line my eyes and call me pretty

🌙she/sometimes writer/tea enthusiast

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Masterlist:

Requests are open open for Jimmy Crystal, John Shelby, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson

Jimmy Crystal🩸

Series:

The Man Beneath The Monster:

Current Status: In Progress

Years before Jimmy Crystal became Sir Lord, he was just a man. A man with a voice he tried to ignore. A man who loved, a man who knew that his delusions were fragility dressed up as belonging. A man who vowed to protect. A man who loved Y/N; years later, that’s the only thing that never changed

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

One Shots

TBA

John Shelby🖤

Series:

For The Rest Of Their Lives

Current Status: In Progress

Long before betting shops and razor caps; long before France stole pieces of boys and returned them home as men; there had been a girl with scraped hands, and a boy who wasn’t looking where he was going. John Shelby loved fiercely, and that would never stop.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

One Shots

TBA

Steve Harrington❤️

Series:

One Shots:

Scenes From an Italian Restaurant

Loosely based on the song Scenes from an Italian Restaurant by Billy Joel. A chance encounter between Steve and his ex-wife brings to the surface some pretty painful memories, but maybe that’s exactly what’s needed for them to find each other again?

Eddie Munson 🎸

Series:

Sunshine: In Progress

After meeting at seven years old, two lonely children growing up in forgotten corners of Hawkins become best friends; as years pass, it’s something more. Eddie learns that sometimes home isn’t a place, but a person who’s been there all along. Series is set to span from the ages of 7-20

Chapter One

Chapter Two - coming soon

Chapter Three - coming soon

Chapter Four - coming soon

Chapter Five - coming soon

Chapter Six - coming soon

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Sunshine Part Two: Eddie Munson

After meeting at seven years old, two lonely children growing up in forgotten corners of Hawkins become best friends; as years pass, it’s something more. Eddie learns that sometimes home isn’t a place, but a person who’s been there all along. Series is set to span from the ages of 7-20

series warnings; very emotionally mature seven year olds? swearing, smut in later chapters, depictions of abuse, death of a parent, alcoholism, attempted sexual assault in later chapters, drug use/selling. i think that’s it?

Chapter two of six

Chapter one

***************************************************

Hawkins, Indiana, Forest Hills Trailer Park, 1973

Morning arrived quietly, the storm having passed during the night leaving Forest Hills washed clean beneath the summer sky. Rainwater still clung to telephone wires, small droplets of water catching in the early morning sun before dripping aimlessly into the puddles below. The mud between the trailers had dried and hardened around the edges; small footprints etched into the ground.

Wayne was already outside; Saturday mornings meant no shift at the plant until Monday evening. The trailer steps needed fixing and he’d decided earlier that morning that it was only a matter of time before Eddie put a foot through one; he knelt beside the porch with a hammer and a length of timber he’d rescued from the shed.

Inside, Eddie still slept; or so Wayne had thought. He’d tried waking him twice earlier only to be met with protest and a mumble of something about having rights. A loud thud from Eddie’s room rattled the trailer wall followed by a distant “Ow.”

Wayne smiled despite himself, “Y’alive in there kid?” he called

A muffled voice drifted through the trailer thirty seconds later, “The floor wants to swallow me, Uncle Wayne!”

Wayne snorted, shaking his head with a smile as he replied, “Can it wait til after breakfast?”

Silence followed before Eddie’s voice drifted through the trailer again, “I’ll ask! Is breakfast ready now?”

Wayne smiled again, “Got about five minutes, kid.”

“I’m coming!” followed by another thud that sounded suspiciously like Eddie falling over.

Eddie burst through the screen door a minute later; hair flattened on one side from sleep, the other side sticking up wildly.

“You didn’t wake me.”

Wayne raised an eyebrow before speaking, “I tried, kid.”

“Did not.”

“Kid, I yelled twice.”

Eddie’s eyebrows scrunched together in thought before speaking, “Maybe you didn’t yell loud enough.”

Wayne turned to hammering the step into place with a smile, “Next time i’ll yell extra loud then, kid.”

Eddie considered it before speaking, “Is breakfast really gonna be ready in five minutes or was that a lie?”

Wayne chuckled, placing down the hammer on the step before standing to ruffle Eddie’s hair, “Only if you help make it.”

“So it was a lie?”

“Think of it as a twisted truth.”

Eddie mumbled something about life being unfair before walking back inside.

By the time Eddie stumbled into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, having told Wayne that there was ‘something important’ in his room that he needed to do and doing absolutely nothing to help, Wayne had prepared breakfast.

Eddie sighed as he sat down at the table and was presented with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, “Awwww man.”

“What?”

“I wanted cereal,” Eddie said solemnly, lips drawn into a pout

Wayne raised an eyebrow, an amused smile covering his face as he spoke, “You wanted sugar, kid.”

“No, cereal has important vitamins.”

Wayne laughed with a shake of his head, “So do eggs, Ed”

“But they’re boring ones.” He pouted again, one hand resting in a fist against his cheek, the other poking solemnly with a fork at the eggs

Wayne poured himself another cup of coffee with a smirk, “You’ll survive.”

Eddie sighed with the tremendous distress possessed only by the dramatic seven-year-old himself before shovelling the eggs into his mouth.

Outside, a bird landed on the porch railing, calling out in morning song; Eddie’s head whipped to face it, eyes drifting immediately towards the trailer opposite.

The station wagon remained exactly where it had been yesterday; the mattress had finally been dragged inside, though rubbish bags still lay split open in the back; clothes spilling into the mud where they’d fallen during the storm. The curtains were still shut; no movement behind them, no sound, only darkness. He looked away before Wayne could see him staring and went back to shovelling eggs into his mouth. It was approximately thirty seconds later when he glanced back again, then stoped, only to the same thing ten seconds later. Wayne watched, smiling into his coffee as he spoke,

“You’ll strain your neck, kid.”

Eddie frowned innocently, “Huh?”

“Lookin’ out the window every ten seconds at that trailer.”

“I’m not lookin’, I was looking at the birds.”

Wayne smiled again, “There ain’t been a bird there for two minutes.”

Eddie looked genuinely offended, brows scrunched together; no quick remark, because for once, Wayne was right.

The hours seemed to pass slower than Eddie believed they had any right to. Saturday mornings usually disappeared in a blur of comic books, bicycles, the occasional worm and scraped knees; today seemed determined to crawl. He attempted reading beneath the awning and found himself turning the same page three separate times without remembering what had happened; then he tried painting one of his miniature knights and ended up giving him two blue boots, purple hair that was meant to be brown and an accidental green face.

Eventually he settled back on the front porch; a comic book balanced across his knees, eyes fixed determinedly on the speech bubbles not reading a single word, his mind drifting every few seconds to the girl across the trailer park.

Wayne watched him from the porch steps, hammer in hand as he hummed.

“Y’know, kid.”

Eddie didn’t look up, only hummed in response

Wayne reached for a screw from the box beside him, “Even if you stare hard enough, that trailer still ain’t gonna walk over here.”

“I wasn’t staring.” Eddie replied defensively

“Kid, lying ain’t right.”

“I was just-“ Eddie searched desperately for an explanation, “thinking.”

Wayne nodded thoughtfully, “Bout what’s across the road?”

Eddie’s cheeks turned a light shade of crimson, eyes downturned as he spoke, “Maybe.”

Wayne closed the toolbox with a heavy clink, “Kid.”

“Hmm.”

“If she said she’d come back,” He shrugged, “then she probably will.”

Eddie wanted to believe him; but adults said probably an awful lot; probably tomorrow, probably next week, probably soon. His father had once promised he would probably be home before Christmas; that had been a long time ago and he still hadn’t come. Probably, Eddie had decided, was simply another word for don’t wait up.

He waited anyway.

It was nearly five in the afternoon when the front door of the trailer opposite opened; not quickly, cautiously, as though whoever stood behind it wasn’t entirely certain they should step outside. Wayne watched from the steps as Eddie looked up so fast his comic slid into the dirt beneath him.

She stood on the small metal porch with both hands clasped around something guarded against her chest; her hair had been brushed this morning, though not particularly well. A stubborn knot still remained behind one ear but she’d changed into a pair of faded blue dungarees over a striped yellow T-shirt, and unlike yesterday, her shoes were tied properly.

She spotted him watching; for a long moment neither of them moved. Then she lifted one small hand in a wave, the other clutching the little pewter dragon.

She remained where she was; a ghost of a smile on her features as she looked timidly toward Eddie; one hand still wrapped tightly around the dragon, the other hanging down by her side.

Eddie was already on his feet before he’d consciously decided to move; he hurried down the porch steps, barely avoiding tripping over Wayne who mumbled a quiet careful kid, and crossed the muddy path between the trailers, stopping just a few feet away. Yesterday had taught him that people who startled easily deserved a little room.

“Hey, sunshine.” he called

She stared at him for a second before answering, her voice quiet, “Hi, Eddie.”

She looked at him for another long moment before holding her hand out, “I brought him back.”

Eddie took a tentative step forward, hand reaching out towards her outstretched palm where the little red dragon rested before pulling it back, “You should keep him.”

Her face contorted in confusion, “But he’s yours.”

Eddie shrugged, “I’ve got loads. Plus, he probably likes you better anyways.”

Her fingers curled around the dragon then, a small smile twitching at her mouth as she pushed the hair back from her face, “I think I might call him flame.”

Eddie tilted his head, “but you said that you don’t like to name things.”

She shrugged, “I don’t think he’s going to get taken away.”

Silence settled softly between them; a gentle breeze stirred through the trees lining the edge of the trailer park. Somewhere nearby, a radio crackled to life, soft country music neither child recognised drifting slowly from the speakers.

Across the road, Wayne looked up from where he was sat on the porch steps, a cigarette hanging loosely from his finger tips; he watched the pair standing in the middle of yesterday’s muddy footprints, and at the way little girl looked down at the dragon in her hand. Then, almost absent-mindedly, she slipped it carefully into the pocket of her dungarees.

He smiled then, maybe dragons really did know where they belonged.

*****************************************************

part two of six! thank you for all the love on chapter one! let me know what you think❤️

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Thank you for all the love on my steve harrington one shot scenes from an italian restaurant, any likes, comments, reblogs and follows really do mean the world! if anyone has any requests; please send them my way, i’d love to write them❤️

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Sunshine: Eddie Munson

After meeting at seven years old, two lonely children growing up in forgotten corners of Hawkins become best friends; as years pass, it’s something more. Eddie learns that sometimes home isn’t a place, but a person who’s been there all along. Series is set to span from the ages of 7-20

Part one of six

series warnings; very emotionally mature seven year olds? swearing, smut in later chapters, depictions of abuse, death of a parent, alcoholism, attempted sexual assault in later chapters, drug use/selling. i think that’s it?

*****************************************************

Hawkins, Indiana, Forest Hills Trailer Park, 1973

Eddie Munson would always remember the first time he saw her. She was seven and standing barefoot in the rain in the middle of July; Hawkins was supposed to be baked beneath the sun, instead the sky had turned a pale grey sometime after lunch. By three, thunder was rattling the windows in the trailer park. By four, rain had began hammering against corrugated roofs with enough force that the mud between each trailer had become a small river.

Eddie had already been ordered inside twice; the second time, Wayne had leaned halfway through the screen door and called, “Edward,” in a tone that meant he had approximately thirty seconds to make a sensible decision before one was made for him.

Eddie had retreated under the metal awning over the trailer; he was sat crossed legged with a comic book balanced carefully against his knees, sheltering the pages with his arms whenever the wind blew rain towards him. In his opinion, it definitely constituted as obedience.

At seven years old, Eddie had already decided that most rules were poorly conceived, and that adults rarely understood what they were talking about; being sent indoors because of a little rain was an insult to his intelligence.

Heroes fought in storms; they definitely didn’t sit quietly on ugly floral patterned couches and watch the evening news.

He was halfway through deciding whether or not he could make the leap from the railings over to the picnic table without touching the mud when a station wagon coughed and spluttered its way into the trailer park. It was miserable looking, even by Forest Hills standards; rust had eaten its way through the wheel arches, the right headlight was cracked, and the exhaust pipe dragged against the road whenever it hit a bump. There was a mattress tied to the roof in yellow rope, black rubbish bags bulged against the rear window.

Eddie lowered his comic as he watched the car rolled to a stop outside the empty trailer opposite to Wayne’s.

The drivers door opened first and a man stepped out, swearing as his boot sank immediately into the mud. He was tall with broad shoulders; red in the face, though Eddie couldn’t understand if it was from the heat, the drink in his hand or his apparent disposition towards the world around him. The man slammed the door shut with enough force to shake the entire car.

Next, Eddie watched a woman climb out of the passenger side door slowly. She was thin and brittle in the same way a cigarette looked if it’s left burning too long in an ashtray. Her hair was thin and clung damply around her face, eyes hidden behind enormous brown sunglasses, despite there being no sun to speak of.

Neither of them looked towards the back. Though the door opened anyway; a girl around Eddie’s age stepped out, she wore faded light blue denim shorts, with a t-shirt; a smiling yellow sun printed across the middle. Her shoes were tied together by the laces and slung over shoulders, leaving her barefoot in the mud. She smiled as her feet touched the mud, toes curling in the dirt. Both arms were wrapped around an old cardboard box; IMPORTANT THINGS. DO NOT THROW AWAY :) was written across the front in blue crayon.

Rain began to soak the box immediately, the blue writing beginning to bleed from the rain. She stood beside the car waiting, toes continuing to curl in the mud. The man walked up and unlocked the trailer door before he disappeared inside, the woman followed him immediately without looking back, then a moment later, their voices became sharp and muffled behind the thin walls.

The girl stood still where they’d left her. Eddie watched her fingers tighter beneath the damp cardboard as the bottom of the box began to sag.

There were several things Eddie could have done; he could have gone inside, he could have resumed reading without offering to help, he could have minded his own business, which Wayne frequently informed him was an underdeveloped skill of his.

Instead, he tucked his comic beneath his shirt and ran into the rain, “Hey!” he shouted.

The girl startled, her whole body jerked backwards, one foot slipping in the mud the box tilted dangerously in her arms.

Eddie stopped a few feet away; he knew that kind of flinch, the same flinch he used to get if his father moved too quickly, or a hand rose unexpectedly. He also knew the hot embarrassment that followed, when nothing had happened and everyone had seen him prepare for it anyway.

“What’s in the box?” He pointed.

The girl looked down at the box as though she had forgotten she was holding it, gripping it tighter again as she spoke, “It’s none of your business.”

Eddie nodded, “Top secret information, then.”

Before the girl could reply, the bottom of the box tore open; a paperback struck the mud first, followed by a battered stuffed rabbit, two cassette tapes landed in a shallow puddle, followed by a glass jar full of buttons that shattered against stone.

The girl dropped to her knees in a panic, “No—no, no, no!”

Eddie moved without thinking, dropping to kneel in the mud beside her to snatch up the tapes before the mud could swallow them. He watched as she tried to gather the buttons up with both hands, paying no mind to the shards of broken glass between them.

“Don’t.” Eddie caught her wrist.

She froze, her eyes flew towards his hand. Eddie noticed and released her immediately.

“There’s glass,” he explained, quieter now. “You’ll cut yourself.”

She looked down, a small jagged piece of glass lay less than an inch from her fingers, “thank you.”

Eddie pulled his comic from beneath his shirt; the corners curling in one corner, which Eddie decided was a miracle. He laid it flat beneath the awning of the neighbouring trailer and began placing her belongings on top of it. He took the rabbit that had once been white and rinsed it with the water falling from the trailers gutter. The girl watched him in contemplation before she spoke,

“You’re making it worse.”

Eddie frowned, confining to rinse the mud out of the stuffed toy, “No i’m not, i’m rescuing him.”

“It’s a girl.” She said pointedly

He turned the rabbit around and examined it more seriously then, “My apologies, ma’am.”

The girls mouth twitched; the faint outline of a smile tugging at her lips. Eddie grinned, there he thought, got ya.

He stood and tucked the rabbit beneath one arm. “Come on.”

The girl stood too, head tilted in question, “where?”

“My house, silly.”

“But I don’t know you.”

“That’s probably smart. Wayne’s always telling me not to talk to strangers.”

The girl tilted her head again in question, “Who’s Wayne?”

“My uncle.”

“I’m not allowed to go into strangers’ houses.”

A man shouted from somewhere within the trailer, the words indistinguishable, but the anger wasn’t; it travelled clearly through the rain as his voice continued to rise.

The girls shoulders rose as she looked cautiously towards the door. Eddie shifted the rabbit beneath his arm and nodded towards his home; warm yellow light spilled through the front window as Wayne’s shadow passed behind the curtains.

“Then don’t call me a stranger.” He said

“You’re silly. That’s not how it works.”

“Yeah it is.” Eddie held out one of the rescued cassettes. “I’m Eddie.”

The rain soaked the pile of curls on his head; rain ran from the end of his nose, she looked up to him from the tape, “You’re still a stranger.”

Eddie shook his head with a grin, “No, now i’m Eddie.”

Something changed in her face and for one dreadful moment, Eddie thought she might cry. Instead, she took the cassette from him, her fingers cold when they brushed his.

“Okay,” she whispered

Another shout sounded from the trailer and she went pale. Eddie looked at the yellow sun on her shirt, half-hidden beneath wet hair and streaked with mud,

“Come on then, sunshine.”

She frowned at him, “that’s not my name.”

“It is now.” Eddie grinned.

Wayne Munson was standing at the stove when Eddie entered the trailer with a strange girl, a dripping stuffed rabbit and enough mud on his clothes to bury a small car.

He looked towards Eddie, then to the girl, and then towards the muddy footprints trailing across his linoleum. He closed his eyes as he sighed, a hand rubbing against his temple in frustration, “Kid”

“Uncle Wayne, It’s an emergency.” Eddie implored

Wayne sighed again, “kid, I told you to stay out of the rain.”

“I did. I stayed under the awning-“

“Kid, you’re dripping mud on my floor-“

“This happened after!” Eddie interrupted

“After what, kid?”

“The emergency!”

Wayne lowered the spoon in his hand. “And what emergency was that, Eds?”

Eddie lifted the rabbit as evidence. Wayne stared at it and the rabbit stared back with dead eyes.

“Near drowning,” Eddie explained gravely.

Wayne let out a frustrated sigh, and the girl beside Eddie let out a sound that was soft and startled, more breath than laughter, but Eddie’s head whipped towards the sound with a grin.

she immediately tried to hide it by pressing her lips together: Wayne of course, noticed the movement. His eyes lingered softly on her for a moment before travelling down to her bare, mud-covered feet.

His face changed, not by much; it rarely did much of anything unless the Colts were playing badly, but the annoyance behind his eyes left as he spoke,

“You live across the way?” he asked.

She nodded tentatively.

“Your folks know you’re here?”

Her fingers tightened around the cassette; Eddie noticed and answered before she could, “They’re unpacking.”

Wayne looked through the window towards the trailer opposite, he noticed that the station wagon remained open despite the rain, one of the black rubbish bags had split across the back seat, and yet obody had moved to unload it.

“Right,” he said, no agreement, but with a sad, subtle understanding.

Wayne turned off the stove and reached into the cupboard above the sink without looking back, “Bathroom’s down there. Towels under the basin. Eddie, get her something dry.”

Eddie looked confused, “but I don’t have any girls clothes?”

Wayne sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face, “You’ve got clothes, don’t ye kid?”

Eddie clutched his chest theatrically, “You would have me surrender my worldly garments?”

“Kid, would you quit being dramatic for ten seconds?”

“That’s an unreasonable restriction of my rights-“

“Eddie, we’ve spoken about this.” Wayne sighed again tiredly

“Fine.” Eddie huffed as he started walking down the small hallway. She only watched, unsure if she should follow or not; her eyes moved carefully over the room, the old couch patched with mismatched cloth, the ashtray beside Wayne’s chair, the baseball cap hanging from a hook, the stack of overdue bills tucked beneath a ceramic mug, she looked at everything as though memorising the route back out.

Eddie turned then, head tilted with a grin, “You coming?”

She stilled, “What if I make a mess.”

“Liiiiiitle late for that.” He teased

Her face fell and Eddie immediately regretted it, “No, I didn’t mean-“

Wayne interrupted his rambling then as he smiled at the girl, “Floor’ll clean,” he said. “You’ll catch cold.” It was spoken so plainly that there was nothing for her to argue with.

She nodded as she followed Eddie into his room; posters that had been torn from magazines covered the walls, comic books were stacked beside the mattress, small metal figurines stood in rows across the windowsill, each painted in varying degrees of completion.

She stopped in the doorway to take it all in, “You like monsters?”

“Monsters are cool.”

“They kill people,” she argued

“Only the evil ones do.”

“Aren’t all monsters evil?”

Eddie looked over his shoulder then from the chest of drawers he was rummaging in; she was studying the miniature figures, her hand hovered above a red dragon with one crooked wing, fingers lightly touching it without grabbing it.

“No,” he said. “Some of them just look scary.”

She glanced at him, Eddie smiled before looking back into the drawer; he pulled out a faded Black Sabbath shirt Wayne had bought from a yard sale and a pair of chequered shorts and held both towards her.

She stared at the shirt, reading the letters carefully, “My mom says that music’s for devil worshippers.”

“Your mom sounds fun.” Eddie replied, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Her face fell still.

“Mine doesn’t like it either,” he lied quickly.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She looked around then, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, “Where is your mom?”

He looked down at the clothes in his hands, “Not here. Uncle Wayne says she’s somewhere better now.”

It was an answer with enough space inside it for both of them, she nodded, accepting the clothes with a quiet thank you.

Eddie backed into the hallway and pulled the door shut with a grin, “There’s no lock, but I’ll guard it.”

“Guard it from what?”

He leaned against the door. “Intruders, Monsters, Agents of darkness, the list is longggg.”

This time, her laugh was unmistakable.

Wayne made grilled cheese sandwiches after that, he cut hers diagonally and left Eddie’s whole, an act of favouritism so blatant that he raised an immediate objection.

“Uncle Wayne, how come hers has triangles?”

“Because she’s company, kid.”

“I live here.”

“That’s why yours don’t.”

“This is an outrage- .”

Wayne placed a bowl of tomato soup in front of him with a sigh, “Eat, kid.”

She sat at the table in the faded Black Sabbath t-shirt which was slowly beginning to swallow her, her damp hair had been combed away from her face and without the rain obscuring her, Eddie noticed a yellowing mark near her elbow and another turning green beneath her collarbone.

He looked at Wayne as soon as he saw them, only to see that Wayne had seen them too.

Wayne said nothing, shaking his head at Eddie whose mouth opened then closed immediately.

Wayne watched as she dipped one corner of her sandwich into the soup. He noticed how she ate slowly at first, taking small, careful bites. Then Wayne turned away to wash the pan, and she began eating faster. Eddie watched her finish half the sandwich in three bites before he slid his plate towards her, “You can have mine if you want. I’m not hungry.”

She looked towards Wayne’s back, then she picked up Eddie’s sandwich, a small smile tugging at her lips as she nodded at him in thanks. Wayne continued washing the same pan for longer than what was necessary.

After they’d finished eating, Eddie showed her his collection of miniatures; she sat cross-legged on the bedroom floor while he explained each one in intricate detail, she laughed as he gave every creature a voice. The dragon she noted, sounded suspiciously like Wayne. A tiny wizard spoke in a high, quavering accent and had an unfortunate habit of falling from cliffs.

She listened without question, and Eddie found himself more content than he had been with anyone else. Most adults told Eddie to lower his voice, slow down or get to the point, children looked at him as though he had begun speaking another language and laughed at him, she just watched the figures move across the carpet and asked what happened next.

And so, Eddie told her; he told her of kingdoms swallowed by forests and knights who were secretly cowards, he told her about a girl trapped in a tower who didn’t wait for anybody to rescue her because she had found a sword beneath the floorboards. He told her about monsters who guarded the roads and dragons who guarded children, and about the brave barbarians who fought against evil.

Outside, the storm began to weaken and the rain softened against the windows in a steady mist. At some point, she lay on her stomach with her chin propped on both hands, the stuffed rabbit rested beside her, clean but still damp.

“What’s her name?” Eddie asked.

She stroked the rabbit’s shortened ear absentmindedly before answering, “ She doesn’t have one.”

“Everything has a name, silly.” Eddie frowned

“She doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

Her fingers went still, “Because when you name things, you get attached and then they get taken away.”

Eddie frowned again, “That’s stupid.”

Her head snapped up, “My dad said it was true”

“Oh.” Eddie rolled the red dragon between his palms. “Well then he’s stupid.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I don’t have to know everybody to know when they’re stupid. That’d take, like, forever.”

“You shouldn’t say that.” She snapped

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because isn’t a reason.” he pressed

“It is in my house,” something in the way she said it drained the playfulness from the room.

Eddie looked back towards the window. The curtains were open just enough for them to see the trailer opposite. Her trailer. Light glowed behind one window, a man’s silhouette passed across it, large and unsteady. Pacing.

“I have to go.” she said suddenly

“Why? You just got here!”

She disappeared behind the bed, hiding before pulling off Eddie’s t-shirt and replacing it with her own. Eddie watched as she reemerged, folding his t-shirt carefully with shaking hands, then she tucked the unnamed rabbit beneath one arm again and began walking towards the bedroom door; Eddie followed her into the living room announcing to Wayne that she was leaving.

Wayne was sitting in his chair with the television turned low, reading a newspaper. He stole a quvk glance towards her before looking out at the darkening sky through the window; his eyes trailing over towards the trailer across the way, “You sure you don’t want to wait until the rain stops, kid?” he asked.

“I’m sure.” She said timidity

“You can stay for supper if you want?”

She shook her head politely with a smile, her hand had already closed around the door handle.

Wayne rose and Eddie expected him to insist that she stayed. Adults, he learned were always insisting, they’s ask questions after deciding which answers they were willing to accept.

Wayne only stepped past her and opened the screen door, “Well all right,” he said. “You’re welcome back whenever you like, kid.”

She started at him without speaking; eyes shining lightly, Wayne nodded towards the rabbit then, “Her too.”

She looked down at the rabbit, before speaking quietly, “Thank you for the food. And for the clothes,” she turned towards Eddie as she said it.

Eddie straightened, “You can borrow ’em again for a price.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What price?”

“You have to come back tomorrow,” he grinned

She didn’t answer, just looked out across the porch towards the rain that had thinned to a persistent mist outside, hovering above the trailer park in a pale veil. Water continued to drip steadily from the awning as She stepped onto the small metal porch without saying anything else,

“Hey,” Eddie said.

She turned slightly to look at him, the rabbit clutched tightly in her grip.

He held out the red dragon. It was his favourite, but he’d seen her looking at in his room. She stared at the figure in his palm, “What’s that for?” she asked

“Protection. It’s made of pewter,” Eddie said. “And it breathes fire.”

“No, it doesn’t.” she quipped

“It does when nobody’s looking.” Eddie insisted, placing it into her palm

“Bring it back tomorrow,” he told her.

“What if I don’t?”

“I’ll have to come get it.”

“What if I don’t want you to?” she challenged, though there was something deeper to it, like she was waiting for him to turn angry at her defiance.

Eddie opened and closed his mouth in thought. He knew things about people leaving and about promises made too quickly and broken even faster. So he didn’t promise her that he would always be there, he didnt tell her he would keep her safe or protect her like one of the brave knights he’d read about in story books. He was seven, small for his age, frightened of the dark sometimes and still occasionally crawled into Wayne’s bed after nightmares. He couldnt fight the large shadow moving behind the curtains across the way, but he could make one promise and mean it.

“Then I’ll wait here,” Eddie said. “Till you do.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded solemnly as she crossed the muddy path between the trailers, the red dragon held tightly in her grip.

Eddie remained on the porch, watched as he reached her front door and placed one hand on the handle. Before opening it, she looked back, Eddie lifted both arms above his head and wiggled his fingers like the claws of a monster.

She rolled her eyes and smiled; then the door opened and a hand appeared from inside, closing around the top of her arm and jerking her over the threshold. Eddie watched as her smile faded and the door slammed shut with enough force to shake the trailer.

Eddie lowered his hands and stood very still. Behind him, the screen door creaked open and Wayne stepped onto the porch resting a heavy hand against Eddie’s shoulder. He didnt beckon him to come inside, he didn’t tell Eddie there was nothing they could do. Instead, he watched the trailer opposite.

Silence stretched for a few minutes before Eddie spoke, “Uncle Wayne?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Can she come over again?”

Wayne’s thumb moved once against the back of Eddie’s head, “Anytime she needs, kid”

Eddie looked down at the mud between their homes and imagined dragons sleeping beneath it; not the cruel sort that burned villages or carried girls away, but the other kind; the kind that curled around castles at night, enormous and watchful, keeping everything wicked beyond the gates.

He decided he would tell her more about them tomorrow, because there would be a tomorrow. He knew there would be because she had his dragon, and Eddie Munson had never been good at letting go of anything he loved.

[warped-window]

Scenes From An Italian Restaurant

loosely based on the song scenes from an italian restaurant by billy joel. A chance encounter between steve and his ex-wife brings to the surface some pretty painful memories, but maybe that’s exactly what’s needed for them to find each other again?

*****************************************************

warnings: allusion to miscarriage, swearing i guess? angst with a happy ending?

Steve Harrington had always thought that rain had a funny way of making ordinary things feel important; perhaps it’s the way it softened the things that it touched, the way streetlights became blurred halos of amber in the dark, maybe it was the way shop windows seemed to glow warmer, or maybe it was the way everyone seemed to walk with the quiet kind of urgency of someone who belonged somewhere else.

Hawkins had always suited the rain, he thought.

It seemed to settle over the town quietly, clinging to the rooftops and telephone wires, collecting in the cracks of pavements that should have been replaced years ago. The town clock struck seven somewhere beyond the steady rush of rain; people hurried home, shopkeepers pulled signs inside before locking the doors. A waitress stacked metal chairs across the road of a cafe that had long since given up on hope of late customers. Headlights glowed against wet roads before disappearing into the evening.

It was the kind of night that encouraged people to stay home; cook something warm, to leave damp coats hanging by the front door until morning to dry, to sit and watch late night TV in the warmth of the living room.

Instead, Steve was being stood up. He’d been stood up before, admittedly not a lot, and never whilst wearing a tie.

Bellini’s prided itself on being the nicest restaurant in Hawkins; most people described it as sophisticated, Steve thought it was expensive. He shifted in his chair, glancing towards the front door again. Seven o’clock had become seven-fifteen; Seven-fifteen had become seven-thirty. Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair, the chair opposite him remained empty.

A waiter approached with the careful expression of a man who had already rehearsed this conversation twice,

“Would you care for another glass of wine, sir?”

Steve looked at the untouched menu opposite him, the stupid glow of the candle in the middle of the table casting dancing shadows across the cursive writing on the menu, “I think another glass would make me optimistic.”

The waiter smiled politely before speaking, “and optimism is?”

Steve sighed again, “Starting to feel expensive.”

“I understand, Sir. I’ll bring the cheque whenever you’re ready.”

Steve rubbed a hand across the back of his neck as he spoke, “She could still turn up.”

The waiter faed a small smile, the pen in his right hand hanging aimlessly over the small notepad in his left hand, “Of course, Sir.”

“Maybe she has car trouble?” Steve said

“Mm.”

“Like a flat tyre.”

“Entirely possible, Sir.”

Steve smiled tiredly, “You don’t have to pretend.”

The waiter opened his mouth to speak, then inclined his head sympathetically before disappearing towards the kitchen. Steve stole a glance towards the window; rain continued to drip lazily down the glass, headlights flashing through the single glass pane. Steve gazed across the street through the distortion of water and passing headlights, Enzo’s glowed softly beneath the old awning. It still looked exactly the same as it had done nine years ago; the same sign, same old windows fogged with warmth. His gaze lingered there longer than he intended; every important dinner he’d ever had seemed to have happened inside those walls. Birthdays, celebrations, arguments, apologies, anniversaries, the night she’d accepted the tiny silver ring he’d spent two months saving for.

Steve swallowed as he looked away; some memories remained easier to admire from a distance. The waiter returned with the cheque then, any thoughts or memories Steve had were interrupted as he paid the bill in a hurry without checking for the price.

Outside, the bell above the restaurant door chimed softly as he stepped into the rain; cold air settled immediately beneath the collar of his jacket.

His hand came up to his throat, loosening the tie Robin had insisted he wear.

“You own one nice tie,” she’d said pointedly. “Use it.”

He was already composing the conversation in his head as he ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before stepping off the pavement,

“How’d it go?”

“Great. She never came.”

Robin would laugh so hard she’d probably choke; the thought almost made him smile.

He turned his head towards the sky; the rain now calming into a soft mist. It was enough to make him stop, to linger just enough for him to glance towards Enzo’s again. For one, almost stupidly irrational moment he considered going inside; he hadn’t actually eaten anything, the bread at Bellini’s remained untouched. He stilled, sighing before taking a step towards the crossing just as a woman emerged from the restaurant beside Bellini’s.

She walked quickly, one hand already shrugging into her coat, the other slinging her bag over her shoulder, heels hurriedly stepping into the street, the restaurant door swinging shut behind her,

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.

Steve glanced over instinctively, she turned the corner at the same moment he did; neither saw the other until their shoulders brushed.

“Oh—”

“I’m sorr—”

Both of them stopped. She looked up first and Steve watched the irritation disappear from her face, replaced by uncertainty. Then almost instantly something else; recognition,

“Steve?”

Steve stared.

For a heartbeat, he couldn’t reconcile the woman standing in front of him with the girl he’d spent years trying not to remember; her hair was shorter now, there were faint lines at the corners of her eyes that hadn’t been there before, her style had matured, she no longer wore oversized denim jackets she’d once stolen from his wardrobe, and there was a confidence about the way she stood that hadn’t existed when they were younger.

His mouth opened and closed. Nothing came out. She offered him a small, uncertain smile, “Hi.”

Steve laughed softly, mostly because his brain had abandoned every thought in his mind, “Hi.”

He stood motionless, rain dripping steadily from the sky, striking the pavement between them in an uneven rhythm; she stood across from him, one hand rested on the strap of her bag. Small droplets of rain clung to loose strands of the hair around her face.

For a moment neither of them moved; neither knew how as the years settled between them; nine birthdays, nine christmases, nine summers that had arrived and disappeared without either of them knowing what the other was doing.

Steve searched her face almost involuntarily; he wasn’t looking for the woman standing in front of him, he was looking for the girl he’d once known. He found her in small, impossible, almost involuntary places; the tilt of her head, the small crease at the corner of her lips when she smiled, the way her hand stroked almost absentmindedly at the strap of her bag.

She’d changed, of course she had. Time had softened the sharpness of youth and in turn replaced it with something quieter. There was a different kind of confidence, the kind that came from building a life on your own. Still beautiful he thought.

Her own gaze wandered over him in silent disbelief; he looked different, his hair shorter than she’d ever known it to be, the boyish-clean shaven face she’d once kissed goodbye years ago had now given way to stubble; faint lines at the corners of his eyes were etched by years of laughter and worries she’d hadn’t witnessed.

Rain continued to whisper steadily around them, a car somewhere nearby hissed through standing water.

The faint and familiar scent of garlic and fresh bread drifted from Enzo’s across the street each time the front door opened, carrying laughter out onto the pavement before swallowing it again.

Neither of them noticed; neither seemed capable of looking anywhere but at each other.

Steve drew a slow breath, “You’ve lost weight.”

Steve felt every muscle in his body seize as the words left his mouth. Her expression didn’t change immediately, she continued to stare at him, rain misting softly around them again as though giving him every opportunity to explain himself,

“…Right,” she said eventually.

Steve shut his eyes, a hand rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke again, she laughed then, a small almost involuntarily sound leaving her as he stammered over his next words, “I mean. I, I know how that sounded.”

She raised an eyebrow at him in question, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “Do you?”

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck again before speaking, “It wasn’t, I didn’t mean.” He looked genuinely pained as he tried desperately to explain himself,

“You look good. I mean…” he hurried on, hearing himself dig the hole deeper with every word that left his mouth, “you’ve always looked good.”

The corner of her mouth twitched again as she stared at him. Steve swallowed once before speaking, “I’m making this worse, aren’t I?”

She sighed then, the corner of her mouth still twitching with the grace of a smile, “A little.”

He let out a defeated sigh, “I haven’t done this in a while.”

Her head tilted with the question as she spoke, “Done what?”

The words slipped out before he could soften them, “Seen someone important.”

The words settled gently yet heavily between them; she looked down towards the pavement before meeting his eyes again, “You look good too, Stevie.”

The old familiar nickname landed between them. Steve felt something painful in his chest at the greeting; nobody had called him that in years.

Steve found himself trying to fill the silence that now lingered between them, “I was on a date. Kinda. She uh, she didn’t show up-“

“I’m sorry,” She interjected. “If it helps, I’ve just spent an hour and a half on a first date with a guy trying to explain to me that women are too emotional for managerial positions.”

Steve looked stunned, mouth opening and closing in disbelief, “He said that on a first date?”

“Mhm.”

“Bold moves.”

She laughed softly then, shaking her head lightly. Steve smiled at her again, eyes softening as they took in her face, “Poor guys got no idea how badly he’s messed this up.”

She said nothing as she continued to look at him, eyes softening too in old familiar fashion.

Steve cleared his throat, coughing lightly into a closed fist as he looked over towards Enzo’s, her eyes trailing over to all too familiar restaurant. Something old settled between them then.

“You reckon they still do that garlic bread?” He finally asked.

She looked towards him with a warm smile before speaking, “Dunno. Maybe we could get out of the rain and find out?”

Steve breathed a sigh of almost silent relief as he spoke, “I’d like that.”

They walked in a comfortable silence across the street, Steve stopped before the door, pullling it open gently. The familiar bell above the door chimed as he opened it, letting her in first before closing the door. Familiar warmth met them both immediately; they were met with the smell of garlic and fresh bread, tomato and basil and the faint smell of olive oil. Candles burned from old Chianti bottles that were thick with decades of hardened wax, soft music filtered through the speakers. Someone laughed near the bar, a waiter walked past carrying steaming plates towards the back of the restaurant, weaving effortlessly between tables. For a moment, they were twenty again.

A waitress approached them both, smiling brightly as she held two menus, “Hi both, have you got a reservation?”

Steve stumbled awkwardly, “Uh, no. No, we just-“

The waitress smiled politely, “That’s not a problem. We’ve got room for two. If you’d like to follow me, my names Sandra and I’ll be your waitress this evening.”

Sandra led them towards the back of the restaurant, Steve stilled as she approached an all too familiar booth; deep red leather worn with age, tucked quietly beneath a framed black and white photograph of the Amalfi Coast. Their booth. The candle was already lit, the small window behind the booth shimmering with the persistent drizzle of rain.

Outside, the town carried on exactly as it had before, but Inside, nine years suddenly didn’t feel quite as long.

Sandra stopped at the booth, smiling again as she set the menus down for them both, turning with a small nod of her head as she left, “I’ll give you both a few minutes to decide what you want.”

Steve gestured towards the booth with an exaggerated expression, “After you.”

She smiled, “Still pretending you’re a gentleman.”

“I have a reputation to uphold.”

“You never had one.” She teased

“Ouch.” He said as he watched her shrug her coat off and slide into the booth. Steve followed, loosening his tie as he sat.

For a moment, neither of them said anything as they looked across from one another, then almost simultaneously, they both reached for the wine list. Their hands brushed, Steve laughed as her cheeks warmed,

“Sooo. Bottle of white? Bottle of red? what about a bottle of rosé instead?”

She laughed, shrugging as she spoke, “Well, that all depends upon your appetite.”

Steve continued to smile, raising an eyebrow as he looked over the menu, “Prices haven’t changed since 88.”

“$12 for a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc does sound appealing. Can you say Sauvignon yet or is it still your first day speaking on Earth?”

Steve laughed, placing the wine list down as he spoke, “My French hasn’t improved much.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes in mock disappointment, “ Je suis déçue.”

Steve groaned, eyes closing shut as he sighed, “Hey, cmon. I don’t know what that means.”

She laughed again, eyes scrunching shut in amusement. Steve felt his cheeks warm as she laughed, the familiar sound setting off the hammering of his heart beneath his ribs. God he’d missed that sound.

Before either of them could speak, Sandra appeared again, notepad and pen in hand as she smiled, “Have we decided what we’re having?”

Steve stole a glance at her then across the booth, she nodded back with that familiar warm smile,

“We’ll take a bottle of Sauvignon to start. And uh- do you guys still do that cheesy garlic bread?”

Sandra nodded enthusiastically, “Great choice. And we sure do. Is that all?”

Steve nodded, sliding the menu across to Sandra as he spoke, “Yeah. That’s all for now. Thanks”

Sandra nodded as she finished noting it down, she collected both menus before she left with a small smile.

They both fell into a comfortable silence before Steve cleared his throat, “So,” he said eventually, “What brings you back to Hawkins?”

She stilled then, elbows resting on the table in front of her as she spoke, “Had a meeting in Indianapolis. Kind of meeting where you spend two days going over the same thing with ten people you’ve bonded with over cheap coffee and no sleep,” she shook her head with a disgruntled smile, “Anyway, my boss said that her husbands cousin was just such a catch and I had to meet him.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, leaning back in the booth as one hand tapped quietly against the table, “That guy the same guy you were on a date with?”

Her lip twitched as she held his gaze, “Mhm. Real catch.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head as he smiled at her again. Before either of them could speak again, the waitress returned with the wine and a basket of warm bread, placing it in the middle of the table before pouring them both a glass of wine. Steve thanked her as she left, reaching towards the basket in the middle of the table, steam escaping as he pulled back the napkin covering it; the smell of garlic butter drifting up towards them both.

Without thinking, Steve reached for a piece, and she reached at the exact same time.

Their hands brushed lightly again, both of them stopping before Steve cleared his throat, “You first,” Steve said.

She smiled, taking a piece of bread as she held his gaze, “You always did that, you know.”

Steve looked puzzled, “Did what?”

“Let me take the first piece.”

Steve looked down at the basket as he spoke, “I did?”

She nodded, “Every time.”

He sat back slightly, genuinely surprised, one brow lifted in thought, “you always used to take the smallest piece. I’d end up giving you the rest of mine.”

Her eyes softened as she spoke, “I never asked you to.”

“I know.”

Steve tore a larger piece from the loaf as he spoke again, “I suppose I still would.”

Their eyes met again, neither of them daring to speak. The simplicity of the statement seemed to surprise him as much as it did her.

He looked away first, breaking the bread into smaller pieces. His chest tightening painfully in memory; the same booth years before, both of them, younger then, the same cheap bottle of wine, the same garlic bread; the easy laughter, the way he’d always reach to tuck that one loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way she’d always wipe the grease from his cheek with a napkin whilst shaking her head and smiling softly. God, he thought, he’d missed her.

It was her turn to clear her throat then, eyes avoiding his gaze as she spoke, “So, what’s new, Steve? How’s the last nine years treated you?”

Steve stilled, his eyes suddenly fixated on anything but her face, “Not a lot. Still coaching. Still see most of the old gang. Robin mostly. Dustin sometimes when he’s home. Rest of the kids whenever I can. Haven’t seen much of Jonathan or Nancy the last few years.”

Her chest tightened painfully at the mention of her old friends, she nodded solemnly as she spoke, eyes glimmering with a sudden sadness as she mourned a life she’d spent years trying to bury. “Heard Nancy got married last fall. Saw an article about it in the local paper back home.”

Steve nodded warmly, “Yeah.”

He stilled again before speaking, fingers tapping lightly again on the table, “I was engaged.”

Her head snapped up then, mouth trying to form a smile as she swallowed, “Was?”

“Two years ago. Called it off three months before the wedding.”

She stilled, lips parting, eyes swimming with silent confusion, “You called it off?”

“Yeah. I realised that it wasn’t right. That I was marrying her because it felt like it was the right thing to do. I loved her, I just was never in love with her. Don’t think I’ve been in love with anyone since-“ Steve stopped speaking, eyes falling shut as his heart began to hammer again.

“Steve,” she breathed, voice barely above a whisper; Steve stole a glance towards the candle in the middle of the table and the way it cast a soft orange hue over her face, flames dancing in her irises as she held his gaze.

“What about you?” He eventually spoke, eyes solemn

She cleared her throat lightly, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin then taking a small sip of wine before she spoke, “I’ve been working mostly, had a few relationships that never really went anywhere. No current or prior engagements, no marriages, at least not since you.”

It was meant to be a joke; a lighthearted jab. Steve took it like she’d reached inside his ribs and pulled his heart out with force.

Steve swallowed then; eyes closing tightly, jaw clenching enough that his jaw ached. She noticed, hand reaching tentatively across the table to squeeze his own without thinking,

“Hey, do you remember that summer in ‘85? The fate at the village green?”

Steve breathed then, a small laugh falling from his lips as he jaw unclenched, eyes opening to find her staring at him, eyes warm, “You mean the year you bought a pair of engineer boots and spent the whole day complaining your feet hurt? Yeah, I remember.”

She squeezed his hand again, laughing lightly before she spoke, “I found them the other day when I was clearing out my closet, can you believe that?”

Steve’s chest warmed, eyes soft, “You swore you’d keep them forever.”

“They cost me $80, Stevie.”

There it was again: Stevie.

Steve stilled, heart hammering with so much force he was sure she’d hear it, “I bought that leather jacket the same year. You told me you looked better in it and refused to give it back.”

“That’s because I did look better in it.”

“Touché.” He replied.

She laughed then, “So you did learn French, huh?”

Steve smirked, an eyebrow raised, “Dustin’s line, not mine.”

She laughed again, head tipped back, “That was also the year of the blue jeans. Swear you wore them for like two years straight.”

“They were great jeans.”

She raised an eyebrow at him then, “Sure. Nothing to do with that one comment that was made about how good your legs looked, huh?” she teased

“You got me there.”

A comfortable silence settled as they held each others gazes. It was only broken by a soft whisper from Steve, “I still hear it sometimes in my head.”

Her head tilted then, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, “hear what?”

“House of the rising sun. I try and avoid it as much as possible, turn it over if it comes on the radio. Can’t bring myself to listen to it for too long.”

She stilled then, face a mixture of emotion, “How many dimes do you reckon we spent on jukeboxes to look play that?”

Steve laughed lightly, though the notion of it hurt, “Too many.”

“Do you remember how we used to play it in the car with the rooftop down and the radio on?”

Steve smiled sadly, “I’ve never forgotten.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement, one that Steve had hoped she’d say for years. It didn’t bring him the relief he thought it would, the weight of the words sat heavy and unmoving in his chest.

“We were young, Stevie. Too young to understand what it meant for marriage, or bills, mortgage payments, kids-“

“Don’t.” Steve cut in, eyes falling shut again as tears welled in his eyes, “Please.” The word broken as it ledf his lips.

“Steve-“

“I loved you, and I thought that would be enough. I didn’t care about the apartment, or the shitty deep pile carpets, I didn’t care about the paintings from shears or that god awful water bed we saved for.”

She laughed then, the sound catching in her throat as her own eyes filled. Steve continued, eyes burning red with unshed tears, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for how long we spent hating each other over things that were never our fault. I’m sorry that I made you feel like what happened was your fault, I didn’t-“

“Steve, please.” It was her turn to interrupt, her eyes closing as tears she’d spent years willing away began to fall.

Steve didn’t stop, he couldn’t, he’d spent years holding the guilt, “I never imagined there’d be a version of my life where you weren’t in it. We had it all planned.”

“Steve,-“

“I found the receipt for the paint we bought for the nursery in a toolbox the other day. Didn’t even realise i’d kept it,” he laughed, though the sound was pained

“Morning sky,” she whispered.

Steve nodded his head, tears rolling, “Looked grey on the walls.”

“It was blue, Stevie.”

“Nine years later and you’re still fighting it?” he smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes

“I still can’t walk past the children’s section in department stores,” the admission hit him, his chest tightening again.

“It’s ridiculous,” she continued, “ I know it is. But every time I try, I just. Can’t.”

Steve nodded, “Me either.”

“I don’t regret marrying you. I didn’t mean it then, I never meant it, Steve.”

“I know.”

“I was hurting and I couldn’t understand how you’d come home from work smiling while I struggled to get out of bed every morning. I’d think, ‘how is he smiling when our whole world has ended?’”

Steve closed his eyes, tears spilling again as he wiped them away, “I felt like I had to smile because if I didn’t, it meant I’d never get to start again. It meant that I was carrying it for both of us. It was selfish, I know that now, but I didn’t- I didn’t know what else to do. You were there, but you were gone.”

“I was grieving, Steve.”

His eyes searched hers as he spoke, “I was too.”

She nodded, a small intake of breath that turned into a steady sob left her throat as she reached for his hand; Steve took it immediately, lips brushing her knuckles on reflex, “I never stopped loving you. I just stopped knowing how to reach you and I’ve spent years hoping that I’d reach you again.”

“Stevie,”

“No, let me- let me finish. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Letting you go was the single most stupid thing I’ve ever done and half of Hawkins knows how stupid I can be,”

She laughed then, the sound catching in her throat as he continued to speak, “I can’t turn back the clock, I can’t make the past disappear, but I can promise you that I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you if you let me.”

She sobbed again, Steve reaching out to wipe away the tears that fell in a now heavy stream.

Steve cupped her face in both hands, thumbs continuing to brush away her tears as he spoke on a broken whisper of a breath, “A bottle of red, a bottle of white. Whatever kind of fucking mood you're in. I'll meet you anytime you want, here okay? in our Italian restaurant, you hear me? I promise. Just let us start over. I don’t care now long it takes. I’ve waited nine god damned years to tell you how sorry I am. Just let me fix it, please, just let me fix us.”

She took in a ragged breath, eyes searching his as she leaned her forehead against his, “okay.”

[warped-window]

For The Rest Of Their Lives: A John Shelby Series

Long before betting shops and razor caps; long before France stole pieces of boys and returned them home as men; there had been a girl with scraped hands, and a boy who wasn’t looking where he was going. John Shelby loved fiercely, and that would never stop.

*****************************************************

Series warnings: Canon typical violence, character death, swearing i guess? elements of rape, eventual smut, mentions of war

*****************************************************

Chapter Two: With a Heavy Heart

She was eleven when she learned that grief and tragedy didn’t come with a warning. It didn’t knock politely and announce itself and wait to be offered in. It came without mercy, without reason, stealing what was a normal Tuesday morning in 1907.

Years later, people would speak of France. Of razor blades stitched into caps, gunfire, racehorses and blood spilled in the streets. But before any of that; before War stole boys and turned them into ghosts wearing men’s faces, a little girl sat in Polly Gray’s arms and discovered what it meant to lose everything.

Harsh winds rattled the single pane windows, howling between the narrow street of Watery Lane; rain lashed against the glass in sharp and persistent bursts. The fire in the living room struggled to warm. The old clock on the mantle seemed to tick far louder than usual.

Nobody spoke. The Shelby house that was always alive with raised voices, laughter and the occasional argument in between had fallen unnaturally quiet. The only sound that remained was soft, broken sobs.

She sat curled beneath a thick woollen blanket on Polly’s lap, her small hands clutching desperately at Polly’s dress as the sobs ripped out of her. Every time she thought the tears had dried, another sob would tear its way through her from somewhere deep inside her chest. Polly held her tightly as she cried, a hand smoothing over her scalp as she whispered softly to her, the other rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades.

“Oh my sweet girl, I’ve got you.” Polly murmured quietly. She could only bury her head further into Polly’s shoulder,

“Pol, they said,” she hiccuped, her voice barely a whisper, “the copper said they ain’t coming home.”

Polly closed her eyes briefly, cheek brushing the top of the girls head as she held her tighter.

The front door slammed open then with enough force to shake the walls, and in any normal circumstance, Polly would have chastised the small boy responsible for the noise, but this wasn't normal.

“Pol?” John’s voice echoed through the room as he appeared in the doorway, breathless from running. His hair clung to his forehead damp from the rain, cheeks flushed a light crimson from the cold. He had heard the news halfway home and then run the rest of the way.

The moment he saw her, he stopped. She looked impossibly small curled beneath the blanket, her eyes swollen from crying, cheeks stained with tears as her lip wobbled. Nothing about her appearance resembled the girl who had been climbing the rooftops with him just yesterday.

She stole a glance towards John, her bottom lip trembling again before she spoke in a broken whisper, “They're gone, Johnny," her voice cracking on his name.

Polly shushed her as she sobbed again, hand continuing to circle her back as she pressed her cheek to the top of the small girls head, rocking her as if she were a baby.

John felt something inside him twist painfully. He’d seen her cry before; scraped knees, broken toys, arguments with her parents. He’d always known how to fix it, sometimes it was making her laugh, sometimes it was letting her win races she’d never have beaten him in, and sometimes it was sneaking lemon sherbets from the sweetshop and pretending he’d bought them honestly. But this was none of the things he could fix. His hand instinctively slipped into his coat pocket; the lemon sherbets he’d stolen that morning were still there, only now they felt like a useless weight.

He felt a hand clasp around his shoulder: Arthur. He’d stepped into the room more quietly than anyone could believe possible. For once there was no grin waiting on his face, no joking or teasing; only sadness.

Tommy followed, his expression unreadable as he stared at the tiny pair of boots by the fire. Mud still clung to them, her father had cleaned them only yesterday. Ada clung tightly to Finn’s hand as Polly beckoned them inside. Nobody spoke, nobody seemed to know how. For the last three years, her and her parents had become apart of their lives, almost as naturally as breathing. Sunday dinners were shared, summer evenings spent sitting outside together, her and John never far apart. If John wasn’t in her house, she was in theirs; they had become inseparable. Where one went, the other was never too far behind, always causing some form of trouble, but forever running from it, too.

Polly caught John’s eye. He looked utterly lost. Polly gave the smallest nod and John crossed the room hesitantly, swallowing lightly as he did. He wasn’t sure what to say, words dying at his lips as he placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She turned before he could speak and without warning, threw herself against him. John stumbled back only slightly before wrapping both arms around her, holding her as tightly as he could.

She buried her face against his shoulder, crying harder than before. John simply held her, “It’s alright,” he whispered. The words sounded wrong the moment they left his mouth. Nothing about this was alright. It would never be alright. He tried again, swallowing as he spoke, "It'll be okay, 'cos you're always gonna have me.”

She sniffed loudly, her sleeve wiped clumsily across her nose. Normally he’d have laughed, called her disgusting, tell Arthur to come and look. Today, he said nothing, didn’t even smile, and somehow that only made her sadder.

“They’re dead, Johnny,” her tiny voice almost disappeared beneath another sob, “I never said goodbye before they left for the train.”

John squeezed her tighter, his throat felt painfully tight as he spoke, “We’ll look after you.”

She didn’t answer, only sniffled again as he spoke, “Cos that’s what Shelbys do.”

He glanced towards Polly then, “Ain’t it, Aunt Pol?”

Polly looked around the room, Arthur met her eyes first. Then Tommy. Neither boy spoke, neither needed to, their expressions said enough; she’s one of ours. Polly smiled sadly, “That’s exactly what Shelbys do.”

The little girl looked up and for the first time that morning, a tiny smile appeared. It barely lasted a heartbeat, but it was there, “Okay.”

John smiled back, “you’ll always have me, promise.”

That evening, nobody discussed where she would sleep, Arthur simply carried her belongings upstairs. Tommy fetched the box of books from beside the front door without being asked, Ada folded one of her own blankets and laid it neatly across the end of the bed, Finn quietly placed his favourite toy soldier upon her pillow before toddling away.

Polly watched it all unfold from the doorway. Nobody announced she would be staying, nobody needed to. The Shelbys had never required grand speeches to become a family, they simply made room. Another plate appeared upon the table, another pair of boots rested beside the fire. Another voice joined the laughter that would, eventually, return to the house. Without papers, without ceremony; without anyone ever speaking the words aloud.

The little girl who had once arrived on Watery Lane with both her parents’ became, in every way that truly mattered; a Shelby.

[warped-window]

For The Rest Of Their Lives: A John Shelby series

Long before betting shops and razor caps; long before France stole pieces of boys and returned them home as men; there had been a girl with scraped hands, and a boy who wasn’t looking where he was going. John Shelby loved fiercely, and that would never stop.

*****************************************************

Series warnings: Canon typical violence, swearing i guess? eventual smut, mentions of rape, assault, mentions of war?

****************************************************

Chapter one: Soft Gazes and Stubborn Grazes

chapter two

Watery Lane had always had a way of announcing itself before anyone ever reached it. Thick, black coal smoke curled heavily in the air, the soot laying thick over the bricks of the houses. Horses pulled heavy carts through uneven cobbled streets, the sound of their hooves echoing between terrace houses where washing lines stretched from window to window. Somewhere in the distance, a blacksmiths hammer struck hard against iron with an almost rhythmic precision; children darted through the streets with grazed knees and soot covered skin, their laughter carrying high above the noise of the city.

It wasn’t beautiful, and it wasn’t always kind; but it was home to people who had nowhere else to go.

A horse-drawn wagon rolled slowly over the cobbled streets, coming to a stop outside one of the empty houses that lined the street; the wheels groaning with the weight of everything a family owned. Boxes packed full, a small oak table, a rocking chair wrapped tightly in old quilts, bags piled with clothes and shoes. A family’s life packed into nothing more than a cart.

Her father climbed down first, stretching with a groan before offering a hand to his wife. Then came her.

She jumped down without waiting for help; eight years old and already stubborn as sin. Her boots landed awkwardly on the cobbles, her skirts already dirtied with soot.

“Careful,” her mother laughed.

Her brow furrowed, “I am bein’ careful!”

Her mother laughed again, shaking her head lightly in amusement as she grinned back at her.

The streets were louder than anywhere she’d lived before; full of life, more people than she could count. Every doorway seemed occupied, every window guarded with someone watching.

She watched as her father disappeared towards the back of the wagon, lifting down a heavy crate as he spoke, “Why don’t you stay out from under our feet for five minutes?” he suggested. “We’ll have this lot inside before teatime.”

She nodded, almost obedient like for all of ten seconds before her curiosity won again. She wondered a few paces along the pavement, eyes lingering over each chimney, the way the smoke curled and bellowed, the way the brick cracked, her mind wondering about who lived in each house, whether or not she’d be around long enough to learn their names. Then she heard shouting,

“John boy! You get back ‘ere!”

A burst of laughter followed; the kind that belonged only to children, free spirited, loud enough to wake the dead and entirely unconcerned with consequence. She watched as a fair haired boy flew around the corner, sprinting as if he was being chased by the devil himself. Behind him thundered another boy, several years older, already tall and thin, “I’m gonna skin ya alive, boy!”

“You’ve gotta catch me first, Arthur!” the younger one shouted over his shoulder, head tilted just enough to stick his tongue out at the older boy. He didn’t see where he was going; neither did she.

They collided with enough force that it sent them both flying. She landed on her back with a thud; the boy rolling twice before scrambling upright. The street seemed to fall silent. She sat up then, blinking in confusion, hands stinging as she brought them up to her face. Her hands were streaked with crimson. The boy froze, face draining of colour as her lip began to tremble, eyes stinging with tears before she burst out into laughter. The boy sat confused, head tilted as she continued to laugh,

“I must’ve looked silly!” she exclaimed, blood streaking across her cheek as she wiped away her tears.

He looked thoroughly baffled, “Girls ain’t supposed to laugh when they’re bleedin’.”

Before either of them could say another word, or before he could apologise, hurried footsteps approached, “There you are!” her mother exclaimed, rushing over, her father not far behind, “What happened?”

The little girl looked up at them with the biggest smile imaginable despite the blood coating her palms, “He ran into me.”

Her father looked towards the fair-haired boy; the child immediately straightened, “I’m really sorry, sir. I weren’t lookin’. Arthur was chasin’ me an’ I didn’t see her. I never meant to knock her over or nothin. I swear!”

Her father looked between the pair before kneeling beside his daughter, “Are you hurt, sweetheart?”

She proudly held out both blood-covered hands as she shook her head, “I didn’t cry.”

“No?” her father smiled.

She shook her head again, eyes still glimmering with unshed tears, “I was brave.”

Her parents exchanged amused smiles,”You certainly were,” her mother said softly, brushing loose strands of hair away from her face before kissing her forehead.

The boy watched the exchange quietly, a small smile on his face that disappeared almost instantly when the shout of his name came,

“JOHN!” the booming of the voice echoing down Watery Lane.

The older boy finally caught up, breathing heavily, hands on his knees, “There ya are.”

He stopped the moment he noticed the girl and the blood smeared across her palms and cheeks; his eyes landed squarely on the younger boy, “John.”

Just one word andJohn visibly shrank, “It weren’t on purpose.”

Arthur glanced between the little girl and his brother, “You knock her over?”

John nodded miserably and Arthur sighed through his nose before looking back towards the family, “Sorry about him.”

“It’s quite alright,” her mother assured him warmly. “They’re both in one piece.” The tension disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

Arthur stepped forward, offering a hand, “Arthur Shelby.”

The girl’s father shook it firmly, “Pleased to meet you. We’ve just moved in.”

“So I gathered.” Arthur returned pleasantly

Arthur nodded towards the overflowing wagon, “You’ll be here a while unpackin’.”Before anyone else could speak, Arthur hooked an arm around John’s shoulders, “Go on John boy.”

John frowned confused, “What?”

“Help ’em unload.”

John blinked back at him.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, “It’s called apologisin’ for knocking down the little lady.”

Without another complaint, John walked towards the wagon; the little girl skipping excitedly behind him. She reached for a crate far too heavy for her tiny arms and John caught it before she could, “I’ll carry that one.”

She folded her arms, face pulled together stubbornly, “I can help.”

“I know.” John smiled shyly, “But this one’s heavy.

She thought about arguing and instead, picked up a smaller box. Together they disappeared through the front door.

Her parents remained outside, watching them weave around one another as though they’d known each other for far longer than five minutes.

Arthur smiled to himself, chuckling lightly as he spoke, “Think they’ll get on just fine.”

“I’ve a feeling you’re right,” her mother replied warmly

Arthur tipped his cap as he spoke again, turning to walk backwards, “We’re number twelve if you need anythin’. Ask for Polly. That’s me aunt, she’ll see you right.”

“We’re very grateful,” her father called after him. Arthur lifted a hand in acknowledgement without looking back.

From inside the house came the muffled sound of children’s laughter; the sound of it echoing through the empty rooms, filling the little terrace with something warmer than fresh paint or old furniture ever could. Neither of them had a name for it then, too young to understand that sometimes, some meetings quietly shape the rest of a lifetime.

Long before betting shops and razor caps; long before France stole pieces of boys and returned them home as men; there had been a girl with scraped hands, and a boy who wasn’t looking where he was going.

[warped-window]

The Man Beneath The monster: Chapter Seven

Years before Jimmy Crystal became Sir Lord, he was just a man. A man with a voice he tried to ignore. A man who loved, a man who knew that his delusions were fragility dressed up as belonging. A man who vowed to protect. A man who loved Y/N; years later, that’s the only thing that never changed.

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Series warnings; violence, cults? mature themes, swearing i guess?torture, rape, canon movie violence. religious guilt? eventual smut, death, mental illness

Previous Chapter here

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15 years after the initial outbreak

Jimmy had always hated mornings; the voices were quietest then. The silence gave him hope. Hope he learned, was dangerous; it convinced him, every single dawn, that maybe today would be different. Maybe today they wouldn’t come back.

He woke before the birds that morning. The barn they’d found refuge in was wrapped in darkness; the only light were the dying embers of last nights fire, the flames casting just enough light over the stone walls, painting them in a soft orange hue.

For a moment, everything was still. Jimmy lay where he was, listening, not trusting the sense of peace he felt as his mind remained clear. There was nothing; no whispers, no murmurs, no cruel laughter. Only the sound of Y/N’s steady breathing a few feet away.

His shoulders relaxed, eyes closing before he could stop them, “Aye,” he whispered to himself, “Jus let taeday be quiet, ey?”

He turned his head towards Y/N then; she was still asleep, curled tightly beneath her sleeping bag, loose strands of hair covering part of her face, lips set in a frown.

Jimmy smiled, she always frowned in her sleep, like even unconscious, she still disagreed with something.

“Wee angry hamster,” he murmured, “ye’d kill me if he heard that.”

She mumbled something then; words entirely unintelligible, her frown deepening in sleep.

Jimmy’s heart warmed despite itself. She looked safe.

“She is safe, ye mad bastard.” He mumbled to himself. He stood quietly, brushing the hair back from her face lightly. She stirred then, eyes fluttering open slightly, still heavy with sleep, “Jimmy?”

“Shhh. Go back tae sleep, lass.” He murmured, voice feather light. He smiled as she nodded, eyes heavy again as she buried herself deeper into her sleeping bag.

The cottage door creaked softly as he stepped outside; morning mist rolled lazily across the valley, grey clouds hung high in the sky, small slithers of morning sun peaking out behind them. Dew clinging to each blade of grass.

Jimmy breathed deeply, the cold morning air filling his lungs. Birdsong hadn’t arrived yet, even the wind seemed reluctant to disturb the silence.

This was the part he liked the most; before the world remembered itself. Before his own mind remembered itself.

He crouched to gather wood; one piece, then another, then two more: routine. Routine meant thinking less, routine meant filling his mind with simple things. Routine meant keeping the voices at bay.

He brought he gathered wood back into the cottage, steps light as not to wake Y/N; placing the gathered wood over the dying embers of the fire, striking a flint once, twice, three times. Tiny sparks danced against dry moss and wood; a small, thin thread of smoke curling upwards towards the ceiling.

“There ye are,” he whispered, his voice barely carrying.

The flames answered with a gentle crackle. Jimmy watched it grow, watched it breathe; the only sound present was the dancing flames, Y/N’s soft breathing, and his own heart beating. He watched the fire for a few moments, and then he heard it.

“Jimmy,” his hands froze. Please not yet.

His eyes squeezed shut; the fire continuing to crackled. “Jimmy,” the voice came again, closer this time, almost affectionate. “Naw,” he breathed.

The voice didn’t answer. His breathing steadying again. “Aye. Am jus’ tired.” he whispered to himself.

He stood then, picking up the small gas kettle. He walked back out the cottage door, down towards the stream: routine.

“Son.” Jimmy stopped, ever muscle in his body locking. The voice hadn’t come from behind him; nor had it come from beside him. It had come from everywhere. Like somebody was speaking directly into his thoughts.

His grip tightened around the kettle, “Shut up.”

He waited for the voice to reply and was met once again with silence, his heart hammering.

The stream bubbled over smooth stone; Jimmy knelt to fill the kettle. Cold water numbed his fingers tips; the feel of it grounding, real. He concentrated on that; the weight of the water, the temperature, the sound of it; anything he knew was real. Things that couldn’t lie.

“James,” sounded the voice, his breath caught then. His father’s voice; warm, patient, waiting; exactly as he’d remembered. Jimmy shut his eyes so tightly it hurt, “Ye’re no’ real.”

The stream continued to flow; water running deep over stone. Birds finally began singing somewhere over the trees. Jimmy opened his eyes, his own reflection wavering across the water. Pale. Tired. Then the voice came again, “it’s easier if ye listen.”

Jimmy lurched backwards so violently he nearly fell into the stream, hands shaking

“No. “ The word came out louder than he’d intended; his breathing accelerated as he screwed his eyes shut again.

The voice didn’t answer; instead came another one. Lighter, higher, childlike. A little girls laugh. His chest tightened painfully. One of his sisters. He couldn’t remember which one. God; he couldn’t remember.

His stomach turned. He knew her face. Didn’t he?

“Jimmy!” Another laugh the sound of running footsteps. Children playing, laughing. The warmth of sunlight. The distant cry of church bells. Teletubbies; his mum shouting that breakfast was ready, his dad laughing. The smell of toast, the warmth of summer.

Then came the screaming; so much screaming. The memories twisting themselves together without warning. Church pews covered in blood; his father’s trembling hands pressing the cross into his palm.

“STOP!” his shout ripped through the silent valley, birds exploding out of the trees at the sound; the kettle slipped from his grip, crashing against the rocks below.

Jimmy bent forward sharply, hands pressed over his ears; jaw tight, eyes clenched shut. The voices didn’t stop, his breathing ragged.

His whole body trembling. Then a softer voice, real, close enough behind him to know it wasn’t imagined, Y/N

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy’s eyes slowly opened, His breathing caught. He didn’t turn around; he couldn’t. Because he already knew what she’d seen. And for the first time since they’d met; Jimmy Crystal was ashamed to let her look at him.

“Jimmy?” she called again; softer now. He still couldn’t turn around; his body locked in refusal. The shame settled heavier than the fear ever had. He heard her boots against the damp earth behind him; slow, deliberate like she was approaching a wild animal.

Every instinct screamed at him to tell her to leave; to walk away while she still could. Before she realised exactly what travelling beside him truly meant. Years later, he would wish that he did.

His breathing remained uneven as he spoke, still refusing to look at her, “Ye shouldnae have seen that.” His voice sounded small.

The stream continued rushing over smooth stones between them. Somewhere overhead, a pigeon called into the morning air.

“I wasn’t trying to.” she said gently, “I heard you shout.”

Jimmy laughed once; dry and humourless, “Aye.” He stared at the water before continuing, “Sorry.”

Her brow furrowed, “What are you apologising for?”

He shrugged, “ruining tha’ morning.”

She almost smiled then, “You think that’s what I’m upset about?”

He didn’t know; he wasn’t entirely sure what normal people found upsetting anymore.

Y/N came to stand beside him; not too close, but close enough that if he wanted to, their shoulders would touch.

She looked st him once, then out across towards the stream, giving him somewhere else to put his eyes. It was deliberate, Jimmy noticed; of course he noticed.

“Ye don’t have tae look at me.” His words barely rose above a whisper.

She tilted her head, “Why?”

“’Cause,” He swallowed, “Am no’ exactly pleasant tae look at right now.”

She glanced at him then, eyes softening before looking back to the stream, “You look tired.”

He huffed quietly, “Tha’s one way o’ putting it.”

She waited then for him to continue; giving him the space to decide what he wanted to share. She never forced words out of people. She simply waited until they were ready to speak . And somehow, that was worse. Because Jimmy would find himself filling the silence.

“They’re gettin’ louder.” The admission hung between them. He swallowed once, rubbing both hands across his face before continuing, “When it first started,” He laughed softly, “It was only every now an’ then.” His eyes remained fixed on the stream, “Bad days mostly.” His jaw tightened, “After… after seeing things. I’d hear somebody call ma name, or somebody talking. “I knew it wisnae real. But now,” He couldn’t finish.

“But now?” Y/N implored

“I cannae always tell what’s real.”

The words settled heavily between them; Y/N felt her chest tighten.

“Do they always sound like people you knew?”

Jimmy nodded once, “Mostly.”

He looked away, “sometimes no’” His thumb rubbed absent circles over the cross at his neck, “Sometimes they’re nice. Tell me I’m doin’ good. An sometimes, sometimes they’re no’ as nice, tell me am meant fo’ more. That am better than whatever’s left o’ this world.”

Y/N softened, her head tilting as she spoke, “Do you believe them?”

He answered far too quickly, “Naw.”

Then; more honestly, “Sometimes.”

For several minutes neither of the them spoke; the silence filled by the sound of blackbirds and running water, wind whistling softly through the trees, then Jimmy spoke,

“I cannae always remember tha’ before. I keep trying tae remember, but the voices sound more real than the memories.” He finally looked at her then; pure fear sat behind his blue eyes, “What if one day, “ He swallowed hard, “I stop knowing tha’ difference?”

Y/N shifted closer to him then; Jimmy instinctively leaned back, not because he feared her, but because he feared what he was becoming.

He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Jimmy.”

“Hm?”

“Look at me.”

He shook his head, “Naw.”

“Please?”

Very slowly, his head turned; eyes red, not from crying but from trying not to.

Y/N smiled at him, small, steady, “I know the difference.”

Jimmy frowned, “Wha’?”

She reached forward, resting two fingers against the gold cross at his chest, her other hand pressed over his heart,

“You.” Her fingers remained there, “This.” She smiled again, tapping the cloth over his heart, “The fire every morning.” She looked into his eyes, her own wet with emotion, “The way you always let me sleep longer and the way you keep pretending you don’t like sunsets.”

His lips twitched despite himself.

“You, here. You’re Just Jimmy. My Jimmy, not whatever the voice tells you to be.”

His forehead dropped to hers then, tears finally spilling as she held his head in her hands. He whispered so quietly she almost didn’t hear him, “Am tired, lass.”

Y/N’s face softened immediately, “I know.”

Jimmy pulled back to look at her then, “Ye’re no’ going tae leave?”

Y/N shook her head, tears spilling, a small sad smile spread across her features.

Jimmy searched her eyes and saw only truth, and for the first time in longer than Jimmy could remember; someone knew, really knew what he was underneath, and they hadn’t walked away. Years later, that would be both a blessing and a curse.

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let me know what you think!🖤

[warped-window]

The Man Beneath The Monster: Chapter Six

Years before Jimmy Crystal became Sir Lord, he was just a man. A man with a voice he tried to ignore. A man who loved, a man who knew that his delusions were fragility dressed up as belonging. A man who vowed to protect. A man who loved Y/N; years later, that’s the only thing that never changed.

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Series warnings; violence, cults? mature themes, swearing i guess?torture, rape, canon movie violence. religious guilt? eventual smut, death, mental illness

Previous Chapter here

Series Masterlist here

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15 years after the initial outbreak

The morning after came slowly; a gentle sigh of wind whistling through the trees, birdsong seemed quieter this morning; their song almost cautious, the call almost echoing through the trees. Mist clung low across the fields, drifting lazily over the hills.

The cottage they’d found refuge in sat silent beneath tall stretches of ivy; the roof almost intact; windows dirtied from the years left uncleaned, stone walls crumbling in some places, damp in others.

Y/N woke to silence. That was the first thing that felt wrong. There was no fire crackling, no muttered curses under Jimmy’s breath, no flirtatious greeting as she woke; just complete silence.

She frowned, pulling herself free from her sleeping bag as she rubbed at her eyes, “Jimmy?”

Silence was her response. Her stomach tightened, her heart pounding uneasily behind her ribs as she stood.

She pushed open the warped cottage door, cold morning air greeting her immediately. Outside, the world looked untouched; sunset spilled across the hills, wildflowers dancing lightly in the breeze; somewhere beyond the tree line a blackbird sang. The world seemed blissfully unaware of the blood-share of last night.

Her eyes found him almost immediately; he sat staring across the valley on an old stone wall, shoulders tense, posture tight like he was holding himself together. The knife he’d used last night sat across his lap; clean. The gold cross hung around his neck like always, fingers stroking idly over the pendant.

Y/N watched him for several seconds before she approached, “You look awful.”

Jimmy turned his head to face her; eyes immediately avoiding her gaze, “Aye.”

His voice sounded rougher than normal. She stilled then before taking tentative steps towards him until she was standing beside him.

“You been awake long?”

He shrugged once before speaking, “bout’ an hour.”

Y/N looked at him then; the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hair was pulled back from his face as if he’d spent hours raking his hands through it. Liar, she thought.

“Jimmy. How long have you been awake?”

Jimmy blinked, his gaze still avoiding her own as he shrugged.

Y/N sighed then, “You haven’t slept, have you?”

His jaw shifted then, “Naw.”

“Jimmy, you should have slept. You’re the one who tells me that sleep keeps you alive-“

“Aye, it does.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked, her eyes softening slightly as she looked at him.

Jimmy looked back across the valley then, “Didnae fancy it.”

She leaned against the wall beside him then; the morning breeze caught loose strands of her hair, pushing them across her face before she tucked them behind one ear,

“You’ve been here all night, haven’t you?”

Jimmy’s shoulders dropped just a fraction, head doing the same as he looked towards the tree line, “Aye.”

There was no joke; no grin; no attempt at flirting. She’d never heard him so quiet.

She shifted once before speaking, arms crossing over her chest as she spoke, “You could have woken me up.”

His eyes closed; fingers tightening around the cross at his neck, “Wanted ye tae sleep.”

Y/N watched him then; the way his shoulders tightened with invisible weight, eyes glancing over to the tree line above the hill.

“You keep looking over there, Jimmy.”

Jimmy blinked, “Wha’?”

“The trees.”

His eyes drifted there again before he realised she’d caught him. Silence settled again, the only sound between them was the sighing of the wind. Y/N spoke eventually, voice quiet as she did, “They’re dead, Jimmy. They can’t hurt me anymore.”

Jimmy’s jaw clenched as he spoke, eyes falling closed again, “I know.”

“So stop looking.”

Jimmy laughed once; it came out forced, just like air leaving his lungs, “I wish it were tha’ easy, lass.”

Breakfast was quiet; too quiet. No flirting, no insults, no bickering. Jimmy handed Y/N a tin without speaking; she accepted it in silence. Jimmy barely touched his own food. Instead he kept scanning the tree lines; shoulders tensed, jaw locked in a hardened expression.

Y/N noticed, she always noticed; because she was beginning to notice him.

She finished eating before standing, shouldering her pack as she spoke, “we should get moving.”

Jimmy was already on his feet before she’d finished speaking, “Aye.

He turned towards her then, eyes lingering over the bruising at her wrist, his expression darkening immediately, jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached from the force, “Does it hurt?”

She sighed, head tilting slightly as she spoke, “I’m fine.”

He nods once; falling into step beside her as they set off. Every few minutes he’d ask if she was okay, her answer the same every time.

When he’d asked her the same question for the fifteenth time she stopped walking, “Jimmy, I don’t need supervising. I’m fine, okay? I’m alright.”

Jimmy didn’t answer; his eyes had already drifted back to the trees.

As they walked further across the hills, the countryside unfolded around them. Nature had claimed almost everything now, telephone poles leaned almost drunkenly to one side, held in place by growing vines of ivy, tractors sat rusting in blossoming hawthorn, grass grew through cracked tarmac in thick green waves, butterflies danced over patches of foxglove growing through abandoned cars.

When they reached the top of the hill, Y/N slowed; an old swing hung from a sprawling oak tree, creaking gently in the wind. Jimmy kept walking, eyes still searching the tree lines.

“Jimmy?” She called lightly

“Wha’-“

“Look. It’s a swing, Jimmy.”

“I can see tha’, lass.”

Y/N smiled softly, “It still works.”

Jimmy looked confused, eyebrows knitted together, “Aye.”

He turned then, taking one step before she called his name again, “Come here.”

He sighed then dramatically, eyes closing in frustration, “Lass-“

“Just come here!”

He sighed again, walking back towards her, an eyebrow raised, “Am no’ getting on a swing.”

Y/N smiled then, “I didn’t ask you to. Just come here, stand beside me.”

Jimmy obeyed; the thought of saying no to her was too much to bear.

Y/N looked out across the valley; the swing swaying beside them, wildflowers stretching endlessly across the earth beneath the morning sun. For several seconds, neither of them spoke,

“Whit are we doin?” Jimmy asked.

“Looking.” She replied

“At what, lass?”

“Everything.”

Jimmy frowned in confusion, “Ave’ seen it.”

“No,” she shook her head gently then, eyes almost sad as she looked at him, “You’ve survived through it.”

His eyes drifted over the hills. The forests. The endless sea of green that now swallowed the old world whole.

“I don’t understand.” he whispered

She smiled sadly, “I know. That’s the thing, you always notice danger, you never stop notice beauty.”

Jimmy looked at her then, eyes soft with emotion, “I notice some.”

The breeze stirred again, his gaze turning away as he looked over the hills, birdsong echoed somewhere far below them.

Jimmy finally looked, really looked. Not for movement. Not for infected. Not for people. Just, looked

He noticed for the firs time in a long time the valley glowed beneath morning light, how the leaves shimmered. The way the mist rolled lazily through distant fields.

Life had continued. Without permission. Without apology.

He swallowed, “I’d have walked right past.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched again, wind blowing dried leaves into a current through the air.

Then Jimmy spoke so quietly she almost didn’t hear him, his eyes now locked on hers, “It’s beautiful.” His eyes never left hers as he spoke, “Ye make me notice things, lass- A mean, nevermind.” He turned then, clearing his throat, Y/N reached for his hand, holding his lightly in her own as she spoke,

“You make me notice things too, Jimmy.”

A comfortable silence set over them, wind whistling through the trees, hands still locked together as they stared across the hills. Y/N sighed once, closing her eyes as she spoke,

“This might be the first time you’ve breathed properly since last night.”

Jimmy looked away from the hills then, eyes searching her face as he spoke quietly, “I keep seeing it.”

Her voice softened, already knowing the answer, “Seeing what?”

His jaw tightened, “The hill. An’ I keep hearing ye’ screaming ma name.”

Y/N’s heart sank, eyes looking down to the entwined hands. Jimmy looked back towards the landscape as he spoke, “I shouldn’t have left ye.”

“Jimmy,” she breathed, “you saved me.”

He shook his head, eyes closing once more, “I nearly didnae.” His breathing had become uneven, “I heard ye,” He swallowed hard, “Thought-”

Jimmy dropped her hand then, the words refusing to come; his hands clenching so hard his knuckles turned white, “I thought they’d got ye.” His voice cracked. “I couldnae…” He laughed once. Humourless. “I couldnae think.”

He closed his eyes again, tears welling as he spoke, “I was scared.” There it was. Not anger. Not guilt. Fear; raw and honest. “Ave’ never been tha scared.”

Y/N felt tears prick her eyes, unable to stop them as they fell. She reached across without really thinking, her fingers rested gently over his clenched fist.

Jimmy looked down, her hand warm over his own, then toward her, his breathing slowed, finger loosening to hold her hand again.

“I was scared too.”

He nodded, “Aye.”

Another silence settled; gentler this time.

She squeezed his hand once, “You found me.”

Jimmy looked at their hands, then towards her face; head tilting to one side as his eyes held her own

“I’ll always find ye. I promise ye, lass. I’ll always come back tae ye.”

Years later, when his mind was broken; that would be the one vow he’d never forget.

[warped-window]

The Man Beneath The Monster: Chapter Five

Years before Jimmy Crystal became Sir Lord, he was just a man. A man with a voice he tried to ignore. A man who loved, a man who knew that his delusions were fragility dressed up as belonging. A man who vowed to protect. A man who loved Y/N; years later, that’s the only thing that never changed.

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Series warnings; violence, cults? mature themes, swearing i guess?torture, rape, canon movie violence. religious guilt? eventual smut, death, mental illness

Previous Chapters can be found here:

One Two Three Four

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15 years after the initial outbreak

The sun felt almost wrong now; not because it had changed, but because everything under it had done.

It still rose the same way with stubborn certainty, still spilled molten gold over woodlands and empty motorways; floating high above broken church spindles, still swallowing villages in breathtaking colour. It was almost cruel, as if nature hadn’t realised that mankind had all but vanished.

For Y/N, that contradiction was cruel; the sunlight still warmed her face, the light still caught in her hair. It still turned morning dew into scattered crystal across the overgrowth. Sometimes, if she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was in another life, only if for a minute. A world that was crowded with people, cafés full, horns beeping in traffic, the sound of children’s laughter. Then she’d open them again and find only silence stretching for miles. A cruel reminder that the world had moved on without them.

Jimmy saw it differently; to him, the sun wasn’t beautiful, it was useful. Useful in the way that meant he could see past the tree lines, eyes catching movement before the movement caught him. It meant warmth in bones that ached after another freezing night curled against a ruined wall. Sunshine, to Jimmy, was survival. Nothing more.

That was until he met her.

Every now and then, when Jimmy didn’t think Y/N was looking, she’d catch him watching the evening sky. He’d watch the way orange bled into crimson, the way violet hues swallowed the horizon, the way the clouds moved before fading into darkness.

His expression always softened for a heartbeat before the mask slipped back into place.

“What ye starin’ at?” he’d mutter when he noticed her looking, lips curving with a smile, eyes soft as he looked at her.

She’d soften too, eyes lingering over him as she spoke, “The sunset.”

Jimmy would sigh, eyes shifting, voice gruff, “It’s just the sun gaun tae bed.”

“It’s beautiful.” She’d implore.

Jimmy would snort, eyes still soft, face somewhat stoic, “It’s a big fiery ball. Dinnae get sentimental.”

She’d smile to herself, “You looked first.”

“I wis checkin’ the weather.”

“Liar.” She’d laugh, eyes bright with content.

“Aye.” He’d mutter, head tilting as he looked at her; the light of the sunset casting a soft hue over her face, beautiful, he’d think to himself.

He’d deflect because the truth was too much for Jimmy to admit out loud; sunset meant that with endless certainty they’d survived another day together, which meant that when the sun rose again in the morning, he would spend another day surviving alongside her. Jimmy would never take it for granted for as long as he lived.

It was under the soft light of sunset that it happened, the air warmer than it had been on previous days. They’d spent the day scavenging in the same comfortable rhythm they had become accustomed to over the last few months; the weather now changing with the coming season.

Jimmy swore as he tripped over a tree root, Y/N biting back a laugh and failing, stopping so she wouldn’t do the same.

“Are ye laughing at me?” Jimmy asked, whipping round to face her, blonde hair caught over his face in an almost perfect frame.

Y/N stood, lips pursed as she tried to control her laughter, “For a man who prides himself on survival, you’re awfully clumsy when it comes to tree roots.”

Jimmy stilled, the rabbit he’d caught earlier swinging by his side, “Aye. Keep laughing, not like I’m the reason we’re eating tae’night or nothin’.”

Y/N could only smile, lips curved in an almost mischievous grin, “Touché. You’re also the reason it’s nearly dark out and we haven’t decided where we’re camping for the night. How long did it take to catch that rabbit again? Two, nearly three hours?”

Jimmy’s face fell, the grin now replaced with annoyance. Y/N laughed again as his features contorted into the expression,

“Careful, lass. If ye want tae eat, I suggest ye choose yer next words carefully.” There was no real malice behind the words, just a light, almost too familiar teasing.

Y/N looked at him then, eyes bright, mouth uplifted in the same teasing smile. “You going to sort out the accommodation as well, Jimmy? Or are we making reservations in the creek?”

Jimmy said nothing, just turned in the opposite direction and started walking, pausing to call over his shoulder at her, eyes still glimmering with the familiar softness he possessed whenever he looked at her. “We’re losing daylight. C’mon.”

She only laughed, following behind him in contentment for a few minutes before he paused again, hand raised in communication, a simple signal: wait.

Jimmy turned to face her then, eyes glimmering with an almost kind of joy. “Old farmhouse ahead. I’m gonna go check, ye sh-“

Y/N interrupted him then, rolling her eyes as she huffed. “You’re asking me to stay here. And let me guess, you’ll just be a minute, right? And I should stay put?”

Jimmy could only grin. “Aye.”

“And I should absolutely not move?”

“Aye.”

She smiled sweetly, then in mock agreement her head tilted. “I’m going to move.”

Jimmy sighed like he expected the answer, eyes closing briefly in annoyance, jaw tightening slightly. “Dinnae be stupid.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Jimmy paused, swallowing lightly. “Just stay where I can see ye, deal?”

It wasn’t a request. But it wasn’t quite an order either. Something in between; something softer underneath, something that said, I need to know you’re safe.

He turned then, disappearing down the hill; his heart beating wildly with every step that he took away from her.

Y/N stood watching him leave. At first, everything seemed fine. The kind of fine that made you suspicious. For a while, she could still hear the faint rustle of Jimmy moving through the undergrowth. Occasional snaps of branches. A bird lifting off; the sound of its wings flapping wildly against the wind. Normal sounds; comforting, even. Then the silence stretched for what felt like a lifetime; sunset now nearly completely gone, low light offering little sight; the sky a thick orange, molten with slithers of red and pink.

After thirty minutes, she sighed, the worry clawing its way up her throat. She began moving towards the hill where Jimmy had disappeared, “Honestly,” she muttered to herself, “I swear he always—”

A twig snapping behind her cut through everything; not in the dramatic sense, just wrong. Too wrong. She froze, heart racing as she turned towards the sound: nothing. The forest behind her stretched empty, the hills swallowed by trees. She exhaled, breath quickening as she raised her knife.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, “don’t be dramatic.”

Then came the sound again; louder this time, closer. Her mind reacted before her body did, heart already climbing in her throat, hands shaking ever so slightly with the rising fear.

“Hello?” she called, instantly hating herself for it.

There was a silence that stretched; the only sound she could hear was the hammering of her own heart and the blood rushing in her ears. Then, movement.

Too many footsteps at once; almost like they’d been there the whole time. Not infected. Human.

Men: four of them. Her stomach dropped. This was worse than infected, worse in a different way.

They spread out slowly, like they had all the time in the world; eyeing her like prey.

One of them smiled when he saw her; that was worse than anything else.

“Well, look what we’ve got here.” He crooned, eyes alive with a sickening kind of hunger.

Y/N stepped back without thinking; a stone wall hit her calves. She was trapped.

She stilled, lifting her knife. It looked smaller than it ever had before, God, she thought suddenly, Jimmy was right.

“Don’t come any closer,” she meant for it to come out as a demand, but the shake in her voice was borderline pleading.

The man only laughed, stepping closer with a smile, “Or what?”

Another of them stepped forward, tall, scrawny, eyes flicking over her like she was something already owned.

“She alone?”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her heart beating so wildly it was making her dizzy. “fuck off.”

The first man tilted his head.

“You always this mouthy?”

Her hand was shaking now. Not from fear of dying, but from the almost terrifying realisation that if anything were to happen, she might not get the chance to fight back properly.

She shifted her weight, knife raised. The man saw it immediately.

“Grab her.”

It happened fast; too fast. A hand caught her wrist before she could fight it. She swung her knife wildly, catching air instead of flesh. Someone slammed into her side, the wind knocked out of her in one painful burst as she fell. Her knife hit the ground. “No!”

She tried scrambling to get it before a boot came down on her wrist; hard. Another set of hands grabbed at her hair, pain shooting through her scalp.

“Got her,” one of them beamed.

“Hold her still. Don’t mark her face.” The first one muttered.

Her blood went cold. Eyes burning with tears she refused to spill.

“Jimmy!” she shouted before she could stop. It came out raw, not theatrical, not particularly articulated, just instinct. A mistake. Because now they realised she wasn’t alone.

The man holding her hair tightened his grip, yanking her head to face him. “No one’s saving you, love.”

She stared at him, eyes blown wide in panic, but her voice was strong and sure, “You don’t know what you’re up against.”

The sound that came from the tree lines wasn’t footsteps. It was rage wrapped up in fear.

One moment the man was gripping her hair, then the next a knife was thrown directly into the middle of his skull; his grip loosened, mouth gurgling with blood, eyes wide in shock, eyes blinking subconsciously as they searched her face for an answer. Y/N could only watch as Jimmy all but arrived in a blur of motion through bush and drying ground; his eyes dark like he wasn’t quite there. The second man made the mistake of trying to charge at him; Jimmy caught his wrist before twisting it mid-swing; bone snapping with a sound that Y/N could barely stomach. He screamed, silenced seconds later by a knife to the skull.

The third man backed away as Jimmy charged at him, arms outstretched as he plead, “Mate, please. C’mon, I-I didn’t-“ the sound was cut off as his neck was slashed open in one fluid motion; his head now barely attached as blood pooled around him on the ground; delicate wildflowers once purple and blue, now soaked crimson. The fourth man surrendered, dropping to his knees, hands pressed together in prayer, Jimmy laughed at the sight, his eyes searching the man’s face angrily as he spoke, head tilted, mocking the man as he did, “Why’re ye praying tae that daft shite for, ey? He’s no’ going tae save ye,” The man only cried harder, eyes closing just in time before Jimmy’s blade sank into his temple.

Y/N stayed slumped on the ground, breath too fast, staring at him. Her eyes wide.

Jimmy didn’t look at her at first; he checked the area, once, twice. Breath coming out in steady bursts, eyes still shadowed like his mind was somewhere else. It was only when Y/N made a small sound that his mind snapped back, his eyes found her, sharpening yet softening at the same time

“Are ye, hurt?”

She opened her mouth; nothing came out.

He stepped closer immediately, voice rough when he spoke, commanding almost, “Y/N. Lass, are ye hurt?”

He ever used her name like that. Ever.

“I’m— I’m fine,” she managed.

His jaw tightened, “Dinnae lie tae me.”

“I’m not—”

He crouched suddenly, checking her arms, her shoulders, her face like he was counting damage. He noted the bruising on her wrist, eyes darkening as his jaw clenched hard enough to grind his own teeth.

His hands were steady, but there was something underneath it; Something tight. Controlled.

“Did they touch ye?”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Did they—”

“I’m fine, Jimmy.”

That stopped him; not the answer, the tone.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and stood up, eyes closing before looking away for a second like he was trying to put himself back together.

Y/N noticed then that he was shaking. Barely, but enough that she saw the slight tremble in his hands, the way his jaw twitched, his lips set in a hard line; no trace of the familiar grin she’d learned to hold onto. It wasn’t from exertion; it was from restraint. It was from fear.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Different; full of emotion he refused to let surface, “Dinnae do that again.”

Her brows knit.

“Do what?”

“Call ma name.”

She stared at him, eyes wet with tears she hadn’t yet shed, “I was getting attacked.”

“Aye.”

She scoffed then, that familiar fire Jimmy had grown to love about her roared, “So I was supposed to—what? Politely suffer?”

He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, it wasn’t what she expected,

“Ye were supposed tae stay still.” It came out almost broken.

She didn’t soften though, she fought back with pure stubborn will, “Right, I’ll just remember that next time I’m being dragged away by strangers.”

His eyes snapped to hers, wild, burning with words he couldn’t say, “Dinnae,”

It wasn’t a warning; it was worse. It was fear trying not to become anger.

Jimmy didn’t say anything else; simply walked toward where her knife had fallen, picked it up and wiped the dirt from the blade. His eyes travelled over the bodies of the men he’d all but butchered. He looked away, handing the knife back to Y/N before shouldering his pack, walking back down towards the cottage, eyes locking onto hers over his shoulder; no words needed: Y/N stood, tears finally spilling as she followed behind him.

The walk was silent. Jimmy for the first time since Y/N met him, said nothing. He stayed close to her though, closer than he ever had before. Every time she slowed, he slowed. Every time she looked away, he checked behind them.

When she finally broke the silence, his head whipped toward her, the response hot on his breath, “I could have handled it.”

“No, ye couldnae.”

She bristled, “I-“

“ye got grabbed. That’s what ye did.”

She stopped walking, the anger rising in her chest, “So what, I’m useless now?”

Jimmy stopped walking then, turning to face her, eyes softening as his head tilted, “I heard ye scream. Thought I’d lost ye, lass.”

Every remark that she had swirling in her mind stopped, the words faltering as she tried to speak. Mouth closing, whispering his name like it hurt.

He held her gaze, his eyes burning with emotion, “Dinnae make me do that again,” he added, rougher this time.

They stared at each other, eyes bright with everything they didn’t say. Y/N could only nod, shifting closer to Jimmy as they walked down towards the cottage. Sunset long since gone: they’d survived another day, barely this time. One thing was clear in Jimmy’s mind though; he would burn the world if it meant he got another sunset with her.

[warped-window]

The Man Beneath The Monster: Chapter Four

Years before Jimmy Crystal became Sir Lord, he was just a man. A man with a voice he tried to ignore. A man who loved, a man who knew that his delusions were fragility dressed up as belonging. A man who vowed to protect. A man who loved Y/N; years later, that’s the only thing that never changed.

Previous Chapters can be found here:

One Two Three

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Series warnings; violence, cults? mature themes, swearing i guess?torture, rape, canon movie violence. religious guilt? eventual smut, death, mental illness

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15 years after the initial outbreak

They’d been walking for weeks in the same soft rhythm they had come to accept as normal. Jimmy flirted, spoke of the things he remembered from before, Y/N humming forgotten tunes, turning any attempt at flirtation into insult but smiling nonetheless. Both of them comfortable enough in the silence when they ran out of things to talk about.

That was the first thing Y/N noticed every morning; the silence.

Not true silence, she was sure it was louder now than it ever was before, just absent of people. No traffic. No planes. No humming of distant motorways or screeching cars. Instead the world now was filled with wind loud enough to push through forests that have long since swallowed entire villages. Birds seemed louder than ever, calling to one another over empty fields. She noticed the way old buildings creaked as they walked past them, slowly collapsing under their own weight.

Roads barely existed anymore; motorways long since hidden by tall grass and wildflowers. Saplings now split through cracked tarmac, rusted cars sat exactly where they’d been left abandoned 15 years ago, doors hanging open like someone had left in a hurry; windows smashed, the insides filled with thick moss. Ivy was everywhere; climbing over buildings and outhouses, smothering the life that had once lived in them.

Every couple of miles was a reminder that civilisation didn’t leave voluntarily; it was consumed.

A child’s trainer laying in the middle of the road, worn by years of weather and dirt; an overturned bus growing its own ecosystem in the middle of the woods; a petrol station lay collapsed due to the weight of the vines that engulfed it; a supermarket trolley left half submerged in a pond that she was sure used to be a supermarket carpark.

Jimmy would rarely comment on any of it. He’d seen it for far too long and had long since accepted that this world was the new way of life. He’d notice though, how every time Y/N would look at things, her eyes would soften like she was looking at a life interrupted. It’s the same way she’d slow down when they’d pass through villages and he’d tell her not to linger; he’d often watch the way her face would change when she’d spot a child’s drawing on the wall of an abandoned cottage; the table still set like it was waiting for life to come home. She doesn’t always show it in a sad way. Sometimes it comes out as gentleness instead; she’ll psause to straighten something if it’s fallen over, even if it makes no difference. She’ll leave wildflowers over marked graves, even if nobody has had chance to do it in years.

For Jimmy, he saw it all as destruction; a world ripped away by pure will. He’d see the failings. Human failings; the loss of control and power. For him, the world was already reduced to its current rules: survive, move, avoid, assess the threat before the threat assesses you. The past is dangerous, mainly because it slows you down.

But there was something else that was beginning to consume Jimmy. He would notice how Y/N treats the world; because Jimmy notices her.

And every so often, when he thinks she isn’t looking, he’ll do something small; he’ll close the door on a ruined house so it’s less exposed, he’ll guide her past places he’s been without ever letting her know what’s inside, he’ll adjust small things when they look out of place no matter how hard his mind screamed at him that it was stupid. He’d do it for her.

Not because he’s detached from the reality of the new world; but because he’s seen what it’s cost to stay soft in a world like this, and he’s long since realised he’d die before letting her pay the same price.

It was late when she asked about the cross at his neck; they’d been travelling together for weeks, Jimmy learning the difference between a comfortable silence, and the silence that meant she was thinking too hard about something. He watched her through firelight; flames dancing over her face casting soft golden light, her brow creased in thought, hands resting on her lap.

“If ye think any harder, ye’re face is going tae stay that way forever. What’s on ye’re mind, lass?” he asked gently, lips curving into that familiar grin.

Y/N stilled; hands clasping tighter on her lap before she spoke, “It’s just, I’ve been thinking. I never really went to church, never really prayed or thought about any sort of God. And now I think that there can’t be one because surely if there was one, none of this would have happened, right? I mean, you- you wear that cross every second of the day and yet, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you pray.”

Jimmy’s gaze dropped from her own, his fingers pressing over the metal at his chest, shifting it between his fingers. He swallowed once before speaking, the words seeming to tumble out of him before he could stop them,

“It was my da’s. I was eight when all o’ this when outta whack,” his smile dropping as he spoke, “He was a vicar, lived right next tae the church.”

He cleared his throat then, almost as if the memory pained him, shifting slightly in his seat before continuing to speak, eyes still avoiding Y/N, “anyway, when the infected came, it was like he was leading them. Said tha’ the whole thing was judgment day. He gave me the cross, an’ I hid. Pressed it so hard in tae my hand. I hid because I was just a wee boy, terrified of wha’ was coming. I can remember bits of it, just before it happened. Telletubbies were playing. Me and ma’ sisters were watching it. Then me mam started shouting about locking the doors. Thing is- I never, I was never too good at being told wha’ tae do so I fled tae the church. Fer years I thought tha’ maybe if I could have just gotten us all there they’d have survived.”

He shook his head then; closing his eyes tightly trying to will the tears away. When he opened them, they were wet with unshed tears. His gaze turned towards Y/N then, her own eyes wet with emotion, “It’s daft really,” he said quickly as if trying to regain control over the moment, “it’s jus’ metal. Kept it on me at first outta’ habit. Then outta spite.”

Y/N tilts her head before speaking, brows knit together in sudden confusion, “Spite?”

“Aye.” His mouth twitches. “Worlds gone tae shite, everyone loses everything. And I’m no’ losing tha’ as well. Seemed like a good reason at the time.” He reaches for the cross again, turning it over between his fingers before he speaks again, eyes locked on Y/N as he does,

“But that’s no’ the truth anymore. Truth is,” the words don’t feel right in his mouth, like somebody else was speaking for him, “It’s the last thing he touched tha’ was meant for me. That I didnae have to take. Or steal. Or fight for. It was meant for me.”

Silence stretches; even the fire seems quieter between them. Jimmy speaks again, softer now, “If I take it off, I’m afraid I lose tha’ bit o’ me. The one who still remembers the before. When it’s on, it means that the voice in ma head is just nonsense.” There was no joke in it. No performance. Just truth.

Y/N could only nod; eyes softening as she looks at him. Jimmy clears his throat immediately, almost as if he regrets being honest,

“So aye,” he adds, lighter again, forcing it back into something he can stand. “It’s either sentimental nonsense or emotional cowardice. Sometimes it’s religious guilt. Depends wha’ mood I’m in.”

Y/N huffs a small laugh, rubbing away the unshed tears in her eyes before she speaks, “You’re still you, Jimmy. You don’t have to pretend to be anything else. Not with me at least.”

Jimmy stilled, shoulders dropping with the weight of her words, “Aye, lass. I know. Never with ye.”

The roar of the fire spoke loud enough to fill the silence. They sat across from each other, both felt lighter than they had done ten minutes ago. Jimmy realised then, that sometimes, things didn’t need fixing; they could remain broken whilst still standing, as long as they had the right support. That was something that he would still cling to years later when his mind was too broken to stay completely clear.

[warped-window]

The Man Beneath The Monster:

Chapter Three

Years before Jimmy Crystal became Sir Lord, he was just a man. A man with a voice he tried to ignore. A man who loved, a man who knew that his delusions were fragility dressed up as belonging. A man who vowed to protect. A man who loved Y/N; years later, that’s the only thing that never changed.

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Series warnings; violence, cults? mature themes, swearing i guess?torture, rape, canon movie violence. religious guilt? eventual smut, death, mental illness

Previous Chapters can be found here:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Next Chapter here

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15 years after the initial outbreak

Something changed between them after that morning; not in the dramatic sense that suddenly meant anything more than companionship, but there was something softer between them.

Jimmy Crystal had learnt what it felt like to be alone, and the realisation that having somebody else to talk to that wasn’t a voice inside his own mind made him feel almost human again. He sat perched on a log, stick in hand poking at the fire; it had become his responsibility, or at least he’d told himself so.

He watched as Y/N slept, her face contorting in sleep, lips pursed, eyebrows knitting together before she made a small sound of disapproval. Jimmy continued to watch, lips curving into a small, genuine smile as she woke, pushing the hair from her face, groaning before opening her eyes.

Jimmy laughed, just loud enough that she couldn’t ignore it,

“Och, ye should see yer face,” he crooned, standing to shoulder his rucksack, stick falling back into the flames. “Thought ye’d swallowed a wasp, lass.”

Y/N’s gaze trailed over to him, lips pressed into a thin line, choosing her next words carefully, “I was trying to dream about somewhere where I couldn’t hear your voice.”

Jimmy barked a laugh, slightly rough around the edges as he shook his head, “Och, that’s cruel.”

Y/N yawned, arms stretching out above her head before she stood, “It was peaceful.”

Jimmy only grinned wider, dousing out the fire as he shifted his backpack, “Ye’d miss me.”

Y/N glared at him then, a small smile tugging at her lips as she spoke, “I’ve survived without you this long. I’m sure I’d manage.”

Jimmy’s smile faltered ever so slightly, eyes softening as he spoke, “Aye. Ye prolly would.”

By midday, the pair had covered several miles of woodland, following animal tracks rather than old roads. They walked in a comfortable silence for the most part. Y/N had stopped asking Jimmy how he always seemed to know where they were going, she concluded after she’d asked him for fourth time that morning that he just knew. It was irritating. Almost as irritating as him. But oddly comforting; just like him. Her brows furrowed at the thought.

“Ye know,” Jimmy called over his shoulder, “if ye smiled more, ye’d frighten folk less.”

She raised an eyebrow, eyes glancing towards his face, “There aren’t any people to frighten, Jimmy.”

Jimmy nodded, “Aye.”

Y/N held his gaze, “So who am I frightening?”

Jimmy paused, lips curling into that small crooked grin, “Me.”

She laughed then, eyes falling closed. Jimmy watched, his chest tightening with a strange sensation. She was beautiful like this, laughing, relaxed, almost free. He swallowed the thought, head turning away as she spoke, “I’ll treasure that.”

Jimmy could only nod, eyes closing when she couldn’t see, “Aye.”

The afternoon passed in the same kind of rhythm, Jimmy teasing her whenever he could, eyes lingering a little too long whenever she laughed.

When she stumbled lightly over a log or a root-

“Careful, princess.”

Y/N would still, chin upturned, “I’m going to throw you into the river.”

Jimmy would laugh lightly, hand outstretching to steady her, “Ye’d miss me too much.”

“I’d sleep better.”

When she rolled her eyes at him for tenth time that day, “Careful, they’ll get stuck like that.”

“I live in hope that they get stuck facing away from you, Jimmy.”

Even when she sighed,

“Och, ye’re sighing again.”

“I do every time you speak.”

Jimmy would grin; Y/N would pretend to be irritated, but her stomach would tighten, her heart beating just a little bit faster when he looked at her.

Near sunset, they came across an abandoned orchard; the apple trees had grown wild over the years, branches hanging low and heavy with fruit.

Y/N watched as Jimmy reached up, plucking an apple free from the overhang, rubbing it once against his sleeve before he tossed it towards her. She caught it one handed, eyes light as she looked towards him,

“I checked fer worms,” he said, eyes soft as he tilted his head.

“How thoughtful.”

“I’m nothing if no’ romantic.”

She ignored him, hiding a small laugh as she bit into the apple, face contorting as she chewed, “It’s sour.”

Jimmy only smiled, “aye. so are you, lass.”

Y/N froze, her face setting back into that familiar frown before throwing the apple at Jimmy’s head; he caught it, laughing, Y/N doing the same as she watched him nearly trip over the tree root.

“Tha’ was cruel,” he said, finger pointing at her with accusation; his face soft, eyes even softer.

Y/N found herself watching him more as the days stretched on. Not because she wanted to exactly, but because he fascinated her. He never stopped paying attention, even when he was talking nonsense. His eyes filtered constantly between the tree lines, the undergrowth, the ridge lines. He noticed broken branches before she did, fresh footprints, always knew when the birds were taking flight. He’d have conversations with himself late at night, knuckles often white with how hard he clenched them like he was fighting a battle in his own mind. He could flirt with her, get under her skin and irritate her, all the while scanning for danger all at the same time. It was almost annoying, and yet, it was beginning to become almost entirely comforting.

By sunset, they’d taken camp by a creek on the outside of the woods. The sun bled across the valleys below; golden light spilling across the countryside leaving behind a lingering glow, birds calling once before settling into silence around them.

By the time darkness came, they sat across from each other; the fire Jimmy had started was glowing with flames and a restless life of their own.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was reassuring, just two people surviving alongside one another.

Eventually, Jimmy broke the silence; glancing across to Y/N over the flames,

“Can I ask ye something?”

She looked up then, head tilting to one side as she spoke, “what?”

“Have ye ever smiled at somebody else the way ye smile at me when ye’re about tae insult me?”

She blinked then, eyes downturn as she spoke, “I don’t smile at you.”

“Aye. Ye do.”

“I tolerate you.”

“That’s basically affection.”

“It really isn’t.”

Jimmy paused, a small smile tugging at his lips before he spoke, “I’ll take it.”

She shook her head, turning away but unable to stop the small smile at the corner of her mouth from lifting.

Jimmy caught it immediately, finger pointing at her, “there!”

“What?”

Jimmy’s shoulders dropped, his chest tightening once more, heart hammering behind his ribs, “Ye’ve got that wee smile.”

Y/N scoffed, eyes turning away from his again. Her own chest beginning to tighten, her heart beating loudly enough that she could feel the rush of blood. She said nothing, eyes finally lifting towards Jimmy.

Jimmy leaned back on one elbow, utterly pleased with himself, “If ye keep smiling at me like that, folk’ll start talking.”

She stared into the fire, eyes fixed on the dancing flame, “there aren’t any people, Jimmy.”

He shrugged, trailing off as he spoke, “aye, but if there were,”

She looked back at him, eyes soft, “I’d tell them you were delusional.”

Jimmy laughed, hair falling over his shoulders, “Aye,” he said, his eyes lingering on her for just a moment longer than usual. “Probably.”

The fire continued to crackle between them; flames dancing under the light of the moon, sparks lifting up into the air. Suddenly the miles they travelled didn’t seem so lonely. And although she would never admit it out loud, Y/N hoped that tomorrow’s road would be just as long.

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Let me know what you think!❤️ any likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated🖤 if anyone wants to be added to a taglist for future chapters; let me know!🖤

[dxmurewrites]

I'll Find You

Part two of a two-shot series

Find Part One here.

pairing: Sir Jimmy Crystal x Pregnant!Reader

summary: Upon finding out you're pregnant with Jimmy's child, you make the swift decision to leave after he orders the death of one of the Jimmy's after deeming him unfit for the group. Fearing what he might do if he finds out, you vanish into the wilds before dawn.

But Jimmy isn’t letting you go, not without a fight. He always fights for what's his as the end of the day, and you're no exception.

Not edited.

warnings: language, post apocalyptic setting, mentions of murder - character death, blood, possessive behaviour, mentions of pregnancy, throwing up, mentions of unprotected sex, mentions of violence, gore, manipulative tendencies, borderline Stockholm syndrome, happy ending, potential spoilers for 28 years later.

Let me know what you think!

-

You feel it before you see it, the flutter.

It's small. Gentle. Like light touches brushing against the inside of your stomach. You press your palm against the warmth beneath your jumper, just below your ribs, and hold your breath.

There it is again. A little ripple.

It's not exactly a kick, but it's a feeling, a reminder of the life hiding in there. The doctor called it 'quickening', you called it butterflies.

You’re nearly five months now. Nearly halfway.

The wind outside your bedroom window howls like something rough. It’s always like that up here, the Highlands whispering things you'd rather forget. But the compound holds stronger than anything you had ever lived in.

The walls of corrugated scrap and wire might not look like much, but they’re solid. Strong. Safe. Had been standing since the beginning.

Infected couldn't get in. That's all that mattered.

You exhale slowly, breath fogging the cold glass. Somewhere out in the yard, kids are laughing, high and sharp. The kind of laughter you didn’t think you’d find again when you left him.

There’s smoke rising from the kitchens, chimneys lining the grounds and holding other survivors.

You should be content.

Most days, you are.

You had lied your way into this place three months ago. With cracked lips and a story about a cottage out west that had been overrun with infected. You told them your husband held the door shut while you climbed out a back window.

That he screamed for you to run and he never made it out. That you had to leave the love of your life behind so you and your unborn baby could live.

They believed you in seconds.

They took you in and made you one of them like it was nothing.

When they found out you were pregnant, they didn’t ask questions, didn't ridicule you or cast you out.

No, they brought you to their doctor - a real one, Dr Fern, grey haired and gentle, with hands that knew how to find that little heartbeat inside you.

But some nights, like tonight - the lie feels heavier than the truth ever did.

You reach under your collar and touch a small ring hanging from a leather cord. Cold metal. Gold. You close your fist around it.

Jimmy’s ring.

It was the only thing that belonged to him that you brought with you, the only gift of his that you wanted to keep.

You see him sometimes in your dreams, grinning wide, tiara crooked on that perfect blonde hair. His purple suit soaked in blood, arms outstretched like some deranged messiah.

And yet, you had loved him.

Still do, in a quiet now unspoken way.

You miss his warmth.

When he'd hold you like you were the only person he needed, and at the end of the day when it was just you and your dysfunctional family together in this mad world.

His sweet nothings in your ear, his protection, his guidance.

But then came Spike. Then came Shite's execution.

"I'm not letting anyone tear what we've all worked so hard to create. We're building something good here, can't go changing things now."

And Fox had obeyed with a grin, slicing into his brother like it was nothing.

Regret had oozed it's way into your soul in the first few weeks, but you got over it when you realised you truly had no other choice.

You just never expected to make it this far.

You were adamant an infected would've gotten to you first, or worse - Jimmy. But you had managed for the first month, running from place to place, hiding where you could and taking down infected when needed.

"Dinner's ready now honey bunny," Someone breaks your thoughts, and you turn your head, seeing a friendly face. It was one of the ladies from the compound who worked in the supply section, Ange. "Wanna walk w'me?"

"I'd love too," You answer, swinging off your chair with a huff. You were still getting used to walking around now with the extra weight, knowing it was only going to get worse.

Already your feet would swell, your lower back screaming alongside it. "Gotta get there before Henry does, old mate might eat our plates."

The older woman snorts, nodding her agreements. She guides you out of your room, an old office building turned into individual bedrooms.

You make small talk along the way, making mention of your job for the day. They were kind when it came to your condition, and you found yourself sorting through supplies with a few of the older generations to keep off your swollen feet.

Unbeknownst to you, Jimmy Jimmy lies belly flat in the dirt behind a half rotted log, his breath shallow, his fingers raw from the cold.

Pine needles bite into his palms. His ribs ache. He’s been tracking leads for days, hoping from compound to compound.

But now, there you are.

Walking past a garden, talking with a strange woman. Your hair is longer. Your clothes are plain, a large grey hoodie, loose cargo pants, boots caked in mud.

No tracksuit. No gold.

You don’t look like a Jimmy anymore.

You look happy.

That’s what stings the most.

Jimmy Jimmy doesn’t clock the curve of your belly beneath the hoodie, doesn’t notice the way you move more carefully now, the way your hand drifts to rest just above your waistband when you stand still.

All he sees is you, whole and breathing and not dead, not like Jimmy Snake kept saying you probably were.

He watches until you vanish inside one of the buildings, laughter rising behind you, doors swinging open, warm light spilling into the dusk.

Then he starts walking with a grin. His mission successful.

Sir Jimmy would be pleased.

-

The moment he makes it back to your real base, Jimmy Jimmy nearly drops to his knees. It's been days of straight trekking, beelining for home in order to break the news.

Jimmy had been a wreck since you left. More compounds and safe havens had suffered greatly, tied up and carved with your name pressed into their bellies instead of his, before they were swiftly burnt to the ground.

He was losing it. Barely any sleep, barely any words murmured to the others. You were a loss he didn't see coming. The Jimmies were struggling under his rule as well, running a muck along the country side in just a mere hope they'd find you.

Ink stayed quiet the entire time, trying to steer them clear of the direction she had seen you leave in. But it wasn't enough, no stone was to be left unturned.

If a compound was found, it would be raided. If there was a chance they were harbouring his property, he couldn't risk not looking.

Jimmy Jimmy is tired, wind burned, streaked in mud. The others rest around the theatre, eagerly awaiting his words.

But it’s the man on the stage, sitting on a makeshift throne who lifts a hand.

"You're back early."

It's not a question, it's an accusation. He's waiting, wondering why Jimmy Jimmy wasn't still out. Everyone was expecting him back next week.

The younger man looks up, grinning from ear to ear despite the trembling in his knees.

“I found her,” He beams, attempting to catch his breath. "She's alive and she,” He wheezed again. “She looks well."

The theatre is silent.

Then a sound like a breath and a prayer all at once, a sharp, joyous inhale through clenched teeth. Jimmima claps her hands as Jimmy Jones breathes a sigh of relief.

Jimmy rises.

The necklaces against his dark purple suit shimmer like a beetle’s shell in the low light. The tiara on his head is bent slightly to the left. The upside down crucifix looks even bigger somehow.

“Where? You're sure?”

“East,” Jimmy Jimmy nods, his voice hoarse. “Forestry compound, couple days out if we don't make stops. I couldn't see much from afar - but it's definitely her, I swear it Sir."

He doesn’t continue. The look on his leaders face says enough for everyone.

Relief, excitement, fury - it all blends together.

“Pack up,” Jimmy says, turning to the others. “We’re leaving tonight.”

Ink smiles despite the hesitation behind her eyes. Jones cracks their knuckles. Jimmy Fox whispers something to Jimmy Snake that makes both of them laugh.

“She’ll probably run,” Jimmy Fox adds, tone unreadable. “If she sees us -”

“She won’t,” Jimmy interrupts, too softly. “She won’t even see us coming.”

His delight was enough to boost everyone's morale.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you were found. You were just days away, and Jimmy knew that when he had you back in his arms, he wasn't going to let you go again.

Whether you were chained to your bed or to him, there wouldn't be a moment where his eyes wouldn't be on you.

Jimmy's eyes crinkled as he huffs out a laugh, watching as everyone makes their way around the theatre. Weapons lay on the stage, chatter and giggles echoing all over.

You were coming home.

-

A fire crackles low. A circle of tired faces glowing orange in the dark.

You sit with your legs pulled up, arms wrapped around your knees, the blanket someone had given you draped over your shoulders. Beneath it, baggy pyjamas and some muddy boots. It was a nightly routine now.

The air smells like smoke, pine and damp earth. The sky’s a black sheet of stars overhead. The wind has died down.

Some had already gone to bed, those on watch stood at their posts, others like yourself sat in a ring, talking amongst each other.

Across from you, Elder Rae is smoking one of her horrible hand rolled cigarettes, squinting against the smoke curling into her eyes.

You don't know what she was smoking, or what herb it was, but it's enough to make everyone grimace at the scent. Her voice is thick, born long before the outbreak, hair long and braided in parts.

“Another compound up north got hit.” She mutters, exhaling slow.

A few heads lift. Yours included.

“Another? Where?” Someone asks.

“Near the old Tesco depot, just outside Fort Augustus,” She answers, shaking her head at the reveal. "Had a good trade set up with them, haven't heard from them in a wee while."

“Shit,” Another one murmurs from beside you, Brodie, a wiry man with crooked teeth and a machete always strapped to his thigh. “That’s not even a weeks way up the road.”

You stay quiet.

“They leave anyone alive?” Someone else asks, one of the younger girls.

Rae shakes her head. “Two survivors, both torn up pretty bad. Said it weren’t infected though, said it were people, they reckon raiders. Butchering folk like pigs, strung most of 'em up and burned the rest.”

You feel the skin on the back of your neck prickle.

“They say what they looked like?” You ask before you can stop yourself, pulling the blanket tighter over your shoulders as someone hands you a mug of something hot.

Rae shrugs. "Masks, something about wigs, same story as the southbound compound that got hit last month."

Laughter bubbles up from one of the older ones. “What? Wigs? Like fuckin' drag queens?”

You didn't know what that meant, and you keep your eyes trained on Rae as she speaks.

She doesn’t laugh at the older mans quip either. “They didn't even take supplies, least not the shite ye think a raider would take."

You taste iron in your mouth. Bite your tongue before your thoughts can slip out through your teeth.

It didn't take you long to figure it out. Your Jimmy would never let anyone leave, especially not leave him. You knew what he was looking for, why the 'raiders' weren't taking supplies.

You grip your mug tighter, trying not to shake. You haven’t said his name in months. Haven’t dared to speak of the Jimmies. The theatre. Him.

But now?

You can feel him everywhere.

Can almost hear him.

"Ye scared of me love? Think I'd hurt you?"

The others go quiet for a while. Someone tosses another log on the fire. Sparks drift upward like dying stars and you follow the small embers until they disappear into the night.

“Think they’ll come here?” A girl asks. Seventeen at most, born long after the virus hit.

Rae glances toward the large wall that separates us from the outside. “Eventually, yeah I do."

You swallow.

You should run, should leave again and give this place a chance.

But you can’t.

You're slower now. The baby makes your back ache and your feet swell, makes you vomit every second day. And this place, for all its creaking fences and tired faces, has something the theatre didn't.

A doctor.

You look at the people around you, their shadows dancing in the firelight. You don’t want them to burn for your past.

But you know that Jimmy will come for this place whether you're here or not.

Silence fills the air, just the low murmur of chatter from the walls and the crackling of the fire in the middle of your small group

No one knows that it was your family burning half the countryside, and you knew it would only be a matter of time before your beloved found you.

Found both of you.

-

They came for you just three days later.

He came for you.

Just as the sun began to set and the sky above the eastern compound bled orange.

At first, it was just distant smoke. But by dusk, the screams had started. The crackle of fire. The chaos. The pattern. You knew it too well, hell, you used to participate in it.

You didn’t need confirmation. Jimmy was here.

And he wasn’t charging in. He was waiting.

You’d heard his voice earlier, loud, clear, and patient as death, calling out to the compound from beyond the wall. Not barking orders. Not demanding surrender. Just speaking.

“You have something that belongs to me.”

The spotters were cut down first, colourful tracksuits climbing the walls and opening the main gate like it was muscle memory.

You’re hiding now, ducked behind a burned out truck, hoodie pulled low, heart a knot of fear and love and guilt. Around you, the compound trembled.

Some people still tried to fight. Others begged. But you knew the truth:

They were wasting time.

And you were the reason for all of it.

You couldn't run now. You couldn’t leave, not like this.

So you stepped out from your hiding spot, walking slowly towards the smoke and scattered screams. Others ran past you in the opposite direction, attempting to get to the safe zones put in place in case of infected.

Sir Jimmy Crystal stood just outside the compound walls, framed by firelight like some messiah. His arms were behind his back, eyes looking over the ruin in front of him as his Jimmies reaped havoc.

Blonde hair immaculate. Tracksuit nearly pristine. He hadn’t aged a day since you last saw him, still beautiful, terrifying, controlled.

Just tired.

He was alone at the front.

As you walked through the burning compound, you slowly pulled your hoodie down, seeing a blur of baby blue and red running towards you.

Ink and Jimmima stopped halfway, recognising you instantly. Jimmima beams, cat ears on her head with a splatter of blood on her cheek, Ink just looks at you apologetically, and you give her a low nod.

The other Jimmies - Snake, Jones, all of them, were scattered in the background, causing chaos or stringing people up, but Jimmy waited.

His eyes locked on you the moment you stepped into view.

A breath caught in his chest, his eyes wide and hands almost trembling. His head tilts, eyes looking you up and down for any sign of injury.

“There you are.”

His words came soft. Disbelieving. Reverent.

You didn’t run, nor did you speak.

You just stood there, hoodie pulled low over the curve of your stomach, arms at your sides.

Jimmy took a slow step forward. Then another, until he stood barely a metre from you.

“Look at you,” His voice cracked, just barely. “I thought maybe I’d made you up. Thought maybe I’d gone crazy missing you.”

You know he had and still you said nothing, keeping your eyes on him.

“But here you are... you, you ran from me.” Not an accusation. Just a fact.

“I did,” You murmur, voice strong despite the fear in your gut. "I had too."

His eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t understand. “Why? After everything we had, ye run off on me like a coward - abandon me like it was nothin'."

You swallowed hard, it wasn't nothing. It was one of the hardest things you had done. “Because I couldn't stay, not after everything that happened.”

He blinked at that. Then slowly his expression softened. Uncharacteristically gentle.

“I know I’m... a lot. I know I made some choices. Some of them... hard.” He glanced over your shoulder at the fire eating through the compound, then looked back at you. “But I would’ve done anything for you. Still would, still am.”

You could feel your heart breaking and repairing itself all at once.

“Ye need to call the Jimmies off," You plead, hearing more screams and laughter from behind. "These are good people Jimmy, they helped me - that has to mean something to you."

His eyes close with an inhale at hearing his name from your lips. “I provided you with everything, gave you everything - you expect me to just let this all pass?"

"So just take me home then, or kill me now - just... just let this place go."

Silence.

Then Jimmy stepped closer again, slower now, searching your face like he was trying to read a secret you were keeping. You kept your arms tight at your sides, willing the hoodie to stay loose, willing your body to obey.

“I looked for you every damn day y'know?” He whispers. “I sent Jimmies in all directions. We tore through half the damn country. I burned the places that lied to me, killed the ones who said they hadn’t seen you,”

His voice trembled. Not from anger. From something worse.

“Because I love you,” He nods to himself. "So much that it's painful, y'know how much it hurt wakin' up alone to your letter? Knowing how easy it was for you to run out on me?'

Tears welled in your eyes. “It wasn’t easy, far from it.”

He reached out, slowly, like you might vanish again if he moved too fast.

“Doesn’t matter now, you’re not safe out here. Look how easy it was for us to get in. This world, this place? It's not meant for you,” His fingers brushed yours. “But I am. I’m the only thing that ever kept you alive, kept ye going all these years.”

You let him touch your hand. Just for a second.

And it nearly destroyed you, his warmth burned.

“M'not gonna kill you,” It was like the mere idea pained him. “No, Christ I could never, not after all this. Can't say I didn't think about it the first week - though I think I just wanted you to hurt as much as I was hurting."

His voice had never sounded like that before.

Broken. Raw. Desperate.

You looked at him, the man you love, the man you feared, the man who would burn the world down just to find you.

And somewhere inside, behind the terror and the weight of what grew inside you, the smallest voice whispered:

He hasn’t seen the bump.

The silence between you stretched thick and endless, broken only by the distant crackle of fire and the groaning of half collapsed buildings.

Jimmy’s hands were still on yours. His eyes were soft, too soft, shining with something between relief and fever.

He smiled. Not wide, but intimate and familiar.

“We’re gonna' go home now.” His voice was light. Like it was a definite, he wasn’t asking. He was telling you.

You opened your mouth.

He cut you off.

“No, no. You don’t get a say this time, you don’t get to run off again,” He brushed your hair behind your ear, fingertips trailing down your cheek like he was memorising you all over again. “And when we're home, I’m gonna make sure you can't run off again - keep you locked in our room. Safe, just you and me.”

You stepped back a half inch, barely noticeable, but to Jimmy, it was a canyon. You couldn't leave, there was no medicine, no doctor, hell, there wasn't even anywhere you could give birth comfortably.

His hand snapped out, catching your wrist with a growl. “Watch it.”

You froze.

His smile returned, thinner now. “I’ll tie you to the bed if I have to, just for a little while at least. Until you remember who you belong to,” A beat, a murmur of your name. “You scared me so much my love, and I've come to realise that I don’t like feeling that way.”

His other hand came to rest on the back of your neck, drawing you forward roughly.

“You will be punished for that, I cannae have the others thinkin' you can hurt me and get away with it,” A whisper, almost tender. “But I’ll still love you through it, and you'll forgive me eventually.”

You tremble. You knew he wouldn't let it slide. His pride came before all else. His punishments would never be physical, but you knew he'd comfortably tie you to your bed or grant you the silent treatment for weeks.

At least that's what he used to do. You never minded the first punishment.

Probably how you ended up pregnant to begin with.

You weren't sure what his punishments would entail now, not after seeing what he did to Shite and the compounds around the highlands.

Before you could pull away, before you could brace yourself or make a run for it, he hugged you.

Tight. Like a man hugging a ghost he wasn’t sure was real.

And that’s when he felt it.

The shift.

The pressure of your stomach between you.

Jimmy went still. His arms froze around you, breath caught in his throat.

Then, slowly, he pulled back. Just enough to see your face, and then his eyes dropped.

To your hoodie. To the bump.

You swallowed, stepping back instinctively, but his hands were already on your shoulders, holding you in place and keeping you still.

He looks at the zipper, and the hands on your shoulder slide down until they reach the top of your hoodie.

And without a word, he drags the small zipper down.

Slowly. Like opening a gift. Or a casket.

The fabric parted and there it was, your swollen belly, unmistakable now that it was exposed. Covered by a soft vest, barely hidden under the fabric that was a size too small.

Jimmy’s gaze locked onto it.

Unblinking.

Darting between your belly and your evidently swollen breasts.

They returned to your belly as you shivered.

He was unmoving.

He says nothing for several seconds. The firelight danced in his eyes, his jaw twitching as he stays staring.

Then, quietly. "S'it mine?"

Another pause. You don't answer, you weren't sure how too. But he didn’t need you to, he did the math.

The distance and the time apart. The way you looked at him. He knew you wouldn’t have touched anyone else.

He knew.

Still, he looked up at you again, searching.

Needing to hear it anyway.

You nodded. "Of course it is."

Another beat.

Then, he exhaled, shaky and quiet, like something inside him had just collapsed and rebuilt before your eyes.

He looked down at your stomach again. His hands dropped from your shoulders, hovering in the air like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you.

“You’re carrying...” Soft. Disbelieving. "Me."

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain, but he shook his head slightly. His fingers finally touched your belly, just the tips. Barely grazing the curve of your fabric covered belly.

“Mine,” The word came out like a prayer. "Ye left and took a part of me with you," And then, with something dark and fierce behind his eyes, he looked up at you again. “You were gonna keep this from me?”

The grief in his voice was real. Deep. But so was the danger.

You could hardly breathe. Tears spilled freely now, hot on your cheeks as Jimmy’s hand stayed gently on your belly. His thumb ghosted over the fabric like he was afraid to press too hard, like you might vanish again if he moved wrong.

"You don't understand." You whisper, sniffling as it all hits you at once.

His eyes never left your stomach.

Not yet.

So you kept speaking, words tumbling out too fast, too thick.

"I didn’t tell you because… because I didn’t know how you’d take it. You never talked about things like this Jimmy, about babies or… or anything past the now. You always talked about the future, how others were slowing us down, how - how Shite had gotten sloppy,"

Now his gaze finally rose, eyes wide with something unreadable. You let the silence hang for a second. Then your voice broke again:

"I didn’t want us to come between the future you envisioned."

The words hung in the smoky air like glass about to shatter.

Jimmy just stood there, staring at you. And for a second, a rare, real second, he looked wrecked.

His hand stayed pressed against your stomach, but his posture had changed. His shoulders had dropped, eyes glassy, mouth slightly parted.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "You thought I’d see you as a liability?" His mind races with the note you had written him, and he quotes you himself. "I won't slow you down, I won't ruin your vision for the world."

You nodded through the tears.

He blinked slowly. Then shook his head, not in disbelief, but in grief.

"I did scare you." A breath. "That night I asked and ye lied to me, but I see it now - I made you think you weren’t safe with me, didn’t I? You thought I’d hurt you?”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

And then something shifted in his face, all the harsh lines melted, tension gone. His other hand came up, cupping the side of your face. His touch was featherlight.

He looked at you the way you remembered from before all of it, before the wigs, the indoctrination, the fear.

"There’s no future I want that doesn’t have you in it," He whispers, eyes stern. "You hear me? None. This all means nothing if you're not with me,"

Your heart twisted in your chest, because you believed him. Because he meant it. "M'so sorry dove, I'm sorry ye thought I would ever lay a hand on you, on them."

You placed your hand over his, pressing it gently into the roundness of your belly.

"Then let this place go," You said softly. You weren't even sure if there was much of this place left. "Please. There’s a doctor here. I need one, Jimmy. I won't... I can’t make it like this without their help."

He hesitated.

But then, slowly, for once, he agreed.

"Okay." His thumb brushed your cheek. "Alright, for you, just this once.”

You nearly collapsed with relief.

Jimmy whistles, loud enough for one to hear, loud enough for the next to whistle louder and call the others back. He's got you pulled into his side and your nuzzled into his side, arm wrapped around him.

He murmurs more apologies into your ear, hand on your stomach now in a possessive tender embrace.

Colourful characters start returning to the gate, relief filling you at seeing some parts of the compound still standing.

But that relief lasted only seconds.

A shout rings out, cackling following it as your blood turns to ice.

Jimmy Fox drags a body across the ash streaked courtyard with a rope tied around their feet.

Limp hands trail in the dirt behind them as blood seeps from their stomach.

A familiar coat.

Dr Fern.

Your knees buckled, nearly hitting the ground hard if it weren’t for the man beside you. A sob rips from your chest, raw and wild.

"No, no - Jimmy!" He struggles to keep you upright as you flail around, hand outstretched at the familiar face. “Fuck, no!”

Sir Jimmy’s head turned, slow and deliberate.

His face didn’t change. Not immediately.

But then he saw the body, the blood, and he flinched like someone had struck him. He figured it out quickly.

"Fox!" He barks. Jimmy Fox, still grinning, dropped the rope unceremoniously and shrugs, confused. The others look on, watching in content at you being found, but worried by your wailing.

“What’s the issue?” Fox calls out, going as far as to kick at the leg of the body by his feet.

Jimmy brings you to your knees, letting you down gently as he whispers into your ear. “The doctor?”

You just nod, unable to speak. It was rare finding anyone nowadays who could even stitch a wound, let alone someone from before the fall who was actually educated.

He was your only hope at a safe pregnancy.

Jimmy curses, jaw clenched. He couldn’t be mad, he was the one who told his Jimmies to carve up anyone who got in their way. But seeing you like this after months apart pained him something fierce.

Your cries shook your whole body as you curled over your belly, protective instinct kicking in even as everything felt like it was slipping from your hands.

"I’m dead," You choked out. "He was the only one who knew what,” A painful wheeze. “Knew what to do, he, he was the only, fucking, Jimmy he -“

Jimmy knelt in front of you, one hand cradling your head, the other gripping your back. He angles your face tenderly, guiding you to his eyes as tears pour down your cheeks.

"Hey, stop it, look at me," His voice was soft again, firm with certainty. “Naw the only one, we’ll find another."

You shook your head, trying to push him away. “Fucking where?” Your head falls back in another rough inhale of air. “You’ve burned half the highlands down, there’s no one left.”

He lifted your face, forcing you to look at him again through blurred, tear soaked vision.

"We will,” He urges, no room for fear. “I’ll find ye ten even, you’re naw going without."

You wanted to believe him.

But you couldn’t stop shaking, the last piece of safety you had was gone.

And all you had left was him.

-

You’re walking, back with them, back with him.

Your family.

You had left the compound and camped somewhere else for the night. Everyone was up and walking by sun up, eager to put distance between what remained of the eastern camp.

Jimmy’s hand is wrapped around yours, warm and firm, his thumb tracing slow little circles into your palm, like it’s a secret message only you two understand.

Every so often, his hand slips to your back, resting gently, protectively, just above your hips. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t rush.

True to his word, he left the remainder of the compound unscathed and left a handful of survivors.

With a threat that he would be back with hundreds more if any of them thought of tracking your group down.

They didn’t know that there was only a handful of you, but seeing as the damage was still extreme with just a small number, they didn’t want to risk anything further.

The others all surround you, weapons in hand, bags full of looted supplies, baby items and stolen medicine for you.

Jimmy wasn't angry anymore, he was ecstatic. He hadn't stopped touching you the entire walk, talking like you hadn't spent three months apart.

He spent the whole night with you wrapped in his sleeping bag, his chest pressed to your back, hand possessively gliding over your belly.

You love him, you never stopped loving him. But the guilt is a weight, one you can barely carry.

Not because you left, but because you brought death with you when you did.

You feel sick.

Dr Fern was dead. Jimmy Fox had striked his stomach like it was instinct.

And Jimmy… hadn’t even looked angry, not at first.

After consoling you the best he could, he had walked over to Fox, slowly, almost calmly, and whispered something in his ear that made the younger man stumble back like he’d been slapped.

Jimmy had spared the others, all because of you. Because of the baby.

His baby.

And now here you are. One foot in front of the other, marching across a broken land, loved by a man who kills people who disappoint him and then kisses your forehead like you’re the only reason the world is still turning.

You haven’t said a word since you left the compound.

Jimmy doesn’t force you either, he seems content to speak for you, to hold you when your tears start to fall again or a small sniffle leaves your nose.

The others all walk in their mismatched suits and wigs, smeared in blood and ash. They’re not talking either, not really. Not even Jimmy Snake, who usually won’t shut up.

They’re waiting to see how this plays out.

Maybe they’re scared too.

"I've redecorated our room," Jimmy mumbles, hand still holding yours as he helps you through some mud. "Might have to move things around again, make room for a cot, what'dya think?"

You just nod, not bothering to even think that far ahead. Chances are you won't make it that long. Pregnancy was hard as is nowadays with actual support, without intervention it felt damn near impossible.

Jimmy frowns, clearing his throat as he sees your expression.

Fear, dread, all of it.

He knows he's too blame, but he only feels half responsible.

If you hadn't left, this wouldn't have happened.

If you had just stayed with him, he wouldv'e looked after you, found a doctor sooner or later.

But he knows why you ran. Understood the fear you felt, especially after the ordeal with Jimmy Shite. He never meant for you to feel like you were expendable.

The others? Sure, but they weren't comparable to you. His other half, his love, his future, and now the mother of his child.

"Sir?" Ink pipes up from where she walks on Jimmy’s left.

He turns his head, blonde hair blowing in the breeze. He doesn't speak, just tilts his head with a silent 'go on.'

"When we get home - Jones and I could scout out again, start looking for a doc," She looks to you, seeing the blank expression but silent tears with a regretful frown. "Maybe send Jimmima and Snake out to look for more things too."

He nods, not wanting to leave you alone any more once you return to the theatre. His mouth opens to speak when you beat him to it.

"Nae bother," Your voice is sharp, mourning almost. "There won't be any, don't waste yer time."

"Love," Jimmy murmurs, stopping you both in your tracks. The others all stop too, forming a circle around you two as Jimmy turns you towards him. Your eyes are locked onto his chest, your breathing laboured. "Don't talk like that now - y'know I'll look after you right? Both of you."

His hand reaches down again, running along your sides. "Tell ye what, we'll have a rest here," He whistles lowly once without breaking his gaze, everyone reacting accordingly. Some walk further out to check for any threats, others stay close. "Have a seat, I've got ye."

It was a stark difference to his tone back at the compound. Gone was the Sir Jimmy who was threatening to chain you to the bed and punish you, but the man you had left behind three months ago.

The man you had fallen in love with.

"I'm fucked Jimmy," You whisper, finally meeting his gaze as another lone tear falls down your cheek. "There I had a chance, we had a chance," You point into the forest behind you, where there was still clouds of smoke peering over the tree line from the compound. "I've got nothing now."

Jimmy's face contorts in anguish, seeing you so defeated. "You have me, all of us," He brings his hands to your cheeks, wiping away your tears. "I'm not lettin' you go again, anywhere." You believed him.

Then you hear his voice.

"Sir Jimmy?"

It's Spike, the smallest of your bunch. Jimmy reluctantly turns away, looking towards the boy.

"Uh, I know a doctor.”

You blink, chest feeling heavy. You glance sideways.

Spike kept his eyes down, dragging a stick through the dirt as he avoids Jimmy's gaze. His dark blue tracksuit, Shite's, two sizes too big and streaked with dirt, but his voice is clear. Nervous, but strong.

Jimmy turns his head even more, his hand sliding down until it rests on your lower back. "A real one?"

Spike kicks at a stone. “Aye, from before this," He waves his hand around, signifying the end of the world. "Helped me and my mum, helped with... A baby we knew."

He seemed hesitant to bring up the last part, but it was enough for you to pike your interest.

You stand straighter, Jimmy noticing instantly.

“Where?” You ask, your voice hoarse.

Spike glances up at you, then at Jimmy, then back down again.

“West, way past the cathedral, in a uh,” The boy hesitates again. "Place made of bones - s'hard to explain but he's real, s'called Dr Kelson."

Jimmy raises his eyebrows, looking over at you like he’s just been handed a gift. “See?” He says softly. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

You don’t say anything. You just nod, slowly.

But inside, something stirs. A flicker of hope buried under the fear and anxiety and all the wrong kinds of love.

Maybe Spike just saved your baby’s life.

Maybe your life.

Jimmy's attitude flips completely, reaching forward to pat Spike on the shoulder before he pushes him towards Ink. He points to your friend in red. "You go tell her where," He pushes him a little rougher. "Go on now."

Spike nods eagerly, walking away from the two of you and towards Ink.

"You're going to be okay love," He repeats for what felt like the hundredth time, dragging his ringed fingers over your cheeks and down your neck. He feels the leather cord around your skin, pulling it out from where it hides under your vest. He beams at seeing his ring attached to the end. "I've missed ye so much, you've honestly got no idea."

You did have an idea. The bodies along the way was a clear indication.

You couldn't help the way you felt either, hope once again starting to blossom in your chest at the prospect of another doctor. You would only feel completely better upon seeing this Dr Kelson for yourself.

"I've missed you too," You utter, reaching out to rest your hands on Jimmy's chest. He continues to fiddle with his ring around your neck. You hadn't once given him an apology for leaving, and he didn't expect one either. "I love you."

He coos, revelling in hearing those words after so long. "I love you, and this one here," He runs one hand over your front again, even stopping just below your breasts. "And these too, should've noticed they looked bigger when I saw ye."

The hands on his chest bunch into fists as you push him away, but he laughs, pulling you back into his arms in a tight embrace.

It was as close as you two could be with the bump in the way.

Spike's words hang in the air, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds.

A doctor. There might be a doctor.

You breathe again, like you've been underwater for days.

Jimmy is watching you. Not the usual way, not like you're his tiara that he’s polishing or a thing he owns. No, this time it’s softer. There’s a crease between his brows, like he’s trying to figure out how you feel before you even say it.

You pull away from the hug, your hand resting against your belly at feeling the quickening again.

Jimmy’s eyes drop to your hand, then back up to you. He steps closer once more. One arm slips gently around your waist, cautious, but not grabbing completely.

The other lifts to your jaw, fingers brushing your cheek like you might vanish if he presses too hard.

“I've got to make up for lost time now," He promises, and you peer up, seeing Jimmy properly for what felt like forever. Not your leader, not someone to fear, but your Jimmy. "M'sorry for everything, for scaring ye, the lot."

You believe him. And that scares you most of all.

Jimmy would burn everything down for you if need be.

You didn't speak, instead you just leaned your head forward.

Just slightly.

And he meets you there.

The kiss is warm. Familiar. But slower than it used to be. There's no audience, no showing off. No crowd of Jimmies' cheering in a ruined theatre. Just the smell of pine trees and earth, and the quiet ache of two people who still belong to each other in ways they shouldn’t.

His hand stays on your waist as he pulls back, forehead resting against yours.

“We’ll find that doctor,” he says softly. "I'll make sure of it, get that boy to lead the way."

You nod.

And together, you start walking again.

Side by side, fingers loosely intertwined.

Jimmy Ink runs up beside you, nudging you with her elbow as she smiles. "Missed you."

"I missed you too."

Ahead, Spike runs to catch up with Jimmy Snake, who places his arm over his shoulder before the two run ahead. Jimmima holds hands with Fox, the two behind you with their weapons in their other hands.

Fox was determined to apologise for what he had done, letting the blonde in baby blue tell him the best way to do it.

The others moved like shadows around you, suits flashing in the sunlight breaking through the clouds. A kaleidoscope of danger and devotion.

But for a moment, just one, it almost feels like peace, that there was a future with everyone you loved in it.

You're going home.

Whatever that means now.

[warped-window]

The Man Beneath The Monster: Chapter Two

Years before Jimmy Crystal became Sir Lord, he was just a man. A man with a voice he tried to ignore. A man who loved, a man who knew that his delusions were fragility dressed up as belonging. A man who vowed to protect. A man who loved Y/N; years later, that’s the only thing that never changed.

Previous Chapter can be found here

Next Chapter can be found here

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Series warnings; violence, cults? mature themes, swearing i guess?torture, rape, canon movie violence. religious guilt? eventual smut, death, mental illness

****************************************************

15 years after the initial outbreak

The problem with Jimmy was that he refused to leave.

Not in aggressive way, not even in a threatening way, nor a particularly deliberate way. He simply just stayed.

Three days after the service station, Y/N woke beneath a collapsed bus shelter, the rain still lingered, now an ever present drizzle that left her hair frazzled and wild. She woke to find Jimmy twenty feet away, poking at the remains of a fire with a stick.

Her eyes lingered over him, eyes still heavy with sleep. It was then, almost as if he could hear her thoughts, that he turned to her with that same crooked grin,

“Mornin’”

Y/N’s face shifted, the stoic almost annoyed expression fell into place across her features before she huffed out an irritated sound, hands brushing the hair from her face before pulling off her sleeping bag.

“Why are you here?”

Jimmy frowned, “someone had tae make sure the fire didn’t die.”

She huffed again, now coming to stand before him, hands on her hips as she spoke, “Okay. But why are you still here?”

Jimmy’s smile returned, eyes lingering over her face before he looked away, “Aye, that.” He poked at the fire again, eyes travelling back towards her face, “Coincidence.”

Y/N huffed, her arms now folding against her chest, “It’s not coincidence, Jimmy.”

“Could be.”

“It’s not. I told you you needed to leave, three days ago and yet, here you are.”

Jimmy just shrugged, “Aye. Here I am.”

The conversation should have ended there. Unfortunately if there was one thing Y/N had learned about Jimmy Crystal in the last three days it was that he seemed to possess an almost supernatural ability to continue conversations nobody wanted to have.

“Ye hungry?”

Y/N looked at him, her lips pursed in an irritated line before she spoke, “no.”.

Seconds later her stomach growled, her head whipping towards Jimmy as if it were his fault, he only smirked at her before throwing a tin towards her; she caught it on reflex. Debated throwing it back at him, maybe enough to concuss him and then said nothing as she opened the tin. Food had won the fight again.

They spent the next week in the same kind of rhythm. Y/N asking Jimmy when he was going to leave, Jimmy expertly avoiding the question and somehow always managing to stay.

They travelled in the same direction. Coincidence, Jimmy still called it.

Y/N made it clear that they weren’t travelling together, just merely happening to walk the same roads, sleep in the same shelters, scavenge the same villages; she found his presence infuriating, and yet a small part of her felt oddly reassured. He was always there, far enough away to not annoy her regularly, but close enough that she knew exactly where he was.

They’d been travelling together for two weeks when she heard voices after midnight. At first, she thought she was dreaming; her brows knitting together as she woke from the fuzziness of slumbering, one hand coming up to rub the sleep from her eyes, yawning lightly as she listened.

The words were too faint for her to make out; murmurs of conversation, somebody speaking softly, awaiting a reply before speaking again. She sat up, pulling herself from the sleeping bag, hand reaching instinctively for her knife before padding lightly towards the noise.

The campfire burned low; the surrounding countryside lay dark and silent beneath the moon; except for one thing, Jimmy.

He sat alone beside the dying embers of the fire, face lit by the glow of the dwindling flame, his expression scrunched in confusion, speaking softly as though there was somebody sat beside him.

Y/N frowned, knife clutched in her hand as she looked around in confusion. No movement, no silhouette in the dark. Nothing.

She continued to watch as Jimmy nodded occasionally as if he was responding to questions she couldn’t hear. She observed the exchange for a few more minutes, stood silent, watching as he laughed, almost embarrassed as if somebody had told a joke. The sight sent a chill through her, her heart hammering beneath her ribs; there was nobody else there. She retreated back towards her sleeping bag, silent as she came.

By morning, she had almost convinced herself it was a dream. That was until breakfast. Jimmy sat opposite her chewing on dried meat; his face completely normal, almost annoyingly so.

“Did ye sleep alrigh?”

Y/N studied him, the food in her hand stilling just before her mouth: he looked like Jimmy, blonde hair, blue eyes, the same stupid crooked grin, the cross tucked underneath his jacket. Nothing strange, nothing unusual, nothing that screamed a man who talks to invisible people at night.

Finally she spoke, eyes avoiding his own as she did, “who were you talking to last night?”

Jimmy stilled. The smile vanishing from his face. Y/N watched as for one awful second, genuine fear crossed his face. Not anger, not defensiveness. Fear.

His eyes dropped immediately. He stood, clearing his throat, back turned towards her as he spoke, “ye heard that?”

Y/N paused, her own heart beginning to thump loudly against her ribs. She watched as Jimmy touched the cross at his neck. Her stomach tightened before she spoke on an almost whispered breath,

“Yes.”

Jimmy continued to avoid her gaze; his back still turned as the silence stretched. Y/N began to shift uncomfortably, stilling as he spoke,

“Sometimes…”

His voice cracked slightly, the words shaking as he cleared his throat again, “sometimes I hear things. Happens after bad days mostly.”

His fingers tightened around the cross, knuckles whitening with the force, “I know they’re no’ real.”

The admission came so quickly it almost sounded rehearsed, like he’d said it before. Many times, only if to himself.

He paused agin before speaking, Y/N sat still, watching as his shoulders tensed, “Sometimes it feels real, though.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say, her eyes drifting towards the crackling of the fire before returning her gaze to Jimmy. She expected him to deflect, to lie, to try and joke it off. Instead she got honesty; raw and uncomfortable honesty.

Jimmy finally turned towards her, and for the first time since they’d met, he looked exhausted. Not physically, something deeper; something older. A man carrying too much weight.

“Ye think I’m mad.”

Y/N hesitated, studying him before speaking, “I think you’re tired, Jimmy. We’re living in a dead world, most people nowadays are half mad.”

Jimmy blinked, fingers tracing idly over the cross at his neck, “Aye. Ye know I’m no’ good, lass.”

Y/N shifted, standing up before coming closer to him, stopping in front of him, arms by her sides as she searched his face, “I never said you were. Being good doesn’t mean much nowadays, being human does. You’re still human, Jimmy. You just handle things differently from the rest.”

Jimmy huffed, eyes closing briefly before he laughed, “Ye don’t want tae run?.”

Y/N shifted closer, “I’ve been asking you to leave for weeks and yet, here we are. I’m not running Jimmy. You don’t have to run either.”

The heaviness in his eyes vanished as she spoke; the fear, the exhaustion, the strange sense of sadness in recognition gone. Just a man, laughing lightly, who despite everything, still seemed capable of joy.

Y/N shifted back a step as she spoke, “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

Jimmy’s grin returned, his head tilting slightly, blonde hair falling over his face, arms now loose at his sides, “There she is.”

Y/N bent then, picking up a small mound of stone before tossing it at him, “If you call me an angry hamster again I’ll kill you. Understood?”

Jimmy only smiled wider, hands raised in mock surrender, “Aye. Understood.”

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Anyone interested in a chapter 3?🫣

[warped-window]

The Man Beneath The Monster: Chapter One

Years before Jimmy Crystal became Sir Lord, he was just a man. A man with a voice he tried to ignore. A man who loved, a man who knew that his delusions were fragility dressed up as belonging. A man who vowed to protect. A man who loved Y/N; years later, that’s the only thing that never changed.

Next Chapter can be found here

*****************************************************

Series warnings; violence, cults? mature themes, swearing i guess?torture, rape, canon movie violence. religious guilt? eventual smut, death, mental illness

______________________________________________

The first time she met Jimmy Crystal wasn’t one of real fear or dread; no grand speeches, no sermon, no religious guilt twisted into something wicked, no misremembered sermons or stories, or children’s TV shows; It was something softer. At least that’s how she’d recall it years later when she was still trying to love what remained of the man beneath the monster.

15 years after the initial outbreak:

The rain hadn’t stopped in days; dark clusters of clouds, barely lit by the failing sunlight as mist rippled over the hills, hanging low and blanketing the landscape.

Y/N hated it. It was the kind of rain that seemed determined to drown the world one drop at a time; the kind where the wind that comes with it is harsh and ice cold, biting at skin, and seeping through several layers of clothing.

Everything smelled damp.

Her clothes were damp.

Her boots were damp and her socks squelched when she moved.

Even the sleeping back she’d stolen from a dead campsite two years ago was damp.

She sat crouched behind the counter of an abandoned service station with a drying blanket wrapped around her shoulders; her cheeks pink from the cold, her breath billowing like mist with every exhale. The rusted kitchen knife she carried was sat across her lap, cold fingers gripping the wooden handle as tightly as she could despite how it was beginning to splinter under her hold.

The knife itself wasn’t much use. She knew that. If infected got in, she’d be dead. If she was ambushed, she’d be dead. If she slipped whilst scavenging and broke her ankle, she’d be dead, but it was the only weapon she had left.

That was the thing nobody talked about anymore; most people didn’t die dramatically, they died stupidly: a bad cut, rotten food, one wrong move- dead. The world had become efficient in killing people she thought.

A floorboard creaked somewhere beyond the counter. She sat up instantly; every muscle in her body tensing as her heart began to hammer. Silence followed and then came another creak, closer this time. Someone was inside, too light to be infected. Infected didn’t move carefully, they roared. This was worse; this was human.

The knife shook in her grip, either from fear or the cold, she was no longer sure. She tightened her hold, forcing her hand to still as the steps drew closer. Her stomach twisted; she’d been safe in her, alone, for two weeks; safer than most places at least.

The footsteps slowed; a long, almost painful silence followed as she took a breath, then came a voice-

“Ye know I can hear ye breathing?”

The voice made her jump, her elbow knocking back against the counter. Her body reacted before her mind did; she rose quickly, knife in hands that now didn’t shake, her face hardened,

“Don’t come any closer.” Her voice was strong despite the hammering behind her ribs.

“Alrigh’” The voice sounded surprisingly agreeable which somehow made it worse.

Y/N swallowed, her hands now trembling ever so slightly, “Who are you?”

The man paused, seconds passing before he answered, “Jimmy. Jus’ Jimmy.”

Y/N frowned in slight confusion; nobody was “just” anything anymore. She swallowed again before speaking, “What do you want?”

“Depends.”. The voice sounded almost amused now, “got any food?”

Y/N blinked. That wasn’t the answer she was expecting.

“No.”

The man let out a disappointed sigh, “ah. Shame.”

Silence stretched again before he spoke, “any tea?”

Y/N blinked, brows scrunched together. Was this man serious?

“No.”

“Oh for fucks sake.”

The genuine frustration almost made her laugh, her mouth twitching with an almost smile before she composed herself. The grip she had on the knife tightened, the wood of the handle creaking in her grip.

“Leave.” She said, her voice stern.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.”. The reply came back instantly, too matter of fact.

Anger flared through her, her heart beginning to hammer, “Are you deaf or something. I said leave.”

“Naw.”

“You can’t just say no!” She almost shouted, her chest heaving, breath still burning up through her lungs, curling like mist as she spoke. Who was this idiot? For a moment she wondered if he was concussed, or drunk; maybe both?

The floorboard creaked again; this time Y/N moved with it, moving around the counter, knife pointed in the direction of the man; tall, lean, broad shoulders hidden beneath an old tracksuit, a gold cross hanging around his neck. Blonde hair hung damply around his face, droplets of water fell from the loose waves. Blue eyes met hers, a small crooked grin covering his face before his eyes dropped to the knife in her hand.

“That’s no’ very practical.”

Y/N stilled, her shoulders tensing ever so slightly, “What?”

“The knife, lass. Too short.”

“I’m pointing a knife at you and you’re seriously critiquing it?”

Jimmy smiled, stepping closer ever so slightly, an eyebrow raised “Aye. A wee bit.”

Y/N held the knife higher. Jimmy stopped instantly, hands raised, “Easy there, lass.”

Y/N stilled again, her breathing deep as her eyes searched his, “Take one more step and I’ll stab you.”

It was Jimmy’s turn to still; a surprised smile layered across his face as he nodded thoughtfully, “aye, I don’t doubt it.”

The grin was far too relaxed, annoying in a way that made Y/N think he was enjoying this. It was something that made her angrier than it should have. The world had ended, people died everyday and this idiot was smiling like they were sharing a joke.

“What’s so funny?” She demanded.

“Nothin.”

“Then what’s with the grin? You think this is funny?” She demanded.

Jimmy shook his head, laughing lightly as he did, “No, no. I think ye’ve got a fire about you. Ye’re like a wee angry hamster.”

The insult hit her so unexpectedly she forgot to be scared, “what?”

“Aye. A proper angry one.”

“Get out.”

“I was just sayin-“

“Out.”

Jimmy’s brow moved in both amusement and surprise before he laughed. Genuinely laughed.

It should have unsettled her, but for a second, Y/N simply stared. The man was both intriguing and incredibly confusing. But for a brief moment all she could think about was the sound of his laughter; she couldn’t recall the last time she heard somebody laugh: not nervous laughter, not cruel laughter; real laughter. The sound seemed almost foreign to her after years alone, a sound she’d almost forgotten.

Jimmy’s laughter faded, their eyes met and for the first time, Jimmy’s smile disappeared.

His gaze lingered over her face. He noted the oversize coat she wore, the drying blanket still draped over her shoulders; her boots held together with string; her hollow cheeks, the almost distant gaze in her eyes, the exhaustion. Something shifted in his expression, not necessarily at her, but in understanding, a familiar loneliness.

He knew it.

Maybe better than anyone.

His voice was quieter when he spoke, “how long ye been alone?”

Y/N hated it immediately; the concern, the almost gentleness, but most of all she hated how easily he recognised it.

“None of your business.”

Jimmy nodded once, almost as if he accepted the answer. Then he reached around to the bag at his back; Y/N tensed immediately, knife raised again as she stepped forward.

Jimmy held up his hands, no smile this time. One hand remained up, palm towards her as the other reached around to his bag again, “easy lass. Here.”

Jimmy looked up at her, hair falling into his eyes as he pulled out a tin slowly, so slowly; eyes locked on her the entire time. He held her gaze as he placed it on the floor between them before stepping back.

The service station fell silent as rain hammered against the windows, wind rattling the thin frames as the silence stretched.

Neither of them moved; gazes still locked on each other; the tin sat between them. A peace offering. A trick. Both?

Y/N’s gaze lifted from Jimmy’s down towards the tin. Jimmy stepped back slightly, “ye looked hungry.”

Something twisted almost painfully in her chest. Because she was hungry, she’d been hungry for days but also because nobody had offered her anything in a very long time; at least not with wanting something in return.

Jimmy shifted awkwardly before straightening; tilting his head to look at her before he spoke, “Anyway. Am sleeping over there. You, ye’re sleeping over here, and we’re not tae stab each other. Understood, lass?”

Y/N stared at him. Suspicious, almost certain he was insane. The anger creeping back in as she stared at the now familiar grin on his face.

“There it is.”

“There’s what?” she almost barked back. Jimmy tilted his head again, the crooked smile widening on his face, “the wee angry hamster.”

Y/N was sure she’d stab him. She also couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. She’d definitely been called worse.

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This has been floating around in my head forever. There’s already a good chunk of this story just sat in my drafts🤠 let me know what you think! It’ll eventually tie in with the movie plot🖤

[warped-window]

anyone interested in a Jimmy Crystal x female reader story that focuses on his life before the fingers? reader meets him before all of the craziness and it spans a good few years before he inevitably becomes sir lord and how she fits in with it all?

i can’t get the idea out of my head & i’ve already got a good few chapters lined up👀