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@isabella-kr
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friendships end. relationships end. fictional man whos doing even worse than you is forever
Been gone a while. Sorry about that - life was hectic. But now I'm feeling the urge to type, and after seeing all the puritan shit on my tiktok, I'm feeling the need to take part in kinktober just to spite some people. We'll see how that goes, but I've already got some stuff planned.
I'm also reopening my asks, in case anyone has any ideas. Mainly COD (especially Price) and some TLOU stuff for now, but I might start dabbling in other things, too. Really into peacemaker right now, so Adrian Chase might make an appearance on my page soon!!!
I’m a bit late to the party, but is this fandom still alive? Was thinking of writing a story for our man Travis
01. The Eyes of the Past
THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY; DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 YEARS OLD. 18+
I do not own 'The Last of Us' or any of the original characters or story elements. This fan-created story is not intended for commercial use - it is non-profit; as such, I do not, and never will, money off it. I do not give permission for this story to be shared, bound, or sold in any way, shape or form - that is illegal!
Please do not repost this anywhere; if you wish to read it elsewhere, this work is also available to read on AO3 snd Wattpad (IsabellaKR). Thank you.
Chapter Synopsis: Sometimes the road to revenge is a long one, and unwanted visits necessary.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader Note: This can be read as either an x reader (No use of Y/N) or an OC. Whilst the main character will not have a name, physical descriptions, or cultural background, she will have a rich backstory and nicknames!
Warnings: WARNINGS: Swearing, drug dealing, smuggling, blood, injuries and death
Word Count: 5k
Notes: If you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know!
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"That's unfortunate..."
Even as the rain began to pour down, the thickened blood that pooled around him stuck to his skin like a glued-on string when she nudged his face with her boot.
Poor, poor, Robert.
Abandoned and alone, his body left to rot.
Most of his men dead, but the rest nowhere to be found.
So much for loyalty.
"He had some sort of deal with every jackass you can think of; smugglers, the fireflies, hell, even some of my guys," The ground crunched as another set of boots approached her, "Fucked 'em all over at one point or another - honestly, I'm surprised someone didn't get to the fucker sooner."
Her brow quirked at the FEDRA soldier, cigarette smoke following him like a fog in the night. "Your guys? What, my stuff not good enough?" arms crossed over her chest, she sent him an accusative look.
"Oh no, the best we've got," he laughed, "Can't help it some of them just prefer the mediocre stuff."
"Mhm, right. Trying to sweeten me up, are you, Commander?"
He sent her a wink, "Always."
Who did you piss off, hm? She had to wonder. Though perhaps a better question was who hadn't he pissed off. With how much of a nuisance his work was becoming within the QZ, she wouldn't be surprised if one of the soldiers took care of him to... quiet things down.
The muffled voice from the military radio sounded louder in the dead of night, bouncing off the walls with nowhere to go. No civillians walking around, just a faint voice in the background reminding the citizens of the curfew; Stay inside. Something something punishable by death.
What a fucking dictatorship.
Her eyes met the soldier's, and her brow raised in mild curiosity. FEDRA business was FEDRA business - she couldn't care less about what they got up to - but he had a strict 'don't contact me when I'm in the middle of business' policy. Unless an emergency was to strike, that is; a loose infected in the QZ? Some fugitive?
"Got some stragglers out in sector 12, need to get that sorted," He explained with a burdened sigh, "Where's the package?"
"Well, technically, you didn't deliver," she argued, "I needed information. Can't get it when he's dead... but I'm feeling nice, and you have been sweet. I'll give you a quarter."
He laughed.
"No way," came his disagreement, "All of it. Got you in with no trouble, didn't I? Not my fault the asshole got what was coming to him."
"Half."
"All."
"Three quarters."
"What if I ask real nice?"
She responded with a brief roll of her eyes, and then a laugh managed to spill from her lips, "Ugh, fine. Don't have anyone else to give that shit to, anyway. There's enough pills in there to last you 6 months, but knowing how greedy your people are, it'll be more like 3."
"And..." he asked, "Where is it?"
"Cecilia in Area 4. North-West. Has a little booth-"
"The old lady that does tarot card readings? She's one of yours?"
"Good, you know her," she nodded, "She's sweet, though she might ask to read your palm before handing over the goods."
"Great."
"Enjoy it. Gonna be my last delivery for a while," she patted him on the back to lessen the blow, "My replacement won't be here for another week."
A bunch of curses left him, and a disgruntled look was quick to make an appearance on his face. "Where are you off to?" came his questioning tone.
"I've Been in Boston far too long already," she confessed, "Was supposed to leave four months ago, but something's been holding me back... probably Cecilia, last time I spoke with her she gave me this big ol' speech about how there's something here waiting for me."
He snorted.
"You believe that bullshit?"
"Don't think I believe anything anymore," A humourless laugh countered, "but here."
The crinkle of paper sounded uncomfortably loud. She fished it out from her back pocket, fixed up the scrunched up edges and handed it over to the soldier.
"My people," she explained the list, "You need anything, go to the top three. They'll help."
"Right..." he sighed, "And who do I speak to about that shitty graffiti you leave all over my walls?"
She glanced at the simple symbol that decorated the brick wall - A thicker, smaller circle inside a thinner oval that didn't quite touch at the sides, whilst a vertical line ran through the middle of them both. The red paint trickled down, pouring over the firefly mark beneath it.
"Not my doing," she defended with her arms up in the air, "But we gotta mark territory somehow, right?"
"Mark territory," he scoffed, "That's what it is? 'Cause I've got civvies scared shitless 'cause of it."
"Well, I never cared about intimidation," she was quick to admit when another call came to his radio, "But the guy above me does, so not my call."
He huffed in a displeased manner, and briefly turned away to take the call. Not that she paid much mind to what they were discussing anyway.
"Shit. The damn stragglers killed two of ours and managed to get away," he growled, "Gotta sort this shit out."
"Which way are you going?"
"Well, they've got a death wish and headed into the city," he said, "Why?"
"Give me a lift."
She lost feeling in her ass a few hours into the drive. Squished between two man-spreading assholes, aka FEDRA soldiers, wasn't the most comfortable, but if it got her to her destination quicker, she was willing to suffer it out.
Even with those ridiculously long stops they took every time they thought they finally located their targets.
A long fucking day, that was.
The door opened, and she shivered when the cold evening air hit her skin. "Get out," the commander ordered, but the icy words weren't aimed at one of his men - they were aimed at her.
"Alright, boss," her sarcasm wasn't lost on him as she climbed over the burly soldier to jump out of the vehicle. The puddle splattered onto her trousers, but complaining wasn't on her cards that day - he grasped onto her bicep and pulled her into the blood-stained capitol building.
Weapons, boxes and other equipment littered the building. Most stained with blood and surrounded by dead bodies. A firefly pendant clinked under her boot.
"You know her?" the commander gestured to the dead woman on the floor with too many bullet-holes to count.
She didn't have to look closely to recognise her - shoulder-length hair, pale and a dangerous look on her face even in death. Tess.
"Yeah, Tess," she sighed. No harm done; she was already dead. "A smuggler - as most of your guys know."
"Who does she work with?"
What was this - some sort of interrogation?
"Fuck I know," she countered.
He held a look of undeniable anger on his face, "I'm not fuckin' playin' around."
A scoff got past her lips, "Yeah, well, I can't give you information I don't fucking have, can I?"
"Look," he warned, "My men are fuckin' dead, so you better think, or you'll be joining her."
Oh?
That's what months of business got her, was it? Well fuck him - if that's how it was, she wasn't going to peep about the two figures she just saw crawling around on the upper level of the building.
"It's not like I hold tea parties with my fucking clients," she growled, "Never gave a shit who she worked with. Most I can tell you is there's some guy, but I never met him. Couldn't pick him out of a damn line-up."
"Know his name?"
Yes.
"No, dickhead."
A deep sigh. Fingers pressed against his temples hard enough to leave a mark. She almost felt bad; if it wasn't for the fact he was FEDRA, he was quite the nice guy. But alas, he was, and she wasn't about to make it easier for his authoritarian little boy scouts.
"So..." with a crinkle, she pulled out a small package with a firefly stamped onto it. Not like that of the group, but quite similar to it; mocking. She threw it over to him, "Here."
His lack of enthusiasm didn't go unnoticed, but she blamed it on the unmistakable emotional turmoil that was happening in his head, "What's this?"
"Light."
"What?" His tone made him sound all exasperated. Poor guy was a slither away from just shooting himself in the head.
"It's new - still testing it," she explained, "Gives you insane hallucinations though. Makes shit all bright. So, you know, know... 'look for the light' as they say...."
A beat passed between them.
And then.... "Get the fuck out."
Two soldiers grabbed onto her arms and began dragging her out before she could even think about a talking back. "Wait!" she tried to pull away, but the men didn't give up, "I still need that lift!"
"Better run, better run..."
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when they dropped her off by a wooded area. And 'dropped off' was saying it lightly - the growing bruise on her face from when she ate the dirt was all achy now. They wouldn't go further - not that she was asking them to - something about a failed mission. Missing soldiers. They told her all about it, actually. In gross detail, because apparently one of them was there when shit hit the fan.
Now she was just trying to erase the vivid details from her memory. The cold handle of her gun as it weighed heavy in her arms was a welcome distraction. And with focused and calm eyes, she watched the twitchy fungus through the round scope.
Fungus.
A fungus.
It was easier this way, to think about them as mere fungi. An overgrown mushroom that gained the ability to walk, to scream, to bite. They weren't people... not anymore.
"Outrun..."
Her finger pressed against the trigger.
"My..."
The twitchy prick flinched, the clicks that have embedded into her memory echoing in the thick forest. It heard something, but from afar, judging by the way it didn't immediately run off. The scope followed its fidgety steps, head turning at awkward angles. It screeched then, ready to take off into a run.
"Gun..."
With a click, a bullet penetrated its disease-ridden skull. It gave out a confused cry, and promptly toppled to the ground. The silencer at the end of the barrel had mostly deafened the shot, but with the way the clicker's body fell with a thud, it was inevitable for its friend to hear the commotion. It gave out a curious little click, stumbling underneath the tree.
Cl-
A snap of a branch in the distance had her pausing, slowly letting go of the trigger as she focused on her surroundings. The gentle chirping of the birds, leaves rustling with the light wind and... footsteps.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Raiders?
Definitely not FEDRA, the cowards just spent at least 30 minutes talking about how they wouldn't go in there. Especially not on foot.
She snatched the knife at her side and threw it at the clicker beneath her. It lodged itself into the top of its head, crimson liquid seeping out from the hole between the overgrowth on its scalp before it finally fell.
Leaves swayed and rustled as the rifle was pulled back, the green of the tree covering her entirely as the footsteps grew closer and closer. Her vision was obstructed, but she could see he – they? - were on guard, their steps careful as they made their way past the many clicker corpses.
"Fresh..." A male voice pointed out as he nudged the fungus with his foot.
"You think they're still here?"
Well, that certainly was not what she was expecting. Raiders? Sure. Very likely, even.
But a man and a child? Not really. Those tended to stay in groups, or the safe zones... as safe as the quarantine zones could really be under FEDRA control. Not out in the open unless they were desperate; parents didn't often risk their children's lives just to get somewhere else, even if they wanted to relocate.
"Not sure..." their footsteps neared, checking on the diseased right beneath the tree she was hiding on, a heavy exhale following, "Keep close."
The ground crunched beneath their feet as they walked away, footsteps growing fainter and fainter as they continued with their path. Where were they going? Not her problem, and frankly, not her business... even if there was a group of clickers and runners up ahead.
And he was alone... with a kid.
No.
Nuh-uh.
Not her issue.
"Not getting involved," she mumbled under her breath, knees clicking as she jumped off the final branch and landed on the solid ground beneath.
Pretty. In a way, the infected were kind of...pretty. Not in the conventional sense, of course, but the fungus itself had a certain beauty to it. The way it grew, feeding on its host and swirling with those bright reds and oranges...
Beautiful... but deadly.
She retrieved the knife, pulling it out of the clicker's cracked head with a disgusting squelch. The blade was promptly cleaned, the thick blood wiped off using the fungi's own torn up clothing.
"This area's remote, why's it crawlin' with 'em..." The male's voice reached her again, their footsteps once more growing closer and closer as they retreated from their previous path.
Not that she blamed them for walking back.
She moved as quietly as she could, and rounded the tree to hide behind its thick trunk. Her back against the scratchy bark, hand at the pistol in her holster as she prepared to fight back if need be.
The pair reached the tree, their breaths heavy and erratic.
"Shit, where do we go now?" questioned the young girl with a shaky voice.
The man exhaled sharply and took a few heavy, steadying breaths, "Ahead. Let's go..."
They took a step forward, but the girl stopped them again, "Wait... when did you take the knife?"
"What knife?"
"The one in its head?" she spoke like it was obvious.
There was a pause. The type that seemed to drag for hours even though it was only a couple of seconds.
"Shit-"
She tried to listen in, but his words grew quieter, barely audible even for the girl who travelled with him, let alone her. They sped away then, his hand on her forearm as he dragged her away from the scene of the crime, looking around and on guard.
It was uncomfortable standing there. The bark digging into her back even through the leather jacket she was wearing, her feet struggling not to slip on the moss that covered the ground. But she stayed there, not moving an inch until they were both far away... or at least no longer visible.
So, it wasn't until at least a few minutes passed, or rather what felt like a few minutes, that she finally got out from behind the tree. It was good to be back on the ground, at least... to feel the dirt beneath her boots, crunching and cracking.
Gunshot.
Well, they found the horde... or the horde found them.
Another gunshot. And another, and another.
Silence.
The hairs at the back of her neck stood up, and an uncomfortable buzzing grew in her ears. No. No, no, no. It wasn't her job to save every dumbass who walked into his death.
It wasn't her job. She had her own issues to deal with, she couldn't risk her own life for every charity case that walked by.
No-
Damnit.
Her legs moved on their own before her mind even had the chance to register what she was doing. Walking towards her potential death, rifle raised and aimed towards the group of clickers and runners that surrounded two broken down FEDRA vehicles. The man she saw before hiding the girl behind him, both crouched behind a vehicle as the infected ran around erratically, searching for the prey that had so far evaded them.
Until it hadn't.
All it took was one wrong move. One misstep. A bang against the car door, and one of them was screeching and running in their direction. The man was kind of a blur in the distance, but she saw how he wrestled the disgruntled runner that tried its hardest to get its teeth on him.
Not the greatest angle.
The human was practically behind him... the bullet could go through and kill him as well.
Decisions, decisions.
To shoot or not to shoot, that is the question.
The girl screamed as more runners joined the party, more clickers drooling as they ran towards them.
Oh, Hell. It better lodge.
Click.
The runner grew limp, knees buckling beneath it before it finally toppled to the ground. Then the clicker that ran up behind them, and another one that was trying to climb onto the car.
One by one, bullets shot through the air, and one by one the infected fell to the ground like ragdolls getting pushed over. They kept falling, but more of them also came running in from between the trees like an ambush.
"Fucking run, asshole!" she yelled out as the bullets kept flying.
She saw the blur of a man in her peripheral - how he grabbed the little girl, dragging her away and deep into the forest whilst she stayed there. Glued to the ground with runners sprinting her way.
How many were there? The soldiers didn't mention a whole fucking battalion. Maybe 10 or 12 individuals from what she understood. But no, this was at least 50 runners she was up against.
Fuck that.
Fuck clearing the place up. She wasn't about to sacrifice herself and become clicker fodder. Not today. So she ran, shooting whenever she could as the trees grew thick around her.
She lost them eventually, or at least hoped she did. There was no eerie clicking or pained moaning in the distance. It was kind of heartbreaking, actually, the way they sounded - did they still understand? At least in the early stages, was the person still there in mind but not body?
How horrifying would that be. To be aware of your surroundings but unable to control your body. Like a video-game character with no autonomy and forced to do the most awful things imaginable.
The thought made her sick.
It had been a while before she finally made it to the clearing just before the town. It was peaceful there, with flowers growing in every corner like the world hadn't gone to shit. Like they weren't living in the worst reality possible.
With a small whistle, a dog larger than the typical small dog, but smaller than a German Shepherd, approached her with careful steps. Sniffing at the air and the ground, it's tail wagged as it sat by her feet.
"Zombie," she greeted cheerfully, scratching behind the dog's ears, "Hi, sweet. They come this way, hm? Seen any strangers coming this way, girl?"
With its tail wagging wildly, the dog jumped up on her and began licking at her hand. The claws digging into her thighs, no doubt leaving some bruises behind... but she didn't mind much. Out of all the injuries she had gotten over the years, those bruises were definitely the most welcome ones.
"You have, have you? Or are you just excited to see me?" She encouraged as the dog jabbed its nose into her palm, "Gonna show me the way?"
Almost like the dog could understand, it jumped back down and began leading her through the trails she knew like the back of her hand. Under the wired fence and down a steep hill. Past the building that was close to falling apart, and by the gate to the town. Right by the Garden Frank kept up like it was his greatest treasure.
And in a way it was, because not many people spent their time nurturing strawberries these days. It was hard work, especially given the circumstances, but when you tasted that sweetness on your tongue, it was all worth it.
Unfortunately, the strawberries weren't ripe yet, but the stranger's audacity seemed to be. Walking about like they owned the damned place. Although she could only see the back of his head, she could tell he was from before the outbreak. His hair was enough of a tell, with the greys that were sprinkled between the rich brown. But it was also his voice - all deep and aged.
"Okay. Zombie," she grabbed the dog's face and held it in front of her own as she whispered, "I need you to listen to me, girl."
It's tail wagged excitedly, and she barely pulled her head back in time when it tried to lick at her face.
"No. Zombie, sit," she whispered, "Sit. Sit, girl."
Still a long way to go with that one, but she eventually sat on the ground. Although still sniffing and trying to lick at her. Perhaps if the situation was different, she would have found it endearing, but not right now - not when the uninvited guests were so close by.
"Zombie. Listen. Stranger," she pointed at the man, "Stranger. I need you to guard, girl. Okay? Guard. Just guard."
The code words seemed to click in the dog's head. Finally. Slowly and quietly, it crawled beneath the fence with its owner hot on its trail. It was more difficult to move soundlessly with all the clothing, her shirt even catching one of the wires. But she made it, and expertly hid behind large flowerpots that obstructed their view.
Man. Little girl.
Zombie crouched by some pots and gnomes, hiding from view as the little girl went through the cramped walk-space filled with greenery in every corner. She remembered helping Frank build that thing - took two afternoons, but it was all worth it.
"Holy shit, look-" the little girl pointed out excitedly.
And from the slither of another tail wagging, she could understand why. Ruck; a large dog, that one. With blacks and brows mainly painting his coat, he had small patches of white on his neck and the very tip of his tail. Harmless, really. For most part. And right now, he was trying to cuddle up to the young girl - maybe even earn a treat or two.
"Ellie-" the voice which sounded more familiar than she realised spoke with a warning tone.
As he pulled his gun out on the dog, Zombie sneaked up beside him with a growl. Not jumping or attacking, just warning with her teeth bared. Good girl.
She slipped a balaclava over her face, and finally emerged from her hiding spot. It was hot under the face covering, but the last thing she needed was to have more enemies on her ass because someone managed to remember her face. That and... she didn't want it plastered in every QZ in the vicinity.
FEDRA could sweep a lot under the rug, but the moment civilians start recognising you for your crimes, well... it's over. You won't be able to blend in. And they won't be able to look the other way.
Taking the moment of distraction to her advantage, she sneaked up to them, grabbed the back of the girl's neck and pressed a gun to her head. She wasn't taking any chances - those new kids were feral little monsters and she didn't want her fingers bitten off.
And the man-
Well, when her eyes met those hazel ones, she felt her breath catch in her throat. Joel?
Joel.
Her Joel. Alive. Not six feet under like she thought he was.
Different. Older, with wrinkles in the corner of his eyes and greying hairs in his beard. Different but still Joel.
Still the same. Or at least she hoped he was - a good man. A loving father and partner. But she'd watched good men turn into monsters over the years. Murderers who hunted for sport. Abusers. Rapists. Cannibals.
Was that still the same man she knew? Or was it a monster hiding beneath a familiar cloak. She didn't know. Couldn't risk it.
A moment of paralysing shock and she was elbowed right in the stomach, just beneath her ribs. The pain knocked the wind out of her lungs; a hand covered the area, and she doubles over in pain. At the sound of her pained groan, the dogs went into defence mode with their teeth bared as they growled. Ready to lunge... just waiting for an order.
"Little shit," she spat.
The little girl had ran back, and Joel moved to stand in front of the child. His gun aimed at her, and hers was aimed at him. A shitty situation from all sides. "Pyro..." he stated - almost warned - as his grip tightened on the weapon.
How long has he been here? She had to wonder. A few months? Years? Hell, over a decade? She searched for him after the outbreak, but all traces of him ran cold. There was just too much chaos. Too much instability.
Too many gangs forming. FEDRA patrols. Confusion. Fear.
And then she found his car... or what was left of it, anyway. Destroyed and burnt down with only the license plate surviving it all. She assumed he was dead, probably infected or killed. The idea that he was still alive nothing more than a dream she gave up on years ago.
And yet here he was. Standing before her with his gun aimed her way.
"You're a long way away from the QZ," she pointed out, and just now she was glad for the mask. The danger in her voice would have been for nothing had he seen the look of shock on her face.
Could he feel the familiarity even with the covering over her face? Perhaps not. She had changed over the years. Too much, really. Sometimes she felt she was a completely different person than she was before, and not in a positive way. Or, if he did, maybe he just put it off as meeting an old business partner.
She'd done business with Tess many times. Only once was he there, and not even up close. Somewhere out back as a lookout, is what Tess had told her, not that she cared much for her partners. But their paths never really crossed. And, if she was being honest, she didn't think she'd know what to do if they did meet back then.
Would she stand there all shocked as she was now? Would she jump into his arms like she imagined herself doing so many times before? Hug him? Cling onto him like she never wanted to let go again? She could only wonder.
"Lookin' for a friend," he spoke carefully, not taking his eyes off her.
"Bill? Didn't say he was expecting guests..." Her brow raised in question, "Why don't you put the gun down, hm?"
He didn't. Of course he didn't. She wouldn't either if she was in his situation - gun to his head and two salivating dogs ready to pounce. It would be stupid to put down his only line of defence.
So, she did what she normally would never do otherwise, and let her own gun fall. Not to the ground - she wasn't that stupid - but she let it hang off her finger, the trigger guard catching on her index.
"I don't kill kids," she told him, but her tone still warning, "And I'm sure as hell not gonna kill her dad right in front of her."
It took a moment. A while, actually, until he finally lowered his own gun. He never really put it away, but neither did she, both of them too wary of the other to let down their guard.
"I ain't her dad," he clarified, "Where's Bill?"
"You're one of Tess's, right?" she completely disregarded his question.
The woman had mentioned a Joel before, but after years of expectations and disappointments, she never gave it much thought. Just some guy she never met - a background character for Tess' dealings.
Tess's Joel. Her Joel.
Fucking hell.
She definitely wouldn't have kissed him back then, even though she definitely imagined herself doing so all those years back. How awkward would that be...
He confirmed with a nod and asked again, "Where's Bill?"
Should she help him? Probably. But the longer he stood in her vicinity, the more sick she felt. A sudden tightness in her chest, and an unbearable ache in her stomach. Not from the hit - that was a different kind of pain.
She felt sick.
"Don't have a tag on the guy," she retorted, and finally waved for the dogs to stand down, "But should be somewhere in the town... unless he'd dead, that is. I mean, he'll probably still be in town then, but won't be able to help you with whatever it is you need him for."
Right... she was talking too much now. Short answers, she reminded herself a she felt the bile rise in her throat. Don't throw up. Especially not with the mask on - just don't throw up.
"Uh-huh," he nodded, eyes trained and focused as the little girl looked at her with a scrunched up nose. Little shit.
"You're welcome to look around, though," she gestured to the run-down buildings in the town. So many places to go, so much loot just laying around. But the path deeper into the town was a straight-forward one, and she'd no doubt Bill was out there somewhere. Probably eating, or arguing with Frank over something stupid.
"Just... look out for the booby-traps, yeah?" God, she had to get out of there - and the few steps back that she took made it clear she had no intention of helping them out.
And maybe it was for the best. He was never the trusting type, and she imagined that trait only got worse the more lawless the world became. And she, well... she had to get away from him.
Take some deep breaths. Count to ten. Maybe throw up the shitty, dried up piece of meat the soldiers shared with her all those hours ago. And when she finally rounded a corner to escape their view, she let out a choked sigh. Hands on her knees and her heart pounding away in her chest, she muttered a quiet plea, "Don't blow up..."
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19. Rest
This story will include mature themes, please only read if you are 18 years old or over.
If you are underage, you can read the Wattpad version instead as it will include no smut.
This is a work of fiction and does not represent the real Armed Forces.
Synopsis: Nightmares and sleepless nights. Price trusts No-Face with a different part of his life.
Pairing: John Price x F!Reader
Warnings: None
Word Count: 6k
Note 1: I'm not too happy with how this chapter turned out, but there's only so many times you can edit something...
Note: I hope you enjoy! If you would like to be added/taken off the taglist please let me know!
Series Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist
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Reds and yellows swirled together on the velvety petals like splashes of paint, the thick bouquet of tulips brightened up his living-room even in the darkness that settled. Only the light of the moon, which swam on the wall like a gentle wave of the ocean, gave her some vision. Not that she cared much for it.
The storm in her head was too loud. Too distracting. The memories too vivid, voices too loud.
Her eyes were open but empty. Blinking slowly as they followed the gentle swishing of the moonlight as it traced the wallpaper. Shoulders tense and hunched as she sat still on the couch, her posture uncomfortably stiff.
Soft footsteps were drowned out by the thoughts that plagued her mind day and night, not allowing her even a moment - a breath - of respite. John didn't bother turning on any of the lights, fingers rubbing at his tired eyes as the last step creaked beneath his weight. The sound seemed much louder in the middle of the night than it did in the day.
He flinched when he saw her there, brows knitting deeply in the middle. After spending most of the days in his guest bedroom, he wasn't expecting her to just... sit there... in the middle of the night at that. Surrounded by the darkness and unmoving - like a scene from those horror movies that he disliked.
The clinking of a cup against the coffee table pulled her out of her thoughts. Water swirled within it, splashing against the sides with gentle strokes as the couch dipped beside her. His hand warm as it landed on her upper back, rubbing the area between her shoulder blades with a soft and caring touch. "Can't sleep?" his voice carried a certain gentleness to it; like he was talking to a wounded animal he didn't want to scare off.
Her silence must have been enough of an answer. And, given that she hadn't spoken since he brought her to his home, he wasn't expecting a verbal one, either.
"I couldn't either," he said. A lie - she heard him snoring when she made her way downstairs, "S'just too much of everything... and the silence... doesn't help."
He smoothed the back of her head, and then reached for the remote. The sudden flash had her squinting at the blinding light from the tv, and it took a few moments to get used to, the dizziness from the still lingering concussion causing the world around her to swirl.
"A distraction always helped," John added, his voice a mere whisper, "Doesn't matter what. Just... anything to drown it all out."
Right now, there was some sort of period piece playing. Petticoats and upper-class accents, Balls and gossiping servants. A little boy flashed on the screen, smiling from ear to ear as his laughter filled the room. His eyes dark and deep... reminding her of him.
Before she could get the chance to drown in her own thoughts once more, John nudged her closer. His hand curved around her arm as he pulled her towards him - slowly... gently. Cautiously. He eventually had her leaning into him, an arm around her shoulders as he tucked her against his side.
Her neck was stiff, almost fighting him when he pressed a hand against the side of her head, and with gentle encouragement, had her resting against his chest. He could tell - he could see there was something she hadn't had the courage to talk about.
Not with the therapist who came to visit when she was at the hospital. Not the General who came with congratulations for her first successful mission before they discharged her. And not him, who, for the past few days, did nothing but try and help her feel safe. Comfortable. But she hadn't spoken. Her eyes far away even when she looked straight at him.
He possessed an unfamiliar gentleness when he stroked her head, and caressed her cheek with the back of his index, "Try and get some rest."
Sleep didn't come easily to her these past few weeks, so waking up with the sun already in the sky came as a shocking surprise to her. As was his warm thigh beneath her cheek, the material of his bottoms leaving an indent in her skin. His arm draped over her side, fingers splayed over the bruised ribs hidden beneath her top.
With his head leaned back, his breaths came out in small snores. Not deafeningly loud, but just enough for her to know he was there. Not the type of noise that'd keep her awake unless she was feeling particularly overstimulated, and in the silence of his home, it was a welcome disturbance.
A part of her couldn't help but appreciate it. He was there. His presence warm and protective. A sense of security washed over her at the thought, and a brief sigh escaped her chapped lips.
A low groan echoed behind her, calloused hand briefly tightening on her side as he stretched one of his legs. His eyes opened, and a sharp breath followed. "Mornin'," he croaked out, voice deep and hoarse with sleep.
She gave him a hum of acknowledgement, and sluggishly pushed herself up, wincing at the pain in her chest. Broken ribs weren't the easiest to heal, but her her lack of doing, whilst not great for her mental health, did do wonders for the healing process. Maybe if she wasn't so lost in her own mind - in her own suffering - she would have been embarrassed for waking up on her captain's lap. But given her current state, she just could not find it in her to care.
His eyes usually held some sort of worry; for the victims of the terrorists, his fellow soldiers, or even random civilians. But recently, that look seemed to be reserved solely for her. Brows pinched in the middle, a frown on his lips.
It wasn't an expression she liked to see. So a forced smile pulled on the corners of her lips - maybe that would wipe the look off his face.
He placed a hand on her arm, and squeezed gently. "I'll make breakfast," his voice came out in a gentle whisper, "You go take a shower, hm?"
Her eyes snapped up to his own, and the look she gave him spoke louder than words ever could. A smile managed to work its way onto his face, and he resisted the urge to smooth out the scrunch of her nose.
"Yeah," he confirmed, "You're starting to stink."
He practically forced her to get in the shower the first night he brought her to his home. The stench of infection mixed with her lack of hygiene from rotting on the couch for days not pleasant to his nose. She protested at first, but as gentle and understanding as he could be, he was still the captain, and one stern look coupled with a threat to strip her down and force her into the shower himself had her obliging.
Frankly, she wasn't sure if he was serious. He seemed too concerned to risk causing her anymore harm, but she also wasn't willing to find out. So she did as he asked then... and now. A part of her was angry with herself for never really appreciating her mobility. Now, every movement hurt. Raising her arms above her head felt like a workout, and the tension in her back had her fearing another one of her ribs was going to pop.
The hot water was soothing, but also irritating on the scrapes and cuts that still littered her body. The one at the back of her head was especially painful, a shiver running down her spine whenever she made an attempt to clean it. Not to mention the stinging that followed when the shampoo foamed over it.
Dizziness often followed, the concussion forcing her to seek aid from the wall - a hand plastered against the wet tile to balance herself. Even standing felt dangerous. She was weak, and she hated it.
At least towel was nice and soft, even if the material caught and pulled on the itchy scabs as she dried herself. Her showers were never overly long, but now it was like she was racing the water. Wash, scrub and get out. No enjoying the spray of the warm water, no taking her time. Like a mission; do what you need to do and leave.
Although she did like the shirts he got her - some were his old ones he was adamant he no longer wore, and some new. Loose and hanging off her frame, the material was soft and light - soothing, not irritating to any of her injuries.
Breakfast was already done by the time she made it downstairs, the time it took her to dress her broken body probably longer than it took her to shower. But the smell of eggs and buttered up toast lingering in the air gave her back some of her strength and will to live. There was also a cup of tea steaming on the dining table with her medication on the side; like an unwelcome dessert already waiting for her.
She sat beside him, the fork cold as it touched her skin.
And then... they ate in silence.
She found the time to scan him as he took bites of his food. His shirt clung to his shoulders, a red line on his forearm where he had it pressed against the wooden table. The way he held his fork as he brought the food to his mouth - hold strong, but not as much as it was on a pistol. His beard held a few greying hairs - not many, but just enough to notice if you looked closely enough. Otherwise, his hair had a rich colour, she noticed. A deep, dark brown with a faint hint of red when the sun hit it in just the right way.
A mole on his nose, round and dark. Freckles peppering his skin like specks on honey in the sunlight; on his cheeks and forehead, and she had no doubt there were some hiding beneath the cover that was his beard. There were a few on his neck that she's never noticed before. Never took the time to notice. A long scar trailed the side of his neck - now faded and barely visible, but there.
"Y'alright?" his voice cut through the silence, and briefly pulled her out of her trance.
A bullet wound, most likely. A bad shot, scraping his skin but just deeply enough to leave a mark. And thinking back to that night in the warehouse, when he had her shooting blindly as she tried to get away- He bled. The crimson painted the floor. Warm as it fell on her cheek.
She could still feel the trickle. Nauseating to think about now.
He stilled when she reached forward, trailing the faint scar. A little bump beneath her fingertip. And then, her voice came out strained and hoarse from the lack of use, "I'm sorry..."
A brief moment of shock at the sound of her voice. A silence settled between them. But then his hand went to where hers was, feeling the scar before a look of realisation crossed over his features. He exhaled sharply, and then dismissed her apology with a shake of his head, "Don't be."
He seemed genuine. Not an ounce of anger for her past actions. He always was level-headed, and perhaps it was irrational to think he's be angry about something she did over a decade ago. Before she knew him. Before he knew her.
It seemed he could already see the storm brewing in her head, and placed a hand on her arm. But before he could get any words out, her own voice cut through the silence.
"I thought you killed him."
A beat passed before he said anything.
"Who?" there was a certain intensity in his eyes - curiosity, confusion, worry.
She cleared her throat, and took a sip of some water to soothe her vocal cords. Her voice still held a rasp to it, but it wasn't as rough as it could be, "The boy I was with..."
It took him a moment to think back to that night, his forehead creasing and brows knitting in thought. But then, as if a light bulb went off in his head, he knew. He remembered. The fork clinked against the plate as he set it down, and fingernails scratched against the dry skin hiding under his beard. He cleared his throat, and leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath his weight.
"Bullet must've nicked him," he explained, "There was blood, but no body... why?"
She bit her tongue. Apprehension lingered in her eyes; to tell or not to tell? To admit that she didn't recognise the boy she'd spent most of her childhood with, or omit that shameful truth.
But this was John. The man who gave her a chance despite their history. The man who brought her back from the pit of darkness... the man who didn't judge.
She began opening up to him before her brain could even register the words leaving her lips, "In the compound, when you turn around 10, you sometimes get paired with one of the younger ones. You help them train and remind yourself of the basics - the teachers can focus on the older ones then, so less resources used up..."
A pause. She took in a deep breath, briefly focusing on the way the oxygen filled up her lungs, bruised ribs deflating with a slow exhale.
"You're not supposed to get attached..."
"But?" he asked slowly.
Despite the clear turmoil in her eyes, her expression didn't show much emotion. A certain form of exhausted emptiness there.
"He was like a little brother," she confessed, "And now he thinks I just...abandoned him... that I left him there to die."
Time moved slowly, and when the pain began to lessen - the infection almost completely healed - her bed rest was coming to a dreaded end. No more staying on the couch all day and wallowing in self pity; John was adamant about making her get up and move around.
'To get those muscles working' he told her. And no matter how much she protested or glared his way, he didn't let up. Short walks around the neighbourhood or the park. Helping him around the house. Light movements, but also important to aid her recovery.
The topic of the boy hadn't been discussed since. Not that he didn't try - he wanted to know. And an even greater part of him wanted to help her, but the moment he brought it up again, she shut down. She grew quiet.
Mute. Distant. Not fully there.
So he let up. At least for the time being.
"Have you ever thought about your name?" he asked her one afternoon as they sat on a lonely park bench, "Not any of the names you were given, I mean - anything you'd like to be called?"
She looked at him, and a faint crease grew on her forehead.
"Not really." It was easy to admit. Between all the things she had to worry about, her 'names' were never on her list of priorities.
He seemed to understand, nodding faintly at her answer. He straightened his fingers out and leaned back with a sharp exhale. "My brother's planning to visit tomorrow," came his explanation, "I thought you'd want to..."
Right. No one normal presents themselves as a 'no face'. At least not in a familial setting. But there were so many names out there - too many to choose from; the ones of her fellow soldiers and pretty ones she'd heard out on missions. Hundreds. Thousands.
Flowers. Literary heroes. Poetic and sweet names. So many, and yet none of them sounded right - not in her head and not on her tongue. That was until one slipped from her lips. There was no real though behind it, she didn't even know where she first heard it... it just felt natural.
A moment passed, and then he repeated it. It sounded pleasant coming from his lips - a certain warmth bloomed in her chest when he said it again, and then gazed towards her with an approving look in his eyes.
"It's nice," he complimented, "Suits you."
When his brother visited the next day, she wasn't sure what to expect. Maybe a clone of the captain - all gruff and muscly with a hardened expression etched onto his face. And yet, when he arrived, the only similarity seemed to be his height. Standing eye-to-eye, his lanky figure and almost bright green eyes stood out the most between them. A bright smile and eyes that have never seen the horrors of war, his skin not as damaged as his brother's, but still lined with traces of the years he'd lived - a smile line here, a wrinkle there.
They seemed close, and very obviously happy to see one another. A certain warmth in the side-hug they shared, the pats on each other's backs firm, but so full off care. Brotherly love.
She couldn't help wondering what it was like to have a family like this. All loving and caring. She had her mother back then, at the compound, but it was never... normal. Maybe an hour - very rarely two - a day to see her and talk, but there were never any bedtime stories, no climbing into her bed after a bad dream. It was cold, no matter how warm the memories seemed. So watching them there, being all warm and familial as they exchanged pleasantries was... nice. Strange. And a part of her longed for something like this.
The call of her new name managed to pull her out of any thoughts that were plaguing her mind. His blue eyes were already staring at her, an arm stretched out in her direction - encouraging. He repeated, his tone slightly softer and patient, waiting for her to approach.
"This is Reece," he introduced the lanky man whose smile proved much brighter up close.
His hand engulfed her own in a warm greeting, but the introductions were cut short by a high pitched laugh. A little girl ran inside, and excitedly hugged John's leg. Behind her, a tall woman in a loose dress and a bright smile on her face. Like one of the many she'd seen on her missions, or around town when John had dragged her out of bed. Free and full of life. Happy.
They all looked happy when they settled in the living-room, just chatting the afternoon away. Carefree as they laughed at old memories, recalling embarrassing moments from their youth. The little girl busied herself, relaxed and playing with her toys; no tense shoulders and sore muscles. Not wondering which of her peers was going to be taken next. Not forced to study or fight. Just... a child who wasn't forced to be something she should never be.
What was that like? She had to wonder. What was it like to sleep soundly at night, in a nice warm bed and covered with more than just thin and worn-out blanket. To not have to listen to the cries of the others. To not battle with your own feelings, because as horrifying as that part of her life was to look back on... a part of her couldn't let go of it. No matter how cruel it was, she could not hate the place where she felt the warmth of her mother's arms. The place that, despite everything, was her childhood.
It was her past, and it would never leave her.
"You're colleagues, right?" A feminine voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
Th Livingroom had emptied, she only just now noticed. No John or Reece in sight, just her, Perisha, and the little girl who silently played with her colourful toys. Her eyes were warm and non-judgmental, yet still analysing her less than polished outfit and hunched-over form.
"You work together?" Perisha added to clarify.
"Y-" her voice croaked, "Yeah... we do."
She looked to where John had previously sat, as if hoping for him to pipe in. To help her out if more questions came... but obviously he was no longer there. And Perisha was quick to notice her discomfort.
"They've gone outside," she explained softly, "Probably showing each other their new drills or something - you know... men."
Right. Because that's what a mundane life looked like, didn't it? Family gatherings, dinners, and boring tasks like fixing things around the house. Cooking. Folding laundry. Replacing a light bulb.
It all seemed so... boring. Every day following the same schedule, and yet there was something alluring about it. Perhaps the safety and security that came with it - something she never truly had before.
"John said you... like flowers and stuff, right? Thought we could - well, he said we can plant some in the garden when he's gone," she spoke with an almost excited glint in her eyes, "Our garden's too small, so best believe I'm jumping on the first chance to get rid of all those rocks out there-"
"Gone?" The word stood out to her the most out of everything she said.
Gone? Price? Why would he be gone?
The beating in her chest grew louder. Harder. She could hear the blood rushing through her veins, and her palms suddenly grew a thin sheen of sweat. He was going to leave?
Perhaps it was naive to think that, just because she was unfit to carry out any missions, he would be home-bound, too. But still... the thought of him leaving her to her own devices... by herself - alone - it scared her. As much as she pushed him away, the last thing she wanted was to be left by herself.
With no one there when she needed a shoulder to lean on.
"Yeah..." Perisha tilted her head, "He's... oh, John- when are you leaving, again?"
Soon. In fact, in two days time, is what she found out later in the evening. When his brother was gone, and his sister-in-law said her goodbyes with bone-crushing hugs.
Two days.
Just two days.
"I don't expect you to go back to that house," he told her, the light of the fridge almost blinding as it washed over his face, "You can stay here. Prish said she's gonna come over and give the garden a makeover; always had an issue with it."
Well, it was bare. Boring . With stones filling up the areas where grass and flowers could be. But that was the least of her concerns, and he knew that. He could see it on her face.
"Hey..." his tone softened, and he lightly squeezed her arm - the gesture meant to be comforting as his touch lingered. It always did. Like an invisible mark that burned. Not that it hurt, no. It was the opposite, actually. It was pleasant and reassuring. A reminder that he was there - no matter what. "You're gonna be fine. Promise."
She wasn't fine. For the first few days she really wasn't fine. Barely a wink of sleep, and her eyes were starting to burn more than ever before.
The house was too quiet without him there. No footsteps, which she knew were heavier than they usually were. He could be so quiet out in the field, and here he was practically stomping around - to not frighten her if was to accidentally sneak up on her, she assumed.
No humming some song she's never heard before. No rustling of pages, or the sound of a pen gliding across paper. No smell of his cigars that filtered in through the open window - he always took his addiction outside, but the scent lingered. Whether through the window with the breeze, or clinging to his clothes; it wasn't always pleasant, but it was so unmistakably him. His scent. That and the cologne he always seemed to wear.
No breakfast made and all ready for her to eat. No comforting words when she flinched awake, because somehow he always seemed to know when she couldn't sleep. Was she crying in her sleep? Calling for help, maybe? She didn't think so, but then again, it was a nightly occurrence. He didn't need a radar when it was already a scheduled interruption.
Perisha came to visit as promised, her little girl following closely behind. 'Just us girls' she told her, car filled with snacks and board games for the three of them, but also overflowing with flowers of every kind.
Blue, yellow, red, purple.
Little by little, the stones in his garden were replaced with soil, and the bland corners filled with colour. Roses, peonies, and chrysanthemums, but also strawberries and blueberries that added some sweetness to the place.
That first night, they stayed over and didn't sleep until the late hours - their evening filled with romance movies, board games and enough snacks to make their bellies ache. The little girl especially took the opportunity to stuff her mouth with as much sugary sweets as possible. And then she was out like a light. Her mother was next to follow, falling asleep on the makeshift bed in the living-room. And No-Face... well, she was more alert than ever before. On guard.
Every little noise made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up; if she had been alone, her sleepless nights would have been just that - sleepless nights. But with his niece and sister-in-law there, she felt responsible.
What if they were to find her? No one would be spared. Though perhaps Perisha's death would be a mercy compared to the fate her daughter would face. She was young - still young enough to be trained. To be brain washed into a killing machine.
Made into her.
No. Not if she could do something to stop it. And when the next creak sounded - which, now that she thought about it, was probably just the wooden floors making some noise - she got up. Footsteps as light as a feather, she patrolled the house from window to window.
All doors locked. Windows closed and secure.
Every so often a figure passed by his house. Dark and covered and hiding in the darkness of the night. But ultimately harmless; a neighbour coming back from a wild night out. A passer-by just making their way home.
No threat. Nothing to fear. And yet her heart was hammering away in her chest.
"You okay?"
She heard her coming long before she made herself known. Her footsteps weren't all that quiet, no matter how little noise she tried to make. To a trained ear, she could have been heard from a mile away. So no-face didn't flinch. She didn't as much as look Perisha's way. She just nodded, eyes still focused on the life - or lack thereof - outside.
"I'm fine," came her whispered response, "Go back to sleep."
It was easy to tell she didn't believe her. And that she wouldn't let up as she stubbornly made her way towards her, taking a brief peek out the window. She leaned against windowsill, and crossed her arms over her chest.
"You know, right after I gave birth, Reece and I, well, we were exhausted. All the crying, the feeding, lack of sleep... it was a lot," she spoke quietly, almost whispering, "Not to mention the mess that our house was. When John saw, he said it look like a bomb had gone off there, and since he's the only one of us who'd actually seen the aftermath of a bomb, well... we had to take his word for it."
Her chuckle was short and light as she recalled the memory. It must have been a pleasant one despite the negativity that surrounded it, given that she was struggling to hold back her smile.
"He offered to help, and as new, sleep-deprived parents, we said yes." she spoke fondly, "He watched over her like a bloody hawk; fed her, changed her... stood in the corner of the room and patrolled the area."
Perisha raised a brow at no-face. Like you right now, she clearly wanted to say. But she didn't have to - that wordless expression told her everything.
"It was a little creepy, actually, but we appreciated it - how could we not? Our little girl had the Captain watching over her..." She laughed, but the lack of reaction coming from No-Face's side had her sighing. Slowly - and perhaps a little cautiously - she placed a hand on the soldier's shoulder, "Point is, we couldn't have done it without him. And... honestly, I think it helped him, too."
Right. She should have figured this whole story she was telling her had some sort of point to it - that she wasn't just reminiscing about old memories for the sake of it. But opening up, even to John, was difficult. And with him, she could speak freely - no secrets. No lying.
"I can't tell you anything," she said almost apologetically.
"I get it." Did she? "Most people don't want to talk about the stuff that hurts them, but-"
"No," No-face interjected, "It's classified. I am not allowed to tell you."
Although confused at first, a look of understanding soon crossed over Perisha's face. "Oh... well, You don't have to tell me the details. Hell, talk in metaphors if that's what helps you. Just... talk. I've got so many patients who didn't want to talk but felt much better afte-"
"Patients?"
Really?
Seriously?
Was she overreacting? Maybe. But still, a part of her saw this as more of a betrayal than anything. Not that she had anything against therapy, no. Hell, the therapist she was given when she was first captured did more to help her than she'd ever like to admit.
But this was a sneaky approach. It was unfair.
"You're a... therapist?" she had to clarify.
And couldn't help the scoff that left her when she confirmed. Like she could read her mind, Perisha was quick to defend, "But John didn't put me up to this, I swear. There was no plotting or anything. Honestly, I was only supposed to make sure you're fine. Could've visited for five minutes and left, but I didn't want to do that..."
She didn't need a pity party.
"Look - I like you."
"You don't know me."
"No... no, I don't. But John does, and I've known him since I was 12 - I trust him." There was a short pause, and once she took a deep breath, she continued, "I want to help you - Not as a Doctor! But as a friend... because I really enjoyed our time today, and I know Mia did too."
There was apprehension there. Clearly. The thought of Perisha analysing her, without even really doing it on purpose, well... it wasn't a comforting thought.
"And... woman to woman," the corner of her lips quirked into a small smile, "we need a break from those fools every so often. I love John and Reece, I really do...but they can be a real pain in the ass."
Well, John never got under her skin, but when she thought about Thomas. Her best friend who knew just how to push her buttons, she understood. She would have laughed if she wasn't so lost in her own feelings.
And Perisha saw that, "So?"
What could she do if not agree? John trusted her with his family - the least she could do was befriend them. For him if not herself.
The next few weeks, although rough a first, went by quickly. She still wasn't completely open to the idea, but Perisha was a patient one. Baby steps, she told her. And whilst she mostly remained quiet about what ailed her, Perisha was on a gossip spree, telling her about every insignificant but entertaining thing happening in the neighbourhood.
Like in Iceland, she often recalled her mission. How everyone knew everyone, and all were in each other's business. Mostly because they had nothing better to do, but Perisha did. With her daughter and work, she was a busy person, and yet gossip was still a fun little activity for her. It wasn't all bad, though - whilst No-face didn't care much about the neighbours she's never met, she did get to learn more about the captain and his family. The few embarrassing moments Perisha recalled definitely weren't bad, either.
Like that time he decided to grow out a goatee. Already ridiculous in her head, the pictures only solidified how much the look didn't suit him. Was this overstepping? She wasn't sure, but then again she wasn't the one seeking this information out. It was handed to her... on the silver platter.
Just like the one time he embarrassed himself on a date. Which would have been fine if the woman didn't live in such close proximity that he saw her out and about more often than he'd like. That one... made her chest feel all weird and tight - uncomfortable. It was strange, but she made no notice of it.
When John finally returned, she seemed better. Especially to him - her skin not as dull, and she smiled more often than not. A real smile, too, he noticed. Especially with Perisha about.
Of course, when they laughed at one of his pictures from the past, he wasn't ecstatic about it, but there was also no anger in his eyes either. He took the embarrassment head-on, and just enjoyed the rare moment of happiness.
Progress. That was all he could really focus on.
Even though he still regularly found her wide awake in the middle of the night. Just sitting there quiet as a mouse. That haunted look that disappeared in the day returning every night.
She tried. He knew she did, but the nightmares woke him up more times than he could count. With all the crying that tormented the house whenever she managed to fall asleep, he wasn't all that surprised she waited until she physically couldn't stay awake any longer.
That she waited until she passed out from exhaustion.
"Hey," He gently knocked on the open door of the living-room one night.
The tulips which once stood in the vase were now replaced with bright yellow roses that had grown in his garden. He never doubted she had a green thumb, but seeing the fruits of her labour around his home was a pleasant sight.
He sat beside her and rubbed at the corners of his eyes.
"You don't have to lose sleep because of me," her voice was all soft and tired, aching for some rest.
"Couldn't sleep either."
She sent him a look, and in the flattest tone she could muster, she said, "You snore."
"Touché," he almost laughed, "You need sleep too, you know."
"I'll be fine."
He'd done so much for her. The last thing she now wanted was for him to lose his health over this - because of her.
"Get up," he suddenly told her, gesturing wildly for her to follow when he pushed himself up.
Hesitant, she did as he asked, and wordlessly watched when he began to move the couch. What on earth? He unfolded the thing, which she didn't even realise you could do. And then, after disappearing for a minute, he threw the pillows and covers from her room onto it. She thought he was done with the performance, but then he threw his own on there as well.
She side-eyed him, but said nothing when he climbed onto the sofa.
"What is this?" she had to question.
But John said nothing, which she took as her cue not to argue. She just got under the covers, which proved awkward at first. Too close to her captain, perhaps. Waking up drooling on his leg was one thing, but this...
"Sleepover," he eventually mumbled, "Heard you and Prish had quite a few of those."
Right.
"Mhm..."
They didn't quite look like this, though.
But it wasn't so bad. Eventually, she even began to feel drowsy. Her stinging eyes fluttering as she wrapped the covers tightly around herself, trapping all the warmth that clung to her body. And what usually came with difficulty, now felt easier than ever. Because, although she may not have realised it yet, sleep always came easy when he was by her side.
-----
Tag List: @jxvipike @smoggyfogbottom @stressyanddepressyfoodservice @boniscute @ohgodthebogisback @konigbabe @tapioca-marzipan @randomchick546 @jaimiespn @no-one-anon @urfavsunkissedleo @kyuupidwrites @the-sky-writes @urminebutidontwantyou @copiasratscheese @duskwo0d @bowserowser @ilovemoneyandcheese @boxofgasoline @freyjasfenrir @jimmorrison13 @carlyi @ramadiiiisme @honeyr4ven @gills-lounge @makastaco @chloeforde @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @lora21 @kafeyjen @captainprice4life @wolfyland07 @nellabear @shondlenoodle
goddamn it.
Exams done. Stress gone (kind of… still need to get my grades). So it’s time to get back to fanfics. Cold-blooded first and then we’ll see
a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted
their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"
"Every writer"?
come on
Reblog if you're a writer who doesn't use AI.
“this fic was written by AI”
Trans Rights petitions in the UK
Following the ridiculous and inhumane news out of the UK yesterday, two out of the top 3 petitions on the UK parliament petition site relate to trans rights:
Let me point you in the right direction!
1. Legally enshrine the right of adults to physically transition using NHS services
Sign here
See graph of signatures here
Deadline: 28 July 2025
Signatures so far: 24,709 of 100,000
2. Allow transgender people to self-identify their legal gender
Sign here
See graph of signatures here
Deadline: 12 June 2025
Signatures so far: 22,107 of 100,000
Who can sign?
Anyone living in the UK, regardless of citizenship
UK citizens living anywhere in the world
Just got started on the next chapter of cold-blooded. I have exams until mid May, so it might take a while to get finished, but I'll do my best to not take too long!! A lot more Price in this one 👀
What it’s like seeing everyone post about The Pitt but you can’t watch it cause it’s not available ANYWHERE in the UK
This is how my fanfics look at me whenever I try to write my dissertation
Chapter 18: Munich
This story will include mature themes, please only read if you are 18 years old or over.
If you are underage, you can read the Wattpad version instead as it will include no smut.
This is a work of fiction and does not represent the real Armed Forces.
Synopsis: Actions and consequences. The day of her capture a reopened wound after her successful mission.
Pairing: John Price x F!Reader
Warnings: Swearing, canon-typical violence, serious injuries, depression, self-neglect & mentions of death
Word Count: 4.4k
Note: I hope you enjoy! If you would like to be added/taken off the taglist please let me know!
Series Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist
Previous Chapter I Next Chapter
"C'mon..."
Covered in dirt and mud, her face was barely visible in the greying evening. The canal cast a deep shadow on her, water swallowing up her body as he pushed his interlocked hands against her chest.
Once, twice, thrice.
Again and again, pushing and pushing with all his body weight.
Splashing of boots in the water. Chaotic and hurried.
"Oh, god," an exasperated voice. Southick crouched by her unconscious body and smacked his hand against her muddied cheek.
"Ye know her?" Questioned a gruff voice, his arms aching and straining from the physical effort of trying to restart her breathing.
He didn't need a verbal answer. Not really.
"Move over, soap," he gave him no time to move away as he pushed him back, and was quick to take over the physical labour.
Mouth-to-mouth.
Chest compressions.
Mouth-to-mouth.
Chest compr-
"Breathe, No-Face, fuckin' breathe!"
25th Janurary, 2009; Munich, Germany
"Or don't - up to you, really... but I'd prefer if you didn't suffocate on my watch, 8-2," Light pats landed against the young boy's back as he looked through the scope of his rifle.
His hands as shaky as his breathing. A drop of sweat rolling down his temple.
"Just like we pracised," she encouraged, "Find a target and shoot; don't overthink it."
It was different from practice, she knew. Unmovable objects never compared to real targets - living, breathing and with blood still coursing through their veins.
He could see the rosy of their cheeks in the cold evening air, the faraway security guard rubbing his hands together in a futile attempt to stay warm. Even in their winter clothing, the cold seeped deep into their bones.
"Last one," she encouraged.
Brows knitting harshly in the middle, his skin crinkled in deep concentraion. Fingers stratching and then clenching, he took in a calming breath and finally let the bullet fly through the air.
The recoil caused him to flinch, but when the guard stumbled, and fell to the floor, he looked to her with an expectant look on his face,
"Well done," came her paise emphasised with a pat on his back.
A look of relief crossed over his features, and the corners of his lips pulled up into a small smile. There was a hint of pride there, too, she realised.
He'd always been an impressionable one - looking for the approval of every person he worked with. Perhaps not the greatest quality to have in a place where indifference was an expectation, but even she couldn't help finding it endearing.
"Come on," she helped him rise to his feet, a hand on his upper back a she guided him through the small, wooded area, "It'll be a quick one. First asignments uaually are."
"In and out?" he asked.
"Yeah," her hand lightly ruffled his hair, "In and out."
It was supposed to be.
The mission was simple enough. Covertly infiltrate a warehouse, kill a man most often situated on the second (sometimes third) floor, and leave. No attention raised, no witnesses left behind. She's done it what felt like a thousand times before, and assumed she'd complete a thousand more.
"I'm scared," he told her that day.
His voice was one she could never forget, especially then. So meek and fearful as he stopped abruptly in his tracks. He was gripping the gun in a vice-like grip, trembling in his spot as heavy breaths clouded in front of him.
"8-2..."
"I don't want to do this," he took a step back, head shaking and tears threatening to well up on his waterline, "Please. I want to go back."
Her eyes briefly darted down to the comms at her shoulder, ensuring the device wasn't on and actively listening to their conversation. She approached him then, her hands firm on his arms.
"8-2," she repeated a little more firmly, but there was always a certain softness in her tone whenever she spoke with him, "We can't go back."
"Please."
"You know we can't," her hand felt his cheek then, all cold shaky beneath her palm, "But we're helping, remember? Don't you want to help - do something good?"
She hadn't expected him to shake his head, nor to squeeze out a small "No." that tugged on her heartstrings. Such a simple answer, but so defiant it could have him severely punished if said in the presence of the wrong person.
At this point, although it seemed that way, it wasn't really when the mission had gone wrong. His reluctance, even if it felt like a major obstacle, was easily persuaded with a few soft words.
"You know, I was around your age when I went on my first," she had told him, "Maybe a year younger, actually... and I was scared, too. But I had my mentor with me - just like you have me right now - and everything went as planned."
There was a brief pause. Silence settling between them.
"We're going to be fine," she promised him, "I've been helping train you for this since you were five. We are both going to be okay."
He believed her. He had no reason not to. No reason not to trust the person who was there, training and supporting him from the very moment he had been 'saved'. Frankly, he didn't think she had much of a choice at the ripe age of ten, but she was always there.
A familiar presence. A comforting hand when there should not have been one.
It wasn't until they climbed into the warehouse, hiding in the shadows and crawling through the vents that she realised something was amiss. It wasn't the building - no, she's never been here before so the entire area was foreign to her.
It was the workers.
They were acting strange. Granted, she wasn't the best judge given that she did not know how to blend in. Her stature too awkward, her expression too - what was it that she heard someone say once? Creepy? She didn't think she did, but then again she wasn't a civilian and she didn't know how they think.
Even so, it was almost like looking in the mirror; the workers moving awkwardly. One or two pretending to do their jobs - perhaps they were simply terrible at what they did, but that didn't seem to be the case. Not really.
She kept him close. A hand on his wrist as she guided him through the foreign corners until they were hidden away between loud machinery. Tucked away in the darkness of an unused corner.
The light in the warehouse was surprisingly dim, not hospital-bright as one might expect. Instead, a warm yellow fell over the building, not giving the workers much visibility to work with - not the greatest working conditions, especially considering the electricity that sparked, or the heavy machines that surrounded them.
She felt herself freeze in place when she caught a glimpse of a gun; not her own, not his, but on the waist of one of the workers. That wasn't typical, was it?
Civilians didn't normally have guns on them. Maybe in their own home, but not in the workplace. Not unless authorised - but they weren't guards, they weren't-
Soldiers.
Their lack of knowledge about their own jobs made more sense all of a sudden. The stiff postures they held, suspicious looks thrown each way whenever a sound - no matter how small - echoed through the building. Their fingers eager to find something to do, one of them even doing his best to not press a big red button that was clearly a source of temptation.
"8-2," she whispered, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks, "change of plan. I need you to retrace our steps, okay?"
"What? No."
"I'm not asking," her tone regained some of its firmness, "Go back. And return to the rendezvous point, okay?"
His eyes searched her own then, and it did not take him long to understand that something was wrong. That this was no longer just a simple mission.
"I'm not leaving you," he told her.
That sweet boy.
"8-2..." her voice came out in a mere whisper, her thumb brushing against the softness of his cheek, "I always come back, don't I?"
There was a look of reluctant acceptance in his eyes, and then he threw his arms around her. A fearful embrace - his fingers trembling against her uniform, his breathing shaky and coming out in quick puffs.
He had always been an emotional one. No matter how hard they tried to train and beat it out of him, his feelings still ran deep. And although he got better with time - holding an award winning poker face in front of the superiors - the poor thing sometimes struggled to hold it in, especially around her.
Perhaps she made him feel a little too safe. In normal circumstances, that would have been a good thing, but here... that was a weakness. He relied on her maybe a little too much.
She pressed a kiss against his forehead, and pulled him back to take a good look at his face. "I'll come back for you... I promise."
It wasn't until he left, and rounded the corner that she eventually moved from her position. Making as little noise as possible proved to be quite the challenge; the floors were old and loud, but the whirring of the machines saved her from being detected.
At least for a while it did.
It was uncertain how, but they knew. Somehow, they were aware of her presence. Maybe not where exactly, but judging by their behaviour, they knew she was somewhere in the building with them.
Most likely the dead bodies of security guards outside were what gave her away, because it definitely wasn't the cameras. Not when they were frozen, with no new feed coming through.
She figured, if she played her cards right, she could still finish the mission. Kill the man she was currently looking at through the scope of her rifle. One click and his brains would be splattered on the window behind him.
8-2. She just hoped he made it out safe. No gunshots had rang out in the building thus far, so she could only assume he was. No panic amongst the workers either, so either they took him down silently without alerting the others or he was still fine.
He had to be.
He was a clever one. He could sneak past without anyone noticing.
He was safe.
And she was... distracted.
Distracted enough to not hear the footsteps that were growing increasingly closer, although that could also be blamed on the loud puffing and whirring of the machines situated throughout the warehouse. One was right beneath her, on the ground floor, and was practically causing the building to shake.
If she pulled herself out of her own thoughts, she likely would have heard him approach, and it wouldn't be the barrel of his gun in her peripheral vision that alerted her of his presence.
"Put it down," deep and heavy, his voice rang out in her ears.
She obliged.
Setting the rifle down onto the ground, the metal hitting the floor, she slowly began to push herself up from her crouching position. Arms in the air and eyes locked on the unwelcome guest.
The echo of a gunshot rang out in the building.
Blood splattered the windows where the original target sat. Stupid boy, was all she could think. Even if he did buy her more time, it was still stupid of him to return.
Thick fog enveloped her when she dropped a smoke grenade between the soldier's feet. He was quick to fall into a coughing fit, which her thick mask easily prevented.
On the run and searching for the younger boy, it wasn't as easy dodging all the soldiers who came charging her way. Yet the thought of getting to him and dragging him to safety was what kept her going.
Her feet clanging against the metal as she sprinted across the warehouse.
Entering an empty room, the soldiers left behind as they suffocated on multiple rounds of smoke grenades, she allowed herself to slow down. Take a deep breath.
And reach for her comms... hoping the boy was okay.
A searing pain in her jaw had her falling to the floor before she could click the button. Her gloves scraped against the cement, a pained groan echoing before a kick landed on her side.
She grabbed the assailant's leg before he could land another blow, and with the adrenaline pumping in her veins, she managed to knock him to the floor. Springing back to her feet, she was ready for the attacks that came next.
Punching. Kicking. Choking.
She slammed the back of her gun into what she wanted to be his head, but was his shoulder instead. He gave out a cry of pain, but all she could still think about what 8-2.
Was he captured, or laying in a pool of his own blood with a bullet between his eyes?
Did he manage to get away? That would be the best case scenario, wouldn't it? But she also knew what he was like - the little rascal would not leave without her.
Not on his first ever mission, which just had to happen to go awry.
She wasn't sure how it happened - one moment she was up and fighting, trying to shoot at the soldier before he swatted the weapon right out of her hands, and the next, she was on the floor. His knees digging into her shoulders.
He could have just shot her. End her life right there and then, but he didn't. Even as she tried to fight back, he just did his best to hold her down, returning any punches she gave him yes, but he wasn't aiming for them to be lethal.
He slammed her back against the floor when she tried to sit up, punching and squirming beneath him as she tried to reach for her gun. It was too far, her fingertips not even grazing the metal.
"I've got a visual," she heard someone speak through the communicating device attached to his vest, "Heading south-west."
Her efforts to escape his grip grew more desperate, thrashing beneath him as she used the many self-defence methods they taught her in the compound. But he seemed to be ready for them all, pinning her back down against the floor with his weight.
Her narrowed eyes locked on his face, and even with the desperation to save the boy's life fogging her senses, she mildly recognised the man. A soldier from a few months prior. Granted, now that his face wasn't beaten in anymore, he did look starkly different.
All the thrashing about did seem to do her some favour, however. The tip of her finger finally reached the weapon, and as he pressed a button on the comm, and gave out an order that made her heart stop; kill him, is what he basically told the man on the radio.
She pressed the trigger, and the bullet must have struck him judging by the way his body recoiled from hers. Springing to her feet, her mind was only on one thing alone as she ran towards the exit.
The door so close, the outside breeze could be felt on her skin.
So close and yet no close enough. The echo of a gunshot had her body freezing in place.
Her heart shattering into pieces so small, she doubted they could ever be put back together. She had no fight left in her - nothing to hold on to.
She went to the floor willingly, body pliable as he painfully pressed her face into the concrete. There was no attempt to get out of his hold this time, and death would have been a pleasant mercy compared to what was coming.
The soldier's blood dripped onto the floor next to her, the smell of iron thick and heavy in the air. The side of his neck was soaked red, the hot liquid seeping between his fingers as he applied pressure on his own wound.
He was weakened, and she figured if she really wanted to, she could have escaped. But right now, with the last person she cared for gone, she had nothing worth escaping for.
PRESENT
Breathing didn't come as easily to her when she awoke; there was an ache in her chest, and her exhales came out in ear-piercing whistles. The swelling on her nose only added to the struggle, the action which always came naturally now proved a difficult task requiring concentration.
A burning in her body didn't stop her from trying to push herself up, but a gentle hand on her shoulder did.
"Don't," Southwick warned softly, "just stay down, yeah?"
Her lips opened as if to speak, but her friend beat her to it.
"You got pretty beat up," he cut her off and sucked in a breath, "honestly, I wouldn't look in any mirrors for the next few days."
Maybe if the weight of the world wasn't currently weighing on her shoulders, she would have cared. But it was only 8-2, seemingly alive and well, that took up most of her thoughts.
Thomas said something, but the words didn't quite register. Her eyes found him, but he wasn't focused on her. Rather on another man who stood by the bedside. Not the captain, as unfortunate as that was, and the pain of moving her neck caused her didn't feel quite worth it when it was a man she did not recognise.
He stood stoically at her bedside, raising an eyebrow at her when he noticed her staring. It was only when Southwick placed a hand on the top of her head that she pulled her bloodshot eyes away from him.
"-soap," his words were half-muffled, or perhaps she was just struggling to concentrate on what he was saying. He repeated, a bit more clearly, "That's Soap. He broke your ribs. Not on purpose! It was the CPR."
Broken ribs. Swelled up and beaten up face. What else?
"You've got a brain bleed," he added, trying to keep his tone as soft and gentle as possible, "Must've smashed it against something, so they're gonna keep you here for a bit for observation, and then send you home. Do you remember what happened out there?"
Did she? All she remembers are those eyes of his. The anger. The betrayal. His voice, so steady and yet full of hurt. She fell down, she recalled. Well, she was thrown off into some sort of pipe, and then... water.
It filled her lungs, no matter how hard she tried to cough it out. The current was strong, too, throwing her body around as though she was a mere rag doll. She fought. Tried to swim, but then... she couldn't quite remember.
Was it the initial push that smashed her head, or was it the fight to stay afloat as the water swallowed her whole? She was unsure, and frankly, there was some confusion - gaps in her memory - that caused a stabbing pain in her temple the longer she tried to think about it.
It was sharp, like a knife digging right into her skull, and leaving behind a pulsing pressure. She clenched her eyes, and a pained whimper left her cracked lips.
"It's okay," Thomas whispered, "Just rest, alright? You did well. I heard they found something Morris thinks will be useful."
The Cabin. The underground tunnel.
Dirt. Blood. Water.
Death.
The light above her was blinding, the concussion causing her a certain type of sensitivity she's never felt before. Like a computer screen in the middle of a night.
A screen. There was a screen there... with so much information she could spend weeks reading and still not be finished.
A room where 328 died over a decade prior... like taking a step in the past. The door. The children. The woman.
She gasped, and her hand painfully grasped his own.
"Hey!" he looked panicked when she grabbed onto him like this.
Her voice came out breathless when she tried to speak, and a painful scratch appeared in her sore throat. There seemed to be some swelling there, her neck feeling like it was constricting on itself.
"Ei...nar," she managed to choke out.
"What?"
"The Doctor?" The man with the mohawk spoke up. She nodded, her eyes wide and frightened, "He's alright. Alive. So are the others."
Good. All of this wasn't pointless, at least. All the bad memories that had been haunting her... they felt a little bit more worth it now.
She turned back to Thomas, who squeezed her hand in an attempt to be comforting. "How..." her voice was strained and painful as she tried to speak, "did you... find me?"
Falling into that dark hole, that endless tunnel, she thought she would be lost forever. And maybe in that moment, with only 8-2s eyes fresh in her mind, she wanted to be.
A look of confusion crossed over his face, "You pressed the button, remember? The alarm?"
Right. The tracking device, essentially - activated by one click of a button. She remembered pressing it, and then tossing it over to Einar, but that was quite a while away from the drop. And where she ended up, well, she didn't even know how far away that was.
Maybe she did press it. She did have a pare one on her, but she didn't know when, or frankly... how.
Laying there motionless, she lost track of time three, or maybe four, days into her recovery. The pain killers and blank faces that passed her by. Her brain felt a fog.
The brain bleed not dangerous and slowly getting better, she remembered one of the nurses telling her. Although the news did not help the pain nor the sensitivity from the concussion.
Thomas visited everyday, talking her ear off every chance he got. She couldn't find it in her to speak. She was barely listening. Barely paying attention to her surroundings. They could pump her up with some poison and she wouldn't know, she didn't even know if she'd find it in herself to actually care.
It was another two weeks until she was left completely alone. Thomas gone off on a mission with a promise to return soon. If it wasn't for the pain, she'd doubt she was even alive, but the physical agony was an unwelcome reminder.
They haunted her when she slept. 8-2, that sweet, sweet boy. Once always seeking her praise, and now trying to kill her. 328... so young when she died.
She never even considered it... just how young she was back then. An entire life ahead of her, and most of it now wasted. There was no respite from it all, not from the pain and not from the memories. Being left to her own devices and practically unable to move, she was left with too much time to think.
Too much time to ponder how his life had passed. Murdering, most likely. But the hate in his eyes... she could only wonder what they made him believe. What they told him to make him detest her so badly.
Getting released from that nightmare of a hospital felt like a relief at first. But then she returned home after another week and a half - or rather taken back to where she was imprisoned for a wasted decade of her life.
The house stood unused for over a year, it seemed. Left just as it looked when Laswell released her from its confines and brought her back out into the world. It was eerie - too quiet and too lonely.
Desolate.
The sound of the front door opening didn't rouse her from her spot. The lack of keys jingling, or lock turning didn't concern her; her neglect to lock the door upon her return going unnoticed.
The couch dipped at her feet, and for a moment the only thing you could hear was her pained, heavy breathing as she lay on her side. The hurt only worsened like this, but she couldn't bring herself to move, or care.
How many days had it been since she returned? Two? Perhaps three?
Having stayed like this almost the entire time, she was unsure. Getting up was painful, and the only way she motivated herself to do so was when she had to use the bathroom, or to sip on some water.
The rest of her days a blank. The days dragging on and on with the couch her only solace.
The plastic sheets trembled inside an unopened pack of painkillers as the box was shaken about. Untouched, it must have sat the from the moment she began to rot on the couch. The pain now a friend - her only source of companionship in the quiet of her unlocked cage.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, the touch light and careful. Not a single word left his lips; he just sat there, watching.
He didn't ask. He didn't judge her dishevelled state, nor the unpleasant smell that most likely lingered in the air. The windows unopened and trapping in the smell of healing wounds, an infection that had mostly healed, but reversed due to her own neglect. The lack of personal hygiene, the shower dry and unused since she returned.
"C'mon," the Captain whispered, his normally gruff voice now soft as he urged her to sit up.
She protested, her body limp and immobile on the cushions as she refused to do anything than wallow in her numb state. In the pain that she accepted and welcomed.
Maybe she deserved it. She left him there, hadn't she? She didn't even check if he really was dead back then in Munich... she just froze. Maybe it was all her fault, and the suffering was her punishment.
He was stubborn. Unrelenting. He didn't give up until he successfully pulled her up and got a good look at her face. Eyes sunken, lips down-turned into an eternal frown. Bruised and injured.
A bruise of his own decorated his jaw. Not as dark as her own despite the weeks it had to get better - the stubborn thing just refused to heal. But those eyes - so warm and gentle, were an inviting sight.
"C'mon," he whispered again, gathering her medication and getting up from the couch. He held a hand out for her to take, wiggling his fingers when she stared at him blankly.
"Where?" she managed to croak out.
He smiled. That comforting quirk of his lips that she grew to appreciate, "Home."
Tag List: @jxvipike @smoggyfogbottom @stressyanddepressyfoodservice @boniscute @ohgodthebogisback @konigbabe @tapioca-marzipan @randomchick546 @jaimiespn @no-one-anon @urfavsunkissedleo @kyuupidwrites @the-sky-writes @urminebutidontwantyou @copiasratscheese @duskwo0d @bowserowser @ilovemoneyandcheese @boxofgasoline @freyjasfenrir @jimmorrison13 @carlyi @ramadiiiisme @honeyr4ven @gills-lounge @makastaco @chloeforde @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @lora21 @kafeyjen @captainprice4life @wolfyland07 @nellabear @shondlenoodle
Hi all!
I haven't updated anything in quite a while, so apologies for that - assignments have been kicking my ass. But I will try to get the new chapter of Cold Blooded out in the next two weeks, so keep an eye out for that 👀!
