#father angst

[rwsdarw]

Hate this but whatever

[chloesimaginationthings]

The Afton kids deserved better in FNAF..

[yuyonyu]

“What happened to arresting me, detective?!

I thought you were gonna show me the light…!”

[starry-bi-sky]

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

[nayrring]

"I watch demon slayer for the plot"

The plot :

[were-wolverine]

things in DC canon i’ll literally never get over

1. dick finds out batman replaced him as robin (without asking him) from the NEWSPAPER and simultaneously finds out bruce adopted a new kid without telling him (to make things worse: bruce didn’t even adopt dick)

2. dick finds out jason died from the newspaper (AGAIN? REALLY BRUCE?) and bruce had the fucking funeral WITHOUT HIM while he was still in space

[drunk-werewolf]

I've heard of many lies. But your "I love you" will always be my favorite

[bunbunlovestowrite]

Honestly I’ve been thinking there’s a lot of smutty sexy time with sylus yet I haven’t seen a platonic angsty one. I’ve got an angsty idea of a father sylus x daughter reader platonic (obviously not the mc) and how far off their relationship is. Sylus is a very strict and cold father and barely spent anytime with his daughter the only times he spent with her are during missions or him training her from time to time or him scolding her.

She puts up a facade as to not anger him and get his approval of a strong fighter, yet deep down she is very lonely and heartbroken seeking for his love and affection feeling that he doesn’t love her. But she’s also afraid of him seeing how cold and chilling he was when she messed up a mission. And then she breaks even more when the mc arrives and he’s suddenly playful and chatty to mc but still cold and distant to her. And she slowly falls into depression and accepts that her father really doesn’t love her.

This was so random it just came up in my head

𝑴𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆..𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆r

Sylus x Daughter!Reader

A/n: AHHH! My first ask!! I love this idea and I hope it did you justice Anon! It's mostly MC and Reader bonding since I adore a found parent trope..

You were never close to your father, never. Maybe when you were young but those memories were lost to pain and loneliness. He didn't beat you, he didn't even talk to you, he trusted his crow more.

You don't remember your mother. Maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's bad. Either way you don't care right now, not while on a mission.

Luke and Kieran stood in the doorway while you worked on some rich guy who bought things he shouldn't have. Blood dripped down his head and the chair he was tied to, some of his nails ripped off and his body was cut up.

You flick your gloves slightly to get blood off before snapping your fingers.

"Set the body up. Discreet or not I don't care." You spoke in the same tone as your father. Cold, uncaring, and creepy in a calm way.

Luke and Kieran grabbed the man by his hands and feet and started walking out of the room when Luke looked back at you. "So I was thinking. Me, you, rooftop, kis-" he was cut off by you smacking his mask with your bloody glove.

-

Your father's bedroom door was closed yet you still felt that cold chill his room had, the smell of metal from his gun(s) and the knot it gave your stomach. A cold, hard knot that made you want to puke up your breakfast.

One knock.

No response.

You wait before knocking again, this time you got a response. "Come in." His voice only made the knot worse. Your hands always trembled slightly when you were with your father, you got good at hiding it though.

The door opened with a creak and you stepped in, his back to you as he read something. "Y/N." He said your name like you were a stranger, not his daughter who he raised for 19 years. He turned his head and glanced back at you, red eyes cold and unfeeling. "Report."

"Mr.Flores is dead, his protocores have been taken and are in their needed areas. His body was set up by Luke and Kieran in whatever fashion they wanted." You didn't wait to report in, he was impatient when it came to you. You blinded yourself and assumed it was because he loved you. Maybe he wanted to know if you weren't hurt, to know that you did as he asked.

Sylus nodded and hummed, turning his head back to whatever he was reading. "You're dismissed." He snapped his fingers. You go to say something, to maybe remind him of your birthday next month. But you just nod and open the door when someone bumped into you.

A woman with long brown hair yelped slightly and stumbled but you grabbed her arm and kept her up. "Ow! Sorry, I didn't know Sylus had anyone in there!" She rubbed her head and gave you a dopey smile.

You smile back slightly, she was relatively new here and you didn't wanna scare her like you did Kieran one time. "It's fine."

The woman looked over your shoulder and saw Sylus, she smiled at you before running over to him and talking so casually about something she found. It didn't seem like anything you knew would interest him so you went to close the door but stopped just an inch from it.

"That's very good, MC." His tone was soft, kind, even caring. Now she couldn't tell obviously, but you could. That couldn't have been your father. The last time he spoke to you like that you were five years old and just shot your first gun. Your gut wrenched at that, the knot was going to explode.

You accidentally slammed the door and ran down the hall, throwing yourself into the bathroom. You never acted like this before, what was happening to you?

You bury cover your open mouth with a towel, hyperventilating into it. Keeling over you breathe as calmly as you can. You felt so sick, so so sick.

A few minutes later and you calmed yourself. You were a mess. Your eyes were blurry with tears and saliva stained the towel, not to mention your now scratchy throat. You let out a shaky sigh and run a bath, almost boiling hot.

You needed to calm down. Maybe you got sick from that man, blood can infect you if you ingest it.

Yes. That had to be it. You were fine. Strong.

𒊹︎︎︎☁︎𒊹︎︎︎☁︎

A few weeks later, 6 days from your birthday.

You were training alone, your gloves new since your old ones finally ripped so you needed to break these ones in. Your hair was out fo your face (if it's long enough to be in it) and you wore an outfit similar to your father's when he trained.

You picked it out when you were six and sized it up whenever you got taller. He was flattered at first and even pinched your cheek, but he got bored eventually.

Your knuckles hurt and you could smell the blood leaking from the broken skin. You were sweating but you didn't care. You needed to get this done for some peace of mind.

The punching bag was a gift from your father, it was held together by duct tape and dreams at this point. You could get a new one if you wanted but you didn't want to bother your father.

One hit.

Your knuckles bled more.

Another.

They stung and you grit your teeth.

You were mad. Furious. No words couls describe it just right. By why? Was it that woman? The way he spoke to her kinder than he had ever even looked at you? It's not her fault. Shes innocent. Shes not the reason your father is how he is.

Maybe you were mad at him.

You were never mad at him.

You pull back your arm and hit the punching bag and it broke, sand pouring onto the mat under you. Your breathing was heavy.

"What...whats my defect?" Your whisper was broken, your eyes watering again. You hadn't cried this much since your cat died when you were 7. You yank off your gloves and throw them to the side, sitting on the edge of the mat.

Your knuckles were bleeding and you saw under your skin, the cold air added an almost relaxing feeling to the burn.

The door opened and you look over, the same woman from the other day walked in, water bottle in hand. She gave you a smile and crouched next to you. "The twins told me you were training. So I brou-" her eyes landed on your knuckles and she frowned.

"Are you okay?" She took your hand with ease since you were too exhausted to rip it away. She grabbed a clean rag from the bench and patted the blood away. "You and Sylus are the only people I know who would work out until they bleed." She laughed softly but her joke fell flat at your expression.

"Like father like daughter." You mutter after a few seconds. Your response seemed to ease her awkwardness. She put bandaids on your knuckles and patted your hand. "I thought he would train with you?"

You fight to not roll your eyes and you shake your head. "The only time he talks to me is when I have a new mission." You rub your wrist and look at the woman, MC.... that's her name.

MC frowned again and tilted her head. "What? But your his daughter?" Her pitiful tone made you mad, or sad, or both. You were going through something and had noone to ask for help.

"Yes well, he seems to like you more than me." Your voice was colder and harsher, glaring at her. MC flinched slightly and sat her hands on her lap.

"I-i don't think he likes me." Was she oblivious too? Your irritation grew and you close your eyes to try and not punch her. You didn't want to punch her. She was nice to you.

"You've known him for a month and I've known him for 19 years. I wonder which of us knows his tones better." You say bitterly before drinking from the water bottle MC brought, looking away from her.

MC's heart ached slightly and she hesitated to put a hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry."

You wanted to stay mad, the rage took your mind off the hurt and it kept you up. "No I'm sorry, MC. It's not your fault. I-i don't know whats wrong with me lately." You give her a weak smile but it falls short, your head going limp in your hand.

"You turn 20 next week, your getting older and you don't have someone to speak to about this." MC shrugged and rubbed her hand on your shoulder. "I can try to help. I won't involve myself between you and Sylus but I would feel terrible if I left you alone."

She smiled at you with a kindness you craved, a kindness your father couldn't and a warmth your mother wasn't given the chance to show you.

"Its rotten work."

"Not when it's you."

☼︎✩☼︎

It was the morning of your birthday, and you felt oddly better than before. You and MC had been talking and she guided you through things your father wouldn't know. She was filling a hole your mother left empty.

The twins were the same as always but they were less teasing of you and were trying to make you laugh more, even going so far as to tickle you which earned Luke a broken wrist.

Of course you were looking forward to see what your father would get you. He didn't forget your birthday but most of the time it'd be a random card with money in it. Or a new gun. Or both on good days. But I mean you were finally 20, it had to be something big!

You heard a knock on your door and hear it open. MC poked her head in with a smile, her eyes lighting up at you. "Happy Birthday!" She ran and jumped onto your bed to hug you, keeping most of her weight off you. The twins came in next singing happy birthday off-key with a cake in hand. It had pink number candles showing "20" and terrible icing decorating along with random doodles of the twins on it.

You smile wide and laugh, blowing out the candles. MC smacked both of them on the head when they almost dropped it before setting it on your nightstand. "Thanks." You whisper to MC and she smiled before rubbing your head and pinching your cheek.

She shooed the twins out and sat on your bed, taking out a grey box. "I don't know if you'll like it, but it might be better than wearing leather all the time." She gave you the box and watched as you opened it. A light grey dress came out with see through sleeves. It would reach your mid calf and had a slight ruffle turtle neck. This was the first dress you owned.

"Do you think it'll look good on me?" You whisper, admiring the lace ruffle and the softness of it. MC giggled and held your hand. "You are so beautiful, Y/N. Put this on and I wanna take you out to do something fun. Let you be a kid for once." Her voice relaxes you and you can't help but blush. Not in a romantic way, but in a girls for girls way.

"Can you help me? I-i dont really know how to.." You try to maneuver the dress but immediately get lost in the various layers of the skirt. A laugh left MC and she nodded, helping you up off your bed.

The twins watch as you came out of your room, the dress wasn't tight. And it was beautiful on you. MC let you borrow some pumps and you were almost 6'3. You were already tall but you felt giant now. You liked it.

Kieran playfully clutched his heart and feigned fainting while Luke got on one knee and badly recited Romeo and Juliet. You blush in embarrassment and smile, hiding your eyes with your palm. "Ill break your other wrist." You kick Luke's knee and he fell to the ground with a 'humph'.

MC patted your shoulder and smiled up at you. "C'mon. I have plans at the arcade. Have you ever played kitty claw? I'm a pro at it."

You shook your head and grabbed the doorknob when a voice was heard.

"Where are you going?" Your father had his arms crossed behind you, his eyebrow raised. You felt cold suddenly, your eyes slightly wide and you couldn't move. MC saw your expression and gently held your hand.

"I'm taking her out."

"For what reason?"

"Her birthday....?" MC was shocked, her tone showing that. The twins were also shocked and looked at each other. Obviously they couldn't see each other expressions through their masks.

You close your eyes, back still to your father. He forgot. You were more shocked than hurt. Maybe he had a good excuse. You prayed he had a good excuse. MC's hand was the only thing keeping you up.

"Ah. I see." Sylus adjusted his jacket before walking back to his office. "Come see me when you get home, Y/N." There it was. A sliver of hope. Maybe he had a gift for you, maybe he didn't forget. You relax and smile at MC before opening the door.

☾︎☹︎☽︎

"How are you so good at the claw machine? And kitty cards?" MC said with disbelief as she drove back to the manor, looking over at you with a laugh. You had God knows how many stuffies in your lap and a bunch of chocolates in a bag on top of them.

"I wasn't that good." You laugh slightly as you pop a chocolate in your mouth. MC laughs in pain "i won once! You, Rafayel, Xavier, and Zayne are all so much better at those games! Well maybe not Xavier..."

"I'll act like I know who those people are."

MC pulled up to the manor and grabbed the stuffies from you. "I'll put these in your room." She almost tripped as she kicked open the door and stumbled in. She threw the stuffies on your bed and smiled at you. "Now go see what Sylus has for you! Maybe this will help you two!" She held your hands and jumped slightly.

You smile back and nod, hugging her close. "Thank you so much." You whisper, voice breaking. She hugged back immediately, her eyes shut. "You're a really good kid."

"I'm 20 now."

"Shhh let me have this."

You stood in front of your father's office and straightened out your dress and hair. You were excited and had to force your smile down. You breathe slowly and nod to yourself.

You knock once and peek your head in, seeing Sylus at his desk. "Father? You wanted to see me?" He looked up at you for a second before back down at his desk. "Come in."

You almost took a trip while walking to his desk but brushed it off. He was writing something down in a file and his glasses were sitting on the tip of his nose. He closed the file and sat up, taking off his glasses.

You wanted to hear happy birthday come from his lips, a card from his hands, even just a smile would make this day perfect.

"I have a job for you." He slid a file towards you and you picked it up like it was second nature. "Nicole Wystand, 45. She recently stole a protocore I want and you need to get it back. Use whatever methods."

He sat back and yawned. "You're dismissed."

You didn't move. Your eyes were slightly wide and your hands trembled. "Is that it?...is that all you wanted to say to me?" Your voice trembled and you hoped this was some cruel joke.

Sylus raised an eyebrow and curled his lip up. "Obviously. I already said you can go." He closed his eyes and crossed his arms, waiting for you to leave.

"No." You weren't hurt. You were angry, but not as angry as you thought. Sylus actually jumped slightly when you smacked the file back on his desk, your hand stinging at the impact.

He scowled, looking at you. "What do you mean 'no'?" His voice lowered.

"I mean I'm not going. I'm done. I- wow-" you laugh slightly, stepping back and putting your hands up. "I mean- wow! A-are you serious?" The laughing got louder, and you began to care less about his anger.

"God, I wonder how you've survived this long if you're this dense to people. Do you have a heart, father? Cause I really don't think you do."

Your laughing stopped and you scowled at him, eyes narrow.

"Young lady I suggest you watch that tone." Sylus gripped the arm of his chair, ready to stand up.

"Oh so now you use the father talk? What's next? Gonna call me 'bud'? Spank me? Maybe then you'll actually act like a father to me."

"I am your father."

"It doesn't feel like it!" You yell, face full of anger and anguish. "It hasn't felt like it in years! MC has been more of a parent to me in three months than you have in 20 years!" You were screaming now, your voice cracking and your throat hurt.

Sylus huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your obviously tired. Go to bed and we'll talk in the morning." He brushed off your words and waved you off. That was it. Your breaking point.

"You know what? Fuck you! Your a piece of shit human and an even worse father! I may not have known my mother but I'm happy she wasn't around to see how fucking pathetic you are!" Your hand slammed the door shut and it cracked, the doorknob ripping out of the wood.

You stomp down the hall and shove your room door open before throwing your suitcase on your bed. Clothes, money, bullets, and anything else of value to you were tossed into it. MC heard your yelling and ran to you, her eyes wide.

"Y/N? What's going on? Is everything okay?" She walked over but didn't stop you. "I'm done. I thought he was gonna act like a decent person for once but no! He gave me a new person to kill so I'm done." You close the bag and drag it outside to your car.

MC followed you and grabbed your arm. "Hey! Hey, talk to me. I'm not gonna stop you but I don't want you to hurt yourself." She opened the door with her other hand and set the bag in the passenger seat.

You rub your face and look at her, eyes to dry to cry. "I'm fine. I'm not gonna force you to come with me cause I know you need to get info from Sylus." You were done calling him father. "But I have ways to get things done and I'll be fine. I'll text you when I get to where I need to be." You hug her, your grip weak.

"I'm so tired." You whisper. MC rubbed your cheek and smiled. "Text me your location and I'll come to you, okay? I'll tell the twins when you want me to." She kisses your forehead and stepped back.

You smile back before getting in your car and starting it. As you drive out of the drive way you see Sylus's reflection in the rear view. Your heart lirjed at his face, he looked pained for once. You ignore it. You ignore him.

But you can't ignore blood.

--

Requests are still open! :3

[addamvelaryon]

Fair at Spicetown

Artist: vats9_9

[spamgyu]

Wrong // Soonyoung one shot

DESCRIPTION: Getting married and having kids were never in your books... but neither was dating Soonyoung. PARING: nonidol!Soonyoung x Reader GENRE: toothrotting FLUFF

He was never a part of your plan.

None of this was.

You weren't supposed to date in college, not because someone had told you not to. It was your own choice, wanting to enjoy your first time of being away from home and independence with your friends – traveling, partying, and all the shenanigans that people your age had gotten into.

He had come into your life and turned it completely upside down – changing all the things you didn't dare changing for any of your exes.

Even his personality had completely taken you back.

Soonyoung was the quietest one in the presentation group your professor had assigned via google randomization. You didn't think he would be this ball of fire that would completely set all your future plans ablaze.

And you mean that in the most loving way possible.

The standoffish dancer in your history class was actually the sweetest man to walk the planet; winning your heart within months of getting to know him.

In the last two years that you two had been together, he had done nothing but repaint the image you had in your head of what life you saw yourself living.

The once very independent girl had now relied most of her days on her boyfriend; almost as if you had forgotten how to fill your own water bottle that resided at your bedside table.

The water bottle he had purchased, by the way – claiming that he had rarely seen you drink water within the first months of dating.

He had gotten it your favorite color.

The one you never mentioned to him – he had figured it out by noticing that your phone case, laptop cover, and school supplies were in that same color range.

Soonyoung had made you forget about your strong opinion of not wanting to text your significant every day – you never did think it was necessary.

And it wasn't like he was adamant that you let him know your every move. No, it was actually the total opposite; he cared for your boundaries.

He simply enjoyed sharing his every intrusive thoughts with you, sending you into a fits of giggle every time you opened the messaging app.

Time has passed and he had remained consistent – telling you about all his meals, the extra crunchy leaf he had stepped on, and the lack of baristas at you and his favorite coffee shop.

Most importantly, he had changed your view on settling down.

Soonyoung was aware that you didn't care too much for marriage or kids – it was simply not in your life plan.

That and the fact that you were a child of divorce; but that's a different story.

He didn't care, claiming "Allowing me to love you is enough."

God, why was he so perfect?

You watched him in awe as he played with his cousin's daughter, who had found herself on his lap within minutes of arriving at his family's gathering.

He had always been so good with kids; a stark difference to you.

"I heard the monster under your bed said you have stinky feet." He teased, poking the five year old's side – earning a giggle from her.

"No! That's a lie!" She cried.

"Nah..." Soonyoung shook his head. "He told me. He called me yesterday to tell you that you need to wash before bed."

"I do wash!"

He pursed his lips, leaning close to the little girl's hair. "Ooofff, stinky Seola!"

With her tiny hands, she had pushed your boyfriend's face away – the two laughing at his antics.

"Monster said you also have to eat more." Soonyoung nodded over to Seola's mother at the dining table, who had just set a plate down – but of course, the little girl did not budge.

She loved her Uncle Soonyoung; and you could see why.

"Come on, go eat and we can play after." He urged.

"Promise?" She hopped off his lap, turning to stick a pinky out at him.

He leaned down, playfully examining the finger half the size of his. "Did you wash your hands?"

"Uncle!"

"Alright, I'm trusting you." Soonyoung sighed dramatically, locking his fingers with hers before watching her scurry off to the older woman across the room.

"She's cute." You beamed as he leaned back on the couch, bringing his arm to rest around your shoulders – pulling you closer to him.

"She's a little gremlin." He chuckled, placing a kiss on your temple.

"I want a little gremlin."

You felt his body stiffen up next to yours. "We can steal her. I don't think her mom would mind."

"I want one that looks like us." You turned to face him – watching the stars in his eyes slowly come forward.

"What happened to no kids. Not ever?" He repeated your words from the very first time the two of you had gotten to the topic of children and marriage.

You let out a small laugh, shrugging. "Someone changed my mind."

"Who?" Soonyoung's brows furrowed "Did they threaten you?"

"Yeah, held my heart hostage too." You rolled your eyes.

"Ah," He nodded, a small smile creeping on his face. "I bet he's hot."

"Let's not push it." You held your hand up, earning a loud laugh from the boy.

"Well, we can talk about kids whenever you're actually ready."

"Keep up with Seola and who knows, maybe we can have one in a year."

"Seola!" He called out to the little girl who had happily turned towards the two of you, cheeks full of rice. "Chew well!"

"You're an idiot." You snorted, shoving the man you would happily marry in a heartbeat.

You had come to realize that it wasn't that you didn't want to get married or have kids because you didn't see it as part of your future plans; you simply hadn't met a man who wasn't exactly like your father.

You hadn't met someone who wasn't just going to be the "man of the house", but someone who was going to be a partner – someone who was going to pull half of the weight. Maybe even more.

You just hadn't met Soonyoung.

He had proved you wrong once again.

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@thegirlwhoimagined @calicoups @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @f4iryjjosh @akeminy

@yonabutnotyuna @tacosandbitch @aaniag @bettybotterboughtabitofbutter @xbaekcult

@alwaysalmostthere @ashkuuuu @morkswatermelonnnn @isabellah29 @lottogyu

@bubbly-moon @lllucere @bo-fairykim @pluviophile-xxx @eclliipsed

@daegutowns @niktwazny303 @fragmentof-indifference @leah-rose03 @haolistic

@joshuahongnumbers @gyuguys @yaaaridk @christinewithluv @yoonzinoooo

@livelikejinki @watercolureyes @whoa-jo @primoisellerose @nikkell

@rakshithanotrao @mingcouper @aksweet7 @iamawkwardandshy

@raginghellfire @m1ng1swife @doubleshoticedshakenespresso @porridgesblog @hotteokisms

@squashcolouredskies @viewvuu @black-swan-blog27 @got7svt6 @singulapity

@readerwonnie @myjhuiboy @limbomoon @stilllovethatpictureofus

[xxfluffypuff]

sinner

[chloesimaginationthings]

The tragedy of being William Afton’s daughter in FNAF..

[demigods-posts]

thinking of percy going to school as a small child. learning that some of his peers talk to deceased family members in their heads to cope with grief. and deciding to take the time each night to talk to his father. telling him a funny story of how mom laughed so hard, milk came out of her nose. of how he got a near perfect score on his third grade spelling test. of each time he got expelled from school and how much he knew it made mom sad. of how his stepfather is the meanest bully he's ever met. of how he wished the two of them had more time together so they could share s'mores and stories around the campfire. of how much he grieves the father he never had. and thinking of poseidon sitting in his throne atop olympus. tears threatening to fall at the sound of his son's voice. mirroring the grief of a child he never got to raise.

[heartpascal]

Pls tell me there's a part two for "if the door wasn't shut". I need Joel and Ellie to come back and reader avoiding them and not speaking to them and just walking away when they try to talk to her. Ofc happy ending but make them work for that forgiveness

i would let you in

▹ — joel miller x platonic!f!reader

▹ — summary: part two of if the door wasnt shut — after being abandoned in jackson, tommy and maria take care of you. joel and ellie’s return hurts far more than their departure.

▹ — a/n: i have no idea how the timeline is gonna work out in the show so ignore that!!! i went off on a bit of a tangent in this one… oops. anyways. let me know if you guys do want a part three!!!

▹ — warnings: angst!!!! AND MORE ANGST!!! oh yeah and a bit of angst too. father figure joel (except he’s failed that role for reader), arguments, throwing of objects, general hopeless feelings, sadness, not proofread, also you WILL like pottery and ceramics sorry!! almost father figure tommy….

▹ — tags: @faceache111 @viknowsbest @inkiqayo @wrcn9fvlcver @pedropascalsrealgf @httpjiikook @issybee0611 @liableperfections @dksjskx @canpillowscry @beeblisss @lizzylynch1 @randomstory56 @hiphopdancer101universe (once again just tagged everyone who asked for pt 2! pls let me know if you want the tag removed<;3)

masterlist | PART THREE

howl’s song associations!

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Everything in this world felt empty. It all felt so… weightless. Like you could pick something up, and it would have no meaning. Sometimes, you felt that way, too.

You couldn’t help it.

It was like everything you felt had drained from your very being, leaving your deflated and aching and empty.

But the emptiness sometimes masked as rage, and then you were throwing all of these meaningless things at meaningless walls, sick to death of hearing yourself yell about things that didn’t matter, that held no weight.

It didn’t matter what it was, it just gave you the shortest reprieve of feeling something, of feeling angry. It burned hot in your veins, and for a moment, you were full of fire. Until your oxygen ran out, and the fire spluttered before it died away, leaving you panting and exhausted and empty once more.

You knew it concerned Maria. Knew that she didn’t need this, the stress of having some kid that lacked the ability to even feel remorseful for breaking the plate that she had only just given you. She should’ve been focusing on the impending arrival of her actual kid, not feeling responsible for the one her brother-in-law had practically dumped on her doorstep.

But you didn’t ask for this either, did you?

Even when you had tried to leave, tried to get a horse out of its stall in the stable, tried to follow the only people you believed you could trust, you couldn’t.

You just about remember the way Tommy had pulled you back from where you had been frantic, trying to untie the horse in a frenzy as your chest heaved, the abandonment trying to deep into your bones. You had coughed and gasped, doing everything you could to try and get this feeling out of you, but nothing had worked.

Then, you had woken up on Tommy and Maria’s couch, the two of them beginning to doze off as the night crept up on them. It had been Maria who had jolted awake first, even when you just rustled the blanket they’d placed over you.

You didn’t want her pity then, had outright refused it. The two adults had tried to comfort you, but you had made it so difficult — because why should you make it easy? Your trust had been burnt up, your tether had reached its end, and you felt… hopeless.

There was nobody left for you in this world — and you wouldn’t let Maria or Tommy try to change that, even with their consistent attempts at being there for you.

They had relented to letting you remain in the house across the road, despite wanting you to remain in their home. They brought over meals every day, whether it be from the pub in town, or from their own kitchen.

Luckily for you, they hadn’t mentioned the cuts to your hand, the ones you had gotten from scraping up shards of ceramic off of the floor, after yet another one of your meltdowns. Sometimes, the only way you could actually feel that anger, was to let it out. And considering they hadn’t given you any of your weapons back, throwing plates and bowls and cups against all available surfaces had to suffice.

It had been weeks — you were sure of it. As much as you tried not to take count, the absence of the only people you had left made the days and nights pass slowly, so slowly that it was just a matter of how many days had you been throwing things? Or how many nights had remained restless?

It was on the twenty-sixth day that Maria had enough, seeing the remains of yet another plate in the garbage around the back of your house.

“Okay, if you’re gonna keep breaking these, you’re gonna have to start replacing them.” Maria told you, voice sterner than it had been in a long time. She’d tried the gentle approach, tried being soft, tried letting you heal in your own way, but it didn’t seem to be working. So strict Maria it would have to be. “Come with me.”

You followed her, with some reluctance, but you knew you didn’t have much of a choice. After all, as much as you hated to admit it, you relied on her. Without her, you were screwed.

So, you shrugged on your coat, and followed her as the snow crunched underneath your boots. She took turns so quickly, with so little hesitation, that you were almost surprised. You’d been in Jackson for a few weeks, and this didn’t feel familiar to you.

She tugged open a shop door, coughing away the dust that shot up at her, and felt the wall for a light switch, humming in victory when the store lit up.

You looked around, confused. You didn’t have money to buy new plates… and this place looked empty. You turned to Maria, watching as she wiped the dust off of a circular… machine?

“Well, it’s not the cleanest,” She acknowledged, “But there’s some supplies left out back, and the boys know where to get more clay.”

“Clay? What— Maria, what is this place?” You asked, running your finger against the dusty grooves of a wooden table, feeling bumps of dried something, and leaning forward to inspect the tools that had been abandoned on the table.

“Old ceramics shop,” She told you, opening the door to the back section of the shop and opening a window to let the air breathe. “Hasn’t been a big priority, really. Came in to get some plates when some of the houses had none, but nobody’s been all to bothered ‘bout fixing it up.”

“So, why am I here?” You raised your eyebrows, starting to get annoyed.

“Because, you’re gonna fix it up. If you’re gonna keep breaking all my damn plates, you’re gonna have to replace ‘em.” Maria replied, opening the windows at the front of the shop, and twisting the sign on the door from open, to closed.

“I… I don’t know shit about making plates.” You offered up quietly, fingers picking at your nails as you tried to get out of this. You did feel… almost guilty, about her plates, but at the same time, it was all you could do.

“Well, no better time to learn. Got some books around here, that’ll help, I’m sure. You can figure this out.” Maria said, your name falling softly from her lips, and you missed the other thing she was doing, which would be giving you something to do, giving you a purpose.

You huffed, feeling something nervous brewing in your stomach, but nodded at Maria before she left. You looked around the shop, eyebrows creasing as you realised you had a lot of work to do.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Tommy’s face was a sight, the first time he walked into the old ceramics shop.

When Maria had come to him, nearing tears in her excitement, telling him that you had finally done the ceramics shop some good, he hadn’t known exactly what to expect. He was well aware how much time you spent in that old place, and he had scolded you over it numerous times, saying the dust would do you no favours… or whatever.

The two of them knew that really, the ceramics shop had done you some good, but Tommy didn’t quite realise how much effort you had really put into it. Sure, it had been more than a few weeks now, but you were on your own in fixing it up.

So when you opened the door, something so close to a smile on your face, he was surprised. Shocked, even.

The surfaces were clean, for a start, which was nothing short of a miracle in his eyes. The furniture had been put back into place, not counting the pile of rotted wood that was outside, unsalvageable. Old ceramic work had been cleaned and put on display, alongside two names — the artists who made them, Tommy realised quickly.

And then there were the plates sat on the counter. New, slightly misshapen, and there was a box next to them, already filled with old newspaper.

“To replace the ones I broke.” You told him, when he looked at you, eyebrows furrowed. Tommy couldn’t help the smile that grew on him, something proud in his chest.

He hadn’t known you for nearly as long as Joel had, but god, he could recognise it in you immediately. The resemblance to his niece, just barely peeking out when you didn’t bury that part of you. He could see why Joel had gotten so… attached. Even if you didn’t resemble Sarah within your mannerisms in a way that was uncanny, you were a good kid.

Despite all the plate-throwing, name-calling, yelling and tears he’d seen from you, he knew you were good. He couldn’t blame you for your reactions, not with the way you had been left behind. And Tommy — he could understand why Joel did it, far more than you could, at least, but he recognised the pain in you.

Even if Joel did it as a result of his need to protect you, it didn’t come across like that in your eyes. From your view, he had taken the girl he knew for a couple months, and dumped you with his younger brother. He didn’t want you, didn’t care about you. It hurt. It hurt and it burnt your chest when you thought of it, and the only thing that made you feel a different kind of fire was creating your own destruction.

But this, this was different.

Tommy could see it in your face. This was such a drastic change from the girl who did everything she could to destroy what she got her hands on. This was a girl who finally got to create.

And sure, in a box in the corner of the room, there were the shattered remains of your failed attempts, but it hadn’t felt quite the same.

You thought of it this way; by throwing his and Maria’s dinnerware, you were destroying something that belonged to someone else. It was familiar to you. Trying to create the pain that caved your chest in, within another person. And yes, it was wrong, on so many levels, but you couldn’t help it. You just wanted somebody to understand.

When you had taken that first circular sculpture out of the kiln, and thrown it as hard as you could, it almost… hurt. These things were an extension of you. You had shaped these with your own hands, folded them into what you saw fit, so why should you destroy them? How could you? You made them this way.

So you had hidden the rest of the failed attempts, shoved into a cupboard in the back section of the shop, and had piled up your best attempts for Tommy and Maria to take home.

“You’ve been busy,” Tommy said, his eyebrows raised as he walked his way around the old shop, noticing you had even cleaned the two-decades worth of grime from the windows. “These are good, you been working on anythin’ else?”

“Tried a mug,” You offered, shrugging, “Didn’t really go so well. Neither did the bowl.”

“Work in progress,” Tommy replied, knocking your shoulder with his elbow. “Thanks, kid. You didn’t have to.”

“Actually, Maria’s instructions.” You said, but amusement was taking over your voice as you said the words. It was true — she had told you to replace what you had broken. But you hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much.

Tommy laughed, picking up the pile and placing it in the box you’d prepared, three layers of duct tape going either way across the bottom of it. “Well, it’s appreciated, anyway. You ‘round for dinner tonight?”

You shrugged again, making your way behind the counter to shuffle through some things in the back room absentmindedly, rolling your eyes when Tommy followed. You didn’t mind him or Maria hanging around as much as you used to, but you kept them at a distance.

“Come ‘round.” Tommy said then, instead, no longer posing it as a question. They’d tried to get you to move in, take up the spare room that would eventually go to their unborn child, but you’d strongly disagreed.

“You cooking? Or Maria?” You asked him, eyebrow raised as you turned to look at him, leaning back against the counter.

“Maria,” Tommy answered, rolling his eyes at your snicker of amusement. “She tries not to let me within ten feet of the damn oven.”

You couldn’t blame her. On the days that Tommy had brought food over to that big empty house opposite their own, it had been… an experience. Luckily for the two of you, Maria had agreed to go out on less patrols as the weeks passed by, sharing some of Tommy’s nervousness for what could happen.

“Not surprised.” You commented, a small grin on your face. You looked around the room, picking at your fingernails before you spoke up. “Hey, I was thinkin’—”

“That’s dangerous.”

You ignored him, only responding with yet another eye roll, “Get a bed in here, some drawers… could be a good spot for me.”

“Somethin’ wrong with Rancher Street?” He asked, concerned as he stood up straighter, looking around the room, not quite sure why you’d want to leave the house that provided you with plenty of space, warmth, and running water.

“No— No, there’s nothing wrong with it. Just… pretty big space for just one person, y’know?” You said, and gestured towards the door at the other side of the room, “This place has got a bathroom, anyway, so. And I mean, I always eat at yours or at the hall.”

Tommy frowned, contemplating.

Though they would’ve preferred you to have stayed in their home, Tommy and Maria relented when you had insisted on staying in that house. In the end, they had figured, what’s the harm? After all, once Joel and Ellie returned — which Tommy was sure would come, eventually, — they’d be living in that house, too.

That was the point. The house on Rancher Street was reserved for the three of you. Tommy had hoped, secretly, that you staying there, meant you wanted to fix things up, once the others returned.

You looked to him, when he was quiet for a moment too long, and he cleared his throat. “‘Spose it wouldn’t hurt. Bit of a trek from here, to ours, though.”

“Tommy, when I was…” You trailed, looking away, “I used to walk miles in a day. This short walk won’t hurt me.”

“You got a point,” He acknowledged, tipping his head forward, and ignoring your unfinished sentence. “But man, Maria’s not gonna be happy.” He thought of his wife, waddling her way over when she was near-ready to burst, and shook his head with a grin. “For you, I guess she’ll get on with it.”

“Shut up,” You said, amusement clear in your tone. “Now get outta here. I got some more fixin’ up to do.”

Tommy put his hands up in surrender, before slipping the box of plates into his hands, yelling out a, “See you later!” As he left.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes with a begrudgingly fond expression as you took another look around. There was a table that wouldn’t do you any good, too big, so that’d have to go. You wiped your hands against your tattered trousers, and sighed.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

The lights in Jackson were warm, and filled the streets you walked through as the night slowly took over the day. It was nice, being able to see in front of you as the sky darkened. You tried not to get used to it, but knew you were settling.

It was hard not to — especially after Maria had officially declared that the shop was yours, for whatever you wanted to do with it.

You tried not to think of Boston, usually, but the last time you had had something that was truly yours, was there. It was hard to forget the things you had stashed away, hidden underneath floorboards that were concealed by the only half-decent mattress that Tess and Joel could find.

Thinking of that life was painful, especially when realising that it was unreachable. You hadn’t known it, when you’d left Boston QZ, but you would never get to return to that home that you’d built. To those things you had owned. To the family that had grown its roots in that crappy old apartment.

It was something strange, really. To think that all you had, perhaps all you ever would have, belonged to this town. You were reliant on its walls keeping you safe. At least that much was similar to life in Boston.

People were happier here, though.

You probably couldn’t include yourself in that statement, but for the most part, it was true. The streets remained lit through the dark nights, and you could go out for a walk at any time of the day, with no consequences. Which was a bit of luck, considering that Tommy and Maria always ate late on in the day.

Turning on to their street, you frowned, because the lights in the house opposite Tommy and Maria’s — the one you had yet to move out of — were turned on. And you always turned them off before you left.

You hurried into Tommy and Maria’s, shutting the door tightly behind you and kicking your shoes off in the doorway. “Guys?” You called out, hanging your coat beside the doorway and making your way toward where you heard their responding shouts in the kitchen. “What’s going on?” You asked, upon entering the room.

The glance they shared did not go unnoticed by you.

You raised your eyebrows as they looked to you, seeming almost… nervous. “Did you already tell her?” You asked Tommy, and saw the way Maria’s face immediately flashed with confusion.

“Tell me what?” She asked, turning to Tommy whilst being conscious to continue stirring whatever it was that she was cooking.

“I didn’t—”

“Then who’s in the house?” You interrupted, feeling like your stomach was sinking. You’d thought it would be strange for them to immediately place new people in the house, given that you hadn’t quite packed up the few things you had left there, and the shop wasn’t quite ready. But what other explanation was there?

“Okay, let’s just press pause for a second.” Maria said, shaking her head and looking to her husband. “What haven’t you told me?”

“Well,” He began, scratching the back of his neck, and gesturing towards you, “The shop’s lookin’ real good. And she was hoping she could, y’know, get a bed in there, and stay there.”

“So you haven’t moved new people into the house?” You asked her, feeling your stomach swoop down further as you spoke, and your mouth was going dry. “Then, does that mean—”

Tommy held a placating hand toward you, and it just told you all you needed to know.

“When?” You asked, feeling like your fingertips were burning and your chest was going to explode with how tightly it had constricted. They hesitated, so you repeated, more forcefully, “When?”

“No more than a couple hours ago.” Maria said, putting her spoon down on the counter and stepping forward, frowning when you turned away from her. “The guys on the gate spotted ‘em. Pretty banged up, but they’ll be okay. Sent them in to get some rest.”

“And you didn’t come and tell me?” You demanded, though your voice was weak and you had to hold your hand against your chest to try and steady your breathing.

“Kid, we—”

“Don’t call me that!” You snapped, immediately. Tommy sighed through his nose, nodding his head in something close to defeat. “I don’t want to see either of them. I’m not going in there.”

“You don’t have to do anything right now,” Maria said, frowning at your expression. “You can stay here, tonight, and we can sort the shop out for you tomorrow, but…”

Tommy placed a hand against Maria’s shoulder as she trailed off, “We were thinkin’, maybe you guys could talk it out. It’s been a couple months, now.”

“What’s there to talk about?” You questioned, voice sharp and paining your throat as you spoke. “They left me behind. Think that says everything, doesn’t it?”

It was all over their faces, the fact that they wanted to say more, wanted to say something in some kind of defence of the other Miller man, but they knew you. The married couple were more than aware that anything they said would mean nothing to you. You were like Joel, in that way, Tommy had said before. Stubborn.

They nodded, almost in sync, and Maria turned back to the stove, to continue cooking as she had been before.

“Would you get my stuff for me? When you get the chance?” You asked Tommy, who nodded his head, a frown prominent on his face.

“I’ll go first thing.” He replied, secretly hoping that come morning, you’d magically want to make amends with his brother. He knew it wasn’t likely.

“Thank you.” You said, feeling like heat was crawling up your neck the longer you stood there. The fire in your stomach was fading away, just leaving you feeling uncomfortably warm as you stood in the room. “I’m gonna go get some fresh air.” You nodded to the back door, and headed out once they acknowledged your words.

You stepped out, feeling the muggy air cool your lungs. It was colder than you’d expected, especially considering the way heat seemed to cling to everything in these parts, and you had to grind your teeth to stop the shiver that went down your spine.

It was only when Maria called to tell you dinner was ready that you stepped back inside, rubbing your hands against your arms to try and rid your skin of goosebumps.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Tommy had moved you into the shop the very next day, constructing a makeshift bed frame from whatever wood the town could spare, and bringing a mattress from an out-of-use house. You could tell he had wanted to say something, but he held himself back.

Now, it had been almost two weeks since they had returned to Jackson. And you’d been doing a fantastic job of avoiding any sight of them.

It hadn’t been difficult, in the beginning, with them taking time to rest and recover from their journey — or so Maria had told you. But it got harder as the days went on. They were beginning to explore the town, to join in on jobs, to eat where you would usually eat. It was getting annoying.

For the past few months, you’d found it so hard to live without them, but now, you realised it was much harder to live with them around. Hell, you’d even had to avoid Tommy and Maria’s on occasion, because you’d catch yourself starving before being in a room with the two of them, willingly.

Tommy had mentioned that they’d asked about you, that they’d been wondering where you were, but you didn’t need to say much for him to realise that you didn’t want them privy to any information about you. After all, they’d lost that right when they’d abandoned you here, in a town full of strangers, with no concern of what it might do to you.

You were getting angry, the longer it went on, the suspense of when you’d finally catch glimpse of them was eating you up inside. It was like life before Jackson, that feeling of being constantly on edge, of checking behind your shoulder consistently as time passed by.

It was safe to say that you weren’t happy.

You’d tried to keep yourself busy in the shop, in the little safe space in Jackson that was tucked away, belonging only to you, but things seemed tense outside of Jackson, and with Tommy taking on more patrols, Maria had been left alone an awful lot.

Tommy had asked you not to tell her, and you had absolutely no plans to, but he had asked you to hang around with her a bit more.

Partly for her own good, and mostly for his peace of mind. A little part, which he refused to tell you, was that it was also for your own good. Taking your mind off of Joel and Ellie was the best he could do for you, and this was the only way he knew how.

So, you had spent more time than you could’ve imagined at their house. Ending up falling asleep on their couch more times than you could count, with Maria insisting on waiting for Tommy to get home from his late-night patrols. He often came home to the two of you soundly asleep against the couch cushions, and you often woke up in a different position to what you fell asleep in, a blanket covering you and keeping away the slight chill.

It was one of those mornings, and you were in desperate need for a shower and some fresh clothes. You wrote a note for the two of them, knowing it was far too early for them to be up, given the way the sun was only just rising, to let them know you were going back to the shop.

Your feet were dragging with every step you took, and shuffling your jacket around your shoulders took more effort than you had expected. It was definitely going to be a long day, especially since you had promised Maria that you’d help her cook dinner later, considering she was still very against letting Tommy near the stove.

The morning air woke you up the slightest bit, but the chill of the breeze had you rubbing your hands together, regretting not bringing gloves, though you knew that later on it’d be far too warm for them.

You heard your name, and froze where you stood, hands clutched together, one foot in front of the other.

It was like your heart stopped the second you heard it, like it was being squeezed so tightly it couldn’t beat. The sensation made your chest ache, and you grit your teeth to move past the pain that had become all too familiar.

You heard him stop, his footsteps pausing as he hesitated behind you. You stood still for a moment more, before stepping away as he made a move to continue. He said your name again, trying to call you to a stop once more, but you hurried your pace, checking behind you after you had turned the corner, lucky enough to find nothing there.

A sigh escaped you, relaxing your tense shoulders just a fraction as you made a quick journey back to the shop.

You tried not to notice the anxiety balled in your chest when you finally made it. The way it was twisting up, pulling tighter on your lungs and leaving you feeling breathless as you thought too long on the slightest of interactions.

Despite not seeing his face, hearing Joel’s voice made their presence all too real, and you felt… overwhelmed. Nervous. Scared, maybe.

It was too much.

Why did they have to come back? Especially when you knew they hadn’t come back for you, but for the comforts of Jackson.

This was the only place that resembled the world before, the only place where you could feel something close to safe, and you could be comfortable. This town was a place for family, and it was clear that you didn’t have that, anymore.

Joel and Ellie had returned, but they weren’t your family. They had left you behind, to find your own way, whilst they went on an adventure of their own, creating a network of roots to settle in something close to a family of their own. You wondered if Ellie reminded Joel of his daughter, but tried to put the thought to rest as quickly as it arose.

You stepped into the shower, and tried to let the water wash away all thoughts of Joel and Ellie and family.

Later, when you stood at Maria’s side, stirring a pot on the stove as she took a moment to rest, complaining of the way her child was making her back ache. She told you about how it made her feel incredibly old, but you could see the fact that she appreciated it, as something of a reminder of the fact she was still here.

You had hummed along with her tangent, paying attention to her words but not feeling up to speaking all too much. Of course, Maria had noticed. She certainly prided herself on her observation skills.

“What’s up?” She asked softly, a strange contrast the the harsh voice she had just been speaking with as she had criticised her body for the pain it felt. Her hand was placed against the bump that has grown significantly, and you knew she was feeling maternal once again.

“It’s nothing.” You told her, because it was, wasn’t it? Joel and Ellie didn’t care about you, so why would you care about them?

“Mhm,” She hummed, raising her brows at you, “Sure it is. Got nothing to do with the two living across the street?”

You shook your head, continuing to stir the food, and tried your best to let out the sigh in your chest as a normal breath. It didn’t work, and Maria rolled her eyes at your denial of something that was so obvious. You didn’t say anything else on the matter, and couldn’t help but feel relieved when she finally let it rest. The two of you finished cooking, with you doing most of the work, and her giving all of the instructions.

But hey, you were much better than Tommy was, despite your inexperience.

It was when the door was knocked whilst you and Maria sat in their living room that you felt that tightening of your chest once again. She glanced to you, taking in the way your limbs had immediately tensed, all of your muscles straining like you weren’t sure whether to bolt, or stay completely still.

She raised a hand, telling you to wait where you were, and made her way to the front door after much groaning in her attempts to get up from the sofa cushions. You refrained from telling her that you were surprised she could manage it on her own, considering the size of her baby bump.

“Hey, Maria.” A familiar voice spoke, and your hands clenched into fists against your thighs, “Tommy in?” Joel asked, remaining outside the house.

“No, uh— he’s on a late patrol, today.” Maria responded, her voice much lighter when she spoke to Joel than it had been when the three of you had first arrived to Jackson.

“Ah,” Joel sighed, and you could hear him taking a step back on the porch, disappointment lacing his tone. It was too familiar. “Mind if I pop by, later on?” He asked, far more hopeful than you had ever heard him.

“Uh…” Maria trailed, and you knew she was looking back in the hallway, unsure if you’d be staying overnight. The wooden floorboards of the porch creaked as Joel stepped forward again, and you heard Maria shushing him as you clenched your teeth together. “Not now, Joel. It’s not a good time. I’ll tell Tommy to stop by yours.”

He sighed, and it was like you were back in Boston, with how heavy he sounded.

It was the same way he would sigh when you got too excited over something, like he was disappointed. Back then, you had thought it had been because he couldn’t guarantee anything for you. Now, you had no idea. You had always believed you had known him and Tess almost too well, but over the past few months, you realised just how wrong you were. Back in Boston, if someone had told them what would happen when you arrived in Jackson, you would’ve laughed in their face. Would’ve been so certain that Joel would never leave your side. You had no idea how wrong you were.

You swallowed, your throat feeling tight, and your tongue feeling like it was too big for your mouth as you heard the door shut, and Maria rounded the corner with a tight smile on her face.

With your heart pounding, you looked at her where she stood, and stopped her just before she could sit down, blurting: “Can you cut my hair?”

Her surprise was evident, but Maria nodded her head, and you tried to breathe through the pain in your lungs as you followed her to the kitchen.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was week four, and Joel was getting antsy.

Every time he sat down, he found his fingers tapping an unknown rhythm against his trousers, his legs bouncing up and down as he nervously scanned the room, as though you’d appear from around the corner at any second. Of course, it never happened.

Each time he arrived back to the house on Rancher Street, Ellie’s head perked up, the most hopeful he’d seen her since before winter, and he had to shake his head. Had to watch her expression fall.

When he had seen you leaving Tommy and Maria’s, far too early in the morning for anyone to be awake, something had risen in his chest. He knew it was stupid, that he was a fool for thinking you might speak to him after what he did, but he had hoped so badly that you might just understand.

It was the closest he had been to you in weeks, and he hadn’t even managed to see your face up close, had only just about seen a glimpse of it when you had dragged yourself from Tommy’s porch. The moment he had gotten close enough to reach for you, you had bolted, leaving his hand halfway raised into the air as he stared after you, wondering if he should follow you, or let you go.

When he’d arrived at Tommy and Maria’s one evening, hoping to talk to Tommy about his anxieties, he’d found something else. They were shielding you.

And yes, he had asked them to protect you, had trusted them with something he had never even fully trusted himself with, but god. Joel had never expected that they would protect you from him.

But now, here he was, standing in front of an old shop that had likely seen better days, two decades ago. Ellie was by his side, her hand gripping the sleeve of his coat tightly, before she released it to knock loudly against the shop door.

He had half-expected for you to not answer.

Seeing your face, properly, for the first time in months was not the moment Joel had hoped for it to be. Not when your expression had immediately fallen from something of confusion to anger, to something defensive.

“Hi.” Joel breathed, feeling like he should really kick himself for the pathetic attempt at a greeting. Ellie was close to trembling at his side, trying to stay indifferent, but even from the corner of his eye he could see that hope rising in her expression.

“What do you want?” You snapped at them, wanting nothing more than to close the door in their faces, to slam it shut and lock it, to never open it again. But you refrained, something in your chest balling tighter, but you couldn’t help the desire that arose for something. An explanation, maybe. A good enough reason for you to forgive them, perhaps.

Joel jumped in before Ellie could, saying, “Plates!” He saw Ellie’s head whip towards him, a dumbfounded expression painted across her face. He watched you blink in surprise, and saw your expression go towards indifference as you huffed, and moved away from the door, allowing him to push it open a bit more, pulling Ellie in with him. She closed it behind her.

The silence lingers as you busy yourself with fortifying a box, feeling bitterness creeping up your throat. You thought about why they needed plates, and could not grind your teeth together, somewhat hoping that the scratches and dents in the kitchen counters couldn’t be fixed.

“Listen,” Your head snapped up to him, knowing what came next, and saw the way he backed down, the word kid dying on his lips. He cleared his throat as you went back to taping the cardboard box. “We were hopin’… that, uh, we could all have a talk. Clear things up.”

“I don’t know, Joel,” You began, the bitterness falling off of your tongue with every word, “You guys leaving seemed clear enough to me.”

He hated how much older you sounded.

“We left because we had to, not because we wanted to.” Joel defended, immediately, feeling the hope that had been flickering in his chest for the past four weeks sputter out.

“I remember trying to come with you,” You said offhandedly, keeping your eyes on the cardboard box as you put the final third piece of duct tape across the bottom. “You said: ‘me and Ellie. Not you.’ Remember?”

Ellie’s expression fell further, somehow, and Joel gaped for a moment, flashing back to the way your own face had fallen at his words.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” He said your name, almost like a plead, and frowned when you just turned to go towards the back side of the room, beside a closed door. You ignored it, collecting some of the better looking plates that had been stacked up there. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I know you never asked for any of this.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. I wanted to stay with you. That’s what I wanted. No matter what might’ve happened, I just wanted to be with you two. You took that from me.” You said, voice harsher than Joel had ever heard it, even from when he and Tess had first taken you in. Remembering that version of you was painful, because he saw no resemblance within the you that stood before him.

Ellie spoke up then, her eyebrows furrowed inwards as she became something far too close to angry as she said your name, “You have no idea what we’ve been through—”

“You’re right.” You cut her off, placing the stack of plates in the cardboard box with a loud thud, “I don’t. And who’s fault is that?”

You looked between the two of them, as if you were expecting the answer, but Joel couldn’t bring himself to say it. You were so grown up, and he couldn’t understand it. It had only been a few months.

At their silence, you scoffed, and shoved the box towards them, watching as Joel instinctively shot his hand out to prevent it from falling off of the edge of the counter. He took the box, feeling like it was far too heavy for what it was, but perhaps that was just the conversation.

“I want you guys to go now.” You said, firm, despite the way your voice tried to shake. You wouldn’t let your voice tremor, not in front of them. Not when they didn’t deserve your devastation.

Joel’s face fell, a common theme in each of your recent interactions, and couldn’t help the way he felt sick to his stomach. All those months ago, you had been asking to leave with them, and now here you were, looking at him with eyes that he didn’t recognise, telling him to leave.

“Come on, Ellie.” He said reluctantly, turning away from where you stood, chin held high.

“No!” Ellie replied loudly, her lip trembling as she looked between you and Joel, like she was expecting something to magically repair the rift between you. Unfortunately, this world was real, and it was ugly, and you weren’t sure that fixing things was even possible. “We— We can’t just give up.” She said, pleadingly, looking to Joel to fix things, like she was so used to him doing.

But Joel knew that this was something he couldn’t fix so easily. “We’re not giving up.” He responded then, training his gaze on you, where your eyebrows had furrowed and you had turned your face away from them.

“You should.” You told him, your own trembling lip matching Ellie’s, before you turned away fully, making the short few steps and entering the back room, shutting the door tightly behind you.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“You asshole!” You yelled, the moment you saw Tommy stood in the kitchen doorway of his home, with him having turned to face you at the sound of his front door slamming open. He looked confused, but you didn’t fall for that expression, even as he said your name in an even more confused tone.

You stormed over to him, pushing your hands against his chest and feeling him take a bracing step back, not stopping you. He held his hands up by his side, surrendering once again, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from stinging with tears.

“How could you fucking do that to me?” You asked almost desperately, pushing your palm against his shoulder again, and then you felt Maria step around him, place a hand toward you that you flinched back from.

“Do what?” Tommy questioned, dumbfounded, and holding a hand up toward Maria, who backed off at your blatant dismissal of comfort.

“Tell them about my shop!”

Tommy’s face became one of realisation, and Maria whacked a hand against his chest. He immediately looked guilty a moment after the realisation, and held his hands out towards you.

“I let it slip, I know, but I didn’t realise he’d noticed. I swear, I wouldn’t tell him that purposely. He came ‘round?” Tommy spoke, frowning when you took a step away from his hands as they reached for you. He couldn’t help but feel like Joel had unravelled all the trust he had built with you, and his frustration grew at the second realisation of the evening. You could only nod in response, your expression a mixture of anger and devastation. “I’m sorry, kiddo, I didn’t mean for that. Joel wants to fix things up, yeah, but—”

“Fix things? Tommy, how could he fix things?” You asked, your volume raising immediately as you cut him off. “Joel— He knew everything about me, and he chose to leave. He left me willingly! That isn’t… every time I see myself, I see those parts that he rejected. How do you fix that? Tell me how you fix that, and I’ll fucking do it, Tommy, but I can’t figure it out. How can you fix that? How can you forgive that?”

You were yelling, you knew you were, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Everything you had built in Jackson was shattering like those stupid plates in that stupid kitchen. Tears were falling down your face, and Tommy blurred away as your eyes continued to fill with them. It felt never ending, this whole situation did. How did you fix this? Could you?

“I don’t know.” Tommy admitted, feeling like his heart could tear from his chest as he looked at you, your breaths shaking as you tried to get through sobs, your face covered in tears, chest heaving. “But we’re going to figure this out. We’ve got you.”

He moved towards you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders when he realised you’d let him. He felt your arms tremble as they wrapped around him, and he stared past your head as he took notice of Joel frowning in the still-open doorway. They shared a look, and Tommy gave Joel an all too familiar expression, one that he used to give when Sarah would be upset. Too upset for anybody else but Joel to be present.

It felt strange, to Joel, not only to be on the receiving end of the look, but because it was concerning you. But what was he meant to do? How could he fix it?

Joel frowned, nodding at his younger brother, and closed their front door as he turned away, breathing out a sigh that felt far too heavy. He needed to figure this out.

“Come on,” Tommy said, after a few moments, when he was certain you hadn’t noticed Joel closing the door. He led you over to the sofa where Maria was waiting, and when you collapsed next to her, they held you between them until you fell asleep, face still wet from tears. “It’ll be okay.” He spoke, quietly, despite knowing you were asleep. He was half saying it to himself and Maria, too. They needed the reassurance just as much as you did.

Tommy decided then, that when you woke up in the morning, he would do his best to help you figure everything out. And as he shared a look with Maria, he knew that she’d be there, helping right at his side.

PART THREE

[m4ycrowave]

Can't wait to see Wilbur today!!

posting it now in case I end up posting another drawing after the Wilbur stream

all smiles here nothing will go wrong, nothing goes wrong on qsmp ever!! No sir!!

[maybmila]

Angst be upon ye