your stomach to your limbs. You’d ask for another glass but that would be pushing it. The three of you eat silently, the only sounds the scraping of the spoons against the bowls. You keep your eyes fixed to your plate, counting down the pieces of meat and potatoes. Only five more to go. What will happen once you’re done? You should go back to your room. But there is something you need to know.
“Joel, can I ask you something?” You drop your spoon into your empty bowl loudly to make sure they’re both paying attention to you. Once Joel nods, you continue. “Once the snow melts and spring comes, do you also want me to leave?”
The way Tess’s cheeks turn red fills you with grim satisfaction. “It’s not a question of want -,” she starts, but you interrupt her.
“I asked Joel.”
Joel glances at Tess, then back at you. “Those are the rules,” he answers.
“Yeah, but whose rules?” you press. “You keep telling me you work for these people … I have no idea if you’re making it up or not. Maybe there is no group, maybe it’s just Tess who wants me to leave, and you’re playing along.”
Tess laughs. “You have no idea –”
“I’m talking to Joel, not you,” you interrupt her again.
“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” The tone in her voice makes the hairs on your arms stand up with a charge of anger that hits you out of nowhere. “We took you in, we let you stay, but that doesn’t mean you get to question how we run things around here.”
“Careful,” Joel says, but you’re not sure if he means you or her.
“No, maybe it’s my fault,” Tess goes on. “I didn’t think you’d need to know the details, but you clearly do, because you’re convinced it’s me who decides things around here. That isn’t true. And the sooner you get over your resentment for me, the better.”
You hate that she can read you so well, how she sees right through you. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re only following orders.”
“I’m not,” Tess replies, her voice calm and even. “I’m breaking rules by letting you stay here, rules that could get us punished if they ever found out you were here. And I’m not talking about a slap on the wrist, I’m talking about the fucking death penalty. I’m not sending you away because I can’t wait to see the back of you, I’m sending you away because the alternative is death.”
You don’t want to believe her. “Then why can’t I just join you?”
“The penalty isn’t for staying here,” Joel says quietly. “It’s for bringing you here.”
You snort. “Then why didn’t you leave me out there to die?”
Joel glances at Tess, but Tess is already answering you. “Is that really what you would have wanted us to do?”
“If it means saving yourself, then yes.” Your chest tightens as soon as you’ve said it. It’s what you would have done, not them. They risked everything, even death, to help a stranger whereas you couldn’t even be bothered to help a friend.
You expect Tess to use that against you, but she doesn’t. “We’ve done a lot for you, more than anyone else would have done. I think it’s not asking too much of you to respect the rules.”
“The same rules that keep changing every day?” you challenge.
“Our rules,” Joel interjects. His deep voice, a low rumble, makes you pause. “If we say you leave when spring comes, then you leave. No questions asked.”
“Can’t I stay with you? You can just say you met me in the woods on the way to wherever it is you’re going next.”
Joel and Tess exchange a glance that’s impossible for you to read. Is it pity? Shame? Regret? But they don’t give you an answer.
“Or is it because you don’t want me to come with you?” you go on, weighing each word carefully even though the whiskey is rushing through your veins, edging you on. “Is it because I’m a threat to that little thing going on between the two of you? Are you scared I’m going to take him away from you, Tess?”
Joel freezes. And when Tess jumps out of her chair, you do too, so quickly it falls over and hits the floor with a loud bang. You want to stand your ground, show Tess you’re not scared of her, that you mean the things you’re saying, but she’s coming toward you, her eyes dark with rage, and you can’t help but take a few steps backwards, even if it means you’ve lost this standoff before it even properly began.
The thing that hurts the most is that you can see it now, you can see why Joel would choose to follow this woman to the ends of the earth. The way she carries herself – shoulders back, chin held high – the way she doesn’t let her emotions get the better of her but is carefully calculating her next steps, the way she slightly raises her right hand to signal Joel to stand back, is making your knees grow weak. You’re scared of her, she could tear you apart without breaking a sweat, but that tight knot that’s been curled up in your stomach all day is beginning to sink lower as your blood heats up.
“You don’t know anything about me and Joel.” Tess takes two steps toward you, you take two steps back. “And you’re not that special.”
You want Joel to say something, tell Tess she’s wrong, tell her that you’re just as important to him as she is. He doesn’t, of course. He just looks at you from where he’s still sitting at the dinner table, like this doesn’t concern him. Then he looks back at Tess and crosses his arms over his chest. Tess notices how your gaze wanders over her shoulder, how you look hopeful and then lost, how you slowly have to face that you’re fighting a losing battle. When she steps closer again, you stand your ground.
“Do you want him to fuck you, is that it?” she asks, her voice so quiet it’s hardly louder than a whisper. She’s mocking you, taunting you.
Joel is out of his chair now. “Tess,” he starts, but she raises her hand and he shuts up.
“Let her answer.”
The urge to look at him is almost unbearable, almost enough to break you. But you keep your eyes on her, on her slightly parted lips, her red cheeks, her dark eyes. And it makes you surrender.
“Yes,” you answer with a nod. “Yes, I want him to fuck me. But I also want you to.” You catch yourself by surprise with that admission, but as soon as the words have left your mouth you know it’s true. You’re not jealous of Tess because she got to Joel first, you’re jealous of them both because they have each other.
Tess laughs hollowly, like she doesn’t believe you. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have believed yourself either. You were acting like a fool, and even though you’re hurt by her rejection, you can’t really blame her for it. She licks her lips, uncertainty in her eyes as she scans your face for any deceit, for any sign you’re making fun of her. Or at least that’s what it looks like to you. The longer she stares, the more it dawns on her that she won’t find anything there. You’re telling the truth.
Behind her, Joel hasn’t moved. He stands next to the table, his hands balled into fists at his side, watching the both of you, like he’s unsure of what to do. Should he put a stop to this? Should he wait and see where this is going?
“Tess,” he repeats, less urgent than last time. She doesn’t interrupt him again, so he goes on. “Let’s give her at least that.”
It’s all the confirmation you need, all the evidence to put your mind at ease. He has been talking to Tess about you, he has been trying to argue your case, and … he’s not opposed to what you’re suggesting, which leaves you with a quickened heart.
“How do you know she’ll do as she’s told?” Tess asks, her eyes still on you.
“I’m sure she will,” Joel says, and then his gaze lands on you, laden with heat and lust.
You’re there and yet you aren’t. They talk about you like you can’t hear them, discuss what to do with you as if it doesn’t concern you, and it makes your head spin. But the way Joel looks at you and the way Tess’s gaze glides over your body makes you feel seen, wanted. It’s a dangerous mix, one that puts you in the spotlight, leaves you open and vulnerable without a backup plan, without any idea how this is going to go and no way out.
You bite your lip and lower your gaze.
Tess smirks, her momentary insecurity gone. She reaches past you, and opens the door to Joel’s bedroom, the same door that was closed to you the previous night. “Go on then.”
A strange feeling comes over you, a feeling of being trapped, of being at their mercy. You shouldn’t turn your back on them, you shouldn’t let them out of your sight. Joel, tall and dark in the middle of the kitchen licks his lips; Tess nods at you, a challenge in her gaze. She still doesn’t believe you, doesn’t think this is what you truly want. Adrenaline rushes through your bloodstream, makes your heart pound and your hands grow cold. You can’t wait to prove her wrong.
You walk backwards into the dark room, keeping your eyes on them. You’re not entirely sure how you got to this moment, what switch was flipped, what happened to put you at their mercy like this, but you’re convinced this is the natural conclusion to weeks of uncertainties and conflicting feelings, of wanting to run and stay put at the same time. You can’t have Joel without Tess, and you can’t have Tess without Joel, and from the way your body reacts to that realization, you know you don’t want to have it any other way. All the tension that’s been building over weeks and weeks is slowly fading away.
Joel and Tess follow you, leaving the door to the kitchen open. A small strip of fluorescent light is illuminating the bedroom, too weak for you to make out many details, but you don’t need to. The only thing that matters right now are the two people in front of you, the way they keep pushing you further into the dark without touching you. You’re not sure what happens next, if you’re supposed to do something or if they want you to follow their lead. And a very tiny but persistent part of you still isn’t sure if this is really happening or if they’re just toying with you.
But then your legs connect with the bed and you can’t go any further, so Tess catches up with you. She reaches for your wrist, grabs it hard, and twists until you’re forced to turn around, arm pinned to your back. Your breath comes in hot pants as you’re trying to evaluate the situation. The only problem you’re faced with is that your brain has stopped working at all and you’re unable to form a single thought trapped by her like this. She pulls you close so your back is pressing against her chest and she starts undoing your pants with nimble fingers.
“You’ll do as you’re told,” she whispers into your ear while she works. “If you don’t want to do something, you say stop, loud and clear. You’ll answer when spoken to. Is that understood?”
You try hard to make sense of her words but you’re overwhelmed. This is so different from what you’re used to – no one ever takes into consideration what you want. And right now, all you want is to be touched, that’s all you can think about. The only response you manage is a tight nod.
Tess only tightens her grip, making you gasp, and pushes a hand into your pants, palming you. “I’m going to have to hear you say it.”
Are you imagining it or is there a strain in her voice, a note of desperation?
You grab her wrist to hold her in place and roll your hips, her fingers brushing against your clothed clit. If she wasn’t holding you up, you would crumble in her arms. “Yes, I understand,” you manage.
One of Tess’s fingers presses upwards through your underwear, and you’re sure she can feel how soaked you are, but instead of feeling embarrassed, you feel a strange sense of purpose and liberation. You want her to know. You want her to want you just as much as you want her.
“Good,” she says, letting go of you, and you stumble toward the bed.
It takes you a few seconds to catch your breath, to make sense of your whereabouts, of the desperate longing with which your body reacts to the loss. Your senses are heightened – you smell the stew you had for dinner, the stale air of the closed-off room, taste the cold on your tongue, feel the coarse material of your heavy winter pants scratch your legs. Behind you, you hear their voices, whispering intently, negotiating something you don’t need to be a part of. You lower your pants with trembling hands, step out of them while almost falling over, and then you turn around to face them, trying to keep your self-consciousness at bay, pretending you’re much bolder than you actually feel. You might not be involved in the deal they’re making, but you’re still its subject, and the least they can do is acknowledge you.
They’re standing closely together. Joel is facing you fully, Tess is partly turned toward him. Their faces are cast in shadow, almost unreadable, but they’re looking at you, there’s no doubt about that. You cross your arms over your chest in defiance, trying to copy some of Tess’s strength you saw earlier. They might not involve you in the negotiations, but nothing happens without you agreeing to it, and you don’t want them to forget that. Tess made sure you understood the rules and you won’t hesitate to use them to your advantage if you have to. You can’t tell if you returning their stares has any effect on them, but after a while they seem to be coming to some kind of understanding. They don’t say anything to you, they even stop talking to each other, but you’re the focus of attention again, at least the focus of Joel’s.
With just a few steps he’s in front of you, imposing, blocking your view of Tess and the light from the kitchen. It’s dark and intimate, the way he demands your attention, the way he becomes your focus, and your throat is suddenly dry. To make sure you have no other choice but to look at him, he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding your head in place. The sudden touch, soft yet determined, sends a jolt of pleasure through you that puts you even more on edge. And then he’s kissing you. It’s not romantic, nothing like the first kiss you shared with your fiancé, nothing like the first kisses that came afterwards. Joel isn’t gentle, he doesn’t give you time to get used to the feeling of his lips against yours, to his taste on your tongue. Instead, he takes and claims, making your knees weak and your core clench.
You kiss him back eagerly, pressing up against him, daring him to pull you close and make you his. You want more, more of his taste on your tongue, sharp and male, more of his body against yours, strong and so much more powerful, more of the way he bites your lip, your neck, with an urgency he can barely comprehend himself. Your hands find his belt buckle, but he slaps them away, then breaks off the kiss to pull your shirt over your head. He opens your bra next, quickly and without hesitation. You stand before him, almost naked, fully on display for him, while he is slightly out of breath but still finds his dignity intact.
His eyes roam your body, lingering on your naked chest for a while, scrutinizing your stomach, your thighs, and the flimsy excuse for underwear that leaves little to the imagination. Countless hours you spent wishing he would look at you like that and now that it’s coming true, you’re unsure of what to do with all of that attention, that calculation. You just know you want to rattle him like he’s rattling you.
“Like what you see?” you tease, your voice breathy from having been claimed by his kisses.
You get an honest answer, a hoarse, “Yes,” that makes your heart pick up speed. So much for rattling him.
With his big hand, Joel reaches up and cups one of your breasts. The sensation of his coarse skin against your much softer one makes you shudder, but you refuse to look away. Let him see what he does to you, let him know how much you’ve wanted this, ever since he killed that man in the woods for you. He massages your breast briefly, squeezes the nipple, rolls it between thumb and forefinger, catches your moan on his tongue. But before you can switch off your brain and surrender yourself fully to him, he grabs you and turns you around, just like Tess did earlier.
“On your knees.”
Joel says it through gritted teeth, like he’s barely able to hold back. You’re trembling so much with anticipation that climbing onto the bed is an almost impossible feat, one you should be proud of accomplishing in the end. Positioning yourself on all fours on the bed with Joel and Tess behind you leaves you in a vulnerable position, and the thrill of it makes you tremble even more. You lick your lips, chasing the taste Joel left in your mouth. From behind you comes the sound of him unbuckling his belt and your cunt clenches eagerly in anticipation when leather scrapes against metal. You grab the duvet under your hands hard, steadying yourself.
Nothing happens.
You wait for a few moments, but the room is quiet now. You don’t even dare to breathe, anticipating Joel’s next move. And then you hear it, the sound you heard the previous night – a deep, satisfied groan. Now that there is no door between you, it’s impossible for you to escape its pull.
You look over your shoulder to see Tess stroking him, twisting her fingers up and down his length. He is completely hard, visibly full and thick. His eyes are half closed and his head has fallen back somewhat, but Tess looks straight at you.
“Take off your underwear,” she orders.
You don’t immediately do as you’re told – you can’t. You’re transfixed by Joel’s dick, by how it dwarfs Tess’s hand in comparison, by how it twitches when she strokes across the glistening tip. He’s going to stretch you open, stretch you until it burns.
“Take off your underwear,” Tess repeats, her voice sharp with impatience.
Eager to follow her orders this time, scared she won’t let Joel fuck you if you don’t, you struggle briefly before returning to the same position, having discarded the last shred of clothing somewhere on the ground next to the bed. There is more movement behind you before Tess comes into view. Casually, she sits down on the edge of the bed so you’re facing her, so she’s facing Joel and you. She’s going to watch him fuck you. That realization is accompanied by a sudden rush of wetness between your legs.
Tess asks, “Is she ready?”
Suddenly, two of Joel’s fingers are between your legs, feeling for your arousal. Your eyes flutter shut and you moan deeply. “Yes,” he answers, his voice deep and husky, while he teases you, pushing the tip of his finger into you.
You let your head hang between your shoulders, already unable to catch your breath. If Tess reacts in any way, you have no way of knowing. Joel’s fingers leave you and are replaced by something much bigger, much more, something full and heavy pushing inside of you so slowly it feels like torture. You groan and whimper, moving so you’re resting on your lower arms and elbows instead of your hands while you still and try to accommodate him. The burn is definitely there, and it’s much more delicious than you had imagined. It’s not enough. You push back because you want more, but Joel immediately holds you in place by grabbing your hips, guiding himself into you with his other hand. When he’s fully sheathed, you’re stretched impossibly wide; it’s almost too much to handle and he hasn’t even started moving yet. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust yourself, not even to catch your breath.
He pulls out almost all the way and pushes himself back into you hard. It’s enough to make your arms and legs tremble, and you bite your lip in an attempt to stifle a deep, desperate moan. It comes out as a sob anyway. With every thrust, the fabric of his jeans scrapes against the back of your thighs, a pleasant addition to the burn you already feel.
It doesn’t take long for Joel to pick up the pace. He does it with a rough grunt and you hear the sound of metal banging against metal when he does. He is still wearing his belt loosely around his hips, he’s still practically fully dressed. That image, even if it’s just a mental one for now, makes you crave more of him, more, more, more, and you push back again, meeting his thrusts. With a sharp slap, he places his other hand on your hip, holding you in place so he can fuck into you. You just have to take it.
“Please,” you want to whimper, but your voice is too weak. All you can do is hold onto the duvet.
“I want to see her face.”
You have almost forgotten that Tess is there, watching you getting fucked until you’re a desperate, whimpering mess. But Joel hasn’t forgotten. His fingers wrap around the hair at the back of your neck and he pulls roughly so your chin snaps up. It’s uncomfortable, the way he bends your back, the way your scalp screams for some relief, but it pushes you closer to the edge immediately. So does the look on Tess’s face.
She’s watching you, a hungry look in her eyes. Her mouth hangs slightly open and you can see her chest move as she takes deep, eager breaths. You’ve never been looked at like that. And she is looking at you, not Joel, you – straight into your eyes, watching pain and pleasure fight for dominance there. You’ve never had all that attention on you, and it awakens a desire deep within you that you hadn’t known was slumbering there. You want her to watch, to be unable to escape her gaze, be totally exposed to her.
And then you clench around Joel once, a second time, and before you know what’s happening, you’re coming. It catches you by surprise, makes your brain struggle to catch up with your body. Everything pulls taut and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. The flicker of triumph in Tess’s eyes is what finally makes you let go and you give in to pleasure, letting Joel fuck you through it. It’s violently intense, being stretched around him, clamping down, trying to hold him in place.
Until it’s all too much.
You reach back for him, tears stinging in your eyes, but he just lets go of your hair and grabs your wrist. With impossible strength he twists your arm onto your back and continues to fuck you with the same sharp, punishing pace as before, spurred on by your cunt fluttering desperately around him. All you can do is hold on, completely overstimulated. You let your head fall back down again, you let Joel take what he needs, and when he finally spills inside of you, you’re rewarded with a deep groan, and his hold on you tightening. It kindles another flame inside of you, that feeling of his hot pleasure dripping out of you when he pulls out. You need to feel it again, and soon. It doesn’t matter that his hands will leave bruises, that you’ll feel him between your legs for days. You’ve never known satisfaction like this.
Tess’s hand finds your cheek, soft and careful, and she coaxes you to lift your head. “Well done,” she says, and kisses you. “Lay down.”
You do as you’re told, only now realizing how stiff your arms and legs are, bathing in the afterglow of Tess’s praise. You also wouldn’t mind feeling this kind of satisfaction again.
For a short while, you allow yourself to rest, closing your eyes and sinking into the well-worn mattress. For the first time in weeks, all those confusing thoughts in your head are quiet and you can shut down. Curiosity quickly gets the better of you though, and when you open your eyes again, you find Tess standing next to Joel, running her fingers through his hair. She kisses him gently, almost carefully, and he closes his eyes and furrows his brow, getting lost in the moment. You can’t look away even though you probably should; this is their moment, not yours, but the intimacy of it has a pull that’s impossible to escape. It’s not just the intimacy between the two of them, it's also the fact that they know you’re here and are allowing you to become a part of this by letting you watch.
They’re still kissing when he starts to undress her, much slower than he undressed you, savoring every newly exposed bit of skin with gentle caresses. Your heart tightens at that sight, not because you’re jealous but because you understand. It’s not just about the quick release, the carnal act of it, it’s also about the intimacy, the giving, the ability to be vulnerable around each other. They’re offering you those same things.
Once Joel is done and Tess is completely naked, you’ve propped yourself up on your elbow, watching her with interest. She crawls into bed next to you, and from the smirk on her face you know it’s not because she wants to catch some rest. She lies down on your right side and takes your hand, placing it between her legs. She’s soaked. You can’t help it – your face heats up at that realization, at being caught off-guard by it. You hadn’t expected her to be affected by this at all, and proof of the opposite gives you a pleasant rush.
The same smirk is still on her face when she moves her hand between your legs. You whimper when she rolls your clit under her finger, still overstimulated, still too keyed up from earlier, but she kisses you gently and whispers, “Shhh, it’s okay,” against your lips. You try to relax, and it comes easy, giving yourself over to her gentle touch. She watches your reactions, making sure she gets it just right, and you’re content to let her explore, to let her discover how you want to be touched. Soon, you push your hips upward again, eager for more. Next to you, she moans and gasps softly as you continue to stroke her clit as best as you can while all the blood is rushing down from your brain. Still, the little sounds she makes are reward enough.
Then something shifts. You’re not sure what it is, whether it’s the hoarse moan that escapes you, whether it’s the way you make her shudder when you apply more pressure, whether it’s the way the mattress dips on Tess’s other side as Joel sits down on the bed. But her hand moves faster. She presses her fingers against you harder, and uses her free hand to grab your hair, tangling her fingers in the strands. You can’t move, completely at her mercy, and she uses that to her advantage to kiss you roughly, hungrily, all the gentleness replaced by carnal desire. You let her bite your lip, scrape her teeth along your neck, press into you hard, let her give you what she thinks you deserve.
When you come, it catches you by surprise. Your whole body tenses up before you erupt into desperate pants and moans, rolling your hips against her hand to chase as much friction as you can, pulsating so hard Tess can most likely feel it against her fingers. Instead of teasing you about it, she just growls, “Yeah, that’s it. Let go,” which makes you moan even louder. They both make it so easy to give yourself over to them, to trust them.
You’re still trembling when you open your eyes, you still twitch and pulse when you try to catch your breath. Swallowing hard, you try to calm yourself, but your head is spinning from one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. A small part of you starts to feel embarrassed about how desperate you were, how much you let your guard down, and you find yourself unable to look at Tess, even when she continues to kiss your neck and shoulder, so you look at Joel instead.
He lies propped up on his elbow on Tess’s other side, watching you come undone under Tess’s skilled touch. His chest and neck are an angry red, almost a deep purple in the dim of the bedroom. He’s half-hard again, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. You clench one final time at the memory of him inside of you, and Tess finally removes her hand, falling back onto the mattress with a satisfied sigh.
Joel doesn’t let either one of you catch a break. He grabs the wrist of your hand that’s still between Tess’s legs and moves it lower, pushing two of your fingers into her. She clenches around you and groans, her eyes fluttering closed. The sound gets stuck in her throat when Joel presses his thumb against her clit and begins to move it in a lazy circle. You try to match the pace, pumping your fingers lazily in and out of her, glad for a chance to finally be the one who watches. You watch as Tess opens her eyes, watch as her gaze lands on Joel, watch as they get completely lost in the moment and in each other. They seem to be forgetting you’re there with them and you let them for a while before you decide to remind them.
You move lower and tentatively lick across Tess’s nipple before sucking it into your mouth. The small peak is hard against your tongue and you glow with pride and satisfaction when Tess arches her back and groans, digging her nails into your thigh. The sharp pain only spurs you on, eager to please, eager to make her forget herself like you forgot yourself when she was fucking you. You start to pump your fingers in and out of her faster, harder, and Joel, understanding, stops teasing her. Her eyes wide, her gaze still on Joel, she groans, “Joel, fuck. Please.”
The pull in the pit of your stomach at hearing her voice so raw and desperate makes you shift. Joel kisses her forehead to try to calm her, then raises his eyes and looks at you. “Fuck her.”
You do as you’re told, stifling a moan by teasing Tess’s nipple with your teeth, curling your fingers inside of her, putting all your strength into your thrusts. You’re rewarded with shallow breathing, and trembling limbs, and when she finally comes, she comes hard, holding your fingers inside of her with hard clenches. You’ve never felt anything like it, and the hunger for more is a sharp, burning sensation at the base of your spine. Will you ever be sated?
You collapse against her chest, your arm burning from the strain of keeping you propped up for so long, and Tess strokes your head with a trembling hand. Joel leans over her and kisses her cheek.
“You okay?” he asks softly, almost too quietly for you to hear.
She nods and swallows, the muscles in her neck twitching. Closing your eyes, you grant yourself a moment’s rest, listening to her slowing heartbeat, afraid that if you move, this moment might shatter into a million pieces.
After a while, Tess pulls on your arm and makes you roll over her, so you come to rest between her and Joel. She takes your hand into hers and places it at the base of Joel’s cock, now hard and heavy again. You blink a few times, still somewhat out of your body, floating around, not sure what is happening. All you can feel are Tess’s fingers wrapped around yours, and yours wrapped around him. But then she begins to guide you up and down his shaft. Slowly at first, making sure you’re able to take it all in, feel how hot he is, feel the little veins and soft skin, the way he twitches when she makes you tighten your grip. You only fully realize what is happening when he groans softly and screws his eyes closed. Then you know.
Tess shows you how to twist your hand on the upstroke to make him gasp, to make the sinews in his neck stand out, and then she lets go of you, putting you in charge. “He wanted this, you know,” she whispers into your ear, her voice low with pleasure. “He sometimes thinks about what your hand would feel like wrapped around his cock.”
You don’t care whether she’s making it up or not, her words make your core tighten, especially when he follows them with a groaned, “Tess,” that almost sounds like a warning. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, she lets you have the fantasy, and she lets you have the real thing too.
Then she adds, “I think he told me about it shortly after he heard you moan his name in the middle of the night.”
A sudden pang of embarrassment almost makes you let go, but Tess closes her fingers around yours again. “No, keep going.”
You feel the heat of Tess’s body at your back, the heat radiating off Joel’s chest, and you’re eager to comply. What does it matter now? They know how you feel about them and they don’t mind. After all, Joel came inside of you not even half an hour ago, and Tess came around your fingers, leaving little halfmoon marks in your thigh with her nails.
“I just didn’t think you’d like to be fucked by me, too,” Tess goes on, running her fingers along your thigh, teasing you, making you gasp and writhe.
“Faster,” Joel growls.
You don’t pick up the pace immediately – it’s not your call.
“Go on, it’s all right,” Tess grants. She kisses your neck when you pick up speed, two soft pecks right behind your ear. “Good girl.”
It’s meant for you, so quiet only you can hear it, and it makes you abandon all restraint. You sneak a hand between your legs and touch yourself. Tess lets you.
“Can I kiss him?” you ask, unable to keep your eyes off Joel’s brown ones that appear almost black now, clouded with desire.
“Joel?” Tess asks.
Joel nods, his eyes wandering to your lips, his tongue darting out to lick his own. You roll over so you come to rest on your knees and lean forward, your fingers still circling your clit. He captures your lips, growls against them, pushes his tongue into your mouth hungrily. Behind you, Tess strokes the back of your thighs, teasing you, making you twitch and gasp and squeeze Joel’s cock until he growls. Without warning, Joel grips your hair and he comes, spilling all over your hand and his stomach in hot, white ropes. You come too, wet heat rushing down your thighs and onto Tess’s fingers.
Tess presses a kiss to your back and you hear her chuckle softly as she gets up to look for a clean piece of cloth. You fall down next to Joel, curled up on your side, watching him. He runs a finger through his cum, coats your lips with it – and then he leans forward to kiss you, to chase his own taste with his tongue.
When Tess comes back, Joel cleans you first and then himself before he makes you lie back down between them, facing Tess. The two of you kiss lazily, unhurried, while Joel strokes your back, running his fingers down your spine.
After a while, Tess kisses the top of your head, then tugs you in beneath her chin. “You’ll still have to leave when the snow thaws out.”
“When the snow thaws out,” you agree.
***
joel miller taglist: @commalins | @mandinlore | @mumma_moonchild | @n7cje | @ronica-dl | @swimmjacket
permanent taglist: @amneris21 | @aurelacmoon | @din-jarhead | @harriedandharassed | @joel-tess | @littlemissthistle | @martellthemandalor | @nyfeeer | @nobodys-baby-now | @od-ends | @pedrorascal | @pedrostories
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller x reader x tess servopoulos#joel miller x you x tess servopoulos#tess servopoulos x reader#tess servopoulos x you#tess servopoulos#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfiction#the overlook
321 notes
·
View notes
Text
My SVE OC lores and stuffs
Ignore my typo and grammar mistakes 🤧
Let’s talk about my sve comic first. I was going to draw series based on Stardew Valley Expanded but since I don’t have much information about Castle Village, I temporarily cancelled it until 2.0 is released.
The SVE comic took place mostly in Stardew Valley, and will be told through Isaac’s POV. (Ridgeside Village is also mentioned)
Summary: Isaac happened met the Pelican Town’s florist, Myra, who looked exactly like his deceased lover, Elaine. After that fateful encounter, strange things started to happen in both the town and Castle Village, and Isaac find himself in a mission where he has to discover the mystery behind Myra’s pressence.
Character’s backstory (mostly headcanon and has nothing to do with the canon lore in the game/mod):
- Isaac:
Isaac is a skilled monster hunter at Castle Village, he is skilled in combat and swordsmanship, therefore he had earn the position as a monster hunter in Castle Village, this is where he also met his lover, Elaine.
Isaac had longed for a family with Elaine and planned to marry in the future. Isaac proposed to Elaine in Crimson Badlands, seconds after she took her last breath. Isaac still kept some of Elaine’s keepsakes such as the red ribbon she always used to tied up her hair, and her cloak. He has been mourning for her for 6 years, he shows no interest in finding somebody else to love.
- Lance:
This man kept everything about him a mystery. All we know that he was born from a noble family and he knows magic. Lance’s handsome face always has the smug look on it as if he knows something, a secret perhaps? He will never tells you.
- Elaine:
Elaine was born in Pelican Town with her grandparents, while her parent lived and worked at Suzu city. Elaine soon became a member at the Adventure Guild after she finds joy in keeping the valley safe from monsters.
She then moved to to Castle Village at the age of 23, and met the monster hunter Isaac. Elaine and Isaac soon got closer and started dating, they had been dreaming of having their own house in Ginger Island to start a new life as a farmer, but their dream was shattered not long after.
Elaine passed away at the age of 25, after sacrificed herself to kill Apophis completely, leaving Isaac to mourn for her passing for 6 years. Isaac has build her a headstone and scattered her ashes around Ginger Island.
- Myra:
Myrams origin is still a mystery, nobody knows where she came from, who’s her family and where is her old home. She came to Pelican Town on a stormy night and then begin her life there ever since, even doctor Harvey is unsure who is the mysterious man that brought her to his clinic that night.
Myra is seen as a very friendly, kind and generous young lady, it is impossible for her to make any enemies. Although the villagers feel uneasy whenever they visit her farm, as it’s always filled with void animals and creepy things, they always talk highly of Myra.
Lore heavy stuffs:
Apophis can’t die, when Elaine finally put an end to the monster, its soul morphed with Elaine after she passed away. Therefore, Elaine’s soul was trapped in Crimson Badlands. The Minister of Magic noticed, if Elaine soul fell into the hand of those who have ill intentions, Apophis will be reborn again.
Lance at the time happened to did research on resurrection spell, he then started to experiment on Elaine’s corrupted soul and successfully resurrected her with the help of the witches, wizards and the Ridgeside Mountain deity, Raeriyala.
However, Elaine’s memory was completely wiped out and Apophis’ soul still imprinted on her (explain why Elaine / Myra loves void stuffs) so she was given a new name and was brought back to Pelican Town, under Magnus’ watch in case something bad happened. (They kept this a secret from Isaac because Isaac would try to throw hands with them as he believedthey were using Elaine as a lab rat.)
In my sve comic, there’s a cult where people worship Apophis as their god and would do anything to bring back Apophis. If they had their hands on Elaine and her corrupted soul, she could be a vessel for Apophis’ reborn and cause chaos again.
Secrets and other stuffs:
In this sve universe, the color red holds an important part of the story as it’s held a lot of meaning and metaphors.
- red is the color of love and blood.
- it’s Elaine’s/Myra’s favorite color on clothes and flowers (Roses)
- red is the color of the butterfly that often flies around Isaac’s home the first 2 weeks.
- red is the color of the leaves, the Fall season where Elaine and Isaac met (Isaac met Myra during Fall too)
- red is the color of Apophis’ eyes.
Myra’s current appearance is what Elaine wanted herself to look like if she’s not a Monster Hunter.
Elaine is pregnant with Isaac’s son but neither did she or Isaac knows about it.
Elaine’s bloodline has connection with both Pelican Town and Ridgeside Village, which explains why Raeriyala helped Lance with his resurrection experiment.
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
All Hallows Quarrel
Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration
Submitted by @spishsstuff
Prompt #2: What's with all the candles?
Prompt #12: How did you do that?
Prompt #20: Can we just go home and have sex now?
Character: Marcus Moreno
Rating: Mature 18+ONLY
Warnings: Marcus Moreno x Female Reader. Reader has a strained relationship with her mother. Can be read as canon, in which case the ending is both happy and kinda sad, if you've seen the movie.
Word Count: 825
Masterlist of the Celebration
Sirowsky's Main Masterlist
“Uh… honey?” Marcus called out as he stepped through the front door of your shared home.
“Yeah?” you called back from further into the house.
“What’s with all the candles? Are we celebrating something?” he asked while taking off his shoes and hanging up his leather jacket, both of which were sounds you knew by heart.
“It’s called All Hallows Eve. Heard of it?” you teased as you walked into the kitchen, meeting him coming from the opposite direction.
“That’s today?”
“Wow. You’re amazing, you know that? No one I’ve ever met is as unbothered by the passing of time as you are, my darling.
Seasons, holidays, birthdays, it all just passes you by.”
“Hey, I have never missed your birthday, or an anniversary,” he hurriedly countered, making you snicker.
“I’m talking about your own birthdays, Mo.”
“Oh. Yeah, I do tend to miss those.”
You just smiled and kissed him to welcome him home and he snagged you into one of his signature tight hugs before letting you go.
But as he pulled back, there was a confused crease to his forehead once more.
“Why are you dressed to go out?” he noted, realizing that you were wearing a bra, which you never did at home unless you knew that you’d be leaving the house again soon.
“Ah, yes. Help me put all the candles out, will you. I was a bit premature in lighting them, it seems, because we have to go to my mother’s house for dinner. She’s already called me like six times.”
He chuckled at that, before heading to the bedroom to change out of his dress-shirt and into a nice Henley.
Marcus loved the relationship you had with your mother, because it was a very Italian one. You’d argue as though you were bitter enemies at times, but even so, you never parted ways without hugging or telling each other how much you loved one another.
And she always doted on her one and only son-in-law.
When he walked back into the kitchen, you’d moved to the adjoining living room and started putting candles out, but then all the little flames suddenly went out at once, without so much as a breath having moved through the house.
Confused, you looked around and saw your husband grin knowingly where he stood, leisurely leaning against the kitchen island with his hands in his pockets.
“How did you do that?” you asked, more than mildly impressed, because even after five years of knowing this man and two years of being married to him, he still managed to surprise you.
“Trade secret,” was all he offered in response, so you huffed at him and then went to put your shoes on.
“Some day you’d better tell me all these little trade secrets of yours, Mr. Moreno.”
“When we’re grey and old, cariño. How else am I gonna keep you interested for another fifty years?” he joked while pulling his jacket back on.
As always, your mother made a big deal of everything. That you were late, that you were casually dressed for what she considered a big occasion, that you hadn’t brought her any gifts, all of which you ignored since she hadn’t alerted you to the fact that you were expected to attend this dinner, until just over an hour earlier.
You did actually get through the meal without getting into any heated arguments, though.
It wasn’t until she started once again nagging on you for not having a “real” job, that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut anymore.
Sure, you worked mostly from home, but it was very much a real job, and it paid much better than anything she’d ever worked with.
There was something about this need of hers to always make you feel small and unaccomplished that just got to you, sending you into a rage in no time flat.
Marcus never tried to diffuse the situation; he knew better than to get involved. So instead, he just waited until your mother became riled up enough to leave the room, and then he got up and pulled you to your feet, wrapping his arms around you and somehow just squeezing the anger out of you.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had my fill of All Hallows Eve, I think. Can we just go home and have sex now?” he asked, entirely serious, which made it both comical and comforting.
“Yeah. This Eve done lost her Hallows,” you answered, keeping to the light tone of the moment, which your mother then managed to ruin.
“Yes, go home and make babies!” she shouted from the kitchen, and you were just too done with her right then to go off on her again.
“Love you, mom,” was all you replied, and then you and Marcus left, thankfully managing to restore your happy mood from before once you were alone between your sheets.
And nine months later, Missy was born.
THE END
Thank you, Tish! You always manage to give me fun challenges for these celebrations. I hope you enjoyed it :)
@pedrostories
@harriedandharassed
#Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction#marcus moreno fanfiction#we can be heroes fanfiction#marcus moreno x female reader#marcus moreno x wife reader#marcus moreno x reader#halloween writing#halloween fic#spooky season fic#spooky season#sirowsky stories
25 notes
·
View notes
Note
ok so HI 👋 you're gonna get multiple of these by me because I wanna know everything. but first. I wanna know about the steddie soulmate tattoos because I looOOove a good soulmate fic??? 👀👀
LUIIIIIIII please ask as MANY questions as you want I love talking about all the different versions of steddie that exist in my brain 🤩 thanks so much for the question!!!
SO this is actually my First Ever Steddie WIP 🥲 and it was inspired by something I saw on Twitter where the make up artist who designed Eddie’s tattoos was like “yeah the bats tattoo is actually a reference to Steve and how both Steve and Eddie were chomped on by the demobats” and everyone was like "OMG STEDDIE SOULMATE TATTOOS REAL?" So I took that and ran with it lmao. The conceit of this soulmate universe is that a tattoo forms on your body the moment you fall in love with your soulmate, and the tattoo is in some way symbolic of that moment.
Eddie's tattoo is the bats, obviously, and Steve's tattoo is of Eddie's guitar, spanning the length of his ribcage on his left side. That tattoo appeared when Dustin gave Steve the play-by-play of The Most Metal Concert Ever™ while they were both in Eddie's hospital room waiting for him to wake up from his post-near-death-experience coma; Steve visualized Eddie doing that in all his glory, though about how Eddie saved Dustin's life, and then BAM. Soulmate tattoo. Dustin will never let him live it down.
Also Steve and Robin have a tattoo for each other because I refuse to write a soulmate AU where Stobin are not soulmates in some way, even if platonic soulmates are not a thing in universe <3 (although in this particular AU platonic soulmates ARE a thing)
Have a look under the cut if you'd like to see Eddie's POV of the moment he got his soulmate tattoo ;) (yes it's That Scene from canon because of course it is)
Send me an ask about my WIPs!
He stops short the moment his brain registers what’s happening in front of him. Steve Harrington, in all his shirtless glory, is currently wailing on that goddamned bat with nothing more than his bare hands. He’s got it by the tail and swings it around over his head before slamming it into the ground, grunting with the exertion of it. Before it has a chance to move, Steve swings it back up again and slams it back down just as hard. Even in the gloom of this nightmare realm, Eddie can see the way his muscles flex with the strain. It’s not like Steve’s muscles are difficult to spot, okay - for all jocks are the enemy, Eddie can respect an attractive man, and he’d certainly been respecting Steve’s athletic physique when he stripped off in the boat ten minutes ago. Seeing Steve shirtless and seeing Steve’s nicely toned upper body in action are two very different things, however, and Eddie most certainly was not prepared for the latter.
It doesn’t end there, though, because Steve’s next move is to step on the damn thing’s neck and pull its tail until its head tears clean off its body, with his bare hands. Eddie thinks he mentioned the ‘bare hands’ bit already, but fuck it, it bears repeating. Eddie’s just watching this happen, wide-eyed, when Steve fucking spits blood onto the bat’s corpse, leaving a string of sticky red fluid trailing from his lips. Holy shit, when did he bite that thing? He’s breathing hard, chest heaving from the adrenaline, and even though it’s on the chilly side his torso is shiny with sweat. Steve tilts his head back, mouth open and chest still heaving, and it makes the blood trailing from his mouth fall back against his chin. Eddie could almost pretend it’s something else dripping from those plush lips, if he tried, but he’s so buzzed from the adrenaline and the absolutely obscene display in front of him that he can’t quite make the fantasy consolidate.
It’s the hottest thing Eddie’s ever seen.
He doesn’t even get to enjoy it though, because as soon as he registers that thought in his brain, there’s a tingling sensation on his right forearm. It starts near the crease of his arm, and within a few seconds it’s spread outwards and down towards his wrist, about halfway down his forearm. The tingling starts to intensify, turns more into a warm, not-unpleasant burning sensation, and Jesus fucking Christ this had better not be what Eddie thinks it is.
#steddie#charlie writes things#steddie soulmate au#wip games#i too am OBSESSED with soulmate aus so of course this was the first thing i ever wrote for steddie#NOT ME REALISING AS I COPIED THIS SNIPPET FROM MY WIP DOCUMENT THAT I GOT THE WRONG FOREARM#EDDIE'S BATS ARE ON HIS RIGHT ARM NOT HIS LEFT AND I ACCIDENTALLY WROTE LEFT ORIGINALLY#i'm a fake fan :( i'm a poser :(
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Easier Than Lying
Summary: Dabi wakes up one morning to see that Hawks left his phone on the nightstand. OR DabiHawks angst oneshot inspired by Halsey's song: "Easier Than Lying".
Tags: Swearing, Paranormal-Liberation War Arc spoilers, DabiHawks angst, implied sexual content, MHA Ch350 spoilers, blood (crying, canon-typical)
Word Count: 1,027 words
AO3 link
Toya would be lying if he wasn’t suspecting it. He’d just sorely hoped he was wrong. Maybe…maybe Keigo wanted him to find out. Surely he wasn’t this stupid. It was early in the morning, and Hawks was showering before he left the Paranormal Liberation Front hideout. He’d been spending nights lately. At first, they were excuses to help with planning…but then, he started to seem more interested in something else…or rather, someone else.
The minute a proposal of an inside mole was brought to light, Toya knew exactly who he wanted to pick. Keigo Takami: AKA Wing Hero Hawks. He knew Keigo wouldn’t recognize him. After all, his voice had changed, he’d dyed his hair, and, not to mention the piercings and the scars. He’d met Keigo Takami during his years all alone after he escaped from Ujiko’s nightmare of a child farm. Toya lived on the street, and Keigo just so happened to see him as he passed the alleyway. It was in his nature to be kind and help others, so, naturally, he’d helped Toya…for a little while at least. That is…until Toya learned who Keigo was aspiring to be. Then, he dropped even further off the grid; he packed up what little he had, took the bus, and left the city.
Still…Toya knew Keigo’s upbringing. Once he was exposed to the corruption within, surely he’d want to change everything. Surely , he’d see their side of things.
And so, Dabi got Hawks alone to talk. They met by themselves a few times, building up trust. After the incident in Kyushu, the tension snapped. A few days later, they became… more than accomplices. It was short at first. An innocent flirt here, a lingering touch there. Then, Hawks was regularly spending late nights in Dabi’s bed, leaving before the sun rose so he could go back to his precious Agency.
But now, their enemies to lovers game is splintering. Toya’s already hardened heart cracks as he reads the text message that crawls across Hawks’ phone screen. It’s from the Commission Leader.
When Hell breaks loose, kill the Doubler.
Twice had taken a specific liking to Hawks. He didn’t view him as close a comrade as Toga, but he wanted to be friends nonetheless. Hawks seemed to act the same…what a fucking joke. Toya knew it to be true. Hawks himself had turned into a corrupted Commission puppet. What a fucking waste of potential. But, could he even blame him? After all, he idolized Endeavor . That was the only rationalization. He should’ve seen it from the beginning.
Toya carefully places the phone back on the nightstand, facedown like it was moments ago before he saw the thin veil of light beneath the object. Toya shuts his eyes as the scars beneath them start to burn, and he presses between the staples, feeling the slightest amount of blood wet his fingertips as it seeps out. He’d need to change out his staples once Hawks left; he can’t believe he let the stupid bird have such a hold over him.
‘Guess I should be glad we decided not to tell each other our real names. Fucking traitor,’ Toya thinks to himself as he hears the water shut off. He sloppily wipes the blood off on the sheets beneath his pillow to avoid suspicion before the Pro opens the bathroom door. Hawks is back in his Pro Hero Suit, and he pulls up his golden visor as he approaches the bed.
“Oooh, almost forgot,” He mutters under his breath as he pockets his phone. Toya sits up and points to the headphones that are hanging on the bedpost.
“You’re gonna forget those, too,” The villain sniffs in his normal dry tone; it was eerie how easily he could mask his emotions.
“I’d leave my head here if you didn’t remind me,” Hawks laughs, tilting forward and putting his hands on the mattress as Dabi stares at him. He wants nothing more than to roast the bird alive, but, if the hero can play dumb, so can he. Hawks starts to lean in, closing his eyes, but Dabi keeps his eyes wide open during the Judas kiss. He used to crave this feeling, but, now, it just fills him with pure rage. His face feels hot as he kisses the hero back, willing to keep up the ruse. Hawks gently cups the side of Dabi’s face, his gloved thumb ever so slightly brushing up against his scars. Toya swallows the urge to flinch at the once-comforting sensation, and, instead, wraps his arms around the Pro, his hand snaking up under his coat and his shirt, traveling subtly until he firmly presses his palm against the small of his back. Toya glares at Keigo’s eyelids with such intense betrayal and enmity that, for a moment, he considers killing him then and there.
All at once, Toya harshly bites Keigo’s bottom lip and slightly activates his Quirk, branding his handprint into the hero’s lower back.
“FUCK!” Keigo cries out, shoving himself away from Dabi, who changes his facial expression the moment Hawks’ eyes fly open. He smirks devilishly at Keigo as he grimaces, peeking in the mirror at the damage as he lifts up his shirt.
“Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t handle a little pain?” Dabi snickers, hiding the venom in his voice.
“I’m not fireproof, Dabs. Be gentle for fuck’s sake,” Hawks grumbles, harshly tugging his shirt back down and straightening his jacket.
“Make sure you put on a good show, today, Birdbrain. Seven days until our big finale,” Dabi remarks as Hawks walks to the bedroom door, snatching his headphones on the way out. Right as he turns the knob, out of habit, Toya blurts:
“Stay safe, Birdbrain. I love you.”
‘I loved you…’
Hawks pauses before looking over his shoulder with a smile.
“I’ll see you tonight. I love you, too.”
He opens the door and shuts it behind him, leaving Dabi alone in the silent darkness. A chill runs down Toya’s spine as his glowing cerulean eyes burn, staring at the door frame.
“No, you don’t. I don’t think you ever did.”
#dabi x hawks#fanfic#angst#dabihawks angst#my hero academia fanfiction#ao3 writer#dabi#dabihawks#toukei#ao3#hotwings#hawks mha#dabi angst#dabi fanfic#todoroki touya#keigo takami#my hero academia angst
11 notes
·
View notes
Note
⭐️
Let's talk about what I think is a neat detail from Steve's second induced vision in Horizon 11! This is the "Nazis invaded America" universe: Steve's big fear.
“Germany calling! Here are the Reichssender Hamburg, station Manhattan –”
Awareness filtered slowly back to Steve. He felt heavy and loose-limbed, and when he breathed in there was something odd about the taste of the air. Beneath the heavy scent of antiseptic were the familiar smells of smoke, shattered stone and burning metal –
It could have been anywhere in Europe; he knew those smells well enough after all this long in the war. There was a radio playing somewhere nearby, the English-language Nazi propaganda program that broadcast to the United Kingdom and the Allied forces on the continent. Peggy had listened to it because she said it was important to know what the enemy wanted you to think.
Usually Germany Calling aired from Bremen, or at least it had every time Steve had heard it. Or said they did, anyway, though the name of the Reichssender was right. The voice of the broadcaster was wrong, though, an American accent instead of a British one. He wondered what the hell someone was thinking playing it in a hospital.
Like the previous induced vision, this one begins with Germany Calling, which was a real radio program; it was an English language German propaganda radio program broadcast from Germany and aimed at English-speaking audiences, namely the UK and the U.S., but others as well. "Station Manhattan" tells us, and Steve, that this one isn't broadcasting from Germany. As Steve says, the usual presenter was nick-named Lord Haw-Haw and had an English accent; the one he hears has an American accent. (There were Americans who broadcast English-language Nazi propaganda, but not this specific program.) A little later in the scene, we get some propagandistic jazz music:
Here’s Franklin Roosevelt’s latest tear-jerker:
Yes, the Germans are driving me crazy
I thought I had brains
But they shot down my planes
This is another bit of historical accuracy! (Sort of.) The English-language propaganda broadcasts played altered versions of real jazz songs. Jazz was actually outlawed in Germany in the 1930s, but had an underground presence, and during the war the propaganda ministry assembled a band to play live music during the propaganda radio broadcasts. The one that's quoted here is a modified version of Walter Donaldson's "You're Driving Me Crazy"; I've substituted FDR's name for Winston Churchill's, which is what the original propaganda version had. (I went looking and couldn't find a recording of this.)
All of Steve's induced visions skew very close to his canon wake up scene at the end of CATFA and they all begin with a radio broadcast, just like in canon; unlike canon, those two named broadcasts are both Germany Calling, which is his brain going, hey, this isn't right. In later visions the broadcasts begin to deteriorate, along with everything else in the visions. But the first two are very clear.
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
I posted recs of 25 of my favorite fanworks produced this year over on my DW and thought I should cross-post them here! List is arranged alphabetically by fandom and is a mix of fic and vids from 2023 (that weren't created for Festivids or Yuletide, because I always rec a lot from those challenges).
The Shipping Forecast series by leupagus (Broadchurch, Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller, 23k)
Ellie Miller and Alec Hardy, drifting together.
📺 I Wanna Be Evil by lilly_the_kid (Child’s Play | Chucky, Tiffany Valentine, fanvid)
You're sweet, my dear. Prim and proper.
beneath your weary heart by waveridden (Dimension 20, Ricky Matsui/Esther Sinclair, 10k)
It’s a comfort, having a name that is right. It is a comfort knowing that she is Sorrow and sorrow is her and they are one and the same. This is who she was meant to be. It is always who she was meant to be.
And yet.
(Or: Esther becomes the fury of Sorrow.)
📺 Mastermind by BeatriceEagle (Dimension 20, Brennan Lee Mulligan, fanvid)
"We support you as a DM and as our friend, but also you're our enemy." —Siobhan Thompson
Not According to Their Fanfiction series by AgentStannerShipper (Dimension 20, Evan Kelmp/K Tanaka, 63k)
Five tropes that did not live up to the fanfiction, and one that did. Spring semester at Gowpenny, a lot of feelings, and a lot of growth. Also featuring Evan's shadow (my beloved), true jock Jammer, Sam being the figurative wine aunt friend, Evan being a Good Boy, and K being exactly as horny as canon made them.
your heart, love by ASongofSixpence (Dimension 20, KP Hob/Delloso de la Rue, 8k)
Rue learns about something special that happens to goblins on All Hallows' Eve, and has big feelings about the use of the word 'monster.'
📺 After All by periru3 (Everything Everywhere All at Once, Jobu Tupaki, fanvid)
It felt like a winter machine that you go through and then / you catch your breath and winter starts again / and everyone else is spring bound
Chemistry by Twilightcitysky (Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley, 122k)
Aziraphale and Crowley have been living among humans for 6000 years, but there have always been parts of the human experience they've chosen to avoid (like allergies, head colds, and having to use the loo).
They've also never let hormones get in the way of making rational decisions, because they didn't have any hormones to speak of.
That's all about to change.
come raise your flag upon me by trinityofone (Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley, 5k)
Aziraphale persuades Crowley to accompany him to Heaven, to be Forgiven.
Things get...weirder before they get better.
Covenant of Salt by thingswithwings (Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley, 18k)
Aziraphale's hand slides down past Crowley's hip to fist his cock in time with his thrusts, and he bites again, and again, down to Crowley's naked shoulder, up to his earlobe, not meaning to be sexy, just biting like he's eating, tasting the salt on Crowley's skin, like he might consume Crowley entirely if given enough time.
"Talk to me," he gasps, between thrusts, between bites, his voice shaking.
"No," Crowley grits out, just before he comes.
📺 Hate Me by killabeez (Interview with the Vampire, Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac, fanvid)
“I love you with my whole soul, and I will always love you,” he confided to me. “You are my life. I have hated you for that and love you now so much that you’ve been my instructor in loving." —Blood Communion: A Tale of Prince Lestat
Bones and Blood: A Jurassic Park Survivor’s Story by avocadomoon (Jurassic Park, Billy Brennan/Alan Grant, 10k)
Billy was still staring at him. His face looked narrow and shadowed in the spotty kitchen lighting. Alan always thought about geometry when he looked at Billy: angles and rays and points and transversals. He was beautiful in the way that math was beautiful: like an equation that was beyond Alan's abilities, too complex for him to handle. But there, nonetheless. Holding all the secrets of the universe, if only Alan could figure out how to solve him.
Extended Disconnection by lick (Murderbot Diaries, Ayda Mensah, 91k)
Dr. Mensah's perspective from Chapter 8 of All Systems Red through Exit Strategy.
📺 They Don’t Care About Us by avg (Murderbot Diaries, “Human One” Refugee, animatic)
The story of a refugee.
Friday Keeps Coming Next by rattyjol (Nine Worlds, Artorin Damara & Cliopher Mdang, 38k)
Cliopher and his Radiancy break time. Again.
Embers by alfgifu (Nine Worlds, Cliopher Mdang, 126k)
A novel-length prequel to Hands of the Emperor about Kip's early years in service
A Most Restful Vacation by Quasar (Nine Worlds, Jemis Greenwing, minor pairings, 106k)
Jemis is invited to attend the investiture of the Viceroy of Zunidh, which promises to be a delightful trip with Almost No Adventures along the way.
An Officer and a Gentleman by cedarboots (Persuasion, Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth, 47k)
“Eight years changes a person, but not beyond all recognition. Fred Wentworth and Anne Elliot, years after a final break, find that they are more alike, in some respects, than they thought before.” (Butch4Butch AU)
first base by octothorpetopus (Sports Night, Casey McCall/Dan Rydell, 118k)
Dan Rydell was born in 1969 in Hartford, Connecticut.
He came to life in Minneapolis in 1988. When he met Casey.
Sugar in Your Hand by WerewolvesAreReal (Star Trek, James T. Kirk/Spock, 13k)
Kirk meets a Vulcan, marries a Vulcan, and apparently outrages the entire Vulcan government in one day. He's an overachiever like that.
📺 Hate to Say I Told You So by findmeinthealps (Taskmaster, Alex Horne, fanvid)
Alex Horne being Alex Horne.
home is where by oliviacirce (Ted Lasso, Trent Crimm/Ted Lasso, 6k)
“Ted learns that sometimes when you ask people what they want, you (just might) get what you need.”
in the cards by jedusaur (Ted Lasso, Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt, 4k)
Whenever he says he's not feeling anything, that's when Dr. Sharon pulls out the fucking cards.
Roy can't fucking stand the fucking cards. They're plain white with plain black text, each displaying the name of a different emotion, and he's supposed to go through them and decide whether he's feeling each thing or not. It's fucking stupid, it makes him feel like a fucking toddler, and worst of all, it fucking works.
Second Nature by MoreThanSlightly (Ted Lasso, Keeley Jones/Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt, 27k)
The first time they switch, Jamie’s fucking Keeley. It’s amazing, best sex of his life, and he wonders what it feels like for her—good, by the sound of it—and then a second later, he’s looking at his own face. He’s lying on his back staring up at himself.
“What the fuck,” he says in Keeley’s voice.
📺 Cockroach Motherfuckers by eruthros & thingswithwings (Multifandom, fanvid)
A celebration of all the queer characters you can't bury. Or, if you do bury them, they don't stay down for long.
1 note
·
View note
Note
Some Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian friendship please?
Like wwx was the first person to understand that Nie Huaisang was a "useless" young master only on purpose.
You can choose if :
Post cannon?
Cannon divergence?
Cannon divergence: where he's a better friend so he makes him joint he Nie clan? Or something? who knows?
You can also choose if Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang are friends.
(Imagine NHS-WWX-LWJ are buddies since cloud recesses days and go forth, lol. Canon divergence from the point of JC denouncing WWX)
“Listen to me for once!”
Nie Huaisang didn't mean to shout, not really. It is never a good idea to shout at his da-ge because it only provokes anger in return. But Wei-xiong is in danger and no one is helping. Nie Huaisang may be a useless cultivator in many people’s eyes but he refuses to be a useless friend.
The desperation in his stone catches da-ge’s attention and his older brother looks at him with a severe frown, “That boy is cultivating the ghostly path, Huaisang! Even his sect leader distrusts him!”
“Exactly! Da-ge, I’m not stupid, no matter how much you like to believe I am-”
“I don’t!”
Huaisang ignores him, “I know Wei-xiong. He may be mischievous but he’s not evil. If you don’t believe me, ask Lan Wangji! You can trust his word, yes? If you can’t trust your own brother’s.”
“Watch your tone,” Nie Mingjue growls, “You have earned every bit of my suspicion, Huaisang. Don’t pretend otherwise.” Huaisang winces, “I’m not dismissing your concerns but I need more than just your instincts to intervene. Do you have anything more than ‘i know him, da-ge’?” His brother asks and arches a brow.
Huaisang takes a deep breath and collects his thoughts. Hundreds of little observations, pieces of a puzzle too scattered, swirl around in his mind. He has held these pieces close to this heart for years, knowing that it would’ve been disastrous to reveal them during the war. But Nie Huiasang can no longer afford to be silent. Every time he hears someone spitting out his best friend’s name like a curse, something in him burns.
Wei Wuxian is so genuinely good-natured, he will accept everyone as they are. Wei Wuxian is always willing to step between an enemy and a friend, ready to take the blow of them.
There are few people in cultivation as honorable and compassionate as Wei-xiong and Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to see that light diminish.
Da-ge is silent, as though sensing Huaisang’s turmoil.
He straightens and tucks his fan away, meeting his older brother’s gaze head-on, without hesitation. That is enough for da-ge to frown and gesture towards an empty seat. Huaisang quickly goes about making tea as he speaks, “Please be patient with me, da-ge,” He begs, “Let me explain the full picture so you can see what I see. All of this may seem like speculation, but I have proof, circumstantial, but proof nonetheless.”
Nie Mingjue’s expression is now serious and placid, like he’s fully willing to listen to what his brother has to say.
“You… you don’t know, Wei-xiong. He cherished his cultivation, da-ge,” He explains, “It is no accident or act of fate that he was so good at it - good enough to even challenge Lan Wangji. He did the work to get there; he was brilliant but he was also incredibly hardworking. His cultivation was the result of years of refinement. Suibian was his constant companion and he wielded it like it was his soul.”
His brother is still because he’s not stupid.
“Is it not strange that we hear rumors of Wei Wuxian being captured by Wen Chao- by Wen Zhuliu - and see him return with a new cultivation that doesn’t require a Golden Core?”
His da-ge is definitely paying attention now.
“But is it not stranger that the Wens claim they had taken Jiang Wanyin’s core, only for Jiang-zongzhu to come back stronger? His cultivation is so refined and powerful, he is now a force to be reckoned with. Is it not strange, da-ge, that a man that couldn’t push his core even after years of diligent training managed to strengthen so significantly in a matter of months?”
“What are you saying, Huaisang?”
“I’m saying that Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a Golden Core. He hasn’t had it for the entire duration of the war. He lost it during or before those three months he was missing. I’m saying those rumors about him being tossed into the Burial Mounds are likely to be true. I’m saying that Wei-xiong is exactly the kind of person who would use word games to make people believe otherwise. He’s also the kind of person who would do everything in his power to protect his martial siblings.”
Nie Mingue looks stunned, “He walked into war without his Golden Core?”
“I am absolutely certain he did.”
Nie Mingjue stares at his brother, “But you… don’t believe Wen Zhuliu took his core.”
Huaisang hesitates, “This is where I hesitate, da-ge. My instincts tell me it's not that simple. I have known both Wei-xiong and Jiang-zongzhu for a long time. We lived in close quarters and I may not be a good cultivator, but that doesn’t mean I miss small details. Jiang Wanyin feels just as powerful as Wei-xiong did, back then.”
“And you believe that’s impossible?” Da-ge arches a skeptical brow, “You, by your own admission, don’t like him.”
“Wen Qing nearly published a paper on Golden Core transfer. Wen Ning rescued Jiang Wanyin from Wen Chao’s grasp.” He takes a deep breath, “Wei Wuxian just gave up everything to repay a debt that Jiang Wanyin admitted he owed.” Nie Huaisang doesn’t know everything, but he has had years to figure out enough.
Suddenly, all the skepticism leaves his older brother’s face.
“Let’s speak with Lan Wangji.”
---
Wangji-xiong takes it like a blow to his chest.
Huaisang sees him flinch and he sees Xichen-ge step forward in concern, “Wangji...” Xichen-ge looks like he doesn’t know what to say and how to reassure his brother.
Huaisang may consider Wei Wuxian his best friend, but he firmly believes that no one cares for him more than Lan Wangji.
The Hanguang-jun believes him. That's clear from his expression.
Wangji-xiong has likely been aware of those scattered puzzle pieces as well. He just hadn’t put them together until now.
“This is all speculation,” Xichen-ge tries to interject, “There may not be any need to worry, Wangji.”
“Wei Ying’s heart hasn’t changed.”
Xichen-ge stills and Huaisang watches as icy resolve settles on Wangji-xiong’s face, “I’ll bring him.”
“Wangji-”
“Wangji begs your pardon, xiongzhang,” The Hanguang-jun turns around and walks swiftly towards the door. He offers no other word or explanation.
“Huaisang,” Xichen-ge’s voice is displeased, “You should have come to me with this first. Wangji is… attached to Wei-gongzi.”
Surprisingly, it is da-ge who intervenes.
“If you can give Meng Yao the benefit of the doubt, you can extend the same courtesy to Huaisang and Wangji’s friend, Xichen.” Nie Mingjue is scowling, “We have more reason to fault his character than Wei-gongzi’s.”
It is probably the harshest thing da-ge has ever said to Xichen-ge and it shows. The First Jade visibly calms himself and nods graciously, but there’s a glint of displeasure in his eyes. Jin Guangyao has been a bone of contention between da-ge and Xichen-ge for several months now. Huaisang should probably look into the matter a little more but Wei-xiong’s situation demands all of his attention.
Now that Jiang Wanyin announced Wei Wuxian’s defection to the entire cultivation world, he’s a free agent with a powerful ability and an even more powerful tool. With the Jins and their successful rumor-mongering, Huaisang fears they don’t have much time. Jin Guangshan has already driven a wedge between Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian. How much more can they accomplish if Huaisang doesn’t intervene somehow?
---
Wangji-xiong doesn’t return with Wei Wuxian. He brings Wen Qing and wears an expression of outright fury on his usually stoic face.
“I transferred his Golden Core into Jiang Wanyin.” Wen Qing declares with a straight back and a steady glare. She looks right into da-ge’s eyes, “I helped Jiang Wanyin recover from his captivity and then agreed to perform the procedure.”
Huaisang sits down as his worst fear is confirmed.
He had hoped… he had desperately hoped he had been wrong but as Wen Qing goes on to describe everything, explaining how the procedure worked and what Wei-xiong had to endure for his martial brother’s sake, he becomes certain she is telling the truth.
And this is exactly what Wei Wuxian would do. It would be too far-fetched and outrageous for anyone else, but Wei-xiong- his capacity for self-sacrifice has always worried Huaisang and Lan Wangji.
“Where is he?” Nie Mingjue demands, “Did you leave him in the Burial Grounds? In his state?”
“Wei Ying refuses to come,” Lan Wangji says, his expression pale and tight, “He must keep the resentful spirits at bay and protect the Wens. There’s a child among them, barely two years old.”
Xichen-ge sucks in a breath, closing his eyes in dismay.
“He’s injured.” Wangji-xiong continues, “He was gutted by Jiang Wanyin in a staged fight.” Huaisang looks up sharply, “He hasn’t healed and yet persists to place himself at risk.”
“Wangji, we will help him,” Xichen-ge assures, “I apologize for not understanding the situation, but now we know and we will help him.”
“So they fought to spare the Jiang Sect,” Huaisang speculates with a frown, “But… why not just tell us? Surely Jiang-zongzhu knows he just had to mention his debt to you, Wen-guniang.”
“We have misunderstood Jiang Wanyin’s character greatly.” That is a big condemnation coming from the Hanguang-jun himself. Huaisang is certain that Wangji-xiong isn’t inclined to be charitable now. Jiang Wanyin did hurt Wei Wuxian seriously, after all.
“He won’t move until we do something to help the Wens.” Huaisang concludes, opening his fan in a snap and waving it furiously, “Because he’s just that stubborn. If he owes Wen-guniang and Wen-gongzi a debt, nothing is going to move him, not even Wangji-xiong.”
“I have never been able to move him.” Lan Wangji says icily and it seems like they’re feeding off each other’s ire.
Really, Wei-xiong is so frustrating to deal with sometimes. He doesn’t know how Lan Wangji handles being in love with him, Huaisang already feels nauseous. Wei Wuxian is in such a precarious position now that if they don’t act fast, he would…
He would likely be imprisoned or killed.
“Let’s offer the Wens some protection then.” Nie Huaisang says.
“Huaisang,” Da-ge warns, “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?” He demands, turning towards his brother and Lan Xichen, “Will the Jins retaliate? If both Lans and Nies stand together on the matter, what will they do? The Wens don’t need to be free, they need to be safe and healthy. We can keep them contained in a small farming village, forbid cultivation and absorb any children into one of our clans. Let’s take Wei-xiong into the Nie clan and let the Wens settle in the northern reaches. The area is fairly remote and life will be hard but safe, better than the Burial Mounds at any rate!”
He doesn’t know what kind of expression he has on his face but da-ge looks faintly amused, “You’ll take on the Jins?”
“If I have to!”
“He means that much to you?”
Huaisang swallows and thinks of days spent in merriment and comfort. Of a friendly arm tossed around his shoulder and a laughing voice dragging him into all sorts of mischief. He thinks of warm silver eyes that never looked down at him and nods, “Yes, he does.”
Wei-xiong has always helped him and treated him with respect. It is time for him to return the favor.
---
It is a near miracle that everything works out as planned. Well, almost everything. No one is pleased when the Lans and Nies band together to take over the Wen remnants. Fortunately, the Jiangs don’t have any room to object. Da-ge doesn't hesitate to reveal that Jiang Wanyin owes Wen Ning his life. Jiang Wanyin's honor is called into question but he suffers no other consequence for his dishonesty. Nie Huaisang doesn’t care but he notices how it guts Wei-xiong.
Apparently, when Wei-xiong and Jiang Wanyin agreed to part ways, Jiang-zongzhu only needed to say Wei Wuxian had left the Jiangs. There was no need to outright state that his sect brother had betrayed the entire cultivation world!
Either Jiang-zonghzu is incredibly naive or he deliberately placed Wei Wuxian in a difficult position without his knowledge.
Either way, Nie Huaisang is content to see that relationship severed. In his humble opinion, he makes a much better martial brother. And Wei-xiong could certainly benefit from being under the thumb of someone as protective as da-ge. He’s entirely too willing to place himself in harm’s way!
Humming under his breath and happy that everything turned out according to plan, Nie Huaisang turns around the corner and pauses. He quickly takes a few steps back until he’s out of sight. Peeking cautiously around the corner, he hides a grin behind his fan as he sees Wei-xiong fall off a tree and right into Lan Wangji’s arms.
Huaisang bites back a laugh when Wei Wuxian stays in place, arms around Lan Wangji shoulders and eyes peering up at the Second Jade.
He had been suspicious about them since Lan Wangji all but dragged Wei Wuxian to the Unclean Realm. His best friend arrived with flushed cheeks and suspiciously red lips but everyone pointedly ignored it, too eager to avoid that particular mess.
He smiles, chuckling under his breath when Wangji-xiong pulls Wei Wuxian closer and dips his head.
Turning around, he starts walking away, leaving the lovers to their business.
Besides, da-ge would want to know about this.
#short prompts#nie huaisang#lan wangji#wei wuixan#nie mingjue#anti jiang cheng#nmj is proud of his bb bro for standing up for what he believes in lol
271 notes
·
View notes
Text
The final Web!Martin evidence list
Now that canon is done, and we’ve got word of god confirmation that Web!Martin wasn’t complete nonsense, I decided to go back to my lil chronological evidence list and actually clean it up a bit, delete parts that in hindsight weren't all that indicative, and put everything in a slightly more readable format. (Obligatory disclaimer that i don’t and never did believe or advocate for some kind of evil web!martin, and that I'm not intending to connect a moral judgement to martin (or anyone else for that matter) having some of these traits)
So here: The (hopefully, please) final list with Web!Martin Evidence! Presented in order of importance, according to. me
The final (hopefully) Web!Martin evidence list
(In order from most to least obvious)
Spiders
I mean, it’s called the Web. TMA reiterates quite a few times that Martin liked spiders. Sometimes it IS that easy.
MAG022:
Martin: "I like spiders. Big ones, at least. Y’know, y’know the ones you can see some fur on; I actually think they’re sort of cute -"
MAG038: |
Sasha: "A spider?"
Jon: "Yeah. I tried to kill it…" [...]
Sasha: [Chuckles] "Well, I won’t tell Martin."
Jon: "Oh, god. I don’t think I could stand another lecture on their importance to the ecosystem."
MAG059:
Jon: "I have done my best to prevent Martin reading this statement in too much detail. I have no interest in having another argument about spiders."
MAG079:
Jon: "Apparently, biologically, his account of the spiders doesn’t make any sense according to Martin."
MAG197:
Martin: “What? Because I like spiders? Well, used to.”
Lies and subterfuge
Martin is able to use lying and subterfuge to achieve his goals, and is called manipulative a few times.
Lies:
MAG022:
Martin: "[He] became slightly more co-operative after I lied to him and told him that one of the upstairs residents had buzzed me in."
MAG056:
Martin: "I lied on my CV."
MAG158:
Peter: “But you said –”
Martin: “Honestly, I mostly just said what I thought you wanted to hear.”
MAG164:
Jon: "You – I actually believed you!"
MAG189:
Martin: “Sorry. Sorry, John. Not sure how much everything up there actually understood what was going on. But, y’know, I didn’t want to take any chances so it made sense to… um…”
Jon: “Put on a show?”
Martin: “Yeah, basically, more or less.”
MAG191:
Martin: "That's not true."
Arun: "Liar!"
Subterfuge:
The plan in 118, which revolved around convincing Elias that Martin was only “acting out”, to create a distraction for Melanie. (Also compare the way he evades giving a straight answer here with the way Annabelle talks in 196.)
Working with Peter in s4 under false pretenses, to distract him from Jon and eventually try to learn what Peter wanted.
Manipulation accusations:
These, I know, are somewhat contentious, since it’s mostly villains saying this to him. I’m still including them, since
1): From a media analysis standpoint, being mentioned 3 times is a sign to pay attention, even when it may not be the full truth.
2): I only see it as describing Martin’s behaviour in the previous points, not as a moral judgement; Especially since he almost always ‘manipulates’ people in positions of power over him.
Still, if it bothers anyone, feel free to ignore these.
MAG138:
Martin: "That’s it? No, no monologue, no mind games? You love manipulating people!"
Elias: "That makes two of us."
MAG186:
Martin: “I can be a real manipulative prick, you know that?”
Also Martin: “Oh yeah.”
MAG196:
Annabelle: “Because you always managed to get what you wanted through smiles and shrugs and stammerings that weren’t nearly as awkward as they seemed.”
[SMALL SOUND OF MARTIN’S CONCESSION TO THE POINT]
Martin: “Point taken.”
The Lonely/the Web
The Lonely and the Web sometimes affect Martin to similar degrees.
In season 3, when Martin is getting used to reading statements for the first time, most of them leave him emotionally affected: MAG084, MAG088, MAG090,
MAG095: Martin: “S-S-Statement… done.” [HEAVY BREATHING & TREMBLING AS MARTIN STEADIES HIMSELF] “I don’t like recording these. There. I-I said it.”,
MAG098: Martin: [Panting] “End of statement.” [Deep breath] “I, um, I think I might need to sit down. Oh. Yeah, I am. Right. I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure if these are actually getting easier or harder. I mean I don’t feel –”
Only the last two statements he reads are remarkably easier. This might be a hint that Martin is just getting used to reading them, but the quote from MAG098 seems to contradict that. Either way, it’s likely not a coincidence that those last two happen to be the Lonely and the Web:
MAG108:
Martin: “Statement ends.” (exhale) “That wasn’t so bad…”
MAG110:
Martin: “Statement ends.” [...] “I mean, I think it sounds like a Jurgen Leitner book. About spiders. Hm. Good John didn’t have to read this one, anyway. I know he’s not a fan. Although, this one wasn’t too bad, actually! I – yeah. Anyway.”
In season 5, there are two powers’ Domains that actually affected Martin mentally, as opposed to only physically: the Lonely’s, in 170 (and arguably 186), and, depending on your interpretation, in 172, when Martin went exploring without knowing why he did so.
Proximity
Martin investigates a lot of the Web statements during season 1 to 3 (in other words, when the archive team still researches statements). The only ones he isn’t mentioned in during this period are MAG019 and MAG020, when he’s being harrassed by worms, and MAG081, which Jon records by himself outside of the institute.
Most notably, he’s the one who discovered the statement in MAG114, ‘Cracked Foundations’, which is the one statement in the entire show that sets up the interdimensional properties of HTR.
The Web!Lighter passed through Martin's hands first, before he gave it to Jon.
Similarly, Annabelle mostly spoke to Martin in season 5, despite most other Avatars usually focusing on Jon.
Aesthetics
Apart from the above obviously Web related areas, there are some other aesthetics which are mentioned in connection to both the Web and Martin, throughout canon.
These are describing the Web;
These are describing Martin.
Tapes:
Martin is the only character to treat the tape recorders as friends - any other character is either indifferent, or treats them as enemies.
MAG039:
Martin: "I think the tapes have a sort of… low-fi charm."
MAG154
Martin: “Oh. Hi. Hello again.” … (small laugh) “Sorry pal, false alarm this time.”
MAG156
Martin: “Mm? Oh.” [HE LAUGHS, GENTLY.] “Yeah. (rustling paper) I was going to read one. Hate for you to miss it!” [SHORT, FORCED LAUGH, AS HE FLAPS THE STATEMENT AROUND.]
MAG170
Martin: “Oh. Oh, hello. What’s this? Wow, retro! What are you up to, little buddy; just – listening? That’s okay. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”
MAG190
Jon: "[The tapes] seem to like [Martin]."
Retro:
MAG069:
Statement: “I only saw Annabelle Cane once during this period. She wasn’t hard to pick out. She dressed like a vintage clothing store exploded on her, and her short bleach-blonde hair stood out sharply against dark skin.”
MAG160:
Jon: “Anyways, don’t tell me the phonebox down there doesn’t appeal to your retro aesthetic.”
Martin: “It – might. Maybe.”
MAG163: Annabelle/the Web callying Martin via an old payphone:
[ A PHONE RINGS. IT’S NOT THE TINNY, ELECTRONIC SOUND OF A CELLPHONE – NO, THIS IS A TRUE, HEAVY, CLASSIC RING.]
Martin: “Uh. John? Uh, J, John – the, uh, payphone that’s – here, for some reason – it’s ringing?”
Hatred of burns:
MAG067:
Jack Barnabas’ statement: “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.”
“Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.”
MAG139:
Statement by member of Cult of the Lightless Flame: “The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.”
Agnes burned down Hilltop Road.
MAG145:
The Web ties Gertrude to Agnes, stopping the Desolation’s ritual (the only Power whose ritual the Web is known to have prevented).
MAG167:
Gertrude enlists Agnes’/the Desolation’s help in order to burn her assistant Emma, who was Web aligned.
MAG169:
Martin: "Look, I just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever. [...] I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!"
Phrasing:
MAG039:
Martin: "I’m trapped here. It’s like I can’t… move on and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck. [...] It's just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think."
MAG079:
Martin's poem: "The threads of people walking, living, lovi–"
MAG117:
Martin: "This last couple of years, I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but, but now it’s my trap, and, well, I think it’ll work. I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web.
Oh, oh, Christ, I hope John doesn’t actually listen to these. “Good lord, is Martin becoming some sort of spider person?” No, John, it’s an expression, chill out! Besides, spiders are fine. I mean, yes, people are scared of them, obviously, but actual spiders, they just want to help you out with flies."
MAG167:
Jon: “Methinks the Spider dost protest too much.”
Martin: “Jon –”
Jon: “Joking! Just joking.”
Personality:
How applicable these are depends heavily on how you interpret Martin's own personality, so your mileage may vary.
MAG008:
Statement: “Nobody ever said a word against Raymond himself, though, who was by all accounts a kind and gentle soul [...]”
MAG123:
Jon: "The Web does seem to have a preference for those who prefer not to assert themselves."
MAG147:
Annabelles statement: "I discovered a deep and enduring talent inside myself for lying. [...] My manipulations were not intricate, but they were far beyond what was expected of a child my age, and I have always believed that the key to manipulating people is to ensure that they always under- or overestimate you. Never reveal your true abilities or plans."
Word of God and Annabelle
I kinda wanted to ‘prove’ that Web!Martin had quite a bit of evidence to back it up, hence this header being last. But of course, in this post-canon world, there are a few lines that most obviously confirm the theory:
MAG197:
Martin is Web enough to be able to read the 'vibrations', like Annabelle, and see Jon and Basira (the latter being especially notable, as he hadn't known she was there beforehand):
[CHITTERING, BUZZING AND HIGH-PITCHED SQUEALS CHANGE CADENCE]
Martin: "Wait… Wait, hang on, is that him?"
Annabelle: "Yes. I guess you’re better with the Web than we thought."
Martin: "And – Wait, ha– No, uh… is that… Basira? He – He’s got Basira with him!"
Annabelle: "Yes."
Season 5 Q&A part 2:
Jonny: “Essentially, it was fascinating looking at the fandom and, like, the Web!Martin believers, because what they were doing was correctly picking up on hints dropped in the early seasons that were later, like, not exactly abandoned, but it was much more like, ‘Well, no, he does have like aspects of The Web to him, but he is moreover The Lonely.’
And that came about very… very organically, really. Because throughout Season 3 and going into Season 4, we had this conversation and we were like, ‘No, actually he's like-”
Alex: “‘It can't be, it cannot be, it must be the other way round’ Yeah.”
(Note that they say “throughout season 3 and going into season 4,” which likely means that season 1, season 2, and at least part of season 3, aka half of the entire show, were written with Web!Martin as an intentional possibility.)
If you read all that, thanks so much! Obviously, Web!Martin never really came to fruition, so it's fine if you still don't like it. This is just a post explaining where it was coming from, at least for me and the other theorists I've spoken to.
#the magnus archives#magnus archives#tma#tma s5#web!martin#web martin#webmartin#or as jonny called it:#spider!martin#tma theory#tma meta#martin blackwood#martin k blackwood#martin#tma martin#magnuspod#i feel like i say this every time too but#when i say martin lies a lot i dont mean that#in comparison to 'normal people'#i mean that in canon he gets specifically mentioned to lie; at a higher rate than the other protagonists#ditto for everything else. im not speaking about real life people who might have these traits. im doing a media analysis#my own real life bedroom curtains being blue dont mean im depressed but in media sometimes aesthetic themes can be deeper signifiers#and tma especially has some very strong aesthetic themes#ok i think im done talking now. webmartin theories always get me rambling#EDIT: oops i changed a part on mobile and now the formatting is a bit fucked#ill fix it back tomorrow#if anyone cares#EDIT EDIT: ok fixed it
304 notes
·
View notes
Text
MegOp and the Canons I’ve seen
G1: They are idiots. But they are dangerous when put near eachother, even with those “on sight braincell loss”, if they were in a more serious and plot oriented show. Side eyeing the fuck out of War Dawn Megatron though when he meets Orion Pax
Armada: Okay they might be a bit too into battling eachother. Its almost what they put above everything else. That one last thrill of a battle. And then the depression hits and you have nothing to live for and you put yourself in a self exile because you gave into the thrill and nearly killed the universe, OP!
Prime: Okay. Friends (even if I’m side eyeing you from the prequel novels Meg!!) to Enemies. There’s something deeply appealing and sorrow filled about their origins to this. And then there’s something gentle in the way Megatron treated Orion Pax. Even if it was all to use him. (I’m side eyeing the FUCK OUT OF YOU MEGATRON!!!)
Animated: If you know me. What I’m about to say will NOT surprise you. But seasoned dangerous villain and the young hero with so much to prove with a solemn sadness under his breath. I’m really looking forward to this one BECAUSE it has my favorite hero/villain trope.
88 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Day 2 of the interviews! The lovely Yulisa, everyone :chinhands:!!
Yulisa, author of The Nexus Trials: Trial One
Religious Diversity Month Featured Author
It’s been years since you last stepped foot inside the Silver Nexus, a large kingdom with mile high walls surrounding the bustling cities inside; each metropolis filled with magic and intrigue hidden around every corner.
Once a place you called home, you’ve long since given up that security to travel the world as a wandering mercenary alongside your two companions– though soon an opportunity too good to refuse arises in the form of a mysterious though promising summons from the Silver Queen herself. Having asked for your company’s assistance specifically, you begin the long trek from the Bronze District, ignoring the vague details in favour of anticipating your big break.
Returning to your old homeland fills you with an almost heavy sense of nostalgia as you walk the brick road leading to the capital, hopes high knowing this job could change the lives of both you and your companions for the better. However, unease quickly sets in as you come to realise nothing could have ever prepared you for the trials that await…
The Nexus Trials Demo TBA | Read more [here]
Tags: sci-fi, fantasy, horror
(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)
Q1: Tell us a little bit about your project(s)!
The Nexus Trials is an entirely text based interactive story with two parts currently planned. For Trial One, the player takes on the role of a mercenary down on their luck. Having spent years wandering the expansive lands of the Outside, taking on whatever odd jobs you could find, you tossed your moral compass aside long ago for any potential of extra coin; having debated more than once resorting to selling the clothes on your back to avoid total bankruptcy.
Things begin to look up, however, when you receive a summons requesting the aid of you and your companions from the illustrious Silver Queen herself. The promise of prestige and security is one too good to resist; the offer a gateway to turning over a new leaf and starting fresh. Escaping the lingering shadow of your past never comes so easy though.
Q2: Why did you settle for interactive fiction? What drew you to this format?
I think, more than anything, what drew me to create interactive fiction was the freedom it allowed. The ability to go down these different paths and witness how the world around you changes depending on the choices you’ve made, whether it be for better or worse. Not having to worry about being bound to any specific, hardset canon is nothing short of exciting to experiment with, especially because even with my other non-IF stories I’m constantly entertaining the possibilities of the what ifs? even if they aren’t always plausible. I remember reading a lot of R.L. Stine growing up.
For the most part, I actually wasn’t the biggest fan of the regular Goosebumps, but the spin off series Give Yourself Goosebumps had always intrigued me. Being as young as I was at the time when I first discovered them, the concept of CYOA books was foreign to me and opened my eyes to a new way of storytelling. I loved getting to dictate the course that the story would take, even if the consequences of my actions didn’t always lead to the greatest outcome. In a lot of ways, the little catchphrase has stuck with me throughout writing TNT, even if it’s been years now since I last read any of the books. Reader beware… you choose the scare!
Q3: How have your identity and beliefs influenced your work?
Everything about who I am has left traces in my work, though truthfully it’s often unintentional. With TNT taking place in a fantasy setting, I’ve done my best to instead let the world take on an identity of its own; though I do admit to projecting onto a few characters in particular. Really, just about the only time I ever go out of my way to bring my own bias into what I write is for really petty things, like my hate for all and anything mint. I don’t understand how people are so obsessed with that burning sensation… but then again, I’m allergic, so I’m probably not the greatest person to trust on that front.
Q4: What aspects would you like to be more explored or represented in media regarding your religion?
The norm these days in more mainstream media is for characters apart of minority religions to mention what they follow in passing, never to be brought up again, in some sort of half-hearted attempt at religious diversity. If nothing else, I want there to be a sense of pride from those token Jewish characters, unashamed in their identity, without the typical pressuring to partake in religious practises not their own from other characters. It’s as good a starting point as any.
Q5: What are you most excited about sharing related to your project?
Would it be cliche to say I’m excited just to be able to share my project in general? I’ve never had the confidence to release any of my other works before, and truthfully me putting TNT out there publicly was poorly controlled impulse on my part; then suddenly, next thing I know, it basically blows up overnight and I’ve got hundreds of people excited for it despite a demo not even being out yet. It’s a level of confidence I never thought I could achieve. If I had to choose, I can’t wait for everyone to meet the characters. Will you find a family in them, or make lifelong enemies?
Q6: A tiny bit unrelated, but what’s your favourite religious holiday?
A bit predictable, maybe, but I love Hanukkah. I have a rather large family, to put it mildly, so our schedules rarely line up which means most holidays tend to pass us by without much thought; Hanukkah, though, is something we’ve always managed to make time for, even if it’s not a consistent celebration. I value the time we all get to spend together more than anything.
Q7: Any other thoughts or advice you’d like to give to fellow authors or readers?
To my fellow authors or aspiring authors, go your own pace. You’ll find what works best for you even if it might seem hopeless at times. Remember that you’re building up these worlds brick by brick with your own two hands, breathing life into these characters you’ve birthed from ink. That in itself is something to be proud of.
To the readers, your support means more than you could ever know. I can never thank you all enough for the encouragement you’ve given me in the times I’ve wanted to give up.
#if: events#religious diversity month#religiously diverse authors#religious diversity#interactive fiction#cyoa#choose your own adventure#choose your story
75 notes
·
View notes
Note
OKAY SKELLE I HAVE NARROWED DOWN MY SELECTION TO 3 ONCE AGAIN 2(I don’t think I can do this anymore.), 44(Why are you still awake?) and 45(You may technically be an adult, but you’re still my child.) For lace's spider monkey au with mk and SQ?
Does this fit into the timeline for @strange-lace 's Spider Monkie AU? Almost certainly not, so consider this a non-canon “What If?” side story. But the instant I re-read this prompt after leaving it in my drafts I was hit with a wave of inspiration and I just... I gotta ride it. It was too good to pass it up.
Why are you still awake?/I don’t think I can do this anymore./You may technically be an adult, but you’re still my child.
If she hadn’t been awake Spider Queen would have never realized there was an intruder in her lair at this hour of night. The steps she heard earlier had been so soft, too fast to be human but too quiet to from any of the mechanical legs of her closest companions.
Which meant...
“What are you doing back here at this hour, my little prince?” She asked, tone as soft as she could manage to not scare the smaller person curled up on the floor of her lair.
That didn’t stop her son, MK, from tensing up and curling more into himself for a moment in his full form awkwardly. Spiders weren’t usually supposed to curl up the way humans did, and in an attempt to do so he just looked like he was folding himself in half. Painfully so.
“I didn’t think you’d be up, mom...” He said, uncurling just enough for Spider Queen to catch a glimpse of his red puffy eyes. “Why are you still awake? I just wanted to... calm down a bit.”
“Me being up is not important. What happened?” Spider Queen asked, laying her hand on MK’s shoulder gently. He leaned into the touch, making the queen smile softly. “C’mon. You don’t have to tell me everything, just enough.”
“I just...” MK started, swallowing tightly and ducking his head so that his hair fell over his eyes again as he thought of a response. “I don’t know... I don’t think I can do this anymore. This... living two lives stuff.”
“What do you mean?” Spider Queen asked, reaching out to gently put her hand under his chin and guide his face to look at hers. No force, just a soft push that he leaned into. “You know you can talk to me. Did something happen?”
“K-kinda?” MK let out a half laugh, one his his hands reaching up to pull at his hair. “I... I almost slipped up today. I let my glamour down without thinking. Because I just...” He breathed in shakily, pulling at his hair slightly. “I was... I felt...”
“Safe,” Spider Queen finished for him, reaching out to gently pull his fingers from his hair and run her own through it. She pulled him closer, letting his forehead rest on her shoulder as he hugged her tight. “You're scared because you felt safe?”
“I panicked,” MK said, relaxing more as Spider Queen wrapped her arms around her son. “I didn’t mean to do it, I just started my routine for when I get home when I was somewhere else and realized what I was doing and then I ran out and couldn’t think of anywhere else to go so I came here and... my friends probably think I’m so weird for doing that.”
“Didn’t you say you liked your friends because they were a little weird?” Spider Queen said with a chuckle, pulling away and gently guiding MK to stand back up and face her. “Everything you’ve told me about them makes them sound wonderful. Why would they think less of you for needing to leave suddenly?”
“Well... I guess...” MK started, worrying his bottom lip as he thought. “I don’t... know?”
“Then they probably don’t. Do you remember what I told you when you asked me if you could live among the humans?” Spider Queen said softly, reaching out again and making sure her fingers never caught on the knots in her child’s hair too long as she brushed the messy locks away from his face.
“Wash all your vegetables properly?”
Spider Queen couldn’t help but laugh, cradling MK’s face in her hands as she took a good look at his face.
“I trust you to take care of yourself,” she corrected softly, letting him so to gesture to all of him. “And from what I see right now, you’ve been doing a pretty good job exceeding that trust in every way. Even coming here just to calm down shows you’re taking care of yourself. You’re doing fine. You can do this.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so,” Spider Queen said firmly, undoing the brushing of his hair by ruffling it roughly. She chuckled as the action earned her a proper laugh as he flailed his hands at hers to shoo them away. “You may technically be an adult, but you’re still my child. And as my child I know that you can do so much more than you think you can. You’re doing fine, MK.”
And the way his face lit up at that... Spider Queen would never stop loving the way he lit up in joy like that.
“Thanks... Hey, Mom? I uh...”
Her son reached down to grab the end of his shirt before his hands clenched and twisted around it. Something she’d seen him do ever since he was a child, before with his old clothing and even a little baseball bat Huntsman had once brought down to him.
“Actually, I was going to tell you this tomorrow, but... I think I’m... No, after what happened today I know I’m almost ready to show the others who I am,” MK said with a soft smile. “Not right now! And not everyone, just my friends I told you about. And you all too! I know I need to be careful but I trust them and-”
“Alright,” Spider Queen said, her own smile widening at the surprised expression on the young spiderling’s face. “If you trust them, really trust them, then I’ll trust your trust in turn. You almost showed them today without thinking, you wouldn’t do that if you didn’t trust them after all.”
It had been an agreement set in stone long before she let him leave the lair for his own life top side. “Don’t reveal your true form until you know you can trust someone, and don’t show us your disguise unless you must.”
The logic was that it was for a double sided protection. Spider Queen knew her son, knew he was trained since he was a little toddler by Huntsman to protect himself. He knew how to use poison and knives and anything he could reach and break to protect himself. She had no fear of them accidentally attacking him in disguise, completely different form and voice or not, because she had full faith that he would be able to protect himself. And if he felt that he couldn’t all he would have to do is shift back.
But if they knew who he was in his human disguise, knew who to not attack as drastically or to avoid, she feared that other demons may catch on. May realize that he had a connection to the spider demons and seek him out that way. And she was so afraid at the time that even with his training he wouldn’t be able to fight so many who would wish to harm her through him.
That was different now. He had a mentor, though he wouldn’t tell her who specifically. It wasn’t his boss, the man who had given him a place to live, that much she did know. But this mentor had been helping him grow stronger and, apparently, was one of the only two people who knew who he really was on both sides. She didn’t know who the other was, just that he was an enemy turned “frenemy” after his discovery.
The worry never left the back of her mind when she learned about the accidental reveals. Always living with the worry the frenemy would turn on her son, that his mentor would decide he was too dangerous to teach anymore. But none of those worries had come to pass so far.
Because he trusted them and because of her trust in MK... she could trust his judgement now.
“When do you want to do this?”
“During the Lunar New Year festival,” MK answered confidently. “We have a couple months to get ready and I probably have to help my boss during it so I can show them before the fireworks. I-!” He stopped at the sound of his phone ringing, grabbing it from his pocket before grimacing and turning back. “I have to get back, I’m sorry! I love you, mom!”
“L-love you too, MK.”
And then he was gone, rushing off in a burst of typical MK excitement. If he saw Spider Queen tense at his declaration and heard her stutter he made no indication of it.
She felt... guilty. Not telling him of her plans. But she couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet.
She trusted her son. She did. Knew he could handle himself. But there were people out there so much worse, stronger and more dangerous, than the humans and weaker demons he lived among. She needed to protect him from those who would harm him to get to her. She wouldn’t stop trying to protect him. Not now.
Not until she made sure the world was safe for him.
And the world would not be safe until she eliminated Sun Wukong and his damned apprentice.
She would have to thank the Monkie Kid for giving her just what she needed to protect her son. Just before she dealt with him for good.
#monkie kid#lego monkie kid#hurt comfort#gen fic#spider queen#mom spider queen#mk#qi xiaotian#spider monkie au#AND THEN MK GETS CAUGHT UP WATCHING FIREWORKS WITH WUKONG#AND SPIDER QUEEN ATTACKS AND ALMOST HURTS HER SON AND FEELS BAD#fanfic#prompt fill
57 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
claudiacardinalesmile
Claudia Cardinale
sunshinescenictours
Sunshine Scenic Tours
sunsnak
Sunsnak
everythingthings-world
best coffee drink
kr0ffie
Muku