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sl-ut · 3 months

Text

like real people do

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA

pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

description: abby is one hundred percent, totally, and completely straight. that is, until she meets y/n.

warnings: UNEDITED, swearing, slight hints of nsfw, alcohol consumption, a hint of homophobia? (not really but just in case)

words: 5.9K

date posted: 08/02/24

The years had not been kind to Abby. By the time that she and her friends were celebrating her twenty-first birthday, the woman had suffered many losses; the death of her mother at a young age, her father’s murder a few years back, and most recently, her breakup with Owen. She was quick to discover that the universe was not exactly on her side.

From her perspective, Owen was not just a boyfriend. Of course, he was hardly even that at most times, but he also represented the time in her life where everything was good; Salt Lake City, spending time in the woods with him and her dad, playing stupid little games to pass the time with him, Manny, and Mel…he reminded her of when everything was easier. She sometimes felt guilty for this, considering that she sometimes couldn’t tell whether her emotional attachment to him was because of how much she cared for him or for the impossible standards she’s always held him to.

Seattle represented a new beginning for her and her friends. They were able to find a new community, stay together, and live a semi-normal life that even the Fireflies were unable to offer them. Things were good there, people generally liked her, and she was quickly making her way up the ranks as one of the top WLF soldiers, though there were certainly some downsides. At the WLF compound, she began to see things in a new light; She was able to focus on herself for once, do the things that she wanted and branch out more than before. She was no longer limited to the small world of the few Fireflies who actually made it out of Salt Lake City.

It’s for this reason that she holds herself at least somewhat accountable for how things ended with Owen. Of course, she didn’t blame herself for his infidelity, nor for him choosing to do so with one of her closest friends, but she knew that it was her distance that caused the rift to form between them. She felt betrayed by them, obviously, but as time passed, it seemed clear to her that she was more hurt by the fact that it was her two closest confidants who had caused the pain, not the fact that Owen and Mel had been sleeping together for months before she and Owen called it quits.

Her saving grace during this period of her life came in the form of someone she would later consider her best friend, despite how offended Manny gets each time she calls her that. Her first interaction with Y/n was the moment that she knew she needed to have her in her life, one way or another.

She hadn’t noticed her right away, but who would? Amidst the thunderous crowd of the cafeteria just before lunch, it would be nearly impossible to notice anyone who she wasn’t directly looking for, which in a way, is how Abby noticed her to begin with. Manny was actually the one to sniff her out first, as he so often did with pretty girls, his midnight black hair standing out against the white fluorescent lighting. She beelined for him, an annoyed expression crossing her features as she figured out the reason why he’d been late for patrol.

“Manny!” She barked, “How many times do I have to drag your ass to the gate before you actually show up on ti–”

Her attention was immediately caught by the figure sitting across the table from him, eyes falling on a young woman with a look of shock on her face, clearly concerned by the large woman who’d nearly pulled Manny out of his seat with only one hand.

“Abby!” He greeted, doing his best to brush it off, “I was just on my way to meet you when I got distracted by this one,” He winked at the girl with a laugh, “Don’t blame me, it’s entirely her fault. Cierto, hermosa?”

Every engorged muscle in Abby’s body had to hold her back from physically gagging at his obnoxious charm, but she was a bit relieved to see that the girl did not seem to be falling for it so easily.

“Whatever,” the blonde shook her head, trying to suppress any of the nerves that seemed to have wormed their way into her bloodstream under the girl’s stare, “We’re late, and I’m not taking anymore shit from Isaac over you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He shrugged, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he began to head towards the door, offering a short goodbye to the girl before jogging to catch up with the blonde, who’d sped off in an attempt to get herself away from the girl.

“Cute, right?” He asked, a knowing smirk on his lips.

She shrugged, “Yeah, your standards seem to be on the rise, finally. What ever happened to the medic–what was her name again? Ginger?”

“Me and Y/n? In my dreams, sure,” He stared at her with a raised brow, “I’m not exactly…her type.”

Something clicked in her mind, and made the twisting feeling in her gut worsen. Goosebumps prickled at her skin as she thought back on the roaming stare of the girl in the cafeteria–Y/n, as Manny had called her. Had she been checking Abby out? And why did that idea excite her so much?

“Oh,” she hummed.

“You, however… you definitely were. Did you see the way she was looking at you? Like she wanted you to–”

“Shut up, would you?” She sneered, “I’m not–that’s not–”

“I know,” he sighed, though a knowing look crossed his features, “I know.”

A few days had passed before Abby had run into Y/n again, only this time, it was a much more pleasant interaction. Abby had been spending a lot of time in the library, especially since her breakup with Owen and even ended up sleeping there some nights when Manny took the liberty of reserving the room for himself and whatever girl he was dating at the time. She found some peace there, burying her nose into random books from before the outbreak and pretending that, for just a few minutes, she isn’t just the top scar killer in the WLF. There was hardly ever anyone else there, which was a definite plus; She still had a long way to go before she’d be used to all the attention she gets around the arena. This day in particular. though, someone else occupied her usual seat in the furthest corner, by the window.

She jumped in surprise at the sight of another person in her place, holding her palm to her chest to hold in any noise that may have emitted from her throat. The girl raised her head to look over the thick spine of the hardcover book she was reading, surprise evident on her own face as well.

“Sorry,” Abby choked out, “I just wasn’t expecting…I’m usually the only one here.”

“Oh,” Y/n sat up straighter, laying her book page-down on the table in front of her, “Yeah, I usually take the book back to my room, but my roommate is a little…busy at the moment.”

Abby snorted, “I get what you mean. Mine too.”

There was a beat of silence before Y/n chimed in again, “What are you reading?”

Abby glanced down at the book in her hand, eyes scanning over the faded words on the cover. She actually hadn’t known what book she’d taken off the shelf, just slowly making her way through every book in the library, “Uh, Jane Air–Eyre. First one I grabbed.”

“That’s a good one,” Y/n nodded, “One of the classics, I think they used to call them.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Abby mentally kicked herself, of course she would completely blank in front of the girl she’d been thinking about all week (but she was still, totally not into her). “Uh, what about you?”

Y/n smiled, “A Complete History of the Western World. Call me nostalgic, but I like learning about how things were before.”

“Me too,” Abby smiles, “In a way, it’s kinda comforting to see that this isn’t how things always were, you know?”

Y/n grinned, which quickly turned into a frown, “Sorry, I didn’t even…I’m Y/n.”

Abby smiled tightly, cheeks burning red as she reached forward to accept the hand offered to her, “I’m–”

“Abby,” Y/n smiled bashfully, “I know. You’re Manny’s friend, and sort of a big deal around here.”

Abby shrugged, the red of her cheeks now stretching to reach the tips of her ears, “Yeah, that’s what everyone seems to say. Not sure if I really live up to that expectation, though.”

Y/n chuckled before glancing down at her cracked wrist watch, a wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows as she closed her book and stood up from her seat, “Sorry, not trying to run away from you or anything, just lost track of time. Talk to you later, Abby.”

The next few weeks passed with several more interactions between the pair, and Abby would actually consider Y/n to be a friend. They could often be found in the library together, or grabbing a bite to eat with one another and sometimes a few others. Manny often grumbled about Abby swooping in and stealing his friends, but he always seemed to be more than happy to see the two of them together. That strange feeling did not disappear, though, like Abby thought it would. In fact, it got considerably worse.

Instead of having a little bit of nerves around her, Abby was struggling to keep herself from constantly pulling her into her lap, or reaching out to hold her hand across the table, or to tell her how deeply in love with her she wa–except Abby is straight. She likes guys. She dated Owen, and she was deeply hurt by his betrayal, right?

That’s what she told herself. Each longing to touch Y/n was just her own loneliness talking, every time she wanted to be held, it was her basic human need for affection, not because she was romantically or sexually interested in another woman. In fact, she had a little bit of a crush on one of the guys she went on patrol with the other day, or so she told Y/n. She made an effort to make it abundantly clear to the girl that there would be no romantic relationship between them, and was relieved when Y/n didn’t seem to put off by it. She continued to hang out with her, and to invite her to different social events around the arena.

This one was different, though. Abby went, fully intending to spend the night by Y/n’s side, people watching and making fun of Manny as he struck out time and time again. She had arrived to the party with Nora, a bit of pep in her step as she slid into the common area, face falling as she immediately took notice of Y/n on the couch across the room, a soft smile on her face as she listened intently to whatever the girl next to her was saying, her arm curled loosely around Y/n’s shoulders.

Abby felt sick, almost giving in to the instinct to turn and run, and she is positive that if it hadn’t been for Nora being right behind her, she probably would have. She hesitantly stepped further into the room, glancing around awkwardly in hopes of finding someone to hide her from Y/n before she could catch her attention, though it only took a moment’s glance for Y/n to turn her head and shout, waving both Abby and Nora over to where she and the other girl were sitting.

The girl’s name was Samyah, and Abby decided on the spot that she hated her. She hated the way that she talked, the way she dressed, they way she smelled, the way that Y/n looked at her, and most of all, she hated the way that she held Y/n’s hand as she led her out of the common room, hooded eyes making it clear what was about to happen. But it didn’t really matter, because Abby is straight and this wasn’t going to last anymore than one night.

Except it did. Weeks later, Samyah was still very present in Y/n’s life. Abby cringed every time she had to witness them kiss, or touch each other in any way beyond what could be considered platonic. She prayed every night that something would happen, that Samyah would cheat or die out on patrol, anything to have her away from Y/n for more than a few hours at a time, but when it really happened, she couldn’t help but fear that she may have willed it into existence–Abby wasn’t a religious person, but this seemed to be a bit too on the nose for it to not have been divine intervention.

Y/n and Samyah had been hooking up for a few weeks when Y/n turned up at Abby’s room, cheeks glossy with tear stains and eyes burning red. Abby was quick to take her into her arms, ignoring the selfish part of her that was singing at the mere contact. She held her tightly, sitting her down on the edge of her bed and stroking the back of her head soothingly, waiting for her to tell her what had happened.

“Let me know when you’re ready to talk,” She had whispered into her hair before pressing a firm kiss there.

It was less than a moment later when a sharp sniff could be heard and Y/n’s watery voice began to retell what had taken place earlier that evening.

“Samyah has a boyfriend, apparently,” She wept, “She told me she isn’t gay, she just wanted to see what it was like.”

Abby’s entire body burned hot with anger, and then with embarrassment. What would Y/n think if she were to tell her that she’d been wondering the same thing? How would she be able to move forward knowing fully-well that she was no different from Samyah, someone who she had been condemning over the way that she treated Y/n?

But was it the same? Was it really? Since she had met Y/n, she hadn’t even glanced twice at Owen, let alone any other man. She was all she could think about, day and night, and yet she still couldn’t seem to come to terms with the fact her feelings for her might have been more than platonic. It wasn’t as if she were too ashamed or was actually against the idea of her dating another woman, she was just confused as to why these feelings hadn’t come up before. Sure, there were times where she thought Mel was the prettiest girl she’d ever seen, but that was back when there weren’t many other girls around (and she wasn’t screwing her Abby’s boyfriend), and there was once where she’d had a rather promiscuous dream about Nora, but nothing had ever evolved further than that.

These thoughts started to keep her up at night. She liked Y/n, she really did, but was it worth risking her friendship only for Abby to decide that she wasn’t gay at all? What if she was just curious? It was normal for people her age to be interested in exploring these things, only she was sort of stuck in a situation where she was unable to. She couldn’t go to Y/n for help with this, that much was blatantly obvious, but what about someone else? She tried to think of other girls she could go to for help, but there was no one who she could immediately think of that she could go to without also risking her friendship with Y/n; she’d been insistent early on in their friendship that she was not interested in women at all, especially when Y/n made it clear that she most certainly was, and more precisely, in Abby, so what would she think if she found out that Abby had slept with another woman after insisting that she wasn’t interested? That might be more dangerous than going to her for help.

It was getting harder to ignore, as well. Y/n was increasingly dependant on Abby for comfort for weeks after she ended things with Samyah, not that Abby minded, but it was growing more difficult not to hold her to her chest as they share a pillow every night, to not reach out and take her hand every time they walk side-by side, to not push her onto the bed every time she undresses in front of her, to pin her down and–

Then Y/n moved on. She was still quite upset, but she had decided that she wasn’t going to spend any more time dwelling on someone who obviously did not care about her, so she met Reagan. Abby didn’t hate Reagan the same way that she had with Samyah, she clearly liked Y/n and treated her as well as she could, considering that they were in the middle of the apocalypse. She was funny, and she fit in with the rest of their friends better than Abby would have liked; she wanted to hate her so much, but the only reason she could think of was purely out of selfishness, that being the fact that Y/n spending time with Reagan meant that she was not spending time with Abby, and after a few weeks of near constant contact with one another, Abby was sure she was going through withdrawals.

It all came to a head when Manny demanded that she take some time off of patrol. With Reagan always around, she had taken it upon herself to start accepting extra duties to avoid having to spend time with the group, and more specifically, Y/n. He’d made some arrangements and assigned someone else to her shift without even telling her, and all but dragged her down the hall and into the rec room. Y/n and Reagan had yet to arrive, but Abby knew that, if she was going to be forced to sit and watch Reagan practically hang off of the girl that she was probably in love with, she was gonna need a drink.

Abby wasn’t normally a big drinker. In her early days in the WLF, there had been a few times where she’d had more than she probably needed, but it also meant that she didn’t necessarily have the highest tolerance, especially with Manny being the one mixing her drinks. He’d been more than excited when Abby went for her second drink, and decided that they needed to go drink for drink with one another. Needless to say, by the time Y/n arrived, Abby was drunk.

“Abs!” The voice sounded excited as they curled their arms around Abby’s neck from behind, leaning over the back of the sofa she was sitting on to hug her warmly, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

It almost felt like time had stopped the moment her eyes landed on Y/n, admiring the glint of the dim lights on her clean skin. Her hair was still damp, she’d just showered before coming to the party, and Abby couldn’t help but wish she’d also done so by the pooling of sweat on her forehead and palms. She leaned her head back against her shoulder, turning to glide her nose against her neck in a much more affectionate manner than she would have if she had been sober.

“Hi,” She mumbled, “You smell good.”

“It’s the lotion we found on patrol a few weeks ago,” Y/n laughed, “And you’re drunk.”

Abby shrugged, “No, just a little tipsy.”

Nora scoffed out a laugh as she plopped down on the armchair next to her, “Tipsy? Please, she’s been letting Manny mix her drinks all night.”

Y/n pulled away, leaving Abby to let out a small whine of defeat, “Uh oh. Something must be wrong to have you drinking Manny’s concoctions.”

“Hey!” The latino appeared seemingly out of thin air, “You’ve just lost yourself drink privileges.”

She raised her hands in surrender, “Not the threat you think it is, pendejo.”

Y/n threw herself onto the couch next to Abby, settling close enough for their arms to press against one another and sending Abby into what she assumed could only be early heart failure.

“Seriously though, where’ve you been?”

The blonde shrugged once more, “Busy, I guess. Lots of patrols needed to be covered.”

“So you covered…all of them?”

Abby was quiet for a moment, then quickly changed the subject, “Where’s Reagan? Aren’t you two basically attached at the hip or something?”

The smile on Y/n’s face flickered for a beat, and Abby immediately felt a pang of guilt squeeze at her stomach and regret filled her for hurling such a harsh tone at her.

“Something came up,” Y/n turned her gaze to her interlocked fingers in her lap, “She’s not gonna make it.”

Abby recognized a familiar sadness in her voice, one that she had hoped to never hear again, so she dropped the topic and instead found herself falling into a conversation similar to one they would have had before Reagan came into the picture. Things felt right again, especially as Y/n’s hand grasped onto her thick bicep everytime she laughed, and she didn’t push her hand away when she reached over and rested it on her knee–that had to mean something, right?

After Abby finished her fifth drink, things began to get too fuzzy for her to handle, her head dropping back onto the back of the couch with a grunt, her eyes squinting shut in a weak attempt to refocus herself. Y/n glanced up at her, concern painting her features as she reached a hand up to stroke Abby’s flushed cheek.

“You feeling okay?”

Abby grunted in response, leaning her cheek even further into her hand.

Y/n chuckled at her, pulling herself away to stand up and taking hold of Abby’s hand. The blonde’s eyes popped open at the contact, staring up at the girl with hooded eyes as she attempted to pull her to her feet. Abby pushed herself up, forcing her entire body weight into Y/n’s figure faster than she could have anticipated, almost knocking them both to the floor.

“Woah, steady girl,” Y/n laughed, slinging one of her arms over her shoulder, “I think it’s time to get you to bed, don’t you think?”

Abby nodded sleepily, allowing her to pull her along down the hallway, thankfully not having to climb any stairs to Abby’s room with the girl who was 95% muscle on her back. She was able to get her into the room and seated on her mattress with very little trouble–Abby was very compliant with every order that came out of her mouth.

She sat back, allowing her to wipe a wet cloth over her face gently, her eyes struggling to stay open even though she was eager to see her face up close and personal once more.

“Can I ask you something?” She murmured quietly, using every ounce of her strength to keep herself from moaning under Y/n’s touch.

“Of course.”

She paused for a moment, almost like she was thinking it over, though she had no control over the words that spilled out of her mouth, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Y/n stopped her movements, causing Abby’s eyes to shoot open and fall on the grinning face before her. She laughed softly, then louder until her laughter filled the room and bounced off of the walls.

“Sorry, sorry,” she lifted a hand to cover her mouth to contain her giggles, “That’s just not what I was expecting. But,” Y/n reached around and tugged the elastic out of Abby’s blonde hair, carefully untwisting the braid until her long hair settled around her shoulders, “I think you are very pretty.”

She smiled, mumbling out a quiet thank you.

“I have another question.”

“I think it’s only fair that I get to ask you one first.”

Abby raised her eyebrows, but was quick to nod in agreement.

Y/n leaned back against the footboard of Abby’s bed, setting the cloth aside, “Why’ve you been ignoring me lately?”

“I’m not–” the blonde argued, pausing to compose herself, “I’m not ignoring you. I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?”

“Abby.”

The blonde girl winced at her stern tone, wary of meeting her gaze, “Look, it’s not like I don’t wanna be around you, it’s just…”

Don’t say it, her very sober subconscious was pleading with her, please.

Her drunk mouth didn’t listen, “Reagan.”

“Reagan?” Y/n frowned, “What about her?”

A small smile appeared on Abby’s lips, “Nuh-uh, it’s my turn.”

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance, but urging her to ask nonetheless.

“Do you love her?”

“Do I–Abby, why are you asking me this?”

Her bashful eyes fell to her lap, “I think you know why.”

“No, Abby I don’t–”

Her words were silenced, a hum of shock vibrating through her throat as Abby lurched forward, lips pressing sloppily against her own. Y/n froze, neither pulling away nor reciprocating, just remaining in place until Abby pulled away for air.

Abby smiled, resting her forehead against Y/n’s softly. She was drunk, yes, but she had never felt more sober and in-tune with her own feelings as she was then, just after kissing the girl she was so hopelessly in love with for the very first time.

The spell she was under broke the moment her eyelids fluttered open, allowing her to spot the hooded stare and tear-stained cheeks of the girl in front of her.

“Y/n? What’s–”

“You’re drunk, Abby,” she scowled, pushing herself away, “You should go to bed.”

“What? I just–No, please don’t go.”

Y/n turned to face her sharply, “Why? So you can use me for your own pleasure and then kick me to the curb?”

“What?”

“I mean–Jesus, Abby. You were there after Samyah. You were the one who told me she was such a bitch, that I deserved better, but you’re doing the same goddamn thing. Worst of all, you know how I feel about you, but you made it very clear to me that you didn’t feel the same, so I backed off.”

“I love you,” She stammered out, “I-I’m in love with you.”

Y/n laughed bitterly, shaking her head.

“Please,” Abby, fell to the floor as she tried to push her body off of the bed, “I’m telling you the truth. I-I didn’t know before, but I do now.”

Y/n sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose to collect herself, turning to face her once more before fleeing the room, “Go to bed, Abby. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Except they didn’t talk the next day. Or the one after that. Abby basically avoided Y/n like the plague after doing what she did. How could she? Everything that Y/n had said to her was true, she’d known it for weeks. Hell, it was the exact reason why she hadn’t made a move on her sooner.

She knew she couldn’t escape her forever, though. The WLF stadium was pretty big, but they would both be living there for the rest of their (hopefully long) lives and would be bound to run into each other at some point in that time. She was also already in a fairly deep state of depression because of what had happened between the two of them, but also because of how much she just missed having her around.

Which is why she found herself outside Y/n’s bedroom door after returning from a particularly risky patrol that had ended in only four of them returning from a group of seven. Abby was shaky as she made her way back inside the compound, her muscles screaming with every step and her body begging her for a shower and a long sleep, but her feet mindlessly carried her in the opposite direction of her own room. Her fist rapped against the thin wood before she could even process it, but she couldn’t run away now, not when she’d been pinned under a scar only an hour ago with a knife to her throat.

Y/n looked a bit dishevelled as she opened the door, and Abby immediately thought the worst; had she really just shown up at her door at night? What if Reagan was in there? What had Y/n been doing in there when she knocked? Had Abby really interrupted her having sex with someone else?

But the lazy yawn that escaped her puffy lips forced Abby to realise that, no, she hadn’t interrupted her with someone else, she’d woken her up, which somehow made her feel worse.

“Abby?”

“Sorry, uh, is this a bad time?” She shifted her weight back and forth nervously.

“No, I was just–no, it’s not,” Y/n crossed her arms over her chest, “You’ve been avoiding me. Again.”

“I know,” Abby frowned, “I’m sorry. For everything. You have every right to be mad at me–fuck, you have every right to never wanna talk to me again, but I just have to let you know how sorry I am and how much you mean to me.”

Y/n shifted her gaze to the floor for a moment before nodding, glancing back up at Abby and stepping back to open the door wider, “Wanna come in?”

Abby nodded eagerly, stepping inside with caution. She glanced around, taking in the small changes that had been made since she’d last been here. Y/n bedroom was, well, hardly even a bedroom. It was about the size of a large broom closet, just enough room to jam two twin beds and two small dressers inside, though she and her roommate had taken the initiative to make it somewhat cosy inside. Thankfully, the second bed was empty that night, meaning that she didn’t have to hold back.

“Wanna sit?” Y/n motioned to the foot of her bed as she took a seat near the headboard.

“Uh,” Abby glanced down at her dirty attire, “I shouldn't. Sorry, I didn’t even change before I came here–fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Y/n shook her head, “Hey, it’s okay, Abs. We can sit on the floor?”

The blonde’s shoulders loosened at the use of that nickname, almost like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders as she lowered herself to sit directly across from Y/n on the carpeted floor.

It was quiet for a beat, both of the girls sitting in silence as they watched, both anxiously waiting to see who would speak first.

“Did you mean it?” Y/n was the first to crack.

“Did I mean…”

“You know what I’m talking about. You were drunk, but you avoided me like a clicker, Abby, so please don’t play dumb and just talk to me.”

Abby cleared her throat, “Yes. I meant it.”

Y/n let out a heavy breath, and Abby couldn’t tell if she was relieved or even more upset with her answer, “Okay, so you meant it. But why couldn’t you just tell me that? You knew how I felt about you when we first met, but you told me you weren’t interested so that was that.”

Abby shook her head, “It wasn’t like that. When we first met, I was…still dealing with how things ended with Owen. I was angry and hurt, and I really thought I would never get over it. But then, after a little while, I started to realise that I wasn’t heartbroken over him, I was angry that he and Mel didn’t have the decency to talk to me before they started fucking behind my back.”

“Okay,” Y/n nodded, “But after that? Is it some kind of internalised homophobic shit going on? If it is, you could’ve talked to me about it, I could’ve helped you.”

“It’s not that. It wasn’t that I was scared or ashamed of myself, it was that I didn’t even really think about it, I guess. Then, when I finally did, you were with Samyah, and then that ended and you were so upset, and that got me thinking that…I don’t know, what if I was the same as her? What if I was just wanting to experiment? I didn’t wanna talk to you about it because I didn’t wanna lose you, and I didn’t want you to think that I was the same as her,” Abby could feel her eyes stinging from the sudden onset of tears, “And then by the time I realised that that wasn’t the case, you were already with Reagan.”

Y/n opened her mouth to speak, but Abby cut her off.

“I know, you’re with her, and if that’s what you want, then that’s fine. I want you to be happy. But I can’t leave here knowing that I didn’t tell you that I am in love with you, so much that I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

Y/n didn’t answer, not verbally. Instead, she threw herself across the room, clambering into Abby’s lap and messily pressing her lips against hers. Abby was quick to reciprocate, her lips moving against hers steadily and conforming the once sloppy movements into a more slow and rhythmic embrace. Her arms moved to wrap around her waist, palms sliding up and down her back greedily as Y/n gently took Abby’s flushed cheeks into her own hands.

When they finally pulled away, they both broke into wide grins, leaning in to peck each other once more.

“Reagan and I aren’t together. I guess I was just on the rebound and she was looking for a fling, but it’s over.” Y/n whispered, “ I love you too, so much that I do know what to do with myself.”

Abby laughed, eyes trailing down her body and finally settling on the dirt and mud and blood that had transferred from her own dirty clothes to Y/n’s.

“Shit, sorry, got you kinda dirty.”

Y/n glanced down at herself, then shrugged with a sly glint in her eye, “It’s okay. It just means that we’re both gonna have to go shower before bed, right?”

Abby stared at her in awe for a moment, brain finally catching up to her words as she jumped to her feet, hauling Y/n up into her arms as she began a quick march in the direction of the women’s showers, the otherwise quiet hallway being disturbed by Y/n’s squeal of surprise and laughter as the tall blonde carried her.

Though the laughter was certainly more bearable to the surrounding rooms than the sounds that echoed from the showers over the next hour, though Abby couldn’t find a single ounce of concern for the others in the moment, just glad that she was finally able to hold and touch and kiss Y/n, just like real people do.

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #lesbian #abby anderson #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson x you

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sweetsweetjellybean · 1 year

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If Tomorrow Never Comes | Part 1 | Empty Streets

Summary: Trapped in the Upside Down, Steve is prepared to die alone until he finds you hurt and in need of help. Doing your best to survive while the world catches fire, is there time for one more chapter in your story?

Inspired by As The World Burns

Special thanks to @myeuphoricmindset for her permission and encouragement. Please go check out her amazing fic.

TW: FemReader, Eventual Smut, Mentions of self-harm & death. No Minors 18+ Series Masterlist WC: 5807

Steve watches the tears run down the flushed swell of Nancy’s cheeks, her delicate fingers pressed to her lips. A sorrowful smile stretches his mouth, his soft hazel eyes meeting her sky blue. The last blue. The gaping maw of the rift stitching closed for good. Forever. With Steve on one side and the rest of them safe on the other.

It was finally over and they had won. He decided long ago he couldn’t live if he lost one of them. So, in a split second decision, he gave his life to save them all. It had to be him. No complaints.

The last glimpse of blue shrinks into a sliver of bright light resembling the waning moon, disappearing until darkness and the red glow of death are all that’s left. He places his hand on the seam of the solid black rock, bowing his head, whispering his last goodbye.

He walks alone through the familiar decaying streets. The buildings crack and groan, pieces breaking off, turning to sand before they hit the ground. With Vecna dead, the Hawkins he created will be swallowed by the desert and the electrical storms until the world collapses in on itself and explodes in something akin to a supernova.

He knew all this when he called for El to close the gate. When he pushed a resisting Dustin through into Robin’s arms. In the end, Nancy, the kids, they were all that mattered. He had to die to become the man they deserved.

The man he always wanted to be.

The ending of his story has been written–there's no more guessing before turning the page. Loneliness wraps its icy fingers around his shoulder, bringing the comfort of an old friend. He feels lighter now that he's shed the ties and obligations to those he loves. He's free to choose his own death and not without options. Armed and still carrying the backpack stuffed with preparations to survive the last battle, he can walk to Forest Hill, put a bullet in his brain, and fall next to his friend, forever sharing his grave, but he's not there yet. He'd rather go out fighting, and the monsters filling this place will be eager to accommodate.

The wind picks up, blowing the golden-brown strands away from his face as he watches red bolts of lighting scorch through the thick omnipresent fog blanketing the sky to strike the clock tower of the public library. The building stands tall and imposing, still intact in this realm, rotting and covered with ropey vines. A storm is coming. He’ll need shelter soon. Maybe the white and brick house on Maple street. He could crawl into her bed and close his eyes, pretending as he drifts off the sleep that it was a night he snuck through her window. With any luck, he’d never wake up. The ground trembles with the deafening booms of thunder, but as he walks away, it’s a quieter sound that catches his ears.

“Help me, please.”

“Careful,” Steve warns, steadying you with an arm around your waist before taking the binoculars out of your hands, letting them hang by the strap around your neck, “Stop walking if you’re going to use those or you’re going to end up catching your boot in a crack.” He motions to the gaps in the dry limestone bed of lovers lake.

“Where were you two weeks ago?” You ask with a wry smile, yanking down the handkerchief that covers your nose and mouth. “Maybe I’m too clumsy to be a geologist?”

“It’s okay to laugh, Steve,” you tell him when his tight-lipped expression doesn’t waver.

Fourteen days ago, he pulled you from a pile of debris through the raging winds into the windowless back room of a flower shop, where he helped you clear the sand from your eyes and stitched the gash in your leg. He sat on the floor across from you, back pressed against the mildewing floral wallpaper, the sweet putrid perfume of decaying carnations filling your nose with the scent reminiscent of a funeral while he explained where you were and why you wouldn’t be leaving.

As an undergrad from Perdue sent to study the rift, you had been harnessed, hanging just inside the opening of the gate, taking samples when the earth quaked and your tether snapped. If it weren’t for Steve, you wouldn’t have survived the night and he’s protected you since. Taking out stray dogs and a few bats while scavenging for food and supplies. He assures you there are other things out there. Worse things. You’ve heard their screeches and howls between the thunder claps late into the frigid nights while you lay pressed against his warm back—safe.

He’s the hero from the storybooks that you read as a little girl, trading the armor for a leather jacket and flak vest, but still just as tragic. A ghost moving through a fog. His sorrow blends him into the landscape, keeping you at arm’s length. If you had met before all of this. Bumped into him on the street or at a coffee shop, you still would have known that he was someone you could trust.

He casts a skeptical eye your way but you don’t miss how the corner of his mouth rises just a little. “I don’t like being out in the open like this.” His nose scrunches as his eyes roam the rolling gray clouds that keep the Upside Down in perpetual gloaming.

“We need to find water. I can’t keep brushing my teeth with flat Sprite.”

Gallons of sour milk and fermented juice fill the coolers at Bradley’s Big Buy, but the plastic containers of water all sit empty just like every river, well, and stream in this version of Hawkins.

“How many more days are we going to waste on this?” He stands just behind you while you scan the lake bed, so close you feel the warmth of his breath in your hair.

“You have somewhere else to be?”

Entire sections of town have disappeared. Neighborhoods and buildings are falling into unstable fissures and there are fires burning in the east. It won’t be long now but you need this and so does he. Something to focus on.

“Everything in this place is damp. There are constant storms–”

“But no rain,” he counters.

“That we’ve seen. There are plants. There are animals. There’s water. Does it look like the land slopes downward over there?”You point to a spot where the trees are denser and closer to the lake bed.

“I guess.” He squints in the direction of your finger until you hand him the binoculars that are still around your neck. He stoops and leans in close, pressing the glass to his eyes. “Yeah, it looks that way.”

“Then that’s where we need to go.” Taking back the glasses, you set out navigating the dry, cracked terrain. Picking your way through the vines and rocks.

As you walk along, Steve’s eyes stay fixed on a rowboat draped in the coiled, spiked tendrils. He swallows hard, face paling. The pained, haunted look marring his features has the dull ache of sympathy sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone.

“Steve,” your voice stays gentle as your fingers slide against the rough skin of his palm, wrapping around his fingers. He flinches and jerks his hand away.

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s suddenly realized you’re there.

“Are you okay?”

“Fi-“ he clears his throat, “Fine.” He continues ahead of you, walking toward the woods.

"No. No way."

The short, wide, yawning mouth of the cave was tucked at the bend of a steep hill covered by browned moss and woody stalks of dead brush.

"Steve–"

"We're not going in. No shot. It could be full of bats. Without another exit we could get pinned down."

“Then you can wait here,” you say, ducking under the cave's entrance.

After a click, the beam of your flashlight cuts through the darkness and bounces off the glittering limestone that drips down the walls of the narrow passage like candle wax. The darkness presses in, your panting breaths echo as your courage starts to flee until you hear an annoyed “Goddammit” and the heavy fall of Steve’s boots as he comes in behind you.

His eyes follow the beam of his light scanning the cave's high ceiling that’s crowded with sharp tipped stalactites before he wretches them to you, his expression turning wary. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I’m not worried.” Your hand wraps around his forearm sliding down the worn leather sleeve, stopping short of taking his hand, you give his wrist a light squeeze before releasing him.

“Are you always this tenacious?”

“Always.” You cautiously start down the tunnel, watching for loose rocks and small formations, “It’s a character flaw. I’m an eternal optimist. Everything happens the way it’s supposed to.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs, looking away to study the walls.

After a curve, the passage widens and the rushing of water amplifies, up ahead a faint azure glow highlights a keyhole opening. Steve hands you his flashlight and reaches back grabbing the axe attached to the back of his pack. His hands adjust his grip on the handle as he holds it at the ready. With a silent tilt of his head, he motions you behind him as he pauses at the mouth of the chamber. Keeping the flashlights pointed low, you light his path.

“It’s a ledge. A big step down.” He calculates his movement before hopping down. He moves the axe to one hand reaching out for you with the other. Clicking off one of the flashlights you shove it in your jacket pocket before taking his hand, you try to gauge the distance like he had but your foot slips at the last moment. The clang of the axe hitting the stone floor reverberates through the cave when he drops it to catch you.

“Maybe you are too clumsy,” he comments, both hands gripping your hips. Your hands slide from around his neck to his shoulders, staying pressed against him longer than necessary, your eyes locked with his - the gold flecks a contrast in the soft blue light. The spell breaks and he steps back, bending to retrieve his weapon.

“It’s…beautiful.”

You’ve stepped into a glittering cavern. Luminescent turquoise orbs with trailing silky threads cling to the jagged domed ceiling high above a steaming basin of crystal clear water. The underground world's best impression of the starry night sky. This might be as close as you get to seeing it again.

“I’m impressed,” his axe hangs at his side with one hand on his hip, “You were right.”

His praise has you beaming as you move to the craggy edge of the basin and shrug off your pack.

“Make it fast,” he peers through the steam into the water, “I don’t wanna be around when whatever lives here comes home.”

“I don’t think anything does.” Dropping to your knees, you unzip your pack pulling out the supplies you’ll need and lining them up, “There are no tracks or vines or anything. There aren’t even any spores floating in the air. Didn’t you say they don’t like the heat?”

A fine layer of steam swirls just above the surface of the water, dampening your skin and curling the fine hair at your temples when you reach over the rim to collect a water sample. Carefully, you pour a little into the four test tubes and place them in a rack adding a test strip to each one.

“What about those things?” His finger extends to the neon lights above.

“If we were at home, I’d say glow worms.” You grip the hem of your sweatshirt, pulling it over your head and placing it on your pack.

“Whatever they are, they don’t seem too bothered by us,” he muses, “What are you doing now?” He steps closer, peering over your shoulder as you lower the rope with your geological thermometer attached at the end into the water.

“Measuring the depth and taking the temperature.” The water reflects the lights making it seem lit from below. It’s so clear you can see the metal tube of the thermometer hit the sandy bottom. Handing him the end of the rope you move back to your test tubes. Pulling out the strips, using your flashlight to compare them to the control printed in the kit.

"It's safe to drink." A wave of relief washes over you. Clean water greatly increases your chances of survival.

"Really? You're sure?" The surprise in his voice is clear. He didn't expect to get this far.

"I mean..yeah," you sit back on your feet, rubbing your palms over the denim covering your thighs, "We can add some iodine to be sure, but tonight we'll have drinkable water."

Hand over hand, he pulls the line out from the water. He lets the shiny metal tube dangle for a moment. The water runs down edges dripping back into the basin before he gives it to you to interpret.

"About four feet deep with a temp of 100 degrees. Perfect." Winding the wet string around the thermometer, you place it back in your kit and repack the rest of your supplies, leaving out your empty canteen.

"Perfect for what?" His brows draw in at the middle as he watches you loosen the laces of your boots.

"What do you think?" You pull off one boot and then the other, removing your stripey socks and then stuffing them inside.

"You're not getting in there," he scoffs, hands moving to his hips.

"Steve," you sigh, standing and unbuttoning your pants and lowering the zipper, "I'm absolutely going in there." The denim material is heavy and damp from the humidity, sticking to your skin as you peel the jeans down your legs trying your best to not let them drag on the dirt covering the cavern's floor. "It’s been two weeks since I've showered. I stink and so do you."

"This is stupid." His head shakes and he looks upwards, eyes roaming the jagged rock walls as you slip your shirt over your head.

"It's a necessity. Besides, hot springs are supposed to be really good for you." Your fingers work the clasp of your bra and it slips down your arms. His gaze returns as you drop the lacey garment onto the growing pile of your clothing. Now you have his full attention. Even in the dim light, it's clear his eyes darken.

Ignoring the way your heart beats wildly, your thumbs hook under the silk of your panties and they slide down your hips, "There's not much point in being shy."

With false bravado you face him naked and vulnerable, letting his eyes drink you in, "We have to take care of each other, right?"

The torrent of water is louder in the absence of his answer as it cascades through an opening in the wall feeding the basin. Holding his stare, you walk along the water's edge until you find a spot where the limestone dips and becomes smoother creating a natural point of entry.

"Be careful." He moves closer watching you step in.

A moan slips from your lips as you sink down letting the heat loosen the tension in your muscles, enjoying the slight sting while your skin acclimates to the temperature. Pinching your nose with your thumb and forefinger, you dip your head below the surface into the quiet depths.

He's crouching at the basin's rim letting his fingers trail through the water when you emerge, slicking back your hair, wiping away the drips clinging to your eyelashes. His lips part and you know what he's seeing, the astral light reflecting in the rivulets running down your throat, over your breasts joining the sheen covering your skin.

"Are you coming in?"

He pulls his hand from the water, fingers flicking away the wetness and you can practically see the gears turning in his head while deciding if it’s okay to allow himself this simple pleasure.

“It’s safe, Steve. You can live a little,” you say with your sweetest smile, bending your knees so you're submerged up to your neck, watching the cracks in his resolve widen.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He asks with a heavy sigh, unsheathing the knife that he carries on his belt and placing it on a smooth rock at the edge of the pool.

“I’m the one who has to smell you.” Taking a few steps backward to where the basin deepens enough that you can tread water without being over your head.

His Baretta joins his knife before his fingers loosen the laces of his boots. He stands shrugging off his heavy jacket and vest letting them hit the ground with a thwack that echoes through the cave before pulling his dark gray thermal over his head adding it to the pile. Your arms glide beneath the water while your eyes travel the path from the dips in his collar bone over the expanse of his broad chest that tapers into narrow hips.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat as he works his belt loose and you don’t feel the slightest bit of shame that he's caught you ogling. The way the corner of his mouth lifts tells you he doesn’t mind either.

“You wanna turn around?” He asks, thumbs popping the button on his cargo pants before he moves on to the zipper.

“Nope. I’m good.”

His eyes roll before he lowers his pants and boxers, holding them in front of himself until he catches your gaze and tosses them aside. Your lips part as you suck in a much needed breath. His half aroused cock stands out from his body. Long and thick, the pink veiny shaft and perfectly shaped head bobs, swelling further under your scrutiny. He walks toward the shallow end, and you catch the full smirk twisting his lips.

“Now you can smile.” You splash him as he steps into the water shrugging, his grin continuing to broaden.

His eyes flutter closed as more of his body disappears into the steaming pool, gentle waves lapping at his torso, then shoulders, then neck. A low grown rumbles from his throat just before his head slips under completely. He resurfaces in front of you, muscles of his arms tightening as he pushes the hair from his face.

"Fuuck," his mouth remains parted as he draws out the vowel, a water drop clinging to his plush bottom lip, "This feels good."

It's hard to take your eyes off him in this light. Heat floods your belly, but it’s not the water, you want to be what’s making him feel good. He’s already given away his heart, you're certain, but she’s not here and you are.

"It's nice to be warm. It's so cold here." You drift closer, breathing in the heated air.

"You're cold?" He asks, brows knitting together.

"Sometimes…mostly at night." A pang of guilt has you wishing you hadn’t mentioned it. The last thing you want is to cause him any more worry. "Are these new?" You reach out, fingers ghosting over purple black bruises on his shoulder and chest.

His head bows looking at the spot you just caressed, "Maybe. I can't keep track." He straightens to his full height, chest rising above the surface, water running through the thick patch of chest hair revealing several more bruises in various stages of healing.

"I'm sorry," you swallow hard before continuing, fingers dancing over the freckles on his skin, "I know you're doing this–"

He coughs and sinks back into the water, patting his chest, "I think the steam is loosening up some of that shit we've been breathing in."

His head tips back and you follow suit watching the tiny glowing creatures attached to the rocky dome, their silvery tails gently swaying like they’re blowing in a breeze. There's beauty in their simple existence. Head dropping back down, you catch his stare, he’s closer now, and the way he looks at you sends all your thoughts fleeing.

"It's nice here. Quiet," his arms sweep in arcs just below the surface, hands brushing against yours when they meet in the narrow space between you, "I can almost pretend I’m somewhere else."

"Yeah?" Floating closer, you look up at him from under wet lashes. There’s something in his eyes, a fire, making the gold flecks look molten. The gap between you narrows, his chest brushes your nipples. But it’s gone as quickly as it came. He moves away, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

“Do you do a lot of skinny dipping?” You ask, trying to draw him back in, craving the connection. He peers at you unsure if he should answer.

“Come on, Steve. Tell me your secrets.” Biting your lip to hide the mischief in your smile, you draw a cross over your heart, "I promise not to tell."

He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “I guess I’ve done my fair share. There was a girl-“

“There always is.”

“Are you going to let me tell you?” With a swift move of his hand, he sends a splash of water in your direction.

“Please, continue,” you giggle with a wave of your hand, licking the water off your lips.

“She and I would sneak out late at night. Meet at the lake to be together." He looks away as he tells you, lost in the memory.

"Midnight Love. Sounds romantic."

“I don’t think she would agree,” his eyes roam the stoney walls where glowing lights fade in and out, “She wanted more and I couldn’t give it to her. There was someone else.” He meets your eyes, wanting you to understand his contrition, “I should have been honest with her. Let her move on. I know better now. I’m all done breaking hearts.”

“Will you be honest with me?” It doesn’t matter what he's done. He’s shown you who he is, and that man is one that you believe in.

“Yes.” The word is heavy on his lips, the look in his eyes confirming his promise. “I can give that to you.”

Nodding your head in acceptance, you feel the shift, bared to each other, the wall between you falls to pieces like the replica of the town that surrounds you. It gives you the courage to ask what you really want to know, “What about the girl you’re in love with, the one that’s up there waiting for you with tears in her eyes? Don’t you think her heart is broken?”

“How did–"

Shrugging, you wait for him to continue.

“We weren’t together,” he confesses, “Turns out I couldn’t give her what she needed either.”

“That’s why you're here? Because you weren't enough for her? Your friends, don’t you think they need you?”

“It's not about her. It's about all of them,” he explains, his voice thick with pain. “Before all this, all the things I thought were important were just bullshit. They held up a mirror in front of me. It made me change directions, made me try to be better. But I moved too slowly and when they really needed me, I couldn't protect them. You know how you said everything happens for a reason?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, this is it. This is my reason. I had to make sure they’re safe. They can all grow up and do whatever it is that they are supposed to do, be whoever they are supposed to be. Staying behind. Letting them go,” he lays a hand over his heart, “That’s how I became who I was supposed to be and I could finally give that to them.”

“Steve…” You want to scream at him that he’s wrong. He had to be enough for them because he was already everything to you. But it would rob him of the meaning in his death, so you stay silent and let the unspoken words sink beneath the water.

“Okay, it’s your turn. You owe me a secret,” his tone turns light, and he claps his hands together, rubbing them back and forth, “Make it a good one.”

“Let’s see,” you squint up at the ceiling, “I started sneaking my mom’s cigarettes junior year and blamed it on my sister.”

“Come on, you can do better than that. I bet a pretty girl like you has left behind a trail of broken hearts. I want the good stuff.”

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask, tipping your head onto your shoulder with a grin.

“You know you are,” his eyes roll, “Don’t try to get out of it.”

“Fine,” you pout, flicking water in his direction, “I don’t think I broke any hearts. Maybe bent a few. My friends are always losing their heads over some guy. Acting crazy. All in the name of love. I always wanted that, you know? To get swept away in some sort of fairytale romance. It just never happened for me. I thought there would be more time. I thought…"

You’ve been looking at life through a wall of rose-colored glass, sweetening your view just enough to avoid reality. Saying the words out loud, admitting it yourself–to him, you’ve crashed straight into it, the broken shards cutting you with the truth.

“We’re not going to make it home, are we?”

“Do you still want the truth?” He asks, knowing you already know the answer.

"I had a list," you swallow hard, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. "I thought if we could find water, we could check that off and solve the next problem and the next. Then we'd somehow figure out a way back. You told me from the beginning but I was too stupid–"

"Hey, you're not stupid." He moves a hand to your cheek, brushing away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "It's not stupid to have hope."

"But it doesn't matter." Your hand covers his, indulging in his touch a moment longer before pushing it away.

“That’s where you're wrong. It doesn’t change anything, but it matters.”

“I’m starting to feel tired. Would you mind if we leave?” Brushing past, you climb out onto the ledge. The water cascading off your body darkens the limestone floor. Your back stays turned away from him while you yank your underwear on over damp legs. The splashing sounds let you know that he is following suit. Your jeans are difficult to shimmy over your hips without drying off and you skip the bra entirely, leaving your shirt to absorb the water. Once you leave the warmth of the cave, you'll be freezing–you should have listened to Steve.

Another bad decision made with good intentions. The list of I’ll Nevers unfurls in front of you covering the path where your future should be. He had figured it out much sooner than you did. Everything you worked for and planned for was all just bullshit. Maybe if you had someone to hold up a mirror, your list would be shorter.

The cave seems smaller, the walls press in as you finish getting dressed and gathering your gear. Space will give you perspective, although you still dread seeing that terrible red sky.

"Are you‐"

Your breath leaves through your parted lips when his hand tugs your hip, turning you, pulling you flush against his chest. He looks down at you, eyes burning, wet hair plastered to the nape of neck drips water down the column of his throat soaking his thermal. The plush curve of his lips so close to your own.

"You're not supposed to be here," he growls as his grip tightens. "I wish you weren't. I wish you had never met me. I wish..."

The tears spill over your lash line and streak down your cheeks, you can taste their saltiness on your lips. His head dips toward you and your eyes flutter closed, holding your breath while you wait to feel the pressure of his lips. Longing and despair give way to a fear that he'll give you what you want because he grieves with you, and that will never be enough to stop the ache. But his kiss never comes. His touch lingers on your skin once he's let you go and you stand there with your eyes still shut as you listen to him walk away.

By the time you make it out of the cave, the scarlet sky has dimmed to a deep crimson, and Steve decides it’s best to stick to the cover of the trees and spend the night in one of the cabins nestled on the shore among the forest of dead wood, instead of crossing back over the dry lake bed. Mercifully, the rolling storm clouds are gathering west of here, across town, leaving the woods quiet beside the dry leaves crunching underfoot. Your silence is an itch under his skin. He wants to apologize, but he’s not exactly sure what for. He meant the things he said, but he hadn’t intended it to sound so harsh. The light in your eyes has been the only thing pulling him back from the darkness of his own thoughts, but he can’t keep pretending. He’s accepted that this was how his story ends, but the way you look at him tempts him into believing there could be another chapter.

A war rages inside him, confusion over when protecting you became something more. Something that feels like he’s betraying her, even though she’s a world away. The truth is, he wants you. Your endless hope, the smiles you dole out like they cost you nothing, like you don’t realize that they have become as necessary to him as the air he’s breathing. Every day, the feeling of you belonging to him grows, but it’s all mixed up with pain and resentment. He was to meet death with a calm embrace, but fate decided that peace was more than he deserved. Now he’ll fight with his last ounce of strength to give you one more breath, and part of him blames you for that. He wants inside you, to claim you as his, but he can’t accept your comfort without making the pain at the end worse for both of you.

These thoughts and questions, you, Nancy, are different currents clashing in a riptide, and he’s trying his best to keep his head above water. As the mist thins, a tiny cottage comes into view, partially hidden by the brush and the gloom. The flaking white paint and curling black shingles are tinged green with mold. With a lone vine, dry and dead, snaking down from the roof across the weathered door. He reaches out, wrapping a hand around your wrist, conveying with a look that you should wait here for him to clear the inside. Walking up the three stone steps, he unsheathes his knife to cut away the vine. It takes a few firm pushes from his shoulder to get the warped door to budge from its frame. The musty air hits his nose as soon as it swings open. This place has been closed up tight. Steve moves quickly through the small space, checking for any signs of creatures, but it’s untouched aside from a few dead vines wrapped around the exposed beams of the ceiling.

When he returns, you’re standing with your arms crossed over your chest, but the look written across your delicate features has changed to anger. His brows pull together, and his lips part to speak, but you beat him to it.

“I don’t wish that.”

“What?” He asks, confused.

“That I never met you. I don’t wish that,” you move closer until your toe to toe with him. “I’m here for a reason. My life has a purpose too,” you say, laying a hand over your heart, anger and sadness making your voice crack. “If you think you’re supposed to die for them. Then I’m here to make sure you aren’t alone.”

The way his mouth gapes in surprise only fuels your resolve.

“You’re not supposed to be alone.” You turn away and walk inside. He follows, shutting the door behind you.

A chill seeps through the damp mattress and the thick stack of crochet blankets piled on top. Despite being fully clothed, the cold works its way through the layers of material straight through to his skin. He’s lying on his side, staring at the closed door of the bedroom, replaying the words you said over and over. He can feel you behind him. Tiny pockets of heat wherever you connect, your forehead pressed to his back, hands tucked between you, the material of his sweatshirt balled in your fist. He’s still not sure what he should have said. The rest of the evening was spent without discussion. In his head, every sentence he forms is chased away with the image of you standing in the cave with your eyes closed, ready to be kissed. His instinct is to act first and think later, but this time the consequence is your heart, and he’s never been more unsure.

“Did you hear about the drunk geologist?”

“What?” It takes a second for your words to break through his thoughts.

“He finally hit rock bottom,” you deadpan, your breath warming his back. “Do you know what kind of fruit geologists eat?”

His mouth quirks. Somehow you know just what he needs.

“Pome-granite.”

He rolls over to face you. Your eyes gleam in the darkness, lashes fluttering, your lips stretched into a smile, you’re so beautiful, and it makes him feel lightheaded.

“You know you have to be patient with us geologists…we all have our faults.”

“God, these are so bad,” he says, his hand landing on your hip, his thumb finding its way under the edge of your sweatshirt to draw circles on your skin.

“I have more.” Your hands smooth up the front of his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt, eyes locking with his, and he can see it again, the hope. It’s a beacon in a fog guiding him home.

“Of quartz, you do.”

Your giggles make his smile bigger until he can feel it in the apples of his cheeks. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s felt like this–you make him happy.

“Let me warm you up,” he says when your laughter subsides. His hands smooth over your shoulders until they’re wrapped around your back, pulling you closer, not stopping until your forehead is against his lips and there is no space left between you. Sighing softly, you push a leg between his, until you fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Thank you,” you whisper, but as your warmth fills all the cold places inside him, he knows he should be thanking you.

AN: Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear what you think? Are these two going to make it? Did you spot the easter egg from our friend @loveshotzz? I'll give you hint this ties in to one of her fics. Do me a soild and reblog if you liked it. 💋 -Jelly

Part 2 Here

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #steve x reader #steve harrington x fem #stranger things fanfiction #if tomorrow never comes

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scrufflesksunnide · 6 months

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Something I've been working on for awhile and finally I can tell you what this au is ABOUT.

Welcome to...

SURVIVOR AND MONK: ECHOS OF TIME!

an AU that tries to follow the canon of rain world in it's own unique way, creating new landscapes, added backgrounds that weren't there in rain world, new characters, and overall headcanons galore!

The AU is heavily inspired by things like Mario and Luigi: Partners in Time and Omori! Character refs and information below!

The premise of the au is about Survivor and Monk being contacted by a familiar white iterator from the void, who sends them on a mission to fix this world before things get messy with the landscapes they stand on shifting from times ahead and before, the memories they gained being wiped from them completely, and everything being set back to the very beginning. Their goal is to close time rifts causing this calamity, with the help of the Echos trapped inside these rifts, not only will they gain power to help the world but also gain memory the player never got to see... Will they be doomed to repeat this loop again due to their own problems? Or will they stop it all in time, before they have to repeat it all over again? They are all stuck here for their flaws, much like the echoes before them... maybe it is possible to break the cycle for once...? Meet the Main Cast!:

"Seth" aka The Survivor

Age: 20 Likes: Collecting pearls, Manny, Happy thoughts, Nature, History Dislikes: Having to give up pearls, Lizards, Bad thoughts, Thunder Storms (how ironic), and forgetting about the good times...

"Trying to find peace and happiness in a world that hurt them, their curiosity leads them into a new adventure. However, they aren't alone this time. With their sibling by their side, nothing will take this duo down!"

"Still full of curiosity, they are a sucker for nature much like their sibling. They are deeply curious about nature and wants to explore the world for what it has to offer. Their thoughts cannot be trusted however, despite it being full of curiosity, it is also full of doubt and bad faith after bring them down and keeping them rather depressed. They are numbed by the cruelty of this world, often not showing their emotions due to feeling static. It makes it hard to understand what's going on with them when they don't show a lot that's going on inside. However, they try their best to see a brighter future. They are quiet for the most part, but isn't scared to take action when necessary." Relationship Chart:

"Manny" aka The Monk

Age: 18 Likes: Gardening, Seth, Lizards, Batflies, Donating! Dislikes: Fire, Violence, Blood, seeing Seth sad, being alone. "Full of sunshine and and optimism. No matter of their naive nature, they set out to save this world with their kindness and their sibling by their side. Flourishing their way through this world with kindness has it's ups and downs however, we'll just have to see how they take it." "Peppy and happy, they try their best to make others joyful as well... to the best of their abilities anyway. They can be naive and foolish, they aren't super smart but they try their hardest... though sometimes they push themselves a little too hard. Due to the incident with Seth, they HATE being separated from him and suffers from separation anxiety. Their separation anxiety makes it hard for the duo to split up when it is needed, creating a struggle for the poor fella." Relationship Chart:

"Harvey"/"Harv" aka The Hunter

Age: 19 Likes: Doing risky shit, Red Lizard meat (sorry Manny), combat, their friends... helping out others in need... oh and uh, jokes Dislikes: staying in one place, being fluffy in the morning (yes they do fluff up fun fact!), being on a time limit, scav tolls, failing the mission. "After living through the scary odds, much to the world's pity, they live weaker than what they once were... but luckily they gained a strange but much needed friend." "Energetic and risk-taking, they make great effort to be danger to the enemies who dare try and disturb the peace. They led their ego and pride get the best of them at times and get carried away with playing the role of "hero" as that's the only thing they feel they have left to their name... "hero". They will willingly take a spear if it meant people made it out alive, they will rush head first into danger to shield those they care for... but in turn get extremely hurt in the progress. They can be impatient and does not want to be stuck in one place for more than 10 minutes, they have a soul that NEEDS heroic action and NOW!" Relationship Chart:

enot (dats me!!) the inventor (hehe see what we did there?) here's my [icture!

im 20 even though some people don't believe that fo[r sum reason (also I am very tired so my typig mayyyyyy be a bit wacky but ill fix it latr... probs) anyway uhhh I liek making cool gadgets, being the prettiest thing you'll ever see, my friendsss, eg, and kissing my babe (sethy!!) (and they is MINE, I will KILL YOU IF YOU DARE TOUCH THEM... just kidding!! there's enough of them (and me!) to go around!) and I like long walks on the shore! what I DONT like. I HAAAAAATE when people do not cooparate with each other and don't stick to the plan! like I swear everytime I'm playing skywars I get so pissed because I get teamed up with kids who dont even know how the game works OR they are SO egostical that they try doing stupid stuff and dont LISTEN to the guy who has actually PLAYED the game and KNOWS what their DOING!!! only reason why I lose so damn much is because of these bad teams holding me back, thats why I do solos most of the time and I do SO GREAT with those and- whats that? OH CRAP SORRY UH UH, I also don't like spiders and dark places, I've had a big fear of it back then and I've gotten over it... I think. anyway! im just gonna copy and paste this and be on my way, see ya later! "I'm stubborn sure but I have a great plan!... at least plans that are silly to others but DO work. I guess my biggest downside is I take too much pride in myself and i'm a bit too loud haha but im working on it!! Im very caring and loving and im cringe but im free!! I maybe a bit unstable... physically I mean PHYSICALLY IM FINE MENTELLY... I think. I do have a feeeeew memory issues (but im pretty sure everyone else does since, yknow, the current situation, hopefully I gain my memories back soon with those echoes!) anyyyway, hope you have fun reading everyone else's bios, see ya soon readers!! -love enot" Relationship Chart:

"Grant" aka The Gourmand

Age: 25 Likes: Mold Slime (Loves it so much that 80% of their body is made OF it!... wait that's probably really unhealthy- uhhh-), taking care of slugpups, crafting handy tools, hugging, and art Dislikes: People hurting their tribe, not eating for a period of time, seeing others sad, letting their craving/urges win. "One of the slugcat tribe's greatest warriors and excellent crafter, only thing holding them back from their truest peak is their huge appetite." "Carefree and always willing to protect those they love most. They be a bit slow but they are a lovable guy all around! They often get hungry due to them consuming a lot of mold slime, needing more food to feed their belly and having a shift in mind if they don't get food right away, they often eat other people's food without realizing it. This becomes a problem when people need to save food, it's a huge struggle for them to control these new found urges and often gets disappointed in themselves for letting those urges win. Despite this, they make up for it by trying to be a good role model and inspiration for people. They aren't the actual leader of the slugcats, however, they do take role as leader when the current leader is dead (unlikely but can happen) or they need to split up for expeditions. Relationship Chart:

"Asher"/"Ashley" The Artificer

Age: 20 Likes: Taking care of slugpups and baby scavs, when people do their job, quiet, listening to music, combat, scav boxing matches that take place every Wednesday night (they like watching them instead of being in them cuz they don't trust themselves with fighting people as they get, rough, really rough.) Dislikes: Loud noises, Seeing slugpups get hurt, leeches, water fuck water FUCK WATER FUCK WATER-, having breathing problems, smoke, being reminded of their mistakes, having to get violent. "A strict but fair ruler to the scavengers, swore to make sure scavs don't dare try and step out of line with slugcats ever again. Despite their rage and violent past, they have calmed down and learned that taking on this role (the role the old ruler barely did right) would be a good change in the slugcat race." "Ash often gets a bit annoyed when people step out of line, but luckily they don't expect people to be perfect, they will NOT give slack to people that step out of line on purpose. They are more mature and parent like when it comes to ruling over the scavs, at first they saw them as freaks, but they grew on them after awhile and treated every single scav as if they were their own, even if they don't show it, they appreciate their hard work. They can be demanding but they would never ask anyone to do something dangerous unless they knew they could handle it. They can be pessimistic, most of the time feeling down due to thoughts, that doesn't make them less of a fighter however. They are a combat warrior when it comes to fighting, just because they got rid of their violent ways to the scavs... doesn't mean they got rid of it for the other creatures like vultures, lizards, and centipedes. Relationship Chart:

"Ruffles"/"WD (Water Dancer)" aka The Rivulet

Age: 18 Likes: Collecting pearls with Seth, Swimming, relaxing and chilling with LTTM, other fishes, pretty lights. Dislikes: Huge waves, being Pressured, being on a deadline, being made fun of, getting startled by people, rain, and the rot. "Being on the run for awhile, they were sent out by chasing wind to deliver a data pearl to any surviving iterators out there. Their anxiety is the key to their speed as they rush towards their destination out of fear alone." "Ruffles gets startled pretty easily, though their reaction is oddly... delayed. They often have trouble controlling their vocal volume when they are not relaxed, often getting shaky and anxious when put on the spot or is the center of attention... but when they are relaxed and calm, they really open up to be a fun loving slugcat! They feel they need to get things done quickly due to the events that happened with trying to GET to shoreline, that and they think people might get disappointed in them if they don't do it quick enough. This results in them getting more anxious and things could easily fall apart if people don't catch up. They can be clumsy but makes up for it by having fast reflexes, they almost drop your birthday cake? Fear not as they will do their DAMNEST to have that birthday cake be perfectly fine! They see LTTM as their best friend, often feeling relaxed and comfortable around her, LTTM is the only time where Ruffles feels safe... other than their friends of course." Relationship Chart:

"Sii07" aka The Spearmaster

Age: 19 Likes: Challenging themselves, having a goal and completing it, drawing/painting, SRS... and warm places. Dislikes: Failing a goal, not having a purpose, being bored, people getting in their way, and vultures. "A message slug created by Seven Red Suns that fulfilled their purpose... but found themselves in an unsatisfying life after their loss. They find new albeit, risky and hurtful adventures to challenge themselves so they can feel they have purpose... or at least try to think they do."

"Sii has a knack for putting themselves in dangerous expeditions, resulting in them getting hurt often... but they feel completely numb to it all. They set too ambitious goals with only satisfaction as their reward. It takes a lot to get them to stop trying to do dangerous expeditions but when they do stop even if for a bit, they can be a chill and almost inspiring! They are a pretty good critic too when it comes to art and combat, even though they can be harsh whenever it's negative, they want people to improve upon their skills... It seems pointless to them to try and teach people things... for now at least. They are highly determined, always preserving no matter what, this can be a good... and bad thing. They can get bored pretty easily so they like to doodle or draw full on pieces of art for however long they feel like it, it's much rarer nowadays... but when you get to see it, it's beautiful." Relationship Chart:

"Sage" aka The Saint

Age: 21 Likes: Uhh... Guiding people to the right path...? They didn't really... fill this out. Dislikes: They don't like meat... that's pretty much all I could gather. "Created by-" what?... would you rather that be private? You sure there are people already kno- Okay, okay. We can skip that part. "They set up to help people in need, and be of a sort of guide for Seth and Manny on their quest to fix this big problem... again." "A pacifistic being whom aims to help others in need of guidance. Although their perfectionist nature holds them back from being happy with their results often times. They do their best to support Seth and Manny in their adventure, testing their new found powers and helping them be better people. They have a tendency to not let people in their personal life... but sometimes, just sometimes, people can gain their trust. They are highly mysterious and it's hard to tell if they mean well or not... but they haven't hurt anyone so far and they seem to want to help people with their calm and on form approach." Relationship Chart:

More info coming soon!! This post will be updated now and then so do check back here every now and then! Comics will be in the making soon as well so keep look out for that!

#rain world #rain world downpour #echos of time au #rain world fanart #rw survivor #rw enot #rw monk #rw gourmand #rw saint #rw spearmaster #rw rivulet #rw artificer #rw hunter #rw au #MORE TO COME SOON!!

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horeformilfs · 5 months

Text

Grieving

Alcina Dimitrescu x Fem!Reader

TW: Poison, Major Character Death, Suicide, Depression, Isolating

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The grandeur of Castle Dimitrescu echoed with the rhythmic hum of daily life. Y/N, the head maid in the vast kitchens, moved with precision and grace, orchestrating the culinary symphony that unfolded beneath her watchful eyes. The scent of spices and the clatter of utensils filled the air, creating a facade of normalcy that hid the underlying tension.

Alcina Dimitrescu, the imposing mistress of the castle, wielded her authority with a regal elegance. Her presence, however, cast a shadow over the bustling kitchen. Y/N, though proficient in her duties, felt the weight of Alcina's scrutiny like a looming storm.

One evening, as the kitchen bustled with activity, a misplaced plate triggered an unexpected tempest. Alcina, her patience thin, descended upon the chaotic scene like a thunderous force. "Y/N!" she called out, her voice carrying a dangerous undercurrent that sent a shiver down the spines of the kitchen staff.

Y/N, ever composed, approached Alcina with a respectful bow. "Mistress, how may I assist you?"

Alcina's gaze, stern and unforgiving, locked onto Y/N. "This incompetence in my kitchen is unacceptable. You will be held accountable for this."

The accusation hung heavy in the air, a dark cloud that threatened to engulf Y/N. As Alcina berated her, the weight of each word carved deep wounds in Y/N's pride. The kitchen staff, aware of the brewing storm, exchanged uneasy glances.

The tirade continued, Alcina's words a relentless assault on Y/N's competence and dedication. The head maid, struggling to maintain her composure, bit back the tears that threatened to spill. She had prided herself on her abilities, but under Alcina's disapproving gaze, her confidence crumbled like a fragile facade.

Finally, as Alcina dismissed her with a wave of her hand, Y/N retreated from the kitchen, her steps heavy with the burden of failure. Alone in her quarters, the walls seemed to close in, suffocating her with a sense of inadequacy that cut deeper than any physical wound.

Days turned into a monotonous blur, each moment tainted by the lingering echoes of that fateful evening. Y/N, once the beacon of efficiency, withdrew into a shell of self-doubt. The kitchen, once her domain, became a haunting reminder of her perceived failure.

Alcina, unaware of the internal turmoil she had unleashed, moved about the castle with the same regal grace. The chasm between mistress and maid, however, widened with each passing day, leaving a void that seemed insurmountable.

In the grandeur of Castle Dimitrescu, where secrets whispered in the shadows, Y/N navigated the labyrinth of emotions stirred by an unintended rift between a mistress and her head maid. The echoes of that anguished night lingered, casting a melancholic pallor over the once vibrant corridors of their tangled existence.

Days turned into weeks, and the once bustling kitchen became a silent witness to Y/N's internal struggle. The routine tasks that once brought her joy now felt like burdens, each moment fraught with the fear of further disappointment. Alcina's presence, though commanding, seemed to cast a long shadow that eclipsed the warmth that once permeated the castle.

One evening, as Y/N moved mechanically through the kitchen, her mind wandered to the fateful night of reprimand. The words, like cruel echoes, replayed in her mind, a haunting refrain that fueled her self-doubt. A sudden clatter echoed through the kitchen, drawing Y/N back to the present. Her hands trembled as she struggled to regain control.

Alcina, appearing at the scene like an unexpected storm, fixed her sharp gaze on Y/N. "Another mistake, I presume?" The words, laced with sarcasm, cut through the air like a bitter wind.

Y/N, unable to meet Alcina's gaze, nodded silently. The mistress's expression darkened, disappointment etched in the lines of her regal features. "You are becoming a liability, Y/N," she declared, her voice a cold decree that reverberated through the kitchen.

The weight of those words bore down on Y/N's shoulders, the burden almost too much to bear. In that moment, the kitchen became a prison, and Alcina's words were the chains that bound her to a perceived failure.

As the days wore on, the rift between mistress and maid deepened. Alcina, though unaware of the turmoil she had caused, continued to wield her authority with an unyielding hand. Y/N, trapped in the cycle of self-recrimination, withdrew further into her own thoughts.

One night, as Y/N navigated the castle's dimly lit corridors, a chance encounter with Alcina brought their strained dynamic to the forefront. "Mistress, I..." Y/N began, the words catching in her throat.

Alcina, a formidable figure in the moonlit corridor, turned her gaze upon Y/N. "Save your excuses. I have little patience left for incompetence," she declared, her tone cutting through the air.

Y/N, her eyes betraying the pain she harbored, tried to speak again, but Alcina, without a second glance, continued down the corridor, leaving Y/N standing alone in the suffocating silence.

The castle, once a haven, now echoed with the hollowness of fractured connections. In the dance between mistress and maid, the music had soured, leaving behind a dissonant melody that reverberated through the haunted halls of Castle Dimitrescu.

As the days wore on, the weight of perceived failure bore down on Y/N, wrapping her in a suffocating shroud of darkness. The castle's once vibrant energy felt like a distant memory, replaced by the oppressive silence that accompanied Y/N's descent into the depths of her own despair.

Y/N's duties in the kitchen became mechanical, her once meticulous work marred by the fog that clouded her thoughts. The vibrancy that defined her spirit flickered like a dying ember, leaving behind a mere shell of the head maid she used to be.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, the maids who once worked alongside her in harmony began to notice the change. Hushed whispers echoed through the servant corridors, where gossip became a bitter companion to the pervasive atmosphere of discontent. The maids, ignorant of the internal battles Y/N fought, speculated on the cause of her apparent downfall.

"She's not the same anymore," one maid whispered to another, their voices laced with judgment.

"Probably can't handle the pressure. It's not easy being the head maid in this castle," another responded, her tone carrying a cruel edge.

The words, like venomous arrows, found their way to Y/N's ears, further intensifying the isolation that had become her constant companion. Unaware of the extent of Y/N's struggles, the maids allowed gossip to weave a narrative that cast her as a weak link in the intricate web of Castle Dimitrescu.

One day, as the maids gathered in a secluded corner to share their speculative musings, Alcina, a towering figure in the doorway, overheard their conversation. The cold intensity of her gaze bore into the group, and the maids, realizing they were no longer alone, fell into an uneasy silence.

"What is the meaning of this?" Alcina demanded, her voice a stern command that cut through the awkward stillness.

The maids, caught off guard, exchanged nervous glances. "We were just talking, Mistress. Just... sharing observations," one of them stammered.

Alcina's gaze, sharp and unyielding, settled on each maid in turn. "Observations? Enlighten me."

The maids, hesitating, reluctantly shared their opinions on Y/N's perceived decline. The words, fueled by speculation and ignorance, painted a bleak picture of the head maid's capabilities.

Alcina's features hardened as she listened, her disappointment palpable. "You presume to judge her without understanding the true weight of her burden," she asserted, her voice carrying a gravity that demanded respect.

The maids, now realizing the gravity of their words, exchanged uneasy glances. Alcina continued, her gaze piercing through their uncertainty. "Y/N may be facing challenges you cannot comprehend. Before you pass judgment, consider the consequences of your words. Now, return to your duties, and remember the importance of loyalty among those who serve in this castle."

With those words, Alcina left the maids to contemplate the repercussions of their gossip. The castle, already steeped in shadows, became an even more somber backdrop for the internal struggles that unfolded within its walls.

The atmosphere in Castle Dimitrescu had grown increasingly tense, mirroring the inner turmoil that festered within its walls. Another few weeks passed, and the weight of secrets and unspoken grievances bore down on Y/N and Lady Dimitrescu alike.

Alcina, returning from a meeting with Mother Miranda, was seething with a barely contained rage. The maids scurried out of her path, recognizing the storm that had descended upon their mistress. Y/N, with a sense of trepidation, prepared to serve dinner to Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters.

As the meal was presented, Alcina's simmering anger reached its boiling point. A minor mishap, a dish slightly out of place, triggered an unexpected outburst. "Is it too much to ask for competence in this castle?" Alcina's voice, a thunderous roar, reverberated through the dining room.

Y/N, caught in the crossfire, struggled to maintain her composure. "Mistress, I apologize. It won't happen again," she stammered, her eyes downcast.

But Alcina, in the grip of her own frustration, lashed out without mercy. "Incompetence breeds incompetence. You're a blight in my castle, Y/N. I should have replaced you long ago."

The words, like a blade, sliced through Y/N's defenses. She felt the familiar weight of failure settling upon her shoulders, threatening to crush the last remnants of her resolve. Blinking back tears, Y/N excused herself, retreating from the dining room with a heavy heart.

In the solitude of her quarters, Y/N, with trembling hands, penned a letter to Lady Dimitrescu—a letter that revealed the depths of her despair and the toll Alcina's words had taken on her fragile soul.

Lady Dimitrescu,

I write to you with a heavy heart, burdened by the weight of my perceived failures. The shadows that linger within this castle have grown too dark for me to bear. Your disappointment, Mistress, is a wound that cuts deep. I cannot endure it any longer.

I beg for your forgiveness, though I know it will never be enough to repair the damage I have done. My time in this castle has come to an end, and I release you from the burden of my incompetence. I am truly sorry.

Yours faithfully,

Y/N

As Y/N sealed the letter, the specter of desperation loomed. With a vial of poison in hand, she took a deep breath, the room spinning as she drank its contents. The darkness closed in, and Y/N, overcome by dizziness, succumbed to unconsciousness.

Meanwhile, in the dining room, Bela, the eldest of Lady Dimitrescu's daughters, witnessed the exchange between her mother and Y/N. Concern etched her features, and once Y/N left, Bela spoke up.

"Mother, you shouldn't have lashed out at Y/N like that. She's been through enough," Bela asserted, her voice carrying a rare defiance.

Lady Dimitrescu, momentarily taken aback, considered Bela's words. The realization of her own harshness settled in, and a flicker of regret crossed her eyes. Bela, determined to bridge the growing divide, continued, "You should go apologize to her. She's loyal and doesn't deserve such treatment."

In the corridors of Castle Dimitrescu, a delicate dance of regret and despair unfolded, leaving behind a trail of consequences that would echo through the haunted halls of their existence.

Lady Dimitrescu, her heart heavy with regret, hurried through the corridors of Castle Dimitrescu, guided by the weight of Bela's words. As she approached Y/N's room, a foreboding sense of urgency gripped her. The door, when opened, revealed a scene that froze the blood in her veins.

Y/N lay unconscious on the bed, the pallor of her skin accentuating the haunting stillness of her form. Lady Dimitrescu, a tremor in her hands, tried to wake her. "Y/N, wake up," she implored, her voice a desperate plea.

Beside Y/N, Lady Dimitrescu noticed a folded piece of paper. As she unfolded it, the words of Y/N's farewell letter became a painful reality. The weight of her own actions, the harshness of her words, pressed upon Lady Dimitrescu with an unbearable force. Tears welled in her eyes as she read the despairing words that echoed Y/N's internal struggle.

In a frantic search for answers, Lady Dimitrescu discovered the vial of poison. Panic gripped her, and without a moment's hesitation, she called for her daughters. "Bela! Cassandra! Daniela!"

The three daughters rushed into the room, their expressions shifting from concern to shock as they took in the scene. "What happened, Mother?" Bela asked, her voice filled with worry.

Lady Dimitrescu, her voice strained, directed their attention to Y/N's lifeless form. "Call Mother Miranda. Tell her we need her assistance immediately."

As her daughters hurried to carry out her orders, Lady Dimitrescu remained at Y/N's side, a complex mix of emotions swirling within her. Guilt, regret, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders. In the stillness of Y/N's room, the consequences of actions unfolded, painting a stark portrait of the fragility that existed within the walls of the castle.

Mother Miranda arrived swiftly, her ethereal presence commanding the room as her daughters anxiously stepped aside. Lady Dimitrescu, her eyes filled with a mix of desperation and guilt, approached Mother Miranda with a trembling urgency.

"Mother Miranda, we need your help," Lady Dimitrescu implored, her voice cracking with emotion. "Y/N... she's taken something. We found her unconscious with this vial." Lady Dimitrescu extended the vial toward Miranda, the contents a mysterious shadow that now threatened Y/N's very existence.

Miranda, her gaze steady, took the vial from Lady Dimitrescu's hand and inspected it closely. The label revealed a dark truth that cast a chilling pallor over the room. Miranda's eyes widened in recognition, and a grave realization settled upon her features.

"What is it, Mother Miranda? Can you save her?" Lady Dimitrescu's voice betrayed a desperation that mirrored the gravity of the situation.

Miranda, after a moment of solemn contemplation, met Alcina's gaze. "This is a poison with no known antidote," she revealed, the weight of those words hanging heavy in the air.

Lady Dimitrescu, her composure slipping, sought clarification. "No antidote? But there must be something you can do. She can't—" Her words caught in her throat, choked by the fear of an impending loss.

Miranda, her expression a mask of somber understanding, nodded. "I will do what I can, but understand, Alcina, the situation is dire. The nature of this poison is beyond our conventional means of healing."

As Miranda began her examination of Y/N's unconscious form, Lady Dimitrescu, her heart heavy with guilt, watched with bated breath. The corridors of Castle Dimitrescu, once cloaked in mystery, now echoed with the urgency of a life hanging in the balance. In the face of a poison with no known cure, the very foundation of their existence trembled, leaving the fates of Y/N and those entwined in her story hanging by the thinnest of threads.

As Mother Miranda worked tirelessly to counteract the effects of the insidious poison, Alcina, her daughters, and the weight of the castle's somber atmosphere lingered outside Y/N's room. The passing hours were marked by a haunting silence, each tick of the clock echoing the collective anxiety that gripped their hearts.

After what felt like an eternity, the door finally creaked open, revealing Mother Miranda with a somber expression. Alcina, her eyes desperate for reassurance, stepped forward. "Is she alright? Is Y/N going to be okay?" Alcina's voice wavered, the vulnerability beneath her regal exterior laid bare.

Miranda, her gaze heavy with the weight of the truth, met Alcina's eyes. "I did everything I could," she began, her words weighed down by the solemn reality that awaited them. "But the poison was too strong. I'm sorry, Alcina."

The news struck Alcina like a blow, leaving her momentarily speechless. Daniela, overcome by grief, began to cry, and Bela, though grateful for Miranda's efforts, guided her towards the door with a silent nod of acknowledgment.

Alcina, left standing in the corridor, felt a profound emptiness settle within her. The walls of Castle Dimitrescu, once a fortress of strength, now seemed to close in on her, trapping her in a reality she couldn't comprehend.

Without uttering a word, Alcina entered Y/N's room. The air within was heavy with sorrow, and the sight of Y/N, now pallid and still, struck Alcina to the core. She approached the bedside, her hand trembling as she gently brushed Y/N's cheek.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Alcina whispered, her voice choked with regret. "I never meant for this to happen. I failed you, and I can never forgive myself."

The room, once a sanctuary, now bore witness to a silent lamentation. In the quiet depths of grief, Alcina, a towering figure reduced to a shattered soul, grappled with the irrevocable consequences of a tragedy that had unfolded within the walls of Castle Dimitrescu.

The air in the cemetery hung heavy with the weight of grief as Alcina made her way to the final resting place of Y/N. The sky, once a canvas of endless possibilities, now seemed to mirror the somber hues that colored the landscape beneath.

Beneath the sweeping branches of a willow tree, Alcina found Y/N's resting place. The gravestone, a stark reminder of a life extinguished too soon, bore Y/N's name like an epitaph etched in stone. Alcina, despite the regality she exuded, knelt before the marker with a profound sense of loss.

"I never thought I would lose you like this," Alcina whispered, her voice carrying the echoes of a grief too deep to articulate. The wind rustled through the willow's leaves, as if nature itself mourned the tragedy that had befallen Y/N.

Alcina traced the engraved letters of Y/N's name, her fingers trembling with the weight of remorse. Tears welled in her eyes, and with each droplet that fell, the chasm of emptiness within her seemed to deepen.

"I miss your presence in the castle. The corridors feel hollow without you, and the silence is a haunting reminder of the laughter we shared," Alcina confessed, her words breaking with the rawness of unfiltered sorrow.

She spoke of the day-to-day occurrences, the mundane details that now held a profound significance. The memory of Y/N's laughter, the way she meticulously managed the chaos of the castle, and the simple moments they had shared together became fragments of a past forever lost.

Alcina, overcome by the weight of her emotions, bowed her head in silent lamentation. "I failed you, Y/N. My words, my actions—they led us here. If only I could turn back time, if only I could undo the pain I caused."

The willow tree, its branches cascading like a cascade of tears, seemed to offer a sympathetic embrace as Alcina wept for a future that would never be. The echoes of her sorrow mingled with the rustle of leaves, creating a mournful symphony that transcended the boundaries of the living and the departed.

In that quiet corner of the cemetery, beneath the willow's weeping boughs, Alcina grieved for a love lost, for a soul departed, and for the irreparable wounds that marked the legacy of Castle Dimitrescu.

#lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina #re8 alcina #resident evil alcina #mother miranda #resident evil village

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sanjisluvbot · 1 year

Text

Isekai Yandere Strawhats x Black Fem Reader PT 12

masterlist

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

" Love? Is that what you think this honestly is?" your smile turned into something maniacal, and his eyes hardened. you released his cheeks roughly and walked towards the door swinging it open. you looked back at him once before stepping out and slamming the door behind you will all the force you had.

He was quick to follow and you were already following your way to the clearing, the only thing to do right now is, to be honest with Law and stop meeting alone with Zoro. If you were the same little naive girl you had been when you first got here this would have been an absolute dream.

You couldn't lie to yourself and say he wasn't handsome and that is exactly why you can no longer face him head-on alone. What just happened should have never happened, especially considering what he just did to you not even that long ago.

You were in a mental argument with yourself and he was just silently behind you as usual. He was waiting till you acknowledged him because there is no way that he would allow you to just keep treating him this way.

This is the second time he tried to converse with you privately where you just up and left to go find comfort in Law's arms. He wanted to grab you and pull you close but that would only cause more issues between the two of you that he didn't know how to fix. He was surprised to see the way you treated him considering you knew the type of guy he was before you two even met.

The rain was leaving the deck absolutely drenched and you had your head leaning on a window as Zoro worked out. You had been reading a book but something about the rain coming down and the thunder every so often made you feel homesick.

This had been happening more often to you, although you loved the straw hats and, this was a dream come true you wanted to be home, you wanted to watch one piece through a screen in your bed or in your living room.

You missed your family and your friends, but it felt like you couldn't mention that to the crew anymore- not even Zoro. After your drunk conversation from the night before there was a rift in your relationship that seemed impossible to repair.

Looking away from the storm you glanced at Zoro who was wiping sweat from his face, you had a thought pop into your brain just then. Maybe if you involve Zoro in the conversation you can talk about being homesick without them coddling you and trying to make you shut up.

" Zoro do you know how much I know about you as a person?"

" What do you know.." He spoke eyes meeting yours.

You felt yourself inhale sharply, he had always been a sight to you but something about the way his skin was tanned before the time skip did it for you really. Maybe aside from that it was his more boyish nature compared to the now completely stoic man who made sure to protect his crew no matter what. He was never a goofy character, yes, he was always the more serious one but he had a charm pre-time skip that he partially lost although some people don't see it.

Seeing him in person like this and actually speaking to him made your heart race and you didn't really mind being the one to tell him about himself and flirt with him in the process.

" I know about your feud with Kuina and how you see her in Tashigi.."

his eyes widened at your sentence and he completely dropped the weight that was in his hand. This sparked up a conversation that made last night's events feel like nothing. This helped you but the nagging feeling in the back of your head didn't go away.

You didn't turn back to him not once and when the two of you were in the clearing you all but dashed towards the Heart Pirates. You didn't even acknowledge the Straw Hats who waved to you offering you food.

Zoro glared at Law and the captain surely felt his stare with the way he turned around, a smile that was so smug crept onto his lips when you ran into his arms. That was Law's way of telling him to fuck off, he would've flipped him off but having you run into his arms was all he needed to have the swordsman fuming.

He was going to unsheath his sword when two arms gripped his hands, Robin's hands motioned to the stump his crewmates were sitting on and he huffed before making his way toward them.

Your head was on his chest and you felt like his heart was singing you a lullaby and you felt complete serenity the moment you were in his arms.

" Law I need to tell you something in a little while." You whispered.

" We can talk right now. "

" It needs to be in private, so I think we should wait."

He hummed and offered to take you to his sub since he was already planning to show you around later tonight anyways. He already had a hunch that you had to discuss something with him related to Zoro and he felt slightly angry. He wanted to just spend time with you, but he also understood that the Straw Hats were wreaking havoc on your life.

" We should sneak off right now.. you and I" you mused looking up at him through your lashes.

He licked his lips and cleared his throat before agreeing and you giggled behind your hands causing him to go red. Funny how the choice is so clear but you decided to falter and think about your past emotions.

Hand in hand you and Law used his ' room ' ability and teleported onto his sub, you were giggling at the strange feeling while also at the fact that you two didn't exactly sneak off. You were in a darker room and it was on a lower level so you were under the water now.

Law could tell this made you nervous so he squeezed your hand bringing your attention back to him, you awkwardly smiled at him and brought your eyes back to your surroundings. The room seemed to be an office, there were three bookshelves around all corners of the room and a pair of reading glasses on the table.

" Do you...like it so far?"

" Yes, this is your office right I like it I've never seen it in the series."

" Good thing you get to see it in person now"

He showed you around the entire submarine and now you were heading to the final room which seemed to be his bedroom. This made your entire body feel like it was pulsing. You and Law were going to be in his bedroom... alone, completely alone while everyone else including his crew was chilling on an elephant back.

He opened the door and you finally understood the meaning of Captain's quarters. His room was the most spacious and had the widest bed. He let you in before shutting the door and you skimmed around the room a bit before turning back to him. He was now right in front of you and his hands found their way to your waist.

" Y/N-ya we're alone now we can speak about whatever we want here."

🏷️[ anyone else from the tag list please personally message me or ask me through my asks I get a lot of notifs and I loose people 🥲 ]

A/N: Hello, I’m planning to make an official uploading schedule bc I know a lot of you are curious and waiting for the chapters and when they upload 🫶🏽 this chapter took a little bit longer than I wanted it to because I’m trying to make this story really come together. The story is actually going to rear it’s end soon if I could rewrite it I honestly would I feel as though you guys aren’t terrified about a situation like this enough but I’m thinkin I can fix that soon. * Mwuah * 😘

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dddragoni-drabbles · 5 months

Text

You know, five years ago, I never would have called myself the adventurous type. I was the kind of guy who thought driving out to the beach was all the excitement I needed. But when all those portals opened up everywhere... I dunno, something about them just called to me.

So I went. Went down to the store and picked up a backpack and some bottled water, found the nearest portal and just... walked through it. I didn't even tell anyone I was going. I mean, like, what would I even have said? "Hey guys, I'm gonna be late to game night, I've decided to dive into an unknown rift in space-time." In hindsight, that was really stupid. A lot of people went in those things and didn't come back.

I guess I got lucky. I could have ended up in one of those parallel realities where everything is on fire, or with bloodthirsty monsters, or some other thing that would have killed me dead, but instead I got one that was just plains of purple grass as far as the eye could see.

Standing there, looking out over it, that changed something in me. I never figured I was going to amount to much. We've already explored the planet, and space travel wasn't going to happen in my lifetime. I'm not smart enough to make some scientific breakthrough, not creative enough to make some bold new artwork, not athletic enough to go around setting records.

But now, I had something. No one had ever set foot here before. I had something that I could truly call my accomplishment, and nothing could take that away. Sure, it wasn't anything crazy special, but it was my discovery.

I've been exploring ever since. Before I knew it, I was making maps, making contact with people from other realities, and helping to contain incursions from the more dangerous worlds. And now, it's your turn.

-An Explorer's Guide to the Infinite Cities, By Thunder Rockwell, Foreword

#microfiction #original writing #Thunder Rockwell #blaseball #kinda

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littlelewdmable · 1 year

Text

Attack Of The Redheads 5: Mimicry

Nora: Okay, now lets see how far your changeability can go!

Penny: *Naked* I'm ready!

Jaune: Who should we start with?

Nora: Who all can you do Pen-Pen?

Penny: All of our team and PSBY.

Nora: How about Ruby?

Ruby: Why me?

Jaune: Your the closest to her body type.

Ruby: ...Whatever.

Nora: Do Ruby Penny.

Penny: Transformation in progress.

Penny: *Grows her breast to a B cup, a nice bouncy bubble butt, and fat thighs* Done.

Nora: Looks good from the front~.

Jaune: Can you turn around and bend over a bit Penny?

Penny: As you please, Boyfriend-Jaune. *Turns around, bends over slightly*

Ruby: Is that really what my butt looks like?

Jaune: Yep.

Nora: That's a certified Rubooty right there.

Ruby: ...Are my thighs really that fat?

Nora: Yeah! And they're awesome.

Jaune: Thick thighs save lives Ruby.

Ruby: ...Can you do Weiss now Penny?

#rwby #rwby shitpost #attack of the redheads #robotic knight #nuts and dolts #gingersnaps #nora valkyrie #penny polendina #ruby rose #arculus rift #red thunder #sugar rush #rwby smut

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unicyclehippo · 11 months

Note

Cinnamon

the reunion is noisy, confusing, bloody, harsh, fractured in the manner of the world now. ashton yells, their voice a crack of triumphant thunder. fcg is a whir of blade and shining metal and—legs? orym smiles, for the first time in days, certainly. weeks, perhaps. she can’t recall how long, only that she has missed it. chetney is himself, and then half of himself as the wolf splits his chest and lunges out to crunch jaws around the head of the elongated red threat.

imogen.

at the sight of her, the fractured world regains an anchor. there may be a rift in the world, there may be an egg-cracked moon, their compasses may spin and turn, untethered, but laudna needs none of that when imogen is back where she can see her.

laudna cries black tears and the roots of her dreadful form creak, wrapping around her skull, following the same path. it makes a spectacle of her, and it’s own hunger, forms a crown of creeping roots that tangles in her hair and branches shoot out, soot-black, scorched, jagged and tearing across the soft grey of the afternoon sky.

they fight. they win. there are hugs and drinking and food and safety, or what passes for it these days—a flood of information gathered about the encroaching danger and everything they had missed, separated—lightning lizards as big as a fuckin’ sky ship—oh shit what happened to xandis d’you think—these pits in the fucking ground, right, and cliffs like fucking knives and it steams up burned the shit out of me look at my fucking elbow it’s half fucking melted—saved a sacred bull—killed an angel of the dawn father—run that by me again you did what now?—ran—climbed—lost a goddamn nail but orym was a peach and found it for me—fought—fought—fought—prayed—bled screamed killed searched cried fought—

‘but you have reconnected now,’ FCGs friend (companion?) commented, with a gentle lilt to their tone. ‘i have no love of the gods, but to borrow a word of theirs, i find that to be miraculous.’

‘yeah. yeah, you’re right, FRIDA,’ FCG nodded. ‘it is pretty miraculous, isn’t it? don’t they have such a way with words?’

they held hands. ashton, who had been glaring mildly at FRIDA since they were first introduced, continued to glare. it was, laudna thought, rather nice of him to be so welcoming to FCGs new companion.

‘yeah,’ ashton grunted. ‘they’re super.’

FCG beamed.

‘and this must be your laudna,’ someone said, and laudna looked over to see an armoured gnome, dark of skin and bright of smile. she directed her words to imogen—who stood a scant centimetre from laudna’s side, who had entangled her mind and hands with laudna and would not let her go—don’t leave, no not ever, missed you, missed you, looked for you, searched, ache behind the eyes searched empty, spoke to you, screamed, looked for you, messages on messages static in the head searching reaching out empty empty empty longing hollow stay here stay with me in me of me—

‘my laudna,’ imogen agrees, and her thumb slips over a knuckle, settles between two. ‘this is deanna,’ imogen continues after a moment, shame blooming pink over her cheeks. stunning. ‘she’s knits the most wonderful everything, laudna, and she’s incredible, a cleric, a healer, and—‘ imogen stops speaking aloud but in laudna’s head speaks, finally, no longer the raw and endless electric livewire between them but purposeful message. she died, a long time ago.

laudna’s grip tightens on imogen’s hand. don’t leave. ‘it’s lovely to meet you,’ laudna greets the cleric, and remembers fire and fury and fear and looks on rosy cheeks and bright eyes and full, warm, living flesh. don’t leave. ‘i’m something of a maker myself, i made this dress and some clothes for pate and sashimi, and curtains—i’m very good at curtains—and im quite fond of other mediums too, painting, i’ve done some painting, and taxidermy, gardening, woodwork—‘

‘laudna is very capable,’ imogen says.

laudna stammers to a stop. warmth curls up through her neck, her cheeks. she knows she’s gone blotchy when imogen reaches for her neck, undoes the bandana there and ties it round laudna’s neck.

gallows, rotted rope. unmarked graves. dirt beneath her nails. zealotry heavy on her tongue, tallow grease and smoke.

imogen pauses, unravels the knot before it can be tied.

bed?

laudna leans close, tilts her head onto imogen’s shoulder. they step away, making no excuses or explanations, and take a room in the inn. laudna makes tea, pack of spices in her bag from issylra. mintsharp leaves and cinnamon bark. flowers. pine needles to add to a hot bath.

‘i missed you,’ imogen croaks.

laudna stares down into her tea.

‘laud?’

a warm hand curls around her wrist. tugs her over to the bed where they sit, side by side.

‘hey.’ gentle, so gentle, the hand against her jaw. coaxing her to look at her, look anywhere near her. ‘are you alright?’

laudna nods.

‘really?’ imogen’s smile is quick—fond, undeniably, but fast and tight. ‘because i’m a fucking mess.’

laudna’s laugh is wet, as tears spring to her eyes, overflow. ‘oh i’m s-sorry, i’m sorry darling, i don’t mean to—i’m alright, really—‘

‘would you look at me?’

for a moment, laudna doesn’t. cannot. what if everything has changed? what if this is some cruel trick? not her imogen at all? a nudge to her chin, a murmur, please, and laudna flicks her eyes up finally to see her. violet nimbus. scars crawling up the length of her beautiful neck almost to her chin. the smouldering red of her fingers. the wet, longing desperation of her eyes.

her fingers twitch, skitter up imogen’s arm. laudna brushes her crooked fingers over a tear stained cheek—beautiful.

‘i’m not alright, i wasn’t alright without you,’ she admits, voice shaking, fingers shaking. she drags her nails across the soft of imogen’s cheeks; not to hurt, never to hurt, only to feel and see the white trail left behind. ‘i never wish to be apart from you. never again.’

imogen doesn’t pull away; she leans in, nods. ‘my better half,’ she murmurs.

‘my everything,’ laudna returns, and it is easy to lean in, there is no fear left in her to stop her from touching her forehead to imogen’s, from tilting imogen’s head, from pressing her lips to imogen’s. the kiss is soft and gentle and unhurried and laudna is the only frightening thing about it.

imogen laughs, picking up the thought as it curls, delicious and delighted, on the current between them.

‘my love,’ imogen says, just because she can, and kisses her again.

there is a knock on their bedroom door, and a quiet voice intrudes.

‘does anyone—excuse me, pardon me, so sorry for the interruption it’s just i was hoping that you might like to fill out a survey on your experience of the apogee solstice, and reuniting, if i could take just a quick fifteen, twenty minutes of your time?’

#you can ignore this #tagging my stories #imodna my beloveds #cr tag

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cryptidclaw · 6 months

Note

Do you have any info about ashfur/fall in your rewrite??

Ok so I could go on forever abt him bec he's like a secondary villain in Po3 but here's me rambling abt his motives:

His mother Brindleface taught him this idea if the perfect Thunder Warrior life, become a respected warrior, get a loving and dedicated mate, have kits, cary on your legacy. He believed his mother deserved this over anyone else and yet... her mate was Darkstripe who cared little for her or his kits and ended up betraying them all. And to top it all off his mother was killed simply for dog bait by the bastard his father was obsessed with.

Ashfall became obsessed with going above and beyond in achieving this perfect life. He wanted to make his mother proud, he wanted to have what she had wanted as some sort of way to make up for her short life.

He becomes jealous of MANY cats who seem to have achieved this life so easily, he becomes isolated from much of the order... He has caused a rift in his relationship with his sister due to his judgment over her choices (she chose to not follow this lifestyle their mother taught, she had kits on her own and didn't take a mate for years) , at one point Ash even implied that Fern's kits' deaths were the fault of them not having a father....

Ash becomes OBSESSED with Squirrelflight, to him she is the perfect mate, she is not only a young, beautiful and strong Thunder Molly, she is also the daughter of the Leader and Second... if he were to become her mate he would be part of the leadership's family. Their kits would be heirs and if Squirrelflight become leader, Ash himself could have a chance at being Second. To him this was the peak of the honorable warrior's life , to achieve this would be the greatest success. To him he "loved" Squirrelflight because she was a symbol of his chance at that life he so desperately wanted.

Squirrelflight left him because he was obsessive and she could tell he loved the idea of her instead of her... and she knew she still loved someone else (Crowfeather). Ashfall was DEVASTATED, it was as though his whole future had been ripped away from him. Its no wonder he switched to being obsessed with vengeance instead.

...

Also similar to his reasons for becoming attached to Squirrelflight, Ash became obsessed with Hawkfrost bec he symbolized Ash's new goals. Hawk would give him vengeance, Hawk would love him, Hawk would make him his mate and Second, Hawk would help him get the final laugh.

#cryptid answers #cryptidclaw's warriors au #rise of change #Ashfall #Ashfur #Ashfur au #warriors au #roc story building

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rainbow-flavoured-skittles · 15 days

Text

Sensei Sharpens Student

this is just 4.5k words of Yang and Cole bonding. I don't know where I found the energy to do this. this was just my excuse to write Cole angst again and be self indulgent but it worked out well. cross posted to ao3 as well

tw for death mentions and mild violence

Yang stared down at the child’s body and sighed. So young… it was a shame his life had been cut short so quickly. Kind of. Yang couldn’t quite bring himself to feel grief over the child, especially not when it would all be remedied soon.

He picked up the body, careful to avoid damaging it further — those oni had really done a number on him — and brought it to the altar. The child would have looked serene if not for the ugly gashes marring his face. Falling from a skyscraper was a truly terrible way to go, all that shattered glass and broken bones and simply knowing that you would die and it could not be changed.

“Soon,” Yang whispered to the corpse. “It will all be better soon.” It might not be, if his plan failed, but it wouldn’t be much of a loss. The child couldn’t respond anyway.

He checked his hourglass — only ten minutes until the eclipse. Ten minutes until he’d see if this child could be resurrected. Ten minutes until the Rift could be summoned again for the first time in three centuries.

Yang picked up the Yin Blade and held it above the child‘s head. It was time. He slashed at the air, the blade ripping a hole in the very universe itself, and smiled.

The Rift glowed a radioactive, toxic green, not unlike the green of the Lazarus Pits. The colours in it swirled together in hypnotic patterns, seemingly alive. Yang picked up the child, less carefully than before, for any further damage wouldn’t matter soon, and threw him into the Rift. Perhaps that was a bit of a crude word, but it was accurate. The boy was not exactly heavy, and Yang had been a very strong man in life.

As soon as the body disappeared into the glowing green of the Rift, Yang dusted his hands off and waited. He did not know how long it would take for the child to come back out. He didn’t even know if the boy would be revived, or if he’d ever come out. If the boy was still dead, then it showed that humans could not be resurrected with the Rift. If he was alive, then Yang had his very own pet assassin. Yang would be unharmed either way.

A loud crack of thunder outside had Yang cursing and running to the door. It was the Rift, it must be. The portal on the inside of the temple had closed, but the green glow outside meant there was some degree of success.

He ran outside and found the body crumpled in a rose bush. It was jarringly similar to how Yang had first found the boy, all bones and too-cold skin, twisted in the way that only a dead body could be. Except this body was not dead. It was very much alive. Yang could see the boy’s shallow breathing. He pressed a finger to his wrist. There was a faint pulse, slow but still there. Yang would have let out a breath of relief if he could still breathe. The boy was alive. The Rift had worked. He now had proof that humans could be resurrected with it.

The boy’s eyes fluttered open. It was strange to see the small side effects of the Rift — Yang would have to jot them down. Where before his eyes had been a pale grey, like little pools of moonlight, the left one was now an unnatural green. The same colour as the Rift.

A jagged scar ran down the left side of his face as well, starting somewhere above his hairline and ending just above his chin. It was the same green as the Rift. Yang could find no logical reason for it. The boy’s eye changing colour made sense, the Pits did the same thing, but the scar was unexpected. Yang would have to study that further. He held out his hand and pulled the boy to his feet. He looked disoriented, not completely aware of his surroundings, but Yang smiled anyway.

“Welcome back,” he croaked to the child.

Everything was black until it wasn’t. Then it was green and pain and screaming and awakening to an unfamiliar place. The boy blinked his eyes at the old man in front of him. He was fairly sure he didn’t know this man. But the boy couldn’t remember much of anything at the moment, so he let the man drag him to his feet and lead him though a door.

“How are you feeling?” The old man asked the boy. They had settled down around a low table, sitting on silk cushions. A plate of cookies was set in front of them.

The boy did not know how to respond. “I don’t know,” he said. His voice was raspy and unfamiliar to him. That was scary — how could he not know his own voice?

The old man frowned. “What is your name?”

The boy blinked. He thought hard about what his name might be. “Cole,” he said. That sounded right.

“Cole,” the old man repeated. “I am Master Yang. I am the one who brought you back to life.”

Back to life? Wouldn’t that mean Cole had died? He tried to think about what may have happened and was immediately hit by feelings of pain and hopelessness and terror. However he had died hadn’t been peaceful. Cole shoved those feelings down and looked up at Yang.

“I died?”

“Yes,” Master Yang nodded. “I revived you with the Rift of Return.”

“Did you know me? Is that why you brought me back?”

Master Yang cringed at that. “I did not know you. I simply saw a child in need and helped.”

“Okay,” Cole said. He could tell that Yang wasn’t telling the truth, or at least not all of it, but he had saved Cole from death. That had to mean something.

“I want to train you,” Master Yang said. “In the ways of combat. So that you will not die again.”

“But everyone dies.”

“Yes, but I would still like to train you. So that you can be safe,” Yang fumbled his words, looking for an excuse.

Cole thought for a bit. No matter how hard he tried to remember, he could not think of anything from his past. Granted, he had only been revived for an hour or so, but it couldn’t be normal not to remember. And what if it was people from his past that had caused his death? Yang was offering him safety and training. It would be good to know how to fight, and maybe he could regain some memories.

“I’ll train with you,” Cole told Yang. It seemed like the best option.

“Excellent,” Master Yang smiled wickedly. “Your training will begin tomorrow. You may take one of the empty rooms upstairs.”

Cole nodded and went up the stairs. He opened the first door on the right and looked over the room. It was dusty, clearly having been uninhabited for quite some time. It was still shelter, though, and the bed looked comfortable.

He looked in the mirror. A reflection stared back at him, of a young boy with dark hair and skin. His eyes were strange — one grey, the other bright green. A large crack (scar?) ran down the side of his face. It glowed green as well. Cole shivered at it. The reflection didn’t seem like him, was wrong and unfamiliar. Of course, who even was Cole? How was he to know if this was what he’d always looked like? He couldn’t remember any family or friends, or what he might have done in his free time, or whether he had any goals for the future. It was terrifying to not know who he was.

Yang knocked on the door, shaking Cole out of his spiral. “Cole, I would suggest you go to bed. Your training begins early and I will not tolerate any whining of no sleep.”

“Yes, Master Yang,” Cole said. He shook the dust off of the bedsheets and pillow. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. His body shut down immediately, sending him into a cold dreamless sleep.

The knives came towards Cole at full speed, bright silver crescents that threatened to kill if he didn’t dodge. Cole did a backflip to the left and a handspring to the right, then a simple roll to the floor. Not a single one of the knives hit him.

“Good work,” Master Yang said approvingly. He pocketed one of the throwing knives. “But your backflip was sloppy. We’ll need to fix that.”

“But everything else was good?” Cole asked. He hoped he had done well — he’d trained for hours on the corkscrews.

“Yes.”

“Should I practice throwing them now?”

Yang hummed and stroked his beard. “Go to the armoury and get some throwing knives. Make sure they’re the ones with red leather grips. I don’t want you training with the good knives yet.”

“Yes, Master Yang,” Cole hurried off to go get the knives. He found the armoury, an ancient mahogany door leading to it, and stepped in. There were weapons everywhere, ranging from large battle axes to small daggers to deadly poisons in glass vials. He found the required throwing knives and was about to exit when he saw the scythe.

It was a beautiful piece of work, carefully engraved with runes and enchantments. The blade was polished to perfection, shining and gleaming and incredibly sharp. The handle was made of honey coloured wood, wrapped in black leather. All in all, a stunning ten-out-of-ten weapon.

Cole looked at it and went back down the hall to Yang. “Master Yang, I saw this scythe in the armoury, and I was wondering, maybe after the throwing knives, maybe I—“

“Just spit it out already, boy,” Yang spat.

“Could I train with the scythe, maybe?”

Yang frowned. “It is a difficult weapon,” he said. “Not many use it in combat. It’s much more for reaping crops than anything.”

“But could I learn it?”

“Hmmm,” Yang thought. He intended to have Cole master all the weapons he had, scythe included. It wouldn’t hurt to change his plans a bit and have him learn the scythe next. A perfect assassin should know how to use every weapon, after all.

“Very well then,” he said to Cole. “Once you’ve mastered the throwing knives, I will teach you how to use a scythe.”

Cole had stars in his eyes. “Really?”

“I just said you could, didn’t I?”

“Yes!” Cole pumped his fist in a rare display of childish enthusiasm. Yang smiled a bit at that, though he would deny it if asked.

Yang nodded in satisfaction at his pupil’s performance. Cole had finally mastered the throwing knives — and in an exceptionally short amount of time, too. He could be the world’s greatest assassin given a few more years.

“Did I pass?” Cole said.

“Yes,” Yang said. “You did well.”

Cole lit up at the praise. “So I can learn how to use the scythe now?”

Yang raised an eyebrow at the question. He had not expected Cole to still remember that promise — children had short attention spans, and he’d figured Cole had forgotten about it.

But a promise was a promise, and Yang was a man of his word. “Very well, then. You may start training.”

Yang made his way to the armoury and found the old scythe. He had not used it in many, many years. The blade would need sharpening, he thought idly.

“Take it,” he handed the weapon to Cole. “I will teach you the basics, and then we will spar.”

Cole took it gingerly and held it with practiced ease. “Isn’t the blade a bit dull?”

“It will suffice for this lesson.”

“Okay.”

Yang held up his own scythe. “I will teach you how to hold it properly, first. Adjust your hands so that— yes, exactly like that,” he said, confused as to how Cole would already know how to hold the weapon.

“Now, scythes are more for slashing than stabbing. You won’t be able to stab someone through the heart or anything. Remember that.”

Cole shifted nervously. “Master Yang, I think I’ve got it,” he said.

Hmm. That was strange. The boy held his weapon like he was already familiar with it.

“You seem to have the basics down,” Yang said. “We’ll move on to sparring now. Don’t hold back.”

A nod, and then getting into position. Yang looked the boy over and gave the signal. He was off immediately, going straight for Yang’s throat and slashing at it. If Yang weren’t already dead, he would have died.

Yang went at Cole with his own weapon as well, though he aimed to incapacitate, not kill. Cole clearly had no such qualms — mostly because Yang couldn’t be killed — slicing at his throat and stomach. He was nimble, moving in the same way a dancer might, doing unnecessary kicks and spins.

It was surprising. Not many used the scythe as a weapon — it was too inconvenient. But Cole used it like it was part of his body. Yang found himself once again wondering what the boy’s past was. He had training, of course, but from whom? Who would have trained such a young child to fight like that? Other than Yang, of course.

Cole took Yang’s distraction as an opportunity to drop kick him and end the match. “Sorry, Master,” he said apologetically. “But you said not to hold back.”

Yang sniffed and readjusted his robes. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I don’t know. I think it might be from my past? It’s all still so foggy, though…”

“I don’t believe you’ll need any more training with the scythe,” Yang shook his head. “You’re more than proficient.”

“But isn’t there always room for improvement?”

“A good fighter knows more than just two weapons. You will train with the bow and arrows next.”

Cole deflated a little. Yang found himself feeling guilty at that. Guilty! When had he started caring about the boy’s feelings? Hell, when had he started caring about the boy in general?

“You may train with the scythe in the afternoons,” Yang found himself saying. “As long as all your other exercises have been completed.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Cole was crying. Yang knew this because of the faint sobs coming from his room. He knocked on the door. “Cole, why are you crying?” He asked.

The door swung open to Cole, eyes all red and puffy. The scar on his face glowed radioactive green. “Just stuff,” he mumbled.

Yang sighed and marched into the room. He gestured for Cole to sit next to him. “Explain yourself,” he said. Not the most sensitive of statements, but Cole seemed to do better without being coddled.

Cole wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I remembered something,” he said softly.

“Then why are you crying? Regaining memories is something to be celebrated.”

“I remembered someone important. I think he was my friend, or something. But I don’t know his name.”

Yang sighed. “But you remember what he looks like?”

“No,” Cole shook his head. “I just remember that he cared about me. I don’t know anything, just vague feelings…”

“Your memories will return with time,” Yang said. “And until then, you have me.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Cole laughed — a dry, broken, laugh, but still a laugh.

“It is true.”

“Thank you, Master Yang.”

“It is a guardian’s job to take care of their ward, no?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then I’m just doing my job. There’s no need to thank me.”

Yang was repairing Cole’s robes when the boy walked up to him. He’d been thinking about how reckless children were, and if it was possible to get more durable clothing. He hadn’t been expecting Cole to be awake for several more hours.

“I want to be a vigilante,” Cole said. He looked at Yang in the face — not quite eye contact, the boy hated that, but close.

“A vigilante? Explain,” Yang frowned.

“They fight crime. I think I used to be one, and I want to do it again.”

Yang sighed and put down the sewing materials. He looked at Cole. “You remember your past?”

“Only some. It’s still really blurry, but I’m sure about this.”

“You fought crime. Illegally, I presume. And you want to do it again.”

“Yes.”

“You’re aware of how dangerous that would be?”

Cole shuffled a little, clearly finding the situation awkward. “Yes, but I’ve trained a lot. You said I was good enough to take out an army.”

That had been a bit of an exaggeration. Yang regretted speaking in such a way. “You are good, yes, but that was hyperbole. Nobody can fight hundreds of people at once and win.”

“But I’m still good at fighting. And staying hidden. And gathering information.”

Yang wondered again when he had gotten attached to the boy. He certainly hadn’t cared when he first found him. And now he was worried about the boy being in danger, of all things.

“Cole, when I first found you, you were dead.” Cole flinched at the reminder but nodded. “That was almost certainly because of your ‘vigilante gig,’ so to speak. And you want to go out again to put yourself in danger.”

“I’m trained now.”

“You were trained before,” Yang retorted.

“I’m trained more.”

“You are still a child.”

“But I want to help people!” Cole looked desperate now. “I can help. I have all this training and experience that others don’t and I can save people!”

“Why?”

Cole picked at his nails. “I made a promise to someone,” he said. “‘Always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust.’ I want to keep that promise.”

“There are people out there who would hurt you. They would want to study you like a specimen in a lab.”

“Then I’ll avoid them.”

“It’s not that simple, Cole.”

“Master Yang, please.” Cole wiped tears from his eyes. Yang pushed down the feeling of guilt.

“You are trained, but would have no backup. I would not be able to help you if you’re in trouble.”

“I want to keep that promise,” Cole repeated. He had a steely look in his eyes. This was not something he’d back down from.

Yang got up from the table. “You must defeat me in a spar. Neither of us will hold back. If you win, you can become a vigilante.”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?” The boy knew how to read the fine print. That was good. It would be a useful skill in the outside world.

“Then you stay here with me.”

“I accept your terms.”

“Then come,” Yang said. “Whoever gets knocked down first will lose. Any weapons are allowed. Fight dirty if needed.”

Cole nodded and followed to the training room. He took his position opposite to Yang. “I’m ready,” he said. He held his signature scythe in one hand and a set of daggers in the other.

Yang attacked first, a series of blows and kicks meant to incapacitate an enemy. Cole dodged and returned his own attacks, a flurry of knives and sharp kicks. Months of training had honed his skills into something deadly, more fluid than the style he’d had when he first arrived.

A dodge, and then a parry from Cole’s scythe. Yang was careful not to aim for the throat or head, hitting the legs and stomach instead. His sword clashed with the scythe. Multiple knives were thrown at each other. A dagger embedded itself into the wall.

It took almost thirty minutes for Cole to knock Yang down. He used his earth powers to his advantage, creating stepping stones to jump off of and hit Yang in the chest. He fell against the wall without a sound.

“I did it!” Cole cheered. He rushed to help his mentor off the floor. “I won, right? You said we could fight dirty.”

Yang dusted off his robes, rather pointlessly considering that he was a ghost and could not get dirty. “Yes, you won. You may become a vigilante and help save people.”

“Yes!”

Yang smiled at the scene. And if he’d let Cole win on purpose, well, nobody needed to know.

“—and it should be black, so that I can blend in easily. But also a cape! And a full face mask, to protect my identity.”

“You should talk less and focus more on your designing,” Yang commented. He looked over Cole’s drafts for the vigilante uniform. They were hastily coloured and roughly sketched — nothing final, just good enough to get an idea of how it could look.

“It should have orange accents, too. And pockets,” Cole scribbled some more notes. His hands were stained with charcoal and ink.

“It is very dramatic.”

“That’s the point!”

“You are adding a… scar to the mask?” Yang gestured at the large zig-zag drawn on the design.

“It’s supposed to look like the one I have. But orange, so that it matches the theme.” Cole pointed at the large scar on his face. After so many months, Yang doubted it’d ever heal. Cole would have to conceal it for the rest of his life.

“That is a liability to your identity.”

“I don’t plan to take off the mask. No one will know.”

“If you insist,” Yang sighed. He was already thinking of how to get supplies for this project. It would be a pain to find proper metal for the armour.

“I’m going to have a mask underneath, too, if it makes you feel better.”

“Alright, then.”

“I’m also going to add a voice modulator. So that I can sound scarier. And more adult-like.”

“You are barely five feet tall. Hardly an adult.”

“Platforms exist for a reason,” Cole rolled his eyes. Yang tried not to laugh at that.

It was finally complete. After hours and hours of work and multiple injuries, Cole had finally finished his new costume. He was quite proud of it — the orange accents weren’t too bright, so that he could blend in easily, but they still stood out. And it had all the appropriate ‘cryptid assassin’ vibes, just as he’d intended.

“What do you think, Master?”

Yang stood over Cole, examining the newly completed uniform. “It is good,” he said. “You have a talent for designing things.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m sure you will strike fear into the hearts of many.”

“I’m not trying to scare people. I want to save them,” Cole said.

“Hmmm.”

“The scaring people is targeted at bad guys.”

Yang nodded thoughtfully. His pupil had grown so much from the scrawny little boy he’d first found. He was a true warrior, now — perhaps not the undefeatable assassin Yang had first sought out to make, but formidable all the same. He was proud of the boy.

“I’m almost ready, now. I think I’ll leave tomorrow.” Cole looked at Yang for permission, as if he had not made up his mind to leave weeks ago.

“Of course. Make sure to visit a lonely old man when you get the chance, yes?”

“I wouldn’t leave you, not forever. You’re my family,” Cole said.

Family? That was a word Yang hadn’t head in a long time. He certainly had never been called family before. It warmed him to know that Cole thought him a member of his family.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Yang said.

The next morning, Cole packed his bags and sat beside Yang on the porch. To passerby, they’d see only a young teenager sitting on his own, swinging his legs and looking nervous. To Yang, he saw a boy he’d grown to care for as a son. He didn’t want Cole to leave. It seemed like they’d barely spent a week together, though it had been nearly a year.

Was it selfish, to wish that Cole would stay with him? Yang had grown to care for the boy. He’d never had a family, not in life, but it felt like Cole was his family. Cole himself had said that Yang was his family, and Yang returned the sentiment. Would it be selfish to ask him to stay forever, as father and son, untouched by time or the outside world?

It would be, Yang thought. Cole was nearly sixteen, by his estimates — it was high time he leave to find his own way. Even if his way was to become an illegal crime fighter.

“I’m going to take a train to the main city,” Cole said, breaking the silence. “I’ll figure living arrangements out when I get there.”

“You have enough money? Clothes, food, all your weapons?” Yang asked. It never hurt to make sure, though he was sure Cole had prepared well.

“Yes, Master. I’ve got more than enough of everything,” Cole laughed.

“That is good,” Yang breathed. He turned to look at Cole properly. “I have a gift for you,” he said.

“A gift?”

“Yes,” Yang pulled out the dagger. It was an ornate thing, fragile but dangerously sharp. It had been carved from obsidian and inlayed with silver centuries ago. It had been passed down from mentor to mentor over many years. Yang himself had inherited it when he left his mentor. And now it was Cole’s to wield.

“It’s beautiful,” Cole said. He turned it, watching the blade reflect light and sparkle a million different colours.

“My mentor passed this down to me, years ago. And now it is yours.”

Cole held the dagger to his chest. “Thank you, Master Yang.”

“The blade is supposedly enchanted to protect its owner. I hope that it will bring you protection.”

“Thank you,” Cole repeated. He sheathed the dagger into one of his many hidden pockets.

“You should go, now. You will be late for your train.”

“Yeah, I should,” Cole said sadly. He picked up his duffle bag and threw it over his shoulder. The he hugged Yang.

Ghosts cannot be touched. That is a well known fact. But Cole hugged Yang anyway, simply because a boy touched by death like he was could.

“Goodbye, my pupil,” Yang pulled away from the hug.

“Goodbye, Master,” Cole said in return. He made his way down the path to civilisation and the city.

Cole ran down a dark alley, uncaring of the cockroaches and rubbish everywhere. He stuck to the shadows, barely making a sound. The man he was following continued talking on the phone, unaware of the boy behind him. Cole slammed him on the back of the head and twisted his arms.

“You’re going to go to the police station,” he said slowly, “and you’re going to confess to murdering your wife. If you don’t, I’ll know.”

“Who the hell are you?” The man spat. His eyes were full of terror and confusion.

“I’m the Talon, and you’re going to do as I say or face the consequences.”

“What is this, some sorta bad movie? I’m not doing—“ whatever the man meant to say was cut off as Cole knocked him out. A bit of blood trickled from his temple.

“Amateurs,” Cole rolled his eyes and picked the man’s wallet up. He’d drop the guy off with evidence and keep the money. There was enough to book himself a ticket to Ninjago City Central, at least. Shame that he hadn’t wanted to confess on his own, though. The justice system would be much harsher on him now.

He picked the body up and dragged it to the police station. Then he changed into civvies and went up to the bus stop. He looked at the ticket dispenser in the eyes, just as he’d practiced.

“One ticket, please,” Cole smiled. Yang had taught him to be charming, after all.

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