#and hopefully that will get rid of my pain and suffering

[forever-rogue]

I saw this one post on Twitter of how this girl’s bf pre-padded her underwear for her when she was in the shower and I thought it would be a cute idea if you wrote something like this for Eddie?

AN | No, but this is so sweet! Eddie would totally be that boyfriend. 💕

Warnings | Language, Reader has period

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You groaned as you flopped onto your bed, tired and hungry, and feeling like your insides were eating themselves. You laid there for a moment before, wondering if you could kick off your pants and just continue lying there. It was a feeble attempt and didn’t get you very far and it just made things even more uncomfortable. 

“Fuck,” with a heavy sigh, you rolled onto your back and stared at your ceiling, breathing in and out slowly in order to attempt to quell your internal turmoil, “fuck.”

Before you could get up, your phone buzzed next to you. When you grabbed it and saw that there was a new text from Eddie, you immediately felt better. And then remembered that you were supposed to spend the night at his place tonight. Now you weren’t so sure that you should. Not that you were weirded out by having your period in front of Eddie, or that Eddie would be grossed out by it, you were genuinely feeling terrible…and mildly worried about Eddie witnessing you having your period.

But you really wanted to see Eddie. It had been a few days since you’d seen him, both of you busy with work and other fun adult things, and you’d been missing him a lot. You were going to see him, you decided, he was worth dealing with a little pain. 

You texted him back and let him know that you’d be over soon, but also warned him that your period had started. Just in case you got there and fell asleep within minutes after eating a bar of chocolate. 

After you managed to peel yourself off the bed, you packed your overnight bag and headed to Eddie’s apartment. If there was anything that could make you feel better it was Eddie and motrin. You’d consumed the one and were only a short drive away from the other.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eddie opened the door for you before you even managed to knock, a pretty smile on his face and his big brown eyes alive and bright. 

“Hey baby,” he took your bag from you before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling in you for a sweet kiss, “missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” his sweet words always still managed to make your face warm up. You wrapped your arms around him and hugged tightly onto him, causing him to laugh softly. He set down your bag before hugging you back just as fiercely, before taking your face in his hands and peppering your face in gentle kisses.

“There’s my girl,” he whispered as finally managed to put a proper smile on your face, “I’m sorry you’re suffering. But I’m glad you’re here so I can hopefully make you feel better.”

“Just seeing you has made me feel better,” you promised, “besides, it’s not like you made me get my period.”

“No…but I can help you get rid of it,” it took you a moment to catch onto what he was saying - until you saw the smirk and raised eyebrow on his face, “for a while anyway.”

“I…Eddie,” you playfully shoved him as the two of you laughed, your face warm at the idea of getting pregnant by him, “first of all - you’re the worst. And second of all, let’s get back to that discussion in a few years.”

He didn’t say anything but he managed to make a small sound in the back of the throat, that sounded almost strained. He was immediately struggling not to let his mind wander too far in that direction just yet, “yeah - yeah, c’mon. Tell me how to make it better. Have you eaten? Are you hydrated? Need a nap?”

“Yes…ish to both of those,” you offered him a sheepish expression as you walked into the kitchen to get yourself some water. He trailed after you with an incredulous look on his face. He definitely wouldn’t have been able to handle it as well as you, “I’ve been working and dying, Eddie. I haven’t had time to worry about anything!”

“Well, how about you let me make it better? I’m going to make dinner and you’re going to take a nice, hot shower,” he started to usher you towards the bathroom, “I’ve heard that can help. So hopefully it does. I got that body wash and shampoo and conditioner that you like too. You’re here enough anyway, figured it’d be nice for you to have some stuff here.”

“You did that for me?” you turned around and looked at him with wide eyes as he slowly nodded.  Your heart warmed; you had been spending more and more time at his place and it was nice to have things moving in that direction. You did want to move in with him soon - everytime you imagined your future it was always with Eddie. You sighed softly, “that’s so sweet, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he insisted, “I just want you to be comfortable and feel better.”

“Do you know one thing that would help even more?” you offered him a coy smile which was answered with a soft laugh.

“You want some of my clothes for pajamas?” he asked as you nodded eagerly, “one step ahead of you. I’ve got a fresh towel and clean clothes for you in the towel warmer.”

Before he met you, he’d never have even considered a towel warmer. Hell, he didn’t even know that people actually owned them. It seemed like such a ridiculous luxury, and maybe it was, but he was willing to listen. You’d insisted that he needed one and that they were totally worth it…the next time you were over at his place, he’d bought a towel warmer. 

“You are amazing, Eddie Munson,” you pulled him in for a kiss and let your lips linger against his. His arms wrapped around you without hesitation as he kissed you a few more times, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” his big brown eyes grew soft as he practically turned to putty in your arms, “now go and get comfy and warm and I’ll make dinner.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eddie had gone in and turned on the shower, turning it to the perfect temper. You’d shaken your head at him, but before he left you to your own devices, he helped you to gently strip off your clothes. It was such a small, intimate thing, but it meant so much to you. Once you were rid of all your clothing, Eddie held your hand as you stepped into the shower.  He gave you a small kiss before heading back to the kitchen to finish dinner. 

When Eddie had said that he’d purchased a few of your things to keep at his place, he wasn’t kidding. Along with the things he used, where all the things you loved and kept at your own apartment were in the shower. He was always doing things like this, things that he thought were so small and insignificant but that meant so much to you. 

You took your sweet time to get clean, relishing the feel of the hot water on your skin before reluctantly stepping out of the shower. Once you stepped out of the shower and opened the towel warmer, you were greeted by the sight of a big, fluffy towel along with a fresh set of Eddie's clothes. They happened to be some of your favorites that you often stole from him. 

But it was the sight on the countertop that caught your eye and piqued your curiosity. It was clean underwear that happened to have a fresh pad stuck to it. You raised an eyebrow but your heart melted at the gesture. Eddie had this planned all along. 

You dried yourself off and slipped on the clean underwear and clothes before slipping out of the bathroom. You heard Eddie in the kitchen, singing softly to himself as he shuffled around. You loved this man. Truly, fully, so much that it made your heart ache. 

He stopped as soon as he heard you, looking up to catch your eye and offer you a small smile. He looked so pretty with his hair piled on top of his in a bun, sporting a pair of gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. It was ridiculous the effect the simple clothing had on you.

“Hey baby,” he whispered softly, “feeling better?”

“Much,” you confirmed as you went over to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “thank you for everything. The underwear…where did you get that idea? I wasn't expecting it, but it was really nice. No one’s ever done anything like that for me.”

“It wasn’t…a big deal,” his cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as he tried to play it off, “I, umm, I saw some people mention it on twitter and yeah. It was just an idea. You’re dealing with enough right now, so it just seemed like an easy thing to do.”

“Well, I appreciate it very much,” you promised, gently nudging his hip with yours, “I appreciate you very much, Eddie. Thank you.”

He mumbled something in response as he focused his attention on his pan. He wasn’t one to look for praise and you knew that the attention sometimes made him shy. You made sure he knew just how much you loved and cherished him. 

You grabbed some plates and helped him to finish up dinner. He tried to protest but you ignored him; you wanted to help him. You liked working together, you were a team after all.

When he grabbed plates and piled them with food, you were excited to see that he had made your favorites. He had really gone all out just to make you feel better. 

The two of you took your time eating, before moving to the couch and cuddling up next to each other. You were tucked into Eddie’s side with his arm around you, your favorite place to be, with a big, warm blanket thrown over the two of you. Eddie had let you take your pick of what to watch and you’d settled on a true crime documentary. He never understood why you were able to relax to such things, but he never questioned it. He just enjoyed it along with you. 

You made it about halfway through the first episode of the series before you felt yourself nodding off. You tried to fight it but eventually gave in and let yourself fall asleep. Eddie hadn’t been surprised, but glad you were able to relax. He paused the show and made sure you were as comfortable as possible as he let you sleep for a bit. Before it got too late, he’d wake you up to go to bed. 

Eddie pressed a kiss to the top of your head, making sure you were as comfortable as possible. You were still semi-aware, in that almost asleep but still mildly awake state, and you were almost positive that you heard Eddie singing softly under his breath. It was sweet, warm and rich, and you were pulled into the siren’s call of slumber and fell asleep.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you were gently woken by Eddie. You blinked a few times to clear away the bleariness and found him smiling at you. He gently brushed some of your hair out of your face, brushing his knuckles tenderly against your cheek.

“I think it’s time for bed, huh pretty girl?” he whispered as you nodded meekly. Getting into bed and wrapped up with him sounded like almost heaven. You slowly climbed up and off the couch, stretching slowly to wake up your tired bones and muscles. Eddie follow up suit before wrapped his arms around your waist and slowly padding along with you to his bedroom, “wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me,” you murmured as he pressed a big kiss to your cheek, causing you to laugh softly.

“I always sleep better with you,” he confessed softly, almost unsure if he should have admitted it to you, “I can’t wait till we can sleep together every night.”

That was enough to make your heart flutter with excitement and nerves. Eddie was definitely part of your future, but it still made you feel good to know that you were part of his too. 

“Me too, Eddie,” you promised and then you remembered your current predicament, “oh. Are you sure you want me to sleep in your bed?”

“Umm,” he looked at you, brows creasing in confusion, “yes? Why wouldn’t I?”

“What if I….bleed on your sheets or something?” your face warmed up as you tried not to think about the embarrassment you’d feel if that actually happened, “I don’t want to make it gross.”

“Baby,” so soft and tender that it almost made you cry, “I’m not worried about a little blood. It’s not disgusting or gross at all. If it happens, we’ll wash the sheets and call it a day. The only thing I’m worried about is making sure you’re doing okay.”

“I….yeah,” you looked at him with teary eyes and he smiled fondly at you before wiping away the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “I’m doing alright. Because of you - you’ve made me feel a lot better.”

“And to think you were going to cancel on me,” he tutted softly as he ushered you into the bedroom and started to turn down the bed, “you know you never have to hide anything from me.  I want to hear everything, all the good and all the bad.”

“I know,” you admitted softly, “it seems so silly now.”

“Well you are a member of the silly goose society,” he kissed the tip of your nose as you snorted in amusement, “anything else you need before we get in bed?”

“I just have to use the bathroom and then I’ll be good to go,” you started padding towards the bathroom. Eddie trailed after you, already reaching into the cabinet under the sink to grab a fresh pad for you. You reached for it to replace the one you had just tossed into the trash but Eddie didn’t let you take it, instead sticking it into your underwear for you, “thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he whispered, “it’s not a big deal at all. Need some painkillers or anything?”

“I just need you,” you grinned, washing your hands before letting Eddie pulled back towards the bed.

“You’re in luck,” he slid under the covers, holding them up so you could get in after him, “I’m all yours and I’m ready to cuddle.”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie immediately pulled you into his arms, tangling his limbs with yours. You relaxed and melted into him, his warm body having a soothing effect on yours, “I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you too, baby,” he wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed a row of kisses to your shoulder, “get some rest. And if you need anything at all, just tell me, okay?”

“I will,” you squeezed his hand, “promise me you’ll always tell me if you need anything too.”

“I promise always,” he said through a yawn that you ended up echoing, “good night, sweetheart.”

“Good night, Eddie.”

[moonlight-prose]

HURT

➝ 05. MIDNIGHT DOVE

a/n: i never thought it would take a year to finally work up the courage to finish this. i swear it's been marinating in my mind for months. life got in the way as it always does, and well shit happens, but i am gradually attempting to return to this world. if you're new here, welcome. if you're someone who has been here since the beginning, then thank you for sticking my horrible productivity out. i swear i won't disappear again. hopefully.

dedicated to: @themarcusmoreno for being an absolute badass fighter as of late. i hope you know how proud i am of you babes and how much i adore you. a special thanks to @sunflowersteves who has been a MASSIVE supporter of this story. i love you babes! and to @soulores who has listened to me ramble about this fic for hours in the hopes inspo would strike again. te amo te amo te amo!!!

summary: joel never made opening himself up to the prospect of love easy, but when it came to you...it felt like taking a breath of fresh air for the first time in years.

word count: 14k+ (i'm fucking insane)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, cussing, fluff, joel attempting to be romantic, ptsd, grief, deep talks (joel opens up), joel finally telling the truth, p in v sex, choking kind of, roughness, biting lots of biting (both kinds hahaha), tad bit of violence, the dangers of falling in love.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

It was easy to forget how damaged you were in the midst of his affection. An effortless act to allow yourself a chance to heal as you gave yourself over to him. For brief moments, you weren’t the person who had gone through years of pain, suffered through grief so potent you could taste it. You were the person who could sink into his hold, lose yourself in his touch, and simply exist.

With Joel there was no pain, no reminders of what you didn’t have—what you could never get back—because he took all that away. He gave you the one thing you didn’t know you were searching for. Yourself. In whispered words beneath the midnight sky, you found the reflection you’d been so afraid to look at. You saw the person who had been torn apart by the brutality of this world, by the prospect of death you could no longer run from.

He pieced you back together with his hands, attempting to rid you of all those cracks and crevices where pain seeped out from.

And in doing so, he saved you.

“You used to be a contractor right?” you asked, trying not to huff and puff as you trailed after him through the woods.

Briefly you thought you caught the sight of tall buildings in the distance, but played it off as the sun messing with your eyes again. A few days ago the truck broke down, ruining the quick pace of travel you had gotten used to. Which left you both with one option. Walking until your feet were numb and bloody. You hadn’t missed the energy this took, suddenly yearning for trains and planes—anyway to get to Boston as quickly as possible.

Except you didn’t hate it entirely. The bonus was being able to spend more time with him in secluded areas. You liked studying him by firelight, talking with him underneath the stars. Joel was the one who kept you going in spite of the agonizing effort this took. Thankfully the moments you did run into any infected were brief and quick—simply another crack in the bubble you’d built around yourselves.

Something had shifted between the two of you. Changed the tides of your futures and gave you insight into what might be possible once you got to Boston. You saw hints of a life that you might not have seen before. A future with him. You only hoped that he was seeing the same picture you were.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pausing to let you catch up, his hand reaching for yours.

“Impressive,” you said with a smile, pressing your chin on his shoulder as he leaned against a tree. Giving the both of you a small breather before you started up again.

“It paid the bills.”

“Well yeah. But it’s also a cool job. Getting to build things.”

He grinned, his eyes tracing the shapes and contours of your face. “I guess it was.”

“What made you want to be a contractor?” You caught the way he paused at your question, his eyes unable to meet yours for a brief moment. Joel thought he was able to hide his pain so well, behind an impenetrable mask he never removed. But you saw it.

You were the only one who split it down the middle; revealing the man beneath for your eyes to see.

“Uh,” he mumbled. “It was good work. Kept me stable.”

“Joel? Did I say something?”

He shook his head. “We should keep going,” he said, pressing a light kiss to your temple, his lips lingering a bit longer than usual.

Any other person would play that off as Joel being Joel. Yet you felt the tremor in his chest when he took in a breath. You saw the way he placed another brick in his never-ending wall. One that he didn’t want you to break. Frowning slightly, you walked beside him, glancing to see if he would finally revert back to the man from moments ago, but he was lost to the ravages of his mind.

You knew it would take awhile for him to come back to you. So, you waited. You lost yourself in your own thoughts, watching the birds fly through the trees, the sun peeking through the branches and bathing you in warmth. Thankfully the cold was starting to fade with each passing day. Giving way to the weather you liked most. You wanted to ask Joel where you were—which state you crossed into—but he was still gone.

Reliving the moment he hadn’t told you about yet.

You stopped when the forest gave way to a road and finally caught sight of what was in the distance. Only to realize…the sun hadn’t been playing tricks on you.

Skyscrapers stood tall against the sky, the cityscape so famous and iconic you could pick it out from memory. It was ruined from the past, some buildings had fallen from the decay, but you felt your heart flutter nonetheless. New York City. You’d been traveling through the state this whole time and never knew. Your younger self ached in the back of your mind; the one place you had been striving to get to, now arriving too late.

Yet still…you were there. Staring at what could have been your future once upon a time.

“We’re in New York,” you said, your voice tinged in disbelief. 

Joel seemed to have been brought back by your stunned reaction, his lips pulling up into a small smirk. “Thought you would have liked to take this way.”

You whirled around to face him, your eyes wide with surprise. “But what about infected? Won’t they be—”

“They bombed most of the city when the infection hit. Took out the worst parts first.” He pointed to the direction of where you assumed the Empire State building once stood. “No one has been here for nearly a decade. They tried to have a QZ on the outskirts at one point I think.”

“And how did that go?” Although you already knew the answer. Simply another repeat of every major city in this country.

He sighed. “They wound up bombing that too.”

“So we’re going around?” you asked, knowing that the only safe possibility was skirting the edges of the city. But a part of you hoped that for once you and Joel could pretend to be normal humans again.

People who at one point in their lives…might have taken a trip to New York City.

“Well…” His hesitation caught your attention. “We’re gonna go around as much as we can, but there’s somethin’ there that still survived all this. So if we’re careful. Then it should be alright.”

You felt the breath catch in your chest. A sliver of hope flickering warm and bright through your body. “And if it’s not…alright?”

“Then we handle it,” he replied, his hand shifting to cup your cheek, thumb running along your skin. “Like we always do.” Those words alone nearly made those three words slip free from your mouth. “What do you say Boston,” he murmured, his head dipping down—lips brushing along yours. “Wanna take a trip to New York with me?”

There were infected everywhere you went, never being able to escape them entirely. That alone weighed your answer towards it being positive. Still you were wary about what could happen. What could go wrong in the midst of your happiness? It seemed that life never changed when things were already awful. The worst only hit when you were finally at peace, content with what you had.

You should have said no, should have told him it wasn’t safe, but his brown eyes held a hopeful glint in them. A look that you recognized. For the first time, the both of you were finally starting to heal from the horrid effects of this life. It was a tragedy that would never be written down. A play not yet finished.

Which ultimately made the decision for you.

How did you want things to end? With a smile on your face, spending time with the man you loved? Or alone.

“Lead the way Texas,” you said softly, dropping your forehead to his chest, feeling him kiss your head softly before he pulled away.

The trip to get into the city would take a day or two, which meant that you had to set up camp for the night. At least until the sun rose enough to guide you. Venturing back into the forest with him, you felt the lightness in your heart spread down throughout your body. A sensation that you longed to hold onto.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d been this happy; the feeling almost effortless amidst the pain and destruction of your past. It nearly overflowed, spilling out into the area around you filled with never ending darkness. Joel’s footsteps were heavy against the fallen leaves. As if he was no longer afraid to make noise. Now that the path was clear, his head focused on one direction, you by his side.

Things had shifted drastically since that night. Since you watched a piece of his walls crash to the ground. Giving you a chance to finally see the man he had once been. The Joel you had only met in fragments—memories you weren’t a part of.

A past that you’d never fully know.

“This is as good a place as any,” he said, dropping the bag off his shoulders and onto the ground beside a tree.

“Should I gather wood?” you asked, following his movements—the routine burned into your mind.

He shook his head. “Not tonight. We’re too close to the city.”

“You don’t think people are insane enough to live there, do you?”

The silence he offered was enough of an answer. Even though you were both far enough away from any signs of life, it still wasn’t safe to assume you were entirely free. You could see Joel grappling with the decision to even go down there, but you knew which side would win the war in the end. One side told him to avoid the place altogether, to keep trekking on until you reached the QZ in Boston. But the other whispered something different.

It beckoned him closer, promising something sweet, a reprieve from the terrors of life that continued to plague both of you. Whatever still remained in that city was enough for him to choose the latter.

“I’ll keep first watch,” he murmured, settling with his back to a tree, rifle placed across his thighs.

“Joel.”

He shook his head. “You need to sleep.”

“So do you,” you replied, in the hopes that he’d relent to you as he had before.

The dark lines beneath his eyes grew with every passing day and you wondered what kept him from sleep. Was it nightmares? The prospect of death around every corner? They were things that were enough to send terror running sharply down your spine, but as long as you’d known Joel he seemed to simply take those things in stride. Refusing to give life the satisfaction of watching him crumble beneath the strain.

Yet now he looked half dead; tired of fighting an infinite battle of fear.

“Come here,” you said softly, hand gripping onto his.

“Darlin’—”

“If you don’t sleep then, so help me Joel I will stay up with you.”

The threat held enough truth in it to spur him into action. You would stay up with him until dawn crested over the city, until you could no longer keep your eyes open. Joel had stamina you didn’t possess. Not anymore. So, he allowed you to guide him forward, his head resting on his pack, rifle placed between your bodies. A safety measure in case the night turned for the worst.

“Shut your eyes,” you murmured, seeing the tension in his body melt away the second your hand pressed to his chest.

He huffed—ever the stubborn man who saved your life—but relented without a fight, his eyes fluttering shut quickly followed by a long exhale. The stars were brighter than you’d seen them; the light pollution of the city, no longer a problem the sky had to combat. So, you shifted, rested your head on his shoulder and watched the stars twinkle in a night sky free from the shackles of humanity.

“You’re supposed to sleep too,” he grumbled, his hand coming up to cover yours, thumb running along your wrist.

“I am.” You smiled at his audible snort.

Silence enveloped the two of you, but it never felt off putting in his presence. In fact you began to welcome it, because with Joel there was always more than just words. His thumb continued to go across your skin, creating a soothing rhythm that lulled you into a docile state. If you shut your eyes and focused on the beat of his heart—the rise and fall of his chest with each breath—you might be able to fall asleep. Except your mind still ran, still on high alert in case of something going wrong.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his head turning slightly until his nose brushed against yours.

“Hm?” You felt your heart skip at the sight of his eyes opening again, the deep brown hue pulling you in.

“What’s goin’ on in there?” he whispered. Joel didn’t need to go into specifics to know what he meant by that. You seemed to pick it up just by the inflection of his words—the tone he used when he spoke. This was no different.

You sighed, wishing more than anything that you could strip your shoulders of the weight they carried. “Nothing. I’m just…it’s nothing.”

“It ain’t nothin’.”

“I’m just…scared,” you said, finally showing a sliver of the truth. He hummed, attempting to show that he understood where you were coming from. “What happens when we get to Boston?”

Because that’s where that gnawing feeling stemmed from. It wasn’t your fear of death, or the terror you felt whenever you thought of Joel dying. No, you were scared of what the future held—what came when this trip finally came to an end. You didn’t want to let him go after everything you’d endured together. For the first time you felt like you found the one thing anyone could hope for in life. A partnership.

He sighed. “We keep going.”

“Together?” There you were laying your hope in front of him, wanting him to give you the answer you longed for.

“Yes,” he replied, watching a smile cross your face—his heart beating a bit faster at the sight. It lit him up on the inside. As if someone injected him with a heaping dose of pure sunlight, claiming it would fix all his broken pieces. Save him from hell.

For a moment you simply watched him, seeing an array of emotions flicker through his eyes. You wanted the night to remain endless. For you and Joel to stay there until the stars burned out above—a safe place with no responsibilities. No fear of death. But you knew eventually you would have to get up and follow him into the city. Boston remained right at the very tips of your fingers, yet getting there felt like a million miles away.

“Joel?” you breathed, bringing him out of his mind and back to the present day.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me something.” You clutched his hand in yours, enjoying the warmth that emanated from his skin. “Anything.”

He turned away, looking up at the sky as he processed your words. And you waited patiently. You found that you’d wait for him no matter how long it took, because it was him and to you…he was everything. He was worth fighting for, worth staying put for. He let out a shaky breath, his grip tightening on your palm until pain sparked in your wrist. You didn’t dare pull away though, too captured by the vulnerability that began to show on his face.

For the first time, he was the glass you couldn’t break.

“I had a daughter,” he said softly, still watching how the stars flickered above rather than the way your face went slack with shock. “Sarah.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes falling to the broken watch on his wrist as tears began to fall from your eyes. That night when you asked about it—watched him close up right before your very eyes—suddenly made sense. Why he never took it off, why it was the most precious thing to him.

It was from her.

“She was…well she is the best damn thing in my life.” He shut his eyes, his eyes stinging with the tears that couldn’t fall. You didn’t dare interrupt him. Joel was baring the part he’d hidden long ago—offering it to you in the hopes that you’d take care of it. “Had the prettiest smile and the best—” He took in a breath. “The best fuckin’ laugh you’d ever heard. Made everyone else laugh.”

You smiled, feeling your tears fall onto his shirt. “She sounds amazing.”

“She is,” he rasped, his hand pulling yours up higher on his chest until you could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingers. “On the night of the outbreak. We were tryin’ to get out. But something…” His voice broke, eyes squeezing even tighter. “I couldn’t—and she—”

“Oh Joel,” you whispered, your eyes falling shut as his pain seeped into your heart. It made your whole body scream out and for a moment you wondered how his heart never stopped beating. How had he survived such anguish? How was he still here?

You bit back the sob that threatened to spill free and buried your face into his shoulder, clutching onto his hand to show that you were here. That he could give you this pain to hold and you’d bear it for him for however long he needed. His face turned, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he let the words hang in the air. What more needed to be said? When he had just ripped down the last of his walls.

“I’m so sorry.” The words were a breath on his cheek and you knew they wouldn’t take away any amount of grief. You knew they were simply a band-aid to the gaping wound that would never heal.

He didn’t reply; you didn’t expect him to. So you allowed the silence to fill the air between you, covering you like a comforting blanket. Hiding you from the world until the sun came up. Joel pulled you closer until you practically lay atop his chest, the steady thud of his broken heart echoing beneath your ear. The world had taken so much from him—turned him hopeless—you just never knew the extent of it.

Staring into the darkness of the trees you heard him begin to snore softly, his body now lax beneath you. Except you didn’t move. You remained in the same spot, watching as the world turned a bit darker. The hope seeped out of your body bit by bit now that you understood how much Joel carried—how much he endured.

“I love you,” you breathed, pressing a kiss over his heart, finally shutting your eyes and giving into the soft embrace of sleep.

You woke up to find him gone, his jacket placed strategically over your body to keep you protected from the early morning cold. What you wouldn’t give for a fire to combat the chill that began to seep into your skin. Sitting up slowly, you attempted to catch sight of him through the trees—hoping that he had wandered a bit. But you were left alone with just your pack and his extra gun.

Scenarios began to run through your mind, panic settling in your veins, but you fought against it. You’d been here before. Alone while Joel went off to do who knows what. You knew he would come back—that was a given—but you couldn’t stop the worry from eating at you.

You watched your breath collect in the air as you moved, gathering pieces of wood and rocks to build a fire for a short amount of time. If you were moving today it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to warm up and gain some strength through food. If Joel wasn’t back within the hour you would go out hunting. He’d been generous enough to leave you with a few bullets still in the chamber of his gun.

Which meant he had full intentions of coming back.

The fire sparked quicker than you expected, catching on the brush you packed around the wood and sending heat up towards your face. You couldn’t burn it for long, in case people caught sight of the smoke. Which meant you had to relish in the heat for as long as possible—the stiffness in your body dissipating the longer you sat there.

You watched the orange glow flicker across the wood, consuming it entirely and found you couldn’t tear your eyes away. The sight was familiar—as if you could feel it against your skin with every passing day. Life burned through you with swift brutality and for that mere moment you wondered if it would hurt if you fully sunk into it. Allowed it to destroy you as the flame did the wood that now sat cracked into two pieces—the charred bark falling onto the ground.

A rustling echoed behind you, making you reach for the gun, but the sight of Joel’s graying hair peeking through the woods sent relief flooding through your body. He carried a rabbit in one hand, clutching onto the rifle with the other, and you felt yourself relax just a bit more. Body sinking back into the spot you’d made, legs crossed and hands hovering over the flames.

“Breakfast?” he asked, crouching beside you.

“Don’t mind if I do.” You grinned, pressing your chin against his shoulder briefly, soaking up the warmth of his body.

You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel the smile being pressed against your temple. His lips a soft brush across your skin. If time was kind, you’d be able to stay there. Sitting in the comfort of his presence—the worry that plagued you now pushed to the very back of your mind. It was rare to feel this okay in the comfort of someone else, but Joel made it easy. You wanted to thank him for simply being here, but the words were stuck in your head. Unable to be released.

“How long until we go?” you asked, watching as he cooked the animal over the flames, your stomach clenching painfully.

“Soon as we’re done here.”

The trip into the city wasn’t by any means safe. In fact you were certain it was the most dangerous thing you would attempt in your journey to the Boston QZ. For so long you’d played it safe, but Joel had plans and you would follow his lead wherever he went.

Perhaps it was ridiculous to say you loved him now. In a world where the small hints of anything good were smothered before they could bloom into something more. Except you couldn’t deny what your heart knew was true—what it had been holding onto for months. You loved him. Possibly more than you could ever love someone, and that’s what scared you. Sent a sick feeling into your stomach, your heart twisting violently in your chest at the thought.

Traveling through the city was lethal—a death sentence—but you soon realized it wasn’t the most dangerous thing you could do.

Falling in love in a world intent on destruction was the true risk. Because whether you liked it or not, your entire life could come crashing down in an instant if you lost the man beside you.

Joel was your oxygen. The sole reason you were still alive. You couldn’t lose him.

You both ate in silence, an act that had become sacred to you as time went on. Just a small piece of normalcy that remained—something to remember your old lives by. While you couldn’t necessarily sit at a table and savor the meal. Both of you were content with this. A small amount of peace before chaos ensued once more.

The city called to you—beckoned you closer—and you had to be careful not to give in. There was an unspoken rule in all the traveling you’d had with one another. Joel was the leader in this situation and you were to follow what he said; after all he was simply trying to keep the both of you alive. So you did just that. You waited for him to finish eating and explain exactly how this was going to go down.

“You know…” You picked at the grass beneath you. “I’ve been thinking about what comes next.”

His eyes raised to meet your gaze—the once hardened stare now softened to something you now knew to be familiar. A look he only carried when he was around you. You felt something tug at your chest, warm and inviting.

“I want a home,” you said softly, twirling a dandelion between your fingers. “If that’s a possibility.”

The corners of his lips pulled upwards and you nearly missed the sight. But once you caught it…you couldn’t look away. Joel smiling was a rarity—this you knew to be a hard fact—but when he did the world lit up around him. His smile felt safe. As if he kept every ounce of love given to him in that single look.

“Could be a possibility,” he replied, shifting to where his arm was behind you—his weight leaning on it. “Got a place in mind?”

Heat bloomed beneath your cheeks, small petals of the dandelion flying off. “Nothing too fancy. Big enough for us and…well…it has to be just right.”

Perhaps your mind was playing a trick on you, creating fantastical sights that felt too good to be true, but Joel's smile deepened. A soft light entered his eyes for a brief moment, effectively stealing the breath right from your lungs. He was so beautiful when he smiled. As if he was gifted with it from the gods themselves—his own secret power at the end of the day.

"A house huh."

You nodded, still stunned in place as his smile remained intact. "I miss having a home."

Five words. That's all it took for light to be extinguished like a flame being put out. Sorrow seeped back into his face, his smile faltered, and you felt the world shift beneath your feet. Whatever you said triggered something in his mind. It dragged the memory to the front and forced him to watch with no escape. You know...because you'd been in his place before; you had been a victim to the horror of your own life, privy to the movie that never had an end.

The difference was with Joel you could do nothing but watch.

There was no pulling him out of it, no distracting him, because the memory had already started. So you sat in silence, waiting for it to run its course. Until Joel returned back to you. His smile was gone, face grim once more, and grief stained his soul. But you'd take him any way he was. You'd take him damaged and ruined beyond repair, as he would with you.

"We should get moving soon," he said, voice lower than before, eyes glassy with tears that would never fall.

You let out a breath as your heart sank deeper in your chest. "I'll put out the fire."

He didn't question you or even try to stop you. He simply let you do what you thought was best. Gathering his jacket and gun, he helped you to your feet, the furrow between his brows now set back in place. For a moment...he looked younger than his actual age. A man from the past peeked out, but nothing stayed the same for long.

Nothing good ever stuck.

"Once we get to the edge of the city we'll be out in the open for anyone to see." He slung his pack over his shoulder, handing you a knife to stick in your pocket as an extra precaution for what was to come. "You know I only have one rule darlin'."

Now felt like the perfect time to make a joke—to bring back his smile—but the serious tone of his voice lingered in the air. A reminder that you may be able to take care of yourself on your own, but traveling with Joel now meant you had his life to worry about too.

That alone was something you couldn't risk.

"Follow your lead."

He nodded. "We should be alright, but just in case stick close."

"I will." The idea that you'd stray far from him was ridiculous and he knew it, but the words had to be said. For his own peace of mind.

Somewhere in the middle of the trees there remained an old hiking path. A memoriam of the years that came before, and yet you couldn't picture tourists taking this road. Not even their footprints would survive twenty years of nature. No, this small but distinct path was carved by people traveling towards Boston. You liked to imagine that they made it eventually; that their lives went on in the QZ without issue. But reality always held a harsher reflection than you expected.

Twigs snapped beneath your boots as you trailed beside Joel, eyes set on what remained of the city skyline. Proof that humanity once lived on this planet.

"They'll be deeper inside the city lines," Joel said, dragging your attention away from the ruin. "It's likely there ain't been people for years. But we can’t be sure."

"No reason for activity then?"

He sighed, squinting his eyes against the blaring sunlight. "I'm not sayin' there'll be less. But we might not encounter them much if we’re lucky."

A small amount of relief spread through your chest, pushing against the constant fear that ate at your heart. Devouring it as if you were the meal it had been waiting for. A delicacy of the human body.

"Better than nothing."

He made a noise of agreement, taking the lead and heading deeper into the woods. Eventually they would become sparse, giving the both of you less coverage, until they disappeared altogether. Two decades was plenty of time for nature to reclaim parts of the city, but the cement and stone still remained. A permanent fixture of what used to be in front of you.

The city that used to never sleep, now forced to rest forever.

In the distance you swore you could hear the now familiar screech that haunted your dreams. But it was too far out for you to make out. So you followed Joel, the sun beating down on both of you even through the trees. Sweat stuck to the back of your neck, your fingers slippery on the trigger of your gun. And you both walked in silence—focused on your surroundings. Too anxious to even allow yourselves to whisper.

Yet with Joel it never felt like you were losing time.

How could you? When he was giving back what you lost.

No one else would do this. No one would bother to make sure that you got a chance to visit the city you dreamed about, the place where your future was supposed to be. But he would.

Joel would have given you the sun if you asked him to—if only to see you smile.

Your words from last night continued to rise to the surface, placing themselves on the tip of your tongue, and begging you to open your mouth. Yet as much as you wanted to stand atop the tallest building in the city and shout it from the top of your lungs, you knew you couldn't.

Those words remained hidden in your chest like a wound that could never truly heal. A gaping hole that forced you to bleed out each time you acknowledged its presence.

The sad part was that Joel wasn't the one to rip it open. He was simply someone who managed to stir it awake. He brought it to life with just one look. You started bleeding years ago with loss after loss, until eventually...you stopped trying to close it up with cheap booze and an even cheaper version of what you ached for.

What you needed to sustain you.

"You never told me," Joel said abruptly, shutting down those thoughts within seconds. "About your life."

You smiled despite the effort and lack of breath. "There's not much to tell."

"I doubt that darlin'." He fell into step with you, his hand brushing across yours gently, but even you knew holding hands wasn't a luxury you could afford right now. Not when you'd have to run at a moment's notice. "What was college like?"

Scoffing, you adjusted the strap of your pack. "Parties, hangovers, and lots of coffee."

"Sounds 'bout right."

"Why Joel Miller. Don't tell me you went to college."

He leaned into you, his shoulder hitting yours with enough force to throw you slightly off course. "I didn't. My brother Tommy did. Well...he enrolled."

"Ah yes. The infamous Miller," you joked, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself.

He snorted, wrapping it around your waist instead. "I wouldn't call him that."

"Then tell me about him."

His eyes met yours, grief still pressing against the light that once was there, but you could see something else linger below. A sense of joy that only came when talking about his younger sibling. A relief that he had family still alive, still around for him to worry about. You knew the fear remained that one day...he might not have that person to worry about, that the world would remain just as cruel as before.

That thought hit you harder than you would have liked—the face of your own brother flashing in your mind. You couldn't save him. Shit, you barely even knew if he was still alive or dead. And that in itself was a different type of grief; a horror you wouldn't wish on anyone.

Least of all Joel.

"He was in the army."

A fallen tree came into view, blocking the path. Joel climbed over it first, grunting as he jumped down, his feet slamming hard when he landed. He took your hand as you went next, helping you go softer than him, checking with a glance to make sure you hadn't snagged yourself on the split wood.

You recall your own brother enlisting, although your mother used to claim you were too young to remember the day he left. But you could make out the hazy images of tear filled goodbyes and hugs that lasted longer than normal. He joined to find purpose. You understood that now.

"Nearly gave our parents a heart attack when he came home with the news." Joel huffed, his hand still clasped tightly around yours. "But Tommy was eighteen. And damn stubborn."

You tried to picture the other Miller as you did when Joel first mentioned him, yet still came up blank. They must look alike. Maybe the same nose, or jaw. No matter how hard you tried though, you could see nothing but a faceless man—a blank slate to the one Joel spoke of so fondly.

"He's younger than you?"

Joel nodded. "By a few years."

The thought of Joel trying to be a good role model for his brother made you smile. You wondered if they ever got into trouble together, if there were stories he might tell you one day when you finally found a safe place to live.

"So...he was the troublemaker of the family."

His gaze slid over to you, eyebrow arching slightly in faux surprise. "I wouldn't say that."

You grinned. “Let me guess…” Joel’s hand tightened around yours. “You were the responsible brother.”

“I had to be.”

“He sounds fun. Maybe I should have met him first.” Glancing to your side, you didn’t see as his face darkened. A look of something wild crossed his face, the painful grip on your hand bringing you back as he yanked you forward. “Joel—”

Unexpected. That is what you continued to feel each time Joel kissed you. Unexpected in his action, unexpected in the feelings he buried beneath the rubble of his heart. You felt yourself stumble into his chest, his lips sliding against your roughly, as he gave into that wild unknown sensation.

A hunger that consumed him quickly. Larger than anything he’d known before.

He exhaled, pulling away with reluctance, and you nearly moved forward to take back that fleeting euphoria. His thumb and forefinger pinching your chin lightly kept you in place. Until you opened your eyes—catching his gaze. Want burned in his iris—turning the deep brown a shade of black—but something darker peeked out, a possessive glint. A promise that you were his.

“Trust me darlin’,” he murmured, lips pulling up into a small grin. Your stomach fluttered rapidly at the sight of his eyes sliding down to your lips—his tongue running along his bottom lip. You wanted it in your mouth. “You’ve got the better brother.”

That remained clear the second you met him. But the tease still lingered in the air. A hint of irritation plucked at Joel’s heart as he thought about you and Tommy instead. If there’s one thing he knew it was this: Tommy would make you laugh as often as possible. He wouldn’t quit until he saw joy overtake the grief on your face. But something told him you needed more than humor.

Even as you looked at him like that—eyes soft and hazy with need—he still felt the innate need to prove himself. To show that he was it for you; that no matter what happened next, Joel was going to be yours.

His face darkened and you longed to peel away the layers of murkiness that hid his true feelings.

But that was the thing about Joel. He’d never show you outright what he kept beneath the surface—not unless he was telling you himself.

His hand took yours again, a small kiss pressed to your temple as he started walking. Towards a future so tangible you could almost feel it between your fingertips. How it ebbed and flowed despite the endless mountain ridges you were yet to traverse.

There was no telling where it dropped off. Where this future finally settled, but regardless of what happened, you’d remain. You would choose Joel over and over again, even if this path led to your death. As long as he was safe—as long as he survived. To you Joel was the only thing you could save—having given up on yourself years ago.

You were two broken souls, but given the chance, you’d piece him back together.

You could see that the path veered back towards the forest, probably to some old forgotten campgrounds. A part of you nearly asked him to head that way, but you stopped before you started. The realization dawned on you quicker than you would have liked. How many people never made it home? How many lost parts of humanity still remained in a place meant solely for joy?

A cold unsettling feeling burrowed its way into your stomach, nausea rising quickly to the surface. Everywhere you looked, death stared back with an empty gaze.

A promise already embedded too deep to remove.

This is how it was always meant to go. This is where it would always lead to.

Joel couldn’t see the terror stricken expression across your face. You were in too deep to ask him for a rescue anyways. So you simply remained. Entrenched in the thick darkness. Yet your feet still moved, your body still complied. He led you closer and closer to the outskirts of the city. And where you expected fear to arise, you found nothing but numbness.

An echo of pain that called out to you. How could you fear what you already knew? The infected were no longer the embodiment of your worst horror come to life.

No, that title now belonged to the man holding your hand so gently in his. Squeezing every few minutes in an act of unconscious reassurance. His fate, his life, it all twisted together until you could barely catch your breath.

He turned to glance at you over his shoulder, his lips curving into a soft smile, the lines around his eyes deeper than before. You nearly gasped as you were yanked out of the darkness, warm air brushing across your face. For those few seconds you felt the sunlight against your face. The worries melted away and this is what you were left with.

Pure broken love.

“Tired?” he asked, oblivious to the way you were drowning.

You grinned, moving closer. “Not really.”

“We got a few more hours.”

Perfect.

You didn’t say it aloud, but you could see the sentiment was reflected back in his eyes. He wanted this as much as you. Where the world only existed in time spent alone. Where nothing could harm you here in your infinite haven with him.

Returning his smile, you squeezed his hand softly, doing what you could to burn the feel of his calloused skin into your mind. Whether it took a few hours or a few days, you didn’t mind. As long as it was with him.

Silence.

That’s all you heard throughout a city once plagued by noise. Where thousands of people used to live—creating the hustle and bustle of the city that used to never rest, now an echoey hollowness remained. At last…the city was asleep. And you hated it.

Life should spill out of every crack and crevice of this place, but there was nothing. You felt as if you should grieve for what once was, but no emotions rose to the surface. Instead you were faced with a bottomless pit of something that once existed.

Joel’s hand was replaced with your weapons, his gun clutched tightly in his own grip. You remained on the outskirts, but that didn’t mean you were safe. If anything you were in more danger this out in the open. There should have been something by now. Yet it seemed that fate had a different idea altogether.

In a way, you were beyond thankful, but uncertainty still remained. A reminder that this would only last for so long. Fate offered what it could, and you took without a second thought. There would never be another chance like this—never another moment of peace.

Sweat stuck to the back of your neck as you walked, eyes scanning the area like clockwork. Joel was a few paces ahead, his body tense, finger on the trigger in case of the worst. You hoped it would never come. Neither of you spoke for fear that whatever remained in the abandoned buildings could hear you. The air was sticky with heat and you felt your body begin to dry out the longer the both of you traveled.

“We can rest up ahead,” he called over his shoulder as if your thoughts were projected to him.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

It’s not that you didn’t trust him—you did—but wandering in the city felt like a risk you shouldn’t be taking more than a trip of enjoyment.

“I’ve got an idea.”

You scoffed. “That’s helpful.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t trust me now Boston,” he drawled with a halfway grin across his face.

“It’s kind of late for that…Texas.”

“No shit.”

You did your best to hold back the laugh that bubbled to the surface, but there was no use. You couldn’t stop it now. Joel looked surprised for a split second, his lips parting into a wide smile, until he began to laugh with you. Deep and rough and perfectly Joel.

This. This is what you ached for most. Joy—no matter how small—in a time where the concept no longer existed. If you could bring that to each other even as you fought to survive then you’d be okay.

In the near distance you could see it, a small section of benches surrounded by nothing but overgrown bushes, flower patches, and trees that would have never been allowed to grow that tall. A sense of elation filled your chest at the sight of a park. So out in the open, so mundane in a city quickly being overtaken by nature. Ivy trailed up the buildings as if that alone kept the ruins together, but you’d never seen something so beautiful.

“I got some food left over,” he muttered, rummaging in his pack as you took a seat on a bench covered by vines. “Nothin’ much, but it’ll work till we dig up somethin’ else.”

You took it gratefully, taking in the area with wonder as you caught every small piece that might show a hint of the past. Shop signs were broken off, rubble scattered through the streets, and abandoned cars were lined up like barriers to the inside of buildings. Perhaps people had come through here before, trapping the infected inside as they made their way through the city quickly.

“Do you remember what it was like?”

He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, catching sight of the coffee shop sign you were fixated on—half of it gone and broken on the asphalt. Everything here had been destroyed over the years. Taken, ripped a part, and left to rot. Yet the cracks in the streets where plants grew told Joel that life still found a way to flourish. Even as darkness and cruelty became the figurehead of humanity.

“Loud,” he said, biting into the dusty granola bar.

You smiled, shifting to make room for him as he joined you on the bench. “So I’ve heard. The city that never sleeps. I guess it was named that for a reason.”

“People were crammed into every corner.” He pointed up to a building in the distance. Surprisingly it hadn’t collapsed yet. “I stayed there. Fourth floor.”

“Hotel?”

He nodded. “Expensive as shit.”

“That tracks.”

“But I had fun.” He grinned, eyes distant as if replaying moments of his past, reliving what it was like to be in this city at the height of its prime. “Tommy wanted to move here. After the army.”

“Did you…want to go with him?”

Joel huffed, eyes falling to his hands as he broke apart the granola bar—anxiety bleeding off his body and seeping into yours. “No. That life was his. Not mine.”

Counting in your head, you tried to calculate at what age Joel might have been when Tommy came home. What might have happened in his life. Until the conversation from earlier came back to you like a fist to your face. Sarah. You tried to picture him as a young dad, raising a little girl, and suddenly the gap between your years and his felt like a chasm you shouldn’t cross.

A split in the ground so deep you could see right down to the center of the Earth.

“And to think,” you replied, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I could have met you here.”

His laugh was shadowed by pain—grief he’d never let you see in its entirety. “You wouldn’t have gone for me.”

“That’s not true.”

“What with you bein’ a fancy museum worker?” He turned, his nose brushing against yours. “Gettin’ you to look twice at me would have taken some effort.”

You smiled, stealing a kiss. “You’re wrong. I’d have asked you out in an instant if I saw you. Maybe…in a bar.” His laugh was soft, raspy as if he’d been shouting for hours. “Or a park.”

“Yeah?” You wanted to keep his smile. “How would it go?”

“Well…” Pulling back, you pressed a finger to your chin, eyebrows pulling together as you pretended to lose yourself in thought. “I’d begin the conversation, because you’re not much of a talker.” He pinched your side, drawing out a laugh.

“And you’d say?”

Forcing your face into a stoic expression, you grasped his shoulders. “Excuse me sir. Are you a fan of country music?”

He snorted, his body shaking as he broke between your palms. Laughing so hard he nearly dropped his granola bar on the floor. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine the sounds of the city in the background. The echo of what could have been reverberating to you through the years.

This would be it. The moment you knew you were head over heels for the man sitting beside you.

This is where you’d start to plan a future.

“And you’d say…of course, I’m from Texas darlin’.” You did your best to morph your voice into his, but couldn’t get through it without smiling.

Joel cupped your chin, tugging your lips close enough to feel them brush across his—your heart now beating an unsteady rhythm in your chest. “Of course.”

“And I’d say…that’s funny. I’m from Boston.” Sadness seeped into your heart when he looked at you like that—as if you were the only person to exist on this planet. His hope. His lifeline. “And the rest is history.”

He pressed his lips against yours, stealing a kiss soft enough to crack off another splinter of your heart. “I like that version of history.”

“Me too,” you breathed, biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep the sting of tears at bay.

You could feel the pain in your feet begin to shoot through your lower back. Traveling steadily with each step. From what you could tell, the sun was dipping into mid afternoon, still early in the day, but late enough to cause worry. Staying in the city past nightfall didn’t bode well for either of you. Yet somehow…you were traveling deeper into the maze of fallen buildings and broken roads.

“Joel—”

He stopped in the middle of the road, his back straight and shoulders tense. You braced yourself for the worst, hands grabbing tightly onto the weapon clutched to your chest. A small chirp of birds sounded in the distance, animals echoing their sentiments back to the broken world around them. Yet nothing sounded dangerous enough to cause worry.

“What is it?”

Glancing back at you, he threw you a cautionary smile, head tilting as if to say join me. 

So you followed his instruction. Stepping around the cracks in the street to stand close, facing him as he looked at something behind you.

“We’re here.”

Confusion lined your face, worry filtering through your chest. “Where’s…here?”

“Turn around.”

His hands grasped your shoulders, shifting you until you were staring at the building he was. And for a moment you nearly laughed; claimed it was a good joke walking you nowhere. Only for your eyes to catch sight of the cracked and broken steps before you. Weeds grew between what still remained and the front was blown to shit, but you’d recognize this building even with your eyes closed.

The final destination in the path of your old future.

“The Met?” you whispered, eyes wide in awe at the sight of such a grand building torn to bits.

He pressed his lips to your ear. “Thought you might want to see it in person this time.”

Those three words you uttered last night, barely spoken at all, suddenly felt too small to describe the depth of what you felt. You didn’t just love Joel. You would die for him. You’d take any pain he harbored and carry it as your own. And you’d do all this…because he’d do the exact same for you. Love felt too little in the grand scheme of things.

How could you simply love someone who would bring you the future and lay it at your feet?

“Is it safe?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, tinged by awe.

“Probably not.”

“So we could die?”

“There’s a good chance.”

You smiled, tangling his hand in yours. “I think it’s worth it.”

“Yeah.” He squeezed your palm softly. “I do too.”

Carefully he led you up the steps. A walk that felt surreal after years of dreaming this exact moment. You knew one day you’d get here. Whether that was with a degree and a resume in your hand, or holding the hand of a man who saved you. You didn’t care, because finally…there you stood.

Ivy crawled up the sides of the building, the doors were no longer attached, and you felt as if you were walking into a different universe. The entrance that you’d seen in brochures and pictures somehow looked prettier this way; slowly being captured by the hands of nature. As she shifted the land of humans to her point of view.

The almost crystalline marble shone differently in the direct sunlight. Glancing up you caught sight of the hole in the ceiling. This building must have been affected by the bombing.

“I remember this part,” he said suddenly, an awestruck expression painted across his face. He looked like a young man again, taking his first visit to this grand old museum.

“This is called The Great Hall. And it was Richard Morris Hunt that was the architect on the project. One hundred years ago. Well give or take a few years.”

A stream of words left your mouth without a single thought. Explanations of the different parts that once existed, the historical references for how they were built. And for a moment you felt nineteen again. Fresh out of an art history class; the knowledge once again at the forefront of your mind.

All the while Joel watched with a glint in his eyes, silent to what you had to say, yet focused entirely on you. The museum wasn’t important to him. Hell he barely gave a shit about what used to be here. But something changed in your demeanor as you spoke about art and the history attached to it. You bloomed before his very eyes.

You came alive.

“I wonder if a few of the paintings are still around,” you murmured, eyes averting to one side of the room. “Could we…”

He nodded, readying his gun. “We can try.”

You expected this place to be crawling with infected. At least a few here and there, yet nothing but silence greeted you with each new room you entered. It became unnerving after a while. As if fate was waiting to drop the other shoe, tearing apart something already special.

Hesitation lingered in each step you took, fear crawling along your nerves like a spider, until you entered a room filled with paintings torn apart. Once upon a time it was a gallery, yet now the delicate pieces of history were nothing but a reminder of what happened.

Tucked away on a side wall, you found a painting still hanging. A small crack went through the top corner of the glass covering it, but as a whole the piece remained pristine enough to make out.

“You know that one?” he asked, following your quick pace through the room.

“Allegory of the Planets and Continents.”

“Allegory huh?”

You nodded. “Painted by Tiepolo in…1752.”

“I can’t say I’ve heard of him.”

“He did a lot of allegorical pieces.” You tilted your head, eyes tracing the intricate details that were nearly lost to time. Joel did the same. “I remember seeing this in a class presentation.”

He hummed, his gaze finding its way back to you. “And what does it mean?”

“A number of things really.” You pointed to the center. “That’s Apollo. And those are the gods as a representation of the planets. Mars, Jupiter, Venus. You know.”

“And them?”

You sighed. “Humanity.” His hand found its way towards yours, fingers twining together as you stood there. Alone in a museum together. “They’re waiting for Apollo to take to the skies and bring about the sun.”

“Seems like a lot of work for a God.”

The smile that crossed your face made Joel’s chest tighten. “I guess it was. Although it’s strange. Back then people were waiting for the sun and now…well now we wait for death.”

Pain flared in his heart quickly and without warning. But he did his best to force it down, steadying himself in your hold. Oh how he wished he could tell you the truth. About the past he had yet to accept as his own. About the bullet that never met its mark—the hand that remained unsteady even now.

“We should go soon,” you said, pulling him out of his own mind, and he nearly thanked you. “The sun will be going down eventually.”

He nodded. “Go out the way we came.”

It hurt to say goodbye to a building you’d never been in before. But that’s not where the pain stemmed from. You’d said goodbye to the prospect of what if a long time ago. You had to. This was from losing such a precious moment with Joel—a memory you’d hold onto for as long as you could. For that time…you were simply two people wandering the halls of a museum together. Finally on a date after so long traveling.

Maybe if you had met years before in a bar or in a park. You wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

The sunlight felt different back on the steps, brighter, crueler. As if Apollo was mocking you for such a small hope, such a small dream come to life. Yet even now you couldn’t blame him.

You headed back the way you came through the city. But your feet were weary, your body drooped with each step, and eventually you’d collapse on the asphalt just as the buildings once did. Joel could tell with each look he threw your way, checking to make sure you were in fact following him. He wouldn’t have put it past you to remain in that building.

To make a home with history.

“We can’t sleep here,” he said, pausing to let you catch your breath.

“I know. My feet just…”

He nodded solemnly, squinting against the sunlight. “Wait here.”

“Joel?”

There was no time to question his actions, because you were out of breath as it was, and he was moving further away quicker than you expected. Standing there in the middle of the street wasting sunlight turned your insides with every second that passed. Your eyes caught sight of him turning a corner before he vanished entirely from your sight. And you held onto the thin shred of sanity you had left in your body.

You trusted Joel. A fact truer than anything you’d known in your life.

So you waited, watched your surrounding areas, and held your breath. 

If you weren’t so unnerved by the silence, you might have found it enjoyable. Some peace before the two of you went in search of a QZ that may no longer be there. That thought never occurred to you—traveling with Joel kept you distracted enough to where you didn’t focus on the important things. The question that now picked at your heart.

What were you supposed to do if the QZ wasn’t there? Where would you go?

Blind faith is all that kept you going, but that never seemed to be enough. In the end you were left with nothing but disappointment. You’d run all out of faith when it came to the fates. The still healing wound on your side was proof enough of that.

The echo of dried leaves cracking beneath feet signaled to you that Joel must have returned. Whatever he was looking for must have been a bust. The smile on your face and tease right on the tip of your tongue died in moments as you turned. A rock falling to your stomach, filling you with dread.

Dried blood caked down the side of their face. A deep red now a rust brown; a stark contrast to the green moss that covered their torn clothes.

Every time you saw one you felt the punch to your gut grow stronger. As if lead embedded itself in your flesh. Again. Your breath came in short, eyes stuck staring at what was once a person. They stumbled forward, body twitching with every stunted shift. And you wanted to scream. Shout for Joel, but your mouth sealed itself shut, your body rooted to the ground beneath you.

The whole time you were aching for life to return to this city, you forgot. Life already existed here. Mangled and rotting and steeped in death.

But life nonetheless.

They turned, eyes glassy and empty, but somewhere in the depth of them they recognized that you were alive. Your heart pounded against your chest, louder than their fucking screech. It pierced right through your skin, a slice to the already existing wound.

You clutched Joel’s gun, finger sliding along the trigger. It was easy enough to pull, to set the bullet flying towards its mark. And you should have pulled it, should have watched as they dropped, but like an idiot…you hesitated.

Why the fuck did you hesitate?

A pause of silence filled the space, echoing louder than any gun could have, before time slowed before your very eyes. How fucking stupid of you. To think you’d be safe. They clocked your shift back, head twitching, before that horrifying click you’d come to hate echoed in your ears. You were dead the second they started to run, limbs flying and body thrashing, as if the control stemmed to one part.

One sole purpose.

Infect.

“Fuck!” you shouted, ignoring the ache in your feet as you sprinted in the direction Joel disappeared to. If you were lucky he was still there.

Yet life had a way of proving to you that luck had nothing to do with why you remained alive.

“Joel!” You gasped for breath, doing what you could to ignore how they sped up behind you, their screech somehow louder as it echoed off the buildings around you. “Joel!”

If you could get the upper hand you could put a bullet in their skull, but your thought process happened too late. Glancing over your shoulder, you were blinded by their body launching at you. Toppling you to the ground as they scratched for your face, any part of you they could sink their teeth into. You don’t remember screaming, or even calling Joel’s name. You simply fought. You tugged on the loose thread of pure fucking rage that called your name—screamed for you to do survive.

“You piece of shit!” you yelled, managing to hold them off with your forearm, your fingers grappling for the knife attached to your side. “You fucking animal!”

“Boston!”

Yanking it out, you nearly cried in relief as you jammed it into their neck, shoving it in deep enough to hear a crunch as it met bone. Satisfaction pulled at your chest. You didn’t stop there. Dragging it out, you sliced through their shoulder, their throat, any part of them you could reach. Until you were no better than the monster that now lay above you. Lifeless.

Hands came out of nowhere, grasping onto their corpse and shoving it off you. You nearly took a swing at the person above you, the red fury blinding you to anything that could have existed nearby. The feral piece of your heart—the survivor—had been set in motion and they called for blood.

Joel’s hands yanked the knife out of your clutch, his voice calling your name, and for a moment you felt lost to the depths of your own fury. You would have killed him if he wasn’t fast enough to dodge that knife.

“Boston!” He pressed you to the ground, his body sitting on your waist, hands keeping your wrists together. “Baby it’s me.”

The breath in your lungs escaped in a sharp gasp, your body stilling within seconds. Only a few times in your life had you succumbed to that raw emotion that scratched and clawed at your chest. Some days you claimed it kept you alive. Others you ignored its existence in the hopes that it would disappear for good. It was the darkness you refused to see—the one thing you wouldn’t accept about yourself.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled, releasing the hold he had on your hands in order to cup your face. “It’s dead. It’s gone. You killed it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Why…did you leave?”

Leaning forward he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath hot across your chin. “I’m sorry darlin’. I keep doin’ that.”

Inhaling his breath, you did what you could to regulate your heart. “And I keep nearly dying.”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Nearly. Not if I got a say in the matter.”

Dirt covered your back as he helped you to your feet, and before you could shake it off, he brushed his hands along your body. Patting it off as best he could. The act shouldn’t have brought tears to your eyes, it shouldn’t have even been noteworthy. But the tenderness behind his touch reminded you what you could have lost.

“I want an explanation,” you said, your voice thick with tears. Thankfully he chose to ignore it.

“I found somethin’.” He pointed to a shop that held no sign, no indication that it was anything before this. “You might like it.”

You struggled to put the knife back in its place—still wary and on edge. “This better be good Texas. I didn’t almost die for nothing.”

Joel didn’t respond, but you caught the flash of something crossing his face. Dark enough to cause worry. And you wanted to ask, to prod and poke at what he was keeping to himself, but the way his fingers tightened on his gun told you enough. He didn’t like to think of you that way. Dead on the ground in a city that he brought you to. A trip that was meant to be filled with joy.

“Follow me,” he stated, pushing open that already broken door.

You half expected to see a shop, something frivolous from the past, but the sight of a garage nearly stopped you in your tracks. A dusty brown cover cloaked something in the middle, but the shape was familiar enough to light up your chest. A car. Joel tugged at the cover, kicking up dirt and whatever else lay atop, but you couldn’t care less.

It’s once beautiful dark red color looked aged with however long it had been here. Never one to know cars, you simply knew that it was expensive—a thing that would have cost the entirety of your tuition at one point.

“How…” you breathed.

“Saw the logo on the window,” he replied. “I figured it was a hardware store until I came in.”

“Does it work?”

He shrugged. “Probably not.”

You deflated slightly. “Can we…fix it?”

The sun was going down faster than you would have liked and Joel knew it. He could see how you were both losing time the longer you were there. But the prospect of having an escape kept him on the edge. His grim expression made the choice for you as you moved to pop the hood. Your bag, now discarded on the floor by his feet.

“I don’t know much about cars—”

“Lucky you got me.”

“Don’t tell me. You’re a contractor who knows cars?”

Joel huffed. “Someone had to help my brother fix up his shitty truck.”

The words were good enough for you as he moved you out of the way, ducking down to peer at the engine. His shirt tugged up his back as he leant forward, his skin coated in a sheen of sweat. If it were any other time and the prospect of this car working didn’t depend on life or death, you would have sat back and admired him.

But the edge from earlier still ran through your veins, adrenaline the only thing that kept you upright and stable. Joel worked silently, cursing under his breath every now and then. Only speaking to ask for certain tools. And you watched the sun begin to dip lower. Suddenly you found yourself regretting never taking auto shop in high school. Choosing wood shop over it in a heartbeat.

“Turn her over,” he said, wiping the sweat away from his neck. You felt warmth pool in your stomach at the sight.

Jamming the screwdriver into the ignition, you turned it slowly, hope cresting at the top of your chest. Only for the sputter of an engine to die out in seconds.

“Shit,” he muttered, glancing back at the work he’d put in. “The battery ain’t dead yet and I fixed everythin’ else. Try again for me darlin’.”

You repeated the motion, pressing down on the gas pedal, clutching the wheel in your hand. Whether it was you attempting to force life into the car, or sheer fucking luck, you’d never know. But the echo of the engine roaring to life flooded you with enough relief you fell back into the seat with a smile.

“Joel?”

He looked up, a smile of pride across his lips. “Yeah baby?”

“Let’s get the fuck out of New York.”

Nodding, he tossed your bag into the backseat as you let him slide into the driver's seat. “I like the sound of that.”

The calm of the forest welcomed the both of you with open arms. As if promising the rest you ached for desperately. Miles and miles of trees—of different shades of green and brown—were softly illuminated by the sun steadily dipping in the sky. In an hour or less night would be upon the world and this day, no matter how special, would have to come to an end.

You tried not to think about it; the idea of having to say goodbye to something you’d cherish. What would keep you going if Joel and you were to ever part. What you wouldn’t do to keep the sun in the sky for a while longer. Give up a few years of your own life, of the future you planned with hope filled eyes and empty hearts.

If staying here—in this moment—was an option, you wouldn’t hesitate to jump at the chance.

Joel slammed the trunk of the car shut, a small box of cans he found buried in the back of the garage, clutched in his hands. Despite the prospect of all this eventually ending, you caught the hint of a smile on his lips. Barely there, yet bright enough to light up your heart like a match being struck.

You found yourself smiling back—heart hammering loudly in your chest.

“We’ve got…” He raised a can covered in dents and coated in a thick layer of dust. “‘M gonna assume it’s soup.”

“Lovely,” you laughed, your face twisting up in disgust as he tossed it to you.

The dust was sticky beneath your fingers, as if something had spilled across it years ago. You figured it was best not to question more than necessary. Settling on the ground, you plunged your knife into the cover, taking a hesitant whiff of something probably expired past saving. Much to your surprise though, a pungent scent of tomatoes greeted you.

“Raviolis,” you exclaimed, delight scrawled across your face.

You wished you could have seen Joel’s eyes go soft, seen the way he practically melted at the expression of joy you wore. Joel Miller remained hard as stone to the rest of the world, but in moments like this, when peace was prominent and life gave way to something other than pain. He allowed himself to feel. For a bit…he was the man he might have been a decade ago.

“Good enough for me.”

Prying the lid off, you watched as he set up stones for a small enough pit. You were far enough in the forest that it would take people several hours to get to you. Far enough away from civilization of any kind. What remained in the city, the bits and pieces left behind, would never be enough to build what used to exist. Like it or not…that part of the world had come to a close.

The chapter sealed and signed off with enough blood to keep it shut forever.

“Thank you,” you said softly as he struck a match from the small box you kept in your pack. “For today.”

He grinned, glancing down at his hands that fiddled with a stick. “Was nothin’ really. You wanted to see the city and we were heading this way—”

“Joel.” Cupping his face, you shifted his shining brown eyes until they were upon your face. Gazing at you with a look he’d never shown you before. “You gave me a day I’ll never forget.” He chuckled, grasping onto your waist gently. “Thank you.”

Those two words didn’t seem like enough to get your message across. You wanted to do the same for him. To give him something he’d remember, but nothing felt enough.

He pulled you closer. “Would have been better if you didn’t get attacked.”

“Well…” You looped your arm around his neck. “I knew what I was getting into when I chose you.”

Something shifted in the air between you the second he led you up those cracked and broken museum steps. The front of the building had been blown clean off by bombs, but you’d recognize it anywhere. The place where your future once led to. A home in your heart for so long. A dream not yet come to life. Joel took care to lead, to put himself in harm's way to keep you safe. But it was more than that.

He gave you time to look.

To take back a part of your past you never got to have.

An act that he’d never be able to do. He couldn’t go back, couldn’t take anything from his past that hadn’t already been destroyed. The watch on his wrist was all he’d keep. But you…he could give this to you. He could heal something in your heart you didn’t even realize was broken.

“I’d do it again,” he murmured, lips sliding along the inside of your wrist, nose pressed to your palm.

Your heart ached for him; body burned for him. And in the lowlight of the sun, you found your hope in him. It glimmered softly, barely within reach, but Joel had kept it for you all this time. He made sure to protect what you couldn’t—what you had given up.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, catching his quickly darkening gaze. “Please.”

The crackle of the flames couldn’t hide his small groan of pleasure as his lips met yours. What he intended to be soft, reverent in a way he’d never been before, shifted rapidly. His hand slid up your body, fingers wrapped gently around your throat to keep you in place. To help him devour you a bit deeper. That alone sent a flutter to rush through your entire body, your fingers digging into his wrist, silently begging for him to press down tighter.

To cut off the air he exhaled into your lungs.

“You got no idea—” He sucked in a breath when your lips met his throat, teeth nipping at the salty skin. Red bloomed beneath the surface as you went, small marks and bruises to prove that he wasn’t dreaming. That this trip was real—that you were real.

He growled, fingers tightening around your throat to pull your lips back to his, a rough breath exhaled into your open mouth. “No idea what you do to me darlin’.”

Sticky warm wet heat spilled into your stomach, flooding your already damp panties. The can was forgotten on the edge of the pit, his touch far more enticing than a few meager pieces of food. If you could survive on one thing alone, you’d want it to be him. You would train your body to sustain itself on his touch, his tongue sliding along yours, his fingers digging into your skin.

He’d become your oxygen, your reason for living.

“I-I do.” You gasped as his teeth dug into your throat, hands quickly stripping you of your flannel. Helping him, you yanked at your shirt, discarding it to the side. Nothing mattered but the feel of his tongue tracing along your skin—the hot mix of his touch and spit made you dizzy. “You do the same to me.”

A soft grunt was muffled into your chest, his hips rising up to grind against something. To gain what little friction he could.

In the midst of kissing him, he managed to drag you into his lap, your knees pressed to the forest floor on either side of his hips. Your body, as close as you could get with clothes in the way. You could feel the heavy press of him against your thigh and clenched around nothing. The needy emptiness that slammed into your body was nearly too much, but you held onto what little fragments of sanity still remained.

You clung to the bits of yourself he wished to consume, knowing the consequences of what might come afterwards.

But how could you give a fuck about consequences when his touch lit you up like the fire to your left? How could you care about anything else? When his lips wrapped around your peaked nipple and sucked at it as if you were his source of life.

His hands slid up your back, skin hot wherever he touched, as he pulled you down into his lap a bit more. Enough to feel the familiar press of his cock straining against his jeans. The sun was nearly gone now, light bleeding through the branches of the trees, and you let the warmth consume you. You relished in its burning caress as he worshiped your skin with his mouth, his hands that had spilled blood for you.

“Need to be—” He bit off with a sharp moan as you rolled your hips down, giving him the pressure he needed. “Fuck keep doin’ that.”

You were desperate for him and you weren’t afraid to admit it to yourself. The infatuation bordered on obsession, but if you were to say that about him he’d finally have to admit the same to you. He’d have to crack open his chest, bleed through your fingers like sand, and allow you to dig your way to his heart. As if you were conducting an autopsy on his body—picking a part each dark piece that he was ashamed to hold onto.

“Touch me,” you whined, digging your fingers into his hair as he dug his into your hips. A burning bruising touch that left you needy.

He grinned, pulling at the button of your pants. “I am touchin’ you darlin’.”

“You—fuck, fuck, fuck—” His fingers slid through your slick, finding their way to the parts of you he’d memorized in such a short time. Your clit practically throbbed beneath his touch, body shuddering as he circled it with enough pressure to electrify your nerves. “Yes.”

“That’s what you want?” The question was irrelevant. He knew this better than you, but that wasn’t what he was asking.

Is this enough? This quick fuck beside a fire as you both hid the real reason. Was his touch, his kiss, enough to show the truth?

Was he enough?

You choked out a soft yes, your lips finding his in a sloppy spit slicked kiss, and his fingers became insistent in their determination to watch you break. Joel had become addicted to the sight. His very own guilty pleasure—yet how could he feel guilty about something so angelic? How could he repent for a sin that he’d give up everything for? What was the point of worshiping at an altar when heaven existed between your thighs?

Eventually his fingers wouldn’t be enough. For either of you. But he was focused on one thing, feeling your pussy spill along his palm. He sunk two fingers into you knuckle deep and smiled as your head fell back, a throaty moan echoing off the trees. You grinded against his hand, fingers tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck. And this was enough.

“Prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, hand still placed around your throat. His cock leaked as it constricted with your swallow and images of what he’d look like in your mouth flashed in his mind.

“M-More—” You gasped, your clit dragging along the heel of his calloused palm.

But you had begged for something else and Joel was never one to deny you. He ripped at your pants as you did the same with his, your lips messy and rough against his. You swallowed his moan the second your cold hand wrapped around his throbbing cock—precum sliding down your palm as he did his best not to finish there and then. He was so fucking wound up that this would be over before it began.

Neither of you cared.

“You’ve gotta know,” he rasped, gripping onto your bare hip as you hovered directly over his cock. Your pussy practically dripped onto him.

“Know what?” you sighed, sliding him through your slick.

He squeezed his eyes shut to the sight of you. The shine of firelight and sunlight played against your skin and Joel felt his body tighten painfully. The view alone nearly made you double over in pleasure, your breaths coming in short gasps as he fought to finish on the front of your pussy.

“That I—” He gasped as you began to sink down onto him, encasing him that sticky heat he’d begun to think was the cause of his demise. He’d never be able to live without this. Without getting to carve his way into your body. “Fuck darlin’.”

You grinned, cupping his chin and pulling his attention back. “I’ll go slow.”

“You don’t have to take it easy on me.”

“Seems like I might.”

A rumble started in the base of his chest, lips curving up as he caught your mouth in a searing kiss you felt down to your toes. The grip on your throat tightened as you began to move slowly, letting him pull out of you slow enough to cause madness to rise in your chest. Like a burn you refused to let go of. Joel had other ideas. He yanked you down with enough force to drag out a high pitched cry from your chest, your mouth falling open in a silent scream when he set his own pace.

Quick and fast and filthy enough to sign your name on hell’s roster. He wanted to fuck himself into your body so deep he was buried there. Wanted to paint your insides until you were leaking him all morning. He wanted to etch himself into your soul.

Permanent and without shame.

“C’mon darlin’.” His teeth dug into your jaw, pain slicing through the pleasure deliciously. “Let me hear ya.”

You curled into him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he pounded up into you. “‘S good,” you gasped, coherency going right out the window.

He grinned, tugging at your throat. “You can do better than that.”

Words faintly entered your mind before disappearing seconds later as he tilted your hips slightly. You scratched at his chest when his cock struck right where you needed him. Right where your mouth began to form words you fought so hard to keep at bay. Words that revealed too much, gave a window into your heart, and if you had the capability you’d shut your fucking mouth. But it was far too late for that.

“You like that?” he groaned, teeth digging into his plush bottom lip as he kept the angle. The veins on his neck were strained, begging for you lick at them, and you dipped down to distract yourself from the words.

The one thing that seemed to catch his attention.

“What was that?”

You whined, wrapped an arm around his neck as you dragged your hips along the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “Nothing,” you mumbled, sucking at his neck.

Only for him to pull you off by your throat, his lips hovering over yours. “What’d you say?”

“I—” You clung to him, begging for the truth to sink back into your chest. But he was staring at you with dark eyes and a parted mouth begging for you to kiss it. He looked at you as if you were ethereal and for that small moment, you believed it. “I love you.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, his hips stuttering in their movement. You watched his eyes go wide, understanding finally dawning across his features, and you prepared yourself for the worst. You waited for him to reject you. The words never came. He pulled you into a kiss, tongue sliding along yours, as he sped up his thrusts. Grunting into your mouth with each one—his body taut and begging for release.

“Yeah?” he panted into your mouth. You nodded, feeling the burn of pleasure begin to flash white behind your shut eyes.

“So much,” you sobbed, tears spilling down your cheeks. Something pulled tight in your stomach, building with each stunted move of his body against yours. You needed it, would beg on your knees for it, and Joel was right there with you.

His dark gaze met yours as he finally released your throat in favor of finding your clit. “Say it again.”

Heat rocketed up your spine as you locked down around his cock, his fingers insistent and rough. “I love you!” you cried, trembling in his hold. Those three words you’d been so afraid to say out loud finally spilled free over and over and over again. Until you couldn’t hear them anymore over the loud rush in your ears.

He slammed his hips up one last time, lips finding yours in a bruising kiss, and found his own peak. Spilling into you with a moan, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you pressed up close. You wondered if he feared you’d vanish before his very eyes.

“I love you,” he sighed, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut to your own wide gaze.

The words didn’t register at first, simply flying directly over your head. Yet as silence wrapped around your entwined bodies, sunlight disappearing over the last of the trees, you finally understood. No orgasm could match the absolute bliss that filled your body at the echo of his voice forming those words. Of their soft cadence. He was hesitant to look at you, to face what could finally break him, but your hands cupping his face drew him out of his own mind.

“Say it again,” you whispered, smiling so bright your cheeks ached. “Please.”

Before you could bask in their beauty, he was pulling away. Digging into his pack that lay behind him. You wanted to stop him, bring him back to this current moment, but the glint of something gold caused you to freeze. The breath once again caught in your chest.

For the first time you saw Joel grow nervous. Almost bashful as he lifted his hand and allowed a small green jewel on a gold chain to dangle between the both of you. The last of the sunlight glinted off the emerald and for some reason it reminded you of him. How it shone in those rare moments when light caught it just right. Yet held a darkness to it, a hidden truth yet to be revealed.

“I love you,” he said, pressing the necklace into your palms. “I always will darlin’.”

Tears dripped onto his hands as you clutched the dainty piece of jewelry to your chest. “Oh Joel.”

“It’s not a ring—”

You silenced him with a tear filled kiss, salt spilling across his tongue. He did what he could to wipe them away, but like it or not there seemed to be no end in sight. Not when your heart finally latched onto all those broken pieces you thought were lost. Joel did the one thing you never thought possible. He healed you.

“It’s enough.” You smiled into his kiss, the necklace digging into your palm—carving its shape into your skin. “You’re enough.”

You could see it now. The path your future led to. Not a building, or a job, or even a home. The end of your path—your grand plan—would always and forever lead to him.

[emmikoochaitea]

Hello everyone! After a while I’m finally releasing my space rider ocs public after working on them for a while! (the dangerous critters as space riders) I’ve kept them hidden for awhile because of shyness but I decided to finally show them all off! This au belongs to @onyxonline

I’ll be sure to draw the riders as spies and spellcasters too but I wanted to finish all the full outfits of the full group shot of space riders first!

There is also gonna be a fanfic I’m working about them and hopefully you’ll like it! Enjoy my silly goobers! Let’s give them all a small introduction!

Since originally the dangerous critters are sort of rivals to the critters, all of them are pretty competitive and kinda? Mean to the og critter due to some dumb childhood rivalries that are petty.

Sinful Shepherd: The leader of the crew! He’s a kind yet strong willed dog that has a lot of empathy for others and tries to be friendly at first. However he knows how to stand his ground and won’t hesitate to punch someone to put them in your place. He can be clumsy and nervous sometimes as well but always has his heart in the right place and is a good leading figure!

Whimper Wolf: Why is he second in command? The others are wondering that too! He’s really shy, seems scared of everything and usually stays nears Sinful Shepherd. But Sinful still seems to trust him and has given him the role for the crew. Although he still gets scared and panics, he has proven himself in battle he can handle cultist and be a good rescuer just.. in his own scared panicky way?

Noxious Neveah Kangaroo: She’s the team’s medic but also a professional boxer and is a BEAST on the field! She uses her strong legs to pack a painful kick that makes the pain last weeks! She’s very energetic and loves fighting more than anything. If you have a cultist fight without her she’ll just take offense and probably ignore you for a week out of pettiness.

Cassi Carless Cheetah: Neveah’s best friend and partner in crime. She’s also a beast on the field but a bit different from Neveah. Her talent is super speed with her strong legs and it’s hard for any cultist to try and run from her when she can catch up to them in just a few seconds!

KittyBelle: Sinful’s adopted sister. She’s a calm caring soul and sweetheart who loves fashion and galas. She’s the one who made all the crew’s gala outfits as she’s a professional outfit maker on the sideline of a space rider!

Frantic Ferret: He’s more focused on right now as a thief and rebel for the prototype’s cult. He’s had a traumatic past that involved them and set up a small rebellion of other victims and survivors that suffered at the hands of the cult. However he justifies his morals by pickpocket and stealing from others and using it for this small rebellion. He eventually will get arrested by the crew but that hasn’t happened yet.

Carter Cobra: Frantic’s best friend and partner through it all, he’s the engineer of the rebellion and a bit of an odd ball when it comes to research and science. He helped Frantic start his rebellion and has followed him ever since. He makes small gears for the rebellion and creates robotic things to help his friends.

Fenni Fennec: Formally training to be a space rider, Fenni was kidnapped by cultist and raised and manipulated into believing her friends left her for dead and the prototype saved her, giving her a twisted mind set and hatred for the dangerous critter crew. She plans to torment them and get rid of them all, and bring them to the prototype, doesn’t matter if alive or dead.

[equinista]

->LINK TO THE DOWNLOAD IS ON MY PATREON (Always FREE)<- Here are some full-seat Equestrian breeches for you all to enjoy :D This took me a looong time to finish. I stared at these breeches so much that when I closed my eyes they would still be burned into my eyes, lol.

I also suffered severe hand cramps, headaches, painful eye strains, and too many uncomfortable hours sitting in my computer chair. I hope to never have to go thru this again anytime soon XD I think there is like, idk, 19 different swatches. It's 9:15am and I have been up all night finishing these so I can't really recall for sure.  Some have a star pattern on the full-seat area and others have a swirly/lacey-like pattern. I tried to include as many colors as I could so hopefully there is at least a color that everyone will enjoy :)

Note: I now wish I had choose a pocket-less pair of EA base game pants to edit as these have back pockets that are only noticeable when in-game and they look a little weird (and are more obvious on lighter colored full-seat-area breeches) cause of the outline of these pockets and how they "stick out" a bit. (I guess they are on the mesh? Idk how to get rid of these as I have never even attempted blender...yet)  

---I included an in-game photo to show you how the back pockets look. They are not that bad looking or overly-weirdly noticeable, but I just wanted to make a note of it. These are base game compatible (they are an edit of an EA base game pair of jeans) and they are disallowed for random.

-Please credit me/do not take credit for my work (Equinista or Equestrianista will do, I use/go by both names interchangeably)   -Never, ever put my work behind a paywall! -Re-Colors are allowed (again, please credit me as original creator...I really put so much time/work into these...with just a keyboard and mouse! lol) ------- ->Not a requirement but Please tag me if you post any screen shots of your sims wearing these (and/or my Samshield Helmet) as I truly would love to see these in your game :D <3 <- ------

[teddybeartoji]

hey, uh, fellow anxiety sufferer with maybe helpful advice? hopefully?? feel free to ignore if this doesn't vibe with you!

so, my anxiety has gotten a LOT better over the years. like, a lot. but when it was more frequent, i would get chest tightness too and i hated it.

so, what i basically learned is that the physiological reason you feel that tightness is because your brain has responded to your anxious state by producing two hormones, namely adrenaline and cortisol.

the fun thing about these hormones? they don't really dissipate if you sit around. other hormones? to my knowledge, yeah. these guys? no. no, they often get worse.

that's probably why it's bad when you're at home, if you're not doing too much physically. sitting when your anxiety is high can backfire if you're being pumped with adrenaline.

the adrenaline is there to get you up and moving to escape danger. it wants you to move.

the cortisol is the the body's stress response. it will turn off your body's ability to relax, and it will continue to do so until you get rid of it.

so, by sitting around and trying to relax to lessen it? usually makes it worse. like. super worse, potentially.

now, breathing exercises and mindfulness are really helpful! for sure! gentle exercise is pretty good when it's low-mid levels of anxiety. walking and aerobic exercise are good for those moments.

i try to walk around 30 minutes a day (if i can fucking time crunch it), and it's been helpful for me, honestly.

the thing about "oh, you should exercise more" people would tell you when i was struggling really kind of ticked me off (because, hey, there's a lot more to it than that!) and kind of made me more reluctant to exercise, honestly.

however, once i figured out what i enjoyed doing and that it was really just for me? yeah, i liked it.

my best advice, perhaps, is for when the chest pain gets really bad. if you ever feel like you're going to have a panic attack and you want to avoid one, the best thing you can do is REALLY INTENSE EXERCISE.

LIKE. DROP AND GIVE ME OVER 9000!!!!

seriously, just drop and do as many push ups if you can. can't do push ups, make it easier by laying on your knees or performing something that's more comfortable to you.

also, if you can, run. specifically, LIKE YOU'RE BEING CHASED BY A BEAR. just GO FOR IT.

because the adrenaline is specifically designed to make you run away like you're running from a fucking bear. by doing so, you cut down on the adrenaline, and your body feels like it has successfully escaped the imaginary bear that is threatening you. and it calms down.

so you calm down.

do whatever strenuous activity you can really intensely until you can't anymore or just feel done, and after you catch your breath, the feeling should be lessened.

otherwise, a different avenue to try may be intense distraction. like, not lowkey distraction like watching tv. something that requires a lot of attention. try doing a really hard puzzle, quizzing yourself on subjects you like, whatever really actively engages your mind.

a combo of physical and mental engagement might be helpful, too. whatever feels good or works for you. the tightness can be really annoying (or distressing when you're not feeling great), but there are things to be done for it! the tightness can get better, and with attention, it likely will. go for it!

moral of the story: RUN LIKE A FUCKING LUNATIC IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER!!!

NONNIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!1111111 YOU ARE AN ANGEL SENT FROM HEAVENNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! me a proper homebody watching you say that just sitting around won't do me any good O . O lmao NO BUT BUT BUT THIS IS VERY GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i've been thinking about doing yoga again,, okay it's not very intense per se but i feel like that would still probably help right.. ?

and goddd i actually really fucking love running!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! not that i'm any good at it but it's so fucking fun lmao i do have some . things that keep me from doing it though that always just sound like i'm trying to look for excuses and i fucking hate that i wish i could just put on running clothes and just go and do it .

YOU DID JUST REMIND ME THAT I HAVE A JUMPING ROPE THOUGH THAT'S ALSO SMTH I USED TO DO A LOT AND I LOVED ITTTTT i think i've been taking steps back lmao i think i've lost the progress i managed to make a few years ago sighhh this is good though this post this ask. it feels like a very needed gentle bonk on the head hgsdhgadhgashg SO THANK YOUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM KISSING YOU SOOO SOOO SWEETLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ILYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[wrathofrats]

Mist said she heard dews screams

Who orderd the transition

What was the room like when they did it was it like a operation room or just a bed

Did dew move around a lot during the transition

Sorry about how many questions I'm extremely curious

Omg pls don’t be sorry I desperately want everyone to ask in depth questions about my writing it honestly makes my absolute day like YASSS SOMEONE CARES

Imma go question by question and try and describe what’s up, hopefully in the future I can make a longer fic detailing dews transition as I did deltas

Who ordered the transition?

Terzo in both cases. After hearing the fates of water, lake and river (succumbing to their element to the point of having to be banished), he didn’t want the same fate for delta or dew. Delta was an accident, as he already decided what he wanted before anyone could stop him. Omega was ordered by Terzo to help him, fix what he could but sadly there wasn’t much to be done. This is what largely made mist scared when Terzo ordered dew’s element transition, she witnessed deltas decay.

As for dew Terzo ordered both omega and aether to transition his element, as omega had experience and aether was a trusted ghoul that he knew could do it with hopefully minimal problems. It was out of concern, he didn’t want dew to suffer from his element as he knows others did so he chose to get ahead of it, with consent from him of course.

What was the room like when they did it was it like a operation room or just a bed

It took place in the infirmary, so imagine a hospital room. Not like an operation room as I believe the transition is almost entirely magic based, no physical tools needed. But I imagine the transition happening in a hospital room by omega and aether at his sides.

Did dew move around a lot during the transition

Warning for this question as I’ll be describing dew in pain

He tried, he was held down by quintessence to ensure nothing went wrong. I think it was a painful process, having to force the fire magic in while pulling the water out. I think it’s a process of one of them forcing it into his veins as the other takes the water out. I really don’t think it was easy on him. Especially aether having to remove his gills, pulling tissue over them to get rid of them.

It doesn’t last long though, a day at most. The rest of the time was recovery and to make sure he was ok, and to get ahead of any issues if they were to pop up. I imagine he stayed in the infirmary for about two weeks.

I hope this helps explain things!

[witchypandamonium]

A Knight's Honor

A collection of Luis/Reader snippets

This chapter: the lab. Luis and Leon fulfill their promises to you & Ashley.

Chapter 2 of ? Occurs during Chapter 15-16 of game 4,788 words, SFW No warnings Tags: Luis x f!Reader | AU | Luis lives

ao3

The ride to Saddler’s island wasn’t too bad, at least at first. Efrain’s boat was exactly what you expected of a smuggler’s ship–a little ramshackle, patched and pieced together with spare parts, but fast as the wind and draped in a tarp painted to blend in with the brackish waters of the sea. He’d even had enough to spare that he’d made a little den for “Huey” (turns out he’d been the one taking care of the stray, and he was loathe to leave the dog to fend for himself) to feel more secure on clearly his first boat ride.

Your left arm was bound to your chest to prevent further injury should you forget and attempt to use it, as well as to try and deaden the pain a bit (Tylenol could only do so much). It was, admittedly, a little annoying and hugely inconvenient, but you’d rather suffer through it, using all of that proprietary Umbrella drug on Luis’s much more serious wound, than to split it and risk his life further down the line. The healthy color in his skin and pep in his step returning after your shared rest was all you’d needed to be secure in your choice.

When the island came into sight through the mist and spray, however, Ef were forced to pull up to a small outcropping of rocks, still hundreds of meters from the shore, and cut all but the smallest engine. “Saddler’s eye may be focused on the American,” the merchant explained, “but from the radio chatter I’ve managed to tap into, they still have a small contingent on the towers watching the coast. If we follow this archipelago and keep down the noise, we should be able to slip in without detection.”

The thought of Saddler taking control of you again made your nerves buzz like a hive of bees in your chest, clutching your wounded left hand even tighter to your chest. You prayed he and Luis were right, that Leon was really putting pressure on Saddler as he grew ever closer to taking Ashley back; too much pressure for the cult leader to notice one little outlier sneaking in right under his nose.

Two broad arms enclosed you from behind as Luis, sensing your anxiety, pulled you against him. “It’s alright, querida,” he murmured against your temple. “We’re almost there. Then we can finally get rid of that damn plaga. You’re almost free.”

Giving one of his hands a grateful squeeze, you focused on taking a few calming deep breaths and quashing those intrusive thoughts that were convinced of your failure. Yes, the odds seemed impossible, but you had to try. Even if there was only a slight chance, it was still a chance–0.00000001-to-1 odds was technically better than 0-to-1.

“How do you feel?” that raspy voice continued, softer, gentler.

Terrified. But of course he meant physically, medically.  “O-okay… a little pressure in my head, but… nothing too out of the ordinary.”

“Good. Hopefully it will stay that way, but Saddler had been experimenting on ways to influence acceleration of the maturation of the plaga when I escaped. We don’t know what he’ll do if he starts getting desperate.”

Great, staying calm was impossible now. You had to keep your eyes focused on the waves lapping against the rocks to keep from dissolving into a nervous wreck.

“Calmaté,” he squeezed you tighter, holding your trembling hand in his, “Ef and I know a route through the sea caves that leads to a cove right under Saddler’s castle. We can take one of the hidden maintenance walkways straight up to my lab–barely anyone uses them. No patrols, no cameras. We’ll be in before they even have a chance to notice.”

You knew he was trying to reassure you, and you so desperately wanted to do as he said, but you just couldn’t shake that feeling of wrongness, that crawling sensation under your skin that increased whenever you neared an area of increased plaga influence–perhaps specifically whenever you drew close to one of the entities possessing the dominant strain. The nausea, the subtle feeling of intoxication, the way the dark coloring of your veins intensified…

You watched the darkness of a vein on the inside of your wrist beginning to pulse to your heartbeat, almost meditative, losing all sense of time, when suddenly darkness fell over you. You realized that you’d successfully reached the island and slipped into one of the cave passages he’d talked about. It was almost beautiful, the way the light refracted off the water and danced along the sparkling stalactites on the cave ceiling. Almost. The water was too brackish, smelling of rot, and occasionally you’d spot a rivulet of black ichor seeping down the rock walls rather than water. And it was too quiet, you realized–not a single sea bird call could be heard, no doubt all dead from disease or plaga predation long ago. Occasionally you’d hear the pop of distant gunfire, a few bursts, then all would fall silent again. Odd how it brought you a bit of comfort–it meant Leon was still alive and fighting his way to Ashley.

Luis was the first to hop off the boat when you reached the “cove”, really a thin strip of sand barely big enough to fit a grown man lying down, holding out a hand to help you with a little chivalrous quirk to his smile. The sand was slippery with slime, a little worn channel stained red from the drainage water flowing from a heavily-rusted pipe at shin-height that jutted out from a narrow passage chiseled in the rocks.

“No wonder no one uses them,” you couldn’t help but chuckle, glad you had at least a little humor left.

It seemed to ease Luis’s mind a little as well, the scientist giving you an encouraging pat on the back as he gestured to Efrain. “One last time–radio check?”

The smuggler held one speaker of the old headset to his ear, eyes narrowing beneath the shadows of his hood. “Chatter’s gone quiet, which means Saddler’s probably using the hivemind exclusively now. Either he’s gotten wise to third-party intruders or Leon’s really putting the screws to him. Last I heard there was trouble going on at the base of the mountain. Odds are the American’s managed to break through the gate to the keep.”

“Knowing Leon? Por supuesto,” Luis chuckled, giving you a reassuring wink. Stepping up into the crevice that was just big enough for him, he held out his hand, “Alright, stay close.”

You didn’t let go, even as you stepped into the darkness.

The passage was almost pitch black, even when your eyes adjusted, only the occasional weak red light giving you any idea of your surroundings. It was a disorienting, suffocating maze, the air thick as water (you hoped it was just water) seeped from unseen cracks and dripped slowly down the mineral-coated, rough-hewn stone walls, but Luis marched ahead confidently, never for a moment hesitating at each intersection.

Not knowing how far sound would carry, nor how thick the walls were, you whispered, “You memorize the route?”

“Absolutamente,” he replied with a brief glance back at you, tone similarly hushed but still playful–something you were beginning to learn he did on purpose to ease your nerves whenever fear or doubt started creeping in. “This was my way out. Time was of the essence–I only had a few hours at most to get somewhere safe before Saddler realized I’d removed the plaga.”

Sometimes you almost forgot just how smart Luis was–the flirting and light-hearted joking were quite effective smokescreens. His gentle, reassuring squeeze of your hand told you quite plainly he understood and didn’t mind.

The column of light that materialized ahead of you was almost a welcome relief. Almost. Problem was what it illuminated.

A ladder.

This was going to be tough.

“Almost there. Normally I’d say ‘after you’,” Luis murmured as he removed the bandages pinning your arm to your chest, “but I think you’re going to need me up above with a safety line, hm?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Thankfully a quick search revealed a rope hanging from a nearby pipe, and after one end was secured to the waist of the Spaniard and the other to you, the both of you began the ascent.

Hooking your elbow on the rungs worked well enough, but it was a bit of an ordeal, your wet shoes slipping while trying to step up more than once. Still, right hand gripping white-knuckled as you clung so hard with your left arm you were sure to have bruises on your ribs, you managed to avoid testing the strength of Luis’s knot-tying. You were so focused on following the very deliberate order of operations required for safe ascent–step, right hand, left elbow, step, repeat–that you didn’t notice the faint whispering on the peripheral of your senses, nor the pressure beginning to build behind your eyes (nor the occasional opportunity to check out Luis’s ass). It was only when you finally reached the top level, Luis gently lifting you by the waist to help you onto the platform, that your ears started to ring.

…my flock…

“You alright, ¿mija?”

You felt something warm under your nose, reaching up to realize it was bleeding. “Something’s wrong…”

Just over Luis’s shoulder, you saw two bright, pale blue eyes floating behind him. The area was well-lit and plainly empty, yet the gaze stared defiantly into your soul.

The American… kill…

A moment later the pulse hit you like a freight train.

You’d felt it once before, shortly after you’d entered Ramón’s castle. It was weaker then, when an ominous cultist in red robes had compelled the rapid growth of the other cultists’ parasites, the horrifying, bloated worms bursting their hosts’ heads as they continued to puppet their bodies toward you. Those plaga had already matured enough to completely control their hosts before, however. This… the agony, the twitching of your muscles as something worked to control them, the oddly intoxicating brain-fog, the voice. You knew instantly.

Saddler.

He must not reach the girl! Rise, my flock! Stop him at all costs!

You were only vaguely aware of your collapse, seizing as all your neurons fired at once, body struggling to override the various chemicals and electrical signals the parasite pumped into you as it began to seize control, tearing its way to your spinal column. As though underwater, you barely heard Luis’s muffled voice, the panic the only thing you managed to make out.

Not like this! You didn’t want to turn into one of those things! You didn’t want everything you to effectively die as a creature locked you inside your own body, a puppet at the mercy of one madman’s aspirations. Did the ganados even know what they were doing? Were they forced to watch as their bodies moved on their own, poorly mimicking mundane life routines and murdering any poor innocent that got in the way? Or did they die slowly, painfully, the internal damage too much, unable to even cry out as their entire essence was slowly donned by this foul creature as some grotesque disguise? You didn’t want to find out which nightmare was to be your fate. Please, no!

And then a cold wave washed over you, starting as but a pinpoint of light in the dark, bloody sea you were drowning in, but it spread quickly. But rather than scooping you from the foul, roiling waters, it was like being cast from one ocean into another, then being held under. At least it was quiet, the overwhelming susurrus dying away as the lightning firing throughout your body fizzled, leaving you exhaustedly adrift with only the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

The suppressant. The last little bastion of conscious thought in the corner of your mind was amazed that it was at all effective at this point. You couldn’t make much out after that. The agony of something ripping through you, sinking its claws into your very molecules, was replaced with a pulsing soreness, like you’d just finished the most intense workout of your life.

Anything outside of yourself came through a thick, syrupy filter; blurry, echoing, smearing.

You were floating barely above the surface of a mercury ocean, light reflecting off the ripples of liquid silver, obscuring much else from perception.

Murky figures in black robes hung like upside-down statues, passing one after the other like pillars in some submerged cathedral.

A low thudding, the distant, rhythmic thunk like that of an axe hitting wood, sounded somewhere beyond your deadened heartbeat, the gavel of some divine magistrate delivering judgment.

Carried by the waters, you were laid upon a plinth of stone as the waves washed the entrails of some dead, mighty sea serpent, across you. First one, then another, and another, until you couldn’t move beneath them.

Three suns rose in the misty gray sky, flitting like fireflies across the heavens. They brightened, then, until all you could see was white.

And then you were filled with a new agony, burning from the inside out, reality jumping from surreal and mildly unsettling to stark, pinpoint-clear pain. You knew you were screaming, but you could barely hear it above the shrill buzzing that had swallowed all. You couldn’t move, held down as you were, couldn’t escape this lance of pure, tortuous sunlight as it struck a void of writhing darkness lodged inside you like shards of glass. Shrieking, shattering, combusting. The only thing that anchored you, saving you from getting lost in the pain, was a strong hand gripping yours, keeping you from digging your nails into your wounded palm or tearing open the stitches, barely in the periphery of your perception. A lighthouse in a dark, foggy night.

Then, just like that, it was over. You had never felt so drained before in your life, wrung dry and pummeled into a fine powder. The last thing you heard before blessed darkness took you was a familiar voice gasping,

“İGracias a Dios!”

•••

You awoke slowly, hazy, formless dream and reality blending together as your senses slowly recalibrated after such a traumatizing experience. The first thing you could properly discern (other than the full-body soreness) was that same warm hand holding yours, a soft, familiar voice mumbling barely audible Spanish. Eyes cracking open, the bright, clinical light of the lab was almost painful, the world a bright, hazy mess for several moments. As things began to focus, you slowly turned your head to see Luis seated at your bedside, holding your bandaged hand between his as he rested his forehead against it. You could somewhat understand what he was whispering, recognizing the words enough to discern them as Catholic prayers.

“After all that’s happened…” your voice felt like sandpaper, but you had to say something—he looked so pitiful, “…I’m amazed you still believe in a god, let alone pray to him.”

Luis’s head snapped up, eyes glistening but bright as a smile uncharacteristically lacking of any sass or flirtiness bloomed across his face, almost as blinding as the lab lights.

“I’d pray to anything that’d bring you back to me, querida,” he rumbled, voice as sweet as syrup.

You couldn’t help but snort. “Maybe a poor choice of words when we’re in the heart of a cult compound.”

“Not when we’re finally safe in their blind spot.”

Trying to sit up suddenly in shock and excitement earned you a wave of lightheadedness and Luis’s gentle hand guiding you back down to the bed you’d been deposited on. That brief angle, however, did allow you to see a very important face—one you feared you might not ever see again.

“Ashley!”

The President’s daughter traipsed over with a grin like pure sunshine, her skin finally a healthy peach tone completely devoid of any dark veins. “How are you feeling?”

“Not as good as you,” you chuckled wryly, not even trying to hide your envy.

“You hit your head pretty hard back there, mija,” Luis crooned, affectionately brushing the hair from your face as he tapped the bandage wrapped around your forehead. “Mild concussion, I’d say.”

Well that certainly tracked with the hallucinations you’d experienced earlier. You hadn’t even noticed the wraps until he pointed them out to you. “What about Leon?”

“Never better.”

You almost shot back up again, though Luis anticipated this and was already holding up a scolding finger and tutting sternly. And so you simply craned your neck to see the agent look up from the papers he was studying on a nearby table, similarly looking hale and healthy, gifting you with a rare, subtle smile. “Glad to see you finally awake.”

It was hard to quite make sense of what you were seeing and what this meant—most likely thanks to the concussion. “How long was I out?” If you were all together again, and this was indeed Luis’s lab, then that meant…

You were all cured.

The answer of “Thankfully only about an hour,” from Luis was barely registered as a wave of emotions washed over you, each vying for control in an almost overwhelming rush. It was hard to even realize that you were crying as one thought managed to push to the forefront:

You’d done it.

You were safe, and all of you were alive.

“No no no no, cariño,” There was a hint of panic in the Spaniard’s eyes as he gently brushed away your tears with calloused thumbs, the kind of vicarious distress of a parent upset to see their child upset.

…or a lover.

No, you chalk that one up to the concussion—the likelihood of that was even lower than you all surviving this.

Ashley joined Luis in calming you with a gentle hand stroking your arm, a much-needed diving-line that helped guide you back to the surface. “You okay?”

“We did it?” you whimpered.

“We did it,” Baby Eagle confirmed with a squeeze of your shoulder.

“Not quite.”

A part of you wanted to roll your eyes (though it probably would’ve made you nauseous; Luis did so in your stead, muttering a clipped “Oye, time and place, Sancho!”). Leave it to Leon to be the party pooper. But by now you knew full-well just how reliable the agent’s instincts were and understood that he wasn’t so much pessimistic as realistic. First he analyzed the problem, and then he always presented a solution.

So you know he’d continue. “Saddler may not have control over us anymore, but he’s still a threat. I’m going to take care of the psychopath once and for all.” The satisfying sound of pistols being primed rang through the lab as he clearly prepared for a confrontation. “Luis, meanwhile, is going to get you and Ashley to evac.”

“And he’ll be right behind us once he’s done,” the Spaniard added, anticipating your protest. “We’ve got it all planned out—Leon’s got the map, Efrain’s got enough explosives rigged to convince Saddler’s private army that American backup’s finally arrived from the east, while I get you two señoritas to his boat at the western dock. All you need to do is take it easy.”

You couldn’t help but feel there were still a few loose ends swinging in the proverbial wind. “Weren’t you trying to negotiate an exchange with someone for escape before all of this? What about them?”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “I’m sure they can take care of themselves. Besides, I lost the goods thanks to Leon’s old buddy back in the caves. Ef will get us out of here for a US pardon. Trust me.”

While you couldn’t help but still be anxious, you did trust him, so you bit back any further objections.

As Leon headed for the door, Ashley stepped away to reach Efrain on the comm, leaving you and Luis alone for one last quiet moment.

His hands were still cupping your face, thumbs idly stroking your cheekbones. “I promised I’d get you out of here,” he murmured gently, “just like I promised I wouldn’t let you turn into one of them. We’re almost there, mija.”

And then he was leaning down to brush the softest of kisses to your forehead, quickly, barely more than a peck. Had his touch not kept you anchored in reality, you’d have been certain you were hallucinating. That couldn’t have been real. He couldn’t… You reached up to catch him before he could retreat too far, analyzing every micro-emotion that flashed in those gray eyes.

Surprise. Confusion. Realization.

Hope.

Amor. He’d said amor then, back in the foreman’s office. You hadn’t imagined it in your exhaustion. And his eyes said it again now, clear as a bell, amidst that shock identical to yours that you could feel the same.

Slowly you pulled him back, giving him every chance to stop you.

He didn’t. Not even when your lips touched his.

In fact, he leaned in, head tilting to better slot against you as his fingers crept to your hairline. It was relatively chaste, barely a hint of moisture felt, but it was like a fatal crack splitting a mighty dam in two; the completing of a circuit that launched a thousand fireworks. Luis, seemingly unwilling to bear parting from you for more than a breath, hissed a heated “Ay, mi vida,” before he swiftly closed the distance again, this time with searing intensity. You readily yielded to his tongue, welcoming him into the cavern of your mouth as you arched off the bed, desperate for more contact he was all too happy to provide, one large hand at the small of your back as he supported his weight above you on his opposite forearm. His scent washed over you–leather, tobacco, sandalwood, and traces of gunpowder–giving a pleasant, dreamy haze to your already floaty senses. You could be quite content to get lost in this moment forever, but the fingertips creeping just under the hem of your shirt whispered heated promises of more; of adoration showered upon you until the stars burst, just as soon as you were away from this place.

It felt at once too long and too short when you finally broke apart for air, a different kind of tears welling your eyes as they met his bright, shining quicksilver ones.

“Is this real?” you whispered, weak voice quivering in a mix of disbelief and joy.

Luis chuckled, the sound kindling a fire in your chest so warm you knew it’d never go out–your heart would become dependent on it. “After all that’s happened,” his smile took on that wry slant that had charmed you from the very start, mischief in his voice as he turned your words back on you, “I’m surprised this is what you have trouble believing.”

You clapped a hand on his face and shoved him away with a scoff, regretting rolling your eyes as you confirmed your hypothesis—it immediately made you dizzy.

He simply laughed good-naturedly and sat back in his chair, saying in a voice loud enough for Leon and Ashley to hear, “Alright, let’s get you two señoritas out of here,” adding in a lower, hushed tone for just you, “so I can show you just how real this is…” subtly adjusting his pants to relieve some… discomfort as he stood.

Your head went blank as your face went hot. How the fuck did he manage to do that? This wasn’t the first time he made something that could be misconstrued as creepily lewd instead so subtly hot that it short-circuited you. You’d always brushed it off, however–he was just a flirty guy, after all, and certainly would never be seriously interested in you.

And now here he was, his lascivious smirk tempered by the earnest adoration in his eyes as he offered a hand gallantly to help you up, even kissing the back of yours afterwards like a proper knight. You’d gone through hell, but it seemed you’d come out the other side with something… wonderful.

Now wasn’t the time, however. Now you had to concentrate on standing upright without swaying too much as you heard Ashley say into the comm, “Hit it.” You felt the vibration in the floor before the sound of a distant, muffled explosion caught up to it, triggering an immediate alarm that bathed you in red as sirens blared.

Leon, standing at the ready by the eastern door, met your eyes one last time. His trained neutral expression was oddly warm, comforting as only Leon could make it. Then, with a sharp nod, he was gone.

Fear immediately started bubbling up in you again, but Luis was right beside you in an instant, arm at your back to keep you steady and usher you through after him. Ashley then took his place as he drew his Red 9 and took the lead to heroically guide the three of you to the docks.

The distraction worked–the remarkably short route was empty of any opposition, and in what felt like no time at all you were being helped back into Efrain’s boat, the smuggler still cackling to himself about what a panic he’d stirred up. No, what ended up being the most difficult was the waiting afterwards. Retreating from the docks to anchor as close to the northern cliffs as they safely could, somewhere they wouldn’t be seen unless the witness was standing right at the edge, they had to sit in perfect silence, praying that Leon would be successful in whatever he’d planned to do to neutralize Saddler.

When the alarm stopped, you started fidgeting. When the gunshots started up again, you were trembling, welcoming the shelter of your knight’s arms–his coat was even opened up for you to burrow further within, perhaps because he thought you might also be shivering from the cold oceanic wind (a real possibility, but your head was too scrambled to really isolate any one sensation or emotion). Ashley was remarkably calm, brow barely creased in concern, as she kept her eyes squarely trained on the northern platform; the lack of a concussion probably helped, though being the President’s daughter she no doubt was already familiar with dealing with crises.

The roar that came next, however, made the whole boat flinch. You caught a glimpse of a massive, bladed tentacle thrash over the platform before you drew quickly back to the safety of Luis’s coat, pressing as close to his warm chest as you possibly could, screwing your eyes shut tight.

Trust him, you kept repeating to yourself, trust him trust him trust him. For once Saddler’s angry–that’s a good sign. Just trust him.

One shot. Two. Three.

Another roar.

Then silence fell again.

How exactly you missed the sound of the helicopter that approached the platform, you weren’t sure. You felt more than heard Luis’s chuckle. “I knew it,” he muttered to himself.

When another explosion hit, Ef quickly barking, “That’s not mine!” the panic started again. It soon became apparent that there were more being set off in a massive chain that stood to potentially level the whole keep. The smuggler was so desperate to get the anchor up that he was aiding the winch with his own hands, no doubt giving himself some pretty bad rope burn for his troubles, but it helped them gun the engine to a safe distance that much quicker.

But wait…

Was… was that the sound of another boat engine? It wasn’t the helicopter–it seemed to have vanished just as suddenly as it had appeared, the smoke covering its escape. You built up the courage to peek out from your jacket shelter.

Leon!

It was Leon! Shooting out from some hidden cave, the agent just managed to outpace the island’s collapse on a pilfered jet ski, none to worse for wear. A rare bright, boyish smile broke through his look of concern and concentration as he spotted you all–the last thing you saw clearly before your vision was swimming in tears again.

He did it.

You were free.

The evening was a blur after that. You remembered crying and cheering and so many hugs. Leon must have managed to contact whatever secret service department he was working for, as at some point you were intercepted by a Navy ship of some sort, which passed you to a carrier, where two helicopters were waiting–one for Ashley, the other for the rest of you. The last thing you remembered was dimly marveling at how fast the aircraft was before you fell asleep, Luis never once letting you go.

[cinnabun-faerie]

I am feeling like a need for angst, so the miqo'tefell has returned. (Hi again, hopefully tumblr actually notifies me if you answer this ask unlike all my prior asks to other accounts of you know of a fix please tell me)

I'm curious of how the WoL's partners (Zero, G'raha, Zenos, Erenville, Alphinaud, Thancred, Haurchefant, and maybe Y'shtola too if that many is fine) would react to seeing the WoL go into a form of bloodlust fueled rage against a large group of foes (or one large/strong foe) as either a dark knight or a reaper (both for added angst and like.... a speculative reason as to what could have caused it. Maybe the voidsent WoL made a deal with decided to take over and feast or the darkness WoL had allowed into themselves finally got the better of them after so much hardship)

Also thank you greatly for all you've written, there is a nonzero chance that if you answer this ask I will return with more angst because I have so many ideas but no idea how to write them.

Hello! Thank you for the ask! (I don't have the character right this second but I hope that's alright). Feel free to send more asks. I may be very late to answering them, but I will do my best! Also sorry that some of these aren't very angsty.

Alphinaud

When you do stuff like this, it frightens him a little

and his worry for you is through the roof

you had this habit of letting your emotions out in a fight rather than talking about them

and it would build and build until eventually you were consumed by the pile of emotions and you'd become this

he didn't want to admit it to you, but your bloodlust and rage at this level made you almost unrecognizible

and you truly reminded him of Zenos as there was no better comparison

Erenville

Shocked to say the least

he knew you were a fierce warrior of light

but seeing you like this worried him

you look less of a hero and more of a broken soul that dealt with pain and suffering by fighting enemies

and he knew that this bloodlust wouldn't get rid of the pain and the emotions you'd hope it would

you'd keep going and going until you'd be too far gone

he would do his best to help you through it in a more healthy way

G'raha Tia

He's confused

Don't misunderstand, your skill was immaculate but something was wrong

you didn't usually fill with rage and bloodlust over your enemies

he would be a little nervous approaching you about it as your eyes seemed dark and wild

it was unfamiliar to him

but he wanted you to know that you could talk to him

don't let whatever it is that's bothering you eat you from inside and consume you

you're not a monster, Y/n

but don't become one because you let yourself go

Haurchefant

He's impressed

How could he not be?

Everything you do just suprises him but also amazes him

truth to be told however, he is worried when you suddenly break into the rage

he had never seen it before!

He had never seen you like this

what were you going through to react like this towards an enemy?

he desperately needed you to fill his curious mind about this later

and he needed to soothe your mind with a nice chat and some hot chocolate

Thancred

Ah

he knew you were holding some things in

why else would you let your feelings out this way

you and him were going to have a long conversation later

you don't let him keep stuff to himself, so he's not going to let you do it either

he didn't want you to end up hurting yourself in the long run

but he would at least tell you that he was impressed with how you took down the enemy

Y'shtola

She knew something was up when you were using your rage like this

it wasn't something that normally occured

and you couldn't hide anything from her

she knew you too well

but she was worried

whatever was bothering you was too great an issue as you are letting it out like this

she would tell sit you down for a talk afterwards and try to help you any way she could

Zenos

"Care for another fight, hero?"

Your rage and bloodlust gives him a yerning and a lust for another battle with you

oh how he wishes that you were fighting him like this

but at the same time, he enjoyed watching

just for the moment

surely he would have his turn

he might even do something later that will surely piss you off so you'd want to fight him

Zero

She would be lying to say that she wasn't impressed or taken-aback by this

but she's a little surprised

you seemed so nice and friendly and yet you were letting all your rage out like this

she would question you afterwards because there had to be a reason

this seemed irregular

[nelle-y]

Glory to Godwin

Synopsis: the final days of their relationship should not mean their final days alive

Content: Glory x Godwin, angst

Warnings: major character death, massacre, descriptions of gore

Note: Inspired by A Huguenot, on St. Bartholomew’s Day

—

In the midst of a massacre, hidden behind an unkept alley, was a mound of desperation and helplessness. Patches of dirt stood underneath Glory’s feet, tinting green grass and leaves as it crept up the wall. The sky was grey and the sounds of death nearly called her own name. She and Godwin hid behind the thick vines atop the wall, fearing for their lives. It was only a matter of time until the Fatui agents find them.

“Please, Godwin,” she cried, her blindfold hung above her eyes. “I beg of you. If not for my sake, then for your own life.” She buries her tear-stained face into Godwin’s chest. “Heed your own life, please!”

Her sobs broke the man’s heart. He has never seen Glory cry like this. However, he must keep his faith. No matter what the cost. It was his duty as a knight of Favonius to remain true to his word.

Glory had no such duty—she has the chance to flee and that was the choice Godwin wanted her to take. “Please, Godwin, please,” Glory pleaded him like a beggar for a meal.

All he could do was run a hand through her hair and smile, “My darling Glory, an apology is not enough to rid you of this pain.” A gun shot echoes in the distance—another life taken. Godwin holds her tight when he hears this, a hand on her head and an arm around her back. He kisses Glory’s forehead. “However, I can’t simply throw away my faith. You wouldn’t do it either, if you were in my place.”

Glory couldn’t help but feel the ache of grief slowly rise. Her head bowed to the ground, rejecting to hear the voice which will soon be lost forever. “There’s no convincing you, is there?” She breathes, defeated.

Her hands claw at Godwin’s clothes, tears threatening to burn her cheeks once more. He lifts her chin ever so lovingly, making the best of what time they have left.

Glory felt a breath from him. “Don’t,” she hushes him. “Don’t say it.” She knew all too well how much this man could hurt her, especially if he says those three words at a time like this.

Godwin returns to his soft smile, radiating a calm space for her to relive. “There!” A fatui skirmisher yells for his members. Right then and there, Glory felt her intestines drop to the floor, anxiety filling her stomach. “Go get them!”

“No!” Her desperate screams pierced their ears as agents and maidens separated the two. She itched her way out, “Let me go! Godwin!” Her hands drew for the knight only to be pulled back by an agent.

“Let her go! She’s of Snezhnayan blood,” Godwin lied in hopes that they would spare her, restrained with the hands of fatui scum. “Don’t hurt her!”

“Oh, really?” The skirmisher’s voice was rough, as if he had smoked a thousand cigarettes in his life. He walked to Godwin, gaze looking down on him. “Then I guess we’ll have to kill her last.”

Just as he was about to protest, a foot had landed on Godwin’s jaw, slight dislocation piercing the front of his ears. Glory could hear the impact of their hits on her beloved. Her bawls of agony rang through the walls of Mondstadt as she stood there, helpless. “Godwin! No, please don’t do this!”

Godwin could only watch her skew in turmoil, bound by the hands of their foe. He felt pathetic and unworthy of her undying love.

But one thing made him feel content—that he would die a hero in her heart.

To hopefully ease Glory’s suffering, he tried his best to keep quiet. Yet the pressures of the opposing groups managed to urge grunts and groans out of him. Glory kept calling Godwin’s name, hoping she could get a response, hoping he would be okay.

But instead of her name, two cracks split in the air, numbing her ears of anything pleasant.

She felt liquid drop on her feet. “Godwin!” The woman was sent into panic, chanting prayers and Barbatos’ name. Slashes of gooey somethings itched into Glory’s ears before she was thrown on something limp, wet, pulsating.

“Where’s your god now,” mocked the skirmisher.

Desperate for any contact, the blind woman kept calling his name. She took her blindfold and grazed her hands on his chest, looking for any source of blood. She could describe it as a cushion, ready for her head to lay on.

The open wound she felt reached the end of his stomach, giving way for his insides to spew out and blood stain their dirtied clothes. Godwin’s flesh smelled like iron, muscles trembling from the force of the blade.

“No. No, no, no, no,” she repeated, trying to keep her lover intact with her singular cloth and a beacon of hope. “Godwin, stay with me!” She felt his pulse, beating perfectly before fading into nothing.

Then the world fell silent and still.

No words could describe the emotion and desperation Glory had in her voice as she wailed her lover’s name one last time. Gunshots and screams in the distance, Glory could no longer hear them. It was as if her heart stopped beating the moment Godwin took his last breath.

Because amidst all the pain grief had brought, she failed to hear the footsteps that crept behind her.

“This is what you get for betraying her majesty.”

Bang.

—the end.—

[jarael]

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[iron-embers]

Heya!!!

So I’ve seen your art of Hatomi and Shinjuro and it’s so sweet and it got me curious…

How did Shinjuro react when he realized that he had feelings for Hatomi?

Did he deny it? Did he stress out? Did he feel guilty? Knowing how much he loved Ruka, was it hard for him to move past his first love?

Vice versa for Hatomi too please?

I’m so glad ya think so, and I appreciate the positive feedback+interest on these two complicated adults figuring out feelings😆. I have had a long time (Too long) to really think about this and formulate how this strange relationship of theirs grew and strengthened throughout the years, so forgive the long explanation. Hopefully this helps organize my thoughts to the question😂

Everyone knows Shinjuro was extremely affected by Ruka’s passing, watching the love of his life wither away before his eyes and die in such a short time left him empty in more ways than one. While she wasn’t the main cause of his spiral, it was definitely the catalyst to finally give up. He didn’t want to be demon slayer, and most of all he gave up on being the proper role model to his sons; and he was ashamed for it, but it took a long time to finally admit it and take steps to get himself out of the drunken cycle. In the beginning he tried to busy himself with slaying demons, taking up mission after mission to get rid of as many demons as possible while asking himself that very question. Why do demons live on and yet the only woman he loved died? Asking himself that for so long, Shinjuro would wonder what is the point anymore, of killing demons only for them to comeback hundred fold, which leads to what is the point of teaching his sons flame breathing if it won’t help get rid of the demon problem, and why would it justify sending them to possibly die. For awhile he wonders why he was still alive after all the dangerous missions if flame breathing was a cheap knockoff, was he lucky, or did the gods have some sick sense of humor to not reunite him with Ruka……which leads to the unfortunate spiral of not wanting to care anymore. Because after everything he had been through, the main thing he took from it was loving someone will only bring you pain and suffering. Trying leads to disappointment, so why bother if he believed he was a failure to begin with…..and who would ever love a failure. Something he projected onto his sons to a degree, but to put it bluntly, he may act like he scorns and belittles them….but these are attempts at trying to disconnect them from him because he doesn’t want them ending up a failure like he believes himself to be. As Kyojuro said, he was once a passionate and loving father, but he changed. This was not overnight, to fight his own usual warm and passionate nature, Shinjuro resorted to numbing himself from dealing with the consequence of feeling….hence the alcohol. He refused to hope that he would ever find love again, not after loving his wife so much. Nothing could be like the warmth of her care, and how much he treasured her…and yet still died.

He is broken, he doesn’t want to be fixed, and he doesn’t want to love only to be hurt all over again.

Meeting Hatomi for the first time was supposed to be no different for him. He was so used to scaring people off with his attitude, or at least being scorned for his brash behavior, that most people would get the hint and back off. At the very least they would judge him for his alcohol abuse and treatment towards his sons. Hatomi on the other hand was a strange case. She came to the estate at the right time, he fired the last servant and he wasn’t exactly looking for a new maid. But even he realized that handling both a 10 year old plus a 4 year old that needs proper attentive care was something he mentally felt unprepared to shoulder seeing as how Ruka had been deceased for a few months now, he was stressed. Tired and fed up with the stress of two young boys needing attention and that’s when he kind of hired Hatomi? (That’s another Long story.). She did none of the above when it came to interacting with him. Hatomi was respectful, she never bothered him with questions, never judged or bothered him about his habits…she gave him space. Which he found was exactly what he needed instead of the overbearing nosey servants that he felt tried to rush him in his time of mourning, and would try to dictate to him of his need to focus on the children. Their intention was not bad, but for Shinjuro in his state of mind, Hatomi respecting his boundaries and picking up the slack that was his mental presence was a breath of fresh air he didn’t know he needed. In the beginning he was a little bitter to her, especially when she seemed to baby Senjuro and yet she would just simply smile, acknowledge his grievances with a professionalism that left him stunned. She didn’t give him any reason to dislike her despite her personal disagreements with his addiction (She showed she was uncomfortable with it, especially when the kids were around but didn’t tell him what to do because she felt it wasn’t her place. Less stress on Shinjuro she learned means giving him less reason to drink if she helped to make a calm environment) because she was patient with her understanding of his grief by giving him less to worry about, it gave him the opportunity to observe her. Overtime he noticed how adaptive she was to the situation between father and sons, prioritizing their needs and giving a stable environment, especially to a baby Senjuro who didn’t fully understand what happened to his mother and why his father was so sad. She gave them hope, encouraged their dreams at a time where he felt unable to, even he would admit he wasn’t the most hospitable employer. Shinjuro was slightly impressed with how experienced she was with both childcare, and maintenance of the household. She had a warm presence about her, calm with a wisened patience that did wonders for his bitterness. It almost made him curious about her background, but since technically he is not supposed to care, he never really pressed for it (He tried once while drunk, but the short response she gave sobered him up real quick). In turn, he gave that same respect to her. The main point was that she didn’t try to fix him, she just made sure that he would have space and an environment to where he can find his own way, no matter how long it took.

When he realized his feelings for her, it was two years into her time as a governess. Senjuro was 7 while Kyojuro was just turning 11, Hatomi made it a habit to tuck the boys into bed, finding ways to burn their energy so they don’t stay up and disturb Shinjuro. She would tell stories, talk with them and even play games until they went to bed. Shinjuro happened to be walking by, surprisingly sober enough that he heard a strange sound. Humming coming from their room. He peeked through the door and saw her humming to the kids, lulling them to sleep with a soft smile. That smile, calming yet with a sadness he knew nothing about left him to wonder, which came with curiosity….and an unfamiliar feeling in his chest. Unfamiliar because it’s been so long since he had that little first sign of affection and he thought he had smothered that with Ruka.

It was supposed to be impossible, and denial hit him like a train. (Too soon😂).

His way of dealing with it was denying that it was the romantic kind of affection, cuz that would lead to a myriad of conflictions and guilt he refused to think about. (Why add on to the reasons for his Sake addiction?). It was years of convincing himself it was a weird familial connection, that he had to see her as a family friend to protect what was left of his sanity because he had no energy left to stress about it. The guilt was there, but it was subdued telling himself that he just cared about her well-being. For the boys sake of course, cause they liked her and she took good care of them. That and while she had a similar aura to Ruka with her patience, it was a blessing in disguise that the two women had some defining differences….it eased the guilt but not enough to where the attraction faded, in fact it only got stronger with time. Considering how devastated he was about Ruka, the guilt he felt thinking he might be betraying her by feeling this way was immense and while he can deal with stress, that hopelessness thinking he must be a horrible man for feeling attracted to another woman. It took him 8 years after to even come to full grasp with how he felt about her, as he was coherent enough to know that acting impulsively with expressing it would ruin any line of trust they had. Shinjuro respected her as she was a widow as well, and wanted to keep his quiet affection for her honest, and with that, refused to take advantage of it. He knew what grief does to people better than anyone, and would never want to place himself in a situation where she would become just another object to ease the ache. Hence why he never said anything for a decade, you gotta respect his patience though.😂. The breaking point was after Kyojuro’s Death, when he did something that caused a bit of a mess that tested that tense trust, but after everything settled the once broken trust got stronger, strong enough to give him the courage to admit his affections….and finally open up to her about it. And she in turn opened up to him with her story, her past, and her motivation behind helping them. He realized that Hatomi had more in common with him than he thought, which was yet one more thing they bonded and comforted each other through such a difficult time. He found that she understood him, something he deeply admired and treasured.

A lil snippet into the story I had been writing for them…😉

He realized that she too was one who suffered much in her own life, and instead of letting it take her down the path he went, made the decision he was to weak to make. Instead of closing herself off like he had upon Ruka’s death, she found the strength to move on and heal. She instead dedicated herself to helping others in need, the consistency and nurturing gave others the strength to heal despite how broken and battered she was herself, she inspired those she cared for to keep going with such patient support. She too had lost someone she loved, and while the hesitation to love once more was present as for all these years was quite stubborn in putting her duties above personal feelings, it was not nearly as crippling. She did not let the loss discourage her from opening herself up to the possibility. Hatomi was strong, both her mind and heart….much like Ruka before her passing. Perhaps that was why he was drawn to her, while the traits were reminiscent of his late wife, they had their respective difference. Differences that he had come to respect and admire over the years, even if he never dared show it. He was afraid. He had always been ever since he had lost the only pillar of strength and stability, which caused him to spiral out of control. Too afraid to be around his sons that though despite looking so much like him, were a constant reminder of what Ruka left behind. Afraid and not knowing how to properly move on, did the only thing that drinking his sorrows away would allow. He pushed them away.

It might have been too late for Shinjuro, as his own shortcomings had an inevitable hand in his eldest sons death, at this moment …..he would not let himself be afraid anymore. He wanted to try again. He wanted to love and be loved again, because their passed loved ones would want both him and Hatomi to live and create new bonds that will strengthen their passion for life.

Sorry for the ramble, but as you can tell I had WAY TOO MUCH time to develop this relationship and any opportunity to share it is so much fun! Because I wrote too much I have no room for Hatomi in this ask so feel free to shoot a separate ask for her with how she felt on her end. Any specifics or questions I would be happy to answer! Thank you for the ask!

[niragixpsych]

This new prompt sounds really fun and I finally get to be the first (hopefully) to reply to one of these (yay me I guess.XD). So let's see:

Animals:

Bunny - This one's obviously related to the fact that people speculate Niragi is supposed to be the March Hare from Alice in Wonderland, but he do be cute like a bunny (and he probably has a sex drive like one too)

Tiger - Fierce and dangerous, that's for sure, but also majestic

Colors:

Black - Like the darkness of his soul I've noticed that most of his color pallet is black and in a way it suits him, kinda gives you the ominous vibe of mystery and intrigue he's certainly aiming for, but at the same time it's kinda drawing you in (it's hard to explain, but bear with me.XD)

Red - Oh, the color of both anger and fierce passion, this man could embody both really well depending on the context, if not both at the same time too.

Gold - I guess once you dig deep enough you might actually find something special underneath (I keep also on thinking about that line from Gasoline too since the song fits this man like a glove, y'know?)

Places:

You know these old and abandoned scary houses? - I'd say Niragi reminds me of one of those sometimes, since he's marked by many scars left by the harsh past that make him put on a very scary appearance to divert people from coming near him and he'd resigned himself to solitude. But thing is, just like with one of these houses, I feel that with the right amount of care and patience you could restore it to something beautiful. (Ah, I think my writer tendencies are coming back with these deep parallels, you'll have to excuse my old habits.XD)

Flowers (it might be odd to associate flowers with him, but I've got some stuff for this too since I found some prompt list with flower language, so I'mma use that for the meanings):

Red rose - Cause this man pricks you with his sharp thorns until he draws blood, but at the same time makes you love him passionately.

Calla lily - Beauty. This one's obvious: man is gorgeous, enough said.

Red columbine - Anxiety. Niragi surely suffers of some forms of anxiety if not PTSD from his past, since some of the symptoms of those are violent and very aggressive behavior in some cases.

Candytuff - Indifference. I hope it's no surprise to anyone that indifference is a trait that speaks Niragi, since it's easier to keep others away to get rid of any annoying presence.

Oak - Strength. Man is strong from all points of view, period.

Edelweiss - Courage and devotion. Again, I feel that if he were to open up to someone and accept them in his life as a friend or something more, he'd become very devoted to that person since they would have to mean something to him if he views them in that way.

Songs (I'll keep this short since I'm still working on a playlist for him):

I'd add here all the songs from your repertoire for Niragi, Gasoline having to take the lead in this one because the lyrics are deep and fit his complexity (thinking back to his manga version too). A misunderstood recluse. Oh, and also the "Love the way you lie" song fits the dynamic he'd prolly have in a relationship.

I hate everything about you by Three days Grace - He's volcanic, unpredictable and defines himself through hatred, so his love language would be scattered too by a back and forth between love and hate.

Animal by Three days Grace - Kinda self explanatory once you understand the lyrics.

Pain, again by Three days Grace - Relating to the fact he's a freaking masochist who'd rather inflict more hate from others and suffering just to feel alive.

Toxic by Britney Spears - Need I say more?XD

Criminal by Britney Spears - This is for all my fellas who love this man and have at least one ship with him.XD

I'm still here from Treasure Planet - I know, this song is related to parental neglect, but at the same time the lines about others not understanding you and wanting to change you to fit their standards make me think about how much he dislikes being told what to do and being sent "to therapy" by people around him. He just wants to be himself in a world that keeps on rejecting him.

Fifty shades by BoyEpic - Moving into sexy territory, hurah! This one's more for the perspective of a potential lover of his, since I'm sure as heck Niragi would be into some kinky stuff involving some form of hurting his partner.

Dirty mind by BoyEpic - Not much to say, just in relation to the fact I think he's into just enjoying some good sex not involving feelings.

Well, that's all I could remember for now. Phew, this was one heck of a ride.💀 Thanks for taking the patience to go through this!

~ Yours, The anon who keeps coming back no matter what

WHAT DO YOU ASSOCIATE MY MUSE WITH?

(( You're first and only one to send something in for this prompt/meme I'm not sure what it is to be honest.

If it comes to the animals - sex drive like a bunny is accurate if he has interest in someone, other than that it's just for passing the time and because they want it so bad -, colors and places I can see all of them too. And there are sure triggering things for him and he will always react differently to them. Also I'm not sure for my muse whether he is closer to anxiety or PTSD yet.

As for the songs Gasoline will always be one of my favorite songs for him. Toxic and Criminal by Britney Spears had me love because I think they fit for those that are into him. For the others I can see I why they fit in your eyes because of the vibe and the lyrics. Pain, again by Three days Grace I think I will add straight to my character inspo. Also maybe the Britney Spears ones just for the fun of it. I love the way you lie will stick too. I'm sure I will add more songs as I go. Still hanging on Wildfire a bit. lol But thank you for the other songs I will keep pondering over them.

[sickmuseum]

vent account from an artist, from a person who express themselvess with art. i've lived through almost every pain you can imagine, i'm diagnosed with a lot of mental health issues, i'm neurodivergent & also disabled.

be nice. this is for me and my mind, i do not encourage any kind of self-harm, i'm 2 years clean from an eating disorder & also cutting, in fact, edblr, or shblr please do not interact with me, i don't mind if you only reblog, but don't dm me, don't comment, don't follow. i only like to vent, i won't indulge in those type of contents, i may write about my experiences with an eating disorder and self-harm but i won't glorify it, nor romanticize it, it's a very serious issue that needs to be treated carefully. pronouns can be anything, i mostly write or draw, that's all, i do have original content, i will be tagging it one day.

trigger warnings & tags.

❝ ✧ grandmother will you be my muse for tonight? ❞

grief, loss of a family member, death.

❝ ✧ for the loss of innocence and childish joy.❞

cocsa, sa, csa venting, minor mention of grooming sometimes, sexual thoughts, and hypersexuality, anything related to childhood trauma, (mostly related to sexuality)

❝ ✧ there's pieces of me in all the hospitals i have been to. ❞

medical trauma, hospitalization, psych ward mentions, suicide, medical treatment.

❝ ✧ an ode to suffering. ❞

common pain, anxiety & stress in life, may be romance, friendships, or from myself.

❝ ✧ I've been through the fire of not knowing what's real and what's not anymore. ❞

dissociation, psychosis/schizoaffective vents.

❝ ✧ my body and mind are at war with me, it doesn't hear me. ❞

disability & neurodivergencies vents

❝ ✧ tweet-like vents. ❞

ranting & general talking about life.

❝ ✧ chatting with pain. ❞

ranting in tags, sharing experiences in depth.

❝ ✧ if god loves you, then why? ❞

religion, faith, complex feelings about god.

❝ ✧ you scream ''I'M CLEAN!'' and i don't hear it. you can never get rid of me. ❞

self-harm, or eating disorder talking, (while i won't glorify nor encourage it, it will be poems and writings about my experiences with them). i hopefully won't have to talk about it too much.

[zeke-ewan]

"Damnit now which tab had that message again..."

Furiously switching tabs, the writer wondered if that saying had any weight; was there truly any merit in pulling out one's hair in the pursuit of a goal whose location had become lost among the rest of the void? If he were to yank a few strands, could the shock of reality lead him back to where he saw the... well he didn't even truly know what he found in that code behind a different code.

[[What follows is both a stream of consciousness and passion, and hopefully finally getting some intrusive thoughts out of my head, as well as an improv creative writing experiment. Under the cut due to length. Keep reading at your own discretion/time. Glhf xx]]

All he remembered was, and he wasn't entirely sure that it was even real after all that followed, he had found the most perfect job.

All his life, people had been asking him what kind of job he would like to do. He always had difficulties when people asked him those questions. There always seemed to be some hidden meaning behind the questions, and the hidden meaning seemed to be the key to the correct answer. But what if he disagreed with the correct answer? Could it still be correct if it is unsuitable for covering all the variables in an individual's life?

The perfect job. He had tried for years to determine just exactly what the perfect job was, relative to himself. So many had been attempted in the pursuit of happiness and balance, for which he oft felt he was playing on a different difficulty than those around him. Those for whom he was envious, not jealous. For he never wanted to take from others. He only wanted to ask them to share, the way no siblings had been around to share with him growing up. And only if they had some to share, whatever it was for which he Dreamed.

He had felt seen. That was all that he could truly confirm. The doctors had been throwing around terms like "paranoia" and "schizophrenia" whilst he was in care, but he had a secret about the entire time he was in the ward. He wasn't out of control as much as they thought; he was possibly the most in control of his actions he possibly could have been, on what was likely ten hours of sleep across four days, at best guess.

So why was he acting so outrageous? Well, that's the answer, isn't it? He was acting, or so he thought. Or rather, auditioning.

As the writer attempted to rid himself of more tabs filled with misdirection and coincidence, he still fought that battle in his mind.

Was it all a dream?

Or was it all the only job interview he felt may actually result in a job he could do? He'd tried so many other types of jobs already, and felt suited to roughly none of them, for ongoing sustainability.

It was difficult to remember what was actually real. His partner was real, the one who had done their best to comfort and de-escalate him during his peak episode. Every moment he felt he could, he had lowered his voice to comfort the poor long-suffering partner. It was not their fault, they were doing everything they could, but with respect, he had figured it out. Or so he thought at the time.

"The bruises are real..." he was able to confirm, as every time his partner tried to lay their hand on his arm, it was another bittersweet, painful reminder of the physical abuse he suffered during his "audition".

Why did he think it was an audition?

Well, that's quite a long story. To be Frank, he would have to change his name and he's already done that twice thank you very much. To be candid, the writer was able to identify exactly where the whole episode started.

He simply wanted to do some stand-up comedy in his local community, and be paid for his work. And what did the mentors and veterans in his local group respond? "New comics work for free... No one gets paid for their first job... Would you demand pay at Kareoke?"

No! Was his answer for all of those. Why should comics work for free if they're booked? Most entry-level comedy nights don't even have a transparent sign-up system, let alone an opportunity for the artist to make any money.

This particular writer was certainly being paid for his first job - bussing tables at a restaurant for people bitching why the other tables around them have chairs on them already "well, with respect, it's because you sat down with a table of ten people half an hour before close, so if we'd like to get out of here when we stop getting paid, we need to clean around you, so please let us clean up while you take the staff's cleaning time and throw it after your late dinner". Had the author ever committed such an atrocity? Absolutely! Was he likely to ever do it again? Not if he could help it!

This particular comic had already been paid for a job, and wasn't interested in doing more for free, unless there was an agreement that if the work was solid, there would be pay.

This particular artist has performed many a ditty at karaoke, but had he ever expected to be paid? Absolutely not! Why? Because at karaoke, one does not perform their own original work. At karaoke, one can mimic another's work as terribly as they like and the crowd would likely go wild, if the singer committed to the bit.

Was the aspiring creative soul looking to be rich quick? Absolutely not! He just wants to make some art and be paid, like he did at all of the other jobs he did, trying to fit into the Box/Label/Group/victim that society had built for him and found that they simply did not fit.

This writer fancied himself coining a phrase, or is it a parable? Regardless, he believed to be the first to phrase as follows, but would certainly be open to feedback should he prove naïve: People are to labels are cats are to boxes; if chosen for oneself, it provides comfort, armour, and safety; if forced in by another, it feels restraining, isolating, and derogatory, and most of all, against one's free will. Also if someone else is building the box for you to fit, are they taking your measurements? Asking what conditions you need to thrive? The writer didn't seem to think so, based on historical data of an experiment ongoing for 32 years and not likely to stop soon.

So what exactly did the writer want? He didn't want to be rich and powerful, for that would be too much pressure and responsibility, and he knew for a fact that his mental health was not allowing him the generosity of a peaceful existence, nor the sense that all of his thoughts could be trusted.

But he sure did have some thoughts about how to drum up fundraising in his local artistic community. He was the kind to have Endless ideas, like he was some sort of Dream lord, or Story lord.

He was not attempting to bottle fame, brew glory, or even put a stopper on death, though he did fear that due to the prevalence of Hate and Crime against his siblings over the globe, that perhaps he wouldn't make it to the age where an artist/writer often makes their first break. He was an only child per upbringing, but could swear he felt the world's pain, like

He had never taken a writing class, because when they were free he was unfortunately uninterested, and by the time he was interested, the classes were no longer free. But he had spent a lot of time writing. 100s of 1000s of words poured into passionate alternative universes and the smut that would likely never happen for whatever reasons. Through exploring writing through free and collaborative means, he learned some lessons about the things he wrote. Some things are dangerous to write because without the important moral and safety messages or trigger warnings: words have power of influence. That was the point he was determined to make all this time. If words of love shouted can harm, then surely words of harm whispered can erode love.

He had never taken an acting class, because when he had the option to do it for free at school, he felt too unpopular to play pretend with the experts. He so desperately wanted his peers to laugh with him, not at him. But he had been acting his whole life; it just took taking off the Mask for him to realise just how much acting the people with whom he interacted were getting for free.

Who was he, after all?

He was the one whose report cards always championed for high intelligence and excellent communication skills, but was always failing to apply himself.

He was the one who was always too shy to confirm that he himself was invited to that Party, because so many times people invited everyone around him without inviting him because he was too weird, or an over-sharer, or dominated conversations. He's the one who knows he can easily dominate a conversation, and is also self-aware enough to take break when he can, constantly watching the other participants for their turn.

He was the one who went through talks at his work about the "bathroom policy" because they allegedly didn't already have one when he started there. Why did he go through all the bullshit of defending himself to corporate cogs who never practice what they preach? Just so no one else would have to at that same workplace.

He was the one who was so triggered by the shooting at Club Q that his mind potentially fractured into Deadline mode, because he could feel the hurt of his siblings, more dead. He only hoped they made it somewhere like the Endless, with a changed king caring for his subjects big and small.

He was also the one who kept trying to tag in his friends to his creative works because he had all the ideas just not much ability to "do".

He never thought that he could possibly be offered even a job interview with some of his writing heroes like @neil-gaiman (the "psychotic episode as they're calling it, told the writer he was invited to at least audition his creativity, though the deepest cuts of the Manic Episode said he may also audition for another sibling Not-Yet introduced), or @danharmon (Full Meta Jack Rick spoke to him so hard he thought Dan had been in his own mind but was challenging him to stand by his point) and potentially @wilwheaton was also cheering him on somehow. @justinroilandofficial-blog had the day off for this fever dream, but his voices sure did join the writers in the inner dialogue.

What did the writer even want, in the end? What could possibly make him get off his noisy soapbox? Well, the "tangible" thing he wanted was simply some funding so he could explore this creativity without asking creative friends to halt their JobSeeking to play pretend with him. He has enough trouble getting through his daily existence without trying to write his first breaking story. Mysterious funding with no strings attached would surely simply exacerbate this little one's paranoia.

What would his dream come true look like? Well, if he could remember what the effing homework was, he was really hoping it was going to lead to a bright, creative, and financially supported future, the kind he could bring all of his poor and creative friends along, for he was not the only one struggling to fit into society's box.

Does this writer want a life-long allowance or the kind of money that should leave a lot leftover? Absolutely not. The only reason this writer needs money is because it is so bloody important for sending messages and telling stories, because he could most definitely create his own movies/shows, even with his own crew, but he has no money to pay them.

And at the end of the day, that was the point. Artists should get paid. And I want to pay them myself to work with me, alas I am "unemployed" and used all my savings from my last full-time job to survive long enough to figure out that I really can't perform to their standards, and by they I mean my previous employers.

For I am Groot (lol couldn't help making one real reference) and I am outgrowing my tiny little pot. And I lost two people so I'm down to first person now.

This is just me trying to get some of the hectic thoughts out of my head, of which there are so very many. If I mentioned you in this and you're tired of people name dropping you or contacting you, I'm sorry. Please understand that if I mentioned or contacted you, I feel like you're one of the Good Ones, and I'm sorry for disturbing you. I appreciate you, and I thought you were approachable. I'm sorry for my disrespect of your privacy/boundaries. I was desperate to be seen, and thought I was dying, sort of...

I'm not sure how to end this but the partner will be home soon and I want to do a nice little thing for her so ummmmmmm OH I KNOW.

GLHF xx

Zeke

P.S. Anyone play Overwatch? My team has tank, damage, and support, just need another damage and support and we've got a full team!

P.P.S. Yes I know Hit Record exists but I want to work more personally with my team, just need someone rich who wants to mess around with something different, mentor me, gamble on me, the way I've gambled on every person who came into my life on whether they should stay. I have no money so I give away a bit of trust to everyone I meet, to see what they do with just a little bit. Then as they earn more, they get more. Can I trade some trust for funding? I have very few assets due to having to move every 1-2 years or so since I moved out because I couldn't afford the new rent etc. I could go on. Trying not to, like always.

[looniecartooni]

So... I agree Belos was mentally ill- he grew up in an environment where he was taught witches were evil and had to be hunted and killed, so he took it to the nth degree and decided that justified him to become an oppressive dictator that could cause mass genocide of a population. His ideology caused him to kill his brother and continuously kill him and bring him back so that he would hopefully not betray him. And yes- as far as we know, he cursed himself by eating palisman. Phillip was definitely suffering from mental illness, including grief, but the problem was he refused to see past his negative upbringing for over 400 years. Could he have received help? Maybe- I think his brother did try to break him out of his past ideology before... the incident, but Phillip refused to believe his brother would be seduced by what he was taught to hate and well... did something he regretted, but never understood fully what he did wrong, and continued to go further onto the path of his delusions where his upbringing was seen as just and justified his oppressive actions.

Curses, on the other hand, don't usually stand for mental illness. We've seen with Eda and Lilith that it acts as more of a physical illness or disability. They appear to age more rapidly, their limbs can fall off, their magic gets depleted, and if they don't take their medicine, they could turn into giant bird creatures that are hard to control. Lilith is responsible for Eda's curse which she learns to maintain by accepting it as a part of her and Lilith we can assume did the same as seen in the finale sequence with the harpy mode.

Belos got his curse either after killing his brother and getting shot at by Caleb's pregnant wife, or as the Collector put it, "You've eaten so many palisman, you can barely keep your human shape anymore." Belos promptly tries to punch the Collector for saying that because he doesn't want to accept he has a curse/physical ailment that pretty much makes him no longer human. He wants to be human- he wants to be better than the people he's trying to destroy/ was taught to destroy. He doesn't accept he has a curse nor that he brought it upon himself. He gets rid of the "weepy pailisman souls" that have been bothering him (it's debatable if these were actual palisman souls or a collection of his guilt for the palisman souls he's been oppressing). Phillip has gotten to a point where he is heavily reliant on consuming palisman souls in order to stay alive and maintain his human form. It's almost a metaphor for drug addiction as he literally has to snuff up the paliman and they are becoming a dwindling resource he demands more of.

Now let's talk about OP's post kind of. Phillip doesn't fake he has a curse or mental illness. He's in denial of his illnesses and people have tried multiple times to tell him his way of thinking is flawed (which there could be multiple reasons why that is ineffective) or have provided alternatives to his ailments (for example Hunter saying that he may have some wild magic alternatives). Either way, he pushes back and pushes his ideals onto others (wild magic is bad- it corrupted my family). While he's in denial about his physical curse, he's not clueless about it as OP said. He uses it to manipulate his nephew ("these outbursts are painful... and so is watching you fail.") (in that scene as well- we also might have reason to suggest that he might also use it as justification to physically abuse him as well, narrowly missing Hunter's existing scar. Easy way to blame "the outburst".)

In his final moments, he tries to trick Luz into thinking he doesn't have his curse anymore. That he's been freed from it in order to accept her mercy (sort of in reference to how a lot of shows have someone's terrible actions be linked to them being cursed and therefore out of their control). He's tried to get this "fellow human" to see his ways and trust him before they become "corrupted" like his brother. He tries to pretend to be cured and innocent, almost pathetic until the rain reveals the truth. He then doubles down, making threats, ranting his ideals, then he grabs Luz's leg, hoping she'd understand his truth.

So, in short, Phillip never fakes mental illness. He is in complete denial of his mental illnesses, as well as his physical ones which Curses are usually meant to be a depiction of. Phillip knows he has a curse, but will only admit it when he can use it as a leverage. We can say he was perhaps affected by religious upbringing, grief, addiction- a couple different factors that perhaps I'm not qualified to diagnose. Him having a physical disability or mental illness is not what makes him an irredeemable villain- he could have received help on those and for hundreds of years, there have been people that have tried to help him or accepted that he had them, but he himself didn't want to accept. What makes him a villain is constantly manipulating people to see his way while ultimately leading them to participate in their own death. He lied, cheated, and killed multiple people and creatures for ideas he wasn't willing to accept were false. He wanted to be the hero of his own story, and ended up the villain for everyone else's.

I might have posted about this before, but the fact that The Owl House consistently uses curses as a stand-in for mental illness really just makes Belos trying to justify his actions by pretending he had been cursed more scummy.

[moramew]

🔥