#but accepting that is not the same as saying ''no one should be held accountable for the fucked up shit they do''

[vlindervin7]

muslims will act violently homophobic in a country that values gay rights and then act shocked when it reflects badly on their community

[lith-myathar]

Podcast I'm listening to (Struggle Care) just made the point "people truly can't imagine a world where empathy and accountability happen in the same place" and this is all in relation to the idea of co-dependency but i think it's a really good point in general

[nyoomerr]

A drabble about Bingge realizing his children’s beloved Head Imperial Tutor has the same soul as the ‘nice Shizun’ from that other world he once visited could be fun.

“Local man must compete with his own children for the attention of their very cute teacher!”

ahhh i love scenarios like this!! pitting bingge against his own kids is always so fun lol, hope you enjoy!

---

When Luo Binghe manages to find him, he isn’t even looking properly. He’s still spending his free time trying to find a way back into that weird mirror dimension, not scouring his world for anyone. After all, why would he look here? He already knows exactly where the Shen Qingqiu of his own world is; every bloody, rotten part of that body and soul is accounted for. Luo Binghe wants the other Shen Qingqiu, the one he’d gotten only a taste of, the one that had been so unfairly given to his doppelganger.

Perhaps, Luo Binghe thinks, watching through the doorway into the classroom his younger children use for self-study, he should have bothered to spend a bit more time looking at home before trying to force himself back into the mirror world.

“Ah, what are these tears?” One of the tutors is asking, tutting as if in disapproval even as he so gently wipes the face of one of Luo Binghe’s children. “You’re getting much better with your arithmetic, there’s no need to cry over a mistake now.”

The child hiccups, her little hands coming up to pull on the tutor’s robes, clearly trying to worm her way into his lap so she can wipe her face on his shoulder instead of on the perfectly fine handkerchief the tutor is trying to use.

Luo Binghe doesn’t even know which daughter of his that is. He doesn’t know who this tutor is, either, and yet -

The tutor raises his free hand up to pat soothingly at the child’s hair. He doesn’t try to unhook her hands from his robes, or stop her from shoving herself persistently closer to his person; he only pets her hair and wipes her face and tuts at her.

And yet somehow, Luo Binghe thinks, I’m sure that’s him.

It doesn’t make a great deal of sense to find this soul in a body unrelated to Shen Qingqiu, but at the same time it makes a whole world of sense to think of this kind teacher as someone entirely different from the cruel master Luo Binghe had grown up under.

Luo Binghe steps into the room properly, releasing the hold he’d been keeping on his qi to keep it held close to his body. The tutor looks up at the doorway, and frustratingly, the look of indulgence he’d been wearing just moments ago closes up. He stands and bows in unison with the other tutors in the room, and Luo Binghe flicks his hand dismissively so they know to ignore him and return to his duties.

The tutor - the kind Shizun’s soul - stands from his bow but does not immediately return to helping the girl he’d been working with. He only watches Luo Binghe a bit warily, clearly aware of Luo Binghe’s rapt attention on him, and continues to absently pat the hair of Luo Binghe’s daughter. The girl herself doesn’t seem to mind, as she’s managed to get close enough to the tutor to shove her face in his stomach and nuzzle in there, perfectly content and no longer crying. 

Well, no matter; if this man is already aware of Luo Binghe’s attention, no need to hide it further. Luo Binghe approaches without hesitation. 

“And what tutor has brought this Lord’s child to tears?” Luo Binghe asks after having reached the table that this tutor and child had been working at. He knows perfectly well that this man was not the cause of his daughter’s tears; he wants to know how he’ll respond anyway.

“This lowly one is Shen Yuan, my Lord,” Shen Yuan dutifully replies, and though he bows deeply he does not raise his hands from Luo Binghe’s daughter. “My most sincere apologies; I will accept punishment.”

Luo Binghe hums, satisfied. Good, he thinks, he’s already loyal to me. Very good.

Before he can say anything else, though, the girl buried in Shen Yuan’s robes shouts, “No!”

When Shen Yuan stands again, Luo Binghe can see his daughter peeking out, her face half turned away from Shen Yuan to glare up at Luo Binghe. 

“No?” Luo Binghe asks.

“No!” She shouts again. Her demonic huadian flares, and Luo Binghe raises his brows - this girl really dares issue such a threat to her father, knowing who her father is?

Shen Yuan, seeming to catch the very same thing, quickly moves the hand that had been in her hair to cover up her demonic huadian. This does not stop the girl herself from talking.

“If you try to punish Shen-ge, I’ll stab you!”

“Ah, wait -” Shen Yuan protests, pressing the girl further into him as if that will hide her away. He glances nervously at Luo Binghe, expression a bit pinched, and then -

“Who’s threatening Shen-ge?!” Comes a cry from across the room.

“Someone’s threatening Shen-ge?!”

“Lord Luo is threatening Shen-ge!!”

Suddenly, it seems like half the children in the room are gathered up in Shen Yuan’s robes, clinging to him and glaring at Luo Binghe as Shen Yuan frantically tries to soothe them with head pats and hushed whispers of Ah, don’t yell at him, anyone else is okay, but don’t yell at him!

Luo Binghe watches, amused and irritated and hungry all at once. Clearly, this Shen Yuan is already a treasure of his palace, and he hadn’t even known it - his own children have found this man before he himself did. 

Well, Luo Binghe thinks, watching Shen Yuan fluster more and more the longer Luo Binghe stays quietly watching the commotion, they may have him first, but I will be sure to have him last.

[familyvideostevie]

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. 

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable. 

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets.  You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her."  Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

__

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something. 

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[vex91]

Yu Jimin - Hope in the ruins

Pairing: Yu Jimin x Female Reader

Fandom: Aespa

Requested by: @1luvkarina

Request: karina x fem reader angst with a fluff ending

Summary: A lot happened in your relationship and it was a matter of time before everything exploded and made you leave. Jimin on the other hand doesn't want to accept the break up.

A/N: Special thanks to @keervah and @alcoholfreenayeon for giving me an idea <3

3rd's POV

Bottles scattered around Jimin's room and the smell of alcohol reeking from it were a big sign for her friends that Jimin was in bad state and honestly they couldn't be surprised, a lot happened the past months in her life.

Jimin met you at her concert.

You came as a fan a few times and finally she managed to get your number. Since her intentions of getting with you were obvious both of you quickly got together. Everything was perfect, you both loved each other a lot and you got along with everyone important to her.

But like always she had to remember that it was too perfect, obviously everything had to break at some point.

You managed to get into a great university but not only outside of South Korea but also in another continent. When you broke news to Jimin she was excited and happy for you but she was also sad as you had to go away but she was still trying to be positive.

The time before you had to leave was great at first but it was quickly going south. Argument after argument after argument and it made her tired.

And after a few drinks she left the club with a girl she saw for the first time. When she woke up she was devastated, not believing she could actually do that to you.

But then came the second time.

And third.

And forth.

And fifth one - when you actually caught her.

Lips all over some random girl in her bed, clothes all over the room and the fucking liquor smell all over the room.

It was safe to say that it was over between you two when you left her shocked and still in that girl's arms.

And now all she had left was the insane ache in her heart that only alcohol helped lessen but she still felt so empty. She needed you back so badly but she knew she messed up big time.

"Are you gonna drink your sadness away?" Aeri's voice reached her ears but she didn't bother looking up. Soon though she felt a pair of arms helping her off of the floor and onto the bed, she opened her eyes a little and saw Minjeong. The girl was quiet, she still was mad at Jimin for what she did to you but she also couldn't stand by and watch her drink herself to death.

"You can't go on like this unnie, you need to sober up and at least try to apologize to her before she gets on that plane in a few days and you're gonna lose her forever" Yizhuo said as she took a bottle from Jimin's hands. Aeri helped Jimin lay down while the other girls cleaned her room a little.

"Sleep now and think about it tomorrow"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day her head was pounding and if it wasn't for the clean room, she would have thought she had dreamed of her friends coming over and forcing her to bed.

She reached out and turn on her phone to find multiple notifications of people saying their goodbyes to you on your account where she saw a picture of you packing - to move to your new university.

"You need to sober up and at least try to apologize to her before she gets on that plane in a few days and you're gonna lose her forever"

Why did Yizhuo always had to be right?

She told herself that she'll leave you alone, that she won't bother you after what she did but here she was, running to the airport like a desperate person she is. The second she saw your back in the distance she couldn't stop herself from pulling you to herself and breaking down into your back.

You stood still, her voice brought back the same pain you felt yesterday.

"Jimin let me go"

Nothing.

"Jimin I said let me go"

You repeated but this time louder hoping that she'll listen but she held onto you tightly.

Of course she had to make everything harder than it should be. She cheated and you were done, what couldn't she understand and accept?

"I can't. I know I fucked up badly and I don't deserve to ask for forgiveness or even another chance but still... I can't bring myself to let you go" Jimin mumbled weakly against your back. She was truthful, she knew there was no chance for you two now but she still also couldn't accept not being with you.

"I don't have time for this Jimin, I have a plane to catch and I'm going to attend University in another country. Like you said there's no chance for us now but if we're really meant to be with each other then maybe future sets us up again when we both heal and grow as people" You said before pushing her off and turning your head to look at her.

"Until then, goodbye Jimin" You said before leaving her standing there. She felt terrible but your words made her feel like there was hope that she could at least hold on to.

"Goodbye Y/N, I'm sorry for everything and I hope we can start over in the future"

[darth-kote]

How do the Clones respond to receiving a gift? (Pt. 1)

Rex: he is quick to accept the gift, even if he isn't sure exactly what it is or why he's receiving it. He understands natborns sometimes get the urge to give each other things as a form of bonding, and he's been given several flowers and letters from Ahsoka to know the actions he should take: offer thanks and find something to appreciate about the item, even if it won't realistically serve him. A flower? Rex will usually find something nice to say about the shape of its petals or the hue beginning to fade. A handmade drawing or letter? He likes to study the strokes left by the graphite or ink used in its inception.

Cody: Literally has no reference for how to react. He stares at whatever item is being held out to him with curiosity and confusion. You'll have to practically place it in his palm and say, "I wanted you to have this because I saw it and thought of you." He doesn't know what that means, especially when he looks down to see a small jar of yellow paint or another item that isn't issued by the GAR. Once it is made explicit that it's a gift, nothing more or less, he starts to think about the intentions behind it. He likes being thought of, and he'd like to try and return the generosity.

Echo: He can hardly hide the excitement at the gesture! He's all smiles even before he knows what it is he's being given; it's the act itself that makes the gift have value to him. If he's close enough to the person, he'll instantly offer a big hug until he can find something to gift to them. If not, he'll settle for lots and lots of eye contact as a way of trying to communicate how much he loves it.

Wolffe: spends a lot of time studying the item he's been given. A new attachment for his blaster gets held and turned around over and over again until it finally clicks that it's something he can use and isn't expected to return. If it's something less oriented towards his soldiering, such as a fuzzy blanket or a wool sweater, he lays it out on his bed and stares at it for quite literally hours. The closest thing he has to these items are flattened pillows and his blacks, so it's unprecedented and he can't quite figure out what to do with it. Eventually, he'll fall into his bunk and wrap the item around him, relaxing his body and purring like a loth cat until sleep claims him. (He doesn't consider getting the person something in exchange unless someone specifically explains that that's sort of part of the tradition.)

Hevy: treasures it no matter what it is. An acorn one of his brothers had brought back on account of it's never-before-seen shape? He keeps it in the small pouch on his utility belt. A crude drawing done of him by Cutup or Droidbait? He hangs it proudly on the wall of his bunk, and it's the last thing he sees each night before his eyes fall closed. It's the same when the gift has come from someone who isn't a brother; he makes sure to tell them he loves it and them, if appropriate, and he keeps it as close to his person as possible at all times.

[darklinaforever]

So according to Rhaenyra :

- Daemon shouldn't have held a war council where he was preparing defenses for Dragonstone against the Greens, knowing that Rhaenys warned them that the Greens were coming for Rhaenyra and their children ?

- And according to her he should also have let her consider sending their sons hostage to the Greens in addition to giving up her crown and the inheritance of their house for "the peace of the kingdom" ?

And if he did this first thing and refused this second thing, that mean he doesn't really accept her as his queen ?

Tell me I'm not the only one who thinks that the HOTD writers completely made Rhaenyra an idiot...

Once again, I understand that Rhaenyra took it badly that Daemon let her experience this difficult birth alone, knowing in addition that she was in triple mourning.

Except that Daemon is also in triple mourning and he is still capable of thinking correctly (besides it kills me how she doesn't even seem to take into account that Daemon is also in mourning).

Beyond that, even though he wasn't with you while you gave birth to Rhaenyra, he made sure to place defenses around Dragonstone, your home, to protect you and your children, knowing that Rhaenyra had literally just come from warn you that the Greens were coming just for you and the children !

I'm not saying that she shouldn't be a little angry with him, but a little common sense all the same !

What does that have to do with him not respecting you as a queen ?! Even you in episode 10 said he was going to madness with all this shit !

Also, I don't understand Rhaenyra's delusion to insist at this point on the fact that Daemon wants to shed the blood of the Greens, as if that was the only thing that interested him for always and that he is just using of all this mess to finally satisfy this desire...

Girl...

Daemon literally didn't care about the Greens as long as they didn't come and piss you off. I'm not even sure he really knew the names of his nephews and his other niece at this point !

When they usurped you and hid Viserys' death so they could have time to do it, he had the right to want to kill them. The usurpers, they are killed in your world Rhaenyra as a reminder ! Why are you shocked by this Rhaenyra ?!

Damn the screenwriters, stop giving 21st century morals to characters who don't belong to this context !

Not only that, but then the mess created by the Greens killed his unborn daughter and now his stepson ! Obviously they want to kill Rhaenyra ! The real question at this point is why you don't want to kill them ?!

Otto Hightower will have literally killed you all in your sleep if you had stayed in episode 8 when Viserys died ! It killed me to see Rhaenyra half-heartedly complaining that Daemon wanted Otto's head on a pike in 1x10. How annoying as a spectator...

[trrenchertrash]

lotsss of rambling here but in the same vein as this post I think there are a lot of elements in s2 that are facing the same issue with audience perception, especially surrounding vi. arcane is not a melodrama that is meant to spend episodes and episodes dwelling on any one character’s feelings or trauma and trying to heal it all while the larger plot is hurtling towards war. It’s not realistic to expect this show to spend 3 episodes dealing with vi’s feelings during her pitfighter stint and learning that she has value outside of being a protector through a relationship with someone like loris. she pushes him away because she’s not in a place to accept that kind of relationship, and a stranger isn’t going to be able to heal or help her in this state. she was never going to learn anything while she was “passed out at the bottom of a mug” because that isn’t a productive or enlightening place to be. the show establishes where she is, shows us how far she’s spiraled, and then it takes her out of that situation and places her in one where she has the opportunity to discover something that will change that. I keep seeing people say that vi needs to realize that she’s worth more than what she can provide for others, and they’re right — but she was never going to learn that from a stranger, because what she needs is to heal the relationships with the loved ones she already has. the show addresses this when vi asks jinx why she came to get her even though she didn’t really need her help. vi’s perspective and position begin to change as soon as she joins jinx and isha because her relationship with them is the catalyst for the realizations her character needs to have. by contrast ,the imagined scenarios where vi gets taken care of by a stranger are not what she needs, in large part because she as a character would never allow that, which is the point of showing her pushing loris away. he’s trying to help her, but she’s not in a place to be helped by him. what does help her is hearing that jinx came after her despite believing that she didn’t truly need her help. what helps her is being in a position where she does ultimately get to help protect jinx and isha despite that, because it reminds her who she is (hello loss of identity arc) and because it makes her realize that she DOES love jinx and she IS still her sister in spite of everything that has happened. what helps her is being in a position where she has a chance at a do over, being in a position where she gets to choose to trust jinx enough to lower her fists and take a chance on the monster who turns out to be her father. being in a position where she gets her family back. THAT'S the healing vi needs.

something something about how vi is angry enough to punch a hallucination of caitlyn in ep 5, but by the time she actually sees her again in ep 6, all that anger is gone. why? what changed? the answer is everything. during her time as a pitfighter vi has nothing. of course she’s lingering on the loss of the last thing she had to hold on to. but between then and when she actually does see caitlyn again, she’s gone from having nothing to having everything. she has her family back. she has a sense of peace we haven’t seen her have maybe ever before. what happened with caitlyn went from being the center of her world to being nearly inconsequential. that doesn’t mean that caitlyn shouldn’t be held accountable or make amends. she should and I think she will. but it’s also understandable that vi is no longer holding on to those volatile feelings in that moment. because what matters is saving vander and her family and that’s what she’s focused on.

meanwhile jinx gets the focus and development she gets because she’s the character that needs it. she’s the character who is occupying a position that is not sustainable, who still needs to make peace with who she is and the role she wants to have. vi doesn’t get that same kind of development because she doesn’t need it. yes, she doesn’t change much and that’s because she’s the constant, the control in a cast of characters who are pushed to change beyond recognition. but what does change for vi is that by the end of arc 2, she's positioned once more as the hero. and she is a hero. arc 1 has vi in a very passive role for the first time. she's always been a character who makes decisions that push the narrative forward for better or worse, but in arc 1 she doesn't actually make a single decision that truly impacts the story until she stops cait from shooting at jinx and isha. she's vulnerable and scared and sad and she lets herself be led around by cait because she's lost. in arc 2 that isn't the case anymore. she's back to making decisions and she's back to doing what she thinks is right. she defends jinx and isha, she seeks help for vander, she wants to stay and help the commune with jinx, to help heal people from the devastation that's been caused. she bests ambessa because she's able to set her anger aside and collaborate with caitlyn. once again she picks herself up and she keeps trying. of all the characters in the show, vi has done the best job of holding onto her "good heart" despite everything she has endured, which is more than most. there's a reason both vander and caitlyn point this out when no other character is ever assessed in such a way. it doesn't mean that vi never makes mistakes. she does. but she never loses sight of the fact that she's trying to do the right thing while others are consumed by hate or vengeance or fear or confusion. vi is the strongest character in the show; even ambessa points out her resilience. no, i don't mean physically. the fact that vi continues to get up, continues to do what she thinks is right, and is able to let go and forgive after everything she's been through — that's real strength.

one thing I will say is that this show is wholly unpredictable, and I think that's part of the audience response. but the arc is there. the development is there. it may not be the arc the audience was expecting, but honestly? I think it's better.

[l8rs-gat0rs]

You're legit the only Eva writer, so I have a cute, fluffy request of the girls helping Eva ask reader out because she's scared of being rejected. I love your work btw, i literally stalk you to make sure i didn't miss anything

The Golden Window

Pairing: Eva x Female reader

Warning(s): none, just Eva overthinking and gallons of fluff, quite a bit of y/n use at first. Sorry if the POV situation is weird, I couldn't get a solid gage of what the POV would be, this is the closest fit.

Summary: Eva turns to the girls for some help telling you that she likes you, but it doesn't go as planned...

Word count: 1.1k

WHAT THE HELLLL. I AM SO HONORED. I have an account stalker :') Ugh no but fr, you're so sweet and thank you so much, I'm always over the moon when people tell me that they like my writing, because it's something I'm genuinely passionate about and love to share. So I hope you like this one too :)It's a bit shorter than my usual fics. (I am so sorry for making you wait literal months for this oh gosh)

PSA: I am giving my editor a break so this is lowkey not edited as great as usual. I apologize if there are any mistakes😭

~~~~Happy Reading!~~~~

Eva sat at the kitchen table, nervously twiddling her fingers distractedly, staring at nothing.

"Eva...Eva!?"

Suddenly her attention snapped to the person in front of her, whose hands were waving in her face.

"Oh shit, sorry Cricket, what's up?" Eva said apologetically.

"What's on your mind? We're usually the ones who are all in our heads" Cricket chuckled.

Eva cringed at the thoughts currently going through her head.

They were all about you, of course.

come onnnn, spit it outttt Cricket urged.

"well... I like..." Eva sighed, she was usually the one helping the other girls with their emotions, but ironically she was struggling with her own emotions.

Cricket put her arm on Eva's shoulder

"Hey, it's alright" She said softly

"I like y/n." Eva said suddenly.

Eva stared into cricket's eyes for a moment as Cricket said nothing.

"Well, we all like y/n..." Cricket said.

"Cricket!" Eva slapped cricket's arm causing the other woman to laugh.

"I'm just fucking with you! okay okay so, what's the problem with that?" Cricket asked curiously.

"I-" Eva cut herself off, frustratedly running her hands through her hair.

"I'm scared to ask her out" she slapped her hands onto the table.

Cricket looked at her and held her chin in her hand as her elbow rested on the table.

"I think this is a job for the group" Cricket smiled.

...

"okay girls, I have gathered you all here today because-"

"Where is y/n?" Salem spoke up.

"I was just getting to that, if you would let me continue Salem" Cricket said with strained politeness.

"oh okay, sorry" Salem said sheepishly.

"As I was saying, I sent y/n out for some groceries because we need to help Eva with something. Cricket continued

all the girl's turned to stare at Eva, who blushed embarassingly.

"we are gonna help Eva here confess her feelings to y/n"

the girls gasped and Eva even heard one "I knew it!"

"okay okay, settle down!, settle down!" Cricket yelled over the women's voices, causing them to quiet down.

"Eva, you have the floor" Cricket continued when it was quiet once again.

Eva cleared her throat and addressed the girls.

"Alright guys so, as Cricket says, I have a crush on y/n... and it's eating me up inside that I don't know how to tell her because I'm scared she doesn't feel the same way."

a few "awwww"s were heard from the girls before Salem spoke up once again.

"I think you should do something big, like maybe buy her chocolates and flowers and leave a letter for her that tells her to go to the garden and then you tell her there" Salem said with a dreamy smile.

"um, no you idiot, y/n will hate that" Isis scowled at her.

"hey, Isis! Eva chided causing Isis to look back at her.

"that wasn't nice, Salem's idea was good" Eva scolded Isis

"apologize to her."

"fine. I'm sorry Salem" Isis rolled her eyes.

"I accept your apology, and forgive you for the harm you have caused" Salem responded tightly.

"Good, but that being said, Salem, even though your idea was good, I also don't think y/n would like that" Eva said gently.

"what if you did it during one of your sessions?" Audrey spoke up.

"No, I can't do that, the session are for you guys and your feelings, I'm not going to make it about my feelings." Eva shook her head.

"I think you should just flat out say it to her some time. Pull her to somewhere private and just speak your feelings to her. That's what you always teach us" Cricket spoke up from Eva's side, uncrossing her arms and placing a hand on Eva's shoulder.

Eva looked at her and smiled a little.

"yeah you're right. Fear is an emotion that I can persevere through as long as I speak my truth." Eva smiled.

"That's the spirit! Right girls!?" Cricket asked the girls sitting in front of them.

A chorus of "yeah!"s and "Yeah! just tell y/n you like her!" could be heard.

Suddenly there was a loud bang and all the girls were startled into silence as they turned to see what had made the noise.

There, standing in the arch leading into the living room was y/n, mouth agape, staring at Eva. She had dropped the bag of groceries she was carrying.

The silence that filled the room was deafening and Eva could practically hear the blood rushing through her body.

Eva was the first to speak up though.

"um, girls, can you uh..." Eva started

before she even finish her sentence, the girls were already quickly getting up and leaving the room. Cricket picked up the bag of groceries and finally left, Eva and you alone.

"Would you sit down please?" Eva said softly, gesturing to the couch.

you nodded and took a seat in front of her before she moved to sit next to you, causing you to turn towards her.

"how much did you hear?" Eva cringed.

you smiled a little,

"I heard enough. 'tell y/n you like her!'" you said in a teasing voice.

Eva put her face in her hands and groaned causing you to giggle a little before gently removing her hands from her face to see her red face.

you looked into her blue eyes that you always seemed to get lost in.

"hey, it's okay" you whispered gently.

Eva found herself getting lost in your warm brown eyes as well.

"it's just that... i don't know, I didn't expect to tell you this soon, I was going to plan it in my head" Eva explained, looking away, feeling embarrassed.

you were silent for a moment, and as Eva was about to turn her head back to you, you took the liberty of doing it yourself, grabbing her chin and connecting your lips to hers.

Eva was surprised at first, but quickly returned the kiss.

Once the two of you separated, you smiled brightly.

"Now are you ready to tell me?" you smirked.

Eva laughed before responding,

"yeah that definitely helps"

"well?" you urged her on.

"y/n, I like you" Eva said with a smile.

"I think you have my answer" you giggled.

"I don't know, I think I need your answer again" Eva said with faux confusion.

You laughed, causing her to do the same as you smacked her gently.

you kissed her once again, reveling in the feel of her soft pink lips that you could never seem to keep your eyes off of.

When you pulled away again, you pressed your forehead to hers and smiled.

"I like you too Eva"

[kaiasky]

Ok so for my part I think that the UNRWA is a really good organization. But this post is aimed to be applicable if you think GoFundMe's are currently the best/only way to help the people living in Gaza:

It seems like frequently one big response to concerns like "some of these seem like scams" is outright hostility, appeals to authority (we have scam lists and verified lists, it's safe), and looking for ways to explain away tells of a potential scam.

like i understand that of course this is very emotionally charged. And some posts aren't especially diplomatic--'most gfms have the potential to be scams, donate to aid orgs instead' is very close to sounding like 'you're an idiot who fell for a scam, and also FUCK your family/friend trying to escape gaza'. and certainly there is a balance between carelessness and being so careful nothing happens.

With that said, it seems like the response to someone saying "a lot of these gofundmes seem suspicious and are likely stealing money that is intended to go to Palestinians", should be:

"thats really really fucked up if true. let's work together to audit this shit and figure out how big the scam problem is and take steps to mitigate it. e.g. by being very clear about what we mean by 'i can vouch for ___' (and the different scales of that from 'this is my fucking aunt' to 'the photos check out') and foregrounding who various intermediaries are, what their role is, and how they will be held accountable"

Which like--everybody accepts that there are some gaza scams, since scam lists get shared around with "verified" lists. We also know that scammers change and adapt their scams over time. if someone is offering evidence that some verified lists contain scammers, and you value gofundmes/verification lists and want them to continue being useful, that's something to take very seriously!

if a fundraiser you know to be real is setting off scam flags for someone, you don't need to get mad! Part of making this sort of grassroots circle of trust thing work is, ironically, a certain level of skepticism and distrust. If you know something is real, great! Provide info to explain exactly how and why you trust its veracity! If you're in contact with the creator or beneficiary, have them provide additional information. And if you find out something you previously thought was legit is a scam, learn from that and spot other scammers trying the same tactic.

[mswyrr]

lucy gray baird's philosophy

I want to "yes, and" this great meta post by @burst-of-iridescent​. Specifically this part:

by the end of the book, coriolanus gives in fully to dr gaul’s way of thinking simply because it excuses him from accepting blame for his actions. if he killed sejanus, it’s because he had no choice. if he betrayed lucy gray, it’s because she would’ve betrayed him first. coriolanus refuses to believe in the goodness of humanity because that would have meant accepting the goodness that existed within him, and with that came the potential for making a different, better choice - potential that he knew, deep down, he had wasted. attributing his crimes to an innate evil that no one can overcome means that he can’t be held accountable, because it’s out of his control.

This got me thinking about how much Lucy Gray's worldview rejects of this way of thinking (and of a Calvinist*/ableist "some people are just born evil" pov people try to impose on the text, which people think is condemning him but actually... accidentally agrees with him that he was born evil and therefore can't help it??????). The book begins with several quotes chosen by the author, but I believe the one that represents Lucy Gray's worldview is Rousseau, who believed people were born with fundamental goodness.

Here's a source on him:

(Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)

And here's the quote Collins opens with:

“Man is born free; and everywhere he is in chains.” — Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Social Contract, 1762

That's Lucy Gray's pov she's come to through living and reflecting as an artist; someone can disagree with it (of course, all of these questions are open for endless debate; they have been debated endlessly!) however, it's important to respect that is where she's coming from, not being foolish or naive. It is a worthy pov that should be respected, even if you disagree. And that she came to this pov through a hard life and from much thinking and she expresses it beautifully in her art.

Here's the key exchange from the book, after Coriolanus has taken on the idea that people are just awful and her articulating her philosophy in response:

(Ballad, 495)

She's not naive. She recognizes the nuance that Rousseau does, that society shapes us. And Panem is pretty clearly a society led by people applying all the pressures they can think of on people toward evil. (And, after his heel turn, Coriolanus' is going to innovate some new pressures...) Clearly there are situations and circumstances that form us before we have much say in it, but that's not the same as being born evil.

The difference between inherent goodness and a corrupt society is, for Lucy Gray, a lot of hard work. It's a struggle. This repudiates both the version of "born evil" Coriolanus himself takes on, which relieves him of responsibility, and the self-righteous, Calvinist and/or ableist pov people keep arguing for, which makes "normal" people feel like they can be sure they're good (and ignore how we are all complicit in evil to some degree or another) because they have a "good" normal brain or they were just born so pure as a soul predestined for heaven. No, for her, everyone has to do the work. To her it's everyone's "life's challenge to try and stay on the right side of that line."

Even more pointedly, the love song she wrote him before his betrayal, "Pure as the Driven Snow," articulates her philosophy in the opening lines:

(Ballad, 481)

Again, we have her personal focus on the work of "staying on the right side" of good and evil after being born good into evil circumstances. She knows it hurts; she's led a hard life herself. "It's rough as a bair" to do that work, it's "like walkin' through fire." But it is doable.

Lucy Gray meant it as a love song but IMO "Pure as the Driven Snow" ends up a lament for the boy Coriolanus was and her love that he betrayed when he betrayed himself. And it is a direct rejection of his excuses, it is inadvertently reading him for filth for the lies he tells himself that all the world is the Games arena, all people are selfish and bad, and he isn't to blame for what he's done because he just wants to come out on top/be the victor of this "natural" "war of all against all" that is Gaul's philosophy (related to the Hobbes quote Collins begins with; I wrote a meta on that here) that he adopts.

I see her demeaned as a foolish girl who just "like bad boys" and I get so frustrated. I also get frustrated by the view that she must not have ever been sincere in loving or trusting him because IF SHE WAS then she would be a fool and his betrayal would somehow be her fault. And she'd reject the idea that she's "good" just because she's so pure or that anyone can claim we're good without doing a lot of hard work.

(Ballad, 482)

She is so thoughtful and interesting as a character. And she didn't just "like bad boys" - Coriolanus showed only his good side to her until the very end, once he'd decided to kill that part of himself. She had no way of knowing. Sometimes you trust someone and they betray you, it doesn't make you wrong, the shame is all theirs.

*Strict Calvinist predestination is some people are just predetermined to be bound for heaven and some for hell, some people are just born good and others are born bad. A lot of people in fandom seem to love Calvinism idk why. The ableism bit of this should be self-evident: there is no such thing as a "bad" brain type completely incapable of morality or a "good" brain and neurodivergence is not the source of all evil!

[liliaeth]

Saw someone thinking of rewriting Teen Wolf, and it got me thinking what I would change if I were to rewrite Teen Wolf.

I'd say the first change I'd make, is to focus the show more on Scott, and his traumas. Now don't get me wrong, the other characters get focus as well. But Scott and his emotions would stand central, as well as Scott's relationship with his mother, and the other characters...

On top of that I'd make Scott starting to deal with being bi, and compare that to him becoming a werewolf.

the show already focused primarily on the horror aspects, and I'd focus on that even more so.

Another thing that would be shown more clearly, would be Sheriff Stilinski's corruption. The way he clearly prioritizes his son's wellbeing over not just his job, but everyone else. And the effect that this has on Stiles, who is used to just getting away with things, because his father has never held him accountable.

Storyline wise, for the other characters, there'd be more explanation for why Victoria is the head of the Argent family instead of Kate, even though Kate is the actual Argent, and start setting up the moral difference between Chris and Kate. While still starting out with Chris as one of the bad guys.

I'd also have Stiles called out on how creepy his behavior towards Lydia is, so that the show can then start a storyline with Stiles growing and maturing, as he learns to do better, and as he learns to accept responsibility for his behavior.

Lydia can pretty much stay the same, cause she's already got a great storyline, as does Derek, with his journey from antagonist to villain to mentor... I just love redemption storylines.

But Isaac can be brought in in s1, where we see him and Scott start a relationship. Now I'd keep s1 as being spread over about a month, so that relationship would not be dragged out too much. Just as Scott and Allison become friends. And there's the doubt for Scott, in that he feels he should be with someone like Allison, because she is kind and strong and beautiful, but he keeps noticing Isaac, and Allison helps him realize that he's bi. (if this eventually ends up in them getting together as a triad, that might be even better, might have to think that through)

By the end of s1, Scott starts finding out that Isaac is being abused by his father, with a emotional moment as Scott tries to protect Isaac, but can't, and it makes Isaac feel even more vulnerable, leading to him accepting the bite in s2. Which would be more meaningful, because by this point we've already seen him as a human, and are already caring about him.

We could have Scott figuring out his sexuality, be contrasted even more so with Jackson in s2, where Jackson will not accept his sexuality, and is filled with self hatred, and it's this, rather than finding out he was adopted (though it could be a combo of the two) which leads to him becoming a kanima.

And then as Scott is pushed out of the (werewolf) closet through Matt's actions, that could be combined with Jackson outting him as bi in the rest of the school, and have that storyline connect and contrast.

We could have Peter try to return, using the ghost in Lydia's head method he did on the show. And it's Scott and Lydia coming together as his victims, standing up against their abuser, that keeps him from regaining his power as the Alpha. And it remains an undercurrent theme of Scott and Lydia's parallels, as Peter tries to align with Gerard, who of course has no issue using him, with specific intent of course to kill him the second he no longer needs him.

Just some ideas of course.

[britts-galaxy-brain]

I’ve written and rewritten this a dozen times. I’m not sure if it will get through to you, or if anything will at this point. But something has to give.

I fell down the Lily rabbit hole in 2018, and over the years I’ve seen you become more toxic, paranoid, and tribalistic. Courtney joining the community just made you ten times worse. It’s been a distressing transformation to watch, because you were my go to for anything Lily related for years.

The community as a whole has suffered from this too. You encourage your followers to assume any criticism of you or Courtney is Lily playing 4D chess. You used to discourage interacting with Lily, but in the last year I’ve seen you turn a blind eye to it. Both you and Courtney use your followers to attack former allies over petty beefs. Again, it’s been distressing to watch a community dedicated to archiving and awareness become a personal army for yourself and Courtney.

Your refusal to accept any criticism of yourself and Courtney has had major consequences. As it turns out, Lily was just giving Courtney enough rope to hang himself. All those comments that people warned you about were used to discredit Courtney. Lily’s community has rallied behind her, and her Patreon has grown. Her YouTube channel has suffered no real losses. The KP video should have been her death blow, but it barely affected her. She’s even back on Tumblr.

If you had just held Courtney accountable for the child sized coffin comment, odds are that things would never have gotten this bad. I’m not saying you had to abandon her or cut her off. But stubbornly defending that comment, and all of Courtney subsequent actions, set a precedent.

Please do not take my message as only blaming Courtney, because the truth is that you also gave into your worst impulses. What was gained by publicly fighting with Courtney during your fallout? I understand your fear of being a doormat, but the solution is not to act toxic. The solution is not to silence people upset with you by saying “your helping Lily”. The solution is not to allow your followers to do this in your stead.

I truly don’t know if the Joon the King video is going to be Lily’s death blow either. The well has been so poisoned, that it may just make her community double down harder and put more money in her pocket. Forgive me for being blunt, but I hope you get your shit together before then.

...Genuinely how have I become more paranoid? Maybe I'm too close to the situation to see it, so I'm asking you or anyone else to give some examples. Because in my mind, I'm approaching things with the same level of hesitancy and skepticism I always have based on the information I currently have.

I haven't "turned a blind eye" to people directly interacting with Lily. I still don't condone it, but the situation has changed drastically since 2018. A LOT more eyes are on her now. Many of those eyes aren't just coming from Tumblr anymore. If someone comes to me directly saying they sent Lily something, I'm going to encourage them to not do that. But the reality at this point is constantly repeating not to send things to Lily is pointless. Most people aren't even going to see it, and I can't control what people do on the internet. I shouldn't have to constantly repeat it over and over for people to know I don't condone or participate in it even though it's not going to do anything materially. I've never encouraged people to interact with her directly. What people choose to do is not my responsibility.

I haven't defended ALL of Courtney's comments or actions. I stand by my defense of that ONE comment because I understand the context and intended meaning behind it. I don't think that's something Courtney should've ever said publicly, but once again, the fact that he did is not my responsibility. I wouldn't have been able to get him to retract it if I tried. And believe me, I had tried to get her to retract or refrain from quite a bit when we were speaking.

"Please do not take my message as only blaming Courtney, because the truth is that you also gave into your worst impulses. What was gained by publicly fighting with Courtney during your fallout? I understand your fear of being a doormat, but the solution is not to act toxic. The solution is not to silence people upset with you by saying “your helping Lily”. The solution is not to allow your followers to do this in your stead."

Okay this part right here is actually starting to get on my nerves. I've had numerous people come to me acting like I'm the one who keeps bringing personal fights and drama in public. Am I supposed to just not respond when someone starts throwing around public accusations without trying to talk to me about it or just keep it private? Was I supposed to not respond when Courtney started publicly blaming me for her choosing to shut down her first server? Was I supposed to just not respond when Milena started publicly posting about our private disagreements? Was I supposed to not respond to a former friend making a public post about a problem I didn't even know about because they hadn't even tried to talk to me about it? How is me responding to OTHER PEOPLE making private issues public MY fault?? I don't see people going to them saying maybe they shouldn't have made those issues public. I'm the one who gets shit for responding. Make it make sense. People make shit public that shouldn't be, I either find out or get people asking me about it directly, I respond, and now suddenly it's my fault that I'm "publicly fighting" with people?

I also don't "have my followers" do anything. I'm usually surprised when people take it upon themselves to stick up for me. I'd never ask them to. This mentality that anyone with even the slightest bit of a following is automatically solely responsible for everything their followers do is nonsensical. The only thing I've ever directly encouraged over the years is not directly interacting with Lily or her inner circle. Whatever else people who happen to follow me do is their own responsibility.

If you've been around since 2018, then you should remember that this year has been the biggest blow to Lily's reputation by far. Up until now, she's been able to throw her fits, pull her narrative distortions, and lie her way out of things until it blew over. She hasn't been able to do that this time. People haven't forgotten about Stockholm. People haven't forgotten about the sockpuppets. People haven't forgotten about the trail of abuse she's left in her wake. She hasn't been able to weasel out of it like she has over the years. Her reputation isn't just contained to Tumblr anymore.

[anidaladefencelawyer]

Does Hindsight Make Anidala Indefensible? An analysis and a rebuttal(Part 1)

Follow up to this post

So I have stumbled onto an argument from a Jedi uncritical, one of the bigger ones whom have left the fandom months ago due to politics I will not talk about but I find quite disagreeable. This person claims that “If you step back look at the Star Wars universe as a whole, Anakin and Padme's relationship becomes near indefensible”. This is in part, they claim, because of the atrocities that Anakin set in motion--the turning on the Jedi by their "brothers" the Clones(which arguably is overblown by the fandom how close both groups are), the subsequent genocide of the Jedi, the subjagation of multiple worlds, the genocide of multiple species and the enslavement of multiple more, the total obliteration of Alderaan, and the rampant totalitarianism that all stemmed from his choice of personal love/possessiveness over the greater good.

While Anakin may have enabled such atrocities to happen with his bad life choices, and as Vader, was definitely complicit in them and deserves to be held accountable, can it really be blamed on his relationship with Padme? Was it all "everything was going out fine and Palpatine could easily be stopped...but Anakin decided his posessive desires was more important than the livelihood of billions of beings and plunged the galaxy into fascist tyranny?"

To answer that question we will need to ask ourselves the question: Was this chain of events likely even without Anakin? In order to prove this we need to envision a scenario where Anakin never falls in love with Padme and hypothesize from there.

If I can prove that Anakin and Padme falling in love has no bearing on either the Empire or Anakin's fall, then the answer would be that yes, the chain of events was likely without Anakin. And that ultimately, the galaxy would have suffered greatly with or without Padme and Anakin being together.

We will consider two scenarios, or “timelines”, feel free to call them by any name. Both scenarios branch from an alternative where Anakin still becomes a Jedi, but either never meets Padme or dosen't fall for her.

Timeline 1-Anakin dosen't fall for Padme and dosen't fall:

So let's think of an alternate timeline. Let's say that everything went the way Jedi uncriticals think it should. Anakin never falls in love with Padme(maybe he never saw Padme in her disguise in episode I but Qui-Gon finds him anyways and he is taken with them after winning the race) AND manages to let go of his mother. The war would likely unfold the same(except maybe Anakin isn't too hung up over Ahsoka leaving-assuming it happens-because he can "let go" more). And let's assume Palpatine has less of a hold onto Anakin. I could maybe see this Anakin spare Dooku. So far so good, it seems Dooku could be captured and brought to trial where he will blow the lid on everything...right.

...wrong. Palpatine likely has a contingency in place if Dooku is captured. Perhaps Grievous "disposes" of Dooku while they are escaping the Invisible Hand, perhaps some sort of deadly gas is filtered into his cell while awaiting trial, or perhaps the Jedi keep Dooku as prisoner, but Palpatine's infiltrators in the temple like the future Grand Inquisitor sneaks in and kills him; he could be in a easy position to do so given his role as a temple guard. So the lead with Dooku runs cold. Anakin maybe is made a master earlier and accepts more eagerly his mission to spy on the chancellor this time. However, without any "attachments" in his life, Palpatine won't openly confess that he's the sith lord and Anakin would be kept in the dark much longer. The Jedi are still spread thin in the Outer Rim sieges, likely Obi-Wan would still go to Utapau...I could maybe see this version of Anakin get assigned to Utapau too if Palpatine feels that he's onto him.

This branches out into three scenarios, and I will explore how each plays out, but note that none of these are particularly good for the galaxy at large:

Scenario 1: Eventually a while after Anakin is sent to Utapau, Windu would move to arrest the chancellor anyways and assuming Palpatine comes out on top(I know there is argument that Windu was stronger, but I think this is possible because he might fight harder against the Masters knowing Anakin won’t turn). As a result, the Empire still forms, Order 66 is declared except with Anakin also as a target, Jedi genocide still happens and the Empire would soon carry out the same atrocities it did in canon, and Death Star is still built, Geonosians still wiped out, and likely death star will be tested on a world with billions. Palpatine would likely take precaution to avoid Yoda and go off world ASAP so there will be no "hail mary" pass for the Jedi(and as we see later on, the hail mary pass would have its own problems).

Scenario 2: Alternatively Windu comes out on top, Sidious is defeated while Anakin and Obi-Wan kill Grievous on Utapau...galaxy is at peace...right? WRONG. Most likely the Jedi will seize the senate and install someone from the delegation like Bail or a more career-oriented Padme into power....except the majority of the senate, dominated by Palpatine loyalists would view this as a coup. While out of universe the Jedi could appear justified in preventing the autocratic consolidation of power, in universe, everyone has drank Palpatine's kool-aid. Hell Padme says so how liberty died with thunderous applause in ROTS itself.

What follows is that the Senate likely invokes Order 65 and gets rid of the pro-democracy chancellor, likely installing Tarkin, Amedda or, if we set this in the legends timeline or some sort of hybrid timeline, one of Palpatine's co-conspirators in legends like Sate Pestage or Ishin-Il-Raz into power. Some sort of Order 66 is declared since Palpatine's inner circle were mostly in on the conspiracy to start an empire(or alternatively there is a dead man's switch/order embedded in the chips if Palpatine would fall; in Legends this is a moot point anyways since Clones would act with full agency and there was no chips there), Clones still turn on the Jedi and Jedi genocide happens anyways.

End result is that Empire still forms and given how a lot of Palpatine's accomplices were coreist human supremacists and the tendency of Core worlds to drift towards said mentalities, most of the species and civilizations wiped out by the Empire would still be enslaved or wiped out by the empire. Death Star is still built, still tested on a world with a population in the billions, and Geonosians still wiped out as a species to cover it up. Potentially this version of the Empire might actually be more durable than Palpatine's Empire, driven by a fascist "ideology" over Palpatine's whims, and better indoctrinate the more fanatical elements of the population, whom, already having anti-Jedi sentiments, would view Palpatine as a martyr killed by the Jedi and eat it all up. Galaxy is doomed to even longer oppression despite Windu's good intentions.

Scenario 3: Palpatine wins against the Masters, excecutes Order 66, Jedi Order gets decimated. Anakin, Obi-Wan and Yoda manage to regroup on Coruscant and kill Palpatine and install a member of the delegation as chancellor.....except nothing changes and scenario 2 plays out with the Senate turning on the Jedi, except with the Jedi even more decimated to face the rising Empire carried fourth by Palpatine's loyalists because this is after Order 66.

So it's clear that an Anakin that never fell would not be able to stop the Empire, and the Jedi's actions might actually stop Palpatine but cause the galaxy to fall into a longer darkness.

And of course, Timeline 1 assumes the best case scenario for the Jedi regarding Anakin. Which begs the question....What if Anakin still falls anyways? This is something that needs to be considered.

Timeline 2-Anakin doesn't fall for Padme but falls to the Dark Side anyways:

Contrary to what Jedi uncriticals think, Anakin's possessiveness is not tied to a pure obsession with Padme, but rather his failure to accept loss and death as part of life and how the Jedi never really gave him room to process it all. His first jump down the dark side would be the slaughter of the Tusken Raiders in canon/legends over the loss of his mother.

This means that without Padme, Anakin is still due for some sort of reckoning with the Dark Side through his mother's imminent death. Perhaps he still sneaks off to find his mother, she dies and he still carries out his massacre. Perhaps he is prevented from doing so, but he feels her death through the force and is emotionally devastated and in both cases he's not gonna learn to "let go" and is not gonna resent the Jedi for not letting him save her.

This puts him in a good position to be further groomed by Palpatine, who would stoke his "failure" to save his mother or even go to tatooine to save her and scapegoat the Jedi. Likely Ahsoka would still be assigned to Anakin to test if he can let go and eventually she would get framed. He would develop a fatherly or big brother style attachment to Ahsoka as a friend/daughter figure/sister figure and she would still leave and devastate him. And this would still come on top of the Rako Hardeen incident with Obi-Wan. So potentially Palpatine has quite a bit to work with even without Padme. He could lure him in with the idea that the dark side would offer him the means to protect those he loves, perhaps using some other Sith lord with a strong attachment bond with someone regardless of the context.

While this draws on legends and infers a hybrid canon, I can see, in an alternate version of the Opera House, Palpatine tempting Anakin with with the legend of Darth Revan(or alternatively a revisionist and distorted version of the story that omits his redemption) and how he acted against Jedi directives to fight the Mandalorians, or even Darth Vectivus, who supposedly moreso used his powers to protect his family and those closest to him over contributing to the grand plan(or arguably more likely had the appearance of moral decency; apparently that was the implication in legends--however don't expect this alternative version of Palpatine to tell this alternative single version of Anakin that!)

But anyways the distrust with the council would still be there, this version of Anakin would be still goaded into killing Dooku. He would likely still turn and from here on out with Palpatine claiming that he needs to use the dark side to protect those that he loves, things would get even worse. Potentially, whereas canon!Vader beat himself up mentally for the rest of his life for losing Padme, this version of Vader would be far more irredeemable and subsumed into the dark side. Obi-Wan might not find Vader on Mustafar to put a stop to him and Ahsoka would still crash land onto that moon with Rex and could not get to him early on to get him to see reason.

Assuming that Palpatine dosen't engineer Ahsoka or Kenobi's death himself, it is highly likely that if they were to meet again, this version of Vader might actually dispose of Obi-Wan or Ahsoka--perhaps Palpatine could spread rumors that his friends betrayed him and didn't deserve him. Without any love for Padme or Luke to save him, this Vader one day kills Palpatine in order to become the Sith Master and rules the Empire as an irredeemable power-mad tyrant until he is killed by his own apprentice. Or even worse, Palpatine bodyjacks him with essence transfer and rules for eternity.

Suppose Obi-Wan and Yoda, not knowing Vader is on Mustafar, kill Palpatine and manage to wait out on Coruscant enough to kill Vader as well....that still means that the Senate will declare any chancellor they install as illegitimate and commit to the empire anyways under a Palpatine loyalist.

Summary/Observations:

So overall the conclusion is that Anakin and Padme's relationship actually did not have that much of a bearing on a 1000 year old evil plan that Palpatine carried through to its fruition. If Anakin did not fall, it is likely that either Palpatine still wins, or Palpatine loses but the Empire still wins. A lot of the systemic issues in the Republic existed independent of Anakin, Padme, and even Palpatine.

It also fails to understand the root cause of Anakin's possessiveness was not because he was supposedly "obsessed" over one woman in his life but because of his inability to deal with loss, in part because the easy to read into implication that the Jedi barred all communications from Shmi(which was confirmed in legends canon) and refused to hold up their end of the bargain. Without Padme, that distrust would still be there, and he could easily project his possessiveness into Ahsoka or even Obi-Wan, and there is plenty of means for Palpatine to manipulate for his ends.

Do I believe the fall of the republic was inherently inevitable? No.

But was it also tied purely to Anakin’s choices, the actions of the Jedi during one pivotal event, and specifically the choice of loving one specific woman? Also No.

And as you can see, this is just part 1 of my analysis. In part 2 of my analysis I will further critique the implications of the Jedi uncritical fan perspective on Anakin’s fall and frankly some of the disturbing implications therein.

[ride-thedragon]

Nettles Discourse.

I'm a big Nettles fan. I accept that the bias I have towards her can affect my judgement when it comes to negative discussions, no one likes their favourite characters to be undersold or talked about in a negative regard. That being said we've lost the plot yet again when it comes to her.

I know I can be out there with my claims about her (George literally wrote asoiaf to support her narrative), but I do think she's often disregarded about the way she impacts the narrative. Because she does, she leaves some of the biggest questions that carry over into the main series in fire and blood.

. Was she a witch that seduced a prince

. Did her and Daemon spend the rest of their days in the Vale.

. Did she create the burned men

. Is she actually Valyrian

. Can non Valyrians ride and claim dragons.

. What happened to her and Sheepstealer (the dragonskull found in the main series...)

For who she is as a character, she's so misrepresented in the fandom, while I know I'm annoying about her, it's within good reason.

That's without the paedophilia discourse surrounding her character, the race and racism discourse surrounding her character at all times. Someone conflating her popularity and race isn't entirely incorrect.

The way people undermine her written story because they don't like her. The way they will make race and class the forefront of that undermining is quite insane when you see it.

There is also this air of mystery intended by her character that allows for theories and tie-ins to the main plot.

I've said that she mirrors Dany in some regards, which is true. They have a lot of parallels, like Rhaena and Sansa or Baela and Arya.

All this is to say that even though she isn't a main character in Fire and Blood, she's still important, and race does affect the perception of her a lot, which is an issue. We see the same thing with the popularity of Baela and Rhaena in the show, especially. She isn't a pov character or a main focus by any means, but her mystery alone would've had her 10 times more popular if she was a white alternative to that familial ship.

AND WHILE WE ARE HERE, DETTLES DISCOURSE.

Let's be serious.

Nettles is a child, Nettles is a victim, Nettles was groomed has no basis in the actual story.

If it's a reservation, you hold in the discourse fine, that's great but it's not an in universe thing.

She's legally an adult. She's an impoverished black girl in the narrative who's saved by a prince and a house protecting her against their world's Monarch and escapes on a dragon she claimed and she again escapes and her escape is framed as Daemon's redemption in the narrative.

When people say she was abused by Daemon, they never contextualise it in her character. She's just a poor, 16 year old at the mercy of a prince. That's unfair.

I'll be the first person to scream from the rooftops that Daemon should be held accountable for his every breath in the narrative as well as not being redeemed for all his crimes because he let my favourite character go.

But let's be clear, if someone views their story as romantic, it doesn't mean that they want paedophilia in the narrative. Nettles is closer to Book Brienne's age and perception than she is to Sansa's, two character with prominent ships with men older than them. Nettles is an adult by Westeros standards. (Daemon will burn in hell for messing with teens), but she is an adult.

It's not a question of a person's morality if they ship Daemon and Nettles. They are within the bounds of the world to do so. That's just how they choose to engage with the material instead of being critical and applying our standards to a ship.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

In two interviews released this week, Donald Trump made it clear that he will only accept the results of the 2024 election if he wins. And even more alarming, Trump—as he did in 2020 —is beginning the process of radicalizing his supporters to commit another Jan 6 type attack if he loses. Before we get into Trump’s comments, please understand that none of this should come as a surprise. After all, Trump attempted a coup and the incited the deadly Jan 6 attack on our Capitol yet he walks free almost three and a half years later.  When a corrupt person like Trump is not swiftly held accountable for his crimes, he will not change his conduct. In fact, he will be emboldened to engage in that same conduct—if not worse.

That is why for years I was slamming Attorney General Merrick Garland in both articles and on cable news for his failure to promptly charge Trump with crimes. At the very least, Garland should have appointed a Special Counsel to investigate Trump for Jan 6 related crimes as soon as he was sworn in as AG in March 2021.  But instead—as we know from reporting—Garland slow walked the investigation into Trump. Consequently, Trump is the 2024 GOP presidential nominee and if he wins in November, he will escape accountability for his federal crimes.

That bring us to Trump’s recent interviews where he is copying his 2020 playbook to both delegitimize the election results if he loses and prepare his supporters for violence on his behalf. On Wednesday, in an interview with the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel while in Wisconsin for a rally, Trump was asked if he would accept the results of the 2024 election. As the Journal Sentinel noted, Trump “did not commit to accepting the results of the 2024 election.” Rather, he stated, “If everything's honest, I'll gladly accept the results.”  But Trump then added ominously, “If it's not, you have to fight for the right of the country." Trump saying his supporters have to “fight” if he loses instantly conjures up what he said after the 2020 election to radicalize his supporters to ultimately wage the Jan 6 terrorist attack. In fact, at the rally on Jan 6 before the attack, the crowd’s war cry was, “Fight for Trump!” And Trump bellowed the word “fight” or “fighting” to that riled up MAGA crowd 20 times before they waged the actual attack.

Trump made these same points in his series of Time interviews released this week.  When asked about the potential of political violence, Trump should have made it clear given Jan 6, he rejects it and calls on his supporters to do the same. In fact, he should have mimicked the words of President Biden in 2022 on this very issue: “I want to say this plain and simple: There is no place for political violence in America.  Period.  None.  Ever.” Trump didn’t. Instead, when Trump was first asked by the reporter: “Are you worried about political violence in connection with this November's election?” Trump responded, “I think we're gonna have a big victory. And I think there will be no violence.”

The reporter then pressed Trump in a follow up interview on the point: “On our last conversation you said you weren't worried about political violence in connection with the November election. You said, “I think we're going to win and there won't be violence.” What if you don't win, sir?” To that Trump said, “I do think we're gonna win. We're way ahead. I don't think they'll be able to do the things that they did the last time, which were horrible.”  But alarmingly he then added, “And if we don't win, you know, it depends. It always depends on the fairness of an election.”

[...] If there had not been a Jan 6 attack, we could dismiss Trump’s words as being nothing more than overheated campaign rhetoric. But we can’t.  As the  Jan 6 House committee’s final report put it: “The central cause of January 6th was one man, former President Donald Trump, whom many others followed. None of the events of January 6th would have happened without him.” 

In recent interviews with both Time and the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, Donald Trump ominously hinted at a repeat of what happened during 2020 elections aftermath if he doesn't win: more election denial and violence incitement.