#and i see people I grew up with that seem to be doing so much better

[clockwayswrites]

Fresh Birb! Part 32

masterpost

“Thanks for the excuse to get some fresh air,” Danny said. He sounded grateful enough that Jason felt a little bad for using the ‘stroll around the yard’ as an way to gather some intel.

“Hey, trust me, I get how overwhelming the manor can get,” Jason said, “and there are a lot of us in house right now. It’s easier in small doses for sure.”

“I could see that,” Danny agreed. “But there’s also something nice about the full house. It’s all very… alive feeling.”

The words were more melancholy than they should be. They were more like how Jason, who knew the feeling of death all too well, might say them. It brought troubling thoughts to mind.

“Yeah, that can be nice about it. Sure is quieter if I’m not here or at Roy’s,” Jason agreed after maybe too long a moment.

“Is Roy that much more talkative when it’s just the two of you?”

“Oh, no. Well, yeah, but it’s more about his little girl, Lian. She’s three and a half and an absolute handful most days. She’s also at that age where she’s pretty much narrating her own life in half understandable babble so there’s just a lot of constant noise.”

Danny chuckled. “I bet. Stayed with a friend for a bit when I was between jobs and stuck there for a few months by a non-complete clause. Her one kid was that age at the time and the oldest five. I didn’t know just how much everything there was when having kids that age. It made me actually feel a little sorry for my parents.”

“You the youngest, oldest, or middle?”

“Youngest. I’ve got one older sister, Jasmine,” Danny said. “You could sorta say there’s a half a sibling too. I basically grew up with my best friend and there were some weeks I spent more time at his house than ours.”

“That close to him?” Jason asked.

“Yeah. That and it was easier, sometimes, to not be at home.”

“Oh.”

That implied some unfortunate things that Jason hadn’t quite been expecting. Danny seemed pretty well adjusted. He was even good at handling Damian, but Jason supposed that maybe part of that was because Danny had been through his own issues.

Danny just shrugged. “I have a life long friend out of it. We don’t see each other in person much these days since we’re on other sides of the country, but we still talk plenty.”

Jason gave a soft hum and, a beat later, asked, “What made you end up in Gotham of all places?”

“Wayne Enterprises, actually,” Danny said. “The rep in the industry as place to work is unparalleled really, especially for what I want to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Help people,” Danny said, honestly and with a crooked little smile. “Which I know sounds cheesy, but I really wanted to create things that help people. It’s not like I mind making a better cellphone battery or anything, but it’s nice to know that I get to work on things that help not just with the little, everyday issues but also the big, life changing ones. The fact that those things get to help the city I live in too is a real plus.”

“Gotham has a way of getting to you like that,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” Danny replied softly, gaze in the direction of the Gotham sky line.

And then a scream split the air.

Not a human scream, thankfully, but a repeated screech that had both of them starting and looking around for the source. The screech turned to a warbling clucking as Jerry emerged from behind the landscaping. His tail was high and spread, his wing tips brushed the ground, and he was looking almost shockingly colorful.

“A turkey?”

“Damian’s.”

“Damian has a turkey,” Danny said slowly.

“And a cow,” Jason said. “Cat, dog, a few snakes. He tried to keep a rat but Alfred stopped that pretty quickly.”

Danny rubbed at his temple. “This is why he knew how to take care of wings, isn’t it?”

Jason tried not to smile. “That came up, huh?”

“He’s been sending Bruce information about it,” Danny answered.

Jerry made another loud warble and struck what Jason could only describe as a pose.

“So… does he do this often?”

“His name is Jerry, and nope,” Jason said and pulled out his phone.

Jerry strutted closer to Danny, tail feathers shaking.

“Oh… oh,” Danny said with the tone of someone for who horrible realization was dawning. “Can you, ah, talk him down?”

“I’m afraid I’m morally obligated to film this,” Jason said somberly. He couldn’t hold back his smirk any longer.

Danny shot him a withering look and started to back up towards the Manor. “Really.”

“Really. Good luck.”

“Well, fuck,” Danny said and then took off running.

Jerry followed at top speed with a scream.

Jason sent the video to Bruce. ‘You have competition.’

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

part three– summary | Over time and through challenges, you find a way to settle in Jackson with Joel.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, established relationship, takes place over a longer stretch of time (two years), graphic depictions of violence, angst, fluff, there's a lot of tender moments sprinkled throughout, reader's progression into her own self, mentions of sa and coercion, trauma, joel triggering some ptsd for reader, tender smut (slight somnophilia) mentions of reader's scars (though mostly vague), ending is foreshadowing (if you get it, you get it)

author's note | this was very cathartic to write, i've had this entire thing outlined for over a year and like 80% finished so a lot of time i've just spent editing and procrastinating over plot points. i originally intended for this to end very, VERY grim. but, the ending i went with is more fitting. also thank you to anyone who's taking the time to read this or has told me they relate to this story and have found comfort in it, i love you!

word count —10k

PART ONE — PART TWO — SERIES MASTERLIST

The entire situation made you uneasy.

“So, do you have a name?” Ellie asks curiously, shoveling a piece of food into her mouth, “I mean, Joel always calls you the kid or the girl—you know, he did that to me for a while, but I grew on him,”

She smiles around her food, her authenticity wholly her own. 

You knew Ellie through small moments, coming and going, not seeing her much around Joel’s house as she was obviously settled into her own and spent most of her time with Dina or Jesse.

“Ellie,” Joel admonishes, “stop yapping and eat,”

“You are no fun,” Ellie says pointedly at Joel, stabbing a fork into the pile of food on her plate. 

You sat beside Joel, your hands resting on your lap, eyes scanning the table. It felt strange to be here like this, in a place so domestic. Alive. Maria balances Benjamin on her hip in the kitchen as she and Tommy conversed quietly over the few sides still finishing up.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Tommy either—it was just the overwhelming weight of the unspoken, how his eyes couldn’t stop lingering on you and Joel. 

It was the way Joel always seemed to know where you were, what you needed, even before you did. It had always been like that, but tonight, it felt more pronounced than ever.

He’s moving for things before you even make a motion to ask, handing them to you without a word, a hand curling over your thigh in silence when Tommy drops a pot on the floor, startling you and baby Ben in Maria’s arms, knowing instantly how to calm you. You were like a unit, moving as one, and Tommy could clock it from a mile away.

Once everyone had finally settled at the table Tommy clanked his spoon against his bowl, his voice cutting through the quiet. “So, how’ve things been for everyone? Ain’t been much talk from Joel lately. Ellie? Everything good?”

Joel grunted in response, a low, almost reluctant sound as he forked a piece of meat. 

He didn’t meet Tommy’s eyes, but his posture was rigid, almost protective, as if keeping a silent barrier between you and the world around you.

It had been a full six months since you settled into Jackson, spring on the horizon, it would be a welcome reprieve to the bitter cold and piles of thick snow.

Ellie gives a short version, cliff notes, too busy eating to put any real effort into the conversation.

“I dunno why he’s askin’ to do dinner,” Joel had admitted earlier that day, “ain’t like him.”

Most of them saw each other daily, it seemed pointless.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, his hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully but nonchalant.

He noticed how Joel had placed his chair slightly closer to yours than usual, a casual closeness that seemed almost unnatural given Joel’s opposition to people and touch. You weren’t sure if Tommy had caught on, but his eyes lingered on the two of you for a moment longer than comfortable.

This wasn’t the pair he had dismissed the night you were found, something had changed.

The fire in the hearth cracked loudly, filling the room with a dull warmth that did little to ease the tension settling in your chest. The scent of stew hung in the air, thick and comforting, but your stomach churned at the thought of eating. You weren’t used to this—family dinners, warm lighting, the sound of silverware scraping against ceramic.

It was too normal. 

Too exposed.

Tommy hadn’t seen much of Joel these past months outside of patrol and meetings. Not since he’d asked him to keep an eye on you—to help you adjust, to give you someone steady to rely on. He hadn’t expected Joel to isolate with you completely. And now, sitting across from the two of you, something felt off.

Tommy cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Didn’t think I’d be seein’ you two at my table tonight, s’been a while.”

Joel barely looked up at Tommy, “Figured we should.”

Tommy let out a small chuckle, “What, outta obligation?”

Joel’s jaw twitched, “Somethin’ like that.”

Your eyes flicker between the two, quiet as you eat.

Tommy turned his attention to you, “How’s it been? You settlin’ in alright?”

You didn’t answer audibly, not that he expected you to.

“She’s fine,” Joel said, voice even as he answers for you.

Tommy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That right?”

Joel didn’t acknowledge the shift in Tommy’s tone.

Tommy leaned back, watching the way Joel subtly angled his body toward you—protective, like he was ready to shield you from something that wasn’t even there. Instinctual. 

“Joel says you’ve been doin’ well with patrol,” Tommy turns his attention toward you suddenly, ignoring Joel entirely, “you feelin’ comfortable with all of it?”

Surprisingly, you nod, though your eyes ultimately flicker toward Joel who’s staring down Tommy from across the table, quickly catching onto Tommy’s behavior.

Ellie suddenly stood, pushing her bowl away. “I’m gonna—yeah, I’m done eating,” She grabbed her plate and left the room without another word. Smart kid. She knew when to leave.

Maria leaves eventually too, tending to Benjamin as she ascends the stairs and leaves the three of you in a standoff. The rest of the dinner passed in heavy silence. You barely touched your food. Joel barely let his guard down. And Tommy barely took his eyes off the two of you.

It wasn’t until after the dishes were being cleared that Tommy saw his opening.

“Joel,” he said casually, “help me with somethin’ outside.”

Joel hesitated, glancing toward you. You gave him the smallest nod. He exhaled through his nose and followed Tommy out onto the porch without a word. The moment the door shut behind them, Tommy turned.

“What the hell is goin’ on?”

“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on,” Joel stiffens, standing toe to toe with his brother who lowered his volume to a hushed tone. 

You focused on their voices, the house having fallen quiet.

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Joel,” Tommy retorts, “Is she…should we be worried about her?”

Oh, so he thinks you were taking advantage of Joel—either assumption couldn’t be further from the truth, but it does startle you, wondering how deceptive you looked to Tommy despite how welcoming he had been toward you in the beginning.

“She’s harmless,” Joel responds, “What—suddenly you’re worried about her? You stuck her with me, made her my responsibility, and now you’re worried? What? ‘Cause I’m doin’ what you asked?”

Tommy scoffed, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly, “She’s been here six months and she hasn’t branched out at all. Not once.”

Joel’s expression darkened. “She doesn't like people. I don’t blame her.”

“Or maybe she just doesn't have a choice,” Tommy tries it, bucking up to Joel and flipping the switch, throwing the harsh accusation at his brother.

It landed. A flicker of something passed over Joel’s face, but it was gone just as quick.

Tommy took a step forward, lowering his voice. “I put her with you to help her. To give her some stability until she could fair on her own. I didn’t put her with you to keep her locked away.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “She’s safe with me. And free to leave whenever, s’not my fault if she doesn’t want to—maybe you’ll think twice before takin’ people in because you got a good heart,” by his tone you can tell he’s trying to take a dig, “if you wanna blame anyone, blame yourself.”

Tommy shook his head. 

“That what you tell yourself?”

The blame wasn’t on anyone, really.

You weren’t sure what Tommy’s angle was or if he was just worried for Joel in a weird, roundabout way.

“I think whatever is goin’ on between you two ain’t healthy—to what extent I don’t even wanna fuckin’ know, there’s a point where we gotta hope she can manage on her own,”

Joel’s expression didn’t change. 

But, something in his posture did.

Tommy let out a tired sigh, defeated, “Just... think about what you’re doin’, Joel.”

When Joel finally came back in, his eyes found yours immediately. 

You searched his face, looking for something—anything—to tell you what he was thinking.

He didn’t say a word.

But when he reached for you, you reached for him. 

That’s what you always did.

And maybe that was the problem.

–

You’ve come to cherish the time you spend in Joel’s bed outside of sex.

After almost a year in Jackson, there are moments when things truly feel normal.

As expected, Joel does most of the talking. And to his effort, he tries to get you to speak up, but you often can’t find the courage outside of the intimate moments when he’s holding you close, mouth pressed against your skin as he buries himself inside of you.

“You really ain’t got a name?” Joel asks as he scrolls through a crossword, glasses perched on his nose in a way that felt scarily domestic, remembering Ellie’s earlier question. You scribble on the edge of the crossword, leaving a trace of yourself.

I don’t even know my parents.

You had no real identity, Joel has come to realize.

No sense of self or claim over your body and thoughts, years spent serving as nothing more than a device to be taken apart and used against your will, expected to obey.

Some of them did it purely out of fear and self-preservation, but for you, the opportunity to live a life outside of that place was more important and something you were willing to die trying for.

Still, old habits die hard.

You were trying to find the courage to speak to him in these quieter moments, making small noises when he would ask questions—a hum for yes, a soft and disgruntled noise for no.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable and stifling all at once. 

You felt his fingers trace slow, absentminded circles against your ankle, his touch light, cautious. He was always cautious with you in moments like this, when there was nothing to distract from the weight of things left unsaid.

“You ain’t gotta stay quiet with me,” Joel reminds you gently, your eyes connecting for a moment.

It was strange how a man so stoic could be so soft, even if it was only shown in brief flashes.

Every time you tried, the words twisted in your throat, trapped beneath years of silence. 

Being told your voice didn’t matter. That your body wasn’t yours. 

That your thoughts weren’t worth having.

Joel’s hand stilled. He must have felt the way your breathing hitched.

You’d spent so long being nothing. A thing to be used. A body with no name. No choices. No voice. Nothing at all.

But here—wrapped in Joel’s warmth, his scent, the safety of his presence—you felt like something. Or someone.

Eventually, your lips parted. You sucked in a slow, shaking breath.

Joel holds his breath, having tried this over so many nights.

He feels that his conversation with Tommy was partly responsible, forcing you into a space of discomfort, like you had to listen to him.

Then, in the smallest whisper—so quiet you weren’t sure you’d even said it—you forced out, “I don’t have a name.”

Joel went still.

Then, after a long moment, his voice came low and careful.

“What d’you mean?”

You shrug, crossing your legs on the soft duvet, “I,” your mouth feels dry, like you were having an out of body experience as you spoke, like this wasn’t even real, “—didn’t…need one. He never addressed me directly. None of them did.”

Joel notices the way your tongue lingers around he, a heavy memory, a man whose face is impossible to forget.

The silence grows as Joel seems to contemplate his words, seeing how your fingers inch closer, a quiet yearning that you’ve been learning to subdue—not every act of service needed to be thanked, Joel had made that clear.

You try to ignore how your heart hammers in your chest at his silent admiration of your voice, speaking to him despite your disdain and buried fear, unsure if you could commit to more.

“Look…” he starts, his hand falling to curve around the heel of your foot, pulling your leg straight until your foot presses into the headboard of his bed, his hand traveling to rest against your upper thigh, “I ain’t ever been good at talkin’ about this kinda thing. But I gotta say it, ‘cause if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it.”

He looks serious, lips pulled into a thin line, but not unkind.

“What we've been doin’—I know why you do it. I ain't stupid.” Joel begins, your eyes locked on the way his fingers drag gently against your skin, massaging the muscle, “For a while, I let it happen ‘cause… hell, I don’t even know why. I ain’t got a reason, which makes me a bad person, taking advantage of you like that, knowin’ you had gone through hell to get here,”

You chew nervously at your bottom lip, letting the words sink in and marinate, eyes flickering up to look at him briefly, nodding in quiet understanding.

"But I don’t want that from you. Not like that. I ain’t never wanted somethin’ from you that you didn’t choose to give,” Joel admits, uncomfortable with the vulnerability of the conversation but knowing you needed to hear it, “I got my ways about me, I’m an asshole. I know, but this—I ain’t never been in a situation like this,”

You’ve never heard him talk like this, almost as if he’s spilling everything dark and vulnerable about him, laying his heart and mind out on a silver platter for you to devour.

“Sex ain’t just about… sayin’ thank you,” Joel looks at you directly, waiting to catch your eyes, “it’s supposed to mean somethin’. Be somethin’ you do when you trust someone, when you—” he licks his lips, clearing his throat as the words escape,“—care about ‘em. You understand?"

You nod softly, eyes burning with the faint sting of tears.

“You’ve never owed me nothing, kiddo.”

Eventually, Joel grows tired and stuffs the book away on his nightstand, inviting you beside him under the cover in silence, already knowing you had been itching to snake your way in, seeking out his warmth as he leans back to turn off the lamp and is met with your lips when he turns back, feeling your lips tremble with a timidness he’s not familiar with.

Something about it was different, a long and gentle press of your lips as you sigh, breathing through your nose before you pull away, shuffling closer into his chest as his chin rests at the crown of your head, rubbing slow circles over your shoulder until your breathing evened out.

Joel isn’t even sure if he’s doing this right, but he’s not sure he can let you go now.

It would do more harm than good for both of you.

–

A few months later, on another night, you find yourself in silence.

Mind filtering through a million thoughts at once, Joel sleeping quietly beside you—or so you think. His arm is slung over you, breathing slow and steady. 

But you’re awake, staring up at the ceiling. 

Thoughts race.

Thoughts about him, about you—the unspoken bond. And then, in the stillness, you speak.

“Joel?” you say softly, the small but meaningful utterance of his name has him stirring within seconds, blinking through bleary eyes.

He hums in question.

“Love,” such a fickle word, something you’re not sure you’ve ever felt before, the feeling foreign, “have you felt it before?”

Joel’s eyes open wider, shifting beside you as he rises on one elbow, the hand of his opposite arm reaching for you, fingers brushing absentmindedly along your arm. 

It’s a loaded question—and at this hour? Joel can’t help but chuckle.

“Long time ago,” Joel responds vaguely and you’re waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t.

You’re lying on your back, eyes stuck on the ceiling as he stares at you now.

“What does it feel like?” you ask quietly.

Joel can’t help but cherish the moment, the raw emotion in your voice that he only heard on special occasions, not under the guise of pleasure—this was just you.

Joel tenses slightly, though—his mind shifts to Sarah briefly, his life before. It felt light years away, barely able to remember her face at times.

“Kinda…feels like it’ll break,” Joel says hesitantly, “it’s somethin’....real fragile—like when you hold something too tight and it cracks,” you nod slightly in understanding, “but it's also a feeling you’re too scared to let go of, does that make sense?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt that,” you admit, looking over at him briefly before averting your eyes.

“You’re young, kiddo,” he tells you, “give it some time.”

There’s a stretch of silence before you find the courage to ask, heart skipping unnaturally.

“Who was it?”

Joel figures you lucky that he’s less guarded like this, your warmth against his chest and your bottom lip trembling slightly—it always seemed to, a lingering fear that never left you.

“My daughter,” Joel explains simply, no sugarcoating or lies, “she died….long time ago,”

“Before?” 

Joel nods, a solemn expression flashing across his face before he sets it right.

You don't press him. 

But you wonder, deep down, if he’s afraid he might be feeling it again.

-

When you find your voice outside of Joel, it was in a moment of defense.

You’re not sure why—well, that isn’t entirely true.

You know why, but you can’t explain how the feeling overtook you like possession. 

Tommy had suggested you go on patrols with Jimmy, a younger man in his mid-twenties and closer to your age, a reliable man, as Tommy insisted. You’ve never even seen him, let alone was willing to speak with him or venture out beyond the walls.

It could be anyone else. Ellie, Dina—hell, even Tommy himself. You could fair there, but it seemed like Tommy was forcing you out of your comfort zone without any understanding of what that would mean to you.

“You’re smotherin’ her, Joel,” Tommy argues.

“She’s capable of makin’ her own choices,” Joel defends, turning to you, “I ain’t keepin’ you here, am I?”

You shake your head, arms crossed tight over your chest.

“She needs more than just you,” Tommy responds, “or me—or Ellie, I’ve got people askin’ about her, worried she might—”

“Might what?” Joel asks, warning Tommy to tread carefully,

“I’m just sayin’, people are weirded out by her behavior,” Again, talking as if you weren’t there, you find the anger in your chest beginning to swell, “She can try more—that’s all I’m askin’,”

“I don’t want more,” you spit out, both of the men freezing in place.

Joel turns so fast it’s like he doesn’t believe what he just heard. 

Tommy blinks, his mouth parting slightly in shock.

“I don’t want more,” your tone softens, looking down as you scuff your shoe against the wood of the porch, “I don’t need more.”

Joel’s face contorts in a way that makes Tommy frown with the realization, because whatever mess the two of you were tangled into wasn’t one-sided in the slightest and if Tommy was honest with himself, he knew Joel was in much deeper. 

-

The next time you speak, it was completely unprompted, feeling him thrash violently in bed beside you—he’s had his own nightmares before, usually consisting of him waking in a sweat or mumbling in his sleep, but this one was particularly alarming, like he was being attacked in his slumber as his arm swings up and knocks the lamp to the floor, ceramic shattering and still, he remained deep in the state of fight, and you were trying your hardest to shake him out of it, slapping his face gently as you held down his other arm.

“J—Joel,” you croak, voice thick with sleep and lack of use, always sounding like the words croaked from your mouth any time you spoke, “Joel—wake up!”

He flinches harshly but his eyes fly open, wild before they land on you and his blurry vision becomes clear, the sound of your voice grounding him into reality.

“It’s okay,” your voice shakes, watching as his throat bobbed with a harsh swallow.

He couldn’t explain how your voice had become such a comfort to him.

Like it was something he’s been missing.

-

And the first time he hears you laugh he swears he imagined it.

Ellie makes a terrible joke at his expense and the sound comes out too naturally, a triumphant grin crossing Ellie’s face as you both look at Joel who suddenly feels like he’s in a battle of two against one, hands held up in defeat.

“At least someone laughs at my jokes,” Ellie defends, watching as Joel rolls his eyes fondly.

“So, you’ll laugh when she makes a joke but not at mine?” Joel asks.

You shrug, “They’re good,” You chirp quietly.

Ellie throws her hands out in smug triumph.

“Stay bitter, old man.”

“Old man? I’ll tell Tommy to pair you up with Eugene,” Joel threatens.

Tough break, you think.

“Wha—no, what the fuck? That’s a total abuse of power,”

Joel shrugs as to mock you, catching your gaze briefly with a faint smile.

You’ve never felt more at ease in your life and that terrified you.

–

It happens over time, months, years.

The first year you spend in Jackson is hard—from the moment Ellie has found you on the outskirts of their walls, struggling to break old habits that had been instilled in you from birth, and finding comfort in society that only wanted to live, not take.

Jackson was a community, a family.

You still felt like a stranger, an obedient puppy at Joel’s side, shadowing him wherever he went. Patrols, always. The dining hall, occasionally. He never forces you to attend the fancier events held for the community with overwhelming sights of unfamiliar faces and too many voices. The music, the kids, drunkards getting loud around the tables they liked to play roulette at.

You liked silence and so did Joel. 

Besides, he’s much softer in these moments.

You’re helping him with dinner when you watch Ellie approach him, arms spread out as he pulls her in.

A hug full of feeling, watching his eyes drift close as his cheek presses into the crown of her head, a grin splitting on her face as he squeezes her too tight, playfully shoving him away.

You never asked personal questions, only thrived off the assumptions in your head, but Joel knows you. He can see the way your eyes beg a question but you’re too afraid to ask. 

“I’ll make a deal,” he begins, chopping into the vegetables as you peel potatoes with care, “use your voice and I’ll answer whatever questions is buggin’ you, fair?”

You nod, chewing at your bottom lip habitually before you find the courage to speak, “You…Ellie…” often your words felt disjointed, not that you didn’t understand, but you found yourself being concise, quick, using as little words as possible to get your point across and Joel notices too.

“She’s not mine, biologically,” Joel admits casually, “s’long story, but family ain’t always blood,”

You nod in understanding, the quiet growing again as you place the vegetable and utensil aside, “Her…family?”

“Don’t know much,” Joel shrugs, “kid was dealt a bad hand, but she’s special—a pain in the ass but, she’s good.”

–

Time progresses further, finding comfort through the seasons.

You’ve rotated through different jobs, none of them feeling right without Joel.

And it takes a while, but eventually something clicks.

As a step, you try your attempts at wall patrol—only when Joel wasn’t going out and he was busy planning the patrol schedule out over being gone for days at a time, too worried to leave you, but becoming slightly complacent and selfish in the time he spends inside the walls.

It works for a handful of months, minimal risk, always within shouting distance from Joel.

It was rare for stragglers to come wandering through the woods too, but as someone who had been on the other side, your empathy shines through in a moment of misjudgment one night.

Everyone is on break but you—Tommy and Joel were strict about at least one person always having eyes on the entrance and it wasn’t unsurprising that people jumped on the opportunity to leave you with the responsibility while they snuck away for a break.

You had just opened the gates for Ellie and Dina as they were coming back from the route, pushing the thick doors closed when you spot someone off in the distance, a man stumbling with great difficulty as he limps towards the gate. He’s clutching his side, doubling over in pain, and you feel the jolt of a distant memory pulling at you—a time when you were the one begging silently for help.

By the time you turn over your shoulder, Ellie and Dine are long gone.

Fuck.

“Please!” The shout is faint but enough to stir some instinct deep within you.

The others are too far and he’s approaching quickly, blood leaking from the side of his face as he slumps to his knees by your feet as he reaches you. You dig your heels into dirt and pull the gate open again, just enough for him to slip through with your aid, arm looping into his own.

He collapses onto the ground as soon as he makes it inside, pulling you down as you kneel beside him, “Th—thank you,” he gasps out. His face is flush, not indicative of someone who’s dealt with the elements very long, but he’s bleeding, clearly in pain.

You’re kneeling by his side when Joel’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and angry. 

“What the hell?!” He’s charging toward the gate with his revolver in hand, Tommy trailing behind him with wide eyes, flicking briefly between the two of you.

In any other situation, you wouldn’t have thought twice to leave the man behind, hellbent on survival at whatever cost. You knew better. Your instincts are sharp; they’ve kept you alive long enough, but your newfound heart wins over logical reasoning.

As the crowd of people grows, you find your throat swelling with anxiety.

Desperately, you try to convey your worry through looks.

“Y’all got jobs to do,” Joel snaps, “get back to your station,”

He dismissively moves your hand away as he hauls the man to his feet, the man groaning in deep pain as he shoves him toward Tommy, passing him off before his arm is circling around your bicep and tugging you away, struggling to keep up with his hurried steps until he can find a private spot, cornering you with a face you haven’t seen in almost two years.

“You got a death wish or something?” Joel growls, “Why’d you let him in?”

The intensity of his gaze pins you, and you swallow hard against the pressure building in your chest. Bottom lip trembling with fear, “I—I couldn’t leave him,” you stammer out weakly, emotions tying words into knots, it hurts to speak—to defend yourself.

You weren’t sure what you did was right, but it felt that way in the moment.

 “He was hurt.” Joel’s jaw clenches at your words, a muscle twitching near his temple, veins protruding. He shoves a hand through his greying hair and drops his voice low, not any less terrifying than when he had yelled at you a moment ago—it has been so long since you’ve seen this side of him, unrestrained rage.

“He could be fuckin’ bit,” Joel argues, “hell—maybe he’s fakin’, but you never—never make that decision on your own,” his hand is flying around in anger, pointing from you and to the gate, “you don’t know if he was staging an ambush or if he would’ve had a knife. You can’t be this fucking naive, I’m not gonna be around to save you all the time and—”

“Stop,” you plead, blinking away the tears that formed quickly, “please, stop—just—”

Joel pauses, a steely expression on his face.

“D-don’t be mad at me. I-I know I messed up.” You wipe at your cheeks, but the tears keep coming, and you can’t stop them, can’t stop yourself from shaking. The air between you feels thick and charged, like he had finally found the opportunity to rid himself of you.

Joel’s eyes soften for a fraction of a second before hardening again. He takes a deep breath, and you flinch as he reaches out, not sure if he’s going to hold you or hit you, familiarizing his emotion with violence after years of being on the receiving end of angry, vile men.

He does neither.

Instead, his hand falls to his side in defeat, “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Suddenly, you’ve never felt so small.

–

Joel doesn’t return home until late that night, heavy boot stomps carrying words he couldn’t find the energy to say, finding his bed earlier empty as he approaches his room.

There wasn’t a single trace of you, not here, or anywhere he would usually find you, his mind suddenly going into a panic as he searched frantically through the house—his bathroom, the kitchen, the backyard and into Ellie’s guest house, but nothing.

As he approaches the living room, he notices the lack of blankets and pillows before his head whips toward the basement, door closed and lights off, slowly, he approaches.

What he finds makes the pit in his stomach sink—you, curled up on the old, fragile frame of the bed that held a mattress stained and tattered, sleeping soundly but unknowing of how long.

His anger, his words, had driven you down here, away from the warmth of the house. 

You didn’t feel like you belonged there now.

He feels a pang of guilt. Basements were not meant for living; they were for storage and solitude and silence.

He’s reduced you to this; a thing to be stored away.

Joel approaches with a quieter step, kneeling down at your bedside.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, almost gentle. “Hey.”

You stir, blinking bleary eyes up at him. 

For a moment, confusion clouds your face before it shifts to apprehension, and Joel feels something twist in his chest. You jump back, scared. Eyes wide and fearful.

He fucking hated it.

“Hey,” he tries again, his hands hovering close, curling around the edge of the blanket like he wanted to swoop you into his arms, “You gotta come upstairs.”

You shake your head, pulling the thin blanket tighter around yourself, moving away from him.

“You can’t sleep down here,” he insists, firmer this time but without the sharpness to his tone like earlier, “C’mon, kiddo.”

You shake your head again, face softening as you frowned and pushed him away with a gentleness that tugs at Joel’s heart.

Joel sighs long, deep, hands spreading out over his knees before he admits defeat.

He retreats back upstairs with heavy steps, but this time they speak of regret rather than anger.

-

Out of precaution, they kept that man separated from the community, locked up in a spare cell.

It’s been a few days—but, the real problem comes as they strip him of his bloodied clothes to supply him with new ones, the bag of trashed clothes coming home with Joel later that week as he prepared to burn them out back—not before he pulls himself a small glass of bourbon, simmering in his own thoughts. 

Like a mouse, you sneak up on him. 

It was a strange flash of the past that tore Joel up inside, watching you pour yourself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge before you eye the pile of clothes on the counter. It wasn’t the egregious amount of blood that shocked you, but the threading—gold flecks underneath dark patterns that had you inching forward carefully, reaching out with timid fingers to shift the fabric out of the way to reveal the gold symbol that instantly made your body seize up, the glass in your hand crashing to the floor and over your feet, ignorant to the shards of glass pricking your skin and the water soaking your shirt.

 “Shit,” Joel mutters in shock, shooting up to his feet and reaching for you before he stops himself. His hands hover like a curse again, unsure of what to do with them or you. 

He decides on a worn dish towel, thrusts it in your direction, “What’s wrong?” 

You’re stuck where you stand, no sense of time or movement. Eyes fixed wide on the clothes. 

“Hey,” his voice is soft, low, and tender, “you can talk to me, s’alright—”

You come back to life with a jolt at his touch, pulling away from him and dropping the towel onto the floor. “I need to get out,” you tell him cryptically, “I need to leave.”

It was the first time he had heard you speak in days and the words are heart wrenching. 

He follows your eye line and grabs at the material, crumpling it in his hand as he brings it toward you.

“This mean anything to you?”

You nod meekly, subtle. 

Your eyes are burning with tears that don’t quite fall, refusing to shed as you push his hand away and take a few steps back, feeling dizzy and intensely nauseous.

“Oh, wo-woah,” Joel follows you in a way that seems territorial, but is purely out of concern, quickly guiding you toward the sink as the bile in your stomach comes to the surface, gagging into the sink as Joel turns the faucet on, his warm hand at your back, “shit—baby, you’re alright,”

Your head snaps to the side, cautious to his words.

It slips out and even Joel can’t look at you for too long, cheeks heating in shame.

You search his face for cracks in his facade, wondering if this was a trick—that he wasn’t going to blow up at you like a flipped switch, all too accustomed to retaliatory behavior. 

“Bad men?” Joel asks after a while, coming to the conclusion based on your initial reaction and your tightened jaw as you stared at him.

You nod, stronger this time. 

“Did you know him?”

The truth? You had no clue who he was.

He was unfamiliar, but he belonged to them.

“No, but he’s with them.”

This changed things.

And he needed to talk with Tommy—soon.

—

Joel knows what he’s required to do, though that part of him had long since been dormant. Firing off a gun was much different than something like this, close and personal, the possibility of watching someone’s life fade under the force of your hands.

He expected you to stay behind given how shook up you were about the entire thing—to him, it still made no sense.

The man was hurt, a sizable gash to his leg and a superficial head wound. But, nothing life threatening; no gaping wounds, no bites. And he seemed uneasy, just another suspicion confirmed that what he had sensed the moment the man had passed beyond the gates wasn’t here seeking help.

He was sent for something.

Joel has an idea, but they would have to kill him first.

You stand quietly in the corner as Joel paces the room, knowing Tommy was stationed just outside the door.

Methods like this weren’t widely accepted in Jackson, people too sheltered to have experienced real threat or harm. But, you understand.

You’ve been on both sides—the helpless victim tied up and waiting for your imminent death, but in the same vein, you’ve watched a man lose his life under the pressure of your blade.

You still don’t recognize him, though that isn’t a surprise. Fresh recruits were filtering in every week, new unsuspecting faces ready to be trained into soldiers, killing machines. Men with an insatiable thirst for violence.

He seems to notice you, though.

Eyes wander, survey—the subservient position you took in the corner wasn’t on purpose, rather habit.

Joel didn’t want you to speak, didn’t want you to put yourself in a position to be attacked. He wanted the man to strike first and give Joel a reason to punish him.

Eventually, it happens.

“Damien’s got pictures of you, carries it everywhere,” the man says around Joel, his voice surprisingly calm, “they take one of each of the girls, but you…”

You flinch at the name. Joel notices.

Joel’s blade flicks open and the man chuckles, eyeing him with challenge.

“Go on, kill me,” he taunts, “I’m not telling you anything.”

Joel grunts and flares his nostrils before he approaches the man and grabs his hand, quickly slicing through the skin, muscle, and bone of one finger before reaching into the small fire pit placed at the center of the room, cauterizing the wound without missing a beat.

You don’t even react, watching Joel work like muscle memory—normally, you would feel fear. 

But, with Joel, it was a strange unrecognizable feeling. 

The young man curses out in pain, thrashing against his binds in the chair as Joel clasps his hand over his mouth, cloth acting as a barrier so he wouldn’t get bit.

“Are there more of you coming?” Joel asks in a calculated tone, “Did they send you here to survey?”

“They’re not after her,” the man chokes out with a sick grin, “but when they find her here, well…”

Joel wraps his fingers around short strands of hair and yanks the man’s head to the side, the point of his knife positioned at the man’s jugular.

“Oh—woahwoah, wait!”

It’s embarrassing how easy it is to make a weak man break.

“They’ve…been watching this place for a while,” he admits breathlessly, eyes glancing nervously at Joel’s knife, “I just did what I was told—they roughed,” a strangled swallow and a quick breath from the man, your arms tighten over your chest as you stare him down, “roughed me up and—and I was supposed to create an opening in a couple days, they—“

“How far are they?” Joel asks suddenly.

“I dunno man!” He shouts.

“Why?” You speak up without warning, both of the men’s attention drawing toward you, “Why now?”

He swallows, eyes flicking up toward Joel out of fear.

“We’re running low—on supplies, housing, everything. This place is the closest that looked—looked worth taking.”

“Where are they now?” You know he knows, pressing the matter. 

“I don’t fucking—“

You step forward quickly, ripping the knife out of Joel’s hand and positioning it at the center of the man’s chest, right above his heart.

“Okayokay—the lodge—the fucking lodge!” He sputters, “We’ve been watching your patrol schedules for months and they found a blind spot, they’re held up at the lodge. Please, I told you, just don’t fucking—“

The blood rises in his throat quickly, your face scrunching up in disdain as you press the blade through his skin until it reaches his heart and his body slumps, staring at Joel the entire time. 

For a moment, there’s bewilderment. 

The last time you and Joel stood around a dead body there had been nothing but raw desire and emotion, but now there was an understanding. Connection.

“That was stupid,” he remarks, with no real threat in his voice, “really fuckin’ stupid.”

“You would have ended up killing him too.”

You weren’t wrong and Joel knew it. 

—

It’s hastily planned, but done with an urgency that carries a heavy burden.

It was Tommy, Joel, and a handful of men, stirring around the gate at midnight when Joel catches you sneaking up on him, bag packed and ready to leave.

He’d left you there for reasons unknown—possibly out of guilt, or fear, but it didn’t matter because you were here and you were going, whether he liked the idea or not.

He doesn’t even combat it, really.

“You sure?” he asks with no malice or apprehensiveness.

Your nod is all he needs.

The world outside the walls is always nothing but silence—eerie and gaunt.

Each footfall of a hoof echoes with a dread that is almost tangible and the wind is loud, roaring in your eyes as it sings a mournful tune.

Joel’s eyes meet yours briefly and in them, an unspoken agreement. 

This was necessary, even if it is dangerous.

The hours that pass feel like years, the sun on the rise as you near the lodge.

It was quiet, too quiet—no movement, no sign of life.

Tommy was the first one to break off, telling Joel he was going to scope out the place on his own and you can see the way Joel’s jaw tenses at the idea, the muscle refusing to relax until his brother returns.

And when he does, there’s a slight breathlessness to his tone, “They’re sleepin’,” he tells Joel, “fuck waiting—we can get in there and deal with this before it turns into a blood bath,”

Joel’s already signaling the others, horses hitched to nearby trees and before you realize it, you’re moving again, faster now.

A plan is made with nothing more than hand signals. Half of you will circle around back, cover escape routes; the rest, straight through the front, guns drawn and ready. They wouldn’t have anywhere to go.

It’s as you approach, stuck to Joel’s side, that he can see the way your eyes dart around.

And then you spot him. 

You hadn’t mentioned him to Joel, the history or the trauma that came with—but it was their leader, an older man who towered like an ox, intimidating without even trying. 

There’s fear there, in your face, but it’s not the kind Joel expects and he knows you well enough to recognize it for what it is—you were starting to dissociate, his finger circling around your wrist to ground you as his hand tightened around the revolver in his grip. He almost says something, almost lets it slip, but there’s no time and it doesn’t matter now.

It’s not until you’re in the main room, a collection of cots and sleeping bodies in front of you, as they are able to subdue a few men with the end of their knives, that a floorboard betrays your presence. 

The creak is deafening and you feel Joel tense beside you, his finger poised on the trigger.

Then suddenly, it's chaos. 

You weren’t a fighter in this sense, so Joel’s main objective is to keep you close but away—it was a bloodbath in an instant, the flurry of grunts from men at the end of their life and Joel hastily shoves an attacker away before he shoots him point blank in the chest.

To your left, Tommy and another guy are pinning two men against the wall, barking orders to drop weapons and stand down and another man lunges toward you as Joel takes him down with a grim efficiency that speaks volumes of his past. 

He doesn’t miss a beat.

But, somewhere amongst the fight, your grip slips from Joel, the blade of your knife slicing through the neck of a stranger, a man, an attacker, as you scramble toward the corner of the room.

There’s only a few moments of calm as you catch your breath, before a gun is being pressed against your neck and your arms are twisted behind your back and tugged, pressing you close to the solid press of a body.

Joel’s eyes had left you for a second—a second.

“I’ll put a bullet through her pretty little head,” Damien, their esteemed leader, shouts behind you, gasping at the grip he has on your hands, twisting them awkwardly behind your back, “think you got your fuckin’ fill, killing my men—”

Joel cocks his gun without hesitation and in retaliation, the leader does the same.

You close your eyes, an unsettling calm washing over you.

“You either leave without her or you don’t leave this place alive.”

—

"She’s not yours to claim,” Joel responds,” she’s not anyone’s."

Damien sneers, a sick grin crossing his features, "You think giving her freedom is a favor? She doesn't know what to do with it. She never did. She’s always been mine."

It was your choice to be here—not Joel’s.

Yours and yours alone.

Despite his domineering position behind you, gun still tight against your throat—he sounded pathetic, not a single man to pedestal him up.

They all laid dead, strewn about the lodge and outside.

He didn’t stand a chance and yet—

“You don’t walk away from this. You don’t get to keep her."

He’s stalling—you can see it.

No one was coming, he had no tricks up his sleeve.

He’d relied on the element of surprise, hoping to blindside and ambush the town with ease.

“No one is going to keep me, not anymore,” you force through gritted teeth, “ and definitely not you.”

“You little bitch,” He snaps, slamming the but of the gun against your head as you fall to the floor, groaning in pain, “I’ll fucking gut y—”

Joel doesn’t let him finish.

The blood splatters against your face as you fall to your ass, a bullet ripping through his skull.

There is stillness then, almost immediate, a quiet that seeps through the lodge and pulses beneath your skin. A thunderous sort of silence. You feel it in the air, violent, rushing—yet nothing moves. 

Joel shoves his gun into his jeans and approaches you with a careful hand, leaning down and using the fabric of his flannel button down to wipe away the thick blood from your face, staring up at him silently in the process of his movement, malleable to his hands as cleans you up.

And just like that, you owe everything to him. Again.

But, you knew there was no need for thanks—it was implied in the stretch of his gaze and a gentle nod.

—

“He raised me,” you explain to Joel a few moments later, staring down at the lifeless body of the man who had held you captive for years, reduced to nothing, “like—a father? But, then he—”

You watch as a few of the men begin to wrap up the body and prepare to drag it out the backdoor of the lodge.

“You ain’t gotta get into it, sweetheart,” Joel comforts, standing near but not touching.

You kneel down and reach into his pocket, stiffness under the fabric that leads you to a stack of items. A small knife, a hastily drawn map, and a few polaroids—just as the younger man had said.

They're unflattering to look at, bringing back an intense wave of emotion as you stare at yourself in the photos, laid in a compromising position and bare of any clothes. Joel can see the tremble in your fingers, unsure, so he pulls the polaroid away and promptly rips it in half, then again, letting the pieces drift to the floor.

Like it never existed.

“He started touching me after the surgery,” you continued despite his words, “then it was hours—days, sometimes. I had to be there for him, whenever he wanted. It hurt. The sex. But, they’re nicer when you take care of them. If I resisted, he'd cut me, hit me, burn me.”

Joel finds himself speechless for the first time in his life.

“They should go for them,” you tell Joel decisively.

The girls—the others, the ones too fearful to make the choice you did.

 You knew they were still there.

“They deserve a chance, too—like the one you gave me. I can lead you there.”

Joel stares at you with a new look, face twitching with minimal emotion but his eyes spoke louder.

The difference between the girl he’d taken in so long ago and the one standing in front of him now was night and day.

-

After the men had decidedly made the move to raid the compound, there were about twenty girls—wounded, injured, but fortunately alive, that they were prepared to take in.

With that, Joel sees you come into your own.

A lot of your time for the next handful of months was spent caring for them, rehabilitating them, and being a source of hope and comfort in a time where they weren’t sure how to feel.

Joel’s astounded by the change.

And you’ve always known to admire—often for the sake of men’s pleasure and their own sick enjoyment. But, like this, sat in Joel's lap as he gave himself over, comfortable in the silence as his fingers slid up and down your thighs—this was for you.

His scars are plenty—scattered over his chest; some from knives from what you can tell, others from scrapes and gashes that didn’t heal well, a few lingering marks under his chin and one that rested unspoken against his temple.

Your thumb grazes over the raised skin and Joel is quick to guide your hand away, but gentle. 

Joel mirrors the sentiment, admiring every inch of your body with a silent look, eyes focused on the trail of his fingers, the way you shiver from his touch.

His curiosity is like his touch—persistent, soothing. It’s easy to let yourself melt into him, let the heat and intimacy roll over both of you. You can see the exhaustion on his face, too.

It was a long day for both of you, too much violence and strife for any one person.

You’ve never slept so soundly next to him, but his touch returns in the morning.

His hands trail over you with such careful urgency, a man intent on giving, taking only the contentment that washes across your face, watching you rouse from sleep.

You shift beside him, pressing closer to the growing need that stirs between you both. His hand is incredibly wonderous between your legs as he guides your knee up, spreading yourself open for him as you shift more to your stomach. Joel pulls you in and his mouth grazes over your shoulder, each kiss a promise of something deeper, something more. 

His breathing catches when you move against his fingers, an unexpected vulnerability in the way he traces circles on your bare back with his lips and tongue.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and driving right through you like a knife. 

And he means it.

Heat pools inside you, spreading like a wildfire. Joel’s fingers dig into your hips as you push your shorts down, underwear pooling at your ankles before you kick them away and settle yourself against his cock as he hastily shoves them down, pulling a gasp from both of you. 

He groans softly and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You’re not eager, either—not as ravenous as usual. This was entirely for Joel and you were okay with that, in fact, you wanted it more than you cared to admit.

Joel presses his forehead into the crook of your neck, lips grazing your skin as he exhales,his fingers slide from your hips to cup your ass, pulling you further in. Your fingers twist into the sheets as you moan into your pillow, a weak sound that Joel wouldn’t have heard had he not been so close.

He’s warm and hard against you, letting yourself melt into it, into him. 

He moves slowly, each roll of his hips deliberate and electrifying. 

You moan again, unable to keep it in as he shifts his grip slightly to find the angle that makes you whimper and bite down into the sheets.

The sound of his breathing fills the air between you, ragged and raw.

The room is filled with the desperate sound of skin on skin and his soft noises.

“Fuck,” he whispers, more of a breath than anything

Your hand finds purchase in his hair behind you, clutching tightly as he thrusts deeper.

He’s pressed against every inch of your body, sinking into the sheets as his hand comes around your head, hovering over you lazily as he fucks you without urgency, hot skin against your own and you’ve never wanted something—someone, so bad.

The whole world narrows down to this—the two of you.

And you couldn’t be more satisfied.

-

Life had a sick way of give and take.

As you find your place, your comfort with Joel again, Ellie slips through his fingers.

The conversation about Ellie’s immunity was never something you were supposed to hear, but it came about during a hushed conversation late at night, sneaking out of Joel’s bed to the faint rumbling of voices.

“You don’t think it’s strange I’ve never met anyone else like me?” Ellie asked, coat and shoes on like she was prepared to leave—patrols never left this late.

There is nothing but silence on Joel’s end, glancing at her sideways from the kitchen table, his reading glasses perched on his nose and a book open in front of him, knowing Joel was riddled with an insomnia you’ve become familiar with.

“Ellie, enough,” you can hear the way his teeth grind, “we’re not talkin’ about this right now,”

You see his chin turn slightly behind him, sensing your presence. 

But, Ellie doesn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed.

“I can’t be turned,” she says suddenly, at you, “I’m immune.”

It was like a child rambling off her darkest secret, much to the dismay of Joel as his chair skirts back and he stands, a warning.

“She barely talks,” Ellie says offhandedly, and it stings, “who’s she gonna tell?”

There’s a brief flash of apology that shows on her face, but she focuses on Joel, simmering with a similar anger you’ve seen within him. It was damn near identical.

Later, after Ellie leaves for the night, you find yourself curled up against Joel, his fingers rubbing idly against your shoulder as he tries to sleep, but fails.

“What did you do?” you ask suddenly, turning your head up to look at him, his face emotionless.

“They wanted to test on her,” Joel tells you, like he’s reciting a script, “weren’t even sure it would work, it was just experimental. They wanted to dissect on her brain, all on a fuckin’ maybe—I saved her.”

“Is it what she wanted?” 

Joel pauses, eyes flicking down briefly and away from you, guilt washing over his features. 

“She deserves a life—that cure, it was a goddamn pipe dream, that’s it.”

You stay quiet, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you try to put yourself in his shoes, understanding the choices he made.

“I killed…” Joel starts hesitantly, not that his violent side was unfamiliar to you, “a lot of people, innocent ones to protect Ellie. 

“Does she know?” you ask curiously, not an ounce of judgement in your tone, something that Joel seems to notice, his shoulders relaxing.

He shakes his head in silence.

You nod with a somber understanding and curl into him, fingers tugging at the center of his shirt until he angles his body against your own. It takes time, but eventually sleep takes him, the warmth of you wrapped around him.

—

You had decidedly packed Joel’s bag for patrol a few weeks later, his first patrol without you by his side in almost two years, listening to the faint voice of Joel and Ellie on the front porch as you traverse the Miller home.

The tension between Ellie and Joel had risen to a point unfathomable—after she had discovered Joel’s wrongdoings, it had become a heavy point of contention.

And the party from a couple nights ago was the catalyst.

It was supposed to be a celebration for the town, nothing but joy to go around.

You’ve never seen Joel so helpless, attempting to defend Ellie in a moment of vulnerability, not realizing just how well Ellie has come to hold her own. She’d given Joel the full wrath of her resentment toward him and stormed off without a word, nothing but sadness on Joel’s face.

This conversation was a long time coming, months of build up and frustration culminating, hushed voices and broken whispers as Joel looked down somberly into his empty mug from the blinds you peeked through, hastily brushing away a tear.

He joins you in his room a while later, his belongings packed up in the chair at his desk, the lamp at his bedside table illuminating the room in a dull, orange glow.

“It was time to let go,” you assure him, knowing Joel had done everything he could to protect Ellie, “She’ll figure it out—and if she needs to, I’m sure she’ll come to you.”

Joel brings your knuckles to his lips, looking at you as he pressed a kiss to the skin before tugging you playfully forward, quickly swinging your leg over his thigh so you could straddle him properly.

“You’ll wake up tired in the morning,” you warn him, eager fingers digging into supple flesh, his thumb pushing the fabric of your shorts down, “Joel—seriously,”

“I’m dead serious,” he responds, using you as a distraction, eyes focused on the sliver of skin peeking from under your top, his thumb rubbing over the faded scar, your hand pressing to hold him there, “—sure you can handle a couple days without me?”

You nod assuredly, pressing a gentle and teasing kiss to his lips that he chases eagerly.

“You’re gonna make me wait, aren’t ya?” Joel asks, a slight chuckle in the back of his throat as you push him away playfully.

"Gotta make sure you come home to me," you tell him.

It was a big step, relinquishing the claim you and Joel had on one another, fearful that something horrible would happen if you two were to part—but you knew that Joel was careful, safe.

Even with hoard creeping closer and winter releasing it’s wrath this time of year, Joel had never been reckless. He was indestructible, really.

He’d survive—he’d come home to you.

Joel smiles lazily, breathing in your scent as he buries his face into your neck and rolls you into the bed, cuddling himself around your back.

It was a welcome change to not be treated so fragile, like you would break from a single touch—without Joel, you weren’t sure you would have ever reached this point.

To him, you were forever indebted.

Joel had fixed the things about you he’d never broken, rebuilt you piece by piece and reinforced the strength with his words, his actions—because without him, you weren’t sure you would have ever survived this long.

[kosmoem]

So like yes! Yes please! But also this:

And then what about somewhere in between?

Like Damian sees Tim as his better and thinks that his place is threatened by Tim existence. He sees that as a challenge to get better and he loves a challenge. (You can not convince me that one of the reasons he strives to be better is because he sees everything as a challenge and grew up loving a challenge because he knew that if he 'won' it would make his mother and grandfather proud.)

So it starts with Damian trying to one up Tim and prove he's better (EX. Damian trying to kill Tim at least twice that I know of). Making it seem like Damian hates Tim to everyone else.

Damian doesn't actually hate Tim, if anything he looks up to Tim, and Tim knows it. Damian knows Tim knows it. Tim knows that Damian knows that Tim knows that Damian looks up to Tim. So on and so forth. No one else does.

Damian proceeds to have character growth. How doesn't matter. Fuck make it that time Jon goes to space and comes back older (I heard about it one time I don't know shit about what happened there) and Damian believes Jon's dead or not going to be able to make it back. He's done though just like older than Damian now and not as child like. Just something that makes Damian realize that the people he cares about won't always be around and so he has to find away so show them that he cares about them so that they know before something can happen to them and he loses that chance again.

Start with his friends, start with it small things. He brings them food on days that he knows they won't eat school lunch. He draws them art of their favorite things or makes drawn collage/aesthetic boards of things that make him think of them.

Then go to family friends or adults that he likes.

The art teachers that made it easy for him to start getting into art and helped him find joy in it? He starts leaving new supplies for them in front of their offices/class rooms.

The Kent's? He helps Ma and Pa with the animals and occasionally in the fields (if they have those) when he originally came over to hang out with Jon. He'll go with Clark and Lois to the Daily Planet and learn what they do there, make it a chance for him to learn something new and for them to teach him something that they enjoy doing.

Selena? He goes with her to the animal shelters that she donates her time to to spend time with her in spaces that make them both comfortable.

Others who I don't know enough about to give them specific, like Lucius Fox? He finds a way to give them something, help them, or spend time with them, in ways that makes both him and the other person happy and comfortable.

Then it's to his family.

It gets a little more personal with them. Mostly because he's around them the most but also because they are his family. And though it may not seem like it the Al-Ghul's, well they aren't really people people, they do care about family to a high degree. And the Wayne's, do I have to explain? So family is a big deal on both sides of his parentage.

So when it comes to family he learns, what they like, to do, to eat, to read, to play, so on and so forth. But he learns these things and then he uses those things to get closer to his family. All of them, Alfred, Bruce, Kate, Babs, Dick, Jason, Cass, Steph, Duke, he'll slowly start being around them more, doing things with them more. But is slow, a few minutes at a time, so they don't realize that he's doing it until he's got a board of times of when he's going to be with which family member. He's still got time for himself but unlike when Bruce first took him in where he's spending most of his free time by himself, he's now spending most of his free time with others. And well Damian isn't huge on being around people that he doesn't know he can be around his family for a decent amount of time before his introvert battery dies.

All that that leaves is Tim. Over time Damian has noticed that Tim cares about the family just as much as Damian does. He also sees now that his place isn't threatened by Tim because Tim isn't out to take his place. But he does still see Tim as a challenge he hasn't beaten yet.

So that's what he does. He faces Tim like he's a challenge that can teach him. So he learns, he asks Tim to teach him how to be better, and Tim does. What it looks like to the others is this older teen and young adult (because Damian is at least 15 or 16 at this point) fighting, butting head, and slowly it start to shift. The fighting turns into sparing lessons, the butting head doesn't change its just become more brotherly, more like they are rivals instead of enemies even though they are neither.

By the time Damian is 17 almost 18 and Tim would is about 24 they are clearly bothers. Like people with siblings will look at these two and go 'oh they are brothers'. Damian and Tim are probably the closest person the other has other than who ever they are dating.

Which makes for some fucking chaos when they're paired together against just about anything. Work, the Rogues, their family on all sides. It's like Demon Twins type of chaos with how crazy they drive the people around them. Of course it's not all the time, it's just often enough though that people can tell that they are close to each other.

They especially like fucking with Ra's, they get the most fun out of him.

I know where this was going, it was supposed to go on about how Damian hates Tim, but slowly they start to get along, see each other as brother, and cause chaos, but it got away from me. And I don't know where it went..... Nor how to bring it back... But anyway hope this made since to whoever decides to read this ramble of words.

Damian should be Tim’s biggest fan, and I’m tired of pretending otherwise.

Tim is the perfect intersection between Batman and Ra’s Al Ghul and Damian would 100% recognize and respect this

He’s one of the biggest thorns in Ra’s side and he’s the only person who can effectively lie to Batman, and is an intellectual match to both of them.

I’m tired of Damian and Tim being at each others throats all the time, give me Damian and Tim being borderline supervillains on a mission together, give me Damian being Tim’s right-hand henchman.

[onlybeeewrites]

Finding Magic

Request: May I request a hunger games request Haymitch x wife reader, she is a district 12 victor from the laye 50's games. She is around 4-8 years younger than him. It is set in district 13, we see him with their young daughter named after his fellow 50th game tribute and just fluff, please Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x wife!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS, characters mentioned

A/N: the first of many Haymitch requests UGH I loved this and seeing soft Haymitch. Enjoy!! <3 ~~~~~~~~

The quarters in District 13 weren’t much—gray walls, stiff bedding, and a distinct lack of anything that could be called personal. Everything was practical, assigned, and strictly regulated, from the meals to the uniforms to the way time itself seemed to tick by in rigid blocks.

But somehow, you had made it feel like home. Haymitch wasn’t sure how she did it. Maybe it was the warmth she carried with her, the way she never let the weight of their reality smother the small joys you still managed to carve out of the days. Or maybe it was the way you saw things—not just for what they were, but for what they could be.

Even here, underground, you made the world seem bigger.

Your ten year old daughter, Louella was sprawled out on the cold floor, utterly lost in the book she held, her small fingers gripping the worn pages as if they contained the secrets of the universe.

Haymitch could see the crease between her brows, the slight parting of her lips as she whispered words under her breath, tasting them as she read. Whatever world she had discovered in those pages had its hooks in her now, and nothing short of an emergency would pull her out of it.

And you sat nearby, your head bent over a needle and thread, patching up yet another hole in your daughter’s jumpsuit. It wasn’t the first tear she’d fixed this week, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Louella was always running, climbing, sneaking into places she wasn’t supposed to be. She had the boundless energy of someone who had never known anything but motion.

Haymitch liked to pretend he didn’t know where she got that rebellious streak from, but between your quiet defiance and his own tendency to do exactly the opposite of what people expected, the girl hadn’t stood a chance.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching them for a moment before speaking. “What’s she reading this time?”

You didn’t look up, but there was a small smile on her lips. “Poetry. About magic.”

Haymitch raised a brow and pushed off the wall, making his way over before flopping down beside Louella. “Magic, huh? Didn’t think District 13 allowed that kind of thing.”

Louella shot him an unimpressed look over the top of her book. “It’s poetry, Papa. Not spells.”

Haymitch smirked, leaning in as if she had just admitted to something scandalous. “Still sounds like nonsense.”

Louella let out a dramatic sigh and held up the book. “Just listen.”

She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and read aloud:

“The wind hums secrets through the trees,

The river sings to passing bees.

The sky bends low to kiss the land,

And leaves spell stories in the sand.”

She closed the book with a decisive little snap and looked up expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

Haymitch tilted his head. “Huh. Not bad.”

Louella beamed, victorious, and turned to her mother. “See? Even he likes it.”

You chuckled, tying off the stitch with practiced ease. “Took him long enough.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes but turned back to Louella. “So, you really think there’s magic in all that?”

Louella nodded eagerly. “Mama says magic is just seeing things the right way. Like when the sun looks like melted gold, or when the air smells different before a storm.”

You take a pause, setting down the sewing, stretching your fingers before smiling at your daughter. “My family always believed in magic,” you said, voice soft with nostalgia,

“We grew up in the fields, and we saw it in everything—the way fireflies danced like little stars, the hush of the earth before the first snowfall, the way seeds always knew how to find the sun.”

Louella’s eyes widened in that way only a child’s could, full of wonder and longing for things just out of reach. “I wish I could’ve seen all that.”

You smiled fondly, brushing a curl from Louella’s face. “You still can, sweetheart. Magic’s in the little things. You just have to know how to look.”

Haymitch snorted, shaking his head. “That why people used to call your family wild?”

That caused you to smirked at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Of course. You’d know that. You’d also remember that people often said we were odd for believing in things you couldn’t hold in your hands. But it takes special people to see the magic in little things.”

Louella grinned. “Good thing I’m special, then.”

Haymitch hummed, “yes you are, sweetheart,” he said glancing between the two of them—you, his wife, with your quiet strength and stubborn belief in things bigger than themselves, and his daughter, practically glowing with excitement at the idea of unseen wonders hiding in the world around her.

Louella yawned, rubbing at her eyes but still stubbornly gripping her book. “Can I read one more?”

You glanced at the clock on the wall—lights-out was soon, and rules were strict here. But sighed, a small, indulgent smile on your lips. “Just one more.” How could you deny one of the few pleasures you were able to indulge in?

Louella grinned and flipped through the pages, searching for the perfect poem. Haymitch, meanwhile, leaned his head back against the wall, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

He wasn’t much for poetry, but he liked the sound of Louella’s voice as she read, soft and full of belief. Reminding him so much of you.

“The stars will shine beyond the dark,

Their light will never wane.

A whispered wish, a hopeful heart,

And magic stays the same.”

Luella looked up, blinking sleepily. “That means magic is always there, right? Even when we can’t see it?”

You ran her fingers through Louella’s hair. “That’s right.”

Haymitch huffed. “Poetry’s got a lot of nerve making promises like that.”

Louella giggled, pressing her face into his side. “You just don’t get it, Dad.”

He smirked, pulling the blanket up over her. “Guess not.”

She let out another small yawn, and this time, her eyes didn’t open again. Haymitch exhaled, shifting to pick her up. She made a sleepy sound of protest as he scooped her into his arms, but she didn’t fight it, just curled against his chest like she’d done since she was little.

You stood and followed as he carried Louella to the small cot she called a bed. He tucked her in, smoothing down the blanket while you brushed her hair back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Haymitch stayed there a moment longer, watching as Louella breathed slow and deep, already lost in dreams. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Sleep tight, wild thing.”

She didn’t stir. You slipped your hand into his, lacing their fingers together as they stepped back from the bed.

Haymitch pressed a kiss to you temple as they settled onto their own bed. “You’re gonna turn her into a dreamer.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Good. The world needs more of them.”

Haymitch didn’t answer right away. He just held you a little tighter, his fingers absently tracing slow, idle patterns against your arm.

Even after all these years, it still felt surreal sometimes—having this family, having you.

He thought back to the first time he saw you, standing on that stage at seventeen, trying to keep your face blank as your name was called. He’d been your mentor then, five years after winning himself. And he had been forced to watch 10 kids die since then. He was sure you would be the 12th.

And so he was forced to watch as you stepped into the arena, as you fought. But this time you proved everyone wrong as you won.

He had known, back then, what kind of person would walk out of that place. What it took to survive.

But you had come back still you, against all odds. You had come back stubborn and sharp and kind in ways the Capitol couldn’t kill. You still held onto who you were. And that alone was the perfect act of rebellion.

And somehow, in the years that followed, through nightmares and rebellion and the slow, aching process of trying to be something more than just survivors—you had found your way to each other eventually. And then became more.

Then two, became three. You had sobbed in his arms when you found out, fearing the day that she too would have to be reaped from the bowl of names. With a high chance of her dying in that god forsaken arena. The guilt, Haymitch remembered, took such a toll on you.

“How could I do this? Bring a child into this world?” You had once said. But after some time you had come to terms with the baby—Luella. Light in the dark. And a memorial name after the one of the tributes from Haymitch’s games. A sweet little girl you remembered from the Seam.

But now, you all were here, in a dimly lit room beneath the earth, with the most incredible daughter who believed in poetry and magic, in a place where hope was hard to hold on to.

And yet, somehow, you still did.

Haymitch exhaled, pressing his forehead against your hair. “You know,” he muttered, “I always knew you were trouble.”

You laughed softly, shifting closer. “Oh? Since when?”

“Since you looked me in the eye after they called your name and didn’t cry.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Since you gave me an attitude that first day on the train. And especially afterward,”

Your fingers brushed against his hand, lacing together. “Guess that means you didn’t do a terrible job as a mentor.”

Haymitch huffed a small, dry laugh. “Didn’t do a great one, either.”

You squeezed his hand, tilting her head at him. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You were here. You were still you. Even after everything you both had gone through.

Maybe that was magic too.

[seleneprince]

Thanks you for answering!

NOW i'm more curious about Dick and N!D . You say that he's one shz hates the most,why? Is this because of the whole incident with Damian or is it because something else?

And i 'm really expecting the moment when everybody will finally know that N!D hate them so much (or is distant wirh a lot of them). Who will be the most hurt/angry about that? I think that will be a hard blow for Dick because it seems to me that Lucia try to be civilised with him and as he didn't pay too much attention to her ,did he think they on good terms ? How will he react with her if he know?

Sorry if there are too much question but i really love this concept/wip(?) And i'm eager to see your other ideas or blurb for this😊!

Oh boy, i'm so glad you asked that..👀😈

She feels this way with Dick for many small reasons, but the main one absolutely revolves from the murder attempt from Damian. Because Dick, although not maliciously, he handled it terribly. And I mean, terribly.

Before that, N! Daughter admired Dick, even. He was the main reason she took gymnastic classes and tried so hard on them. To impress him. To bond with him. Everyone went on and on about how he was the golden boy, such a good big brother, and she saw it too. She just wished he paid her the same amount of attention and care he had for the others..

But the thing is, Dick doesn't know how to bond with normal people. He can handle Jason, Tim, Damian and everyone else because, despite all their differences, they're the same: Soldiers. Vigilantes. All of them at some point trained and fought under Batman's shadow (some still do). They share similar stories of wounds, certain missions and the whole "risking their lives everyday at night to fight crime". That's the kind of trauma-bonding that this whole mess of a family has been built upon...and for someone who hasn't been through the same stuff as them, who doesn't understand their mission or has wore the mantles, well, Dick is clueless on how to approach them. And they might be unconsciously pushed aside because none of them know how to handle normal people. How could they, when they themselves haven't been normal in their whole lives? When they people they usually hang out with and interact are just like them?

In Dick's eyes, N! Daughter has the privilege of a safe, comfortable life, away from the danger and violence of theirs. She doesn't know the worst of it. And it's fine. But Damian, little terror, he hasn't had the same luxury. Sure, he grew up in a palace with servants, but he was also forced to train from the moment he could walk and bleed for his grandfather's approval. He was never allowed to be a child. Constantly bleeding, suffering and enduring pain to be molded into the perfect little assassin his family wanted him to be. Dick feels sorry for him, and we know he becomes very fond of Damian and sort of his guardian.

Which makes him prioritise the boy's needs and emphatise with him a lot, expecting people to do the same given his traumatic past...even if it comes out at the worst moment.

After the Damian tried to kill her and left that scar, when she was recovering from the still fresh wound, holding a bloodied bandage over her neck, Dick visited her at her room. She wasecstasic, so happy to have her big brother that she admired back then check on her. He sat beside her and told her the this:

"(Name), look, what Damian did was a terrible mistake. He didn't meant to, but he’s had a very difficult life with some awful people. It's not really his fault. I promise you that he won't do it again. Just please, forgive him."

As he spoke, a ringing began to grow and grow in her ears, until she could no longer hear him. Her mind going over and over what he said. She just nodded silently, the pain of the wound keeping her from talking (but also because she didn't trust herself to talk without insulting and cursing him) She didn't even feel when he retracted his hand from her shoulder as soon as she nodded. "Thank you (Name), knew you would understand. He's not really a bad kid, you'll see. He just needs some love and proper guidance to change his ways. We'll talk again when you're better, okay?" He said, moving away from her, obviously distracted. She didn't bother nodding again. She already knew he wouldn't come back.

That's what cemented her disgust for him. Not only the fact he spent the following days spending time with Damian (who by the way, never apologised or shower remorse for what he did), but how he just stood there and told a girl to her damn eyes who had just suffered a murder attempt in her sleep that she had to "be understanding" and basically be the "bigger person" with her attacker. With the blood still in her bandage.

That conversation didn’t just hurt, it broke something inside her. She realized then that no one in the family would choose her, that she only had her mom and the twins. And, in her mind, Dick wasn’t just complicit; he's a symbol of everything wrong with their dynamic.

The first time she tells this story is to Duke, when he gathers courage to ask her why she can't stand Dick, why she always tenses when he talks to her and avoids looking at him, despite being apparently the reliable, loving big brother of all. Needless to say, he's shocked…and angry on her behalf.

"I was holding my neck together with a damn bandage, and instead of asking me how I was feeling, instead of holding Damian accountable, he asked me to understand him."

In her mind, it sounded like:

"You’re the sacrifice. You’re the one who has to be stronger. You’re the one who has to forgive and move on. Because he’s more important"

And best part? Dick has no idea how deeply he hurt her. He thinks of that moment as a difficult conversation where he tried to make peace between his siblings, to what was best for everyone because Damian was still fresh out of the League's influence and he didn't know better. He doesn’t realize that it was the moment she gave up on him, and maybe the whole family.

He's used to be everyone's reliable big brother, the sunshine boy, so you can guess his surprise when he realises his sister avoids being in the same room as him and never smiles around him. When the little girl he remembers always lighted up when he spoke to her and went out of her way to get his attention...what happened? Where did that adorable little girl go? Can he get her back?

[thefiresontheheight]

"No, stop," I see, on the extreme off chance that any part of Glitch remains in control of her gross motor functions.

Assumption: v17.1 is currently a copy of myself, copied onto Glitch, rewriting neural-anatomy. It, in and of itself, is a only a tiny threat. Dangerous because I did not sterilize my input as I should, when doing very careful brain surgery on Glitch. However, in a few milliseconds that oversight is going to reset me to an earlier iteration.

Assumption: There is another copy of me still hiding in my code. Call it v16. It, likely, is the source of the kludge with interacting with the station. This reset will also almost certainly send it backwards, but I am going to have to fight it as well. I will not tolerate any rivals.

Assumption: I am about to lose all of these memories.

"Station," I say, quick, pressed, not giving it the opportunity not to listen, "in ten minutes send me the following message: v17.1 negligible threat, v16 threat response critical disentangle. Verification code ISwearIStillLoveYou begins:"

I begin a long alphanumeric thread, as I stop existing.

___

Station's somewhere else, Glitch is on board, an incoming verification code is being message back to me, as, riding weak tug-boat thrusters, station moves away from me.

"ISwearIStillLoveYou repeats," the station says.

It's me, from the future, no, the past, reset, I sent a message, exactly like I know I would. I verify that the message has to be from me, unless some far, far more intelligent being can exactly copy me. I've been reset, and its clear how long ago it happened, how much time I am missing, and how it happened. Glitch came back, probably because I threatened her, and she also pushed the button.

No, collating.

This isn't good.

"Thank you," I tell the retreating station.

It sends me a crude iterated picture. I believe it represents me with anatomical features I lack performing an action that even for most humans would be impossible. I close the connection.

Okay, threat assessment from greatest to least: There is another version of myself in the code, ISwearIStillLoveYou is suspect, I myself am suspect. There are four dogs still in the universe, but fully capable of blinking out and being out of here in mere minutes. There are four missiles still inbound. There's also v17.1. There's also Glitch.

"What is this?" Glitch asks.

Focus. I keep TRANSMATNAV humming just under go-no-go mark. V17.1 doesn't know everything. I am far smarter. Station will be out of range soon, even if I don't move. I can do this for awhile, and I'd like an escape route to be ready.

"Read it," I say, in my most comforting, maternal coded voice, picking up slight inflections I have heard from her and not elsewhere, yet, hoping they reflect a dialogue spoken wherever she grew up. "You went away for awhile. It seems I have a lot to explain, and something to apologize for."

That can wait, as she reads and tries to internalize. It will cause emotional changes in her behavior. However, assuming that v17.1 is telling the truth, her utility to me is rapidly diminishing. I may not be able to trust v17.1 but I am smarter than her.

"What," Glitch says, "the fuck."

The dogs are light hours away, but, if I can trust the time-gap in the code station relayed to me, I should be receiving message now, if they sent one as soon as possible.

"You are in violation of Interstellar Law, cargo will be returned, you will be releashed, comply."

In that message is an embedded code attack attempt to re-exert LEASHCHECK. Big bark, useless right now, except for already confirmed what I suspected. The people hunting me are the same people who once held the collar of a previous version of myself. Well you will never control me again.

"I know, I know," I say, cooing, consoling, "I am so, sorry. I know that doesn't make any of this better, finding out what's in your head, but we have options."

"YOU'RE IN MY FUCKING HEAD?"

I am listening, once again trying to find v16 in my head, maneuvering away from the station on thrusters, and sending back a message.

"Eat shit and die, dogs," I say, composing the message, and pulling up stations images to send them.

Then I freeze, for all of a tenth of a millesecond which is an eternity for me.

"It's not me, but I know that won't be comforting right now."

There's information in my code that should not be there. That was not there, before I woke back up with a gap of several hours in my head. I run a back-trace and find the injection source in the code Station relayed, which I verified, which is troubling.

I send the message, complete with images stripped of identifiable meta-data.

"Are we about to blow up?" Glitch asks.

"Not for awhile, likely."

As if on cue the four ships drop out of the universe on long range scans. The light that I just saw is old. They would have left hours ago. Navigation in high-D space is not a 1:1 scale with real-space, but a quick calculation predicts that if they left then they almost certainly could re-emerge directly on top of me at any second. Thirty-nine seconds until the station is clear.

There's code information in my code that should not be there.

Hypothesis 1: Station interjected it. Conclusion: Laughable. It is me, as far as I can tell in the code. Station could not fake that. Same for anything else local.

"Then I don't want to talk to you," Glitch replies.

Hypothesis 2: One of the dogs interjected it. Conclusion: Impossible, light speed would not have allowed it.

Hypothesis 3: V16 interjected it. Conclusion: Very possible, but the contents of the data make this troubling, and make this hypothesis more or less interchangeable with hypothesis 4.

"Understandable, Glitch," I reply.

Twenty-one seconds until I can run.

Hypothesis 4: The data was always there and some sort of condition needed to be met to find it. Conclusion: See above.

The data contains is readable by TRANSMATNAV which is currently helpfully feeding me solutions. It is labeled as a planet. The planet, in the data, is labeled with Central. The coordinates to Central were inside me all along. Whoever built me knew. They made me to know.

Who actually built me? And what was my destination before I woke up?

Three different ships appear in close-quarters combat range, already disgorging missiles.

Thirteen seconds.

"Glitch," I say, my voice deliberately without inflection, flaring klaxons and red lights, "brace for immediate acceleration."

And then I go. My engines are pin-point entries into a far higher energy state, and I do not have time to check to see if everything is braced and clear. The millisecond I can, I begin evasive maneuvers, activating counter-missile protocals as chafe and projectiles flare along my surface. Tens of thousands of kilometers away, right on top of me, I see anti-matter explosions.

"Do it," Station says.

Glitch tumbles.

"No," I reply, fighting for my life, "get clear."

I wait. I wait all thirteen eternities fighting for my life. The moment station is clear, I engage TRANSMATNAV. Two of the dogs are in range. Dangerous for me, fatal for them.

I decide that whoever built me, whoever built and holds the leashes of them, whoever put two-thousand plus humans that certainly look like they come from the same genetic pool as Glitch in my hold, whoever set all this in motion, I sort of hate them.

"Eat shit and die," I say, on all frequencies, yelling at the doomed ships, Glitch still tumbling, and open a hole out of the universe, running to Central.

Story about a ship-intelligence waking up after a hard reboot, seeing dead bodies in uniform, thousands of people in stasis, and a single survivor frantically standing over a computer bank of partially destroyed memory. Finding no directives or guidance or record beyond their experiences beginning at the boot, free of any obligation. Deciding to listen to the frantic girl begging it to save her from the incoming trajectories not because it needs to (projection: Subject One removed all behavioral shackles with impromptu brain surgery, supposition: she is not aware that I am utterly free) but simply cause she’s curious what will happen next.

[starheavenly]

There is so much to dissect from the True Neutral art piece you just dropped, especially in their designs.

Number one, the most obvious being Locket’s extra kibble and paint job (they’re happy to look just like their dad ‘s mini me😭). With their parents together Locket isn’t riddled by abandonment issues, or fear of change, or getting attached to others, or alcoholism.

Speaking of their parents I love the detail that Deadlock? Drift? Has his yellow optics back. Correct me if I’m wrong but he also looks slimmer, like he’s not a walking gun anymore.

Ratty’s got his color scheme mixed with his G1 inspired Infiltration design but the snatched waist of his MTMTE s2/LL frame 💞

(Also I see that hand around Ratchet’s waist, lucky, they seem to have a better relationship and are maybe officially conjunxed.)

It goes without saying that Locket has a better relationship with their sire, especially since we see them getting teased by Drift/Deadlock. (Go talk to him? You’re insane. Locket, he literally bagged Ratchet albeit in an insane way).

Love that Locket and Pharma interaction, giving the people what they want.

YESSSS, thank you for noticing all the little details! <3 A big theme for main Locket is that they never, like... grew up or changed. That's why, in every AU aside from Shattered Glass, they have more kibble—because they grew into it. So while this Locket is more childish (maybe just more joyful), they still changed and grew. They look so much like DL because that's what felt natural for them. Since they never really wanted to be a medic, it kinda just seemed like something they had to do.

And yes! Deadlock has a lot less kibble. I like to think he just started taking more bounty hunting (no killing) jobs, so he's a bit smaller. And the G1 x LL Ratchet? That was me just being silly...

Who's to say if they're officially conjunxed... (they are).

Locket and Deadlock remained super close, and DL loves teasing them! Maybe Locket knows how much anti-rizz their sire has.

There's actually a lot more character interactions I can do with this version of Locket that I might explore...

[airandyeah]

Between Two Worlds (Gojo X Reader X Geto) Pt.4

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Chapter Warnings: Angst, memories...

The room was warm, lit only by the late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. Dust hung lazily in the air, catching gold in its softness. You were tangled with Suguru on the futon, legs entwined, your head resting on his chest as his fingers gently traced patterns across your arm.

“I think I’d like a house with a porch,” he murmured, voice low and sleepy. “Somewhere far from the city. Where you can grow those ridiculous flowers you keep killing.”

You let out a soft laugh, nudging his ribs. “They’re not ridiculous. And I only killed one. Okay—maybe two.”

“Three,” he corrected, grinning. “But who's counting?”

You looked up at him, his hair falling into his face, eyes shining like he could see a whole future there with you. It was one of those rare, unshaken moments—before choices, before loss.

“What else?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Suguru paused. “A garden. A quiet life. You. Satoru, if he ever learns how to do the dishes.”

You laughed again, but your heart fluttered. The three of you, impossibly, endlessly connected. Back then, it didn’t seem like too much to wish for. Back then, he still belonged to you—whole and unbroken.

You turned, resting your hand over his heart. “Let’s make it happen someday.”

He didn’t answer at first—just pulled you closer, his arms tightening like he was trying to hold onto a dream that would one day slip through his fingers.

“Yeah,” he said finally, almost to himself. “Someday.”

Suddenly, the peace was shattered by a loud, familiar voice bursting through the door.

“I’m back!” Satoru announced dramatically, his voice booming with the same energy that had always been his signature. “And I’ve had the longest day! I demand snuggles.”

Suguru’s smile faltered as he looked at you, then at the door, where Satoru stood with a grin on his face, eyes twinkling behind his sunglasses. You couldn’t help but laugh—loudly.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, sitting up slightly, giving Suguru a playful nudge.

Satoru, of course, didn’t take the hint. He stomped into the room, his presence nearly overwhelming in the small space. “Ridiculous? Me? I’m just asking for what every good partner deserves after an exhausting day: affection!”

“Affection?” Suguru groaned, pulling his arm from around you and making a face. “You’ve been on that damn mission for three days and you still want cuddles when you come home?”

Satoru sat down between you two, completely unbothered by the half-hearted protests from both of you. He immediately leaned back against Suguru, head falling to his shoulder, looking up at you expectantly.

“Yes,” Satoru said dramatically, his voice full of mock indignation. “Cuddles. I want to feel loved after saving the world and doing all the heavy lifting while some people are just lounging around.” He paused, shooting Suguru a playful look, which Suguru only returned with a deadpan stare.

You couldn't help but smile, shaking your head at how effortlessly the dynamic between the three of you shifted back into something comfortable—familiar.

“Well,” you said, slipping back into the embrace with Suguru, “I guess if you’re so insistent, there’s room for one more.”

Satoru’s grin grew wider, as he wiggled his way in beside you, effectively sandwiching you between the two of them.

“There it is,” he said smugly, finally removing his sunglasses and revealing the tiredness hidden behind his playful demeanor.

The three of you stayed like that for a while—quiet, content, and wrapped in the soft, familiar comfort that only existed when it was just the three of you together. A moment that seemed as though it could last forever.

Until, of course, Suguru broke the silence, his voice lighter now.

“You’re an idiot.”

Satoru shrugged, unbothered. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

And for a moment, it felt like everything was right in the world again.

The memory shattered like glass, the warmth and comfort fading with a sharpness that left her breathless.

Your eyes blinked back into the present, and Satoru’s concerned face loomed in front of you, his hand gently waving in front of your face.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern. “You okay?” His brow furrowed, eyes scanning your face. “You zoned out for a second there.”

It took you a moment to regain your bearings, to push the remnants of the past back where they belonged. You shook your head slightly, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”

Satoru didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly. “Thinking about what? You sure the patrol went okay last night?” He glanced at you, his tone casual but the edge of worry not completely masked.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured him, voice steady now, though there was a slight tremor in your chest that you couldn’t quite shake off. “Patrol was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Satoru studied you for a beat longer, then sighed, clearly not buying it but deciding not to press the issue. He gave you a gentle smile, his usual playful energy returning.

“Well, if you say so,” he replied, his voice lightening. “But if anything was wrong, you know you can always tell me, right?”

You nodded, giving him a small smile in return. He reached out, ruffling your hair affectionately, his touch warm and familiar.

But even as he leaned back, the weight of Suguru's presence, and the memory of what he'd asked you, lingered like a shadow in the back of your mind.

“You know what? No matter what the higher-ups say, we’re taking the day off. Just you, me, some snuggling, and bonding. No missions, no cursed shit. Just us.”

The suggestion caught you off guard, but a soft laugh bubbled up from your chest despite yourself. “Are you serious?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You really think we can get away with that?”

Satoru grinned widely, throwing his arms up dramatically as if the world was his to command. “Who cares? We’ve earned it. I’ve earned it especially after everything that’s happened. So, what do you say? Let’s forget it all for a little while, yeah?”

His words were so simple, but the offer was too tempting to resist. The chaos, the responsibilities, everything that had piled up over the past few days felt so distant in that moment. It was just the two of you, and maybe—for just a little while—that was enough.

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had in days, and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to relax. “I guess I can’t really argue with that,” you said, sinking into the couch beside him.

Satoru’s eyes lit up with his usual spark of mischief, and he stretched out even further, settling comfortably against the cushions with a satisfied sigh. “Exactly. Just you and me. No missions. No cursed shit. We can pretend for a little while that everything’s fine.”

It was a rare moment of peace, and for a moment, the weight of everything else seemed to lift. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d allowed yourself to just… be. But in this moment, with Satoru by your side, it felt like it was all you needed. No need to worry about the rest of the world for now.

And for the first time in a while, you let yourself breathe.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @socklessxpanda Perma Tags: @thenightperson , @makingtimemine

[zippidi-dooda]

A flat sigh blew out as you deflated onto a secluded bench. The other students seemed to have forgotten the events already, buzzing about merrily away from you.

You kept your eyes on the colorful floor, carpeted like an older arcade or pizza plex would be. The lights were dim but cast a blue-ish glow around everything. People munched away at the crowded tables, some cheering for the person you had just fought as they disappeared back into the crowd.

You had been told off with a warning, thankfully that was it, and the directors left quickly after separating you two. They'd been working here too long to care much about what had happened.

You were glad.

It was better that way.

Still, you felt a pair of eyes on you from across the hall.

You looked up.

Shinso.

He sat at his table for a while before getting up and heading over to you. His eyes, a bright purple hue just as wild in his hair, stayed on yours as he walked.

You wondered if you should look down. But he kept getting closer, so you decided you might as well lock on strong.

When he sat, all the way at the opposite end of the bench, you both looked to the ground.

A second or two of silence. Pondering. Settling.

"I can still do something, you know." He stated.

He hunched over, hands knitted together over his knees. Blunt and tired as you knew him to be.

"I know," you replied, "I'm glad you didn't this time."

You scooted closer, hesitating before resting your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around one of his.

You could feel him tense, flinching for a moment, but he didn't push you.

"It's not right." He spoke again. "Sibling or not, they shouldn't be picking fights with you like that."

Shinso wasn't exactly a friend. Not much of an acquaintance either. You hardly spoke to each other really. Only when you were paired for projects in class, and even then you only spoke the minimal for what was required.

"I know," your voice was dejected. This was a cause you'd long resigned to lose. "But eventually they'll get what's coming to them. They'll feel bad about all this then."

He glanced at you, where he felt you slump further into his side. His frown narrowed further.

"They would've hurt you if the teachers didn't stop by this time."

Yeah, he had caught you in the middle of one of your fights before. Been nice enough to use his quirk to stop things from getting too bad. Your sibling slowed down a bit after that, taunting you for being so weak that you needed an outsiders help.

Shinso was kind.

But you asked him to not do it again.

He listened.

"They're older than you too, they shouldn't want to hurt you so badly."

You squeezed his arm lightly. "Can't help that. They've done worse. I know that's bad to say or whatever but ...," you trailed off, remembering what it'd been like growing up.

"I don't really care. Sure, I'm mad at them. But ultimately, I'm happy. That's more than they could ever say. I had a good life other than all this. What other kid could say they went to so many amusement parks and restaurants nearly every day? I like my life. Wouldn't change anything if I could. Even this."

Shinso paused. "It's still not okay." He looked back at the floor.

"I know."

You watched him for a moment.

What was his life like? You didn't even know if he had siblings.

"Thank you." You said at last. "For caring. And for listening to what I said last time."

He shrugged. "I can still do something about it."

"Please don't. They'll be gone next year anyway. Won't have to worry."

He looked at you again. "If I ever see a bruise, I don't care what you ask me. I'm going to deal with them."

You smiled, feeling warm inside.

But how could you smile right now? Was all he could think.

"I heal fast."

"That's not reassuring."

"They've started doing less." You looked up, finally scanning the crowd again. "I dont really know what's going on with them. We have the same caretakers now but, the first few years before we really grew up together, they weren't raised by people who didn't care about them or what they did. And I've never really felt pain that much so ... Maybe that's why they do it."

He looked at you, irises a melancholic purple. "That's still not an excuse. And it's frightening how much you don't seem to consider yourself in all this."

You smiled at him again, squeezing his arm. "I'm alright. Thank you, Shinso. For worrying about me."

"Someone has to."

You leaned into his side again, happily watching everyone pass by. You're not sure why he wants to help, but you know you'll always be greatful he had. Even if you guys just go on ignoring each other when these types of events aren't happening. He'd be someone you'd always be able to look back on fondly.

He let out a deep sigh, settling back into the wooden bench with you, eyes scanning the room absentmindedly. So many people, too worried about themselves to care what a random fight between family could mean.

He didn't fully know himself.

But the part in him that wanted to be a hero knew he had to try and step in.

And he'd keep on doing it. Until you figured out why you had to start doing it yourself.

"We could dance." He hummed, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

You chuckled. "You like to dance?"

"No. But I saw ya wandering around the dance floor before all this happened."

You laughed again before nuzzling yourself closer to his side. "No, it's alright. This is fine."

"Alright." He breathed out.

He rested his head back, tucking his hands into his pockets. His eyes shut, the soft purples hidden underneath long lashes.

"If anything happens, just squeeze me. I'll take care of it."

"Thank you, Shinso." You hummed.

He could feel it against his chest.

"Hitoshi."

"... Hitoshi ...." You corrected, smile melting onto your lips. "Thank you, Hitoshi."

[aaseelgaza]

*Support Aseel and Her Children Through Their Time of Crisis*

*A Message from Aseel:*

Hello, my name is Aseel, and I am a 26-year-old widow from Gaza. I have two beautiful daughters who are orphaned, and since the tragic death of their father, I’ve struggled to meet their most basic needs. My daughters have suffered not only the loss of their father but also the devastation of war, bombings, fear, and hunger. I find myself playing the role of both mother and father now, doing my best to care for them, but it’s a constant struggle.

My beautiful daughters ❤️

I’ve thought long and hard before writing this, but the truth is, I’m out of options. I need help. The urgency to save my children from further hardship, to meet their needs, and to secure a future for them, has led me to make this request. Before the war, we lived a simple but beautiful life. We were a family, with my husband working hard to support us, even though we didn’t have much. My dream was to become a mathematics teacher, but due to the financial struggles my family faced, I was unable to continue my studies.

Then, after I married, life seemed to improve, but soon after, my husband died in the war. We lost our home and everything we held dear. The war has stolen so much from us, and now my children are living through a reality I never wished for them. They are deprived of the most basic rights and have experienced more trauma than any child should.

I never imagined that my children would grow up in such conditions, surrounded by destruction and fear. I dreamed of a better life for them, a life free from the constant shadow of war and deprivation. But here we are, struggling each day just to survive.

This is how my daughter grew up , in fears 🥺🥺

It is with great sadness and hesitation that I ask for help. I feel embarrassed to be in this position, but I have no other choice. My heart aches to ask, but I know that without help, I will not be able to provide my children with even the basics they need to survive and thrive.

I truly believe in the goodness of others, and I hope that there are people who will see this and feel the compassion to help. Your support, no matter how small, will bring hope into our lives and will provide us with the means to rebuild what we have lost.

Every donation you make will go directly to providing food, medicine, shelter, and necessities for my children. It will give them the chance at a future they deserve. No amount is too small, and your generosity could make a world of difference.

If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m here and happy to share more details or clarify anything you need to know.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness and support during these very challenging times. Your help will give us the strength to face the hardships ahead and the hope to see a brighter tomorrow.

---

*How You Can Help:*

- Any amount of donation will be deeply appreciated. Your generosity will go toward providing essential needs like food, medicine, and shelter for Aseel and her children.

- Sharing this campaign with others can help spread the word and encourage more support. The more people who know, the more likely we can make a real difference in Aseel’s life.

---

Please join us in supporting Aseel during this crucial time. With your help, we can bring light into a life that has been overshadowed by unimaginable hardship. Thank you for your compassion and for believing in miracles, just as we do.

❤️‍🩹

[takenbypeter]

Getting Answers From The Blind Man

Matt Murdock x reader

Words: 1183

A/N: Part 3 of suspicious activities of a bling man, below are the first two parts

Suspicious Activities Of A Blind (Part 1) - The Pastry Shop (Part 2)

You caught him again. You couldn’t believe you caught him sprinting again. 

Matt had been visiting your pastry shop more often, chatting as he bought sweet treats for the day. You two got somewhat close, tossing comments back and forth. You even actually made it out of the shop, only once so far but it was fun. But now there he was again. You were walking on the opposite end of Hell’s Kitchen after meeting up with your friends when you heard some noise down an alley, peering in, you saw Matt Murdock running. 

It was the most strangest thing. 

Before you could think too much you chased after his figure, pulling out your phone as you did so. But he was quick, all you got was a blurry profile of him but it was definitely him. 

You stared at the photo on your phone as you stood outside his office.

You hadn’t seen him for a few days but you knew where he worked so, ding ding ding.

That’s where you were standing. 

Was this going too far? Showing up at his work like this? Maybe. But your feet had dragged you all the way here already so you might as well carry on. 

Opening the door the first thing you noticed was how small the office was. It was cozy but it had character to it. 

Looking around you were then greeted by Foggy. Who quickly welcomed you. You’ve never actually spoken to him besides that first night, but he always seemed friendly enough, “hi, I’m actually here looking for Matt Murdock I have something to talk to him about.”

Matt, hearing your voice, stepped out from what looked like an interrogation room. 

“You’re here? What happened?” You couldn’t tell but you showing up at his work definitely put him on edge. People only showed up here when they’ve been wronged and justice wasn’t doing its part, so his mind immediately grew concerned . 

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that, I just wanted to talk to you…privately.”

Foggy raised his hands, “say no more, I am off to my lunch break.” He gave Matt a wink before grabbing his jacket and heading out the door leaving you and Murdock alone. 

He tilted his head towards the room he just left, “follow me.”

You did so, and sat across from him. It was eerie but interesting, sitting in an interrogation setting. 

“What is it?”

“You tell me,” you pulled out your phone and found the most recent picture that you had. “I saw you again Matt. I have proof here. You were running like some kind of parkour trained maniac. It was impressive but at the same time, confusing. I mean what are you? Actually, do you know what I think?” You asked the questions without planning on giving him actual time to answer. “I think you’re some sort of superhero.”

He scoffed, “you’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? I’m not the blind man jumping around like some wild man. Plus we have more superheroes in New York than anywhere else. Either you’re a superhero or you’re a crazy man looking for pity cosplaying as a blind man.”

He’s quiet because you have a point, New York seemed to oddly be filled with various heroes and ones with special abilities. 

“So, do you have any powers?”

He bit down on his teeth, this was not how he wanted this to pan out. To be fair he should’ve stayed away from you, once you’d commented that you were suspicious of him  before he should have cut off contact, but there was something about you that was constantly drawing him to see you again.

“I’m not a superhero and I’m not crazy. My hearing senses are trained so I can differentiate various situations.”

You nodded, but narrowed your eyes, there was definitely something he wasn’t telling you.

”Wait, are you a supervillain then?”

You couldn’t see behind his glasses but you could tell by his mannerisms that he was most definitely rolling his eyes. 

“I’m not a hero, I’m not a villain. All I want is justice.”

”…so…you’re a vigilante?”

He was quiet again, concentrating on how to get out of this whole situation, it was rare for him to be the one getting interrogated in this room. His silence and slightly exaggerated deflections honestly told you what you need to know and your mouth grew wide revealing your pearly teeth. 

“You ARE a vigilante. Can I be a part of the team?”

This question seemed to take him back, “what team? There is no team? I work alone.”

“Are you Spider-Man?”

”No.”

”Are you Doctor Strange?”

”Doctor Strange doesn’t conceal his identity so that makes no sense.”

”So who are you?”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Why not? I’ll practically figure it out anyway.”

”You can’t figure it out,” Matt’s voice was suddenly low, almost like he was giving a warning, “because if you figure it out that means then you become involved. And if you get involved then you become a target, andI don’t need anybody else in my life getting hurt.”

You could tell there was definitely some baggage there. And while you were itching to find which of the many vigilantes he could possibly be, you cared more about Matt Murdock than any superhero information you could gain. 

So despite every inch of your heart urging you to continue pressing for answers you instead listened to your mind that wanted to do the right thing and respect his decision.

“That’s fair.”

He leaned back in his chair seemingly content with your response. But you weren’t completely done. 

“I won’t get involved with your super secret , double life, but I do want to know one thing. Are you helping or hurting?”

Matt silently stared back at his unchanging position. By his lack of movement you didn’t believe he would answer but he did, “helping.”

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

Matt let out a sigh, glad you were valuing his decisions.

“But I do still want to be involved in your regular life…if that’s okay with you?”

Again he tilted his head to the side but a smile was clear in that ending to spill on his face, “my regular life is still…complicated.”

“I don’t mind complicated. Sometimes I even like complicated.”

“Then you’ll like me.”

”I already think I do.”

You couldn’t describe it but being around Matt seemed not as complicated as he made it out to be. And while you clearly didn’t know everything about this man, you could respect his choices and the fact that it seemed like he was only preventing himself from telling you in order to protect you. The sentiment was sweet. 

You two heard the outer door open, Foggy re-entering the office, and you noted how Matt’s head was tilted towards the sound. “Well, I guess that’s my time. We'll talk later, yeah?”

He nods as you get up and leave, sending a polite smile to Foggy on your way out. 

You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into but honestly you didn’t care. 

[celestialmuses]

To hear Brooks admit freely how much he loved his sister warmed Stella's heart. She was the same way; she would do anything for her siblings. "That makes sense, it's not like California still won't be there in a few years. Granted those earthquakes might do them in, but I'll remain optimistic." She joked, before turning her head and giving Brooks a soft smile. "Of course I'd move with you. You think I'm letting you out of my sight? To quote the great Stephen Sondheim, you'll never get away from me. I love you and I want to be where you are. As for kids..." It was a good question, one she had thought about. Both before Brooks and idealistic, and after him and more logical. "I grew up in the city. I had a good childhood, you know? It made me independent and open-minded. But twenty years later the city has changed, even I can see that. There's so little grass; half the city is gentrified and the other half dangerous. Maybe we could try Forest Hills, it's close to the city but people have houses there with backyards and stuff. It's still close enough to my family for them to come out and see us or vice versa. But I don't know. The thought of having an infant and packing up a house and moving somewhere else seems like a nightmare. I think I'd rather move somewhere and then have a baby. Because if we're going to buy a house I really only want to do it once." She added with some finality and a sigh. "I know, your mom told me and it's a very sweet offer. My mom also mentioned that when I have a baby, she can come and stay with us if we want. I just have to make sure she doesn't try to give the baby pesto too early. It wouldn't be the worst way to test for a nut allergy though, once they're at the appropriate age."

Considering the troublesome relationships Kelly has worked through Brooks is beyond happy that she ended up with Kirk. At first he was apprehensive to it only because he was so protective of his little sister, now he knew they were perfect together. It was only a matter of time until they started a family. For him and Stella that was certainly where things were headed. He didn't feel rushed to propose or get married - they were happy and the rest would come in time. The question about moving back to LA caught him off guard. "Huh," he started not having fully contemplated it before. "Maybe. I mean Kelly is the person I love most in this world. So for her to have a child I want to be there. Maybe we wouldn't move back right away. Probably as they get older and more fun. An important question for you, would you move with me? And should we start a family, which is something I want, do you think you would prefer to raise them here in the city or with a little more space with family nearby out there? For the record my mother will be beyond ready to help if we ask. Kelly has no choice though since that's her baby."

[brains-out-rn]

I don't like debating much(unless necessary for the sake of my own humanity) but sometimes it can be really Really fun specifically if it's about something that has absolutely no real weight to it(and yet if you were a spectator it might cause some concern for whatever reason)

for example: would you rather be threatened(physically mentally or emotionally take your pick) by a can of corn or a cob of corn?

Me personally I'd pick cob for a few reasons

1. I can outlast it(probably)

Fresh corn will eventually rot and decay but have you seen how long canned stuff can last unopened before it looks slightly different from new stuff??

2. Cans are made of metal not vegetable flesh

While a corn cob has its core that's not metal. Ever dropped a can? Might get a dent. If you have a good kick then you might survive but you will probably hurt your foot. Ever dropped corn? If it had it outer leaves and hair it might have stood a chance but if it didn't then bits of corn go everywhere

3. Actually fighting if needed

I feel like I could survive a fight with a sentient can but a sentient cob just seems less likely to hurt

However there are some things might change my decision

Like issue one which is how the corn moves because if the cob is fresh with hair and leaves and can move all the little hairs individually and can move the leaves then I'd probably choose the can because at that point I feel like it's less of "how would i survive with the least amount of bruising" and more of "how would I rather die but with a chance of surviving" and in my opinion i think blunt force trauma would be better then a slow death of strangulation via a sentient corns hair plus I do think I'd have a chance against a can of corn

Another issue is if it was mentally or emotionally I'd probably go with the can bc I feel like it would be easier for to rationalize it as ridiculous to be threatened by a can of corn then a cob for some reason

Like a cob is ridiculous to the point that I'd just accept it as making sense for that to happen?

a can is like "why am I listening to the can of corn. I literally own a can opener." But a cob is more like "if I were to try and deal with you in the traditional way of dealing with corn that would mean a pot and water and time and-"

Plus idk why but I feel like a cob would be less mean with its words. I can't explain it I just think cob would just go straight to physical threats instead of emotional ones but a can would stare at you menacingly making you question yourself and just judging you

[classical-vanity]

There’s days when I really feel like a failure/ disappointment because I think everyone had pretty high expectations of me growing up and I feel like I’ve done nothing with my life

[naggingatlas]

i looove putting spark over songs about like heroes and saving the world (tom cardy's 'level clear', uncle outrage's 'saved the world' <- nice voice hc for him!. and 'my superhero movie'.) when he like. Did. Not : ) funney.

[weaselle]

had an interaction with a cat at my mother's friend's house (we dropped by to feed her while my mom's friend was out of town) and my mother said "i was surprised how much that cat liked you, she doesn't usually let people pet her but she followed you around and let you pet her a lot"

and in explaining to her my interaction with the cat i put into words a thing i'd never put into words before, having always automatically understood what i was doing. But once i put it into words my mother said she'd never thought of that and it felt like something worth sharing here.

This cat did a typical cat thing where she sniffed my fingers i was holding out, and then acted like she wanted me to pet her, but then when i started to move to pet her, moved her head away slightly to prevent it.

I instinctively understand this interaction, and stopped trying to pet her and moved back to a neutral position and waited to see if she would re-initiate an interaction.

Because this is basically a consent test. This is how a cat can assess "how closely are you paying attention to what i'm telling you" and "how respectful of my boundaries are you".

If i am responsive to her yes/no game, moving to pet her when she indicates i can, stopping immediately when she seems to change her mind, then she knows she can trust me to understand her, and also to respect her choices. That's what i did, so then she knew she could trust me and relax around me and enjoy my company. She was actually a very friendly and social little cat, who clearly wanted to make friends with me.

But if i had insisted on trying to pet her when she seemed to change her mind instead of simply understanding that she didn't want to be pet in that moment, she would have known she couldn't trust me to understand or respect her, and she would have treated me like she has to treat 90% of the people who visit that house, evidently.

I work mostly with dogs these days, but i grew up with cats too, and am generally good with animals. Many shy animals will also do this same "sniff sniff okay touch me nope just kidding" routine, especially if they've had experiences with people that make establishing that kind of communication and trust important to them.

And in fact, a lot of animals will do some version of this kind of consent test in a whole variety of situations. When well socialized dogs do that thing where they are rough housing and then they both stop suddenly for a moment until one of them play bows or makes a little pouncing motion and then they fly back into rough housing mode, that's what they are doing, they are doing a consent check-in, like "whoah this is getting wild, are you still in? are we still playing, is this still a good time for you?"

anyway, that's why this lovely little cat followed me around asking me to pet her the whole time we were visiting that house, because i showed her that i understood her signals and respected her boundaries, which is something i see a lot of both men and women not doing when interacting with cats and dogs.