#I can’t remember the actual word

[skoulsons]

I’m The Reason You Won’t Come Home

• gif by @maryjanewatscns

• title from Ethel Cain’s song “A House in Nebraska.” aka Joel and Ellie’s song.

Relationships: Joel & Ellie, Joel & Tommy, Tommy & Ellie

Word count: ~8.7k (I did not want it to go on this long)

Warnings: Minor depictions of torture and violence, some blood, death.

Authors note: This is straight sadness. Ever since I discovered tlou2 and his death, this has always been a thought. It’s nearly a year and a half ongoing, so I just sort of spit a year and a half’s worth of thoughts into…whatever the heck this is. I cried a lot writing this, but I’m also a sensitive wimp, so that could be why.

Summary:

The second he’s gone, she starts to break. She just told Joel last night about wanting to try and forgive him. To try and get back on good terms. To try for what they want to be; what they deserve to be. And she almost just lost him. But now, she has the chance to get them back home and to start that journey of reconciliation.

Some extra notes:

If you ship them I might just fill your house with mosquitos on a hot summer day and lock you inside

I wrote this in a combination of game and show canon, so there are moments, callbacks, and descriptions from both

I don’t think there’s anything that classifies as a tlou2 spoiler, but if there is it’s pretty minor

This is more self-indulgent than anything else. If something seems out of character, I apologize. Like I said, incredibly self-indulgent

I love physical touch and that is…very evident in this

Canon divergence from tlou2 in a few ways, obviously. One of them is there being no door at the bottom of the stairs as I genuinely forgot about it and I am….7.9k words in as I write this. so.

(A very big thank you to my beautiful friend @ellie-licious for beta reading and helping me figure out a specific part of this fic <3 and in general for being a great friend to me for many reasons. I love and cherish you very much brother and this is for you)

~~~~

Ellie wakes up on the floor, cheek pressed to the cold basement tile. She can see two blurry figures a few feet from her. One is limp, almost like a rag doll. The other is moving, struggling with the limp one. Sitting it up? She can’t tell. Ellie’s ears are ringing and her vision is blurry; her nose and eyes throbbing as her throat feels like sandpaper.

Tommy is the struggling figure across the room, attempting to wake up an unconscious Joel. Tommy’s working on sitting him up against the glass. Joel has a heartbeat, he’s breathing. He’s alive. But he’s hurt, bad. Tommy’s hands find Joel’s neck and then the sides of his face, tapping him and shouting to try and wake the older. Joel’s face is bloody. He has a slice over his left cheekbone, a gash across his jugular, a chip out of his ear, a broken nose, a cut on his right temple that stretches down to his jawline, fresh blood still coming from them. His hair had an even coating of blood through the strands.

“Dammit, Joel, come on! I need you awake. Come the fuck on, Joel!” Tommy yelled, patting at his brother’s neck for something. A cough, a groan, a twitch of his fingers or a pull at the corner of his mouth. But Joel gave nothing.

Ellie stirs slightly, groaning into the floor as her vision focuses more and her ears ring into her skull. She coughs some blood up, catching Tommy’s attention. He takes his hands back from Joel’s neck, placing steady hands to his shoulders to keep him in place against the glass before crossing the room to Ellie’s side. Tommy kneels on the ground beside her, placing a hand on the back of her shoulder as she comes to.

“Hey…” He says, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Tommy?” She asks, voice slurring as she speaks, eyes still trying to adjust to the man kneeling above her and figure across the room. Joel.

“Yeah, s’me. You okay?”

Reality rushes back to her. You’re gonna fucking die! Let him go. We didn’t think anyone was gonna show up! The hell did you expect? You want what I want, right? His face. The people. Didn’t she cut a guy? Wasn’t Tommy unconscious? She was kicked in the ribs. There’s blood on the glass. His blood. He was groaning. He was-

Ellie started to roll on her side, her vision rolling with her. “Joel….he was-“

Tommy cuts her off. “He’s okay for now. Can't get him to wake up though-“

“Where-“ is he. She places her palm to the tile, trying to push herself up off the floor, her ribs aching at the movement.

“No, Ellie. You need to relax-“

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy. I need to see him,” she bites, and Tommy knows arguing with her will go nowhere. She’s stubborn, just like her father.

She stands up, pushing past Tommy’s instruction for her to stay down. She holds onto his arms as she stands, steadying herself before walking alongside him. Tommy helps her take baby steps across the room, walking through pools of dried blood. His dried blood.

Joel’s back is straight against the wall, head hung slightly to the right. His legs are extended in front of him, both of his hands in his lap. Tommy lowers Ellie on Joel’s left side, Ellie kneeling down beside him, taking his left hand in hers. She interlocks her fingers with his, something that’s felt so lost between them the past four years.

She held his hand a number of times during that Winter. After she went back to him in that basement and they held onto each other, it was easier. And after David, it was almost frequent. When they’d be walking and a twig snapped, she reached for him. When they spotted a rabbit or a deer, she reached for him. Nights around the fire when the images and the words and the actions played on repeat, she sought out his hand. She’d scooch across the snowy ground to his side, sliding her hand in his without a second thought. He’d give her a tight squeeze immediately before letting his hand relax in her grip. She fell asleep like that one night, waking up to her hand still in his while his rifle rested across his lap.

But his rifle was resting against his pack before she fell asleep, at least six feet from where they sat. He had gotten up that night, releasing her hand to get his rifle to keep watch. But instead of staying up and watching over her, he settled back beside her, taking her hand in his again. She didn’t mention it that morning, and neither did he.

“Can-can you find a rag or something for me. And some water, too. He should have some in his pack.” Her hands moved to his jaw, turning his head side-to-side to check his cuts.

Any emotion in her voice is held off completely with Tommy in the room. He can’t see her like how she wants to be right now. She was almost killed. He was almost killed. And there’s a lump in her throat right now that she can’t have Tommy know about. She doesn’t want him to see her like that. She can’t break in front of him, not right now.

Tommy finds an old T-shirt and Joel’s water canteen in his pack and hands them to Ellie, her lightly soaking the shirt with some water as she starts cleaning the cut on his neck.

She pauses for a second, turning her head to the side, still avoiding Tommy’s gaze. “Dina and Jesse are on their way. Can you go watch out for them, please?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Tommy…” she called, turning fully to see him. Her eyes were red already. “Be careful.”

He offered her a gentle smile before heading up the stairs, pulling the door closed behind him. He stops before it reaches the doorframe. “Ellie? Let me know when he wakes, okay?”

“Yup,” is all she manages as he leaves the door ajar behind him.

The second he’s gone, she starts to break. She just told Joel last night about wanting to try and forgive him. To try and get back on good terms. To try for what they want to be; what they deserve to be. And she almost just lost him. But now, she has the chance to get them back home and to start that journey of reconciliation.

But he needs her right now, her thoughts don’t. She puts the rag down and grabs his left hand to hold it in hers, crying as she tries to wrap his one hand in both of hers, as tiny as they are.

“Joel?” she asks, her voice cracking as tears well in her eyes.

She hasn’t felt this small in years; especially not since their estrangement. Her voice feels like it jumps an octave asking for him now. She feels small, vulnerable, open. They haven’t been open since the night after they were home from her birthday trip. They watched Jurassic Park, but it wasn’t the same after that. Now, it feels like she’s reverted back to their old ways. Five years ago when they were on the road together, Ellie calling out for him so he could tell her what to do. The name she’d yell when she was scared and needed him to guide her. How she shouted for him against the raging current when they jumped off that bridge and he held her against him, shielding her from the rock face. How she screamed for him to help her when Sam had turned and was clawing at her on that motel floor. His name that seemed to offer so much comfort, protection, and security back then now holds years of heartbreak, fear, guilt, and shame.

“It’s me,” she whispers, tears streaming down her face as she brings the conglomeration of their hands up to her face, resting her lips against the back of his left hand. His hands are cold against her lips as her tears fall, soaking his wrist in salty streams. “Joel…” she pauses. What the fuck do I say? What does he deserve to hear? Will I even mean what I say? “You have to get up. You need to get up, Joel. Please,” she sobs, rubbing her thumbs back and forth over his hand as she struggles to catch her breath.

A few minutes of her crying passes before she clears her throat. She gives his hand a few reassuring squeezes. “I’m gonna clean your face a bit, okay? You’re still bleeding a lot and some of these cuts are bad.”

She squeezes his hand again before reaching for the rag again and dabbing more water on it. She gently uses her left hand to tilt his head up to work on the cut on his neck.

The water was ice cold and he unconsciously flinched when Ellie dabbed the t-shirt to his neck. She apologized every time, hoping he could hear her. She meant it. Even after the last two years of almost delighting in pushing him away and knowing he was hurt by how she was treating him, she regretted that now. She hated it now. Even if this was physical pain, her stomach still churned at the thought of knowing thoughts he’s probably had the past two years and how she hurt him mentally. She’s sincere over her apologies. She doesn’t like seeing him hurt; and now, she hates to be the one causing him more pain and discomfort.

She finishes cleaning the blood off his face, even cleaning some that got on his teeth. She ran the rag through his hair, soaking sections of it and wringing the blood out. He looked…better, but nowhere near good. None of the cuts should need stitches, she thinks, so that’s good. She places the rag and water beside her again, double checking his face over for any spots she may have missed. She grabbed hold of his hand again, carefully running her fingers across the calluses that litter his knuckles.

Tommy appeared at the top of the stairs, voice laced with concern. She would tell him if something happened. “Ellie? Anything?”

Ellie sighed, heavy and deep. Why isn’t he waking up? She cleared her throat, attempting to keep the emotion out of her voice. “No…nothing yet. Sorry,”

“S’not your fault, sweetheart. Just let me know when he wakes,” and Tommy was off to continue his watch for the other teenagers.

When. More like if, at this point.

And that’s exactly when he did. A heavy grown from the older man as Ellie eyes immediately locked on to him again, scanning his face. His hand moved in hers as his eyes fluttered slightly. His thumb rubbed over her fingers as she smiled, holding her tears in case this wasn’t quite it.

But his eyes opened and were trained on her immediately. She squeezed his hand tight again, offering him a small smile as tears dropped from her chin and fell to their hands. “Hey…” she whispered, keeping her voice quiet for him.

“El…” he tried, voice croaking at the attempt. She smiled at him. He’s here. He’s alive.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she confirmed, squeezing his hand again.

Joel immediately started moving and adjusting his position on the floor, but Ellie was quick to lay a hand on his chest, tears still on her face. “No, you’re staying here. You’re…in bad shape, Joel,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled, grabbing at his hand again. “You have to stay here til we can get you safely home.”

Joel’s left hand lifts from her grasp as he brings it up closer to her face, his eyebrows furrowing; uncertain that she’s actually here. She finds it again with her right and holds tight to it, pressing it against her cheek and smiling. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re not hallucinating, I promise. We’re not dead or in some afterlife.”

She was there, too. She was on that basement tile, face forcefully pressed into the ground. Forced to watch. Laid out right in front of him, every fear Joel ever dreaded resurfacing right then; mere feet from him. The fear of her dying again. He wasn’t concerned over himself, it was all over her and what they were doing. They tackled her to the ground, kicked her in the ribs and kicked her head later, giving her a bloody, and possibly broken, nose.

He had every right to think she wasn’t real. Everything told him they died. He had every right to believe he did die and, somehow, the darkness that he thought came after death was just a place that filled in the horrifying gaps. Those gaps being filled by Ellie being beaten and killed, all while he was unable to save her.

But now, hearing her voice and the reassurance in we’re not dead wasn’t enough. He had to hold her. He had to feel her so he could know. His hand to her cheek, fingers through her hair, her tucked away against his chest, or her curled up against his side while his arm drapes across her. That was all for them and he needed it all now to know. To know that she was alive. That they were alive.

Joel frees a finger from her grasp and runs it back and forth over her cheek. Man did she miss contact. This used to be second- no, first nature for them, but it’s been so lost, even before their estrangement. But right now, it feels like it was never lost. “It’s me,” is all she can get out. A phrase from him that always brought her out of dissociation. Two words that grounded her; comforted her throughout Winter and settling into Jackson. Any uncertainty was always met with those two words. It became their thing.

She rests their hands back into his lap before reluctantly letting go. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers, quickly shooting up and running to the top of the stairs, checking behind her every step, the fear that Joel would disappear if she let her eyes off him.

She cracked the basement door open and peaked her head through. “Tommy?! He’s awake,” she called, and Tommy rounded the corner from the front door. Ellie offered him a grateful smile as he struggled to catch his breath, both from running and the realization that Joel was alive.

Tommy rushed downstairs with her, meeting Joel at his side. Ellie stayed a few feet back, letting the brothers have a few minutes. Tommy cleared his throat, trying to conceal his emotion. “Hey, big brother. She cleaned you up real good. How you feelin’?”

“Pain,” is all Joel could manage, though it came out clearer than either of them were expecting. “Fucking sore. Beaten…I was…,” Joel tried, his throat aching with every word.

“I know, brother. I know. But you’re alright now. Jesse and Dina are comin’ and then we’ll have enough people to get you safely home, alright? You’re gonna be just fine, Joel,” he assured, placing a hand over Joel’s heart.

“You were…hit…”

“Nah, it’s nothin’. Clinic at Jackson will get us both up ‘n runnin’ again in no time.” Tommy paused. “Just rest for right now, alright? Once they get here, we’ll get on our way home,” Tommy reassured, grabbing Joel’s hand briefly to offer a comforting squeeze. Ellie pressed a hand to his arm as he passed by, heading back upstairs to watch for Dina and Jesse.

Ellie kneeled back to Joel’s side, gathering his left hand in both of hers again. He brought his right over to them, placing it atop hers, rubbing his thumb in circles on the backs of her hands.

“You heard your brother; you need to rest. We’ll get you up and back home once they get here. I’ll be here the whole time.”

“I can’t rest.”

Ellie looks at him confused. “I know you’re in pain and that it’s probably hard to get real rest right now. You don’t even have to sleep, you can just ‘rest your eyes’,” she joked, freeing her left hand to use air quotes. “You love resting your eyes.”

“No, kiddo,” he said, struggling to form the right words.

The term of endearment strikes a chord in her. There was a small party at the Tipsy Bison one night and both of them showed up. It was a year into their estrangement and Ellie cursed herself every time she gave him the pleasure of even looking in his direction, let alone talking to him. Within an hour, Ellie was pissed. Some comment Seth made about her vocabulary. She cussed him out and rushed out the door, Joel right on her heels.

“Kiddo-“ his voice was gentle, never raised.

“Don’t! Don’t. What the fuck don’t you get? I said I’d come back here, but we’re done. You don’t get to fucking talk to me, especially using names like that. Keep your fucking distance,” she yelled, some Jacksonfolk trickling out of the bar at the shouting as she stormed off towards their his house.

Joel was left in the street that evening, soft flurries of snow coating his hair and beard as he watched her storm down the Jackson streets. He could see their his house from there. He intently watched every step she took, her right hand coming up to her face every so often. She was crying.

He never called her ‘kiddo’ after that. Until now.

“I can’t.”

“Joel, what the fuck are you talking about? Did I miss something?”

She did.

How the hell did she miss it?

The crook between his neck and shoulder; similar to Tess.

He had been bitten.

Her face drops immediately, her mouth slowly falling open as he pulled a fistful of his clothes to the side, showing it better. “I’m…not waking up again.”

Ellie’s breath is rapid now, hitching with every inhale. She’s reached a point beyond hyperventilating. She is choking, coughing, suffocating. Her whole body burns as she pulls her hands away from his, struggling to even know where to put them because she can’t think.

“Joel…” she whispers, almost as a warning. She’s fallen back to sitting on her heels now, an uncomfortable and unsure space between them.

Joel took a deep breath in, preparing himself. “They kicked and knocked you out. I didn’t have any strength…I couldn’t fight them. They pulled me up to my feet and forced me to stand. The guys took turns punching me in the gut…one of them also giving me this cut from my temple to my jaw. They were laughing at this point, like they were playing a game. They…” he paused, collecting his breath. He felt like he was running out. “They kicked you a few more times, they wanted you awake to watch. When you didn’t wake up…three of the guys left, mumbling something about infected.” He paused again to catch his breath. Even recounting it was almost too much for him. The anger in his eyes was raging remembering how they kicked her. “Few minutes later…they were coming back down the stairs with a runner. They had tied a rope around its neck like it was a dog. They teased me with it…threatened Tommy, too. I begged them not to. They…they gave the runner some slack and I tried to turn away, but two of them were holding me up by the arms…I couldn’t go anywhere. I turned my head and…” He motioned to the bite. It was two sets of teeth marks. He was bit twice. “They all laughed and pulled the leash back, shooting the runner in the face. The two guys let go of me and I fell…broke my nose. I’ve been in and out since then. I don’t know why or how I even woke up the first time.”

She waited, collecting what the hell he just told her. “...why isn’t the runner still here?”

He sighed again, closing his eyes briefly. Even in his current state, he’s dreaming of stringing them up by their insides, letting them hang from the cross beams of the mansion. “They knew you were immune. So, I guess in an attempt to…hurt you, they took away the evidence that I got bit. The blonde girl kneeled in front of me…said she wanted you to have hope I’d be okay. That we’d be okay.”

“What the fuck,” is all she could manage.

Joel coughed and her eyes grew wide. “Wait, it’s your neck…” she breathed in with no satisfaction. “You…you don’t…”

“Have a lot of time,” he continued, finishing her thought. “No, baby, I don’t.”

They stayed in silence for a while, unable to grasp what exactly reality was. This was never supposed to happen. She’s supposed to forgive him. They’re supposed to watch Curtis and Viper 2. They’re supposed to go back to Jackson and practice guitar together. She wants to learn to make those little wooden animals he loves spending so much time on, too, and she knows he’ll teach her. They’re both still needed on patrol. They’re meant to have more meals together. They’re supposed to have a future.

“Rehash whatever you need to. I won’t blame you. Do what you need to, kiddo.”

“You’re about to fucking die and you want me to rehash my feelings? You want me to fucking kick and scream and hit you?!”

“If you need to.”

“I’m about to lose you-“ she cuts herself off, a choked sob at lose. She should never have to say that. She never dreamed she’d ever have to say that.

Joel sighed, his eyes closing briefly. Why. Why like this?

She crawls towards him, burying herself against his chest. Don’t fucking touch me. It rings in her ears. It taunts her. She swatted his hand away and told him we’re done. She left him stood at Saint Mary’s, the same hospital he saved her life at. The place where he told her “we’re not done; we have a future,” was now where he was being told that they were done.

But then they talked on the porch. They had hope. He had hope she was coming back. That she wanted to try for them. They wouldn’t have to be done anymore.

And now they were done. For good. There was no coming back, not from this.

She pushes himself as close as she can against him, burying her face in his left shoulder as she clings to his coat and sobs. She sobs for their whole journey. Every moment together she wished she clung to him but didn’t. The nights during Winter when she couldn’t sleep unless she was right beside him. She cried for their nights in Jackson when she woke him up with her nightmares, crawling under the comforter with him. She cried for their quick goodbye hugs before he’d leave for patrol. She cried for when she would cling to his arm when they would meet other Jacksonfolk. She cried for the times he kissed her forehead or lightly rubbed her back when

She cried for their good days of practicing guitar, watching Jurassic Park, and living the life they never thought they’d get. The days she woke up to him cooking breakfast and they had orange juice. How he always gave her the slightly bigger portion so she’d eat more. The days when she helped him with little construction projects around Jackson. The days he’d visit her and Shimmer at the stables, always commending Ellie on how well she took care of him. Sometimes he’d help her out by brushing his mane. He needed the experience, she said.

She cried for their bad days of arguments, disputes, and going to bed angry. She always woke up to a note on her nightstand the mornings after. On patrol. I’m sorry about yesterday. I’d like to talk about it later if that’s alright with you. Be safe today. Love, Joel. They always reconciled, one of them cracking a joke at the end to lighten the mood. It was a miracle they were ever able to reconcile, considering how terrible they could both be at talking about their feelings. But they always managed in their own little way.

She cried for their estrangement. How she’d treated him the past two years; avoiding him at any cost. Glaring at him if he was in the immediate vicinity. Always finding an out if he approached her. She would go through Tommy to find out Joel’s schedule, all so she could work around it. She cried for how her smile faded even seeing him across town. The anger she harbored towards him those years, unable to see any hope or light at the end of the tunnel.

She cried for him. She cried for who he was. Who he is. All he ever did was protect her and ask her to be safe. His care for her was infinite and it nearly drove her insane. No one ever cared for her how he did. Every day, he did everything he could for her. Whether it be out on the road or in the security of Jackson, he never stopped caring. Never stopped protecting or loving. To show her a glimpse into Before; who he was Before.. To show her what having a family, a father, was like. He went above and beyond to give her the life she deserved, all because he wanted her to be happy. It was never about him.

She cried for the smiles she caught. The once-in-a-blue-moon toothy smiles where he truly laughed. His small chuckles or when he’d blow air out of his nose at some snarky remark she made. Sometimes he’d smile during their meals together. She thought it was weird at first when he told her “it’s not because of the food.” He was happy to just be with her. To have a sense of normalcy with this little girl. To escape from the horrors of infected outside the walls of Jackson and be able to sit at a wooden table and eat with proper plates and silverware for a full meal.

She cried over his gentleness. He was a violent man. He killed and tortured men for years and he was effective. But when it came to her, he was nothing but gentle. He always spoke softly, always held her as gently as his calloused, blood stained hands could manage. How any touch was feather-light and didn’t feel like it could come from someone known for notorious violence like Joel. But she was the exception. Her delicate, fourteen-year-old self brought out a side of him that he always believed was buried two decades prior.

She cried for missing his contact. They got so comfortable after Winter. Holding hands, hugs on the harder days, and the general proximity. They’d sit beside each other by the fire, and Joel would wake up with her head alarmingly close to him, some mornings on his thigh or shin. It became more frequent when they moved into Jackson. She was glued to his side any time they left the house; other residents of Jackson thought it was sweet. But, ever since the estrangement and shoving him away, she didn’t think they’d ever be this close again.

And through their estrangement, he was patient. He waited for her those years. He was heartbroken over it and she knew, but he was still patient, not knowing if she’d even come back or try to repair it. He stayed the whole time, still, patiently waiting. And if she never went back, he’d stay anyway, content with the time he had with her. He loved her too much to force it. She was alive, and that’s all that mattered to him.

And she was about to lose that man in mere hours.

She was draped across his lap now, face pressed into his neck as his was pressed into her hair. She sobbed into him, soaking his coat and button-up. His arms were wrapped around her, left arm cradling her head into him as his right was on her back, rubbing and tracing gentle patterns and designs through her shirt. She’d never be held like this again.

“Kiddo,” he spoke, breaking her concentration on the fabric of his shirt. “I’m startin’ to not feel too well.”

Ellie shut her eyes tight, tears spilling over immediately. “No. No, no, no, no, no. No, fuck. How much fucking time do you have? I still need time,” she pleaded.

“Time for what?”

“To just…just…be here. To be with you while you’re still…”

He gave her a look and she knew exactly what he meant. They didn’t have that time. His eyes would close soon enough, and it wouldn’t be Joel to open them again.

She wrapped her arms around his middle, sobbing into his chest once again. She was mumbling incoherences into his coat, wailing sobs coming out of her that didn’t even sound human. This was reality. She hadn’t felt it until now. She cried, she screamed bloody murder into his chest. He was dying. He was dead already.

He hugged her back as tight as he could manage. He was still injured, but injuries be damned if they ever stopped him from comforting or protecting her. She comes first.

“I need more time,” she weeped into his chest.

“I know, baby. But I don’t want you to see me like that. I don’t. I’d rather be gone before I have the chance to hurt you.” He kissed her head quickly once but held a longer one the second time, his eyes closing at the sound of her sobs at the lost contact between them. “Hey…” his mouth still in her hair, trying to keep himself from eating a mouthful of her auburn strands. “Baby…can you call for Tommy? I want to see him.”

She gave his shirt a few more shuddering hiccups before pulling away, stepping to the bottom of the staircase. “Don’t close your fucking eyes.”

She raced to the top of the stairs, skipping two or three at a time until she reached the door. It flew open, Ellie nearly collapsing to the floor as Tommy rushed to her side.

“Whoa, hey. The hell happened?” Tommy paused, his hand held inches above her shoulder. “Did he-“

“He wants to talk to you,” she said, adjusting herself to sit on the floor she just collapsed on.

Tommy rushed down the stairs as Ellie stayed on the first floor of the mansion, her knees bent in front of her as her forearms draped over them, tears spilling down her face. She hugged her legs closer to herself, face burying in the space between her kneecaps. Joel was dying.

Tommy kneeled beside his older brother, seeing the bite immediately from Joel’s clothes still being pulled to the side. Tommy’s face went still, hands flexing into fists.

“How-“

“They tortured me with a runner. Bit me twice.” Joel’s breathing was shaky now. Emotion or the infection taking over, he wasn’t sure. “I’m not feeling well, Tommy.”

Tommy couldn’t respond. There was nothing to say. His big brother was dying. The last of his blood, his companion for life, his construction partner. Nothing prepares you for that, not even the world they live in.

“I’m sorry, brother.”

“Dammit, Joel,” he whispers, turning away to wipe his face. “What…you want me to get her out of here? Head back home like nothin’ happened? Let you run around as some fuckin’ infected and risk seeing you again in that state? Risk her seeing you that way?!”

“No…no.” Joel pulled his revolver from his belt, holding it out to Tommy. “Before she’s back downstairs. Please, Tommy. She can’t do something like this. Please, she can’t. I can’t have her…” he hesitates, unable to finish that thought. “I don’t want her seeing me as an infected, neither. I don’t want you seein’ that. Please, Tommy, you have to.”

Tommy’s response was immediate and sure. “I ain’t fucking shooting you, Joel.”

“You’ve killed hundreds of people, Tommy.”

“Those are hunters, Joel! People we fucking stole from ages ago! People who were the object of our grief! You’re my brother!”

“So do me the mercy of shooting me in the head.”

There’s a silence. A hard, cold, unbelievable silence between them. Tommy paced back and forth in front of Joel, anxiously messing with his hands as he imagines how any of this would play out. Where do I shoot him? Forehead? Temple? Chin? Will Ellie hate me? Will Maria hate me? What if I can’t take it like Joel couldn’t? What if Ellie attempts because she can’t take it?

“Please, Tommy, don’t let me turn. I don’t want you to see that. I don’t want her to see that. Fucking…Tommy, please.”

Tommy faces him head on, his eyes red, expression clear. “Do it yourself,” he bites, turning towards the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, hand gripping the railing. Fuck, that was a bad call.

“I love you, baby brother.”

Tommy’s chin drops to his chest as he pulls himself up the stairs, the sleeves of his coat wiping profusely at his face. His head burns. He opens the door and Ellie is still there, hugging herself on the floor, knees brought to her chest as she weeps in front of him.

Tommy doesn’t say a word, only grabs his rifle from the back of the couch and takes watch at the front door again. Ellie watches him, confused. He’d say something, right? Right?

She fumbles getting up, throwing the door back open as she rushes back down to Joel.

The crown of his head is pressed against the glass behind him, eyes closed tight as tears pool down the sides of his face and into his ears, some falling and dripping off his jaw. She can see his shoulders and abdomen jump with each sob. He has never looked like this before.

He lifts his head from the glass, meeting her eyes as she kneels back beside him. He sought her hand this time, holding it tight. His eyes are red and there are wet streaks along his cheeks and jaw.

They sat there in silence, Ellie attentively playing with his fingers as he occasionally sniffed, trying to push those emotions far away from her to see. Joel cleared his throat and adjusted his back as best he could against the glass.

“Listen-“ he started, a gentle graze of his thumb over her hand.

“No.”

“Ellie-”

“Joel, stop…stop…”

“You don’t even know-“

“I know exactly what you want to fucking say. No.”

He freed his hands from hers, picking the revolver up from the floor beside him. He picked both her hands up again, placing the gun tightly in her grip. “It’s fully loaded. No Russian roulette, nothing.”

“Russian roulette?”

He laughed wetly. “Get Tommy to explain it to you.”

“I want you to.” He’d never get to explain anything to her after this.

He smiles briefly. She’s like a little kid asking to get her way, and he’d be damned if he didn't explain it.

“It’s a…dangerous game. You put one round in the chamber, spin it, place it against the body, and you fire at your own head. Your fate is up to chance.” He rubs his thumb over hers. “But there’s no chance with this.”

She gripped the revolver, staring at it. “…Is that why Tommy walked away? Did you ask him?”

He nodded. “He told me to do it myself.”

Well, why can't you?

And it’s almost like Joel can sense the question from a mile away.

“I’m afraid I’ll flinch again.” His voice cracks on again. “With the infection already startin’ to take root I…”

“Joel…I can’t fucking shoot you. I won’t.”

“I don’t want you to see me like that. I don’t want to feel whatever it is they feel. I don’t know if I’ll know it’s you and won’t be able to control what I’m doin’. I don’t want to give you another bite. I don’t want to give you something else that’ll keep you up at night. When you think of me, I don’t want that to be what you picture. I don’t want to tear you apart.”

Joel succumbs to a coughing fit and nearly coughs up blood as he leans forward, Ellie pounding on his back. Joel heaves as his head hangs above his legs, Ellie rubbing his back gently. It’s Riley all over again. Joel sits back up against the glass and exhales heavily as Ellie brings their hands back together. This is going fast.

Ellie hesitates, absentmindedly squeezing his hand tighter. “What if I forget what you look like? What if I shoot you through the face and that’s all I see from now on? What if I can’t remember your face? What if I try to draw you and all I see is a bullet hole between your eyes? What if I can’t remember your nose or your mouth or your eyes or-“

She was rambling and furiously wiping the tears away from her cheeks now. Joel brought his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks. He rubbed his thumbs across her cheeks multiple times, wiping from her nose to her ear lobes, and spoke. “What color are my eyes?”

She stared at him for a minute, eyes threatening to spill over again. She looked down to the space between them, avoiding his gaze. “Brown.”

“Hey.” He said firmer, forcing her to look at him. “What color are my eyes?”

She stared at him for a minute, keeping the contact. “Brown,” she said, still skeptical.

“Ellie, baby…what color are my eyes?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and exhaled. “Brown. Your…your eyes are brown. Your eyes are brown,” she breathed, almost relieved to say that back to him. “Your eyes are brown and your…your nose has a little arch to it. You have the scar on your temple and the one on your nose, too.” She hesitated for a minute, lightly laughing to herself. “You have these two little patches in your beard where you don’t have any hair-“

“Alright,” he rolled his eyes, smiling back at her. He brought her head towards him, pressing a kiss to her hairline before pulling her away again.

“Your hair is a mix of black and white. Your ears sit close to your head and you have these two little creases between your eyes, too.”

He smiled at her again. This is what he wanted. After how she expressed the fear of forgetting what he looked like, this is what he wanted for her. What she needed. For her to know she could remember him. That if she drew him, if she remembered him, she remembered him, not something else.

She lightly smiled back. “The corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile, too. Sometimes there’ll be three or four if you laugh hard.”

She noticed the small things in him. She had him perfectly pictured in her mind, down to the minute details of his eye crinkles. But she didn’t do it just so she could remember his face; it was because she loved him. Because she loved them- those little, physical quirks he’d nearly forgotten about himself.

He smiled bigger, just for that.

Her smile faded fast, reality coming back to her. “Your eyes crinkle when you smile…” she trailed off, looking down as she took his hands from her face and into her hers, placing them in their laps. She was never going to him smile again.

“C’mere,” he asked and she climbed back against him, contorting herself against his chest as her cheek pressed against his heart. Her right hand had a section of his flannel balled up into her fist, clinging to what she still had left of him. Her left was in her lap, fidgeting with his fingers.

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, Ellie attentively playing with his fingers to distract herself from their fate approaching at a rapid rate. She crossed them over each other, intertwined hers with his, balled his hands into fists, and held his every way she knew how.

The longer they sat, the more labored his breathing became. She could feel him fading; dying. He could, too. It was getting harder to breathe. Deeper inhales were needed for almost every other breath. He was lightheaded; dizzy. His head was dropping more, like his neck muscles were giving out. The infection was getting far. It was a network at this point, vines emerging from his shoulder into his neck and chest; it resembled tree roots. He was sweating and getting hot. This was going way too fast.

“Babygirl…”

“No,” she whimpered into his chest, holding that ball of his flannel tighter.. “No, Joel. Please…stop.”

“Ellie, we’re risking it. I’m…I’m going, kiddo. I can tell.”

She curled herself tighter into his lap, bending her knees and bringing them closer to her face as they fell against his chest. He pulled his hands from hers, wrapping them tighter around her. She’s always been so small, and right now was no exception. She fit into him so easily, completely encapsulated by his embrace.

Ellie was trembling with sobs; a mix of hiccups, hyperventilating, and a wailing that any clicker could hone in on from miles away. She felt like she was falling apart. His embrace is supposed to offer her support and stability, not make her feel like they’re nowhere to be found. Security and protection, and yet she feels open, vulnerable, and exposed.

Her fist in his flannel moved to his arm, her left arm following as she held onto his forearms, trying to ground herself in his embrace and how she should feel against him.

He’s practically dead. Maybe that’s why; it’s barely him at this point. The infection is taking him from her. And that is as much of a reason she needs to go through with this. What feels terrible to her is a thousand times worse for him. He’ll be with Sarah. He’ll be free.

“Baby,” he started. He hadn’t called her that in years before today. And she had already lost count of the amount of times he’d used it within the last few hours. She’s never gonna hear it again. “Hey, look at me, please.” She pulled away and scooted off his lap slightly, her legs still draped across him. His hands found her cheeks, his hold noticeably weaker. He smiled at her.

This little girl. His little girl. He smiled at her; because of her. The little girl who attacked him (and Tess) when they first met. Who did nothing but cling to his side because he protected her. I need something smuggled out of the city. To you, she’s cargo. But then there was Henry and Sam, nights together on the road, car rides, Jackson (a glimpse into their future), a life threatening injury, and her life on the line. And somehow…it became more than a job. She became more than just cargo. Somewhere along the way, the fortified walls built up around him were torn down by her. He protected, provided, and cared for her. He nurtured her. He reassured her. He held her tight and called her “babygirl.” He saw more importance in holding her hand through a night sleep than he did in keeping watch over them.

Eventually, that cargo was hearing him sing and being taught guitar. That smuggler was stringing up lights around her makeshift home in their her garage. Somewhere along the way, two unrelated survivors of the world, brought together as a job, were walking hand-in-hand down the streets of their new home together.

At first, she seemed to just be a replacement for Sarah; her ghost following him everywhere. Those nightmares becoming more prevalent when Ellie entered the picture; a constant reminder of his failure to Sarah. But then Ellie wormed her way in with that terrible pun book, atrocious vocabulary for a fourteen-year-old, and non-stop questions which kept him awake (and annoyed) that did him in. She started to become her own person to him; an opportunity. A second chance at fatherhood. To feel and embrace the love that gave him the greatest twelve years of his life. To continue where he left off with it all. And motherfuckers be damned if anything was going to get in his way of loving his little girl again.

“I love you,” and fuck, he looked heartbroken and in love. This was the first and last time she'd ever hear him say it. Regretful.

She smiled back at him. It was always understood between them; they didn’t have to say it. She wanted to say it before he left for patrol or before she went…anywhere without him. But a quick hug, kiss on the head, and a “be safe,” was his way of saying it every day. For her, it was always a tight hug paired with, “If you die, I’m gonna kill you,” or a similar endearment. They had their ways, and that was enough.

But right now, he needed her to know for sure.

Joel took in another shaky breath. He was falling. “I love you…so much, babygirl.” His hold was so soft as he rubbed his thumb over her cheek again.

His face was enough to tell her everything. They got really good at the whole ‘silent communication’ thing. A certain look in his eye or the way his eyebrows sat was all she needed. And now, his eyes were gentle. He looked like he did when he gave her the tape of the space launch three years ago. He looked like he did when he heard Linda Ronstadt on that tape after so many years. He looked like he did when she’d treat him extra father-like to really sell it to other Jacksonfolk. His expression looked like…the same it always did when he looked at her.

Everything he ever did was for her. Trying to send her away with Tommy, shoving her away from him in that basement, massacring the fireflies, and every decision in between was made because he loved her, and that came before anything else. He didn’t need to expand on any of it; she knew now.

Her anger was palpable during the estrangement. Her trust was broken, she was betrayed, disappointed, and angrier than she knew what to do with. She didn’t hate him, though. She struggled for a long time, but it never turned to hatred. And the realization of that for her is as clear to her now as it may ever be, considering how easily she answers. Like they were never estranged.

“I love you, too,” she responds, the same expression on her face. I just heard him say his last words. He just heard my last words to him.

He pulls her head forward, pressing his forehead to hers. Her hands come up to his wrists, holding on to him. She slows her breathing to match his, earning one last sliver of comfort from him.

She pulls his hands away, placing them in the space between them as she leans to the side, picking the revolver back up. She fiddles with it in her hands, trembling as she grips the trigger. She pulls her legs off from how they’ve been draped across him and tucks them under her, sitting on her heels.

She loosely places the barrel of the revolver against his temple, Joel flinching at the familiar contact.

His right hand came up to her face, bringing her head down once more, kissing her hairline once and resting his lips there briefly. A second one, just for good measure. “I love you so damn much, babygirl,” he whispers, tears from his own cheeks hitting her forehead. He leans back, the crown of his head hitting the glass.

Ellie grabs at his hands in his lap, the two of them fighting for who can hold the other tighter. Both his hands come around her left as she pulls the hammer back. Tears drip off her chin into the mess of their hands in his lap.

He shuts his eyes tight as she exhales.

“I’m sorry. I love you-”

bang.

His body jumps against her, his hands immediately releasing her left as his head falls to the side.

“Joel?” She whispered, watching his face. She dropped the revolver, cupping his face upright. “Hey, Joel. Look at me. Joel, fucking look at me! Fuck..dammit Joel, fucking look at me, asshole. Look at me!” Every other word was a sob. “Fuck…you’re…why did I do this. Why did I listen to you, why did I…” she sobbed, pressing her forehead against his, gripping his neck tight. “Please…please, don’t do this. Come back, Joel. Please, please come back. Please…” she pleaded, tears spilling down her chin into his empty hands. “Joel…come on. We were…I was…I told Dina I was going to invite you over. Curtis and Viper 2…I found it. I was gonna ask you…fuck…fuck…I know you would…you would’ve said yes…” Her throat was burning up. She brought her hands around the back of his neck, bringing his face into the crook of her shoulder as she rested her chin atop his head, her right hand combing through his hair gently. “...We were gonna…we were gonna be okay.” she choked. Were.

The basement door swung open and Tommy stormed down the stairs, his beretta in hand as his arm was extended out in front of him. He was coming back to do it. Tommy stopped a few feet behind Ellie, Joel’s head still tucked into her neck.

“Ellie…”

Ellie was sobbing into Joel’s hair, Tommy at a loss of what to do, if anything, for her. “He was going fast…we…I had to.”

Tommy’s breath caught in his throat as he noticed the wound in his brother’s temple, blood still pouring out. Ellie was drenched.

HIs voice was quiet, completely different to how he sounded barreling down the stairs seconds prior. “I was gonna get my shit together…I-I would’ve done it, sweetheart.”

Ellie pushed past that. Can’t go back now. “We need to…wrap him up. Sheets, towels, something…”

Tommy acknowledged silently, walking back upstairs without another word.

Ellie stayed there, kneeling on that cold basement tile with Joel’s face tucked into her neck. He was heavy now as dead weight. Joel’s hands were still open in his lap, pools of Ellie’s tears still present in the creases of his palms. “You were alive three minutes ago and now we have to wrap up your fucking corpse…” She pulled his face away from her neck, holding it in front of her. His eyes were half shut. She opened his left eyelid slightly, checking for life. She had to be sure. Sure enough, nothing. The eyes that held so much light, gentleness, and love were void of…anything now. No crinkles in the corner of his eyes, and the brown of his irises even felt faded.

She stayed like that, studying his face. The second Tommy is back, Joel will be wrapped up, his face covered and his body wrapped up as he’s put six feet under, never to be unraveled again. She needed this now, to make sure she memorized everything, even through the tear-filled lens of her vision. Those patches in his beard, the arch of his nose, his temple and nose scars, the shape of his ears, the way the front of his hair curls on a good day, the brown of his eyes, and those crinkles she never once took for granted that sat so openly at the corners of his eyes.

She’d never see those crinkles again.

~~~~

Tags: @not-so-mundane-after-all @sentientmasstransit @memelovescaps @tloubraininfection @tlouobsessed @fieldsoftulips @bejeweledmp3 @swol-bear @cassianendor @bluestar22x @elliiewiilliiams @longl0ngtime @dilf-din @therebedragcns @joelxmiller @scootkiddo @astrasomnium @fallenstar07 @novemberrain-writes @hooptedoodley

[pizzaqueen]

464 words of pre-slash pining fluff for day one of @steddie-week / rated G or T

It’s not as tight a fit in the listening booth as Eddie hoped it would be, but it does get him closer to Steve than he’s been all day. (Well, except for when he draped himself all over Steve at their table in the food court, or when they were pressed close in the photo booth, Eddie goading Steve into making goofy faces, or when their knees were resting together at the movies earlier.)

But they’re in their own bubble here. The rest of the world completely shut out. Just the two of them, one set of headphones, and a song shared between them.

Eddie has the album at home, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Steve knows that, but he didn’t resist when Eddie dragged him in here with one hand curled around Steve’s wrist, the other clutching the album they’re listening to now.

The song is so familiar and it fades to the background as Eddie watches Steve sidelong; the drums keep time with the beat of his heart, the howling guitar could be the singing in his blood. He catches Steve looking at him, once, twice, three times, his pulse skipping whenever their gazes lock.

This is almost everything Eddie wants. Listening to music with Steve, forgetting about the world beyond the song and the space between them. It would be perfect if he was sure that Steve’s heart is beating as hard as his, that his skin tingles at the nearness of Eddie, the way Eddie’s skin is tingling, now, being so close to Steve. The way his stomach swoops, and his chest feels full to bursting, how he’s every single fucking hopelessly in love cliche whenever they’re together, and even more when they’re not.

But he doesn’t know. He has no fucking clue. Sometimes, maybe, he thinks—hopes—but how can he be sure? He’s out of his depths here. It drives him crazy but, fuck, in moments like this he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Steve shifts, their hips bumping together, the brush of his arm against Eddie’s sending electricity through him. It draws Steve closer and he doesn’t move away, so they listen to the rest of the song pressed close, like the booth is half the size.

“So”—Eddie pulls his side of the headphones away from his ear when the song ends—“what did you think?” He bites his lip, kicks Steve’s foot.

“I think I liked it.” Steve’s gaze flicks outside the booth, then fixes back on Eddie. His eyes twinkle, warm and dark, and he turns so he’s facing Eddie fully. He licks his lips and leans in, saying, “But maybe we could listen to it again?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, a smile forming, “maybe we could,” and he starts the song over.

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[captainhysunstuff]

When I was typing a lawlight tag, I saw the autofill option for lawsuit, and I immediately thought, “No, that’s L and Mikami’s ship name.” Because Lawliet and prosecutor, y’know. And now that’s all I can think about.

[trees-to-meet-you]

God. What if Pandora didn’t want to open the box. What if she was manipulated, her hands tied to and guided by strings she couldn’t shake off. What if when she released the horrors out into the world, Hope chose to stay with her, in the box. What if Pandora couldn’t rid herself of that guilt. What if Hope couldn’t convince her that not all was lost, and that she wasn’t responsible for the strings around her hands. That she wasn’t a monster.

What if Pandora and Hope found a way to trap everything in the box again. What if Pandora couldn’t do it. What if she didn’t want anyone else to feel the guilt she did. What if she thought that trapping the horrors in the box would just doom everyone into the same cycle. What if she felt she had to break it by bearing the suffering of everyone else. What if Hope tried to convince her that it could be better. What if she wouldn’t save herself. What if Hope had to kill Pandora for a chance to save everyone, including her. What if they both were sealed in the box. What if no one ever knew what happened to them. What if their last words to the world and to each other were “I love you.”

What if the world ending was never Pandora’s fault, but in her guilt and grief she blamed herself for it, and the Hope that voluntarily stayed by her side had to take her life to save it.

What if?

[itsslivernotsilver]

just finished 1000xresist. what the fuck

[fisherrprince]

hi! hope you have a good day! this is very random, but in one of your recent post about an enemies-to-lovers ship, you talked about wanting your ship to be "weirdly existential" in your tags.... i'm kinda curious, what do you mean, by that?

-sincerely, a curious, fellow enemies-to-lovers liker

means if their hatred for each other isn’t born out of something so personal it leaches into their sense of self and they don’t keep being funny (slightly murderous) forever ion want it. they gotta be mutually destructive they gotta have that same ends of a magnet swag. their relationship going both ways has to have teeth. they gotta be like. if I accept this thing about this guy I have to accept it about myself and I can’t do that because it sucks so bad

[holographic-mars]

what hobbies do you think cosmos has? & do you think they change pre/post war? (just realized this is formatted like a test question lol sorry)

I think Cosmos would absolutely love collecting stuff. Not necessarily in a this-thing-is-valuable kinda way, more like hey guys look at this cool rock I found kinda way. He loves collecting stuff from different cultures and civilizations he comes across in his travels. He also likes to collect things for other people like music for Jazz and Blaster and samples for Perceptor. He’s the kind of guy to give something to someone and go “here, this reminded me of you”.

Cosmos also enjoys puzzles! He’s very good at them because he does them when he’s bored in space.

And music. He loves music a lot, he likes singing but unfortunately cannot dance in gravity. He can groove in space, though.

During the war, Cosmos was constantly in space on missions that prevent him from doing stuff that he liked, so he kinda fell out of a lot of stuff he enjoyed. Post-war when he finds himself on the sanctuary station, after realizing that Soundwave isn’t going to send him on constant stressful and back breaking missions, he is able to revisit his old hobbies and get back into doing stuff he finds fun!

For some hcs, Cosmos is pretty good at fixing stuff up! He’s no Wheeljack, but he can figure out how to fix a busted machine if he works at it enough. He does fix stuff like Wheeljack, though, all patch-work like with some zip-ties and duct tape. It doesn’t have to be pretty as long as it works. He’s a crafty little thing—it is a helpful skill to have when you’re alone in space with limited resources and need something fixed fast.

Cosmos has REALLY good memory. Like amazingly good memory. He can remember things about people that is said in passing (makes him a good spy/reconnaissance man) as well as proper behaviors and traditions in certain cultures. The only issue is that sometimes he mixes stuff up and can’t remember what tradition belongs to what culture.

THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THE ASKS THIS WAS SO FUN EHE!!!! ❤️❤️❤️🛸🛸

[animalsandskyyy]

I’m trying to enter a “thoughtfully messaging people” era. so if I see something that reminds me of someone? i’m sending it to them. miss talking with someone? i’m messaging them. just want someone to know i’m thinking of them? i’m telling them that.

best case, it makes their day or it starts a conversation. worst case, they don’t respond… so i’d say those are pretty good odds.

[saipng]

i’m so pissed cuz i be writing entire symphonies in my head while im dreaming and then when i wake up i don’t remember any of them

[kathybluecaller]

Finally got around drawing Aioros :D

[evildeerboy]

yaaay boys greatest dream coming true (getting estrogen)

[fujii-draws]

hey fujii do you wanna hear about a silly little thing i thought of earlier. so you know how in red/blue rescue team, eevee used to be in the "naive" category, whereas in explorers of sky, it's in the "jolly" category? it made me think about ribbons, specifically because of how the rescue team personality test describes the naive trait.

in rescue team, the naive type is described to be someone whos highly curious, and someone who likes rare things. their cheerful and carefree make everything fun for the people around them, but they also have the flaw of being childish, never sitting still, and always being on the move. (it also says that they might be selfish but i dont see that applying to ribbons tbh..)

it seems so oddly fitting for ribbons because her personality does show those traits in particular. she's a silly little thing and her bright cheery personality, and she is childish to some extent. and of course, can't forget her curiosity. especially with how curious she got when it came to dusknoir. and of course, we can't forget about the *actual* definition of naive. naivety in the sense of choosing to believe that dusknoir, despite how his aura flared with malice, bared no ill intent. to think that someone who is so great, so wise, so kind and caring could ever be capable of shattering her world apart.. that was naive. because she believed he was what she thought he was, and because it was her naivety that nearly got her and aimilios killed. you'd think she'd have learned from the drowzee incident where two kids displaying trust in a spur-of-the-moment stranger who coincidentally showed them kindness in their misfortune was a mistake, but i suppose that's what being a naive little child does to you.

(anyways im sorry if this sounds incoherent and out of the blue. have a good day)

DONT YOU DARE APOLOGIZE FOR THIS. THE JOLLY AND NAIVE NATURES FIT MY GIRL SO WELL. (Unhinged rant in tags)

[theshadowrealmitself]

Vlad, getting his ass beat after his identity is revealed: Remember me for my mayor work and not the murders!

[ct-multifandom]

Can you guys rb this or comment with how you pronounce “Goncharov”? I didn’t really think anything of it until one of my friends said it out loud and I was like huh? I think it’s interesting how people can have different pronunciations of a word or name they’ve never heard out loud in their head an not question it. For reference, I’m a native Russian speaker and I’ve always read it like gohn-CHArohv and my US American friend said GAHNCHA-rahv.

[area51-escapee]

In theory i understand what people mean when they say that voting is not a moral litmus test, it’s a civic duty, like I shouldn’t let my morals hold me back for voting for someone, even if they fundamentally go against my morals in any which way, and it shouldn’t mean anything if I do vote against my morals and people can’t judge my morals and beliefs based off how I vote.

But doesn’t that mean that we also can’t judge the morals of people who vote for trump? Because it’s just their civic duty, so like, how are we supposed to know what their personal morals are, maybe that also goes against their morals but they did it because it’s their civic duty, so it shouldn’t actually matter or say anything about them and what they believe in, right?