#fedra

[loveydovey348]

Lazy drawing, but I’m nothing if not a lazy bastard 😇

Anyway FEDRA dude, that’s who it’s supposed to be

[fangsofangels]

measure of mercy .

chp . 1 chp . 2

tags : joel miller x ex-fedra medic! reader , fem! reader , SFW , strangers to lovers , sa survivor ! reader , readers age is not specified

tw:!! mentions of sexual assault

word count : 1500+

a/n : im reposting this because i didn’t like the concept of the last one and it flopped

“Shh.” 

Joel held his pistol close to his chest, kneeling behind a short bush, Tommy behind him.

The plan was supposed to be simple.

Patrol the area Maria told them to for any infected. 

But when they saw that small camp, stacked with supplies, food that could feed families for weeks? with the amount of raiders that the two could’ve taken down in their sleep?

It was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.

The area around the small campsite looked to be an abandoned plaza; at the front, a crooked sign with the words “ Allencourt Heights Plaza “ hung. The sign was falling apart and rusting, as with many other things around, but it was still comprehensible. The buildings around the camp were still standing, vines and leaves wrapped around the roofs and walls of each building.

Joel & Tommy struck, taking down each man silently, cutting their throats. Bodies quickly filled the plaza ground, dark crimson freely flowing across the floor. 

“Nice job.” Tommy applauded.

“Yeah. Grab the supplies. Check the buildings around too.” 

….

[e/c] eyes peeked through the blinds as you spotted the two brothers.

You flinched as you saw the bodies of the bandits stacked on top of each other outside. 

Your mind quickly ran through all the possible scenarios. Each one ended with death. The pair gave the impression of being rugged survivors, guns strapped to their back, a pistol and blade ready to slaughter any threat that came too close. All you had was a dull hatchet blade, stained with a sticky coating of blood. 

The smell of rot and decay filled your nose. 

The decaying man sitting on the floor beside you was once a raider. Once someone that forced you to bring food for him, to patch him up after a few accidents happened during a raid.

But healing a bite?

That was beyond your expertise.

Besides, he was going to turn into a runner soon. You couldn’t heal him. He’d been sitting in this same blood and sweat stained spot and position for the entire night, his eyes cloudy, staring at you. Red splattered all over his torn, dirty clothes, greasy, tousled hair.

Veins were starting to form texture on his forearms and forehead.

Then you thought about it. Really thought about it. 

Why would you want to keep this man alive? He was part of the problem. Him and his buddies trapping you in this hellhole of a plaza for months on end. You hadn’t breathed fresh air since. 

You remembered that terrifying night. 

The one where he almost forced his hands on you, forced himself on you.

You grit your teeth, tightening your grasp on the bloody hatchet. Looking at him once more, you see his head has drooped down.

Your breath heaves, memories flooding back.

You raise the hatchet and let out a trembling breath.

You scream in rage as you hit him with the hatchet, over and over and over again. The blade moved with frighteningly cold precision, warm, glossy, red slowly crawled down his sitting body, mixing with the old oxidised blood smeared on the floor and wall.

…

Tommy and Joel turn on their heels, facing a small, abandoned bookstore where they heard the yell.

“What the fuck was that?” Tommy’s voice low and steady.

Joel draws his pistol, ready to aim and shoot.

The two brothers carefully approach the building’s glass door, dusty and covered in old newspapers and magazines, they swing the door open.

The doors recoil upon hitting the wall, making a loud noise.

Your labored breathing steadies in a moment of silence, you drop your rusty hatchet, it clatters on the wooden floorboards. You slowly put your hands up, staring off to the side. With two pistols aimed at you, you don’t dare make any sudden movements. You carefully pull a small leather wallet out of your back pocket. The two brothers are staring at you. The wallet flips open, revealing a FEDRA ID. It detailed your name, age, a small picture of you on the right hand side, and a red cross logo with big red letters in bold, “MEDIC”. The ID was dusty and old, but still visible.

“D-don’t shoot! Please..” You beg. This was not how you were going to die. Your legs trembled as you tilted your head down, pursing your lips.

Joel tenses, tightening his grip on his pistol, finger resting on the trigger.

Tommy loosens a bit, his arms dropping his pistol down to his hips, not fully letting go, but calming down a little.

Tommy murmurs something in Joel's ear, that you can’t quite hear.

…

“We need more medics, Jackson don’t have enough.” 

“You goin’ insane?” Joel’s thick Texan accent coating his words. His grasp on the pistol doesn't let up. Amber eyes piercing through you.

“Have some mercy.” Tommy replied.

A beat of silence passed as Joel thought.

It was true. Jackson needed more medics. St. John’s Medical Center didn’t have nearly enough doctors for the amount of civilians that were injured.

He slowly lowered his gun, his stare unrelenting. His thick eyebrows knit together as he detailed you with his eyes.

“Y-yeah! I can work for you… Please just- let me live.” You pleaded, heart pounding in your chest.

“Keep up.” Joel spat. Low, almost like a grunt. He shoved his pistol into the holster, rolling the sleeves of his green flannel.

“C’mon.” Tommy urged. You could hear the Texan accents clearly now.

“Tommy, Joel.” He gestured his finger pointing at himself, then toward the other man. You could tell Joel was slightly older, more gruff and rugged than Tommy. You’ve met many people with the same personality in the outbreak. Surviving makes everyone put their guard up.

…

Their horses sat just outside the plaza, a thick rope knot tied to a tree.

The sun dipped below the horizon, the sky casting a pretty orange hue over the trees.

It was the first time you’d felt calm, in a long time. Not worrying about serving anyone anymore, or on the edge between life and death.

“C’mon.” Joel gripped your wrist and lifted you up with ease onto his horse.

The horse was an amber brown color, with a black fluffy mane.

In an attempt to avoid the awkward horse ride, you mumble “Pretty horse.” 

A long beat of silence passes.

Okay, not much of a talker.

…

Soon you arrive. A big fence surrounds the perimeter, and an intimidating gate stands in front of you. The gateway slowly opens with a loud creaking sound. The horses leisurely step into the base.

Your mouth gapes. The “base” was more like a city. There was no smell of rotting meat or decaying sidewalks, the roads were clean. Cars were parked in the front of every building. The buildings were beautiful. You were surrounded with stores, homes, and even a bar with a large sign that read “Tipsy Bison.” lit up fairy lights hung from the roofs, not the overgrown vines you were used to. It might’ve been daily life for them, but this was almost like a fairytale for you. For a second you almost forgot about the mess that the outside world really was. 

“Wow..”

Tommy smiled at your reaction.

Joel and Tommy halted near the horse stables, leading the two horses to their posts, Joel grunting as he tied a thick rope knot.

A middle aged woman strode up to the two of them.

Tommy gestures his finger. “My wife, Maria.”

You wave.

Her short grey and platinum blonde hair was tousled in the cool wind.

The woman’s face was unreadable, a neutral expression plastered on. She strode up quickly to the brothers and raised her eyebrow looking at you.

“I need to talk to you two. In private.”

…

“How can you guys trust so easily?” The woman asks, annoyance lacing her words. She drags a hand down her mouth, a hand resting on her hip.

“She could be lying through her teeth. She could be W.L.F, FEDRA, who knows!” She says, accusatorily.

Joel nudged Tommy. 

Tommy cleared his throat.

“She- is ex-FEDRA..” Tommy murmurs, looking off into the distance rubbing the back of his neck.

“Excuse me?” Maria tilts her head. In the corner of her eye, she can see you sitting on a bench, toying and tugging on your sleeves.

Maria grits her teeth, clenching her fists before letting out an anxious sounding breath.

She runs a hand through her short hair before continuing.

“You let an ex-FEDRA agent come into our city? Are you serious?” She’s on the verge of shouting at this point. Throwing her hands up and rambling on and on about the safety of Jackson, and how the two of them needed to be more careful, how she never should’ve assigned the two as patrol partners.

To Joel it was going in one ear and out the other. His patience was running thin.

Joel cuts her short. “Okay Maria, what do you reckon we do about it then? Leave her outside? To get eaten by infected?” He exaggerates the last words.

“She’s a medic. We need more doctors and you know that.” Tommy stated

An uncomfortable silence passes.

…

“Fine. She can stay. But if anyone comes looking for her, she's out.”

[theshowneverends]

Fedra via Metart

[rustic-tart]

[alberichw]

[jordendefender]

The politics behind the WLF.

Been playing the game since October and have always wondered what exact politics the WLF might follow.

They’re a group of paramilitary fighters who emerged out of the Seattle QZ in the early 2020s. The WLF started off innocent enough, peacefully protesting against FEDRA about the lack of food and rights for its civilians inside the QZ. the WLF then began to promote anti FEDRA sentiment, producing propaganda posters and encouraging others to join their cause. FEDRA responded violently and began a hard crackdown on all protests, Torres, the leader of the Seattle QZ ordered that all WLF protesters be shot. This lead to the Thursday Market Massacre.

The Thursday Market Massacre occurred when protesters were peacefully demonstrating for food. After this attack WLF numbers soared, the people of Seattle seeing them as freedom fighters, even a few in FEDRA defected to join their cause.

The WLF fought a guerrilla war against FEDRA and ultimately won. Now with no regime in power they stepped up. The WLF started a brutal crackdown on those who disagreed with them. They enacted strict rules and regulations. Soon the WLF were no better than FEDRA, they killed anyone who stumbled into Seattle, as they deemed them “trespassers” they began a war with the Seraphites, even shooting a group of Seraphite children in a case mentioned by Manny and Mel.

Issac Dixon is a power hungry dictator who wants to destroy the Seraphites and rule Seattle under the banner of the WLF, he wastes countless lives in the invasion of the Seraphites island, ultimately dying during this crusade, and most likely the rest of the WLF either splintered out or were killed.

To me the WLF are a left leaning authoritarian paramilitary organization. They began fighting for the rights of the people and were well liked and respected by the community, but after the war with FEDRA they became ruthless and power hungry.

Idk tell me what you guys think, just my personal thoughts.

[coldcoffierattowl]

Jackson should have an adoption holiday where every wannabe parent bands together to raid the nearest FEDRA orphanage

[redroanmustang]

Down in it!

Ok so I’m working on a new fic! (Lowkey abandoning the old one) I’ll be working on the first chapter tonight and I’ll try and get it out as soon as possible!! also sorry my grammar is gonna be ass 😭

contains : WLF! Abby x ex FEDRA oc, blood,violence,gore ,kissing ,smut (I’ll update the warnings as a go)

Porshia had been a ferda agent all her life. it was all she ever knew…until everything went wrong. Porshia and her friend fled to Seattle where they joined the WLF. Though Porshia was new she found herself improving extremely fast and soon gets paired with Abby and her friends . Her and Abby are off to a rocky start at first but something changes and the tension builds.

(OML that was cringe as hell shoot me)