Enemies to Lovers.
Summary: When you- a stubborn, sharp-tongued chef from San Francisco takes a job at a remote luxury lodge in Yosemite as a favour from your old boss, you immediately find yourself butting heads with the park’s brooding Wildlife Management Officer, Shane Maguire—a man who’s as uncompromising and wild as the land he protects. Protective of his solitude, Shane has zero patience for people from the city who wander off trail and break his every rule. Your first encounters are a battle of wits and wills, all biting sarcasm, heated arguments, and barbed nicknames—especially when he calls you “princess” just to watch you get more irritated.
But when the dangers of the wilderness close in, you two are forced together again and again. The line between rivalry and attraction blurs as every fight leaves you more breathless, every secret shared chips away at your defenses, and every accidental touch lingers too long. You falls first, despite all your efforts to resist him—but when Shane’s walls finally crack, he falls so hard there’s no coming back from it.
Pairings: Shane Maguire/Reader.
Warnings: Slow-Burn, Fluff, Violence, Swearing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Enemies to Lovers.
Chapters:
Chapter 1-Welcome to the Wilderness, Princess(Where GPS is useless and so are your city shoes)
Chapter 2-Bear Spray & Sass: A Survival Guide(Step One: Don’t piss off the ranger....Is he even actually a ranger though?)
Chapter 3- Why Are You Like This? (Seriously, Why?)(Shane Maguire, Human Obstacle Course)
Chapter 4- Off Trail, Off Script, Off My Nerves(The art of getting lost and making it everyone’s problem)
Chapter 5-Campfire Cooking (Not a Date, Shut Up)(S’mores and sexual tension—burning equally hot)
Chapter 6-Hands Off the not Ranger! (Unless He’s Bleeding)(How to apply first aid while arguing)
Chapter 7-You Call This a Tent?(Five stars for view, one star for grumpy company)
Chapter 8-Lost and (Very, Very) Found(Unexpected detours and accidental trust falls)
Chapter 9-If We Die Out Here, It’s Your Fault(Bickering: the universal language of foreplay)
Chapter 10-When Everything Falls to Pieces (Including My Dignity)(Adventures in rescue, regret, and real confessions)
Chapter 11-Wild About You
(The greatest adventure is falling in love)
Title: Hey Lover
Rating: Explicit
Fandom: Predator Badlands
Ship: Kwei (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader
Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood & injury, angst, explicit content
Author Note: Chapter one of my new multichapter fic for Kwei! And as always, the full work can be found on AO3! :)
Summary:
You're the sole survivor of an alien attack on a research station on a nearly dead planet. After a bloodbath and the inevitable fight for survival, you've definitely been through hell and back.
Injured and desperate to call for help, you barricade yourself in the habitat - until another survivor seeking refuge arrives, just as a storm is about to hit. Now, you're trapped with a young Yautja warrior whose first hunt didn't go as planned.
"Shit." The airlock is firmly closed. No matter how desperately you bang on it, it doesn't budge an inch. And no matter how many times you press the button on the external console, this damn door just won't open. "Open up, you piece of junk!"
Your suit beeps ominously.
[ Oxygen level: 8%. ]
This has to be a joke. First, you survive the bloodbath at the research station, then a hand-to-hand fight with that deadly alien. Now, this? Are you really going to suffocate because you can't get into the habitat? No, this has to be some sort of sick joke from the universe.
"Come on!!" you plead, trying to push your fingers into the door slot—in vain. Even if you were strong enough, the spacesuit gloves can't grip the smooth material of the door. Shit. Now what?
Your gaze wanders over the white paneling of the Weyland-Yutani station. The box-shaped habitat with rounded corners looks very futuristic and expensive, but it offers no way to force your way in. Every hatch retracts into the body and disappears completely, leaving you unable to pry it open with a lever.
[ Oxygen level: 7% ]
The atmosphere on Jakal 2 is breathable for humans, but only for a maximum of two minutes. After that, your blood will be poisoned by carbon dioxide, and you will suffocate miserably like a fish out of water. It's not a pleasant death, especially considering that you just killed an insane creature and practically cheated death. Fate seems to be a very nasty bitch.
You curse and slap the outer shell of the habitat with your flat hand. The outer wall of the living space, which once housed a research crew, is as thick as a heavy cargo ship's hull. Unbreakable. And that very crew now lies in pieces in the research station a few kilometers away. One of them is Yang, the commander of this team who has the emergency codes for all Weyland-Yutani facilities on this planet. Yang now has a hole in his chest the size of a basketball, too.
And unfortunately, there's only one way into the habitat: through the airlock.
Exhausted, you lean your back against the white material and slide to the floor. The suit emits a soft hiss. Combined with the constant warning signal and beeping, it sounds like despair. Is this really how it will end? Suffocated just a few meters away from the atmosphere that could save you? That's bullshit.
The wind howls and picks up speed.
Jakal 2 is an extremely hostile planet with little more than pointed slate mountains and deep furrows reaching down into its very core. Hardly any life exists here, only highly specialized beetles and lichen species that spread across the mountains and valleys like a mosaic of life and sterile death. All this is topped off by the weather: Storms are the order of the day. Judging by the black clouds stretching over the eastern mountains, a glass storm will soon sweep over the habitat. Great. The good news just keep coming in!
If the lack of oxygen in the suit doesn't kill you, you'll be definitely killed by a dark storm with fist-sized shards of slate that the untamable wind breaks off the mountains. It would be like being thrown into a shredder—not a single body part would remain intact. So, which kind of death would you prefer? Suffocation or being shredded to bits?
Wait. The roof. The flat roof of the habitat has ventilation access. It's a narrow shaft, but maybe you can squeeze through it. Maybe a tragic death can be avoided after all!
You quickly get to your feet, stumble briefly over the clunky boots of the suit, and rush to the side of the residential complex. With trembling hands, you grab the rungs of the metal ladder attached for maintenance purposes. Step by step, you climb up the side of the building even though the sensor in your suit beeps faster and faster, warning you that you'll soon die of oxygen deprivation. To make matters worse, that black alien creature has caught your leg, and the deep cuts on your thigh burn like fire as your overalls rub against the wounds with every movement.
Upon arriving on the roof of the habitat, you are greeted by the sight of the storm front climbing over the mountains on the horizon like a dark omen. This glass storm will hit the plain soon and last for days. Hopefully, the habitat's technology is still functioning properly - nobody wants to sit out a glass storm with no heater or running water. And for now, the fact that you will first have to search every nook and cranny for unwanted black aliens once you get inside is a minor issue. For now.
Access to the ventilation shaft is intended for maintenance purposes only. The air filters purify the air sucked in from the planet, making it breathable for humans. These filters need to be replaced occasionally, and that's what this narrow shaft is for. Though it doesn't usually provide direct access to the living area. It is, however, your last chance to survive.
TAGS:Joel Miller x Female Reader, Dark!Joel, Kidnapping, Religious Cults, No Use of Y/N, Reader is Brainwashed, Possessive!Joel, Dubious Consent, Innocent!Reader, Religious Guilt, Religious Deconstruction, (Unspecified) Age Gap Relationship, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Joel Miller Smut, Kidnapping, Captivity, Descriptions of Violence, Gore
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Tommy was invited to the next dinner, to your relief. He was easy-going; he asked questions, cracked jokes, made you feel welcome. There was something about him that made him agreeable among pretty much everyone. He made things flow at the table, his laid-back demeanor weaving everyone together, easing the tension that had made things… stiff the last time. You enjoyed yourself, laughing along with Tommy, enjoying his anecdotes and entertaining quips. You also liked the stories he’d tell about him and Joel when they were younger.
“One time, we were screwin’ around this creek that was by our house, jumpin’ ‘cross the rocks, n’ then I slipped on one and got a real good scrape on my elbow- Joel got all annoyed n’ told me to toughen up, but then he sat me down on the bank, cleaned it out n’ sat with me ‘til I stopped cryin’.” It was surprisingly easy to imagine a little Joel and Tommy sitting by the creek, Joel begrudgingly comforting his baby brother because deep down he loved him and wanted him safe and cared for. Big Joel, however, didn’t seem enthused. He grumbled as Tommy gave a playful jab to his arm.
“Awe, so Joel’s always been a softie deep down, huh?” Ellie smiled, amused by how irritated Joel was. “Yeah, but he’d never admit it,” Tommy said with a smirk and a sidelong glance at his brother. Joel only scowled, which made you chuckle a bit under your breath. It had been two weeks since the last dinner- since he’d apologized to you. You’d gone to bed that night replaying it over and over, the way his face looked, how soft his eyes were. He looked like he was being eaten alive- by what, you weren’t sure. It seemed to be guilt, but you weren’t willing to believe that he was capable of that.
Right now, though, he looked pissed. You weren’t sure why, and everyone else seemed to be assuming it was because Tommy was currently animatedly talking about another childhood story that consisted of Joel being deathly afraid of mayflies. You were completely unaware that Joel was not scowling at his brother revealing his embarrassing childhood stories to entertain everyone at the dinner table, but because Tommy was simply there.
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Joel had known his little brother from the moment he was born, and he knew exactly how easy-going he was, how much his presence seemed to charm people- it was a natural skill that Joel never had. He didn’t really mind, though- never had a reason to envy him. Until now. As he watched you smile and laugh at his jokes, Joel felt a very ugly, nearly uncontrollable rage. It coiled inside his gut, molten and searing him from the inside out. It was irrational, he knew that- Tommy was married, he wasn’t one to have a wandering eye, but the way you seemed so utterly enraptured by him in comparison to how you glared at Joel- it had his blood boiling. All he had ever done was try to help you, keep you safe, and you despised him for it.
He promptly rose from his seat, excusing himself with a gruff “Gotta use the restroom,” before stomping off upstairs. He needed time to breathe, to calm himself down before he said something real dumb. He paced up and down the hall, rubbing at his temples and taking deep breaths in an attempt to simmer down a little. He glanced up and saw the door to Ellie’s studio cracked open, which he’d been informed was now your bedroom. The temptation to peer inside was too overpowering to resist- he had to see your world, what you’ve made of the space being away from him.
Over the time you’d stayed with Ellie and Dina, the space had shifted from Ellie’s studio where you were staying to your own bedroom. Slowly but surely, Ellie’s things were tucked neatly into the corner, in the closet, or taken out entirely. No longer were there heaps of paintings and posters that told of Ellie’s interests- the walls were plain, save for a few doodles seemingly made by your hand, and some illustrations of sea animals that were definitely done by Ellie. His eyes moved to the mattress on the floor where you slept, noticed how the encyclopedia was right beside it, and how your figure of the prophet was forgotten in the corner of the room. There wasn’t much, but it told Joel a story of how you were beginning to gain a sense of independence, away from the Prophet or anyone else that had been holding you back, including himself. He could only hope that once you’d come into your own, that you’d choose him.
He wouldn’t know what he would do if you didn’t.
Joel came back downstairs after five minutes, quietly sliding into his seat as Tommy was telling you about how he and Maria fell in love. “She was so independent and strong, and Lord did we butt heads at the beginnin’- stubborn as a mule, I tell ya. But that’s what made me fall in love.” Joel held back the urge to roll his eyes as everyone said “awwe” in perfect sync. He looked at you, smiling dreamily as he talked about their relationship, about the love they shared. He knew that look, the longing and the little tinge of envy that came with it. He’d felt it, too- at Tommy’s wedding. He’d never admit it aloud, not even on his deathbed, but as he watched his baby brother’s face as Maria walked down the aisle, he hoped that one day maybe he’d also get lucky enough to do the same. And then you came into his life, so small and fragile and so, so beautiful- and all he could do was pray that the good Lord above would let him have you.
Once there was a lull in conversation, Joel cleared his throat. “When I was walkin’ down the hallway, I uh- I saw your bed. I can… I can build you a bedframe, if ya want.” You looked up from your plate, and you could swear his cheeks were flushed. It made you blush too, coughing when you swallowed your chicken the wrong way. “Um, okay- sure. Thank you.” You finally managed to mumble. Ellie and Dina’s eyes looked between the two of you, even Tommy was glancing with confusion. Thankfully, they seemed to just chalk it up to Joel trying to be nice and you still being intimidated by him.
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Once dinner was over, Tommy hugged everyone goodbye, including you. In his mind, you were already becoming a part of the big family that was the Jackson community. From the moment he’d brought you from that post office, he wanted to support you and see you grow. And just by glancing at his older brother, he knew that Joel wanted the same, probably even more than he did. He hadn’t seen Joel this interested in a woman in a long time.
Tommy remembered the exact moment when Joel had fallen in love with Sarah’s mother. They were at some party, surrounded by people he can’t even remember the faces of, and Joel saw her dancing across the room- and the rest was history. A tumultuous, very rough history. When Tommy saw Joel look at you that first time in the house, he knew. Joel looked exactly like he did when he was twenty, standing there and staring a hole through you, his eyes full of that tentative longing he remembered so vividly. Tommy wasn’t exactly sure what to make of it, given that you were so young, but the world had gone to shit and a lot of things that would’ve been considered morally ambiguous were even more so now- an age gap relationship between two consenting adults was the least of their worries.
Tommy just prayed that his big brother would be happy.
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As soon as Joel got back home, he started on that bedframe. It didn’t matter that it was eleven o’clock at night, he had to at least get it started. He had a pile of wood behind the house, which he took great care in inspecting for decent enough pieces for the frame- sturdy, thick but not too thick. Then he got to work sanding the wood down, smoothing it so you wouldn’t get any splinters. It was around two-thirty by the time he got that done and he had enough pieces to get started on putting the whole thing together. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, however, so he decided he’d continue in the morning.
As he climbed into bed, he thought about you. About the way you’d looked at Tommy, then the way you looked at him. You looked so hesitant, almost fearful around him. It equally unsettled and irritated him to no end. But then he thought about your look after he told you he’d build you a bedframe. You were perplexed, a bit flustered, but also grateful. Joel would cling to that more than anything else, more than his jealousy of his married brother, or his irritation that you still considered him unsafe after all he’d done for you. You were still grateful for him.
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You were working hard. Most of your days were spent at the Tipsy Bison, where Seth would boss you around, constantly looking over your shoulder. It seemed like every time you made a mistake he was right there, quick to point out all the things you were doing wrong and how to do them “the right way.” You should probably be used to it, given that was exactly what you went through at home, but somehow being out here made it worse. You swallowed your tongue and took direction, trying to keep on top of the seemingly increasing amount of people coming in everyday.
It was nice, though, to learn about people. As anxious as you were, you had always been observant, and admittedly very nosy. You got it from your mother, who was always in everyone’s business, including her children’s- mostly her children’s.
You found yourself listening to people as they spoke, talking about patrols or drama between friends and family, amorous relationships and sometimes even clandestine affairs- it was a wonder, really, how people found the time to get into so much trouble. But then again, Jackson seemed like the place that resembled life before the Corruption the most. You always dreamt of the world your mother told you of since you were small- it seemed so otherworldly, like a distant planet or an alternate universe, far away from what Earth was now. And it was- even your mother looked dreamy as she regaled stories of her childhood, her brows knitted together as if she were trying to figure out whether what she was telling you was her life or merely a dream.
It made you wonder what she was like before the Corruption, before the Prophet, before the Seraphites. It was nearly impossible to imagine her as a little girl, running around in wheat fields or going to something called “Sunday School.” Sometimes you envied her, envied all of the life she got to live before the Corruption. She always insisted it was hollow and meaningless, that life knowing the Prophet was so much better and fulfilling, but you had an inkling that it wasn’t entirely true. Maybe it was fulfilling now, but if you were in her position and had a chance to go back to the old world, you’d choose it in a heartbeat.
“Hey,” Seth said gruffly, interrupting your inner-thoughts, “you’ve got a customer waiting.” You sighed and straightened yourself, mentally preparing for more mind-numbing social interaction. It was a busy day today, and your two other co-workers were out sick or on patrol. It was just you, balancing plates and trying to remember the flurry of orders that were coming your way.
You put on a polite smile and went to the front counter, only to freeze. Joel was sitting there, staring at you.
“Um… welcome,” you said awkwardly, your smile dropping a bit. You caught yourself and forced it back- right now, Joel was just a customer. At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. “Howdy,” he said, equally as awkward, to your comfort. Seth walked out from behind and nodded in acknowledgement. “Hey Joel, want your usual?” He asked gruffly. The two men didn’t seem to be very friendly towards each other- Seth especially- but you figured it was just because they were two grumpy old men.
Joel nodded. “Yep.” Seth tossed his washrag over his shoulder and went to pour him a mug. Joel’s eyes moved back to you, his big hand drumming on the counter. “So uh, how ya holdin’ up?” He asked quietly after a beat of unbearably awkward silence.
“I’m fine,” you replied. You crossed your arms, hugging yourself in a sort of protective way. He nodded. “That’s good, that’s good. You gettin’ along with Ellie and Dina?” You nodded, your eyes focusing on Seth, hoping he’d come to your rescue. “Yeah- they’ve been really good to me.”
“Here,” Seth said as he slid over the mug of beer, a bit of it sloshing out onto the counter. Joel grunted a thank you and grabbed it, taking a big swig. You were relieved, but then Seth went to the back, leaving you completely alone with Joel now. You realized that the bar was practically empty now, of course it was. You knew it was probably just coincidence, but you couldn’t help but think maybe the rest of the town saw Joel’s true colors, too. Maybe they were afraid of him just as much as you were.
“Can I get you anything else?” You asked softly, hoping he’d say no and leave.
“When are ya gonna forgive me?” He asked suddenly. You met his eyes, saw something that looked like hurt in them. He was gripping his mug tight, way tighter than he needed to.
“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to forgive him- why was he making you feel bad for being upset that he kidnapped you? Anger simmered in your veins. “We only talked a few weeks ago, I told you I needed time.”
“A few weeks ago,” Joel reiterated, “I was hopin’ you’d have made up your mind by now.”
“Well, I haven’t. And honestly, I’m leaning more towards not forgiving you.” You said boldly, wanting him to know how angry you were. “You can’t just pester me into forgiveness. I said to give me time, you said you’d give me time, so give me time.”
“I’ve given you ‘nough time,” he said, that low growl seeping into his voice. He seemed to realize it, as he took another swig of his beer and cleared his throat. “I uh, I built that bedframe for ya. Er I started, anyway- gotta finish buildin’ it in the house. I can come over with the pieces n’ get started whenever you’d like.”
“If you think that’s going to make me make a decision faster, you’re wrong.” You mumbled. That seemed to piss him off, but he held his tongue. “I don’t know how much more I gotta prove it to ya,” he said quietly, “I care about ya. I ain’t gonna hurt ya, not ever. I just wanted to keep ya safe.”
“Well, that isn’t how you do it.” You muttered. He planted his free hand firmly onto the table, the impact rattling the mug. “Is it because of Tommy?” You furrowed your brows in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“The dinner a few nights ago- I saw you smilin’ and laughin’ at all his jokes. Seemed awfully chummy.”
“Joel, he’s married-” you said a little louder than you’d meant. “I know, I know,” he said with an irritated tone that appalled you, “don’t mean you can’t be interested.”
“I’m not interested in Tommy,” you said exasperatedly, wondering what in the world he was on about. “I’m just trying to find myself, like I told you.”
“You don’t need ta find yourself,” he grumbled, “ya just need to stay with me.” You felt a strange mixture of anger and something you couldn’t name, something like… happiness? Satisfaction? The thought of letting him take care of you- although you refused to acknowledge it- was almost too easy to lean into.
You craved it.
“You’re sick,” you mumbled feebly, a sloppy defense against your own conflicting feelings. “There has to be someone else to bother, why does it have to be me?”
“Bother?” He repeated quietly. “I saved you. If it weren’t f’me, you woulda been dead n’ rottin’ in that forest, girl.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t mean you’re entitled to me.” You snapped back. His eye twitched, his jaw set so hard you wondered if his teeth would crack. “You’re right,” he said, he admitted after a few beats of silence. He promptly got up from his seat, giving you a look you couldn’t read before walking out the door.
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Joel was angry. His patience- which he didn’t have much of in the first place- was running dangerously thin. He couldn’t believe how you still felt so hostile towards him, after all he’d done. He’d tried and tried and tried to get you to see he wasn’t the monster you thought he was, and nothing! Absolutely nothing was working, and it was starting to make him think maybe he should just become exactly what you wanted him to be.
If you wanted a monster, he’d be one.
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A/N: Okay maybe I take back what I said last chapter, things are definitely going to get a bit worse between them before it gets better.
Also a much shorter/jankier chapter than I'd liked, but I had started it waaayy back and didn't have time to work back on it and also had lots of writer's block and a bunch of other stuff, but it's finally out and I hope you enjoy !!
This one comes from a deep, personal place and I really hope you guys like it. This one goes out to everybody who's ever been trapped by "love;" I hope you have your soft!Billy moment one day.
If you'd like to view this work on ao3, please click here.
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader (roommates)
Word count: 3k
Summary: You're finally fed up with your controlling boyfriend, but you feel stuck. You find your savior in the last person you would've expected: Billy Hargrove, formerly Hawkins' most notorious bad boy. He's changed...a lot.
CW: abusive relationship, soft!Billy, smoking
Notes: This work is set around the year 1995; reader and Billy are about 27/28 years old.
Chapter One title inspired by: "Nutshell" by Alice in Chains
"No one to cry to/No place to call home"
"My gift of self is raped/My privacy is raked/And yet I find, and yet I find/Repeating in my head/If I can't be my own/I'd feel better dead"
It was raining outside, and you were huddled, drenched, in a small phone booth by the gas station. Your hoodie felt like it weighed a million pounds. You wiped the rain from your face, but your vision was still blurred by tears that just wouldn't stop flowing.
Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm a burden; maybe I'm selfish.
Maybe I'm unlovable.
Your boyfriend never let you forget how his kindness — his money — was the only thing keeping you afloat. You'd fallen for him because he was so romantic at first. He'd send you flowers just because you felt sad. He learned how to say "I love you" in multiple languages and never ran out of new pet names to call you to make you blush. He always made you feel special, which wasn't hard with a family like yours. You'd grown up walking on eggshells around your volatile father; you were your mother's emotional crutch and protector. No one ever taught you how to be independent because they wanted you to stay home and under their control. And he, your charming boyfriend, had taken you away from that hell with promises of a safe, cozy little life. Just the two of you.
He left you a shell of your former self. Your quirks were nuisances to be corrected. You were too noisy, too excitable, too "difficult" when you wanted to do things your own way. He took it upon himself to "guide" you. He drained your joy and his anger at the world left you tiptoeing around his feelings. It was a routine you already knew by heart…you'd just been naive enough to believe it was all behind you.
Your friends noticed the nervous way you held yourself, the way you'd try to anticipate upset and stop yourself from being too much.
"Why don't you leave him?" they'd say. "Come stay with me; you don't have to deal with that bullshit."
But his words echoed in your head. He cleaned when you were depressed. He made decisions when you were overwhelmed. According to him, he'd done so much for you that he felt more like your father than your lover and wasn't even attracted to you anymore.
If that was all true, what the hell would happen to your friendships when you became a burden to them? The simple truth was that you were paralyzed with fear at the thought of leaving. You never knew another life outside of your childhood and with him. You didn't even drive because when you tried to learn, he constantly yelled or, as always, acted as if you weighed him down. The notion of getting behind the wheel again made you panic.
But you'd finally had enough. It's how you found yourself shaking and crying in the rain, clutching a dirty public phone in one hand and a quarter in the other.
You were frozen because you didn't know who to call. You didn't want to ruin anyone's night with your drama and neediness. Your breath hitched, and you slammed the phone back into the cradle before sliding to the floor, your head in your hands.
Someone tapped on the glass door.
"Please go away," you begged. "Just…please? I'm having a really shitty night." But the tapping didn't stop. It was relentless. With a huff, you wiped your swollen, sore eyes and blinked up at the intruder.
Billy Hargrove.
You glared up at him defiantly. "The hell do you want?"
You expected him to make some douchey remark or smirk down at you like the smug asshole he was in high school. Every cell of your body braced for it — just another man making you feel small. What else was new? So it surprised the hell out of you when his face came into focus and he looked worried instead. His pretty lips twitched in a frown, his brow furrowed, and there was real concern behind his eyes.
"You okay in there?" His voice was softer than you imagined it could ever be, though it still held an edge of annoyance that told you he hadn't turned into some saint. You sniffled, speechless and taken aback for a moment. When he sighed impatiently, you reached over and slid the door open.
Should I tell him the truth?
You warred with yourself internally. On one hand, you really needed a friend. On the other, Billy had never been one. You weren't sure he knew how. What you did know for certain was that you were alone, afraid, and more depressed than ever before. What the hell?
"No. I'm pretty fucking bad, actually." A self-deprecating laugh escaped you, and you shook your head as more tears fell. Billy looked like he was two seconds away from turning heel and getting the hell out of dodge; your tears made him uncomfortable — you could see it in the tense way he held his broad shoulders. The chilly wind whipped into the booth, making you shiver. "Well?" you prompted. "You coming in or what?" He hesitated for a minute more before sidling into the cramped spot with you and kneeling.
"Gonna tell me what's wrong?" he asked in a low, careful voice. He was so close you could smell whatever gum he was chewing. Big Red, if you had to guess. Warmth radiated from him despite the chilly night air, and his cologne smelled so…
You shook yourself out of it. What the hell is wrong with me?
"I — yeah. Yeah, sure." You took a deep breath and tried to steel yourself against more tears. "My boyfriend, he—"
"That sonofabitch hit you?" Billy growled. His muscles went rigid, bulging against the sleeves of his grease-smudged Aaron's Auto T-shirt. Your eyes widened; he was making a hell of an assumption.
"No! No, God no. As if I wouldn't fly off the handle if he tried." You rolled your eyes. "He's just a real…he's a shithead, okay? He makes me feel fucking worthless no matter what I do, and I'm tired of it. He says I'm like a child. He's the one who moved me into his place as soon as I graduated, and now he complains because I don't live up to the version of me he idealized! I'm not neat enough or quiet enough or ambitious enough for him. And believe me, he never lets me forget it." Tears welled up again; you hastily brushed them away. "Being alone has to be better than whatever the hell this is. I know that, but I just…" You trailed off.
"Just what?" he said, irritated. "Case closed. He's a goddamn cradle-robbing control freak. What more is there to say? Pack up your shit and go, I don't know, move back in with your folks for a while."
"It's not that simple." There was a whiny quality to your voice that you hated. That your boyfriend hated most of all. (Childish) Billy tilted his head and looked at you — really looked. You felt vulnerable in a way you didn't expect, like he was cracking you open and examining everything you tried to suppress. Color rose on your cheeks, and you turned away.
"Hey, don't do that. Look at me." You almost scoffed at his command, but the way he said it was soft, almost pleading. Your heart skipped a beat, and your head turned back in his direction like it was pulled by gravity.
Billy had always been attractive. He was the hottest guy in Hawkins, and he knew it. That golden, curly hair. The muscles, the tan, the confidence that rolled off of him in waves that turned every woman's legs to jelly. And there had always been rumors that he was fantastic in bed. He noticed your gaze wandering and laughed under his breath. "Don't start that shit. I'm not your Prince Charming and I'm not here to ride off with you on a white horse or something stupid like that." His features softened. "But I've been around enough controlling assholes in my life to tell you it doesn't get better. It never fucking gets better. So if you're thinking of staying — my eyes are up here, look at them — if you're thinking about staying for whatever bullshit reason the fear is giving you…you'll never be free. You'll always be stuck in a cage. It's not worth all the pain that comes with it…is it?"
He was so commanding, and yet you didn't fear for a second that he'd belittle you or raise his voice like the others. The phone booth suddenly felt too hot, too cramped. All you could smell was cinnamon and the musk of that cologne that had made you lose your train of thought earlier.
Billy snapped your attention back to the present with another dramatic sigh. He was waiting for an answer.
"Oh. I…no. It's not worth it." You huffed out a bitter laugh. "But what the fuck am I supposed to do? I have nothing. No car, no money, no job now that I've been laid off. I'm useless." You froze again when his thick, calloused fingers held your chin in place, forcing you to keep eye contact.
"You're not useless. You've just been alone with that asshole for so long he's planted the idea in your head that you'd fail without him." There it was again, that tone that begged you to listen closely. It hit you all at once — he'd been through this before. He knew what it was like. These weren't empty words from a well-meaning but clueless friend. He was someone who'd made it out. Your chin trembled as fragile hope sparked in your chest.
Billy dropped his hand. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."
"N-no' I'm not scared," you stammered. "I've just never met anyone like you before…someone who's actually found the greener grass on the other side instead of—"
"Just more bullshit?" he guessed. You both smiled a little at that.
You nodded. "Yeah, exactly." Understanding passed between you, and you felt more at ease — that is, until another voice crept back in. Your face fell. "Listen. I don't know how to get to that place, though, and the last thing I wanna do is be a burden, so maybe I should just—"
"Should just what?" he asked, that edge of irritation creeping into his voice again. "Go home and wither away? You're not a goddamn burden. If you were, I'd have gone already. I don't waste my time on whiny bullshit." Now that sounded like the old Billy. It was sort of comforting; at least you knew he wasn't lying. You opened your mouth, maybe to protest again, but the look he gave you made it clear he wasn't in the mood to argue. "We're going to get your shit. Come on." He tugged you up by the hand and you let him lead you to the Camaro he still drove all these years later. It was warm and dry inside, and the seats were comfortable.
"I don't have anywhere to go after—"
"Yeah, you do." Billy's knuckles tightened on the wheel like he was bracing for you to chicken out. To his surprise, you sat there silently, your hands folded neatly in your lap. You couldn't speak if you tried. You were in shock at his implication…and you felt a secret thrill that clashed strangely with the dread of the inevitable confrontation.
Your boyfriend wasn't pleased when you showed up with Billy in tow. He couldn't block your way, not with Hawkins' most notorious bad boy standing right there. But he didn't need to get physical — he never did. He knew how to hurt you without lifting a finger.
He laughed in that incredulous, resentful way he always did when you triggered his temper. "Are you serious?" When you didn't answer, he followed you down the hall to the bedroom you shared. Billy wasn't far behind. "What, you gonna shack up with him now? Good fucking luck. You can't use him, he doesn't have any money!" It was another one of his favorite lines, calling you a gold digger when he knew you never got with him for financial gain. You'd loved him back when he was just a stocker at Bradley's Big Buy, before the firm hired him. You sighed; he was trying to bait you and you knew it.
"Could you just leave me alone, Danny?" You were throwing things haphazardly in boxes Billy had picked up from his work and jamming clothing into the one suitcase you owned. You couldn't afford to worry about a neat packing job; you needed to get through it fast, before you let fear win.
"Sure I'll leave you alone…just as soon as I make sure you're not stealing my shit to pawn off or something." What did he even have that was worth taking? You wanted to laugh. You wanted to spit in his face for thinking so low of you when all you'd done was try to be what he wanted. When you didn't rise to it, Danny scoffed and leaned in, forcing you to notice his derisive sneer. "Real mature. Giving me the silent treatment like the petulant CHILD you are!" Billy had been a silent presence beside you until he saw a tear roll down your cheek.
"You wanna back the fuck up, amigo?" He held out an arm to bar Danny from getting any closer. "I don't think she has anything to say to you." But Danny was like a dog with a bone.
"That's right, get another man to fight your battles for you! God knows you can't do it yourse—" Billy's hand closed around the collar of Danny's shirt, and his feet left the ground.
"That's enough."
Danny may have been a real bastard when he was angry, but he wasn't stupid. You were left to pack the rest of your things in relative peace. The last thing you did was leave the house key on his desk with a note: A golden cage is still a cage. I asked for neither.
Your hands fidgeted in your lap on the drive to Billy's house, wherever that was. He hadn't said a word since the two of you left your old place. You didn't want to be the first to break the silence. You already felt indebted and didn't want to risk annoying him. He was the first to speak, somewhere on Kerley 20 minutes later.
"You good?" It was a simple question but you had no simple answer, so you shrugged and turned the focus onto him.
"You're…different now. What happened?" Your body shrank back into the seat as soon as the words left your mouth; you braced for anger. Instead, he just threw an amused glance your way.
"You mean, why am I not a raging asshole anymore?" Your shoulders dropped as you relaxed and a relieved smile touched your lips. He was taking everything in such stride — it gave you whiplash. You nodded, and he lit a cigarette at the red light before answering. "Three reasons. First, I got away from my piece of shit old man. It's a lot easier to sleep at night without a broken rib or a concussion." He said it like it was a joke, but it made your heart ache. You'd had no idea. Sure, you'd noticed the bruises, the cuts, the way he favored one side sometimes — you just figured they were from fighting with the other macho douchebags. "Second, I almost died once, and it put a lot of shit into perspective." Your eyes slid over to the driver's seat warily. You weren't sure if he was fucking with you. The raw honesty on his face put that to bed. "Third, court-ordered anger management classes. My punk-ass little sister says they must be working since she can stand to be around me now." He smirked and took a drag of his cigarette before holding it out to you, a silent offer.
"Thanks, but I don't smoke."
"Good. Don't start." He just kept puffing away, though. Hypocrite.
You lapsed back into silence. Memories floated to the surface of your mind, things you hadn't thought about in years. A little redheaded girl scowling at Billy as he barked something at her outside of the Palace Arcade. The same girl, skating alone, looking like she'd rather die than be in Hawkins. Billy telling his date that Little Red wasn't his sister and not to call her that anymore. The fury with which he sped out of the senior lot that day.
"Must've been something scary," you murmured. "What you went through that made you change." His knuckles tightened on the wheel until they were bone white. Those perfect lips pressed into a thin line and he threw the half-smoked cigarette out of the window.
"You could say that." He was trying hard to keep his emotions in check. The old Billy would've lashed out when you got too close to the truth, and you didn't have to be close buddies with him to know that. You bit your lip and turned your face to the window, watching the trees blur by. God, he drove fast.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried."
"Nah, sweetheart, I'm the one who brought it up. Don't sweat it." Sweetheart? He didn't offer anything more. He wasn't ready, and you weren't about to push your luck.
Both of you were relieved when the trailer park came into view. You stopped outside one painted a pale blue with a small covered porch. "Ain't much, but it's mine," he said, swinging a leg out of the car. "Yours now, too, I guess." You watched as Billy picked up your heavy old suitcase like it was nothing and hauled it up the rickety steps. Your heart pounded in your chest at the effortless display of strength…and at his assumption that you'd be staying long-term. You still weren't entirely convinced that you weren't stuck in some bizarre dream.
warnings: TSITS-typical heavy angst, mentions of self harm/suicide, misunderstandings/miscommunication, arguing, drug use, injury, mentions of gore, let me know if i forgot any!
-
By the time Roman woke from his mandatory nap, he felt… not better, but at least a little less like death warmed over. At the very least, he was rested enough to generate new and promising ideas for potential solutions to their problem.
Not that he was calling Anxiety a problem, of course! Well. He supposed he was, but only in the way a tricky patient was a problem for a doctor. It wasn’t intended as a reflection of character, really!
Roman sighed, dragging a hand over his face and ignoring the way it made the cut on his forehead twinge. Even in his own head, he couldn’t seem to find the right words to address the Side he’d spent so long loathing.
What were you supposed to say to someone who’d tormented you regularly for ages, the two of you practically always at each other’s throats, only for it to be revealed that they’re also the very same creature that you adore? The same being that defended your life and dignity on more than one occasion?
It felt like an impossibility, the sort of contrived, ludicrous plot twist that Roman never would have come up with for a story of his own. How was he supposed to reconcile keen, kind, protective Puff with the Side who sneered and scowled and shot down Roman’s most exhaustive efforts without care?
‘You always come up with something better, don’t you?’ The memory of Anxiety’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, and he groaned.
He’d wasted nearly an hour arguing with Logan the previous day about precisely how long Deceit had been playing them all for fools, but even then, he hadn’t truly believed his own wild theories. Not when the truth had been laid out so undeniably.
With the gift of hindsight, he could see all the little instances that lined up to create the full picture: The constant disappearance and reappearance of Puff into places unknown, sneaking off into the mindscape and yet always returning before they got too worried. The way Anxiety had hardly even blinked in surprise at the sight of a doll-sized Roman, had treated it like such an unremarkable occurrence that he’d almost forgotten to feel self conscious. The sudden increase in the number of times Anxiety was willing to join them at breakfasts and meetings, as though the usually-reticent Side had found new value in spending time with them.
Or maybe, Roman thought with a pit in his stomach, he’d just had new hope that they might tolerate his presence.
He remembered the way Puff had trembled and hunched in on himself during their disastrous first meeting, shying away from Roman’s touch as though he thought Roman wouldn’t hesitate to slice his head cleanly from his shoulders. When he’d settled a hand on the tiny dragon’s head, he remembered feeling struck by Puff’s wide-eyed look of utter surprise, as though Roman’s offering of peace was incomprehensible.
And really, why wouldn’t he think that? Had it not been Roman who always faced Anxiety with hackles raised and sword drawn? Was he not the one who had flown into a rage and personally threatened to kill Anxiety, only a week or two before the Side had chosen to use Roman’s invention to quietly and unobtrusively disappear from existence?
From the beginning, Anxiety had assumed the worst of them, the same way he assumed the worst of the entire world. The most unbearable thing was that Roman had never bothered to prove him wrong.
No. No, the most unbearable thing would be losing the chance to fix this, all because Roman couldn’t come up with the cure to one measly little spell. If things continued on like this, Anxiety would discorporate in the most unstable state any of them had ever been in, with no guarantee that he would reform the same— or reform at all.
That couldn’t be allowed to happen.
Roman could waste time wallowing about his own personal failings later. For now, he forcibly dragged himself free of his mire of self-pity, shoving the sleeves of his formal jacket up to his elbows without any care for how foolish it might look.
There wasn’t a second to lose; he had a curse to break.
—
The first attempt was simple: for a fairytale enchantment, one needed a fairytale cure.
Roman was more than familiar with the old reliable stopgap measures for curses, having fallen prey to a fair few hexes himself over the years. Rare elixirs, magical combs, and sacred fruits were standard fare, working often enough that he almost always tried those first.
Kisses were his personal favorite, because he was always a sucker for romance, but those weren’t applicable here for a number of reasons, including the fact that Anxiety had openly disdained that solution in a recent video.
(Of course, there were also the more antiquated stories, which frequently involved cutting off a beast’s head or tail in order to return them to their original human form. Roman had taken one look at the very Puff-esque tail that kept swishing happily behind Anxiety and firmly decided not to mention that particular solution except as a last resort.)
The only problem was that coaxing Anxiety to eat and drink meant waking Anxiety from his content dozing, and Roman couldn’t help but feel a nauseating mix of worry and apprehension every time the other Side was conscious. Patton was doing his best, but none of them had full faith that the Side’s oddly docile state would last much longer.
(What was he truly afraid of, a nasty little voice in the back of his mind wondered. That Anxiety might grow fearful and the curse would worsen? Or that Anxiety would regain full lucidity and hate him for what he’d done, and he would be left helpless in the face of it, unable to answer for the pit of guilt stewing in his stomach?)
He stalled by procuring as many potential cures as possible, flitting back and forth from the Imagination and his own room to pile flasks, apples, enchanted tools, and other odds and ends upon the living room table. Logan had swept his stack of books up and fled within the first half hour, and it ultimately took Patton losing patience and throwing a pillow at him to finally get him to settle tentatively on the last free cushion of their couch.
Of course, he then promptly got distracted staring at Anxiety’s lax sleeping face and wondering at how similar it looked to Thomas, minus the dragon-y bits, obviously. Somehow, he’d never seriously contemplated Anxiety as a part of Thomas just like them, rather than an opponent to challenge him and inevitably be defeated. The nauseous feeling grew.
“It’s your turn to look after him,” Patton told him, apparently unwilling to let Roman remain paralyzed by his own inadequacies any longer. Without a single further instruction, he hefted Anxiety up by the shoulders and reversed the angle of his lean so he was settled against Roman, instead.
“Padre—!” he hissed, only to shut his mouth with a click as Anxiety shuffled a bit further into his side, face only crinkling for a moment before sinking back into peaceful sleep.
Patton did at least have the decency to scoot the table close enough for Roman to reach the items without jostling his unexpected burden too much, but he still felt far too underprepared by the time the other Side departed to scour his own room for anything that could help.
There was a still, fraught silence as Roman contemplated the paths in life that had led him here, and then— a quiet snore. He glanced down at the source and found Anxiety making a truly ridiculous face, mouth slightly open and cheek squished against his shoulder.
His phone was in his hand and his camera app opened within seconds, his reflexes honed from years of prank wars, and he paused, guilt swelling for a moment. What if…
No, he finally decided. If he knew anything about Anxiety, he knew that the last thing he would want was to be treated like some delicate, blown-glass sculpture, prone to breakage. Kindness and pity were two very different things, and Roman certainly wouldn’t be the one to look down on Anxiety.
The other Side had faith in him, and Roman would return the sentiment.
Anxiety was more than strong enough to survive this trial, and once he did, Roman would tease him about his ungraceful sleep habits just as he needled Logan for always sorting his paints alphabetically after borrowing them and poked fun at Patton for manifesting kittens despite his allergies.
(Just… perhaps more gently. Their past exchanges hadn’t exactly been playful, and he certainly didn’t want Anxiety to feel targeted and bite back. Particularly not with his new, much sharper fangs.)
He lifted his phone up to angle it at the both of them, grimacing slightly at his bedraggled state but taking the selfie anyhow. They looked exhausted, he reflected as he checked that the photo hadn’t come out blurry. Once Anxiety was cured, they were all overdue for a very long nap.
Setting his phone aside, Roman reached out and swiped the nearest tangle of jewelry from the table, muffling the clinking of metal as best he could. These would be simple enough to slip onto Anxiety’s person without waking him, though he doubted that even ten times the amount of trinkets would be able to put a dent in one of the Dragon Witch’s spells.
Anxiety didn’t stir as Roman carefully slotted one ring after another onto his limp fingers, half of them ostentatiously golden and oversized, the other half overly intricate and mystical. Bracelets with inscribed sigils and necklaces with heavy jeweled pendants, tiaras so varied in size that Roman fit four of them on Anxiety’s head, and even a few clip-on earrings, for good measure.
It was this last element that finally woke the other, not that Roman noticed immediately; he was preoccupied with attempting to attach the clips to Anxiety’s oversized deer-like ears, fumbling over and over when they wouldn’t stop twitching reflexively away from his touch like a cat’s.
“Why do I look like a jewelry store threw up on me?” a raspy voice asked with genuine bewilderment.
“Gah!” Roman nearly jumped out of his skin, and was abruptly grateful that he hadn’t been trying to put any actual piercings in. The clip on he’d been holding had flown somewhere across the room, never to be seen again. “You’re awake!”
Despite still being visibly befuddled, Anxiety found the clarity to snark at him. “You don’t say. Someone better tell Logan that you’re stealing his detective title.”
It had never felt so heartening to hear sarcastic banter. Roman grinned a little despite himself, easing back to give the other some space. “Come on, now, Paramoan, cut me some slack. I was focusing!”
The beginnings of a frown were edging into Anxiety’s expression as he took in his surroundings, as though he was realizing he didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. “On what? Making me into a display mannequin for a Claire’s?”
He shifted as though to lift his arms to gesture to all the bling, only for a sudden jolt to stop him short, a pained flinch rolling through his frame. More of the haze left his eyes, panic beginning to bloom in its place.
The dark marks that were creeping out from under Anxiety’s bandages began to twitch, and the Side was surely mere seconds away from turning and noticing the disastrous-looking curse.
“Oh, hey, thatremindsme—!” Roman half-shouted, hurriedly reaching out and swiping for the first thing within arm’s length. He promptly held it out. “Do you want to try some… marshmallow creme?”
Anxiety raised an eyebrow at the jar that Roman had practically shoved under his nose. “It’s glowing.”
“One of its many undeniable selling points?” Roman tried, wishing he’d grabbed one of the elaborate glass bottles or metallic-toned fruits instead, something more professionally fairytale. Who’d ever even heard of enchanted marshmallow creme?!
“Princey, if you’re trying to poison me, there are easier, less stupid-looking ways,” Anxiety said dryly.
“I wouldn’t poison you!” Roman replied, unable to prevent the offended slant in his voice. “I simply— I simply need a second opinion to help me test these items, and I know the others won’t give me the… constructive criticism that you will, that’s all.”
(Internally, he congratulated himself. Anxiety loved criticizing things, this was sure to distract him.)
Anxiety continued to look dubious, and Roman sighed before grabbing a spoon and taking a heaping bite of the marshmallow fluff himself. “Shee?” he said, and then nearly choked on how thick it was.
“So far, it’s mostly seeming like a very ignoble way to die,” Anxiety snorted, but still reached out to take the jar and a spoon of his own. “…I’ve never heard you call anything of mine constructive before.”
Roman inhaled sharply and then devolved into a coughing fit, fumbling around for one of the bottled liquids on the table. The one he finally grabbed and uncorked tasted strongly of orange juice, but was at least pulp-free. He took a few extra sips, trying to formulate a response that wouldn’t trod all over this tentative peace.
“That would be because you’re sort of terrible at it,” he said, and then immediately winced. “Wait, I don’t mean it like that!”
Anxiety’s face had already flattened out, but luckily, he had taken a bite of the marshmallow fluff and thus his mouth was temporarily glued shut.
“I mean, your criticism is always very… pointed,” Roman tried. “You tell me what’s wrong with things, and don’t offer any suggestions on what to do instead— because I don’t let you.”
Anxiety’s expression had been slowly darkening into a scowl, ears flattening, but at Roman’s last few words, surprise flitted across his face. The lashing of his tail eased.
“I suppose one could say I am a mite bit… sensitive, when it comes to my creative endeavors,” Roman managed to force out, graciously ignoring Anxiety’s snort. “I was biased against you from the start, and it only increased my unwillingness to hear you out on even the simplest matters. There’s no critique you want to hear less than one from someone you think of as your enemy. Even if that’s not the reality.”
Anxiety’s head jerked up slightly, staring at Roman more intently. His ears were perked up, sitting at attention. “What are you even talking about? I’m the antagonist, the— the villain. I am your enemy, remember?”
“You’re willingly helping me taste test foods from the Imagination,” Roman pointed out, passing over another bottle with elaborate gilded wiring wrapped around the neck of it. “Doesn’t seem particularly villainous to me.”
“I’m just hungry,” Anxiety defended, knee-jerk. Then, frowning deeper, “You think everything I do is villainous. What’s going on?”
“Is it that suspicious that I would hold a civil conversation with you?” Roman asked helplessly.
“Yes,” Anxiety said flatly. “Especially when I can’t figure out how I got here, or why my body feels so terrible. So. Spill it.”
Roman chewed on the inside of his cheek for a long moment, still able to see the curse marks from the corner of his eye, and then sighed. He reached out and lifted up a small vial that he’d left under the table, so as to not get mixed up with the rest of the bunch. He set it on the couch cushion between them, and the shimmering silver liquid inside swirled idly.
“This is a calming tonic,” he stated plainly. “I’ll explain, but I want you to promise that if you begin to panic, you’ll take it.”
“That doesn’t really make me feel not panicked,” Anxiety replied, glancing between Roman and the vial with narrowed eyes. “I didn’t think this could get more suspicious, but you’re really outdoing yourself.”
“I need you to promise,” Roman repeated, trying to convey his sincerity through eye contact alone. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have, but I need to be sure it’ll be safe.”
Something in Anxiety’s body language went tight and coiled. “Ha, I get it.” he practically snarled, lip curling. “You think whatever you’ve got to say to me is going to make me hurt someone. No wonder you were playing nice. You want me under control.”
His show of anger would have been more convincing if the dragon parts of him weren’t drawing in like a dog preparing to be hit. The mark pulsed visibly, and Roman choked down the terror in his throat, forcing himself to answer.
“Anxiety, you hurting someone else is the last thing I’m worried about,” he said, entirely honestly. “If you can’t trust that, trust that if I thought of you as an enemy or a danger, I wouldn’t resort to underhanded means like trickery. Historically, haven’t I challenged you to enough duels to prove that much?”
An idea struck Roman like a hammer, and he raised his hand like a knight swearing an oath. “On my honor, I shall not seek to hurt, imprison, or manipulate you. If you do need to drink the tonic, I won’t let anything happen to you while you’re under the effects.”
The promise had been enough of an olive branch for Puff, back during their first meeting, and though Anxiety still looked a little too hunted for his liking, he had at least paused to consider Roman’s words.
“Fine. If you aren’t lying, I promise,” he finally grit out. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”
“You got cursed rescuing us,” Roman explained, sacrificing his usual dramatic flair in favor of imparting the most important information first. “The curse feeds off fear, and so we’ve been trying to find ways to keep you from panicking before we break it, hence all the caution.”
Already, Anxiety was staring at him with wide eyes. “I’m going to freak out.”
“Do not freak out,” Roman replied immediately, and then cleared his throat unconvincingly. “I mean. There’s no need to worry, Edgar Allen Woe. We’re all working on it, so surely you’ll soon be as right as rain once more!”
“Why?” Anxiety asked, the question bursting free as though it had sat on the back of his tongue for a while now. “It’s none of your business, so why are you guys suddenly interested in me? You people have hobbies to indulge in and pets to pamper and family dinners to eat. I’m— I’m not your problem.”
The tirade had started vehement, but by the end, Anxiety’s voice had died down into something quiet and bitter. Roman felt another one of those miserable little pangs in his chest, and swallowed thickly.
“Anxiety, you saved our lives, and you… well.” He paused, trying not to stare too obviously at Anxiety’s new reptilian features. “We learned something important about you. Don’t you remember?”
“If I did, do you think I’d be asking—,” Anxiety started, only to stop dead as movement seemed to catch his eye. Slowly, he turned his head incrementally to face the purple tail lashing at his side.
Roman could see the moment the penny dropped; Anxiety’s ears went so flat against his head they almost vanished, his shoulders hunched and his hands came up defensively, and his breathing instantly grew erratic.
“You know?” he asked, the words coming out strangled, and then doubled over as the curse instantly began to pulse anew, much quicker than before. “Aggh—!”
“Anxiety!” Roman reached out, only to freeze, stricken, as Anxiety ducked away from his hand like he thought Roman was about to attack him. His hands hovered uselessly in the air, and he resisted the urge to cry for help, for someone more qualified to help. “Anxiety, the— the vial! The calming tonic, it’ll help stop the curse!”
Anxiety lifted his head enough to meet Roman’s eyes, scouring his expression, looking for something. His gaze dipped for a moment to the belt at Roman’s hip, and then he reached out and snagged the vial as another wave of pain wracked its way through his body.
“You swore,” Anxiety reminded him in a croak, and before Roman could respond, he flicked the lid free and tipped the concoction down his throat.
It took a few bracing seconds, but the nice thing about magic was that it worked a lot faster than pain medication. Roman didn’t realize just how much tension he’d been wound up with until Anxiety’s posture eased, and he let out a long sigh, practically going lax with the sudden relief.
“Sir Gawain’s trousers, that was stressful,” Roman complained, slumping against the couch. “The Dragon Witch’s curses are the worst.”
Anxiety’s hand had gone loose enough that the empty vial tipped out of it and tumbled right off the couch entirely, hitting the carpet with a small thunk. Roman felt a measure of nerves ratchet back up at the sight. “Anxiety? Are you alright?”
(Goodness, was this how Anxiety felt all the time? No wonder he perpetually looked two steps from death.)
Anxiety slowly uncurled from his previous pose, which could have been best described as “crumpled paper ball of agony.” His movements weren’t nearly as loose or unregulated as they had been while he’d been super out of it previously, but he wasn’t trembling or strung up like a musician’s bow, either. When he finally lifted his head, his expression wasn’t relaxed or fearful— just oddly… blank.
Roman remembered their whispered conversations about the anti-Anxiety bracelet and what it had done, what it could do. He’d destroyed the remnants of the invention, haunted by imaginings of what could have happened, but the lingering image of always-expressive Anxiety being reduced to an empty shell was still present enough to make his stomach lurch at the sight.
“Are… are you alright?” he asked, searching Anxiety’s face for any sign of what he was thinking.
The other Side’s face twitched briefly before smoothing out again. “The curse stopped.”
That wasn’t exactly an answer to his question, but before Roman could press, Anxiety had continued.
“What happened?”
It had only been a day or two since everything had happened. A question like that shouldn’t have felt so insurmountable to answer, and yet… “What do you remember?” he hedged, still half-expecting that the curse would kick back in any second.
Anxiety frowned, his eyes slowly shifting to the side in apparent recollection. “He— I— Puff was following a noise. It was… a trap? You were all there, in the Imagination, and things were dangerous enough that I woke up. I got hit by something, and it hurt— why am I not discorporated?”
“We managed to make it out of the Imagination thanks to Logic’s interference,” Roman explained, sort of wishing the Side in question was here to help now. “It’s been about a day since then, but I’m not surprised you don’t recall the last few times you woke up, you were fairly out of it.”
Anxiety just kept staring at him, as though he was still waiting for a proper answer to his question.
“We couldn’t— I mean, we weren’t going to just let you discorporate. Especially since we aren’t sure whether or not the curse could interfere with your reformation if you succumbed to it,” Roman tried, though honestly he found it hard to believe that Anxiety would prefer to discorporate and come back anew. It wasn’t exactly a speedy process, and going by his chronic eavesdropping habits, Anxiety hated being left out of the loop for any length of time.
“Oh.” Anxiety nodded slowly, processing. Then, he shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
Roman paused, thrown off by the apparent certainty. “Really? No side effects at all? Have you dealt with a curse like this before, then?”
None of them had thought to ask Anxiety himself, though it seemed obvious in retrospect. Roman felt a little bubble of excitement growing in his chest at the possibility of a solid lead on breaking this curse.
Anxiety frowned a little harder. “No. I mean… reforming. It won’t happen. There’s not enough of me left.”
“What?” The individual words were clear enough, but put together in that order, Roman couldn’t seem to make sense of them. “Anxiety, what are you—?”
“I’m weak. I can’t do anything dangerous to anyone now,” Anxiety elaborated with a mild sort of impatience. “And I can’t reform, so you don’t have to worry about me coming back as an even bigger monster. There’s no reason to wait.”
“I’m not— I’m not worried about you being dangerous,” Roman spluttered, half of his mind still stuck on the gut-wrenching knowledge that if he didn’t fix this, Anxiety would be gone, “or monstrous, or—!”
Anxiety reached out and seized Roman’s hand, guided it down to touch the sword hanging from his belt.
“Listen, I want you to do it now,” he spoke quietly, without a single waver in his voice. “Whatever you gave me, it’s working. Like this, I’m not scared at all. I won’t make it difficult. I’ll keep still, okay? I’ll make it easy.”
Realization struck like a physical blow, and Roman flinched back, pressing his hand down on the hilt of his sword like it might somehow unsheathe itself. “No! What are you— No!”
“You swore,” Anxiety grit out, a sudden bitter anger steeping in each word. “You said you wouldn’t make it hurt. I don’t want to feel afraid while it’s happening. I just want it to be over with. Please, I know I lied, I know it was wrong— I’m sorry. Don’t drag it out. Please.”
Even now, the tonic did its work. There weren't any shuddered breaths or shaking hands, and the curse mark remained silent and stagnant where it curled over Anxiety’s shoulders. The fear and panic had been muffled down into nothing, leaving Anxiety hollowed-out, like a cored apple.
“I swore I wouldn’t hurt you!” Roman half-shouted, his heart racing in his ears as though it was trying to make up for the blank, exhausted way Anxiety was pleading for a quick execution. “Killing you counts as hurting you! Why would you— Do you want to die?!”
Anxiety blinked steadily at him, as though want had never factored into the equation. “I’m going to.”
“You’re NOT.” Unable to bear it, Roman stood up, tearing his sword from his belt and pitching it across the room like a javelin, ignoring the resulting crash. He wheeled around to point at Anxiety. “You’re going to stay here with us and drink strange glowing concoctions and wear gaudy jewelry and kiss even the ugliest of frogs for as long as it takes for us to figure out how to break this curse, and then you’re going to keep staying here with us until we can make up for everything that’s happened, and nobody is giving anybody any sort of death! Have I made myself clear?”
Anxiety looked back at him with wide eyes, and Roman realized quite abruptly that his face had gone all blotchy and hot. He reached up and found that his cheeks were distinctly wet.
Oh. How embarrassing.
“You aren’t allowed to give up,” he tried, even as his voice cracked and spilled into something much wetter, like a dropped egg. “You’re not allowed to convince us to give up, either.”
And then, because he’d already lost any possible pretext of pride, he lunged forward to latch onto Anxiety and squeeze, as though he could hold all of the other Side’s pieces together through sheer force of will.
Slowly, Anxiety’s hands came up to clutch at the front of Roman’s outfit, fingers digging in hard enough to leave permanent wrinkles.
“I don’t understand,” he admitted into Roman’s shoulder, muffled and hopeless. “I don’t know why the three of you are doing this. You hate me. …You’re supposed to hate me.”
“As if.” Roman clung tighter, stubbornly pretending he wasn’t leaving a growing wet patch on Anxiety’s own shoulder. “Since when were you one to follow such traditional narratives, anyhow? What kind of story would this be, if a dragon rescued the dashing adventurers from peril and got slain for it?”
“A tragedy,” Anxiety offered. “Or a parody, maybe. One big, stupid joke.”
“It can’t be a joke,” Roman told him. “Nobody would laugh at something like that.”
Anxiety hummed dubiously. “It’s an aesop, then. No good deed goes unpunished. Monsters should stay monsters, because pretending otherwise just gets people hurt.”
“Or maybe,” Roman suggested pointedly, “it’s a fable about not judging a book by its cover. Maybe the intrepid heroes assumed the worst of someone with good intentions, someone who was just a little rough around the edges. Maybe the heroes weren’t actually as valorous and noble as they thought they were, and… and someone innocent got hurt because of it.”
There was only a halfhearted mumble in response, and Roman realized that Anxiety was drooping to the side, nearly asleep once more. He wouldn’t be able to try any more of the edible items unless he was awake, and yet…
With a sigh, Roman reached out and snagged a burnished comb from the table, leaning back so that the two of them were stretched out on the couch, side by side. He hummed softly as he began to run the comb through Anxiety’s hair, an old, half-forgotten melody from Thomas’s childhood.
There was no miraculous change, no sudden burst of light to show that a random enchanted comb had saved them, and Roman wasn’t foolish enough to believe that any of the trinkets he’d brought would be any different. This wasn’t a simple ailment or minor hex.
Anxiety’s curse fed on fear, the terror that was wound down into the very bones of his being, and only an equally dedicated answer would be able to pry its vicious teeth free.
It was a daunting thought, especially now that he knew how important their effort was. Anxiety had been fading for weeks, and Deceit stepping in to patch over the holes had only distanced him further from his role as a Side. If they failed, if Anxiety was torn apart by the blow he’d taken on their behalf— that was it. They would lose him forever.
And he was fine with it. He’d accepted it with the same tired resignation that he’d worn when he’d offered to put the bracelet back on, to go back to that empty half-existence. He earnestly believed they wanted him gone.
The mere thought made his gut twist with horror, and Roman forced a shaky inhale through his teeth before continuing to hum. If they could just convince Anxiety that they truly wanted to help him, that a chance was all they needed to do everything in their power to fix this—
Except they didn’t have a single clue as to what was going on in Anxiety’s head, not really. If this disaster had shown Roman one thing, it was that willingness to help meant nothing if they didn’t know what Anxiety really needed.
The thought caught on something like a flint on stone, sparking a sudden idea. Unfortunately, it was one that immediately made him want to groan. Still, he’d meant what he’d said about not giving up.
This whole mess— all of them were entangled in it, and he suspected it would take all of them together to undo the knots that held them there. As much as Roman disliked it, there was undoubtedly someone who knew more about Anxiety than the rest of them. He probably had a better chance of convincing the emo to hear them out, too.
After all, who better to prove their sincerity than the one Side who could detect lies?
all 18+ - fuck AI - FAQ/DNI ༝༚༝༚ TAGLIST 📣 AO3 page ❤️
series:
➤ fateful beginnings ♡ ☾ 𖦹
bruce wayne x reader — one journalism assignment stands in the way of you escaping the hellhole that is Gotham City—but after an interview attempt, you get thrown into a web of lies and corruption when you accidentally discover Bruce Wayne’s secret identity.
read on AO3 ❤️ fic playlist 🎧
I. the club within the club
II. research
III. the alley 𖦹
IV. unmasked
V. the interview
VI. dinner
VII. peaches
VIII. as the rain settles
IX. goodbye, Gotham
X. discernment
XI. lying through teeth
XII. exceptionally qualified, equally eager
XIII. already spoken for
XIV. losing grip
XV. mutually-assured destruction
XVI. sweetener
XVII. orientation
XVIII. indebted
XIX. (im)mortality 𖦹
XX. close call
XXI. belonging
XXII. gone missing
XXIII. desperation
XXIV. natural curiosity
XXV. Mr. Wayne
XXVI. grave responsibility 𖦹
XXVII. tender loving care 𖦹
XXVIII. eleventh hour 𖦹
XXIX. uncanny valley 𖦹
XXX. gut feeling 𖦹
XXXI. deflection
XXXII. superglue
XXXIII. night light 𖦹
XXXIV. the affliction of pity
XXXV. bittersuite domesticity ☾
XXXVI. whiplash
XXXVII. Luminol ☾
XXXVIII. for love 𖦹
XXXIX. why, why, why?
XL. priorities ☾
XLI. guilty as sin? ☾𖦹
XLII. 2am
XLIII. a terrible thing
XLIV. trailhead
XLV. cellophane
XLVI. rip current
XLVII. a great or little thing ☾
XLVIII. Bliss ☾𖦹
XLIX. silver spoon 𖦹
L. immovable objects
LI. ambrosia
LII. cherry cola ☾
LIII. drain you ☾
LIV. an unthinkable fate ☾𖦹
LV. chasing pavements 𖦹
LVI. embers
LVII. high winds ☾
LVIII. Camellia Ave ☾
LIX. iris ☾
LX. stitch ☾𖦹
LXI. missing piece
LXII. the only exception
LXIII. at last ☾
LXIV. bumble bee ☾
➤ code of ethics ♥︎ ☾ 𖦹
bruce wayne x reader — after a few years of academic hiatus, you decide to give grad school a try. your headstrong ethics professor is frustrated with your poor performance.
read on AO3 ❤️
i. rubric
ii. obsession
iii. possessive
iv. rumination
v. coffee ☾
vi. forward ☾ 𖦹
➤ brighter days ♡ 𖦹
bruce wayne x clark kent — a year after the historic flooding of Gotham City, Bruce and Clark meet at a group therapy session.
read on AO3 ❤️
i. first impressions
ii. cynicism
oneshots:
➤ punished ♥︎ ☾
bruce wayne x reader — after a disappointing night as Batman, Bruce wants you to make him suffer.
also on AO3 ❤️
➤ with you ♥︎ ✎
bruce wayne x reader — you tell Bruce you want a baby, and his reaction isn’t what you expected.
also on AO3 ❤️
➤ twin bed ♥︎ ☾
bruce wayne x reader — bruce wayne visits your family home, but you struggle to find time alone together.
also on AO3 ❤️
➤ under the armor ♥︎ ☾
bruce wayne x clark kent — after months of a reluctant crimefighting partnership, Bruce reaches the end of his rope with Clark's hovering.
also on AO3 ❤️
kinktober:
also on AO3!
➤ masturbation ♥︎ ☾
bruce wayne x reader
➤ coming untouched ♥︎ ☾
bruce wayne x reader
➤ threesome ♥︎ ☾
bruce wayne x selina kyle x fem!reader
➤ webcam ♥︎ ☾
bruce wayne x reader
drabbles:
➤ dream state ♥︎ ☾
bruce wayne x clark kent — Clark thinks he’s dreaming after a night with Bruce.
➤ little joys ♥︎ ✎
bruce wayne x reader — Bruce plays with a cat <3
➤ breathe ♥︎ ✎
bruce wayne x reader — Bruce comforts you through a panic attack. (1/3)
➤ rematch ♥︎ ✎
bruce wayne x reader — Bruce gets ridiculously into game night with you and Alfred. (2/3)
➤ close ♥︎ ☾ ✎
bruce wayne x reader — you give Bruce some individual attention. (3/3)
➤ speechless ♥︎ ☾ ✎
bruce wayne x reader — Bruce unknowingly slips into The Bat with you.
➤ love bites ♥︎ ✎
bruce wayne x reader — Bruce enjoys biting you (in a cute way).
➤ repentance ♥︎ ☾
bruce wayne x reader — after leaving you waiting, Bruce is apologetic.
September is already coming to an end, which means I’m ready with a new reading list. I would have liked to read much more this month, but work, my own writing and life have been in the way, those bastards. I was hoping I could finish the two longfics I'm reading, but I'm not even close to finishing them, so I might as well post this list now that it’s the weekend.
I will try and tag the authors whose tumblr usernames I know, as usual, please tag anyone I might have missed. If you are a writer and want your work off any of my lists, or anyone who does, please let me know.
These fics will be added to The Nice and Accurate Lists of Di-42, Witch (when I have a bit of time to do it), so consider following my side blog for themed rec lists.
Last but not least, my customary reminder to not judge a fiction by the number of kudos it has, that’s what the Metatron would do and you know it. Please shower the authors with kudos, comments and love!
Enough chatting!
Here’s what I loved about
September’s Spectacular Fictions
WIPs:
Regrets, Choices & Other Things (A Reverse Trope Story), by @spectrallydistracted. Rated E, chapters 3/6.
I am LOVING this story! Human AU where Crowley and Aziraphale have known each other since uni and are business partners. When Crowley gets hit by a car he has amnesia (no other serious consequences) and accidentally reveals something about himself that he had kept secret from Aziraphale for all these years. This story has had a grip on my soul since the first line. I wouldn’t say it’s particularly angsty (not yet, anyway, but I know how the remaining three chapters will play out), but it’s got that undertone of missed opportunities and what-might-have-beens that always send me into a state of melancholy that I should dislike but love instead.
If You’ve Got To Goat, Then Goat With Style, by @beerok23. Rated E, chapters 2/16.
The squeal of excitement that left my mouth when I got (when I goat?) the notification email for this fic! One of my all time favourite versions of our duo is back in this human AU set after the events narrated in The Trouble With HELL. I understand you don’t need to have read HELL to enjoy this one, but why on earth would you choose not to? True crime podcasters Crowley and Aziraphale are back with even more banter, even more humour, even more innuendo, even more puns, even more feelings, and a brand new mystery to solve! Christmas has come early!
Better The Demon You Know, by HenriettaRHippo @henriettarhippo-hrh. Rated E, chapters 13/17.
Only four chapters to go and I already know I will miss this story dearly. Canon divergent AU where Crowley’s counterpart on earth is Sandalphon. In this universe there is no arrangement between an angel and a demon, no fraternising, no crepes in Paris or dining at the Ritz. That doesn’t mean that Crowley meant to discorporate Sandalphon. It was an accident. But Crowley is of course going to take credit for it. As a reward, Beelzebub gives Crowley an angel that Hell captured over 150 years ago, the angel Aziraphale.
This story is, so good. The angst is given (almost) entirely by circumstances that are out of Crowley or Aziraphake’s control and I’m so excited to see how they’ll overcome them. Great plot, deep feelings and good characterisation: fantastic fiction!
Do You Believe In Love Afterlife? By Letha. Rated E, chapters 14/40.
Ghost story human AU. Aziraphale moves into his new shop with living quarters upstairs. It doesn’t take long to realise that the shop is haunted by the ghost of the previous owner. This story is gentle, inventive and intriguing! I don’t want to spoil too much but let me say that the author is doing a truly great job at finding creative ways for a living human and a ghost to communicate. Great characterisation, sweet banter and just beauty and cosyness. Every new chapter is great!
Complete stories:
Easy, by mozbee. Rated M, 18k.
Delightful, cosy and romantic strangers to lovers human AU. Aziraphale stops off to spend the night at an inn in Tadfield on his way to his father's funeral. The next day they're snowed in. Guess who’s staying at the inn as well?
Self affirmation, blossoming love, humour and great side characters, I loved this story!
Something Missing, by @fishey-me. Rated T, 18k.
Post season 2 story with an interesting and original take on the book of life. When the angel Muriel asks Crowley for help because they think an angel has been murdered in heaven, Crowley thinks they are mistaken. Or are they?
I don't read many post season 2 fics, but I'm so glad I read this one. There's no blame being thrown around, everyone did and does what they have to do, there’s hope, there are promises, there's love, and Muriel is adorable, stubborn and clever.
Anchored, by @curiouspupsicle. Rated T, 71k.
Great human AU set in the world of international sailing competitions. The story opens with Aziraphale and Crowley competing against each other in a famous Sailboat Race, but there's a history between them that we get to discover chapter by chapter. This story features a fantastically confident and competent Aziraphale and a great Nina. It's really fun to see how Aziraphale and Crowley relate to the same problems in different ways. Virtually angst free and with a lovely happy ending!
At The Airport Terminal, by bearwonder. Rated E, 20k.
Lovely and heartwarming strangers to lovers human AU. Aziraphale is a cabin crew member on a plane where Crowley is a passenger. Narrated from an adorably flustered Crowley’s POV, we get to witness his unfiltered thoughts in all their glory! For all of their insecurities, I love how well and clearly they actually communicate in this fiction!
The Serpent’s Companion, by @waitingtobebroken. Rated T, 11k.
Ineffable wives human AU set in the 1800s. Aziraphale is a matchmaker who’s tasked to find a husband for beautiful, smart, stubborn Crowley. Ha! I love how the characterisation in this story; the external circumstances in which our heroines find themselves in are so very relatable to the canon circumstances, and the characters react in the way they would: Aziraphale loves and protects, Crowley loves and challenges the status quo. If you ask very very nicely, the author might be willing to tell you the ending they had imagined for one of the charming side characters, but you didn’t hear this from me.
One-shots and short stories:
All Bentleys, Great And Small, by @joyandotherstories. Rated G, 1,2k.
This human AU will put a huge smile on your face! Fluffy, adorable, heartwarming: I just want to hug this fic! Aziraphale is the owner of a pet supplies shop; Crowley finds a puppy and is in need of help and advice. I highly recommend it!
Good Days, by @naturallyteal. Rated T, 3k.
A lovely and tender story about what happens to the demon Josh after the second coming. I have a soft spot for the demon Josh and I was so happy to imagine his future the way it's narrated in this fiction. I felt he was vindicated!
Human Bonding Rituals As Emulated By An Ethereal/Occult Dyad, by graywings @smua70. Rated T, 1,2k.
Hilarious crack fic! It is narrated in the form of a study by God, Almighty; Christ, Jesus; Spirit, Holy on whether Aziraphale and Crowley are displaying human-like courting behaviour during their meeting in 1793. I laughed from the first word to the last, including the notes!
Crowley Has A Volvo, by @savyl (Aerenii). Rated M, 2k.
This is the most hilarious crack fic you’ll ever read. I was howling with laughter to the point that my husband had to come from the other room to check that I was OK. Judging by some of the comments I wasn’t the only one. At some point I had to stop reading because I couldn’t see anything through the tears (of laughter). Trust me. Aziraphale and Crowley are aware that the humans can manipulate their lives and create adventures for them. It’s usually harmless, enjoyable, even. But this time the human writing their story has made an uncomfortable typo.
Daisy Bell, by @thinkinginscripts. Rated G, 2k.
This is such a tender and romantic in-universe fiction! The author captures Aziraphale and Crowley’s voices perfectly and their love for one another is so palpable. Set partly in 1925, partly in a post second coming future and inspired by a stunning piece of art, this story tells us of an angel, a demon and the beautiful moments they share and sore in their hearts. And, of curse, of bikes.
Guardian Angel: The Hot Line, by @itsscottiesstark. Rated T, 10k.
The vibes of this story are exactly what I’m after when reading fanfiction. That warm, cosy feeling that you’re cared for, that nothing bad can happen to you while you’re lost in the fic, that someone will wrap you up in a warm blanket and your hot chocolate will never get cold. Strangers to lovers human AU where Crowley wants to prank the operator of a sex line, but ends up calling a help line for queer people. No angst, all smiles and warm fuzzies. No fear, only happiness. I loved this so, so much!
Cherry Inferno, by badwolfgirlicouldkissyou. Rated T, 4k.
Delightful and funny strangers to lovers human AU. Crowley parks his ice cream van in front of Aziraphale’s bookshop. Flirt-bickering ensues. Great humour and creative banter. I loved Aziraphale’s inner thoughts!
Floating Through A Dark, Blue Sky, by AlwaysBeMyBaby @alwaysbemybae, AlwaysTuesdayToday @alwaystuesday, @shatteredwriters. Rated G, 6k.
A beautifully written and at times heartbreaking exchange of letters between Aziraphale and Crowley from 1827 to 1967, with beautiful artwork by AlwaysTuesdayToday. Some of the letters were sent, others remained unsent and the stark difference in tone between the sent and unsent letters is heartshattering. The writers do a magnificent job of taking all the deep feelings running through the unsent letters, whether they are love or anger, boldness or fear, and disguise them as a business-like conversation in the sent letters. Some truly poetic moments in this fiction, I highly recommend it.
Akrasia, by @depraveddame. Rated E, 666 words.
Super hot human AU. It doesn’t waste any time, goes straight to the point, but also allows for self deprecation and self doubt. Akrasia indeed. I loved it!
On The Tops Of Buses, by WaitingToBeBroken. Rated T, 3k.
Adorable outsider POV human AU. Andy is half asleep when she gets on her 8am bus on a Saturday. She just wants to run her errands and then go back to bed. She certainly doesn’t mean to eavesdrop on the conversation between the two people sitting a few rows behind her. If only they weren’t such a cute couple, it would be much easier to just focus on the trees outside. Great humour and characterisation as we have come to expect from this wonderful writer!
My own Never Gonna Fall For, rated T, 8k.
Friends to lovers human AU inspired by a David Bowie song that wouldn’t leave me alone until I had our Ineffables dance to it. A bit of short lived angst with a fluffy happy ending. After breaking up with his emotionally abusive ex, Aziraphale is never going to fall in love again. He’s very happy with being alone, with not having to compromise or mould himself into something he’s not for someone else’s sake. And if sometimes it feels like his best friend Crowley might want something more, he’s certainly imagining things.
Grace thinks back on all the nights he'd yelled at the dream manifestation of himself, told himself to march up that ladder at the first drop of blood – but to no avail. It was like he was an inaudible spectator, nothing he could say would change the outcome, nothing would be heard.
“Grace.”
He sighs. “Hm?”
“Human brain is strange and irrational. Make up stories. Scare on purpose. No meaning. Not always.”
“Not always,” Grace points out.
“This not exception.”
“You don't know that.”
or
Every time Grace closes his eyes, he has the same horrific recurring dream. Every morning, he wakes up with a nosebleed. And for some reason, ever since the Eridians discovered the man abandoned on a desolate moon, he's been able to sleep just fine.
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✦ more under cut ✦
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✦ Rating: T
✦ Category: M/M
✦ Relationship: The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung)/Ryland Grace,
The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung) & Ryland Grace (aka BloodyMary)
✦ Words so far: 4311, ~21 min read
✦ Parts so far: 1/? (IN PROGRESS!!)
✦ Published: June 8, 2026
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✦ Tags:
Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Injury Recovery, Getting to Know Each Other, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Past Trauma, Trauma Recovery, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, i gotta put them through the torment nexus first, Demisexual Ryland Grace, Ryland Grace Has PTSD, Ryland Grace Has ADHD, Touch-Starved Ryland Grace, Ryland Grace Is Not Graceful, Ryland Grace Needs a Hug, Amputee The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Mutated The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Touch-Starved The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), The Convict | Simon Has PTSD (Iron Lung), The Convict | Simon Has Trust Issues (Iron Lung), Ryland Grace and Rocky are Platonic Soulmates, Rocky is the Best (Project Hail Mary), Let Rocky Say Fuck (Project Hail Mary), Amnesia, Prophetic Dreams, blend of book and movie canon (for phm), iron lung canon will be put in the blender and set to pulse, no beta we die like the stars, Song: Orbiter (Noah Kahan), tags to be added with updates!! :D
