#JUST-HER TRAGEDY IS THE MOST MOVING FOR ME

[aperrywilliams]

Satellite Call. Part I: What You Kept Hiden from Me (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Words count for this part: 3.2k

Series summary: Your world crushes when Spencer is arrested. Between finding a way to get him out and keeping you afloat, there is something else you need to focus on, too. And even when you thought things couldn’t go worse, a tragedy makes you question if you can make it through.

Part I summary: One of Spencer's trips to Mexico ends badly, and you don't know how to react and what to do.

Series warnings: ANGST (with CAPS). 18+ (MDNI). Some heavy topics will be discussed and shown here. Prison arc, but mostly from Reader's perspective and Emily’s. More detailed under the cut.

Spencer lies to his wife. Drug consumption (against their will). Pregnancy symptoms. Spencer is in jail for more than three months. Hospital visits, doctor’s info dumping (not accurate). Alcohol consumption. Arguing. Strong language. A lot of crying. Emotional breakdowns. A car crash happens (as in the CM storyline). Character dies. More hospital things. Miscarriage. More angst. Depressing symptoms. Mourning. Self-doubt. Suicidal ideation, and almost consummated. Emily is everyone’s emotional support.

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Spencer thought you would be outside the correctional, just as Penelope is now, waiting for him. But you are not. He either didn't ask JJ why you weren't with her picking him up from inside in the first place. Spencer just assumed you didn't want to be in there, and he understood your reasons. You stopped visiting him because it was hard to see him locked up like that and not do anything about it. Or at least it was what you said to him in a letter Emily handed him during a visit time when you didn't show up. It was a month ago.

After a tight hug with Penelope, Spencer couldn't help but ask.

"Where is she?"

JJ, Luke, and Garcia exchange a troubled look, something Spencer sure does notice. When he sees Garcia's glassy eyes, his gaze settles on JJ and Luke for answers.

"Spence, she—" JJ doesn't know how to express a fact she knows will break her friend.

"Man, she - we should go to the hospital right now." Luke chooses to point out what to do instead of why.

"What?! Why? What happened?!" A frantic Spencer starts to question. What the hell had happened to you? Why are you in a hospital? There are too many questions in his brain right now.

With a hand on his shoulder, Luke gently propels him to start walking to the car.

"We are going to tell you everything, I swear. But let's go to the car, okay?" This time, it's JJ's turn to speak, trying to make Spencer move.

Spencer hasn't felt so confused and afraid even in the four months of being locked up in jail.

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Five months ago

Exhausted. It's the definition of how you feel after the draining case you just ended in Tampa. The jet is quiet enough to assume everyone is sleeping. But although the evident tiredness consumes your body and brain, you can't bring yourself to sleep. Instead, you look at your front, where your husband is reading a book. His eyes look heavy, but you know he can't sleep either, not before decompressing first. And for that, a good book tends to work most of the time.

It's amazing how you can love someone so much. After two years of marriage and a couple of years as coworkers and friends before that, it isn't easy to think of Spencer as anything less than your soulmate and the love of your life.

You are lost in your thoughts, and you don't notice Spencer's eyes on you, a lazy smile on his face.

"Where did that pretty little head go?"

You don't know if the blush on your cheeks is from being caught or from Spencer's loving tone. Maybe both.

"Nowhere in particular. Just wondering."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-mm."

"Care to share?" Spencer asks with curious eyes.

"Well," you start, smiling at him. "Since you brought it up and knowing we have two days off, what about a getaway out of the city, huh?"

It's not a sudden idea. You and Spencer have been thinking about doing something like that for a few weeks. After a chaotic couple of months at the BAU, you both need time for yourself.

Spencer's eyes softened—a little pout on his lips.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but I promised my mom's doctor I would be in Houston tomorrow."

You don't remember Spencer telling you that. Could it be that you had forgotten?

"Oh. I didn't know. Something happened to Diana?"

Spencer shakes his head.

"No. Just the usual. The doctors are adjusting the treatment, and we're doing a follow-up, that's all."

Another source of stress for Spencer in the past months has been Diana's health. After an important decline, he got her mom into an experimental treatment in Houston. Spencer fought hard to get her admitted, and even if you weren't sure about it, you supported him in everything related to it. That's why you won't even protest losing another chance to spend time together.

"I'm sorry," Spencer apologizes when he sees you haven't said anything. Reaching for your hand, you hold it and squeeze it reassuringly.

"It's okay, Spence. You must be there. And maybe it's a good chance for me to have a long beauty sleep," you shrug. In all honesty, your body has been yelling for uninterrupted sleeping hours in the past weeks.

"I promise we'll make up for the lost time when I come back, okay?" Spencer offers, kissing your hand. You nod and give him a soothing smile.

Some weeks later, the loud ringing of your phone wakes you from your sleep. Not fully conscious of your surroundings, you pat to the right side of the bed, expecting to feel Spencer next to you, but it's empty. Then you remember you are alone because Spencer had to go to Houston again this week.

"Hello?"

"Did I wake you up?" A confused Emily asks at the other end of the call. You check your bedside clock, and it reads 11 AM. You have been sleeping for twelve hours now.

"Yeah," you rub your tired eyes. I think I caught something. My stomach feels funny, and I was so exhausted last night. What is it? Do we have a case?"

"No, but- Have you heard from Spencer?" Emily asks cautiously.

"He called last night and told me he would come back today." There is a tense silence between you both. "Emily, what's wrong?" you ask.

"You should come to the BAU." It's all she says, and you know something bad happened.

Everything has been a blur since Emily's call and your arrival at the BAU.

As you bolt into your boss's office, you see her, David, and Penelope there, a troubled expression on their faces.

Emily is who delivers the news. Spencer has been arrested in Mexico after a car chase and caught with drugs in the trunk.

It's like she is telling you a movie plot. There is no chance she is talking about Spencer, your husband. No, it can't be. Your husband left two days ago for Houston to check on his mom, as he has been doing in the past month.

But as much as you want to deny what you are hearing, Spencer's mugshot, appearing on Garcia's screen, is screaming the truth.

You think you might throw up. And you do. Quickly excusing yourself, you run to the nearest bathroom to empty your stomach.

It's the same Emily Prentiss who enters the bathroom after you and holds your hair as you keep kneeling before the toilet.

"We are going to bring him back. I swear. Everything is going to be okay," Emily assures you, rubbing your back.

You want to believe her, but not knowing why this is happening makes it hard to think clearly.

You insist on going to Matamoros with Luke and Rossi, and no one dares to protest. You're visibly upset and confused, but staying in Quantico is not an option.

On the plane, Emily sits in front of you. You know why.

"I swear I didn't know anything, Em. I'm as confused as everyone," you confess. "And it's killing me. I know Spencer never would do what they say he did, but either I can explain why he was there."

"I know, but you must have caught something. Has Spencer seemed nervous or extremely quiet lately? Maybe a phone call or something that made him change his mood."

You think for a moment. Spencer has indeed been more pensive in recent weeks, particularly since Diana joined the new treatment. It's also true he's told you less and less about how things are going with her. But you assume it's because he's been worried about everything going well and not because something bad was happening.

A memory suddenly appears in your mind. One night after arriving from the BAU, you were making something to eat, and Spencer left his phone on the counter while he took a shower. You looked at the device, thinking it might be from work, but the name 'Dr. Medina' appeared on the screen. You didn't recognize the name because, according to what Spencer had told you, her mom's new doctor was Dr. Hammond.

"After he checked his phone, he quickly called back, but he went to the bedroom to make the call. I didn't pay enough attention. I should have done—" You trail off, and Emily rubs your arm to comfort you.

"Hey, don't. We don't know if that has to do with what's going on, so let's not get ahead of ourselves."

It's easy to say but almost impossible to achieve, especially when, upon arriving at the Matamoros police station, in one of the cells, you see your husband lying on a bench with his eyes lost in the ceiling.

"Spencer?" you mumble, but loud enough to catch Spencer's attention. He sits and looks at you with eyebrows furrowed as if trying to remember who you are. Some feet behind you, Emily, Luke, and Rossi stand, witnessing your interaction.

Without saying anything, Spencer gets up and walks over to where you are, only separated by his cell bars. With that closeness, you can see the several cuts all over your husband's face; his clothes are torn. But what shocks you are Spencer's red and lost eyes. He is visibly high.

"Do you know who I am?" you ask almost in a whisper, scared of his answer. Spencer nods slowly, his eyes shifting from lost to sad. He recognizes you.

"I'm sorry." It's not much, but you can't hold it against him right now, not when answers are required in the first place.

"Baby, it's okay. We're going to get you out of here, okay? But you need to talk to us. Can you do that?"

It's not until a couple of hours later Spencer fully returns to himself, the effects of the drugs leaving his body.

For the sake of the case, you stay out of it while Spencer tells the team what happened. You don’t want Spencer to feel uncomfortable admitting he has lied to you for weeks.

After Emily conducts a cognitive interview to get details that could help, Spencer returns to his cell. When Emily, Luke, and Rossi leave the police station to search for evidence, only you are left there with him.

Spencer looks embarrassed, and you can feel the gears in his head turning as he tries to find a way to talk to you. When he comes empty of words, he addresses you instead.

"Can you please say something?" His voice is tentative and pained.

"I don't know what you want me to say," you reply honestly.

Spencer sighs deeply. "Tell me whatever you're thinking now. Yell at me, tell me I'm a fucking liar, that I dragged you into this mess, tell me I'm a terrible husband."

You consider his words for a moment. Is it true everything Spencer says is what you're thinking? It probably is, but you don't feel like you have the energy to bring it out the way he wants. However, there is one underlying question that has been on your mind since all this started.

"Why? Why you kept it from me? You don't trust me enough to tell me those things?"

"No, don't say that. I do trust you," Spencer rushes to say, but he knows it's a weak defense considering the circumstances.

"Then I don't get it. Why, Spencer?" Your tone isn't accusatory but sad. You could have helped him if you had known. But he, for some reason, decided against it.

"I was trying to protect you," he says and shakes his head. "I know it sounds stupid now we are here, but it's true. I didn't want you to worry about my mom's situation. I'm so sorry."

Spencer is probably telling the truth, but it doesn't make you feel better. Not seeing him behind bars like this.

The helplessness of not having anticipated this situation and now being unable to do anything to solve it eats you up inside. Despite that, you know Spencer is having it worse. So you, as his partner and who loves him the way you never loved anyone, decide to put your feelings aside to be his support at this difficult moment.

"It's okay," you assure him, placing your hands between the bars to hold his. Spencer is quick to respond and grabs onto your hands as if you were a lifeline to him. "We'll figure it out."

Spencer's eyes fill with tears as he repeatedly murmurs, 'Thank you' and 'I love you.'

You have always considered yourself a strong and tenacious woman. Since you were a kid, you have been independent and able to overcome everything that came your way. But adult life has continued to test you, and this has been no exception. When you find out Nadie Ramos has been murdered and all the evidence points to Spencer, you're about to break down. Still, you can't because if you do, who's going to support your husband? You have to be strong. Some reprieve emerges when you learn Ramos is an American citizen and Spencer can be prosecuted on American soil.

Baby steps.

The jet is mostly silent, save for Emily's occasional page-turning or Luke's typing on his phone. Rossi seems to be sleeping. You and Spencer are in one of the back seats. Spencer's head is in your lap while you absentmindedly play with his hair, looking at the night sky out the window.

"You think Scratch is behind this?" Spencer asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. You consider your answer for a couple of seconds.

"I do. I mean, it's such a damn elaborate plan. I can't think of anyone but Scratch."

Spencer assumes a sitting position and examines your face. He knows you are upset. Cupping your cheeks, he looks directly at your eyes.

"I have no words to say how sorry I am. And I promise to make it up to you for the rest of my life when this is over."

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. When you open them again, you are met with Spencer's expecting gaze.

"I know you will." And you really think that. "I love you, Spencer. I'm sure we are going to get through this." Your voice trembles with emotion, but your words seal a promise you mean to keep.

"And I love you. So so much. God, I'm so lucky to have you." Spencer's arms envelope you in a tight embrace. You melt into him, breathing his scent. It's the way you usually use to ground yourself. It's hard right now because, once the jet lands in Virginia, Spencer will get snatched from you, for God knows how much time it will take.

When the BAU elevator doors open, you find JJ, Penelope, and Tara waiting for you all. Spencer has his cuffed hands covered with your FBI jacket so as not to attract too much attention. Garcia is the first to rush forward and hug him.

You only have fifteen minutes. Then, the police officers will take him to the station to book him and leave him in a cell.

JJ and Tara hug him, too. You assume they are giving him reassuring words, something you know he needs right now. From your peripheral, you see Emily exchange glances with Stephen and retreating to Emily's office. You can't say what's going on, but curiosity gets the best of you, and you follow them. You know Tara, Penelope, and JJ will keep Spencer occupied for a couple more minutes.

"What? Is the bureau abandoning him?" You hear Emily ask, visibly upset.

"They said Reid traveled with his personal passport and didn't inform the office. That's enough for them to step aside," Stephen explains.

"So we don't have legal support," Emily confirms, and Stephen nods.

You can't help but interrupt the conversation.

"What? Spencer will not have a defense?" Both Emily and Stephen startle and turn to see you. While Stephen gives you an apologetic look, Emily is quick to speak.

"Not provided by the FBI, but it doesn't mean Spencer will be alone in this. We'll find a lawyer for him."

"They do want to bury this, don't they? It's bad publicity, and Spencer will fall for it," you start to complain, your breathing picking up speed.

"Hey! We won't let that happen, do you hear me?" your boss steadies you and makes you look at her with both hands on your shoulders. "But for now, Spencer can't know. Not until we get this figured out."

As in cue, you look through Emily's window and see Spencer still chatting with JJ and Penelope.

"This is a nightmare," you mumble. Emily squeezes your shoulder.

"We're going to solve it, I promise."

You see Spencer looking around with a frown. Penelope and JJ are still talking to him, but Spencer seems to be looking for something, better said, someone: you. Cautiously, you descend the stairs to join him. You know you don’t have much time, and you know you can’t tell him about the lack of a lawyer.

“Hey,” Spencer calls when he finally sees you.

“Sorry, I went to talk to Emily about something real quick while giving you time with the team.” You don’t want to delve into specifics and hope Spencer doesn't ask about it.

“Thank you. Can we talk more privately?”

“Sure.” You both move to a corner with fewer people around. Spencer’s eyes trail every part of your face as he wants to engrave you in his memory. At the lack of words, you frown. “Spencer?”

“I know this isn’t going to be easy. I’m terrified, and not just for me. I’m scared about how this will affect you and us. I just want to say that I love you with all my heart, but I will understand if this becomes too much. You don't owe me anything. Don’t feel obligated-”

“Stop! Stop right there. Don’t even try to finish that sentence,” you rush to cut him off.

“But-”

“No. You are my husband. You are the love of my life. You are the person I chose to share my life with. In thick and thin, remember?” You cup his face so he can look directly at your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. Physically, we’ll be apart, but I won’t rest until I get you out, and we'll be together again, okay?”

Spencer’s eyes fill with tears, and so do yours. He leans down to catch your lips with his. He can’t hold you - he’s cuffed - but for now, you can do that work. Lacing your arms around his neck, you deepen the kiss, and you can feel your tears mixing.

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” Spencer mumbles on your lips.

“I know you will,” you mumble back before kissing him again.

Emily clearing her throat takes you both out of your bubble.

“I’m sorry, guys, but it’s time. Police are here,” she apologetically announces. You look at Spencer, and he nods. It's time. With a last lingering kiss and an ‘I love you,’ he turns and follows Emily down the hall. Spencer doesn't turn around because he knows if he does and looks at you, he won’t be able to leave you there.

You watch him walk away and wonder if this nightmare will end soon. You don't know if you'll have the strength to hold on to him and yourself and if the love you share will be enough to keep the hope of a better tomorrow alive.

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Next part

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[livingd34dgrl]

abigail hobbs brain rot sorry, but i’m like tormented by the tragedy of her existence, i think about her all the time, my silly lil gal, we should’ve gotten more of her character, ESPECIALLY the time gap where she was hidden away-like what they did in s3 showing how they faked her murder-how do they keep the show going without answering me on my questions? how close did she attempt to get to hannibal to stay alive? did she know they were planning to run away? did she get comforted with the thought of a new life, far from her old one? do you think the reason she was able to sleep in that stupid house was because of the comfort that maybe-just maybe, she could live a life? she was far from being will or hannibal, she wouldn’t have survived even if will left with them, her death was at every twist and corner-and i think the worst part is she knew-god she knew and walked right into the role she was supposed to play when death came knocking-how do i recover from that? how do i recover seeing her grasping for any end that doesn’t involve her dying, shaking and gasping for air on a kitchen floor???

[femininominon]

LADIES I'M GETTING IN TOO DEEP

i never even had to say "don't get in too deep" because it was just like. obviously. when have i EVER gotten in too deep? usually it takes several dates before i get the feeling like oh maybe i would like to spend a lot of time with this person, not with her.

she's so interesting she's so hot it is so easy to talk to her, we have insane chemistry and somehow HAVEN'T FUCKED YET even tho we met on HER with our preferences both set to short term or hookup, like how.

we've made out a ton obvs but like fuuuuuuuck i wanted to fuck her so bad so many times like what is happening to me!!!!!! i feel like i act particularly autistic with her bc i'm so happy i can't really control it but she finds it charming i guess??

did i mention i absolutely cannot get in too deep because i am moving very far away very soon? i absolutely cannot get in too deep. because i am moving very far away very soon. i am very much in too deep

[zablife]

@mischievouslittlecreature This is giving me anxiety, Lily!!

Can't believe this is only the beginning of the party and so much has transpired! I'm deeply concerned for Lucy after that disgusting move by Mosley. She was already on the precipice and he's given her a giant shove. The worst part was overhearing Tommy's promise to Lizzie tho. (Constantly in awe of how you use canon dialogue for your own purposes and it ends up a far better, more nuanced version.)

However, the line that has shattered me most is this one: "Somehow, without either of them realizing it, the bond between them had broken." Lucy can no longer read the silent messages conveyed in Tommy's eyes 😢 It's breaking my heart to see Tommy coming unglued in the last chapter and now to watch Lucy's demons invading her thoughts. The way you've written the tragedy of it is breathtaking.

That's not to say Lucy doesn't exhibit an enormous amount of resilience and strength here. (The little whispered ily to Lizzie is proof of that. She's so generous and loving even during her darkest hours.) And just as Polly notes at the beginning of the chapter, Lucy pushes thru personal suffering in order to do her job. That becomes abundantly clear at the ballet, surveying the crowd to gather intelligence moments after spotting Tommy and Lizzie holding hands.

Holding my breath until the next chapter is posted and I find out what you have planned for the second half of the evening. I know it won't disappoint!

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Lizzie's birthday party does not exactly go according to plan.

Word Count: 5,443

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, body image issues, violence, sexual assault, sexual content, and references to past rape.

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Chapter 12: The Ballad of Sorrowful Souls

Lucy rested her hands flat on the wood of the little vanity, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Almost without her even noticing it, her hair had gotten longer. It was something that, looking back on things, she realized had happened gradually over the years. Letting it go a little longer between trims. Taking off less and less each time. Where the red locks had once only come down to her chin, they now rested a few inches below her collarbones. Brushing her shoulder blades in the back. 

Running her fingers through the fluffy curls, she pursed her lips. When did you get so bloody long? she asked the hair, to no answer.

Sighing, she picked up a few ornate pins, carefully gathering her hair up and sliding them into place, until her hair was entirely pinned up in an elaborate chignon at the base of her neck. Satisfied with her work, she adjusted the straps on her dress and checked her watch. Polly would be there to pick her up on her way to Arrow House for the party soon. Reflected in the mirror behind her, pale and lovely as always, Grace watched her.

“You look beautiful.”

She smiled at the ghost. “Thank you.”

“How are you doing?”

She looked over her shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“Sleeping alright?”

“Yep.”

“Those bags under your eyes say otherwise.”

“Fuck. Are they really that obvious?” she turned, squinting at herself in the mirror, fumbling with her small collection of makeup. Grace came up behind her, peering over her shoulder. 

“Try this one,” she pointed to a little bottle. “Rub it in gently under your eyes.”

Lucy followed her instructions, letting Grace tilt her chin up to examine the results. The blonde nodded. “Good.”

Hiking her dress up, she began to slide an array of knives into the garter sheath at her thigh. Holding the last knife in her hand, she twirled it mindlessly between her fingers, examining the sharp edge. Without even thinking, she gripped the handle tightly and brought the blade to rest against the pale, freckled skin of her inner left wrist. She bit her lip. One little slice was all it would take. 

“You really want to join me that badly?” Grace’s voice startled her out of her trance. The blade pulled away from the skin to slide into the sheath with its sisters. “Not that I’d complain. But I think Tommy would be very upset with both of us.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, checking to make sure her gun was loaded and putting it in her bag.

“Lucy,” Grace’s voice was stern. “What is it?”

She ran her hand over her hair, then cursed quietly and did her best to rearrange it back into place. She should be happy. Her plan had succeeded, after all. Things between Lizzie and Tommy had seemed to have mostly smoothed over. Tommy…seemed happier. That was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? And yet it hurt, to now know that all that was needed was her absence to have made that possible. 

Maybe she really had become nothing more than a burden. Someone Tommy kept around out of pity and duty. Perhaps he’d gotten bored with her. He had practically begged her not to go when she had left Arrow House, but maybe over the time that she had been gone, he’d come to the realization that she was right. Things were better this way. Perhaps he was secretly relieved that she had left.

“You’re being silly,” Grace said. “Tommy loves you.”

Did he? Or was it all just a ploy to keep her close because she was useful? Or maybe he never really had. Maybe she’d been nothing but convenient, up until now. A warm place to shove his cock when he was bored. 

“I’m not so sure anymore, Grace.”

“Oh, love,” Grace drifted across the room to her, hands cradling hers. “Remember when you left? He was distraught. He begged you not to go,” she offered Lucy a small smile in an attempt at reassurance. “Who would’ve thought, hm? Thomas Shelby, begging,” she shook her head, blonde waves flying, hand cradling Lucy’s cheek. “Okay?”

Lucy let out a shaky breath and nodded. Grace’s cheek dimpled with her smile. “No crying, now, love. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

Lucy let out a hiccupping little laugh and nodded. “‘Kay.”

Grace let her go so she could riffle through her jewelry box, putting on her earrings and rings. Her fingers hesitated over the large garnet necklace resting in the middle of the box, the one Tommy had gotten her to match Grace’s sapphire. Her brows furrowed, lips pressed together. Perhaps it would be too much to show up with a token of Tommy’s love hanging from her throat. And to Lizzie’s birthday party, no less. She let the lid of the jewelry box fall closed.

“Tommy will notice you’re not wearing it.”

“Maybe.”

Grace sighed, but apparently decided that it wasn’t worth it to argue with her. The sound of tires outside announced Polly's arrival, and she was quick to wrap her shawl around her shoulders and grab her bag. The jingle of the lead had Asher rising to his feet, tail wagging as she clipped it to his collar.

“C’mon, boy,” she said, pausing a moment at the door and turning to Grace. “You’ll be around, if I need you?”

Grace smiled. “Always am, love.”

Her heels clicked against the stairs, a quick wave offered to Charlie and Curly in the kitchen before she was making her way to Polly’s car.

“You’re bringing the dog?” Polly questioned, eyebrow raised.

“Mosley’s going to be there, I figured we could use all the backup we can get,” she explained, ushering Asher into the backseat before getting into the front beside Polly. “And Tommy said that the kids were asking about him. Figured they’d like having him visit.”

They pulled out onto the street, beginning the familiar route to Arrow House.

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“It’s no problem,” Polly said. “Though I have to say, I was surprised to hear about this sudden change in living arrangements.”

“I’m sure that you were popping champagne when you heard the news.”

“Now why would I do that?”

She gave her a look. “Polly.”

“Just because you’re not my favorite person in the world doesn’t mean that I can’t acknowledge your usefulness to Tommy and the company.”

“I’m touched.” 

Polly glanced over at her. “And you make Tommy at least somewhat bearable to be around.”   

That pulled a tiny laugh out of her, shaking her head. Polly reached out a gloved hand, patting Lucy’s arm. 

“Maybe it’ll be good for you,” she offered, “to not be chained to him all hours of the day.”

Lucy’s knee bounced anxiously as she shook her head. “I’ve never fully understood any of you. The way you talk sometimes. About getting away, about being chained. I’ve never wanted to get away.”

“I think you might be the only one of us who’s never really tried to leave.” 

“I’ve never wanted to.”

Polly hummed, tilting her head to the side. “You’ve really never thought about it? Not even once? To go off, have a normal life?”

She shook her head. “What do I do, if I don’t do this?”

Polly tsked. “You and Tommy. Unable to pull away even for a simple holiday. You really are perfect for one another.” Lucy didn’t respond, just looked down at her hands, tugging her shawl tighter around herself. “How’s he been taking it?”

Lucy shrugged. “He seems fine.”

“Really? I heard from Ada that he showed up at her doorstep at two in the morning in the middle of an emotional meltdown.”

“He feels bad about the whole thing. But…” she shrugged. “He seems happy. From what I’ve seen.”

Polly shot her a funny look that she chose to ignore. 

“You’re angry with him.”

“What? No I’m not.”

Polly gave her a knowing look. Lucy ran a hand over her hair and cursed.

“I gotta stop fucking doing that,” she muttered, smoothing her hair back down.

“Your hair looks fine. Spill.”

“I’m not…angry with Tommy, Polly.”

“Why did you leave, then?”

She shook her head. Took a small pause. “I…I just couldn’t stand to be somewhere where I felt so…” she struggled to find the right word. “Unwanted,” she finally finished.

“How do you mean?”

“They made this…deal that has a direct effect on me and Tommy’s relationship and they…” she chewed on her bottom lip. “They didn’t even give me a fucking heads up about it. And Tommy agreed to it,” she shrugged. “He had to know what it would mean for us and he agreed to it anyway.”

“He didn’t fight for you.” 

Lucy shook her head.

“No, no. That’s not it,” she ran a hand over her hair again and shook her head. “I don’t know, maybe it is. We’ve been so busy lately. Sometimes I feel more like just a coworker than a lover.”

“Maybe you should tell him that.”

“He has enough that he’s dealing with right now. When this current business is done, we can worry about…whatever this all is.”

“You’re very good at that.”

“At what?”

“Pushing your feelings down to deal with the task at hand. It’s part of what makes you so good at what you do.” Polly cast her that motherly look of disapproval that she often saw her giving her nephews. “But even you can’t keep your emotions locked up forever, Lucy. They have to come out and be dealt with at some point.”

“I know.” She glanced back over at Polly. “Sorry. I don’t mean for any of you to be pulled into the middle of this.”

“It’s alright. I’d much rather deal with you and Tommy’s mess than Arthur and Linda’s.”

“Right. Talk about a fucking disaster.” 

Polly hummed in agreement.

They rode in relative silence after that, car bumping along the road. As soon as Arrow House came into view a small shudder went through Lucy.

“Fuck.”

Polly shot a glance at her. “Have you been back since you left?”

“No.”

The older woman made a sympathetic sound, patting her on the arm again. “Well, look alive. We’ve got a fascist to impress.”

“Ugh,” she made a gagging sound that made Polly snicker. “He makes my skin crawl.”

Polly parked the car and opened her door. “Come along.”

She leapt from her seat, opening the door to the back. “Come, Ash. Good boy,” she coaxed the dog from where he had been laying with his huge head on his paws. He jumped down to trot dutifully by her side, his lead clutched tight in her hand. Polly came around the other side of the car, giving Asher a few scratches behind the ear before linking her arm with Lucy’s. 

“Ready to face the music?”

She eyed a few ballerinas making their way towards the tent set up on the grass. “I can’t tell if you're being literal or not.”

Polly chuckled, tugging her along towards the entrance of the place that had once been her home. 

∗ ∗ ∗

The party was in full swing and Tommy and Lizzie were nowhere to be found. Guests were arriving, chattering, sipping on drinks, and nibbling on food. Lucy remained close to Polly, not in much mood to socialize and grateful for the Shelby matriarch’s willingness to take point on greeting and conversing with the guests. 

For a brief moment she caught sight of Michael and Gina, raising her glass towards them in greeting, earning a small nod of acknowledgment from Michael. Gina sneered. Fucking kid.

She tugged on Polly’s skirt to get her attention. “By the way,” she cleared her throat, keeping her voice to a low murmur. “Mosley fucked Lizzie.”

“What!?”

“Mhm. Told Tommy allllllll about it at a meeting they had to discuss Mosley’s invitation here. Apparently it was while she was a nightclub hostess. Years ago. Thought you should know. It might come up.”

“Jesus, alright,” Polly said. “You find out anything else useful about him in your research?”

“Just that he’s fucking most of his wife’s family.”

“Charming.”

“Yep,” she popped the p in the word for emphasis. Taking a sip from her glass, her eyes trained on the door where the guests were filtering in. She elbowed Polly. “That’s him. With the mustache.”

“He looks displeased.” “I don’t understand how he gets so many girls. He’s so…” she searched desperately for the right word, “slimy. And his mustache looks stupid.”

Polly laughed, choking on her drink as a result. The MP was looking around, scowling.  

“You should go greet him before he has an aneurysm,” Lucy suggested. Polly disappeared with a smirk, heading for Mosley. Sipping again from her glass, Lucy rose up onto her toes, eyes scanning the crowd for Tommy. She had left Asher with Frances, and she was suddenly greatly missing the comfort and security that having the dog by her side brought now that Mosley was here.

Moving briskly, she began to weave her way through the guests. She hadn’t cared to go interrupt Tommy and Lizzie where they were likely fucking in one of the many dark corners of the house, but now that Mosley had arrived and was already sulking at Tommy’s absence, she needed to find him soon or risk the MP’s wrath. The last thing she wanted was to be alone in a room with Mosley. 

“Miss. Winters!”

She froze, grinding her teeth. “Oh, fuck me,” she muttered under her breath, plastering a smile on her face and turning around. “Mr. Mosley. So glad to see you.”

His eyes raked over her and she had to fight the desire to tug her red shawl tighter around herself. “You look lovely, as ever.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, could you please tell me, where is Thomas?”

“I believe he was dealing with the caterers. Something about some last minute problems, you know how these things can go.”

“I was hoping to be announced upon my arrival.”

“Apologies. If you’d like, I can take you to the study. Mr. Shelby had something he wanted to discuss with you privately. Before the performance, if possible.”

Mosley’s expression of displeasure remained. “Very well.”

“This way,” she inclined with her head, leading the way to Tommy’s office. She opened the door with her key and stepped aside to let Mosley in. “Is there anything I can get you?”

His eyes raked over her again. A hand suddenly shot out, tightly grasping a red curl that had fallen from her pins to rest against her cheek, stroking the lock and then tugging on it sharply. “Oh, I can think of many things, Miss. Winters.”

She had to resist the urge to lean over and vomit all over his expensive shoes.

“I’m afraid that I’m working tonight, Mr. Mosley.”

“Hm.” His hand slipped down, moving so quickly that she had no chance of stopping it. His cold fingers slid down her throat, around her shoulder, and promptly grasped her right breast, squeezing so hard that it hurt.

Lucy completely froze, heart leaping into her throat, too shocked at the sudden movement to do anything. 

Mosley grinned, eyes alight with sadistic glee. Just as quickly as he’d grabbed her, he let her go, smile remaining firmly in place. “Well, if you’re sure. Just Thomas, then, my dear. Quick as possible.”

She nodded, spun on her heel, and left the room, closing the door behind her. For a moment, she allowed her back to rest against the wood of the door, a sudden spasm of panic flooding her from head to toe. She took in deep, heaving breaths, thinking for a moment that she might actually vomit. Learning forward, she rested her hands on her thighs, forcing herself to breathe deeply, thankful that this hallway was hidden from the view of the guests in the dining and sitting rooms. Memories flashed behind her eyes, of hands on her in a dark alleyway, voices laughing and jeering as they pushed her down, a blade slicing through her skin, hands pulling at her hair. 

Lucy shook her head sharply to dislodge them. Instead, she tried to force her brain to focus on the feel of the wood against her back. The color of the rug beneath her feet. The sound of clinking glasses and muffled voices a few rooms over.

Her heartbeat was still more rapid than usual, hands trembling a little bit. Fuck. She hadn’t had an attack like that in a long time.  

On still somewhat unsteady legs, she began to make her way down the hall, going through her mental checklist of all the places Tommy and Lizzie could be. 

As if hearing her thoughts, she made out voices coming from a storage closet in the hall. Freezing, she hesitated, recognizing the familiar deep rumble of Tommy’s voice. Her fist raised to knock, but stopped. And even though she knew it was wrong, the fist uncurled, planting itself on the doorframe as she leaned closer to press her ear to the place where the door met the frame, listening. 

“--so that’s why you brought me in here. To lay your claim,” Lizzie was saying. 

“Yeah.” She could imagine the fond way Tommy probably smiled at her, eyebrow raising in a way that was both sheepish and cocky. 

“Well, it’s a start, I suppose.”

There was the rustle of movement. “He lays a fucking hand on you, he will be meat for Johnny Dogs.”

He need not specify who he was talking about. She already knew.

With a shudder, Lucy pulled back, unable to bear listening to anymore.

It was not that he was dedicated to protecting Lizzie that so wounded her. It was that, while he was fucking her and pledging his protection over her, Lucy was out here. The very man that Tommy had just promised to defend Lizzie from having just touched and spoken to her in a way that had triggered her to have a panic attack. 

She wasn’t even worth Tommy laying a fucking claim on, anymore.  

What would Tommy do, if he found out how Mosley had just touched her?

She already knew. The same thing he’d done when McCavern had leered at her: fucking nothing. 

He probably wouldn’t even care. It was clear he didn’t want her anymore, anyway. 

She took another step back from the door, intending to leave them be rather than ruin their happiness with her presence, when the door opened, and the pair stepped out hand in hand. Lizzie was smiling brightly while Tommy’s own lips were twitched upwards. When they saw her, they both froze, looking at her like two deer caught in headlights.

“Lucy,” Tommy said, smile falling and brow furrowing as he looked at her. For a moment, his eyes dropped to the middle of her chest, right below her collarbone, brows pinching together. She cleared her throat.

“You need to go to your office. Mosley’s there.”

“Are you alright?” Lizzie asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Hi, Lizzie. Happy birthday.” She hoped that her smile was convincing and not as shaky as it felt. From the way concern flickered in Lizzie’s eyes, she didn’t think that she succeeded. Tommy reached out a hand to her, and she flinched violently away from him. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” she gasped, breathing momentarily kicking back up a few notches. The idea of anyone’s hands on her right now made her feel faint with panic. A flicker of hurt and confusion passed across his face. 

“What happened?” his voice dropped an octave, ice blue eyes narrowing a fraction. 

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, gripping her shawl tighter around her like a lifeline. “Nothing.” She opened her eyes. Tommy was still staring at her, searching her face for clues as to what she wasn’t telling him. “Just. Please. Go now. He’s throwing a fucking hissy fit over you not being there to greet him when he arrived.”

Tommy’s expression turned guilty. He hesitated only a moment more, looking her up and down as if checking for injuries, and then turned to Lizzie. “This’ll take just a minute,” he told her, and headed down the hallway. Lucy sighed out a breath as he opened and closed the door to his office. There. Disaster averted. Hopefully.  

“Lucy, are you alright?” Lizzie repeated.

“I’m fine. Go enjoy your party,” she nodded in the direction of the dining room. Lizzie frowned. “Please.”

The taller woman looked unconvinced, but headed down the hall. Finally alone, Lucy slumped against the wall. Her breathing was mostly back to normal, though the attack itself had unnerved her. She had dealt with Mosley on her own before, and yet she’d never had such a blatant, panicked reaction to his advances. Granted, he had never outright grabbed her like that before, but still…

 It had to be the combination of tiredness and stress, she decided. And the fact that Mosley at times reminded her unnervingly of Matthew. Or maybe it was the emotional turmoil of being back inside this house. 

She drew in a deep breath, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, drawing the smoke greedily into her lungs. It helped to stabilize her. If only a little. 

Finally feeling a bit more like herself, she began to head back towards the dining room. 

Lizzie was easy to spot, tall and gorgeous where she was standing next to Polly. Lucy paused in the doorway, leaning her shoulder against the wall, hands fiddling with her rings while she watched her. She was near fucking ethereal in her ornately detailed gown, her dark hair styled in stiff waves around her chin, features impeccable. 

No wonder Tommy had chosen her over Lucy. Where Lizzie was tall and slim and striking, Lucy was short, curvy, and plain, with skin almost as freckled as it was scarred. And of course there was her flaming red hair–she’d always had a sneaking suspicion that Tommy preferred brunettes–her eyes that were too big to be in proportion with the rest of her face, and her scars. Any man would find her repulsive in comparison to Lizzie.  

“Yes, that’s why he’s always been so enthusiastic to get you naked: because he finds you repulsive,” Grace’s voice spoke up, dripping with sarcasm. Lucy turned her head towards where the voice came from. Grace was leaning against the opposite wall, looking at her with a deeply unimpressed expression on her face. 

Lucy ripped her gaze away from the ghost, ducking her head down and pushing past a few guests to make her way over to Polly and Lizzie. Polly was shaking her head.

“Lizzie, if we were to strike from our guest lists every man in Birmingham who you-”

“Fuck,” Lizzie muttered, eyes focused on where Tommy and Mosley had just appeared in the doorway. The sight of Mosley made Lucy shrink back behind the other two women. Polly raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to Lizzie. 

“Yes or no?”

“Fucking yes,” Lizzie grumbled, turning to set her drink down. Both she and Polly muttered “shit” quietly under their breath as the men approached them. 

The introductions were awkward, to say the least. Especially since Mosley insisted on smugly bringing his past with Lizzie up. But Lizzie, to Lucy’s surprise, actually managed to swipe back at him. Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out a coin. 

“For the champagne and brandy you bought me, as I recall it was the booze that put you to sleep a little prematurely,” she tossed the coin into Mosley’s glass. Lucy’s chest spasmed, forcing herself to cough to cover up what would have likely been an inappropriately loud cackle. Polly patted her on the back, no doubt trying to sell the image that she was just choking on her drink rather than being near incapacitated with hysterical laughter. 

“Ladies and gentleman,” a man from the ballet company called. “The dance is about to begin.”  

Mosley looked a little shell-shocked, staring down at the coin now resting in his drink before turning and silently walking away. Like a dog with its tail between its legs. 

“Mr. Mosley!” Tommy called out, “a toast, if I may. To the end of our deal, and the beginning of something more,” he raised his glass and turned. “Happy birthday, Lizzie,” he shot her an approving wink and clinked her glass with his. Facing Mosley again, he held a hand out as he guided the man away from them. “This way.” 

Lucy rested her hands on Lizzie's shoulders from behind, stretching up on her toes to whisper into the woman’s ear. “I love you,” she told her. Lizzie shot a somewhat bashful yet proud grin over her shoulder at her. She let Polly and Lizzie drift ahead of her in the crowd, walking on her own outside to where the tent had been set up with the stage for the performance.    

By the time she got to the tent, a good share of the guests had already been seated. Tommy and Lizzie were sitting in the front row. But he had an arm subtly draped around the empty chair next to him on his right, keeping anyone from taking it. She was painfully aware of him trying to catch her eye but ignored him, aware that she was being childish but not able to muster up enough energy to care.

Instead she walked right past him, Lizzie, and the seat that he’d been apparently saving for her. Making her way around the rows of chairs, she found a spot that was about as far as she could sit from them as possible, tucked way in the back. Sitting down, she pulled her shawl as tight around herself as she could, suddenly wishing that she’d worn a warmer dress than the simple black gown she’d chosen. 

When she finally chanced a glance over at Tommy and Lizzie, it was to find Tommy staring at her as if she’d just turned around and shot his dog. His blue eyes were wide with hurt, jaw tensing as though he were trying to restrain anymore emotion from leaking onto his features. Lizzie looked stunned, her brows creased together and lips pouting slightly. 

Lucy only met their gaze for half a second before she had to look away. 

The rest of the guests quickly filled in the rest of the seats around her. The people who sat near her were complete strangers, but she’d take that over having to sit by Mosley or Gina.

Ballet had never really been of much interest to Lucy, but even she had to admit that the performance was quite lovely. But it simply could not hold her attention, try as she might to focus on it. Her gaze kept sweeping over the audience.  

She saw Lizzie take Tommy’s hand, gazing at him with happy, hopeful eyes. He didn’t remove his gaze from the ballerinas to look at her, but he didn’t pull his hand away either.

Husband and wife. Happy together at last. Lucy looked down at her hands, clasping them together tightly. Until her knuckles turned white. Tears had to be blinked hastily from her eyes at the realization that no one would probably ever hold her hand again. And especially not like that. 

Towards the end of the show, she spotted Polly stealing away with Aberama, ducking under a string of lights and vanishing into the dark.

Gaze scanning over the crowd, she rolled her eyes at the sight of Arthur slumped over, asleep. Tommy and Lizzie were still holding hands. Michael looked bored. Beside him, Gina’s eyes darted away from the stage, glancing over at Mosley, who had been rather blatantly staring at her. He looked away quickly at their eyes meeting, but Gina’s gaze lingered on him a bit too long to be just simple curiosity. Interesting.

Lucy made mental note of the odd interaction. That would be a thread to pull on later. To see if there was anything of value or intrigue attached to it. 

Something tugged at her mind to do another sweep of the crowd, and when she did, it was to find Tommy staring at her.

The expression on his face was imploring. Desperate and worried. She thought that she might’ve seen longing there, too, but told herself that it was just wishful thinking. 

She wanted to tell him that it was alright. He didn’t need to feel guilty. He didn’t owe her anything. And he should not feel obligated to continue to be with her out of some misguided sense of duty. She understood. Things change. People change. Feelings change. It wasn’t his fault. 

She had always had a sneaking suspicion that this would happen eventually. It was her own bloody fault for not more properly preparing herself for it. 

Tommy seemed to be trying to tell her something with his eyes. Like they used to be able to do all the time. Their little mind reading trick. But she couldn’t read him anymore. When she looked into his blue orbs, she could not make out any words. 

Somehow, without either of them realizing it, the bond between them had broken. Lucy wondered if it could even be repaired at this point.

Not that there was much point in ruminating over that. He was happy with his wife. Why would he want to waste time and energy trying to fix anything between them when he had Lizzie? 

A flash of car lights in the distance, on the front drive, caught her attention. Odd. She couldn’t think of anyone who had been on the guest list that hadn’t arrived. In the corner of her eye, Tommy shifted, having spotted the car lights as well. He leaned forward, looking down the front row at Arthur. When he caught sight of his brother asleep, his shoulders heaved in a sigh, features turning exasperated. 

His eyes returned to Lucy’s. She could see the silent scream echoing behind them. She gave him a sympathetic look. Had she been sitting closer to Arthur, she would have been able to kick him awake. 

She kept an eye on the approaching car while Tommy leaned back in his seat to catch Michael’s eye. He was the closest of any of them to Arthur’s seat. Tommy gave a small jerk of his head in a silent order, spurring Michael to reach in front of him to nudge Arthur until he woke. Lucy watched as the two Shelby brothers shared a glance of silent communication before Arthur stood, discreetly shuffling away towards the front drive to deal with the approaching car. She kept one eye trained on Arthur’s disappearing figure, another on the ballerina spinning on the stage.

The car had stopped but the lights were still on. A person exited and moved to stand in front of it. Lucy leaned forward, eyes narrowed, trying to make out who it was. A flash of pale blonde hair caught the light. Shit. It looked like Linda.

She stood abruptly, walking behind the rows of guests, moving briskly after Arthur. If anyone had reason to crash the party and ruin everyone's evening, it was Linda. The woman was likely justifiably furious over what Arthur had done to her friend, but the last thing they needed was an altercation between Linda and Arthur with all of these people around. 

She shot a quick glance over her shoulder at the tent. It didn’t seem like any of the guests had taken notice yet, too enthralled by the performance in front of them. Except for Tommy, who had stood from his seat and was following after her. Lizzie was watching them, expression curious. Lucy looked away, quickening her pace towards Arthur and Linda. 

Linda moved suddenly and…was that a gun!? Lucy broke into a run that was more of a jog. Fucking heels. She should have just worn her oxfords, even if they didn’t match her dress. She almost made it to Arthur, who despite having a gun aimed at him hadn’t moved, when a gunshot rang out, loud enough to hurt her ears. There were footsteps behind her, Tommy and Lizzie skidding to a halt beside her. For a moment, everyone was still.

Then Linda crumpled over onto her side with a soft thud.

“Arthur,” Tommy gasped. His older brother spun around, shocked eyes scanning over each of them. His hands were empty. It wasn’t him who’d shot Linda. Lucy looked at Tommy. No gun on him, nor on Lizzie. 

And behind them, her weapon still raised, face pressed into a stern, protective expression, not unlike a lioness protecting her cubs, stood Polly.

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt how much I love oni's writing again... In particular, "a seed is planted" continues to be one of if not my favorite logs because despite the troubling details and implications that come with it, it's the one thing in the entirety of the decaying corpse of gravitas that genuinely leaves us with a grain of hope (a seed if you will) and makes oni as a whole a lot more bitter sweet as while earth may not have survived, the dupes did, and after their horrible origins and the shit that many of them went through, in due time they'll finally get to just live, they're free now, and even if Olivia's sleep is end of a tragedy, the world will keep moving forward with or without those who've been lost

[tahbhie]

Creating Emotionally Devastating Scenes.

Crafting a scene that earns the total sympathy of your readers can be challenging, but it's not impossible. Most emotionally devastating scenes fail at two things, but when these are done right, the results can be powerful.

⚪ The Important Concepts for Writing an Emotionally Devastating Scene

1. The Build-Up,

2. Breaking the Dam.

Before I explain these concepts, let me share a case study.

⚫ Case Study

I wrote a story about a young orphan named Jackie and her younger brother. Their village was burned down, leaving them as the only survivors.

For the next few chapters, readers followed their painful journey and their struggle to survive. The younger brother had a heart problem, and Jackie vowed to become a cardiologist to save him.

She was very ambitious about it, but at the time, it was very ironic. Later in the story, when they encountered a tragic living condition with a family, the brother died while telling his sister how much he missed their parents.

When her brother was fighting for his life, she was sent out of the room, only to be let in again to see his cold, lifeless body.

⚪ Explanation of Concepts

1. The Build-Up

The build-up is extremely important when you aim to convey strong emotions. Here's a secret: if you plan for a scene with strong emotions, start leaving breadcrumbs from the very beginning of the story.

Take the previous case study. I carefully built up their journey so people could easily relate and feel the pain of the older sister during her brother's sudden death.

You need to give the situation enough reason to feel utterly hopeless and devastating. Gradually cultivate the tension until it's ready to let loose.

⚫ Understanding the Use of Breadcrumbs.

Breadcrumbs in stories ensure you utilize the time you have to build up certain emotions around your characters.

At the beginning of my story, Jackie’s fate was already pitiable, but she survived every hurdle. This gave the readers enough to feel for her while still leaning away from the outcome. When I built enough, I introduced her brother's sudden death.

Hence, leave your breadcrumbs while leaning away from the outcome.

⚪ How to Properly Leave Breadcrumbs

When building up your story, consider these elements:

☞⁠ Character Relatability: The characters need to be realistic to draw readers into the story. This helps readers invest themselves in your story.

☞⁠ Realistic Emotional Pain: Just as characters need to be relatable, their emotions need to be realistic and not appear forced.

☞⁠ Create a Strong Emotional Attachment: Give them something they care about or that has the power to ruin their lives in any way. It could be something that makes them happy or something their happiness relies on. When it's time, snatch it away without remorse.

☞⁠ Have a Backstage Struggle: This struggle keeps readers occupied, so they won't see the outcome coming. For example, Jackie’s constant struggle to find food and shelter keeps readers engaged while the impending tragedy looms in the background.

☞⁠ Attach Believable Elements: For a realistic character, emotion, and struggle, attach believable elements. It could be death, ailments, sickness, disorder, disappointment, failure, etc.

Now that we've covered the build-up, let's move on to the next crucial part.

2. Breaking the Dam

This is when you make your readers feel the strong emotions alongside your characters. All the tension you’ve been building up is released, making all emotions come into play.

☞⁠ Break Your Strong Attachment: Cut off your strong attachment from your character when they least expect it or at a point when they couldn't use more struggles (i.e when they are helpless).

This will not only evoke readers’ emotions but also pique their curiosity as they wonder how the character will survive the situation.

☞⁠ Description of Sensory Details to Invoke Emotions: The advice of "show, don't tell" will be really helpful here. It's crucial to ensure that the final execution matches the build-up.

A well-crafted build-up can fall flat if the emotional release isn't handled effectively. To avoid this, blend the climax seamlessly into the narrative, making it feel natural and impactful.

Reblog to save for reference! 💜

[wishful-seeker]

Tips on how to avoid being unintentionally ableist

1. When a disabled person says they cannot do something, and you wish to offer solutions, do not make a solution that involves them powering through pain, or something thats not accessible to the disabled.

Example:

Disabled person: "washing dishes hurts too much and i cannot do it."

Abled person: "what if you did one dish at a time throughout the day?"

This statement is not respecting that this disabled person just said they "can't". Always respect that. No matter how simple the task would be for you.

Disabled person:" i think ill use plastic silverware so i don't make dishes."

Abled person: "plastic is bad for the environment!"

This statement shuts down the most accessible and disabled friendly option that this disabled person can actually do because of the abled persons personal beliefs. This is not helpful, and ableist.

Better yet, instead of offering solutions, ask them directly "is there anything you need that you do not have that would help you do this?" This allows the disabled person to think about what would work, and they will always have a better idea of what would work than you do.

To add on to this, when we say we have no more energy to solve a problem or do a task, or change our lifestyle, we mean it.

2. If you feel discomfort when a disabled person is talking about their health, good and bad, that is ableist. Your discomfort is coming from a place that deams disabled peoples very existence as a bad thing and you need to fix that.

For example:

Disabled person:" this week has been rough pain wise, ive been through a lot, felt like my body was on fire. Lucky i got new meds though and i think they're helping!"

Abled person: "can we talk about something else, this is a bummer."

Disabled people should be able to exist freely without worrying about your personal comfort. Do you really think its appropriate to tell someone in constant pain that their life is making YOU uncomfortable?

3. Do not treat disabled people as tragedies, do not romanticize their old life or put their current one down.

For example:

Disabled person: "yeah my life is pretty difficult sometimes, ive lost a lot but i still have happy moments."

Abled person: "it makes me so sad to see what disabled people go through :(. You used to love rock climbing and running, i would love to see you move around more again."

This statement is putting more value on the disabled persons abled past, and ignoring their life as a whole.

4. Do not avoid speaking to disabled people because it hurts to see your loved one disabled.

For example: my grandmother avoids conversations with me because it hurts her to see me in pain. While she has good intentions it leaves me being unable to be close to her. This is very isolating to the disabled.

5. Do not stop inviting your disabled friend/loved one out even if they are never well enough to attend. Unless we specifically ask you to stop asking if we can go out, good chances are we want to know you still care because again, disability is very isolating.

6. When a disabled person says certain things in their health have gotten better or worse, do not challenge this because you don't see a difference.

For example:

Disabled person: "yeah things are getting a little better"

Abled person sees disabled person using their wheelchair like usual: "i thought you said you were getting better?"

Better and worse are usually small changes only the disabled experience, its not like abled people healing from a broken arm. Better to a disabled person could mean they can stand for 10 more minutes.

7. Do not expect disabled people to ever be abled again, and again, do not put more value on an abled life.

For example:

Disabled person:"I have been using a wheelchair for 2 years."

Abled person: "oh you're young, im sure you'll be walking around in no time!"

This statement invalidates and ignores the disabled persons current life by hoping they get a more abled bodied life. Its fine to hope disabled people get better, but you don't get to decide what better looks like.

Hope this helps, stay punk.

[choerypetal]

Hide and Seek / Homelander

(pt 2. of Meet and Greet)

summary ; In part two of the meet and greet, Homelander's obsession reaches new heights, leaving him unsatisfied at his core and willing to do anything to make you his.

!! read part one first! ; !!

ps; english isn't my first language so i apologize for any grammar mistakes, xo' (as it will be eventually corrected if needed)

tag list; @private-eye-on-you ; @lins-shenanigans ; @horrorxgorewhore @siredtom ; @certain-tragedies ; @hotchners-wifey ; @naelis-open-sea

enjoy xo'

Homelander's comment, 'You look lovely in the costume,' lingered in your mind for a week. You couldn't escape his presence. His silhouette, his maddeningly perfect face seemed to follow you everywhere—from your usual coffee shop to the special limited editions of The Vought, and even as you continued watching the show for longer periods of time. From Deep's special cupcakes to the coffee most loved by Homelander, his influence was everywhere, not just keeping the city alive but himself as well.

Although you didn't realize it, Homelander had become just as obsessed with you as he was with seeing his own face on the cup you were holding. From a distance, he watched your every move—the way your plump lips touched the cup, how you drank your coffee, and even how you covered his image with your hand. Despite finding your behavior an offense, he knew he’d eventually have to tease about it. The sadistic man that he was, wasn’t afraid to even acknowledge it. Especially during their weekly Seven meetings. 

"So, I suggest we review some new recruits," Ashley said, her nervousness palpable. She wanted to please not only the public but, most importantly, Homelander. This was no easy task given recent events and the current situation. Homelander's obvious boredom showed his lack of interest, and Deep, poor thing, was just as disinterested, staring blankly at the screen and agreeing with whatever Homelander mumbled. However, Deep was secretly relieved not to have any of John’s powers. Especially right now. Because, at that exact moment, it was your face, and your face alone, that occupied his thoughts. Murmuring your name under his breath, he was fortunate not to get caught up in the moment. That of course, when a single cough from Ashley’s mouth was enough to slip his mind elsewhere. 

"You know, Ashley, just pick whoever you think will fit for now. Sign their papers. My brain is going to fucking explode from this hell hole," he said, standing up without even glancing at her. Not even Ashley's whiny complaints about the complications it might cause could stop him. He paused, considering for a moment that she might convince him. "Don't come to me for the next 24 hours," he snapped, his piercing blue eyes conveying a clear threat. When wasn't he a threat, anyway? "Or I'll personally fuck up every single one of you." That was enough to make her quickly nod in response. Poor thing, she only wanted to make him proud. A satisfied grin played on his lips, mirrored by Ashley's, though hers was a little more nervous. His, however, was genuine. 

You, on the other hand, had been fortunate enough not to see Homelander's face for a while. From the bookstore you frequented to the coffee shop, his presence seemed to pervade your life. Your mother didn’t help either, as she insisted on framing a picture of you with him in the living room—a gesture Homelander found endearing. On some nights, he would see you through the window, dressed in your pajamas, reading whatever caught your interest, with that picture always in the background. Unlike Homelander, it haunted your dreams.  

Deep down, Homelander struggled to resist the urge to invade your personal space, not wanting to frighten you. However, when he saw your forced smile at the meet and greet, he was reminded that a smile meant nothing to him. To him and you alone. It was your scent that drove him wild. At first, he considered going undercover, posing as one of your father’s coworkers, but he realized it would be futile. Why cover his own shame, when he could let his ego take it over?

So, he waited until sunrise. When he could finally entered your room, imagining you in your shortest pajamas, which hugged your curves so perfectly, he had to bite his bottom lip to control himself. Just by the thought of his fingers sinking into your flesh as you leaned toward him for more...

"Goodbye, Mom!" Your voice echoed in Homelander's mind as he realized he'd been lurking around your house since last night. He had been trying to dismiss, the missed call records provided by Ashley, however, unable to ignore them. Fortunately, he was hidden well enough that you didn’t notice him as you exited the house.

Your hair meticulously washed, your skin fresh with makeup, and that dress. Never in a thousand years, aside from his own enemies, did Homelander think he would become so obsessed with someone. He wanted to chuckle to himself at the irony, knowing he wasn’t being the most subtle superhero. When your gaze shifted toward his hiding spot, he quickly concealed himself behind a tree, exhaling in relief when you shrugged off the feeling of being watched. You then left for work, something Homelander knew all too well. This also meant he could meet your mother, who, after all, was his biggest fan. 

Fortunately, you managed to get through the day without a single client yelling at you. However, what you didn’t expect was an unexpected visit from the man himself. As you approached the door, you overheard some mumbling. Did your mother have a visitor today? 

And then it hit you.

Hearing the all-too-familiar voice say, "Oh, these look lovely," with a genuine smile, you froze in your tracks. Seeing your mother so happy, even more thrilled than a fangirl, like she’d seen god himself. She noticed you immediately. "My dear! Look who came to visit," she exclaimed, taking you into her arms for a hug. Before you could greet the guest, your eyes met his—Homelander, in your own home. 

"No need for theatrics, ma’am," he said with a casual chuckle, hushed by his own hand as he munched on the cookies your mother had made, casually wiping a droplet of milk with his thumb. Your mother giggled and said, "Mother is the name. We don’t have to get formal, right darling?" You blinked twice, hardly believing what you were hearing. Your mother was genuinely making Homelander feel comfortable, right inside your home. Given what you knew from your coworkers and the constant rumors, it was hard not to be creeped out by the thought that he might have done more than just a knock on the door that evening. Yet, you shrugged it off, thinking that perhaps playing the same game he did might be what he wanted after all. Like a cat and a mouse. 

There was a brief pause, then an idea sparked in your mother’s eyes as she looked at John one last time. "Why don’t you stay for dinner? Tonight is roasted chicken and mashed potatoes." How could he refuse? Spending more time with you was just the beginning of his obsession with protecting you and never letting you out of his sight. He smiled, his grin seemingly bigger than before, and nodded. "If Y/N doesn’t mind?" he said, his gaze shifting to you with a more serious expression. You gulped nervously, knowing you couldn’t just say no. "Yes—yes, of course," you stuttered. Oh, how adorable you looked.

“Then, make yourself at home dear.” 

Dinner was only just a few hours from now, with your father now back from work had asked for a personal photo with the Homelander, and a talk John appreciated more. Considering his own father exiling him completely, it was a breath of fresh air for him, especially when he’d be glancing a few times at you, doing whatever you had in mind before the dinner. “My daughter is going to be working for us,” your father would be saying proudly, Homelander could only nod listening actively. “She’d do a great addition I am certain.” his gaze now meeting yours immediately, when you gaze up from your book, he could notice a light shade of pink coming your cheeks. Cherishing it a little too much when your father’s voice then abrupt his mind, “She’s beautiful isn’t she?” he’d said a little too proud. 

She is indeed… Homelander thought to himself that same night. Just by how attentive he was with you. Even if it wasn’t  much of a conversation shared, the glances were enough to please him alone. Which during the dinner, he was not afraid to show. 

Dinner had passed rather quickly, you were glad it did. Considering you listening to whatever nonsense Homelander had to offer to keep your mother so relonctent toward him. Let alone, praise him as a her own god. Boosting an ego, to whom you couldn’t comprehend yourself, and that Homelander was sure to make it seem tonight. 

"Thank you so much for dinner, truly," Homelander said, wiping the corners of his mouth, his eyes never leaving you. Your mother’s gasp was enough to momentarily distract him, and he asked if everything was alright. She quickly assured him it was and invited him to stay until her cake was done baking. Naturally, John didn't decline the offer. "Y/N," your mother called your attention just as you were about to excuse yourself, "how about you give a little tour of the house? I'm sure Homelander would appreciate it." The formality of his name seemed daunting, but John quickly corrected her. "John it is. No need to be formal, now, do we?" A shiver crawled down your spine as your mother’s eyes gleamed with hope, her slender fingers clapping together. "Oh, well, of course! Now, Y/N, make yourself useful and make John feel at home." 

A sigh escaped your lips; there was no way to avoid this, was there? "Yes, of course. Where do you want to start?" Your eyes never left his, feeling yourself getting lost in them, becoming his little mouse to play with. "How about..." he began, his eyes wandering as if he couldn’t be bothered to think. "The bedroom," he finally said. You blinked twice, a third time to fully process his words. "What?" you replied, incredulous. He chuckled, amused by your reaction, and shrugged off the question as if he hadn’t meant it seriously. "Nah, kidding. Lead the way," he said. 

So you did. You felt his shadow hovering over you as you both walked through the house for a little tour. John was no longer hiding his presence, leaning in closer to you. You could feel his breath. By the time you reached your bedroom, the tour was complete, and your mother’s cake would be ready. However, John had something else in mind, and he wasn’t shy about showing it. “And this is the bedroom,” you said nonchalantly, hearing an obvious scoff from him. 

"Funny, isn’t it?" he said, this time his tone serious enough to make your muscles tense. His back was to you as his fingers touched the doorknob, ready to close the door. And he did, pausing momentarily. "Finally, we meet again." His remark made you tilt your head. Meet again? As far as you knew, he had been stalking you all along. But knowing who he was—Homelander, with his omniscience and twisted games—you had no say in the matter. Neither did you, especially after hearing his chuckle. 

“Now why so quiet?” the question was enough to make you unsease. You wanted to tell him, to oppose to him. But you couldn’t he was now yours to torment completely. When he leaned further, scoffing once more by your vulnerability. In that precise moment, Homelander knew he won. 

“Heard you were a good, fuck.” his voice so nonchanltly, a gasp leaving from your mouth as you were unable to speak more than standing right in front of him. How his eyes would wondered around your figure, approaching near to you, his fingers now leaning toward your waist. Gripping by its touch, hungry to fuck you there, in the bed. Raw. 

"Thank you?" you stammered, eager to please him. His grin broadened, fighting not to turn into a frown at your response. He was so satisfied that he gently caressed your cheek with his other finger. "You need me, not just to save you, but to satisfy you." Though your heart was broken, you were a toy Homelander cherished without fear. You were his perfect little toy, as he began to lick his bottom lip, his breath drawing closer, closing the gap between you. "Mine," he growled, his voice hoarse, undeniably hinting at his intentions. He was Homelander, able to do whatever he wanted. And that included you being his. "Got it, little mouse?"

Oh, how he longed to watch you squirm between his legs, begging for more, moaning his name. His persistence knew no bounds; he would do anything—from leaving bite marks to scratches, and even hickeys if necessary. But he couldn't just stand there without having a little fun, right?

"You see," he said, his voice dripping with teasing malice. Disgust welled up in your mouth, but you fought the urge to look away. He loved watching you squirm, the fear in your eyes fueling his twisted envy of every inch of you. "How about we play a little game tonight, hmm?" His thumb brushed gently over your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his.

"W-what game?" you managed to say, breaking your long silence. Even he was momentarily surprised, but your stutter made it worth it. "Hide and seek," he said, pausing for effect. "You hide, and I seek. If I find you, you're mine. Got that?"

You gave a quick nod, followed by a satisfied smile from him. "Good then, I'll start counting. One, two..." You hesitated for a moment, just as his grip shifted from your waist to your arm, preventing you from fleeing your own home. When your eyes met his, they were dark with passion, lust, and a desire to capture his little mouse until its very last breath. "Run..."

Little mouse.”

[ordinaryschmuck]

With Gooseworx all but confirming that the Jax being an AI thing is bullshit, I personally want to talk about an interesting part about Jax that a lot of theorists used as "evidence" that validates the theory:

Jax's fourth wall breaks are a common topic brought up amongst the "Jax is an NPC" theory. After all, Caine broke the fourth wall in the pilot, knowing full well that the world of The Amazing Digital Circus isn't real and is talking to some unseen viewer as he introduces the Circus Crew.

There's also this bit of official art surrounding Jax's pin:

Where everyone else is inside their room, Jax is outside as pieces of the circus fall apart around him and all of reality to crash. Certainly lends itself to this idea that Jax knows he's not a real person and that his presence could cause great disruption to this world. And he doesn't care because none of it is real. Might as well have fun and cause chaos in a world that doesn't exist.

And I'll admit, all of this seems like valid claims for how the theory could be true. I saw it all and thought that it surely COULD be possible...but there are some things that stop me from being convinced.

Firstly, Caine breaking the fourth wall in the pilot doesn't really seem like an AI talking to the audience. It looks more like an AI programmed to talk to a player as a game boots up. What we saw in the opening could be more like a morning routine that he has to do at least once a day. Plus, we've yet to see any other NPC talk to the audience like Jax has. He explicitly called out the viewers in episode three, knowing full well he's being watched by SOMEONE. Or, at the very least, acting like he is. What do I mean by that? Well, to explain, I'd like to use one of my favorite fourth wall breakers as an example:

Deadpool, in most adaptations, knows fully well that he's a fictional character. He'll talk to the readers/viewers, move the camera around, and constantly talk shit to the writers/studio for occasionally screwing him over. It's all in good (Sometimes bloody) fun...but there's a canonical reason for this. It's not like She-Hulk where the fourth wall breaks are a way to tell HER stories HER way. You see, Deadpool...is just fucking insane.

No, really, that's the reason. Due to the trauma of gaining his powers, Deadpool's mind breaks and he's led to believe that he MUST be a fictional character. In comics, he actually gets voices in his head that makes him think he must be some comic book superhero, and the movies implied that something similar happened given how he never broke the fourth wall ONCE before getting his powers. This means him breaking the fourth wall could be seen as a coping mechanism. After all, it's better to believe you're a fictional character designed to entertain some invisible audience than believe that all of the shitty things that happened to you and people close to you is just a cruel joke from the universe.

Sound familiar?

Going back to the pilot, remember how Pomni's first instinct was to say that the Circus was all just a dream? To her, it's better to live in a lie that everything around her isn't real than to accept the reality that she's stuck in digital purgatory. Jax very well could be going through something similar, but unlike Pomni who seemed to just accept her reality, Jax never did. The trauma of being stuck in the Circus had led to his mind breaking just like Pomni's, Kinger's, and anyone else's. It's just that, for him, he thinks he's coping with it better because he discovered the secret that no one else did: None of this is real.

They're not actually people trapped in some hellscape while an AI unintentionally tortures them. They're all just fictional characters whose tragedies and silly antics are used to entertain viewers. I mean, it's either that or they're real people forever trapped in the circus with the closest thing to death being a full, psychotic break as they give up their sanity because they no longer want to exist in this hell anymore...But that possibly can't be true. Because if that IS true, then Jax has to face that he's a real person stuck in a real, awful situation that he can't joke his way out of. So, it's best to think nothing is real and nothing they do matter. So, might as well have fun with it.

Going back to the pin...

I don't think this is damning evidence about Jax being an NPC. Actually, it perfectly captures who he is as a character. He knows the circus isn't real. He even thinks HE isn't real. So instead of grappling with that, Jax lets himself believe that if nothing is real than nothing he does matters. He can break things, ruin lives, and assist in torturing the others in the circus. It's what he thinks will make the show more entertaining, even though all he's really entertaining is himself so his mind doesn't break more than it does.

Now, could the same apply if he's an NPC? Well...maybe. Gumigoo definitely proves how far someone could fall when they're told their world is fake. He was about ready to give up on life because he didn't think he had one. If Jax was an NPC, I could see him having a similar break, but going in the far opposite direction where, instead of giving up on life, he chooses to live the way HE wants it. Instead of being some one-off NPC for a lame adventure, he could go off on adventures of his own and ruin the lives of others now that his is thoroughly ruined.

However, Gooseworx makes a good point: "...a lot of people come up with theories based on how unexpected they'd be, and not because they make sense or align with the show's themes."

If Jax is an NPC, it would harm the overall message of the show. That there's meaning to be found in a stagnant life, and you find that meaning with people close to you who make that life worth living. Jax represents a sort of foil to that idea, with his way of coping with the madness being pure chaos and breaking others. It's his coping mechanism, and it works because it shows how human Jax really is. They're ALL human and they have human desires and wants, with the Circus pretty much stripping that away and leaving them...as they are now. They're emotionally broken, their sanity is decreasing, and some of them are losing all sense of self. By making Jax an NPC, it would definitely be surprising, but it would take away from that idea. It no longer makes him a human facing his own tragedy but instead an AI that's just as broken as Gummigoo. More than that, it gives the others an easy out. All the crew has to do is tell Caine that Jax is an NPC and POOF! No more annoyance. So making him someone who HAS to stay with the others and they're forever forced to deal with him also adds more to THEIR tragedy and torture.

Jax being an NPC is an interesting theory, but I don't think it's one that SHOULD be true. To me, it's more fascinating watching Jax treat the world around him as meaningless knowing he's a human instead of a rogue NPC breaking everything. And Gooseworx made it clear how they feel about it. Now, could it potentially be a mislead to get fans off the trail? Genuinely...I don't think so. That sounded very "I don't like this idea so it's not gonna happen" type of response. Still, we won't know until the show wraps up. Anything can happen, but don't get your hopes up if a character who does bad things to people that don't deserve it is more human than you think.

[mothandpidgeon]

Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 9k

a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.

Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young

You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you. 

You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller. 

Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely. 

Her words still ring in your ears. 

“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”

“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life. 

“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said. 

You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.

So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you. 

But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart. 

“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder. 

“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says. 

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask. 

She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room. 

“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid. 

You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you. 

You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better. 

It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now. 

“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say. 

That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture. 

“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say. 

Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”

“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”

You both laugh. 

“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles. 

You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. 

“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”

Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.

You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there. 

At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time. 

Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face. 

“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy. 

She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen. 

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach. 

“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself. 

A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze. 

“Mercy?” Sarah asks. 

You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass. 

Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air. 

“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.  

“Where’s your dad?” you ask her. 

You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around. 

“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.” 

Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night. 

The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller. 

Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away. 

You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.  

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper. 

You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands. 

What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor. 

You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.

“Help me,” he rasps. 

He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something. 

But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies. 

As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral. 

Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break. 

Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster. 

When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk. 

Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground. 

With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence. 

This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you. 

“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged. 

Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete. 

For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her. 

“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.

There’s a thud and then quiet. 

You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill. 

Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway. 

Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers. 

“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says. 

“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her. 

“But she’s hurt!”

She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle. 

Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck. 

“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”

You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away. 

You wait for a long time. 

As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now. 

You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes. 

Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine. 

For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare. 

No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you. 

He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family. 

But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope. 

The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning. 

You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday. 

You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt. 

They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you. 

He left you to die but you just go on living.  

It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night. 

You’re on your own. 

A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.

At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone. 

On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her. 

You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.

Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead. 

When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head. 

It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk. 

You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north. 

You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival. 

By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you. 

They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal. 

It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.  

Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven. 

You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached. 

Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall. 

It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table. 

You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home. 

Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you. 

He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright. 

“Uncle Tommy?” you manage. 

“That really you?” he asks. 

Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.  

You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope. 

“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”

He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife? 

“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner. 

And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller. 

He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.

It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up. 

He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become. 

“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up. 

He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel. 

You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival. 

“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago. 

You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath. 

“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall. 

There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened. 

At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. 

You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes. 

“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says. 

It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you. 

But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious. 

“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself. 

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder. 

“You should’ve saved her,” you bark. 

Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back. 

“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say. 

You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing. 

You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall. 

The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel. 

Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today. 

It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine. 

“You okay?” Ellie asks. 

She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much. 

He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall. 

“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers. 

It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken. 

“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says. 

She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out. 

Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache. 

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted. 

He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you. 

The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded. 

So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves. 

“Want some company?” you ask. 

He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in. 

Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Surprised you remember,” he says. 

“My best friend’s birthday?”

He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”

“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.” 

You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living. 

You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything. 

You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down. 

“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.” 

“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him. 

“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says. 

He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.

“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.

Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.

“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”

“Shit,” Joel says. 

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”

You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear. 

“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him. 

A thick knot forms in his throat. 

There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment. 

He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch. 

The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end. 

“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”

You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out. 

It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky. 

The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen. 

“How’d…”

“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”

You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well. 

“You sure?” he asks. 

You nod. “I know where to find it.”

He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect. 

“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask. 

“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains. 

You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates. 

You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since. 

“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes. 

He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile. 

“How’s she look?” you ask. 

He can’t help but chuckle. He nods. 

You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair. 

You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.

Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library. 

Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor. 

He’s still Mr. Miller, after all. 

Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”. 

He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved. 

Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.

“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly. 

You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.  

You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”

“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink. 

He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy. 

“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze. 

He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing. 

You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.  

You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet. 

You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago. 

It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek. 

“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours. 

It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it. 

“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say. 

He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went. 

You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night. 

That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.

He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.   

He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning. 

And then you kissed him. 

Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing. 

You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone. 

The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you. 

That’s when he heard it. 

It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong. 

She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you. 

He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again. 

If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself. 

He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you. 

Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you. 

“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon. 

Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth. 

“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table. 

“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.  

“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”

“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs. 

“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says. 

“Dentment is not a word,” you reply. 

“Neither is thoard,” Joel says. 

“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.

This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life. 

But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.  

When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.   

The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there. 

Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips. 

He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open. 

“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers. 

“Stay,” you murmur. 

He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back. 

But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?  

He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress. 

Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well. 

When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further. 

You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could. 

It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.  

After a while, though, it happens. 

Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them. 

He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light. 

You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment. 

The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him. 

You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper. 

You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. 

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever. 

You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want. 

You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul. 

When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass. 

You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him. 

Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him. 

Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply. 

You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this. 

You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories. 

Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.

Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before. 

But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.

You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back. 

It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.  

Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?” 

You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft. 

“Pretty,” he says almost to himself. 

He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all. 

Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart. 

You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection. 

Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years. 

In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you. 

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

[ririblogsss]

what if Danny give no fu-ks

Ok hear me out, Dannys obsession has never truest been confirmed by the show itself (that I remember) I've seen a lot of people say his obsession comes from wanting to help / protect people. But what if he feels as though that he is now doing more damage than good, after all there are a lot of people getting hurt as colateral damage from the chases he has to go on. Or simply when he has to run away from getting captured.

What if one night he was up late and saw a post about a tragedy that happened because he slipped up (it wasn't even his fault, but he still blames himself for everything). And then he starts looking at all the bad comments against him ignoring all the good ones saying how much Danny Phantom has helped Amity. Because Danny is still human and confirmation bias is real. Imagine how he felt the moment he realized that he was causing people to get hurt instead of keeping them save.

Image the desperation clawing at him with the realization that he has never been able to fully manage his obsession. it makes him sad, desperate, angry.

His entire self is filled with too many emotions at the sametime he isn't even able to identify them and catalogue them properly like Jazz taught him.

and then everything stops and he feels nothing.

Completely and utterly numb.

Like his whole reason to keep going suddenly disappears.

And it has.

He gave up on his obsession and now he has to make / get a new one.

But it's not that easy.

This drastic change could've ended any ghost as they run on (live off) emotions.

Luckily because he's a Halfa, so that has given him the upper hand. Unfortunately it makes it so that he is completely devoid of any emotion.

Months go by and people immediately notice changes, the more drastic one is that Phantom went missing, and eventually a lot of ghost that where coming in looking for him stop. Amity Park is no longer populated by ghosts, and slowly the GIW started to retreat from Amity going to another place following a lead that says there are more ghost activities up north.

But those changes aren't the only ones noticeable. Dannys classmates and teachers can vouch that Danny has changed. Most say he was always quite , and others say he looked down right depressed. Danny didn't do much in classes not that he paid attention before. Its just this time it seems that its not out of being sleepy or anxious about another ghost attacking the school instead Danny looks like he coundn't give less of a fu-k about anything.

He never smiles anymore not even when his favorite subjects (mechanics and space) are brought up. Not even a quirk of a smile. The school decided to contact his parents about Dannys new behaviors. That includes skipping classes, not handing in work, not doing the assigned work in class ect....

And its not like his parents havent noticed, they've had more time in their hands since they aren't using hours of the day/night going out hunting anymore. and they have witnessed their son become a shell of himself. They don't know what to do, and they don't want to worry Jazz about it because she's at collage and needs to focus on her studies.

So when the school contact them and told them that the behavior is the same in school they decided major changes needed to happen. Starting with a change of environment.

Maddie and Jack decided that Amity park was too big of a city with too many people. They could nearly see the stars at night because of the light pollution, hence they decided to move next door to Alicia, Maddie sister, home in SmallVille.

They decided it was the best choice, Danny would be surrounded by nature and he could do online classes that would go the pace he wanted. The move was immediate, the day off they packed everything sold the house and moved.

They only stopped to say goodbye to Danny's friends. A small bye and hug later they were on a 7 hour road trip to their new home.

When they got there the old resident handed them the keys of the home and told them to ignore the their neighbors 'The Kents' as they often made a lot of noice and had group gatherings every month.

The one thing Jack and Maddie forgot to double check was if the house was an actual house or a farm house. Sounds similar, but completely different as they now had 2 cows, 16 chickens, 1 rooster, and 3 pigs to take care off.

Danny was put on duty of taking care of the animals, such as feeding them on time and making sure they were healthy. Jack and Maddie made more of the heavy weight as to re building broken fences and fixing the questionable roof.

(The first thing Danny did when meeting all the animals was name them. After all this was about all the interaction he was going to do.)

Danny didn't have time to think about his lost obsession or his lack of emotions as he was now too busy making sure each animal was taken care off.

Marcy and linda (the cows) were danny's favorite they were very gentle and he felt that they could understand him when he spoke to them the stories of his vigilante past.

On the other hand The Chickens were a nightmare, Glinda was cool as she never chased him down. But Matilda and Bethany were a nightmarish duo spiteful too when he was seconds late to the finding time. Mark the rooster was chill he mainly acted as of he was part of the group that needed protection.

Marice, Betty, and Miss Piggy were the chillest of the bunch never gave Danny any trouble when feeding them and always made a point that they loved their new mudbath installation that Danny made for them on his first 2 days on the farm.

A month after arriving at the farm house Danny noticed that mark was missing. Danny looked everywhere around the property and saw him from afar, at the road. So Danny did the sensible thing anyone would do when spotting a run away pet, and that is call their name at the top of your lungs whilst running after them.

naturally Mark the escape artist run the opposite direction. By the time Danny caught up to him Danny didn't recognize the house he was infant off. So with Mark comfortably in his arms He swears he can see a smug look on marks face. Danny turned away from the house to start his walk back to the farm, but he was met with a kid his age looking at him with distrust.

"Ehhh look kid Im sorry to have crossed the properties border but Mark here" Danny made a point to acentuate Mark in his arms "Runaway from me this morning and I've been trying to catch him ever since, anyways I need to go feed the girls"

The kid starred at him for a second "OMG your from the new family in Mr.duncans farm right? in Aver ST.?" and wow the kid was like a ray of sunshine.

"Yea-" Danny could even finish his sentence before the kid cut him off by starting to talk a mile a minute about how he was so exited to meet people his age that lived near by and how farm chores were harder that normal house chores.

"Jon, give him time to respond. Im Damian this is Jon" Danny jumped he hadn't noticed the second kid at all

"Oh yeah... sorry about that what's your name?" The kid (Jon) slightly less enthusiasm, a bit embarrassed if his tone of voice was anything to get by.

"Danny, Im 15" he responded before he started walking away after all he did need to get in time to feed the chickens unless he wants to suffer their furry. Danny shuddered at the memory that popped up in his head.

"Wait!!! I just thought we could be friends cause we live close by u know" Jon said catching up with Dannys steps. Damian was following from behind.

"Sure kid I don't care" Dannys voice was monotone much like it had been for months.

"Hey were not kids for your information, Im 14 and Damians 16 soon to be 17, so if anything you night be the actual kid!" Danny chuckled slightly it was more similar to releasing air from his lips than a laugh.

Soon a quite and enjoyable science encompassed the group as they went to Dannys home.

"Hmm... you're hold on Mark is adequate and the your determination for getting home in time for feeding is acceptable" Damian spoke up after a while of the passive silence.

"yeah and what is It to you" Danny was slightly urked by Damians default setting speach. He told him as such.

Jon blanched before erupting into giggles that sent him to lay down on the grass uncontrollably laughing. Damians right eyebrow quirked up in what Danny assumed was amusement.

Thus a new friendship grew that day.

They often gathered at Dannys or Jons yard to have picnic in the weekends (as Damian and Jon has school in Metropolis on week days) and hangout with the animals. Danny found out that Damian was a vegetarian and that he had various animals at home. One time he brought his Great Dane Titus, who bodied Danny on sight to give him kisses.

Also Damian was Damian Wayne as in bruce Wayne, Batman sugar daddy. When he said that, Jons milk flew out of his nose and Damian choked on his cucumber wrap. Even Titus gave him a judgemental stare.

Slowly Danny started to smile more, laugh every so often. And things were feeling so much better after not being able to feel anything for a while.

Jazz, Aunt Alicia and especially Maddie and Jack felt so relived to see that Danny was slowly coming back to them.

Danny to this day backs the fact that Mark knew something and planned the whole thing.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (prt 7)

Masterpost

Danny was very happy to be dragged around by Damian being introduced to all of his pets, first outside to the barn to meet Bat Cow and his ducks, and the giant weird dragon creature which was so cute!! It was all over Danny too, obviously liked him. Danny had a feeling if he woke up from nightmares or couldn’t sleep he would end up finding his way back to the barn to cuddle up with these animals. At this time of year it would probably be a bit cold and night but the cold never really bothered him and Goliath was warm. 

Then back into the house to meet all of the pets, the dogs, and snakes, and Alfred the cat, and finally a second cat and her kittens. 

“This one is just a foster,” Damian said, sitting on the bed with his legs crossed in a half lotus as Danny sat on the floor next to the box the mama cat was in with her four little ones. Danny felt like he might cry, it was so cute! The mama was a little wary of him but he was easing her way into her trust and good graces.

“Mhm?” Danny sounded, he was listening but he was scared to move since the mama cat was sniffling his fingers.

“I found her while she was heavily pregnant, feral cats usually have kittens in spring, at this time of year they would have been too vulnerable outside. I’ll rehome them when they’re old enough,” Damian explained. “I was glad I got her to trust me enough that I could be present and make sure nothing went wrong while she had the babies.”

Danny held his breath as he tried to pet the cat. The quiet stretching between them until he felt ready to talk without scaring the cat. “Am I your next pregnant stray,” Danny joked.

Damian gave him a guarded look over. “... I have been told humans don’t like being compared to animals,” He said bluntly, and Danny laughed. 

“Ya most don’t. But you take very good care of your animals, when you’re making this comparison, I’m guessing what you’re trying to say is that you’ll do what you can do be here for me and make sure I have what I need for me and the babies to be healthy and safe?” Danny said, giving Damian a fond smile. 

“Yes,” Damian said stiffly. This was why he usually preferred animals, they could read his intentions and didn’t require him to say such embarrassingly vulnerable things. At least Danny was saying them for him so he just had to agree. 

Danny finished petting the cat and moved to sit next to Damian on the bed. “It’s okay Damian, I really appreciate that. I know handling these emotions can be hard, they feel too big for our bodies and they’re hard to express. I’ll let you in on a secret though, they’re more easy to express physically, and I’m not made of glass just because I’m pregnant. We should spar later.”

“Are you formally trained?” Damian asked stiffly. 

“My mother was an expert martial artist and she taught me, but I’m very strong too. I promise you won’t hurt me Damian,” He promised, bumping his shoulder against the kid’s and giving him a smile. 

“Alright, I will go easy on you.” Damian promised, just as stiffly.

“Until I prove you can’t afford to,” Danny joked and Damian scoffed and shoved Danny’s shoulder. “But really, thank you Damian. It means a lot that you and your family are willing to stick your necks out for me like this.” He sighed, if he didn’t know better he might have wished his parents had been the ones to protect and support him like this, but wishes were dangerous things.

“This family is made entirely of strays, tragedy is a prerequisite. You’ll fit right in,” Damian promised before getting up from the bed, apparently that was enough emotion. “Do you want to train now?” he asked looking back at Danny. 

“Sure, I assume this being the home of the bats and birds there’s some sort of training space?” Danny asked getting up from the bed. 

“Yes. This way,” Damian agreed and trotted out of the room with Danny on his heels, making sure to close the door behind him so none of the kittens could wander out. 

--------

Jason took off his helmet and dropped it on the couch with a sigh of relief before wandering back into the kitchen to grab a drink. So what if he was technically still too young for it? He’d done a lot worse just in the last 24 hours then half a glass of scotch. He had been off grid for a couple of days on a mission and had just gotten home. He was exhausted and half of him wanted to have his drink and go to bed, leaving his phone off for another day so he could get a proper rest. 

But he had responsibilities, both to his gang, his turf, and more recently even to his family, so he turned it back on and grimaced when more than a dozen notifications popped up in a row. Damn, something big must have happened while he was gone. Why could there never be just a quiet day around here?!

He opened the most recent message from Bruce that just said; ‘can you call me when you have the chance?’ which made him sigh. But at the same time, it wasn’t urgent, it was ‘when he had a chance’ not immediately or anger about him not answering sooner. So knowing that he scrolled back down to the oldest message so he could get a feel of what was going on.

Cas, 28 hours ago: New brother! 🤗

Oh, well that was a very good start to the context, it seemed that Bruce was in the process of adopting some other poor schmuck. Well, hopefully they’d do better by it then Jason had. And explained why Bruce wanted him to call, he always worried now how Jason would react to new siblings, as if he wasn’t well over that. He’d only been mad about Tim at first but he wasn’t even Really mad at Tim anymore! Ya he felt the urge to attack him regularly, but only the same way Jason did with everyone else in the family now.

Tim 22 hours ago: I’ve got a favour to ask, or maybe a tip for you depending on how much you want to kill someone right now. Vlad Masters brought a pregnant 16 year old to the gala last night. Apparently he’s the baby daddy. 

Oh that had Jason seeing green, his lips pulling back in a silent snarl. That man was good as dead, especially when Jason paused to google him and saw someone who must have been old enough to be the kids Father, if not even grandfather judging by the gray hair! 

Tim 19 hours ago: Don’t rush in! Turns out he’s got superpowers of the magical variety. You’re going to have to prepare for this one, and talk to Danny.

Danny must be the new kid then, the pregnant 16 year old Bruce was no doubt making quick steps to at least foster. Where were the kid’s parents in this? 

Tana 16 hours ago: Please make sure your wards are set up and you have that anti-possession charm we gave you. There is a situation still developing. 

Huh, well, good to know both that she was involved and what sort of powers they might be dealing with. 

Tim 8 hours ago: We have the parents in custody but didn’t have the resources to hold Masters. Danny and his sister are staying at the manor for now. You’ll like her, tough-as-nails red head.

Jason rolled his eyes, he dated one amazon and now everyone thinks the only people he’s into are tough ladies! He likes tough boys too god damn it! Why doesn’t no one get after Dickie about this?! (He knows they do.)

The last text from the family before Bruce’s was one from Damian, which was rare.

Damian: Hello Todd, you should know before you meet him that Danny has also previously died and come back. I believe you and he are quite similar and I do not know if that will mean you get along well or if you will repel one another. You should know that if you hurt him there will be consequences. 

Well wasn’t that just the cutest! Demon brat didn’t usually get attached to new people so soon.

He texted Bruce back: No I will Not call you. But I can be bribed to come for dinner tomorrow if Alfred makes lasagna. 

He checked the messages he had from his lieutenants about business and replied to the ones that needed it. Then the ones from his friends. He was just about to turn his phone off again when he got a text back from Bruce. 

Bruce: Done, we’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sorry Jay.

Well that was ominous. Jason sighed and turned off his phone, setting it down on the coffee table and heading to bed. He needed to fucking sleep. Whatever the hell Bruce was sorry for could wait until tomorrow.

--------

Bruce had asked Jasmine for a copy of her slideshow, and Tim for a copy of his notes and updated the files on Danny, Jasmin, Damian, and Jason. He always felt a bit odd about the files he had on his own children, but they were important! Both because his memory wasn’t infallible and he needed to remember all this, and because if he needed to tell someone about his children quickly it was good to have all that already typed out and ready.

Not he was just sitting at the Bat-Computer, staring at the cover picture of the slide show. All of them were so young, and all dead or irrevocably changed by the actions of adults around them. His goal, all their goals, had always been to make a safer world for children, and everyone but especially children. And every time he was confronted with the abject failure to protect a child it tore at his heart. If he found who had blocked them from contacting the JL he was going to have very strong words with them.

“You can’t save every child Master Bruce,” Alfred said making Bruce jump. He must have been staring at the computer for longer then he realized, to not notice the butler’s approach. “There are billions of people on the planet, you cannot catch every single one, especially the clever ones who hide it well. They’re responsible for the harm they cause, not you for not being able to stop it.”

They’d had this conversation before when Bruce got too hanged up on the people he’d failed. He knew that wallowing didn’t do any good, and depression got in the way of action, but he couldn’t always help it. As hyper-logical as he tried to be to compensate, he was still human, and seeing these things would always hurt.

“It’s not just Danny and Jazz,” Bruce said, rubbing his face. “It’s Jason too, I’m trying to figure out how… how what Jazz said about liminals and ghost changes how I feel about him. She says they can look like their immoral but it’s always amoral, following their obsession. I feel like I failed him that this is how he came back. And I blamed him so much, and put him down so much. She said their obsessions have to be supported, if they don’t indulge in their obsessions they die.

“No wonder he’s reacted so negatively every time I talked to him about this revenge quest, this thing that he’s doing. Now that I know I wonder if we can compromise, if we can’t then what? I don’t know if I can blame him at all for what he’s doing, but I know what he’s doing is wrong. I don’t know what to do Alfred.” Bruce said, rubbing his face hard.

“Well, it sounds to me you’re putting the cart before the horse Master Bruce. You haven’t even spoken to him about it yet, and you haven’t slept in more than 24 hours. Sleep, then talk to him, then you’ll know how worried to actually be,” Alfred advised.

“You’re right, as usual,” Bruce chuckled and got up, shutting down the bat computer. “What would I do without you,” He chuckled, patting Alfred’s shoulder affectionately. 

“I’m sure you’d be just fine,” Alfred said, in a tone that made it clear he was just being polite and a playful twinkle in his eyes that made Bruce laugh. 

“Thank you Alfie. Let’s all get some rest.”

Next

[iris-qt]

𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚘

🫧 ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🫧 ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

🫧 ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

🫧 ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪᴄ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴜʏꜱ’ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ꜱᴏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴏɴᴇ!

🫧 ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴜɴᴡɪɴᴅɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ ᴠᴀᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ɪᴛᴀʟʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ᴅ ʀᴜɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ: ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ

Azure blue skies and endless summer breeze tails you through the rolling green countryside of San Gimignano, Italy. This was true, pure bliss. A flow of relaxation that you haven’t felt since…Merlin knows when. The stress of endless exams and finals, everlasting prefect duties, and bickering with your horrid nemesis really left a mark; as represented by your unrelenting dark circles and deep forehead lines.

But at least all of that was giving way to the Italian atmosphere and it left behind a happy girl that would donate a kidney to spend her entire summer here. Unfortunately you were only visiting for a week before school began once more; your final year. This brought a sense of dread to your heart as you would miss the enchanting castle. Your second home.

You pushed that aside as you zoomed through the countryside of this ravishing country on your cute little teal Vespa. Truth be told you’d never driven a muggle vehicle before, but there’s always a first time for everything.

And so your lack of experience with muggle vehicles was the cause of you not being aware that gas has to be filled. You thought the meter getting closer to 0 represented the dissipation of your happy mood as you were, per usual, plaguing yourself with paranoid and pessimistic thoughts. The sudden shuddering of the Vespa made you lose balance and you began veering off track, you and your precious vehicle zooming down a hill with the sheer force of gravity. You screamed for dear life, and, at last, landed in a shallow pond with an enormous splash.

You bobbed up, gasping for air, and scrambled out of the lake quite ungracefully, summer outfit ruined and soaking wet. And suddenly, you heard a scarily familiar, devilish chuckle that just so happened to find your tragic predicament amusing: your mood as drenched as your clothes.

As you slowly glanced up trembling, not knowing if your shaking was from the water, shock, pure rage, or all three, you made direct eye contact with a certain boy musing at your tragedy. His eyes were overflowing with humor as he was leaning against a tree, his tanned legs crossed over each other. He seemed to be reading a book which he put down as he had found something better worth his attention. He gracefully stands up, a complete contrast from how you scrambled out of the pond, much to your annoyance.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, angioletto mio?” He smirks.

“Nott,” you scoffed. “Small world…or cruel fate,” you stand there, dripping wet, arms spread out like a martyr.

Of course you knew the insufferable Theodore Nott was Italian and often visited family here, but you didn’t think you’d be subjected to his presence in such a big country, especially in the less populated countryside. It was truly just cruel fate that brought this spawn of satan before your eyes.

“I didn’t know you were that desperate to see me,” Theodore cocks his head to the side, quite enjoying this arrangement. “Risking your life on a muggle vehicle zooming to my town.”

You roll your eyes, and if you were in a cartoon universe, trust that there would be steam coming out of your ears.

“Trust me Nott. I had no intention to run into a walking headache on my vacation.”

The insufferable git kept smiling, moving closer now, standing right in front of you so you could smell the usual dizzying scent of sandalwood and pine. Summer edition Theo had a hint of citrus mingled in with his intoxicatingly annoying scent.

“I already got you soaking wet, now you just have to get naked,” he laughed with the most disgustingly smug look on his face that you almost slapped off.

“Are you done?” You glared at him, ready to storm off and free yourself from the torment of his presence.

He shrugged, looking you over.

“Need help drying off?”

“I need help out of this conversation.”

“Oh stop, y/n, you can do better than that,” he grinned

You sigh very well aware you had no other option. You hold out your arms and shut your eyes waiting for his casting of the Hot Air Charm. Since you had resolved to live the simple muggle life for this vacation, your wand was locked in a vault at your hotel room.

Theo laughs, “Are you waiting for a kiss, principessa?”

You open your eyes, confused. “No, I’m waiting for you to dry me off like you said, idiot.”

He laughs again shrugging and says, “I don’t carry my wand around my domain, there’s no need.”

“Then, pray do tell me, Nott, what was your plan in helping me?”

He gives you the most shit-eating grin and grabs your hand, scaring you a bit, then begins pulling you up another grassy, verdant hill: one that isn’t hiding a body of water behind it. You have the urge to resist, but just give in. The drop from your adrenaline-rush you’d been maintaining for the past 3 days had collapsed, causing you to come down with an attitude of resolve. He dragged you up the hill, your wet sandals making squelching sounds, each one demeaning you more and more. You hated this shift in power where the perfect git was overshadowing you. You hated it. You hated him. I think.

“So why were you in the countryside? Other than wanting to see me so badly, of course.” He looks behind him and shoots his watercolor poison into your soul as he makes that unblinking eye contact. Another thing on the meter-long list of things you despise about him.

“I was in a self-deprecating mood and decided to ruin my record streak of relaxation by finding you,” you deadpanned as you rolled your eyes for extra affect.

“Y/N relaxing? You must be lying.”

He chuckled a bit as you two stopped at the top of the vast hill, looking down to a meadow of wildflowers. They glowed like colorful jewels in the blinding, comforting summer sun.

“What’re you gonna do, push me off?” You smirked, half wishing he’d do so. Maybe this was all a nightmare. A beautiful, lush, tinged with the familiar scent of Theo nightmare.

What you didn’t expect, however, was him saying:

“Precisely.”

And with a surprisingly gentle tug, he pulled you down on the top of the hill, pushed you back in a laying position before you could protest, and quite literally pushed you down the hill. You screamed as you, for the second time that day, gave all free will up to gravity, rolling down the hill at a crazy speed. You knew Nott was your unproclaimed but painfully obvious nemesis but you never thought he’d attempt murder. You finally stopped and lay there, sprawled on your back, heaving from the rush. It was kind of…fun?

Theo rolled down right next to you, laughing, as he sat upright. There was grass in his curly, brunette hair that you couldn’t help but reach out to pluck. He looked away quite shyly. Did your eyes deceive you, or did he just blush? You must have heat stroke. Good thing you had your wet clothes to keep you cool: they were significantly drier now.

You stand up and Theo starts laughing in a way you’ve never heard him laugh before. It was almost…endearing?

You put your hands on your hips teasingly and ask, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

He chuckles affectionately. “Mio angioletto, you have something…everywhere.” He bursts into laughter again. “Beware grass woman rising from the Italian hills,” he gasps through his fits of laughter.

You couldn’t help but smile so wide; his happiness was almost as contagious as his teasing.

You look down and realize the grass was sticking all over your outfit, covering you in verdant greeness. There was an itching sensation bubbling to your skin, but you ignored it. You couldn’t help but join in with his laughter as you could imagine you looked like green Chewbacca.

“Is this your sick way of tar and feathering me, Nott?”

He recovers from his laughter and stands up with you, peeling a wet blade of grass from your cheek.

“Alas, you have uncovered my motives,” he teases, grinning.

“Well, your actual motives didn’t work. I’m still sopping wet.” You wringe out the side of your shirt for dramatic affect as it produces a downpour of water.

“There’s more to my motives, mio angioletto. If at first you don’t succeed, try try again.” He grasps your hand again with a beautiful look on his glowing face and pulls you up to do it all over again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Until the sun is caressing the distant hills, getting ready for its nightly departure. The sky is painted shades of teal and purple; still bright but just so. The breeze is still gentle, and so is Theo’s hold on your hand, as he guides you back to his tree by the wretched pond.

Don’t ask yourself what you and him were at the moment. Don’t ask yourself how years of rivalry and pranks. Of stress related to the both of your never-relenting efforts to beat the other. Don’t ask how that all faded away, as you sat in the setting sun.

Unfortunately, it isn’t in your nature to just ignore logic. And Theo knew it. So he distanced himself from you in light of the passing moment of rolling down flower dotted hills, letting go of your hand. It was as if an igniting flame in your heart had been stifled. He sat across from you by the tree. A silence falling between you two.

The slight itching you had felt earlier had been slowly increasing, and as the fun fell away, it began grabbing your attention. The feeling was in your throat now…something wasn’t right. And that’s when you remembered something that Theo’s warm presence had melted away from your mind. As if your brain had tricked itself to forget about this important fact to permit you and Theo’s fun. You were allergic to wildflowers. If exposed to them for a long time? Horribly allergic.

You started coughing and then choking, pointing to your neck to alert Theo to the problem. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening���he had noticed your uncharacteristically red skin, but he had dismissed it by thinking it was the sun’s doing. How could he overlook this?

Your choking grew louder as you fell onto the grass, Theo scrambled around crazily not knowing what to do in his initial panic.

But then he remembered

He pulled out his wand and cast a healing spell which would diminish every affect of an allergic reaction. You started being able to breathe again and your throat cleared, along with your skin returning to its original color and texture. You were gasping in shock, slightly embarrassed that you had been in such pathetic situations in front of Theodore twice today. You were both holding each others’ arms and breathing deeply. You recovered slightly, attempting to lighten the tense mood.

“Well, if your true motive was to kill me, Nott, I’d say you almost succeeded.” You let out a weak, unconvincing laugh.

“I..I am so sorry, y/n, I genuinely didn’t know..” he looked crestfallen. More shaken than you in fact. Wait a minute…

“Hold on,” you raised an eyebrow, your shock of almost dying completely gone and replaced with a new shock. “I thought you said you didn’t have your wand?”

Theo’s eyes widened sheepishly and he grinned, looking as guilty as ever.

“Ok listen before you throw a fit-“

“I don’t throw fits, I diplomatically argue.”

“Before you throw a tantrum, let me explain.” Theo runs his fingers through his hair looking nervous, and, for the first time, failing to make eye contact.

“I just…I knew you’d leave if I just dried you off. You only stayed because you needed help and, well…” he sighs.

“Well?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about you all summer, y/n. I lay awake all night and I day dream all day. I swear I even saw you in the stars..” he gives a nervous, strained laugh.

“You never leave my thoughts, but I was sure it was just because I had to prove myself. To beat you. But you didn’t even leave my brain after school ended. You haunt me every day. When I saw you I thought I was hallucinating, like, genuinely.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking the most vulnerable he’s ever looked.

You look at him, eyes blazing with emotions you had denied yourself. Emotions that fought to be seen but you always pushed them back. You couldn’t fight back anymore. What were you even fighting against? God, you had some serious issues.

“And so you lied to make me stay?”

Theo nodded, looking to the side, up at the darkening sky.

“Maybe it was the universe that brought me here, because what are the fucking odds?”

You both laughed at that, eyes shining despite the escaping light around you.

“Theo, in my last 3 days I’ve been in your beautiful home country, I’ve visited so many places. The Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Uffizi Galleries. So many amazing places, and I’ve experienced the most inspiring ordeals. But today was, by far, my favorite day.”

Theo regains his composure after hearing that, playfully judging her with his shoulder .

“Because of me, hm?”

You roll your eyes, looking away.

“Say it, principessa..” he prompted, gently holding your face and focusing it towards him.

You dramatically sigh and admit, “Yes, Theodore Nott. Because of you.”

He smiled the most breathtaking smile. If only you could capture a picture of it, but unfortunately your camera went down with the Vespa. You lay your head on his shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut, so that his bright smile could be engraved into your mind. Definitely a core memory.

After many moments of comfortable silence, Theo perks up.

“Oh! By the way, dolcezza, I realized I said the pickup line wrong when you struggled out of the swamp.”

You rolled your eyes at his impertinence and said, “First of all, it’s a pond, Theo. And second of all I did NOT struggle. I emerged like Aphrodite in a shell.”

“Ok my little swamp monster,” he annoyingly nuzzled his nose into your hair as you fought to hold back a giggle.

“Okok let me say the line.”

“Go ahead, Theo.”

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Because you have the face of un angelo.”

He grinned his shit-eating grin as you pretended to retch at the line. Jumping up with the fireflies around you, you tagged Theo, reigniting that competitive streak you both so closely shared. You both laughed like maniacs as you raced up the hill again, fireflies dancing around you in a waltz.

[absolutedestinyapocalypsse]

When Harrow is very obviously grieving, (and also when he wants to gaslight her) John tells her to make soup about it, to focus on the little things, to take it day by day. When asked to help with the lobotomy, Ianthe tells Harrow that the worst is over- she's a lyctor now, and she should try and move forward instead of sticking herself permanently in limbo. These are not terrible pieces of advice to give a grieving person; if actually practiced, they might even be helpful. Except for Harrow, they are the absolute worst things you could possibly say.

None of what happened to her should have happened, of course she doesn't want to accept it and progress further into lyctorhood. Everything is terrifying and new to her, of course she won't find peace in "the little things". John is actively trying to fucking KILL HER, of course SOUP isn't going to help! Like obviously the general grief advice isn't gonna work for Harrow because she's in a psychological horror book and is being haunted and is grieving jesus christ herself, but also, does it really work that well ever? Does being told to move on actually ever in any circumstance help the person move on? Or does it just make them feel more broken, more inadequate, more lonely?

Sure, focusing on little things that give you joy and trying not to ruminate on the past are on paper productive ways to cope, but its also the LAST thing a grieving person actually wants to do. Telling someone to simply forget about what they went through and who they lost, to just focus on the boring and isolating minutae of everyday life instead of the world-ending tragedy they've experienced feels impossible. To do it would be like betraying yourself, and the people you lost.

Most of the book is Harrow knowing that certain things would probably make her feel better if she would just try, being told constantly that if she would just do x y or z, things would fall into place and she would be less broken. She doesn't even remember WHY she feels like this, but she does, and it's all-consuming. Lyctorhood is the scale by which her "normality" is measured, and she is failing SPECTACULARLY. She refuses to set aside Gideon's humanity and significance in her life to use her as a battery, and that makes her weak and a failure in the eyes of the other saints.

But by failing to move on, she ends up actually preserving (??? who actually knows man) Gideon's life. For the classic grief advice to not only be unhelpful to her personally also ACTIVELY MALICIOUS/ HARMFUL PLOT WISE is such a great 180 to me. Instead of a "grieving character comes to terms with loved one's death for the Greater Good and moves on because its the Right Thing To Do" narrative, we get a kind of bereavement revenge fantasy. Harrow's complete refusal to move on stops Gideon from actually fully dying. And she does makes soup, not to cope with the constant terror she's living under, but to EXPLODE her tormentor from the inside out. These things probably aren't "good" for Harrow, or for anyone dealing with grief. They do not make life easier for her, and they do not make her a lyctor, but they are honest and they are SO satisfying. Having the power to bring back the person you lost, even at great personal detriment and to explode everyone who hurt you with your mind is i think the perfect power for someone in mourning and i love that htn let Harrow have it. There is no greater good to be served, no larger moral about loss to be told. The objective is not to see Harrow heal from loss, it's to see her by sheer determination and force of will, refuse to fucking lose.

[libraryofgage]

Good Vibrations Four

One | Two | Three

It has been a hot minute since I updated Good Vibrations hfjdksl thanks everyone for being patient with me, I just couldn't get this part written the way I wanted to for the loooongest time

There's a meme at the very end for anyone who sticks around!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

------

Of all the ways for Eddie's free period to go, getting cornered in the boy's bathroom by Robin Buckley was pretty damn low on the list. It's not even Robin's presence in the boy's bathroom that's throwing him off; it's the way her arms are crossed and she's glaring at Eddie like he's just bragged about kicking her puppy down the street.

Eddie pauses just inside the stall, holding the door open as the toilet struggles to flush behind him. A few seconds pass before Eddie forces himself to walk over to the sinks and wash his hands. "Buckley," he says, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We need to talk, Munson," Robin says, her eyes narrowing as Eddie shuts off the faucet, grabs a few paper towels, and dries his hands. "What's your game?"

"D&D, mostly," Eddie replies, dropping the paper towels in the trash and giving Robin his full attention. He notes, briefly, that she's locked the door to the bathroom, ensuring nobody is walking in on them.

"With Steve, asshole."

Oh.

Eddie pauses, shoves his hands into his pockets, and tilts his head at her. "Still not sure what you mean," he says. He's starting to get an inkling, though.

Robin frowns, seeming to argue with herself before shoving her hands into her hair to push it out of her face. She just leaves it even frizzier and messier as she takes a deep breath. "Do you think Steve is just, like, your entertainment of the week?" she asks, placing her hands on her hips as she levels that same glare from before at him.

"What? Shit, no, of course, not," Eddie says, sliding back a step at the implication. "What the fuck, Buckley?"

She grits her teeth, takes a deep breath, and marches up to Eddie. "Listen, Munson. I know you. I know all about your little Munson Doctrine. I agreed with it once. And because of that, I know you might be thinking of getting to know all about how former King Steve is a...a...a deaf idiot so you can tell the whole fucking world about it," she hisses. "And I'm here to cut that shit off before it even starts. So, if that's your angle, Munson, I suggest you waltz your flat ass out of Steve's life before I bury you in the football field."

There's a lot to unpack there, and Eddie is going to start opening suitcases soon, but first he can't help saying, "My ass isn't flat, Buckley." Robin raises an eyebrow at him and pointedly looks in the mirror. Eddie doesn't follow her gaze, deciding he'd like to spare himself that tragedy.

When she looks back, Eddie clears his throat. "Besides, that's not...that isn't what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?"

Eddie looks away, squirming slightly under her gaze. If this were anyone else, if this were someone who hadn't endured the most awkward seven minutes of his life with him, Eddie wouldn't admit a thing. But because it's Robin, because he knows she'll understand even if she doesn't agree, he finds himself blurting, "I think he's cute!"

"Oh? Oh! Oooohhhh."

He can see Robin going on a whole journey over the course of one word repeated three times, and Eddie almost immediately regrets admitting anything. "You can't tell him," Eddie says, moving forward without thinking and grabbing Robin's shoulders. "I'm serious, Buckley, you can't tell Steve."

She blinks, studying his expression for a moment before humming softly. "What do you want me to do? Lie? I tell Steve everything. He'll know if I'm not telling him something," she says.

"Just say it's not your secret to tell! Because it isn't! It very much is not your secret to be sharing around."

Robin huffs and shrugs Eddie's hands off her shoulders. She leans against the sink, head tilted. "So," she says, her tone implying they're changing the subject now, "when did this little crush of yours start?"

"What do you care?"

"If I'm going to help you, Munson, I need to know."

"You're gonna help me?"

Robin grins at him. "This is my entertainment of the week."

Eddie huffs and looks away, pacing a few times from one end of the bathroom to the other before finally stopping. "Okay," he says, more psyching himself up than anything else. "Steve has always been, you know, hot. It made me so fucking angry when I realized in sophomore year since he was a jock and all. But now...now he's...more. And I'm burning up, man, I've gotta know everything. What's his music collection look like? Do the kids know he's deaf? How does he interact with people when he can't hear them? Is he comfortable closing his eyes when he kisses? Does he feel everything more because he can't hear? Wou--"

"Okay, I'm stopping you there," Robin says, her face twisted in disgust as she levels a judgmental look at Eddie. "I don't want to hear your questions about Steve and kissing or whatever else your dirty little brain is thinking of."

"You asked."

"And now I'm telling you to stop," Robin replies. She runs her fingers through her hair again, frowning slightly. "Okay, I think the most important thing here is etiquette."

"Etiquette? What, am I too rough for Steve's delicate sensibilities?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you'd like to avoid offending him the way you did the last time you spoke."

Okay. Fair. Eddie grimaces at the reminder, the image of Steve's frown and the sound of his closed-off voice forcing themselves to the front of his mind. His shoulders slump and he nods. "Yeah, I would," he says.

Robin nods once, pushes herself off the sink, and places her hands on her hips. "Let's start with some basics," she says, taking a deep breath, and Eddie finds himself wondering if he's about to get overwhelmed by these basics. "Don't talk when Steve isn't looking at you. Don't have anything in or covering your mouth when you speak. Talk a little slower and make sure you enunciate, but if you talk slow like Steve is stupid, I will punch you. If Steve asks you to repeat something, repeat it word-for-word, no matter how many times he asks. If someone addresses Steve and he doesn't notice, give him a subtle nudge. Never sneak up on Steve when he's alone. Even if it means more walking or whatever, move to a spot where he'll notice you approaching. Be expressive when you speak. Steve can't hear things like tone, so he doesn't always know when something is a joke or sarcastic. And never, ever, call Steve or anything about him bullshit."

"That last one...," Eddie says, trailing off as he frowns slightly.

"Is the most important. I'm serious, Munson."

"Okay," Eddie says, nodding once and figuring he'll leave it at that.

"Oh, and ask Steve to teach you sign language. It'll give you an excuse to see each other more often."

-----

Robin has been acting weird since she started her shift, and Steve barely manages to wait until he's 95% sure the store is empty to turn around and ask, "What's wrong?"

Her hands falter, nearly dropping the tape she's busy rewinding. She catches herself, though, and looks at Steve. "What do you mean?"

"You're not telling me something. You tell me everything. What's wrong?"

She hesitates, looking away and biting her bottom lip before sighing and looking back. "I learned a secret today, so it's not mine to tell."

"Oh," Steve says, his shoulders relaxing some. "I thought you were hiding something actually important from me."

He doesn't hear her scoff, but he sees the way her head jerks and her eyes roll when she does. "Why would I bother hiding anything from you, dingus?"

Before Steve can answer, Robin stiffens slightly as she looks over Steve's shoulder. He braces himself for the customer interaction he's about to endure, slaps on a fake smile, and turns around. "Welcome to Family Video. How ca--Eddie?" His smile softens into something genuine at seeing Eddie on the other side of the counter. "Hey, man, what's up?"

Eddie flashes a smile in return, glancing at Robin over Steve's shoulder before focusing back on him. "Hey. Just, uh, kinda had a favor to ask you," he says.

Several possibilities run through Steve's mind, all of them related to the kids, since he can't think of any other reason for Eddie to need a favor from him. "Oh," Steve says, frowning slightly in confusion. "What's the favor."

Instead of answering right away, Eddie shifts awkwardly. He looks away, tugging on a few strands of his hair like he's nervous. He starts to use them to cover his mouth, making Steve dread his inevitable request for Eddie to repeat himself, when he stops. Eddie literally freezes, his fingers twitching before he drops the strands of hair and places his hands on the counter like he needs to keep them in sight.

He takes a deep breath, and Steve is starting to get really concerned now. "Hey, Eddie, whatever it is, just ask. I won't get, like, angry or anything," he says, hoping that makes things easier.

"No, I know you won't," Eddie says, huffing softly before nodding once, more to himself than anything else. "I was, uh, thinking. I read once that sign language is, like, a thing. So, if you teach me some sign language, I'll write you a song that's all noise and vibrations."

Steve doesn't get it all at first, concentrating on Eddie's mouth and getting distracted halfway through by the thought of dragging his thumb across Eddie's bottom lip. "Could you repeat that?" he asks, steeling himself to actually pay attention this time.

Eddie doesn't complain. He just nods and repeats himself. Steve got more of it, enough to know what Eddie is asking for, but he finds himself pausing when he meets Eddie's eyes again. There's no annoyance or frustration at being asked to repeat himself. All Steve can see is patience and nervousness. Without thinking, he asks again, "Sorry, one more time please?"

And Eddie says everything again. He repeats himself word-for-word, still lacking any negative reaction to saying the same thing three times. Steve feels something warm settle behind his ribs, and he nervously licks his lips, catching the way Eddie glances down to follow the motion. He shoves his hands into his pockets, balling them into fists so he doesn't do something stupid like grab Eddie's hand. "One more time," Steve says, the words feeling breathy and soft as they brush past his lips, and he hopes he wasn't too quiet.

Eddie blinks, tilting his head slightly and glancing over Steve's shoulder again. Steve hasn't forgotten about Robin being behind him, but he figures he can just play it off as fucking with Eddie at this point. Eddie doesn't complain or ask if Steve is serious, though. He just...repeats himself, and Steve suddenly knows that Eddie would keep repeating himself until Steve got tired of asking.

"Thanks," Steve says, deciding to spare them both from continuing the loop. "I got it that time. What do you want to learn sign for?"

"A D&D campaign. Thinking of using it in the plot."

"Oh. Uh, yeah, I could teach you. Are you doing anything on Sunday?"

"Nope. Totally free. Nothing planned at all."

Steve can't help a slight grin, and he tells himself it's just because he's excited by the prospect of Eddie writing a whole song catered to how he experiences music. "Cool. Come by my place around noon."

Eddie nods once, exhaling like he's forgotten to breathe the entire time they were talking. His hands tap against the counter, drawing Steve's attention downward, and he suddenly wonders what Eddie's rings feel like. Steve forces himself to look back up before that thought can go too far.

"Will do," Eddie says once Steve is looking at him again. He flashes a smile and adds, "See you then, sweetheart."

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, waving over his shoulder like Steve isn't trying to figure out if he read his words correctly. He watches Eddie leave, waiting for the door to close behind him before whirling around to find Robin still rewinding tapes like nothing happened. "Did he call me sweetheart?" Steve asks, needing to know if he's misunderstanding.

Robin looks up, eyebrows raised. "Don't know, dingus. I wasn't listening."

Steve barks out a laugh. "You're always listening," he points out.

She grins at him, her expression screaming trouble and that she knows something he doesn't. "Well, not that time," she replies, her grin widening as she adds, "But if I was, I'd say he did, yeah."

"He did," Steve murmurs, looking away from Robin and letting her confirmation sink in.

----------

Tag List (the tag list is completely filled up! There definitely wasn't enough room for everyone who requested a tag orz

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The meme for those who stuck around:

[boredpotate]

Happier Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Arcane or the music I linked in the title.

I had an idea about an angst yandere scenario.

Synopsis: Isekai Fem Reader turns back time to make a better timeline, but some characters can't help but feel like they know her.

Concept: Isekai Fem Reader who didn't see S2 of Arcane dies and reincarnates into Arcane. Gets taken in by Vander along and becomes a part of the family (younger than Vi but older than Powder) and tries to prevent the future tragedy but fails. No matter how hard they try to change the plot, bother before and after Vander dies, it seems to stay on course. She gets adopted by Silco with Powder, but she can't save Powder from becoming Jinx, can't stop Jinx from losing more of herself, can't convince Silco that there's a better way, can't free Vi from prison, can't stop or change anything no matter how hard they try. At the end of it all it was too much for Reader so they move far away trying and failing to live one without remembering her failures. Later finds out that they feel a connection to the arcane and gets glimpses of a timeline where she didn't exist, but Hextech didn't exist and Piltover and Zuan were united. Risks everything to turn back the clock and fix everything but stays away from her family. Not wanting to risk it. However, her old family can't help but feel like they know her.

If you're interested, have any ideas, advice or an opinion on whether or not there should be romance let me know. I just really had to let out an idea.

Reader Pov

'I did it..... I.. I'm back.'

I thought as I look around at Zuan. It was dirty, messy, smoke and some fires, but it was my home. My shitty dump of a home that I grew to love. When loyalty still meant something.

Just like before all those years ago, I find myself wandering the streets as young girl again.

*step* *step* *step*

I hear a heavy set of steps just like before, but this time I panic. I whisper to myself before quickly rushing to an alley to hide behind some debris. I wait and listen before slowly making my way to the corner to peak around.

What I see makes me want to cry as my heart pound in my chest. Feeling like it would burst out any second. I see a young girl with pink hair holding an older man's hand, a blue head of hair leaning on the shoulder of the man and an all too familiar stature of someone I haven't seen in forever.

"....Dad"

For a moment I consider stepping out and I really want to, but then I remember.

Explosions...Fire...Ringing...Milo...Claggor...Vander......Dead

stop

Silco...Sevika...Ekko...Powder...Shimmer......Jinx

Stop

Vi...Prison...Hextech...Chemtech...Caitlyn...Rocket...Piltover...Zuan...Death......War

STOP

I freeze in place, needing to give absolutely everything I have to stop myself from running to them, stop myself from hugging my sister again and stop myself from hugging dad again and feeling safe.

'I can't. This time it needs to be different. I can't risk it.'

So I stop. I don't allow myself what I want the most. No matter how hard my heart beats. I restrain it all, except one.

I cry. I cry both tears of happiness and sadness.

Happy because my plan worked, because my dad is alive again, because Vi and Jin- no..... Powder (god does it feel good to call her that again) together again, and because it means I can fix it all.

Sad because I can't go to them, because I want them to be happy and because I would be lying to myself if I said I didn't remember.

That dream and those visions. Those damn glimpses into another time where everyone was alive and happy. Alive and happy. Without me. No me, myself and I. Which makes sense honestly, so I don't know why I'm crying. I wasn't supposed to be here in the first place.

I let tears rapidly flow down as I stare for just a few seconds more taking it all in. Just to make sure this is real and I'm not imagining it all.

I finally will myself to pull away from the corner but knock into a bottle laid on the ground by accident.

"Who's there!?"

I hear dad call out, so I quickly hug the wall and stay quiet. Afraid to make noise by trying to run away.

'It's me, dad. It's Y/n.'

I do all I can to keep myself from coming out and crying from hearing him again, but I manage to hold out long enough to hear them continue on their way. I take one last look before turning into the alley.

'I'll fix it all. Don't worry about a thing. I'll get you and everyone else's happy ending.'

Vander Pov

'It wasn't supposed to be like this. Connole, Felecia...... I'm so sorry. I promise I-'

I suddenly hear the sound of steps and a bottle clattering. I quickly turn around, pulling Violet and Powder close, and scan the area I heard it coming from.

"Who's there!?", I call out but receive no reply. I consider going to check, but reconsider when I feel Violet and Powder hold onto me tighter.

'I need to keep them safe.'

I wait a few more seconds before turning back with the kids.

"C'mon, let's get you two somewhere safe."

I don't know why, but I had a strange feeling about something. I couldn't describe it. Doesn't matter right now; what matters is the girls.

Chapter 2