#I guess plants can make antibiotics BUT

[revenantghost]

There's something so uniquely painful in Wolfwood using his own gun for this moment

He wants Vash to dirty his own hands, to pull that trigger with lethal intent

But with Wolfwood's weapon

The final life it takes being his own

[bet-on-me-13]

The weirdly competent Doctor

So! The Watchtower's Medical Bay is a hub of constant Activity. With the number of Heroes who work under the Justice League, there are always injuries, health check-Ups, and illnesses that need healing.

But with the amount of Variant Biologies that those Heroes have, it's always a guessing game as to how to help them best. Some Metahumans react positively to penicillin, but others react like it's their Kryptonite. Some Aliens have anatomy similar to Humans, others are so different you can't tell the Stomach from the Bladder.

So when they hired a New Doctor for the Medical Bay, they had to run him through an entire Course on Variant Biologies and how best to treat specific Heroes. It was long and difficult to remember fully, but it was necessary for him to know.

But then the new Doctor started correcting Them.

"Actually, Martian's react better to the Syrup of Eucalyptus Plants better than Penicillin, since Eucalyptus is very similar to a medicinal plant from Mars which they used in many of their antibiotics."

"I don't think just pumping double doses of sedative is the best way to calm down a Speedster, that could have adverse effects on their body. Perhaps try Psychic Intervention? Their minds move a Mile a Second, but if you can calm them down their bodies will follow suit."

"Of course you use Micro-Doses of Kryptonite to operate on Superman! What else would you do?! I don't know, maybe ask JLD to enchant your Equipment to make use of Kryptonian suseptiblity to Magic? The Kryptonite is just gonna give him Cancer!"

Of course the Doctors didn't take kindly to being rudely corrected by a newbie, and Fired him on his first day.

Then a few days later their usual Treatments don't work, and they decide to give those strategies the Quack Doctor gave them out of desperation.

And Lo and Behold, they work! Martian Manhunter is fully healed and feels much better than the previous times he has needed surgery. Apparently they used a different Antibiotic that worked better with his Biology. Which was incredible, how had they figured it out?

Another Doctor you say? One who was experienced on Martian Biology and Medicinal History? He would very much like to meet with the man!

...

What do you mean you fired him for talking back?!

[pearlessance]

Judge, Jury, Executioner - Idle Threats [ix]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel puts everyone on trial and it brings back bloody memories. A farm just outside of Jackson offers a chance at peace.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI (no smut in this part, but in almost every other in the series), mention of sexual assault of minor, mention of canon typical violence, torture, and murder, brat taming, age gap (32yrs), mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, reader has added backstory to progress the plot

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

It rains from dawn till dusk the day you return to Jackson.

Tommy, Maria, and Ellie are all waiting at the gates upon your arrival with smiles and tension on their shoulders that dissipates with seeing both of you alive and well. 

Joel holds Ellie close and tries not to think about how she looks so grown up already. He’d only been gone a couple weeks but she’s growing like a weed these days and it’s bittersweet to see. 

Tommy claps him on the back, laughs, and says, “Welcome back, brother. Glad to see you,” Joel watches from his peripheral the exchange between you and Maria.

You smile at first, as she takes your pack from you and hauls it over her shoulder instead. She places her hand against the side of your face in an affectionate way, but she doesn’t hold you. Doesn’t embrace you like a mother would embrace a child. She gives you a proud grin and asks, “Do you want the good news now or later?”

“Could always use some good news,” you say. 

And then Maria goes into a monologue about how Jesse and Dina came across an underground bunker on a patrol. It’s stocked full of canned food and hygienic supplies and expired antibiotics. There’s even fertilizer and pre-made plant food for a small greenhouse within the bunker. She guesses it was made by some prepper before the outbreak who never made it back home. “The fertilizer has the potential to double our supply before winter,” she says.

Joel’s jaw aches as he watches the light in your eyes dim and your easy smile fall. He worries he may break his teeth inside his mouth if he fights the cruel words for much longer. 

You’re not two feet past the gate and already she’s asking more of you. 

“Well, what do you think?” Maria urges. “Jesse offered to take Tommy and loot it but I told them to hold off until you got back. Figured you’d want in on it.”

He watches you swallow once, twice. Watches your lips part as you try to find your words. 

Joel finds them for you. “Maria,” he interrupts sternly. “We need to sit and have a talk.” He looks to his brother. “The four of us.”

Her brows furrow at the tone in his voice, but the guards and stragglers are looking on at the reunion, so Maria nods stiffly. “Sure. Let’s get this stuff to the supply drop off and we’ll meet back at the community hall. Should be empty today.” 

While Maria and Tommy take the supplies, Ellie takes the reins of both your horses and says, “You guys came back at the perfect time. I made spaghetti last night and accidentally made enough to feed a small army, so…dinner at Joel’s later. Yeah?”

When you laugh, it’s the first genuine smile he’s seen from you in the last twenty four hours. “Sounds good to me,” you tell her. “Thanks, El.”

The minute the two of you are alone, Joel finds himself saying, “You’re not going on that run.” 

In truth, he expects you to fight back. He expects you to hurl cruel words at him about how he doesn’t get to make decisions for you, about how he’s not in charge of you. 

But you don’t. And it breaks his heart and reassures him at the same time.

You assess him, trying to find a lie on his face, trying to tell if he’s kidding or not. 

Joel’s deathly serious. And he knows it’s the right decision when you stay completely silent and your eyes turn glassy. But it raises another concern. “How long have you wanted to stop?”

“A…a while,” you answer.

“Why haven’t you said anything?” He reaches for your hand, and it brings him relief to see the tension ease from your shoulders.

“The timing was never right. Someone always needs something.”

“Someone will always need something,” he explains. “It’s not your job to take care of everyone.”

You look away from him, bottom lip trembling. “Is that not selfish of me? To want someone else to put their lives at risk in place of myself?”

“I think it’s selfish Maria ever fuckin’ asked.” The answer comes quick, sharp, and angry. 

A scowl slips onto your features and thunder rolls through the clouds as if the heavens can feel your frustration. “I don’t like it when you talk about her like that.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like it when she talks to you at all.” He can sense you’ve got something to say, some rebuttal. But it remains unsaid like so much else.

“Can’t not talk to her, Joel. It’s her town.”

“And that gives her permission to gamble with your life?” He scoffs. 

This isn’t a battle he’s willing to cower for. Not when the cost is your peace. Because if not Joel, who else will fight for it? Not you and certainly not Maria.

He can see the emotion on your face and tries to lighten the mood. “Besides, you’ve ignored her before. You’re really good at the silent treatment when you wanna be.”

“Not when it comes to stuff like this,” you say. “Not when it’s about a girl’s health or the state of Jackson or food for the winter.”

“You’ve paid your dues and then some.”

It’s the truth and it sits heavy in the silence. You sigh deeply, running a hand through the rain-soaked tendrils of your hair. “I don’t want to talk about this, okay? I just…”

“Just what,” he urges. Joel can read you now, a whole lot better than he used to. He can see something stirring behind your eyes but whatever it is you swallow.

“Nothing. I’ll meet you at the community hall.” You don’t look at him. Joel’s not sure if it’s because you don’t want to or if it’s because you can’t.

And then you walk away, leaving him alone for the first time in weeks. He doesn’t like being apart from you, he quickly decides. 

But he understands wanting space and he wants to give to you whatever it is you need. So he lets you go, lets you return to your home alone and fights the deeply ingrained urge to follow you. 

He finds Ellie instead, holds her tight, and asks her how the last couple of weeks have gone.

“Good,” she says, but there’s a sort of hesitation in the word and Joel wonders why it is that the people he loves feel like they can’t be open with him today. And then she says slowly, “I…uhm, did something while you were gone.”

Joel furrows his brows in confusion but his answers come quickly as she begins to roll up her sleeve, revealing the black ink permanently tattooed into her skin. It’s just the outline, the artistry unfinished. There’s a leafy stem and some sort of moth or butterfly, he’s not sure. But immediately he sees the purpose of the tattoo’s placement. 

Ellie runs her thumb lightly over the ink, over the scar made from the bite of a clicker. “This way I won’t have to lie anymore,” she says. “No more chemical burn.”

He nods. “I like it,” he says. “It looks good.” 

“It's not finished yet,” she explains. “It’ll be better later.” She quiets for a moment, poking around at the fresh flowers she must have brought inside and stuck in a vase at Joel’s dining room table. “I uhm…I found something else.”

His brows furrow. “Found what?”

“Don’t be mad,” she immediately says.

And, of course, the words bring nothing but frustration and anxiety. Because Joel knows this is Ellie’s way of telling him she did something unsafe, something he’s not going to like. “O…kay,” he forces out. 

“You remember when we talked on the way to Jackson and you said if you could do anything you’d want that farmhouse with the sheep?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, I remember. On the moon.”

Ellie laughs. “Yeah, that one. Well…Dina and I were on patrol last week and we went a little off trail—”

“Ellie—”

"I know, I know! But just listen.”

His jaw ticks but he does as she asks. He can see the light behind her eyes, can see the excitement on her face, and he doesn’t want to ruin it when she’s home safely anyway.

A silent moment passes before she continues. “We found this house. A couple miles away from Jackson. Less than a day’s ride. Two stories with a trail in the woods and a big, fenced in barn out back. Completely abandoned. The siding is weathered and painted this ugly yellow color but there’s a wrap around porch and everything, Joel.”

It sounds like everything he’d imagined in his head all those years ago. But those were his plans before he found Jackson. Before Ellie settled in here. Before you. And now he can’t imagine leaving this place because he knows he’ll never be able to pry you away from here. “Ellie…” he shakes his head and looks away, suddenly noticing the drop of blood spilled on the lace of his left boot. 

“It’s yours, Joel,” she insists. “I know it is. I saw it and I just knew it.”

For a single moment, he allows himself to consider it. Let’s himself dream of a life with you, a life that’s as close to before as you’ll ever have the chance to experience. He thinks about the way you’d look while Joel stands in the doorway, admiring the way the sunlight casts shadows across your face as you hang clothes on the line out back to dry. He imagines holding you in his lap on the front porch beneath the moonlight, imagines planting lavender in the yard and playing songs for you around a bonfire.

He wants that for you. Wants to provide someplace safe where you can just exist with no obligation to do anything you don’t want to do. He wants to give that to you, wants to share it with you.

But that would mean leaving Ellie. It would mean leaving Jackson. It would mean you would have to leave Maria. 

And strong as you are, stubborn as you are…Joel’s not sure you’d ever let yourself be free of the shackles of this place.

“Just think about it,” Ellie says softly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just figured…I don’t know. I can’t imagine you in a place like this forever, Joel. I can’t imagine you anywhere but there now.”

He stands to his feet. “We’ll, uh…we’ll go look at it soon. Together. Sound fair?”

She nods but persists. “After you go talk to Maria at the community hall.” 

“Ellie, I—”

“Less than a day’s ride, Joel. We’ll be back before sundown.”

He’s never been good at denying her anything.

By the time he’s leaving his house to meet you, Maria, and Tommy, Ellie stands in his kitchen wrapping up sandwiches for them to eat on the way home. 

Maria and Tommy beat him there. She leads them inside, and Joel’s relieved to find the hall completely devoid of life. Maria switches on the light and she and Tommy sit at the long table in the front of the room. 

He starts to feel a little bit like he’s on trial. You’ve yet to make an appearance, so Joel stands awkwardly in front of them. 

“Can I ask what it’s about…?” Maria questions hesitantly. There’s a sort of unease on her face that drives Joel insane because he knows she can feel it. Knows she can sense your loyalty shifting, knows she’s not afraid of losing you but instead of losing the hold she has on you. 

When Joel says nothing, Tommy scoffs and leans back in his chair. “C’mon, man. The suspense is killing me.”

“Five more minutes,” he says. “Let’s just wait five more minutes.”

It only takes three before Maria loses her patience. “She’s not coming, Joel. Say what you have to say so we can all get on with our day, please.”

Fine, he decides. “Let me be blunt, then. She’s not going to loot that supply bunker and she’s not going on any run after that, either.”

Maria tilts her head. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it,” Joel tells her. “It ain’t her job to do all the runs for the town. Spread it out evenly. Jesse and Dina and Cat and Adam. Abel, even.”

“She’s not our only runner, Joel,” Tommy says. 

“No, but she’s the only one you send on the dangerous ones.”

“They’re all dangerous,” Maria insists.

It makes Joel laugh. He shouldn’t, and he knows it’ll do nothing but enrage her but he can’t help it. “Sure,” he mocks.

“You got somethin’ to say, Miller?”

“Matter of fact, I do.” He squares his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have against her, whatever vendetta you’re workin’, it ends here. You understand me? She’s not some tool for you to use, Maria. She’s a little fuckin’ girl.”

"A little girl? And what’s that say about you, then?”

It’s an attack. His jaw ticks. Joel’s never wanted to hit a woman before but he resists the urge to strangle Maria now. “That ain’t what this is about and you know it.”

“Alright, guys, let’s take a breath,” Tommy suggests, hand raised.

“Right. You think I’m some monster. Do you really think that’s what this is? That I’m using her like a tool?”

“S’what I said, ain't it?”

“We’ve all got roles to play here.”

"An’ yours is judge an’ jury, I’m guessing.”

Maria stands from her seat at the table. “What did she tell you?”

“Enough,” he answers. “Know all about her sister, know she died on a run you insisted on. Know you blame her for something out of her control and that’s why you’re always lettin’ her go on these risky runs alone.”

"Oh, is that what she said? Interesting.”

He ignores the unease that rises in him. “How would you feel if it was your kid you were sendin’ out there and for what? Antibiotics? You say you love her like she’s your own but if that were true, you’d want to keep her safe, not send her out there to die.”

“I don’t make her do anything,” she says. “It’s her own choice.”

“Is it, Maria? Tell me something. When was the last time you asked her if she wanted to go?”

“Guys—”

“You think you know her, Joel, but you don’t.” There’s a cutting edge to Maria’s voice. A warning.

“I know enough,” he insists.

“Said her sister died on a run, did she?” Maria shakes her head and rounds the table. She steps right in front of him, spine straight and nose in the air. “If you really want to know the truth about that girl, you don’t need the story of what happened to Sarah. Ask her about Thomas.”

Maria storms out of the hall without another word, leaving Joel and Tommy alone.

Silence lingers for several minutes. Joel presses his fingers into his temples in an attempt to abate the ache that’s bloomed to no avail.

He knows you hadn’t told him the whole truth, but finds himself wondering just how much you left out of your story.

“I get why you’re upset,” Tommy says. “Hell, I can’t say I would feel any different if I were in your shoes. But…Maria’s been dealin’ with this for a long time, Joel. Whatever agreement they’ve come to, whatever they feel for each other…it’s not really our business.”

”It is mine now, Tommy,” he explains. And a look passes between them at his confession. One that makes his brother aware that Joel has thrown all advice, all reason, all sensibility to the wind. He’s chosen you and there’s no going back.

He’d wondered yesterday how his brother would react. Worried about what he’d say, how he’d feel. But Joel finds now that the words have left his mouth and there’s no taking them back that he doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him.

Tommy stands and makes his way to the door. He hesitates with his hand on the brass knob, and when he looks back at Joel he says, “She wasn’t on a run. She was exiled from Jackson.”

And then he’s gone, and Joel’s alone, feeling more blindsided than he ever has before. 

Exiled? 

He’s out of the community hall and knocking on your door before he realizes he’s even moving. You don’t answer after his first attempt. Not even after his second or third.

But when he tries again, fist banging against the wood, unrelenting, the door swings open and you stand on the other side with bloodshot eyes and a scowl on your face. “I’m not going, Joel. I don’t want to be a part of your pissing contest with Maria.”

This feels familiar, he realizes. Like deja vu. He remembers suddenly standing outside your door, all but begging you to participate in your watch shift. He'd forced you to back then, not understanding why you'd fought so hard over one trivial night. He understands a little better now and wants to understand you in this, too.

He pushes inside your home and closes the door behind you. He doesn’t know how to approach the topic carefully, and his nerves grate at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks, but he knows he won’t rest easily until he knows the full truth. “Why were you exiled?”

One by one, Joel watches the emotions cross your face. Disbelief at first, and then acceptance, and then rage. And he knows you’re going to direct it at him but knows, too, that he can take it. He doesn’t care what your answer is. Doesn’t care what the story will unfold.

Because you’re his. His little girl. Everything else is inconsequential. 

Still, he doesn’t expect it when you answer with a single, wrath-soaked word. “Murder.”

Every moment he’s had with you filters through his mind. Bratty and hurt and angry, yes. But murderous?

He tries to imagine it. Tries to see you with the blood of an innocent on your hands and the image refuses to take form. 

But when he imagines something else, something a little more than mindless violence…

Ask her about Thomas.

“Who?”

“Maria’s first husband.”

Joel shakes his head. He knows there’s more and he has to hear it. If for nothing else than to understand you better. So, he sits on the sofa in the same place he normally lays his coat and settles in. “Tell me all of it.”

And you do. 

You tell him all about Thomas who hated you from the beginning, who tried to convince Maria to have you leave Jackson the moment he set his eyes on you. “I think he saw me for what I was,” you admit. “I think he saw me and knew I’d never be fooled by someone like him.”

Thomas, however, adored your sister. Doted on her, even. Brought her books on the local fauna or clumps of moss for her to study. Taught her how to pin dead insects on a piece of styrofoam to preserve them safely without damaging their fragile wings.

“I knew it was…weird,” you admit to him. “But she’d never had anything like that. It’d always been just me and her, and now that there was someone who could give her the things I’d never be able to? I couldn’t just take that from her because he made me a little uncomfortable.”

Eventually, long conversations over dinner with Maria and Thomas grew later and later.

“I always wanted to go home before dark,” you tell Joel. “But Sarah, she…she always wanted to stay. Wanted to watch those documentaries about animals, wanted to dry out one more moth to add to her collection. Maria…she was the one who suggested Sarah could sleep on the couch if she didn’t want to walk home alone. And I didn’t really think anything of it.”

His stomach turns. Joel feels like he knows where this is headed but doesn’t want to admit it to himself.

“She was…she was there. It wasn’t just Sarah and Thomas, Maria was there, too. So I thought it would be fine, you know? I thought…I dont know.” You shake your head. “I could never sleep until she came home, though. I’d always sit on the porch waiting for her and she’d always laugh about it, but…I just had this weird gut feeling. And…one night, she was out so late I was tempted to go over and drag her home by her hair. But then I could see her, just… sprinting home. Running full fucking speed and I don’t know how but I just…I knew.”

You don’t give much detail about what happened. But you tell him enough. You tell Joel about how you’d run so fast to meet your sister in the middle of the street that your side ached as Sarah’s shaking voice tells you all about how Thomas slipped his hand beneath her skirt while they watched a movie in the garage.

“Maria was asleep,” you say, voice taking on a strangely melancholic tone. “She didn’t see it. I don’t think I could ever blame her, not really. But it wasn’t Maria at fault. Not Maria who deserved to be punished. Not for this.”

And then you tell Joel about the way you’d found Thomas with his jeans around his ankles in his garage. You tell him about the way you held a knife to his throat and forced him to follow you outside, through the streets of Jackson. How you’d threatened his life, frightened this grown man so badly that he’d pissed himself when you’d slipped out of the commune’s gates and found an abandoned house two miles away.

You tell Joel you took your time in dealing the damage. How you’d pulled out his teeth, his fingernails, his tongue. Thomas confessed a hundred times over and apologized twice as much. Yet you couldn’t hear it, didn’t even try because no apology would erase the damage done to the one person on the planet that you loved, the one person who'd ever loved you just as fiercely. You tell Joel it took five days to bleed Thomas dry because you’d avoided cutting him along any major arteries, avoided cutting too deep.

“Maria’s search party found me digging his grave. And I thought…I thought they’d kill me right then. Thought they’d see his mangled corpse and put a bullet between my eyes. But I think…sometimes I think what they did instead was worse.”

They’d brought you back. Tied your hands and feet and dragged you back to Jackson kicking and screaming. Made you sit in a chair in the middle of the community hall in front of Maria and tell her what you’d done. You tell him this is why you'd refused to be back in that hall, put on trial in front of her again. You explain that even when you tell the whole of Jackson what Thomas had done to your sister, no one believed it. 

“Or…I don’t know. Maybe they did. But Maria didn’t, and she’s the only person whose opinion really mattered. She was the one who decided what would happen to me.”

Thomas was a likable guy, you explain. You explain, too, that he’d met Maria when they were in high school and had been with her since. He meant an awful lot to her, the same way Sarah meant an awful lot to you.

“My saving grace was my sister’s testimony. She’d given up any sense of privacy and told them everything. This sweet, innocent person…someone who everyone knew and loved. It was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. Maria…I think she took pity not on me but on her. On Sarah. Because I had to look Maria in the eye and tell her how I’d killed her husband and I know it was one of the most traumatic things she’s ever dealt with and I don’t think she wanted to be responsible for doing the same to Sarah.”

So, she’d exiled you. Told you that if she ever saw you again there would be no second chance. No hesitation. She gave you two hours to gather your things and flee from Jackson’s confines, never to be seen again.

“Problem was that Sarah refused to stay in Jackson without me,” you tell him. And Joel can feel the despair in your body as if it’s some living thing existing both inside and outside of you. “I tried to convince her to stay because it was the safest place for her. The only place she’d ever have a chance.”

“It wasn’t a run,” Joel says gently. “She left with you. That’s when it happened.”

A lone tear slides down your cheek. He reaches over and swipes it away.

“I knew…I knew Maria was going to shoot me on sight. I knew that. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t just bury her anywhere. She deserved to be put to rest someplace safe. Someplace with a headstone for moss to grow on, where people would bring her flowers and strange bugs, where people could come back to her. I was so afraid she would be alone and I couldn’t…”

You don’t have to say anymore. Joel can see your reasoning, clear as day. Because he can’t say he would’ve done any differently. Because if she were buried here in Jackson’s cemetery, people would visit her grave. And if Maria did decide to shoot you on sight, then Sarah wouldn’t be alone. Wherever she is.

Pressure builds behind his eyes.

“She let me…Maria, she let me stay. Under the condition that I provide for Jackson. And if I were to ever hurt anyone else, I wouldn’t be exiled next time.”

“That’s why she sends you on runs? So you can continue to provide, to atone?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t like you’re thinking, Joel. She saved me. I had nothing left to live for, nothing left at all. And I think Maria needed someone who understood her loss and I was the only one who could. She needed a child to take care of and I needed… something. Someone.”

A humming persists in his brain. He tries to imagine it, tries to put himself in your shoes. He wonders what it would be like if he’d returned to Jackson after the violence caused by his own hand in Salt Lake City.

He tries to imagine standing in front of Maria, in front of the whole of Jackson and giving them every gruesome detail. He tries to imagine having the strength to stay even with the way they’d all look at him after and doesn’t think he could do it for anything.

She’s lost enough, Joel.

Bit of a troublemaker, really.

Explosive, defiant, easily provoked. 

Never does as she’s told. Fights Maria an’ I on everything.

All you’d done was all you’d ever known. You brought justice with your own two hands in the way you’d been taught from the moment of your birth. You’d done nothing but protect the only family you had left.

Is that worthy of exile? Of execution? He doesn’t think so. 

Joel realizes then he’s got this all wrong. The whole time he was seeing this through the wrong lens. You’re not some devil. Not some Judas sent to tempt him away from holiness.

You’re a caged animal. 

You bite the hand that feeds because the hand has done nothing else but beat you. You know the horrors of the world intimately and are expected to just forgive God for all the aches He caused. And when you don’t, when you can’t—they call you violent. They call you trouble. A bad omen. 

 Joel realizes you’re just like him.

“Is this still what you need?” He takes your hand in his and can think of nothing but how unfair life has been to you. “The runs, the purpose she’s forced you into. Tell me the truth. Is it still what you need?”

Your tears flow a little freer now and Joel feels himself begin to choke. He wishes so badly he could take this away, take all of it, and shoulder it for you. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “I don’t…I thought I did until…”

“Until what, sweetheart?”

“Until you.”

It makes him shatter and heals him all at once. “There’s a farm,” he finds himself saying. “A few miles out. We could…we could go there. The two of us. Live a life there. All our own. You wouldn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to.”

“Joel…”

“No runs for anything. Not barbecue chips, not antibiotics, nothing.”

You shake your head and he can see real, genuine fear in your glassy eyes. “If I leave her she will never forgive me. She’ll never let me back in.”

“You won’t ever need to come back,” he promises. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“What about Tommy and Ellie? Bonnie, Greg?”

“They can come to us,” he says. “Ellie’s the one who found it. We’re going there today so I can see it. Look at me, baby. Look at me.”

When you do, he feels his lungs get caught in his throat. He wants you to rest, to find peace.

You are his forgiveness, his absolution, his redemption. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t do everything in his power to grant you the same relief? 

Murderous or not there is still so much softness in you and he doesn’t know how it’s possible that he’s the only one who sees it. He suddenly remembers your words the night he’d admitted his devotion in that church.

I was afraid. If I came back to Jackson without the one thing she asked for, what use was I? What kept me there?

Joel hates that you’ve ever felt that way. Hates that the thought has ever crossed your mind. He decides to push a little harder. 

“Your worth is not up to her,” he insists. “It’s not now and it wasn’t then, either. If you never provided another thing for anyone but yourself you still matter. I need you to hear me when I say it.”

You wipe at your tired eyes and let out a long breath. “I’m scared,” you admit quietly. “Everything will be different.”

“It needs to be, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you into his side. You lay your head on his shoulder and he begins to feel at ease again. “It needs to be different so it can be better.”

Joel rubs soothing circles against your spine with one hand and twirls a lock of your hair around his finger with the other. He holds you until your silent tears subside, until the moisture on his flannel dries, until your breathing slows and he knows you’re on the verge of sleep. But before you close your eyes, you look up at him and say quietly, “Okay. A farm.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and tugs the blanket off the back of the sofa, laying it across your lap when you begin snoring softly. You look so beautiful it pains him to leave.

But he does, and he finds Ellie in the stables with two horses already saddled. “Lets go, Mr. Farmer,” she jokes. “Time to see your new home.”

The thought crosses his mind that Joel’s home is behind him, sleeping behind a locked door.

—

Ellie was right. The house on the farm is the ugliest yellow Joel’s ever seen. 

But he feels it the moment he sees it, too. 

His. Yours.

It’s everything he imagined. Everything he’s ever wanted. Weathered and run down but built on good bones.

On the ride home he asks her, “Are you coming with us?”

Ellie doesn’t ask who the us is. She just knows. Has likely known for some time, in truth. “Uhm…maybe.” 

He waits a few minutes, and lets the clopping of horse hooves fill the silence. When she doesn’t speak anymore, doesn’t give any further answer, Joel offers an olive branch. “Whatever you decide, I want you to make the decision that feels right. Trust your gut. If you want to come with us, we’ll paint your room together. Round up some of them paint supplies, get you an easel or somethin’,” he says. 

Slowly, she turns in the saddle the smallest bit to look at him. “And…if I don’t?”

Joel knows he’ll have a hard time with it. Knows it’ll be like hacking off a limb; a painful sort of itch. But he’s been working on letting her take the space she needs. Working on trusting her a little more to make her own choices. “Then you don’t,” he says simply.

He can see the decision being weighed on her face. Can see how difficult this is for her, too. 

So he says, “But you’ll have to come visit three times a week.”

“Three?”

“Or more,” he says through a laugh. 

Her mouth falls open. “You could come visit too, you know,” she suggests. “Stock up on supplies. Me and Shimmer can’t do all the heavy lifting.” She leans forward and pats her horse’s smooth neck. 

“I don’t know if we’ll be allowed to come back,” he says slowly. The more he’s contemplated it, the less he can see Maria being okay with losing that control she has over you in its entirety. Of no longer being able to enact her unending revenge.

Ellie doesn’t say anything for several minutes. Joel can sense that she knows something else is going on, knows that she likely has more questions than he has answers. But she doesn’t ask them. Instead, she says simply, “Well, then I guess me and Shimmer will have to do all the heavy lifting.”

It makes him laugh. “You think she can take it?”

“Duh,” she says. “She’s the fastest and smartest horse we’ve got.”

Joel chuckles. “Now, I don’t know about all that.”

He knows what’s coming, can see it from a mile away. 

Ellie leans forward, tightens her hold on the reins, and soars off into the distance. “Good luck keeping up, old man!”

When he comes home to you, Joel tells you every little detail he can remember about the farm. He tells you about the ugly, yellow siding and the overgrown yard and about the wildflowers that grow in the field next to the red barn out back. He tells you about the natural wood floors and the porcelain sink and the brick fireplace.

You hang onto every word with rapt attention, and the two of you decide to tell Tommy and Maria that night.

Joel takes the lead for this conversation too, just like the one in the community hall, because he sees your fist shake as you raise it to knock on their front door. He’s careful with his words but blunt all the same. 

The four of you sit at their kitchen table. Maria’s got her eyes on you and you’ve got yours on Joel. 

“We’ll be leaving Jackson,” Joel says. “There’s a farm a few miles away. We’re going to make a home there. The two of us.”

Tommy, at least, seems thrilled. “That one with the yellow siding? I saw that a few months ago. Reminded me of you. Like those big bungalows we built back in the nineties up in Houston,” he says. “I’ll help you fix it up.”

Maria says nothing at first. She just stares at you, and her ire is palpable. 

But then she looks at Joel, sees his scowl and the set of his jaw, and her composure cools if only a little. She doesn’t attack you with cruel words like he half expects. 

She does something worse.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” she tells you, voice cold and cutting. “Jackson will suffer because of your selfish decisions. Whatever happens to them is on you.”

“It’s not selfish,” Joel snaps. “She’s not responsible for your fucking town.”

“Hey, Joel, let’s—”

“No, Tommy. You might be able to turn a blind eye to this bullshit but I can’t.”

Maria waves her hand between the two of you. “Our agreement has nothing to do with you, Joel. And I’m really trying to be civil here, but—”

“Civil? Oh, so you think it’s civil to manipulate a little girl into thinkin’ she’s good for nothin’ but makin’ sure you get whatever you want?” Joel scoffs.

“Joel,” Tommy warns. “You’re gettin’ outta line here, man.”

Maria turns her narrowed eyes on you. “That’s what he thinks you are, huh? Some innocent girl, thinks you’ve done nothing wrong? You’ve spun one hell of a story, here. I’ll give you—”

“No,” Joel interrupts. “No more. You got somethin’ to say to her, you go through me first. You hear me?”

“She’s a murderer, Joel. Did you know that?”

“I don’t care what she’s done,” he says, and it’s perhaps the truest thing he’s ever said. It doesn’t matter how brutal, doesn’t matter how bloody. Joel Miller will always love you enough to forgive your sins. “Don’t care what you’ve got to say, either.”

He takes your shaking hand in his and pulls you to your feet. 

When he speaks, he does so to his brother only.

“Do what you have to do. We’ll be gone by tomorrow night.”

[part eight] [part ten]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @elliesr1fle @pascaltesfaye

[masterlist]

[brandwhorestarscream]

You have no idea how much I needed VERY sick and pregnant Megatron in my life. Him begging not to throw up and just being miserable was something I didn't know I wanted but now I know. You've opened my eyes.

Little cogless miners are so small and adorable. They're so tiny 😭🥰

Orion Pax is such a smug little shit (affectionate) in the beginning of the movie. I love him so much.

I cannot wait to see the 4th chapter of TFone Megatron being pregnant ☺

Hey, I'm glad you liked it! Poor Dee's really going through it. 4th chapter is still being worked on, but here! Have some bonus content of poor sick D-16. This time, after hours:

::Digestive tank purge, initiated::

D-16 gags as he comes back online, startled out of recharge but body moving in its own, stumbling out of his slot and clamping one servo over his mouth. Something in his abdomen heaves and he feels hot bile hit the back of his throat. Tears blur his vision and he searches desperately for a waste bin, but it's too late: his upper body jerks and he stumbles to his knees over a drain on the floor, one palm planting shakily on the cold concrete before half-digested energon comes sloshing past his lips.

He moans, miserable, tears dripping solemnly down his cheeks. He gags again, violently, sobbing as it makes his whole upper body jerk. His midsection throbs, his esophageal tubing burns. He hunches over, vents whirring loudly, pressing his overly-hot forehelm to the cold ground.

"D-16?"

He whimpers pathetically and turns his face, squinting against the fluorescent backlight. "D... Doctor...? H'oh-!" He gags again and turns to purge, coughing out a sheet of clear, burning sludge.

"I'm here," Ratchet is kneeling at his side immediately, one servo on his back and the other coming to touch his forehelm, holding his head up. "Primus, kid. You're burning up." 4 degrees outside of what could be considered the normal parameters. Any hotter and he'd probably have to be shut away in a medsuite for emergency care.

Exhausted, D-16 slumps over, heavily leaning on the medic. His vents are shuddering, and his whole body is trembling with exhaustion. He sniffles again, tears still threading down his cheeks. "...it hurts," he admits in a tiny, rasping voice. His optics glaze over and he starts to sob into Ratchet's lap. "I feel... s-so bad...!"

The medic's spark aches, because there's really nothing he can do. Fever reducers and extra coolant haven't been working, antibiotics aren't working, he hasn't been able to rest and sleep it off the way he desperately needs to, and none of his tools are calibrated for identifying specific viral strains and whipping up the chemical compound of a cure. Not like the ones in the real hospitals. When it comes to illness, all he can do is guess and estimate and diagnose to the best of his ability, and treat them accordingly. But nothing's been working and D-16 just keeps getting sicker. The only silver lining is that he doesn't seem to be contagious, as no one else has come down with his mystery ailment.

Defeated, Ratchet rubs soothing circles on his back while Dee sobs into his lap. "I know, kid... I- I know. We- I'm sorry, we're still trying to figure it out." He and First Aid and Sugarcoat were up to their ears in half-finished repairs and a huge queue of mecha in need of their constant attention because of the new shift rules. There just wasn't time to figure out a treatment for one mech's fevers and stubbornly upset tanks. Dee makes a miserable snuffling sound and starts coughing, prompting Ratchet to drag him into a sitting position to decompress his aeration systems.

"...come on," he stands up and slides his hands under D-16's arms, pulling him to stand. The younger mech's legs are shaking, knees knocking together. His optics are unfocused, and he wobbles dangerously. "You gonna biff it?"

"D... Dunno."

"Alright. Hang tight, I'll getcha a chair."

The wheelchairs are antiquated, all of them rusty and dusty and old, but they're enough to support a miner's weight and get them where they need to go. Ratchet pushes him to one of the medsuites and effortlessly lifts him onto the berth, telling him to lie down.

"What're you...?"

"I'm doing inventory," shift doesn't start for another two megacycles, but the work needs to be done. "You're gonna sleep. Lying flat should help the nausea some." He'd have liked to also get him on an energon drip, as his constant purging surely had his gauges in the red, but energon was in short supply right now. Emergency transfusions only, and unless a mech was at risk of deactivating, it wasn't considered an emergency.

D-16 doesn't look convinced, cuz he's really not supposed to be in here. Ratchet tuts at him, says, "Doctor's orders." and throws a weighted sheet over him to seal the deal. To his relief, Dee falls back into recharge some ten kliks later, and is able to get a bit more uninterrupted rest. He feels awful when he has to shake the silver mech awake for the work cycle, but inciting the wrath of their overseers by being late would only make his fragile health worse. Thankfully, Dee is able to walk (more of a hobble, but at least he was upright), and Ratchet resolves to figure out something to help him.

[conkreetmonkey]

I wish a bigass landmass no human had ever lived in before would just appear in the middle of the ocean so we could start a fresh new country without all the baggage inherent to a currently existing nation.

Like, no matter where I choose to live on this earth, it will almost certainly be on land that's been stolen at least once, and no matter what I do, my being there, my being allowed to be there, the resources I consume and the work I perform, the laws I follow, the language I speak... all of it would be tangled up in like 5 layers of complex morality. No untouched land exists, or has existed for tens of thousands of years.

So, my proposal for a hypothetical full-dive VR experience: just start over with a clean slate. New plane of existence. Earth-like, untamed wilderness with familiar plants and animals, wood and stone and water and ore. Everyone in a server will just spawn with the rest of the group in a random field somewhere in flaxen or leather undies. Maybe there's some basic steel hand tools provided, but like the idea here is to start from scratch so nothing crazy, and all natural materials so they don't get disassembled (ie. no plastics, hence the primitive undies). Big heap of antibiotics, maybe. idk. Maybe there's difficulty settings. The rest is up to us. Time dilation so you live in there until you die like Rick and Morty's Roy: A Life Well Lived (ignore the horrifying implications of such tech existing). I guess then maybe you can return somehow?

Like, balancing would be hard because you could go in with preexisting knowledge. Is there a character creator? Being disabled or chronically ill would fucking suck, or even make the game impossible before certain medications or technologies were invented, and that's not fair, so... idk, character creator with a skill system, or you can just hit random? Maybe you forget your prior life for the duration of the game? What happens if you have a kid, would it be an AI or a newly-joined player? What if you get PTSD from in-game trauma, would you carry that back to the real world?

Don't think about it! Just think about how cool it would be to play Vintage Story irl (but like Homo Sapiens mode).

[torukmaktoskxawng]

your point in your recent post is sooo true! but idk i don’t think the water is Acidic since Spider swam in it

Referencing this post:

Guys, please keep sending stuff like this, I love talking about the lore and world of Pandora!

Maybe calling it acidic was exaggerating on my part lol, but I know I read somewhere that the water, scientifically, wouldn't be good for humans. Sources vary depending on where you read them, but Pandoran water can damage human skin if exposed for too long. Something to do with the pH scale?

I'm gonna shamelessly plug in an excerpt from my fic (not because it's a viable source but just because. Bear with me):

Spider stood beside Max as Mo'at was handing him down some healing properties.

"Koaktutra," the tsahik placed a small wooden cup covered in a matching lid in Spider's hands.

Max noticed Kayla's confusion so he elaborates, "Goblin Thistle. Antibiotic balm."

Mo'at nodded to Max's explanation then handed another small mixture to Spider, "Pxorna'."

"Episoth," Max explained, "It's got amazing skin rejuvenation properties, and I think it'll help Spider when he goes into the water."

He takes the mixture from Spider and holds it up to the teenager's face, "As long as you remember to slather yourself in this stuff every night after a long day of swimming, it should help prevent skin cancer and chemical burns. These salves have proven to be safe for human use, I promise. If I happen to visit the island again and I don't see any changes to your skin, then maybe we'll be able to cut the episoth back to once a week and eventually even less so if your skin grows immunity to the pH levels. Until then, every night, bud. 'You got it?"

Spider huffs and rolls his eyes, "Yeah, yeah. I got it."

"Good. And just in case--" Max then holds up a remedy of his own, a small plastic yellow tube that makes Kayla snort with amusement at the sight of it. Sunscreen. 

Spider's upper lip twitched at the sight of the tube and half glared at Max, "Seriously?"

"Humor me."

"Fine."

I pulled Mo'at's healing mixtures from the book "James Cameron's Avatar: An Activist Survival Guide."

Apparently, these specific plants or healing ingredients do help anti-aging back on Earth and go for a lot of money (no surprise there), so I guess there are SOME elements on Pandora that help humans.

If we think about what happens on Earth: our oxygen cycles through our water and eventually goes back up into the air. What about Pandora? If the air is toxic to humans, wouldn't that filter into the water as well?

Then again, James Cameron has admitted that he's constantly changing lore and canon so sources that were once accurate before might not be now.

And it's possible that Spider is immune to certain elements on Pandora since he was born and raised there. Or he's just got tougher skin. We already know that he's canonically strong, but who knows!

~~~

More Avatar Questions!

[iii-days-grace]

lecturing about vampire pharmacopoeia with @custer-mp3 (with @in-death-we-fall on the subject of certain undead cokeheads). also excited to page @ims0vain who was interested to hear about joey's cocaine woes xD

also some of my random haircare tips as well i guess. love you!

iii-days-grace: oh and anaesthesia as drug play of course. that kinda was why i wanted to use jon and head since they've struggled irl although this is more fun. that gave me a lot of ideas about the vampire pharmacopeia.

iii-days-grace: vampires need life force, so drugs from plants or animals work best. fungi are iffy since they're also undead. LSD as well as antibiotics would be unpredictable to just not work well, or at all. let's say anything that doesn't have a nameable species attached is a no go.

iii-days-grace: vampires are long lived to where they're functionally immortal, but very slow-growing, like a reptile. they can heal from injuries on their own, given time. they can get sick, but it's not a common problem.

iii-days-grace: joey and wednesday get up to recreational drugs as well haha). @in-death-we-fall figured it would be funny if joey couldn't do a line anymore and had to chew the leaves because they were more natural. (The idea of vampires doing herbal witchery attracted me for sure. I've been doing a lot of goopy henna stuff for my hair < the secret haircare advice).

iii-days-grace: plants are most reliable because idk, most remedies are basically all plants and that makes research way easier.

iii-days-grace: the idea being the closer to the living thing the drug or medicine is, the better it works for vampires.

iii-days-grace: All this to say, bugs is living things, and Spanish fly actually does work as an aphrodisiac for vampires. Life force! Just so happens that it's green.

iii-days-grace: i just really like the idea of vampires popping shiny green beetles as boner pills. drugs as bugs. bug drugs. bugs rug.

[radiantform]

havent made a rant in a while so maybe its time to let it rip

ppl wear masks now when they get sick, but like its odd to me because you're just breathing in all that sick air and making yourself more sick, and not exposing ppl to things doesn't actually do them any favors, its like how antibiotics or like heartworm medicine for dogs is not working anymore bec we rely on them too much, nature is intelligent and will adapt to anything, and especially something artificial, in order to have a fighting chance against an organism that is alive and adapting in this world you have to bring your own alive and adapting spirit to the table, and its not like we dont have things that can help, we do but those things have to be alive and adapting in the interaction, like a plant, medicinal herbs/tree barks/etc. If its manufactured in a laboratory its essentially static and dead and whatever virus, parasite, pathogen can just learn to evolve with it. The only way to get stronger is to go thru the fire...expose yourself and build your bodies strength by using plants. I guess its still so taboo to talk about this tho...ppl will straight up tell me they wear masks now when they are sick and im just like, omg in my head and I know they could never handle the conversation so i just dont say anything... why did we have to demonize the real hippies for 2 years in 2020, its insane, now we can never talk about anything and now, it just seems hard to have a relationship with someone when u cant be totally honest with them. There are so many things i just dont find interesting anymore...I can never really go back to who i use to be, its weird to think abt how much ive changed. I use to think I wanted to be a part of an artist community or music community or even activist community but every community i use to be a part of shunned any alternative thinking in 2020 and beyond and I just realized so much about our world during that time that now I just have values that beyond what most of those communities prioritize...like I'll always be an artist into weird music and standing up for poor working class ppl but I def dont think we can change anything thru the political system and I think Im so much more aware of how dark and unhealthy everything is and deciding to change my behavior and move towards creating a better world is the all encompassing priority now. I just feel so bad when I think about the younger generations... I feel like so many young ppl are so unhealthy and sick, poor, working shitty jobs and its so fucked up...we cant keep living like this, everyone needs to live in a better world its honestly the only thing that really matters to me. Im only interested in the deepest truths that can change the world, no matter how uncomfortable they are.

[reeekyoo]

My first Hiking experience at Mt. Maria Makiling.

On May 4, we had a Mycological Fieldwork at Mount Makiling. Our task was to look for the macrofungi (mushrooms) that can be found on the dead branches of trees, forest floors, tree barks, etc. To begin with, what's exactly these "macrofungi"? According to Lu et al. (2020), macrofungi are commonly members of the phylum Basidiomycota and Ascomycota of the Kingdom Fungi. As the name suggested, these can be seen by the naked eye. They are also noticeable since they have fruiting bodies and are diverse in colors, (look at the photos below).

As mentioned, Kingdom Fungi (one of the kingdoms in the domain of eukaryotes to which the animal and plant cells belong) is a complex cellular organization. They can be either multicellular or single-cellular and heterotrophs (can not make their own food like the plants). Fungi have a crucial role in the ecosystem as stated by Lu et al. (2020). They can import nutrient cycles, that can break down organic matter to release as an essential element (carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, etc.). In some, studies fungi can be used as sustainable materials such as textiles, as well utilized as bioremediation to control the pollutants in water or soil. Moreover, fungi are also used in medicinal and drug development. Did you know? The first antibiotic introduced (Penicillin) was made from mold (fungi) named Penicillium notatum. Added to that, fungi have secondary metabolites. These metabolites are often used to make pharmaceutical drugs as it turn out to have function against bacterial/viral infections and even to fungal infections.

Aside from the fungi, we also see the "lichens". Lichens are neither fungi or protists (Britannica, 2024). They are formed by the symbiotic association of fungi (usually macrofungi) and algae (or cyanobacteria). It also stated that lichens can be found in the exposed rocks, biological soil, and bark of trees, but in my experience, I observed that lichens are usually seen in the bark of trees in Mt. Makiling. Some researchers used the lichens as a source of medicine and dye. According to Busch (2024), lichens can be used as indicators if the air is polluted. They only thrive in clean air due to the lack of their epidermis they only absorb beneficial and detrimental airborne. In other words, if there's lichen growth in particular areas such as Mt. Makiling, it just only indicates that the air quality is fresher and cleaner in that area. So, it is no wonder why we can't see any lichens in urban areas such as Metro Manila.

My experience in this mycological fieldwork was tiring since we had to walk to reach the summit. Although, I didn't make it to the top (I only ended up at the 20th station over the 30th station - peak). As far as I remember, the total distance of Mt. Makiling is approximately 18 km, so, more or less 15 km I walk if I evaluate my walking distance. This is my first ever experience of doing an extreme thing, which is "hiking", kind of challenging for me but happy at the same time, I guess? I met new faces during our fieldwork and learned about Mt. Makiling. I might give it another try, who knows I might reach the top next time. Overall, it was fun and exhausted experience, so, for those people who want to try it, my advice is to have a good stamina and endurance and it is a worth it to try a new things and learn.

Reference:

The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. (2024, April 27). Lichen | Definition, Symbiotic Relationship, Mutualism, Types, & Facts. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/science/lichen

Busch, M. J. (2024). What’s to Like about Lichens? (Research). Department of Ecosystem Science and Management. https://ecosystems.psu.edu/.../what2019s-to-like-about...

Lu, H., Lou, H., Hu, J., Liu, Z., & Chen, Q. (2020). Macrofungi: A review of cultivation strategies, bioactivity, and application of mushrooms. Comprehensive Reviews in Food Science and Food Safety, 19(5), 2333–2356. https://doi.org/10.1111/1541-4337.12602

Hyde, K. D., Xu, J., Rapior, S., Jeewon, R., Lumyong, S., Niego, A. G. T., Abeywickrama, P. D., Aluthmuhandiram, J. V. S., Brahamanage, R. S., Brooks, S., Chaiyasen, A., Chethana, K. W. T., Chomnunti, P., Chepkirui, C., Chuankid, B., De Silva, N. I., Doilom, M., Faulds, C. B., Gentekaki, E., . . . Stadler, M. (2019). The amazing potential of fungi: 50 ways we can exploit fungi industrially. Fungal Diversity, 97(1), 1–136. https://doi.org/10.1007/s13225-019-00430-9

[realbigpodcastslut]

hi i'd love to hear a bit about your onion soil you're writing your thesis on if you're willing to share! (<- fellow soil nerd)

Oh yeah! So the point of my project is to find antibiotics from the soil.

I'm studying muck soil (my advisor was surprised that the soil was actually named that). It's a sapric (a histosol) soil that's waterlogged or (artificially) drained in western NY and the great lakes region. For those that don't know, it's basically just a ton of well-decomposed plant matter. I believe it's the remnants of peat bogs from glaciers. And farmers love to use it for onions, carrots, celery, garlic, etc. (Mostly root vegetables).

But since it's not exactly exotic, no one has studied the microbiome! Which sucks. However this semester I did some preliminary antibiotic testing of the fungi and identified a few. Like Pochonia chlamydosporia which is a fungus that is a nematicide and antibiotic producer (former not as well studied I think). The second sequence was honestly shit quality (idk what happened with the pcr but all the sequences for that round sucked) but was a bright neon orange bacteria called Pseudomonas chlororaphis. At least, that's my best guess since it's neon orange and I don't think any other species in the genus produces it. That bacteria is the bomb. Can make an antifungal, an antibiotic, nematicide, promote plant growth, etc. I'm just trying to see if it was introduced or not.

Anyways, yeah. Cool stuff.

[theretirementstory]

Bonjour à tous, it is 15c and partly cloudy, however we are due 23c at some point today.

As I am not getting out and about as much as before I am using photos from previous years and the above photo was taken when I visited Île de Re, probably when I first arrived in France in 2017! Yes it is now 6 years that I have been living here, that anniversary fell this week and I cannot believe that it is only 6 years, I just feel so “at home” here.

I decided last Sunday to cut the grass in the back garden, I was tired of poppies and tall yellow flowers (weeds) taking over the grass, so out I went! Determined to only do half if that was all I could manage…… well you know how it goes, half done and oh yes I will continue…. well it wasn’t that tiring really and it does look a whole lot better. It really gives me a boost when I see the grass looking looking nice and green. We have had some rain this week but not nearly enough to get deep into the dry earth, but mustn’t grumble at least we had some.

I took up the pea plants and some of the broad beans but some looked to still be flowering so I have left those. The strawberries haven’t done so well this year and I guess I will have to buy new plants for next year. The raspberry canes have come to nought and I will be looking to sort out that pot at the end of the season. I promise myself everyday that I will look to clear some of the weeds in order to lay down newspaper and compost and move irises from troughs into the garden, unfortunately, my heart isn’t in it at the moment. I don’t want to waste the spent compost as I do think that it will provide nutrients for the iris and make a good base for them to grow on.

“The Trainee Solicitor” was unwell at the beginning of the week and took himself off to the “walk in” centre where he was told he had tonsillitis and given antibiotics. Having been a tonsillitis sufferer when I was younger, I knew just how he would be feeling and really hope that he is starting to turn a corner now.

“The Daddy” has his two children this weekend, the youngest was at the playground with his grandad. Not yet two years old and he was counting up to six, then was saying he liked being in the swing. He told grandad “no more hand” as he didn’t want to be pushed, unfortunately grandad missed that bit and pushed him again, when grandads hand was making a move to push him again he said “get off” not so much he wanted to get off the swing more he didn’t want to be pushed again. What a little star, he was looking up at the sky as he was in the swing and sounded as if he was saying “delighted”. His daughter is staying an extra night as it is a “teacher training day” on Monday, then there are teachers strikes Wednesday and Friday so she will be with grandad for at least one of those days too.

They are both growing up so quickly and I am sad that I won’t get to see them again this year, although my granddaughter did come to visit me in April, it will just be my grandson I haven’t seen.

I have had a couple of visitors this week, Sarah, a British lady who lives in Haute Marne, came to see me and was surprised by how well I look. Her and her partner are going to come over in a couple of weeks and hopefully he will put the fixings onto the large print that my eldest son bought for me and he will hang it. The print shows Whorlton Bridge, a single span chain suspension bridge, which was opened on the 7 July 1831. It is of interest to me as my grandfather was born in the village.

Then Monique came to see me, she has a lot on her plate at the moment, her husband is unwell and this coming week she is having her twin granddaughters, aged 18 months, to stay from yesterday until Thursday. She is hoping that the weather will not be too hot so that the children can be outside most of the time. Fortunately Monique has a large garden and orchard and I am sure that running around in there will tire those children out quickly. Let’s hope so, as one sleeps well all night but the other hardly sleeps at all, let’s hope a little bit of “Aube air” will work on them both. I really don’t envy her that task this week.

Finally, let’s take a minute to honour twins Adam and Simon Yates who finished first and second in Stage 1 of the Tour de France yesterday. British cyclists, not the first brothers to finish in that order but it looks like the first twins to do it. Just to keep the theme of the Tour de France, this photo was taken as the race came through Bar-sur-Aube on the 6 July 2017.

See you next time!

[whack-a-moron]

Depends I guess. Not all burgers are made equal. Some have what can barely be called actual meat in them, and a lot of places are super skimpy about the ratio of vegetables you get on them.

There's also a lot of places where a hamburger or cheeseburger is literally just bread, meat, and cheese.

Also the source of the beef matters. Beef cattle that are raised on dirt / shit lots (see: Cowburn lands in California) and fed almost exclusively grain are EXTREMELY unhealthy both for the cows and the people eating them.

Large scale cow burn operations feed most of their cows almost exclusively grain diets because it accelerates their growth to make them grow much bigger, much faster, which causes bloat and other illnesses (which often need to be treated with antibiotics and other drugs) and changes the meat into the wrong kind of acid that is bad for us to ingest. On top of that, cow burn style paddocks are real bad for global warming because Co2 trapped in the soil escapes into the atmosphere, on top of the methane the cows themselves produce.

If the meat comes from cows raised primarily on pasture land that are allowed to forage hay, grass, and other plant roughage the more "old fashioned" way people raised cows, then yeah, you get beef that's loaded with all kinds of good nutrition and the proper form of amino acids that keep us healthy by eating it.

But to do so means your cows take longer to grow to proper slaughter size and need more space to properly rotate pastures, which is more expensive, so huge commercial farms don't like to do it.

On top of pasture cattle being healthier for us to eat, they're also actually really good for the environment if you're doing proper pasture rotation, because the cow manure helps plant growth, and those plants keep Co2 trapped in the soil. So responsible cattle farming not only gives us healthier food to eat but also helps mitigate the negative effects of climate change, despite what hippy dippy "cow farts are killing the planet" idiot vegans try to tell you.

[ejzah]

A/N: And now for the comfort aspect of this story. And some more angst.

***

Where It Hurts Most, Part 6

“Kensi, is everyone alright? Did you find Deeks?” Fatima asked in Kensi’s ear, bringing her back to the present.

“Yeah, we found, found him and we’re all fine,” she told Fatima, gently releasing Deeks to take a step away. “But Deeks does need to see a doctor. He, uh, he has some facial trauma and possibly other injuries.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Fatima let out a hefty sigh. “Ok, I’ll call ahead and let the the ER to expect you guys. Paramedics should also be on the seen in about five minutes too.”

“Thanks, Fatima,” Kensi said gratefully. When she turned around again, Deeks was halfway across the room.

Several additional agents and police were starting to arrive and she could only guess how overwhelmed he felt. Although he didn’t have any obviously severe injuries, Kensi noticed he moved slowly.

As she headed towards Deeks, she noticed Kessler was stirring. He lifted his head just enough to catch her eye. She let her gaze sweep over him as a paramedic examined his knee.

“Have fun learning to walk on that again,” she said coldly. It was a harsh, cruel comment, but she didn’t feel a hint of guilt. Kessler growled something unintelligible, which she ignored in favor of hurrying to Deeks, and slipping her arm around his back.

There were more paramedics waiting and when Deeks noticed them, he held back, his hand tightening on Kensi’s arm.

“I don’t want them to touch me,” he said adamantly.

“You don’t have to.” She’d make sure no one objected.

“Kens,” Callen called out, quickly walking towards them. “I need a statement before you leave the scene. Deeks can give his after he gets checked out the hospital.”

Kensi gave the barest description she could, using as clinical of terminology as she could, conscious of Deeks’ presence. When she was finished, Callen let her go without question.

Deeks slumped in his seat a few minutes after Kensi started driving, exhaustion clear in his face. Every time he would begin to doze off, he’d jerk awake after a few seconds.

The third time it happened, Kensi reached across the console to take his hand. She squeezed it tightly and Deeks glanced over with a grateful look.

***

When they reached the ER, Kensi had Deeks sit while she checked him in at the front desk. As promised, they had a cubicle waiting for Deeks and Kensi silently thanked Fatima again. For her own peace of mind, she needed to know that he was alright, and she could tell that Deeks’ anxiety was increasing with every second.

By the time he was safely ensconced in the tiny cubicle, his legs were vibrating, right foot silently tapping against the linoleum.

His face looked significantly worse under the bright lights, each bruise, cut, and abrasion highlighted. His chin was blood, reminding Kensi of that horrible day years ago. A shudder ran through her and she reached for Deeks, this time for her own comfort.

She touched his temple, the unbloodied side, carding her fingers through his hair. It was tangled with blood and dirt, but she didn’t care.

“That feels nice,” Deeks whispered, leaning into her touch. He covered her hand for a moment, then shook his bangs out of his eyes, glancing up at her with a tired smile that was tinged with sadness.

The curtain to the cubicle slid open then, revealing a familiar face.

“Dr. Bartholomew,” Deeks said, quickly straightening with a wince.

“Mr. Deeks, Agent Blye,” he greeted them, nodding to Kensi.

Kensi felt Deeks relieve ever so slightly, some of the tension leaving his body. Dr. Charles Bartholomew had treated Deeks a few times over the years so knew some of Deeks’ medial history, if a highly redacted version.

“I wish I could say it’s good to see you…” Deeks shrugged and trailed off, giving his best attempt at a joke at the moment. Dr. Bartholomew allowed a half smirk, nodding in understanding.

“Same here. Now, you want to give me a rundown?” He addressed the question to Deeks, but glanced at Kensi as well.

“I, uh, might have some bruised ribs, my left shoulder is kind of sore, and then there’s this,” Deeks answered, gesturing to his face and head as a whole.

“And your wrists,” Kensi added quietly. “He was bound with restraints and zip ties for several hours.

“Uh-huh. Somebody certainly had it out for you Deeks,” Bartholomew observed quietly as he pulled on gloves and gently began pressing his fingers along Deeks’ hairline. His tone was non-judgments, only sympathetic.

“You could say that,” Deeks agreed darkly. He was silent for most of the examination unless asked a direct question. He flinched again when Bartholomew rolled his sleeves back to check his wrists.

After giving Deeks a couple of liquid stitches for the larger gash in his temple, Dr. Bartholomew slid his rolling stool back a few feet, and scrawled a few things down on a script pad.

“I’m going to prescribe an antibiotic and some pain medication. I know you’re probably not going to fill the second, but it’s there if you need it.” His brow rose a tad sardonically as he held out the prescription orders. Kensi accepted them, tucking both into her pocket.

“I didn’t see any signs of damage to your teeth or jaw, but I’d still like you to see your dentist or a orthodontic specialist,” he continued. Kensi noticed how careful he was to avoid the word trauma this entire time. “Given your history, I just want to make sure everything’s still in place.”

“Got it,” Deeks agreed, clenching his jaw. He’d handled the oral examination well, though he’d held Kensi’s hand the entire time, grip so tight her fingers ached.

“Good. I’m going to have a nurse bandage your wrists and give you a shot of antibiotics, then you should be good to go.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

“No problem. Take care, Deeks. I hope I don’t see you for a while.”

A nurse came along a few minutes after Dr. Bartholomew left. She set up a tray of implements and bandages without looking at Deeks. She abruptly grabbed Deeks wrist and he jerked out of her grasp, much like he had with Kensi.

“Sir, I need to bandage your wrists,” she told him sharply. “Hold still.”

“No,” Deeks said, shaking his head as he pushed himself off the hospital bed.

“Deeks,” Kensi murmured, stepping between him and the nurse. “It’s ok.”

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, nearly pressing himself against the wall as the nurse descended on him. She could see instinct and fear were taking over.

“If you don’t cooperate, I’ll be forced to call security,” the nurse threatened.

“Lisa, is everything alright?” A soft voice inquired as the curtain around Deeks’ bed was pushed aside yet again. Lisa spun around to face the young woman, dressed in light blue scrubs and a headscarf, who entered the room. “Would like me to take over, Lisa?” I think Dr. Favor needs assistance in room 8.”

Nurse Lisa gave the second woman a glare, but left without comment.

“My name is Ifrah,” the younger nurse introduced herself in that same soft tone. “Is it alright if I take care of you, Mr. Deeks?”

After a moment, Deeks reluctantly nodded and sat back down. His body was fully tense again and Kensi could tell it was taking all of his willpower stay out.

Ifrah seemed well aware of this and made sure to tell Deeks exactly what she planned to do before she touched him. As Kensi held his other hand again, Ifrah began to clean his left wrist.

She talked about her teenage daughter who was starting driving lessons in a few weeks and the garden she was planting. It was mindless, but Deeks calmed under the soothing rhythm of her voice. Kensi felt his breathing slow as Ifrah carefully bandaged his wrists.

When she was done, she gave him a pat, and nodded to Kensi.

“You can check out when you’re ready,” she told Kensi.

“Thank you,” Kensi said fervently, gratefully. Ifrah just nodded and left as quietly as she’d come.

“Sorry about that,” Deeks apologized, rubbing a hand over his face and then eyeing the think bandages with distaste. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. What you went through…we understand,” she finished simply.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” Deeks hesitated a moment and then slid his hand across the bed until he could twine his fingers through hers.

“Why didn’t you kill Kessler?” he murmured. “I mean, I’m not saying you should have, but I thought you’d want him gone permanently.”

Kensi drew in a long breath.

“I wanted to,” she admitted. “I think I planned to. Up until the moment I shot him, I wanted to kill Kessler more than anything.” She shrugged, avoiding Deeks eyes for a moment. “But as I was standing there and I saw what he’d done to you, what he planned to do to you, and everything else he’s done to us, I decided killing him was too easy.”

She heard Deeks inhale sharply and she purposely met his gaze.

“He doesn’t deserve to get off that easy. Kessler deserves every moment of pain and punishment from now on and I want to be there to make sure it happens.”

“What if he gets out again sometime?” He shook his head slowly, eyes filled with worry. “I don’t think I could take this again.”

“It won’t,” Kensi assured him. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t. After what he did today, everyone on this team will use all their power to make sure Kessler never has the chance to hurt us again.”

“Ok,” Deeks said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Kensi ran her fingers through his hair again and pulled him towards her.

“We’re free, Deeks,” she said, pressing their foreheads together. He made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob and tilted her chin up to kiss her. It was a kiss filled with relief, the remnants of pain, and more hope than Kensi had felt in months. “We’re free,” she repeated, holding Deeks closer.

***

A/N: And I think that’s it, guys! I hope this was a satisfying ending for you all. Thanks so much for your enthusiastic and lovely response to this story, which was somewhat outside my normal range.

[butcherknives-remade]

Anonymous asked: Request for a reader(f! Or Nb!) patching up the sparda boys after they come home injured?

Tending to the Sparda men

ft. Gender Neutral Reader from the Devil May Cry Series

SFW - very fluffy

descriptions of blood/wounds

Dante

Although he regenerates skin cells, sinew, and bone on a molecular level that baffles you, when Dante saunters into the shop that day, you notice he has three long gashes like welted canyons serrated into the left side of his neck. The blood has coagulated, yet you see a rich shadow that taints the wound an unnatural purple.

When you ask, Dante waves you off with a sideways grin. Of course he does, you think. What were you expecting? Yet you catch the twist in his brows that expose the pain he’s masking, always blasé, and you refuse to let it slide even when he reminds you that hey, “My body heals itself, remember?”

When he removes his sword and jacket, you pull him into orbit to examine the wound. You can see the river of surrounding veins are a series of swollen blues. His skin seems pallid, and against the smattering of freckled blood stains, beads of sweat gleam.

Your concern is met with another dismissive click of his tongue. “Looks like I’m gettin’ old. Body’s slower on the uptake.” He shrugs. “Give it some time and it’ll be fine.”

Frankly, you don't care what he has to say. His jugular seems to pulsate with each heartbeat and even if he won’t tell you what happened, you’re still going to care for him; that’s your job, you say out loud. “So please sit down and let me do that?”

He doesn’t argue with you. His exhaustion is bruised beneath his eyes, so perhaps it’s a relief when he collapses on the couch. (He certainly seems to melt into the peeling leather.)

When you return, it’s with bandages and disinfectant, a clean cloth and a bowl of warm water; you place your items on the coffee table and sit at his left side while you survey the damage with clinical attention. “Seriously,” you say, wetting your cloth. “What did this to you?”

And Dante sighs through his nose as you gently dab his neck. “Hellhound.”

You pause, incredulous as you ask, “How?”

“Got me good,” he says with a derisive laugh. When you shoot him a warning glare, he raises his hands. “Look, I really don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine.”

You return to your work, diligent despite the concern that wraps icy fingers around your throat. “Does it hurt?”

His lips mesh together, his eyes sliding toward you. You can see the gears in his head turning as he weighs his options: Honesty or a bold-faced bluff? “Mm, I’d say... not as much as you seem to think.”

It takes roughly ten minutes until you feel satisfied. Until you place your bloody basin and cotton swabs down and observe the way his skin has begun to knit itself back together. Incredible. Anyone else would need stitches.

You’re so focused, you don’t catch the gentle smile twisting at the ends of his lips.

“How’s it looking, doc?” he asks as you squeeze preventative antibiotic - just in case he’s capable of getting an infection. “Will I live to see another day?”

You huff and cuff him gently on the arm as he snorts, but you find relief in his ability to jest through this. “Not if you keep giving me a hard time.”

He grins his mirth, yanking you into an unexpected embrace that steals the wind from your lungs. “Careful,” he says as you settle into his hold. “Who’ll patch me up if you try to kill me?”

You hum as if in thought. “You could always call your brother.”

This gets a laugh out of Dante. “Sure, so he can finish the job.”

“Finally,” you say with a chuckle.

“Finally,” he agrees.

And as you wrap your arms around him tighter, unbothered by the scent of his sweat and musk, you plant a feather kiss to his jaw. “Please be careful out there,” you tell him.

“So long as I have you,” he says as his lips brush against your crown, “I think I’ll be alright.”

Vergil

You don’t expect Vergil to burst into your home grasping the doorknob until his knuckles are white, his breathing ragged and teeth bared in agony. You startle and rise from your seat, at his side in a burst of horror. He’s bowed forward, hunched as he grapples for his torso, and you’re leading him inside with an arm around his waist.

Blood hammers through your ears. “What happened?” you ask, hurried, urging him to sit down.

“I miscalculated,” he grunts through his gritted jaw. “Arrived in a nest...” he swallows as you gingerly assist him into the recliner. “There were far too many.”

On his jacket you see blood staining the threading, yet when you reach for him, he jerks away. Your eyes flick up to meet his and within his guarded stare, you observe only the line of furrowed pain in that sea of otherwise unrelenting pride.

He says your name and you still your mind to listen. “Don’t trouble yourself. I only need time and I will heal.”

For a moment, you can’t help but endure the sting of rejection, yet you’re quick to recover; before anything else, he’s come here, to you, where he knows he’s safe to rest.

He trusts you. There are no words to express how profoundly this strikes your heart. It fills you, spreading like sunshine across the chords of your ribs until you buzz with breathless joy.

“Can I at least get you something?” You’re standing in front of him and you want nothing more than to be helpful, to show him how much you care, and as he studies you through his intensity, you are able to watch him make his conclusion. It’s a click in his irises; a spark of electric knowing.

“Your company.”

Heat floods your cheeks and with a nod, you take a seat at his side. You attempt to smother your smile, focusing instead on the way Vergil steals a moment of reprieve to close his eyes. Your worry lessens - you’re certain that he will recover.

“Will you take me with you next time?” you ask, intentionally quiet when you reach for his hand.

(He does not withdraw.)

His eyes part, that pale gaze shifting to observe you, mild and curious. “I wouldn’t actively seek to put you in danger.” His brow quirks. “I can heal. You may not.”

And while you know this is true, you wish he wouldn’t continue to venture on his own. Can he not take Dante? Nero? If he’s concerned with leading you to harm, surely his family can handle it? Yet you know Vergil too well, and with that comes the knowledge that he would rather take care of his own business because he thinks it’s easier than delegating tasks, or attempting to control two less malleable forces.

As your thumb strokes the back of his palm, you lean on your arm rest. “Can I make a request, then?” Although Vergil doesn’t answer, merely closing his eyes once more, you know that he’s listening. “Consider taking someone else with you? At least... Sometimes.”

He hums his acknowledgement. “Would it ease your fears?”

Your heart thrums. “Yes.”

Exhaling through his nose, he turns to look at you, and for a moment, he says nothing. He’s roving his eyes across your expression as if to read you, to piece together a detail he perhaps has missed, then finally, straightening his shoulders, he turns his palm over to press into yours. Your fingers lace.

“Then I suppose... I’ll consider it in the future.”

Nero

“For the last time, it’s not a big deal!” He tries to duck away but you’re persistent. “Ugh, quit it!”

“For heaven’s sake. Would you just stay still, Nero?”

You have your grip on his arm as you tug him toward you, but Nero has a stubborn heel in the carpet. His head is cast toward the wall but you can see him making a show of rolling his eyes regardless.

At least he’s fallen silent.

In your own tenacity, you crowd into his space and slide your hold to his hand. You have to use force to get him to relent, yet when he does, it’s with a long-suffering sigh that has you rolling your eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

“I’m not a -” but he catches himself, flushing, giving you a cantankerous stare before he scoffs and turns away once more.

Such a baby, you repeat to yourself.

There are a series of nicks in his knuckles from a particularly heavy-handed punch. His index finger is split open, a wound that spans across the entirety, and as you inspect it through the oozing blood, he huffs. “C’mon, seriously?”

“We need to wash it off,” you say with a sense of finality. “Come.”

And for all of his complaining, arguing, and - no matter what he says - whining, he follows you into your small bathroom where you twist the sink on. The water takes a moment to heat but when it does, you hold out your hand for his. He hesitates, lips flattened together, then wordlessly complies.

He stares at the flowing water rather than you, and in his expression, you can read the simmering shyness that he’s attempting to suppress behind a hardened glare.

“You shouldn’t fight me,” you tell him, patient despite the way he jerks in your hold as if burned. The water coasts along his knuckles, staining the sink a diluted crimson while you ghost the pads of your fingertips over the broken flesh. “I’m just trying to help.”

“But I’ll be fine,” he says, quiet against the rushing water. “I’ve been through way worse than this.”

“I know,” and you do. You’re peeking at him, smiling a touch while his muscles visibly ease. “But I’m here for you now and I hate seeing you hurt, so let me make it a big deal. Just a little bit. Please?”

A light brush of pink tints his face while he takes a sharp inhale, as if he’s irritated by the thought. You both know better. His eyes are giving him away and oh, they always do. There’s a glimmer of elation drawn there, the upturn of his brows belying the sweet spark of affection he feels.

You feel it, too.

“Here,” you say. “Keep your hand under the tap. I’m gonna grab some stuff to wrap your finger, okay?”

You slide past him, maneuvering through the tight space and tiled white walls to head toward your cabinet. Yet you get so far as the toilet before Nero’s snatching your wrist with his free hand, and when your gazes meet, his eyes dim with an outpouring of ardor that heats your cheeks.

“Thank you,” he says, and you tip your head with a demure smile. He gives you a sideways smile in return.

“You’re welcome.”

[noona-clock]

The Dog Walker - Part 2

Genre: Dog Walker!AU

Pairing: Hanbin x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 2,095

Your first instinct on your rescue mission was to try and scare the squirrel away.

After all, the squirrel was at the root of it all. He was the one distracting the dog, and the distracted dog had been the one to cause Cute Dog Walker Guy to fall onto the sidewalk.

So, as soon as you rushed out your front door, you hurried over to the corner and hopped up to clap your hand against the stop sign. The squirrel had jumped back onto it from the trash can, and upon hearing and feeling your warning, he dove off and landed on the branch of a tree planted along the sidewalk.

The dog whined, ears perked as the squirrel scurried up the tree to -- hopefully -- get away.

You then approached Cute Dog Walker Guy on the ground, your brow furrowing deeply as he began to sit up and let out a soft groan or two.

“Are you okay?” you asked, making sure to keep your distance so you didn’t make him uncomfortable or freak him out.

But now that you were closer to him than you’d ever been and there was no window separating the two of you... you saw just how handsome he was.

Would it be strange if you asked for his hair and skincare routine?

“Y--yeah,” he stammered quietly as he began to push himself off the ground. The two dogs were prancing around him, though, seemingly excited that he was on their level, and he couldn’t manage to stand quite yet.

Even though your heart was pounding just thinking about it, you reached your hand out to offer him some help.

A shy smirk tugged at his lips, and he hesitantly accepted, sliding his hand into yours.

Oh my god, you were touching him. He was touching you. You were holding his hand.

Taking a few steps back, you used all of your strength to hoist him up. As soon as he was on his feet, the dogs settled down, and the whole fiasco seemed to be over and done with.

“Thank you,” he murmured to you as he let his hand fall away from yours and used it to dust off his jeans.

“Oh, sure,” you replied, somewhat breathless. “You’re welcome. I, uh... I heard the ruckus from in my townhouse and thought you might need some help.”

And that was entirely true. You just left out the fact that you had also seen the ruckus. Watched it play out in real time.

Cute Dog Walker Guy looked a bit embarrassed as he answered with, “This really doesn’t happen all that often, but Banjo is new, and apparently, he would rather chase squirrels than walk.”

“Yes, apparently,” you chuckled. “Are you... sure you’re okay?”

He furrowed his brow gently and transferred the leashes to the hand you’d held just moments ago; your gaze darted over to his now leash-free hand, and you instantly saw it was scraped and raw.

“The -- the leashes -- I must have been holding them a little too hard, but it’s fine --”

“I have some ointment inside,” you interrupted. “And bandages?”

“Oh, no, you don’t need to go through so much trouble. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assured him. “It happened basically on my property, so I feel responsible.”

...You’d never been this pushy to help a stranger in your life. But now that you had Cute Dog Walker Guy face-to-face, you were very averse to letting him go!

He glanced down at his hand, curling his fingers gently into his palm and grimacing slightly. “Yeah, it does sting pretty badly. If you wouldn’t mind --”

“I will be right back,” you nodded before dashing back inside.

After practically sprinting to the cabinet in your kitchen which held all of your medical supplies, you threw the cupboard door open and fumbled around to locate the antibiotic ointment and large fabric bandages.

As soon as you had them both in hand, you rushed back down the hallway to your front door.

You were actually a bit surprised to find Cute Dog Walker Guy still there; surprised, but very relieved.

“Here,” you said breathlessly once you’d stepped outside, holding the ointment and bandage out toward him. But then, of course, you realized he didn’t have a free hand to actually put the ointment and bandage on. “Oh! I’ll -- uh -- I can hold onto the dogs, if you don’t mind.”

“Please,” he replied, grinning gently.

You took the leashes from him gingerly, ignoring the way your heart thumped when your fingers brushed over his.

He began to tend to his palm, and rather than wait and watch him silently (and awkwardly), you crouched down to greet the two dogs you were now temporarily responsible for.

“Hi there,” you said with a soft voice and a warm smile. You turned your gaze to the dark brown brindle dog -- Banjo, he had said -- and shook your head. “You’ve caused a bit of trouble, haven’t you, sweet boy? You’re supposed to be on a walk, not a hunt.”

Banjo stepped up to you when he realized you were talking to him, and the end of your sentence was punctuated with a few slobbery kisses.

“Oh, wow, thank you,” you chuckled.

The other dog -- Teddy, though you were positive that wasn’t actually his name -- joined in, apparently jealous of the attention Banjo was receiving.

“Yes, you’re a sweet boy, too,” you cooed to Teddy, reaching out with your free hand to scratch under his chin and ruffle his ears. “And a very good walker.”

“He is,” Cute Dog Walker Guy confirmed. “Frankie is a really good boy, I’ve never had a problem with him before.”

Aw, man.

You were more disappointed than you should have been to find out Teddy’s name was actually Frankie.

But such is life. Not every dog you make up a name for because you only see them through your window is going to live up to his fake name.

“Yeah, I’ve seen,” you murmured, your eyes still on the adorably fluffy dog in front of you.

“You’ve what?”

You froze momentarily and shifted your slightly panicked gaze to Cute Dog Walker Guy.

“I -- Nothing!” you blurted out. “I was just -- I was talking to Frankie.”

You stood up quickly, noticing he had just finished putting the bandage across his palm.

“All done?” you asked.

He nodded, just a hint of a smile ghosting over his lips as he handed the ointment back over to you. “Thank you,” he said.

You traded him the ointment for the dog leashes.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” you replied a bit bashfully and awkwardly. “And thank you for letting me hold onto your dogs.”

“I’m just their dog walker,” he said with a soft chuckle. And that smile became a little shy, and your heart became a little wobbly.

A thought suddenly popped into your head.

...Should you say something?

You probably shouldn’t, but you were going to anyway.

Because why the heck not?

“Yeah, I -- I’ve seen you walking by here. A couple of times. Just when I happened to be passing by my window, and I noticed --”

Okay, now you were getting awkward. You had started off okay, but the inept rambling you were so very prone to had snuck its way in.

“Do you live around here?” you asked suddenly, cutting yourself off. “Or just walk the dogs around here?”

...Wait, had you just asked him where he lived?

“Not that -- oh my god, I’m sorry!” you continued. “You do not have to tell me where you live, I didn’t mean to --”

“I live a few miles away, but the company I work for isn’t far from here,” he answered with a placating grin.

“Oh! That -- that’s neat! Is it a dog walking company?”

“Well, it’s kind of just like a pet... boutique? I guess you could call it? We do grooming and boarding and training and dog walking, so a little bit of everything. I do most of the walking, though.”

“It’s good exercise,” you pointed out, still very much hearing the stiffness in your voice.

You couldn’t believe you’d messed this up. You actually got the chance to meet the guy you’d been crushing on from afar, daydreaming about, and... you’d just been so incredibly awkward.

“It is,” he answered with a soft laugh and a nod.

And then he said something that... 

Well, you thought it might have been...

But, no, Of course, not. He wouldn’t have said that.

“Pardon?” you mumbled, furrowing your brow and tilting your head to make sure you heard him correctly this time.

“Hanbin,” he said with a slightly raised voice. “My name. My name is Hanbin.”

...Ah.

Yes.

You had been right.

He had just told you his name.

His actual name.

His real name.

And it wasn’t Cute Dog Walker Guy.

It was Hanbin.

You realized you were now just staring at him, blinking, so you quickly shook yourself out of your daze and replied back to him.

“I’m Y/N!” you told him. “Y/N. Nice to -- to meet you, Hanbin.”

Oh, my god. Saying his name was just --

Oh, my god. It was thrilling.

He had a name! And you knew it!

And he knew yours!

“Nice to meet you, too, Y/N,” he said, his half-smile not making it any easier to keep your cool. “You know, I... I walk by here almost every day.”

It took basically everything in you not to tell him you already knew this. It took everything in you to play it cool, but play it cool you did. Hopefully.

“Do you? I work from home, so I’ll be sure to say ‘hi’ if I ever see you,” you said with the most casual tone you could muster. “Make sure you don’t get into any more tussles with squirrels.”

You figured Cute Dog Wa -- Hanbin -- would chuckle awkwardly at your declaration, but instead... he smiled warmly at you. And then he said:

“I would like that.”

Okay, if you didn’t get inside your house in the next minute, you were pretty sure you were going to combust.

Because you were kind of coming to the realization that... Hanbin... aka Cute Dog Walker Guy... aka the guy you’d been secretly crushing on for what felt like your whole life... 

He was... maybe... flirting? With you?

So, you simply nodded. You forced a laid-back smile onto your lips. You hummed positively. And then you lifted your hand and said in one breath, “I’ll let you get back to your walk it was nice to meet you have a great day bye!”

And then you ran for it.

I mean, not ran. But your heart was running, so it felt like you ran for it.

Once you closed your front door behind you, you leaned back against the solid, wooden surface and let out a very shaky breath.

And after at least a full minute of standing there in contemplative silence (except for the sound of your own heavy breathing), you settled on the fact that you really weren’t quite sure that had just happened.

How could it have?

Things like this didn’t happen in real life. Especially not to you! You were just an average person. You weren’t rich, you weren’t a genius, you weren’t outlandishly beautiful. You worked a very normal job, and you led a very normal life.

So, yeah, it was pretty hard to believe that you had just met this guy, talked to him, and... he had seemed... maybe... interested in you.

But not just any guy. The guy you’d been non-creepishly stalking for quite some time. The guy who starred in the vast majority of your daydreams. The guy you were so desperate to know and fall in love with so you were too scared to ever meet because what were the odds he would actually like you or even be single?

That guy.

When your practical senses finally returned and you realized you had to get back to work, you figured that tomorrow would bring about the reality of the situation: it hadn’t actually happened, and you would just have to go back to peeking through your window and catching a glimpse of Hanbin as he walked past your window.

But that’s what you’d been doing every day prior, so it wouldn’t be hard to fall back into your old patterns.

Not hard at all!

Part 3