#her main purpose was to just keep people alive

[paterday]

👁👁

You uh getting some ideas for Aura and Omen?

Don’t look at me with those big ol eyes I’m SHY

Here’s an image of. The silly for your troubles

that being said.

[stylesispunk]

"Blind Faith" | part i

Priest!Joel Miller x nightclub dancer!reader

masterlist | next chapter

summary: Running away from your home, you found a small town to stay. Once there, you met people and the priest, Joel.

wc: 5,2 k

warnings: age gap (Joel is in his late 40s, reader in her late 20s), religious conflict, a crisis of faith, temptation, forbidden attraction, forbidden romance, eventual smut, social expectations, nightlife themes, the contrast between joel's and your world, protests, mentions of exile, mention of politics. For clarification, reader is Latina on this one.

a/n: Hello. I wanted this story to be something beyond a forbidden romance between two people, after reading books and watching things I wanted to recall that reader's background comes from her being an activist. I want to approach all the topics with all due respect and I hope you do too, nevertheless, those are not going to be the main center of the story.

Happy reading and please tell me what are your thoughts about this one.

You had built a life most people only dreamed of. A life filled with passion, purpose, and the kind of joy that comes from doing what you love. You were surrounded by friends who understood you, a family you cherished with every fiber of your being, and a career that made waking up every morning feel like stepping into a dream.

You had studied dance at university, dedicating years to perfecting your craft until movement became your language, your art, your very identity. But you didn’t see yourself just as an artist, you were educated. You had spent your life asking questions, seeking answers, and standing for what was right. Politics fascinated you, not as a distant game played by men in suits, but as something alive, something that shaped the world around you. You were drawn to justice, to fairness, to the fight for those whose voices were drowned out by oppression.

Protests became as much a part of your life as well as performances. You had stood in the streets, chanting until your voice was hoarse, raising signs, raising awareness, raising hell when it was necessary. You believed in change, in the power of people united. But belief alone was never enough to stop what came next.

The illusion of safety shattered the moment power fell into the wrong hands. The men who took control of your country did not tolerate opposition. They did not welcome free thought or voices that questioned their authority. People like you, the educated, the artists, the teachers, all who had seek justice, were dangerous but because you couldn’t be controlled. Because you saw through their lies.

You remember the night your world collapsed. The hurried whispers in the dark. The fear in your mother’s eyes. The way your brother’s hands shook as he cut your hair, disguising you in a desperate attempt to buy you time. ��

He drove you to the airport as your heart pounded, then, you boarded that plane, leaving behind everything you had ever known. Your home. Your family. The life you had built.

And that is why you ended up here, in a bus driving to a foreign city located in California. The bus rattled as it rolled into town, the low hum of the engine filling the silence of the nearly empty cabin. You sat near the window, watching the Californian sun stretch across the dry fields, golden and endless, nothing like the dense, humid air of home.

 Home.

The word sat heavy in your chest, a place you could no longer name without feeling the weight of exile pressing against your ribs.

This town was small, quieter than you expected, but that was good. You needed a quiet, a place to disappear, to become no one, to not be recognized. You stepped off the bus with only a battered leather suitcase and a name written on a slip of paper.

The paradise, a nightclub where a friend of a friend had said you might find work.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, though the air was warm. You must have learned to move carefully, to keep your eyes down, to not be recognized. But you couldn't help glancing up at the church as you stepped off the bus.  

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing on the steps, speaking to a woman holding a little baby in her arms. There was, a priest, dressed in black, with tired eyes and a kindness in the way he bent his head to listen. He looked up, meeting your gaze for the first, just for a fleeting second. Then, his gaze left your eyes, leaving you with a weird feeling, warmth rising up to your cheeks.

You pulled the slip of paper from your pocket, staring at the name scrawled in fading ink staring at the name scrawled in fading ink. The paradise.  

When you lifted your gaze again, the priest wasn't there anymore.

You sighed and adjusted the trap of your suitcase over your shoulder, feeling anxious creeping upon your skin as you try to picture your life in a foreign place.

You looked towards the church in the front of the street, where the priest had stood minutes before, perhaps trying to look and answer to your questions. You weren't a religious person, but you did believe in calls, and you felt the pulling thread forcing you to walk towards the church, as if something were calling you, perhaps someone.

Your feet found their way to the old church at the edge of town, its stone walls worn and cracked from years of standing against the wind. It loomed tall and hollow, the kind of place that had seen more sorrow than joy. You hesitated at the entrance, your heart beating faster than you liked.

Why am I even here? you thought. But the pull wouldn’t let you turn away.

You stepped inside.

The stained glass cast soft, fractured colors onto the worn wooden pews, painting the empty space in hues of crimson, gold, and deep blue. The scent of burning wax and old books filled your senses, grounding you in a place that felt both foreign and strangely familiar.

Your footsteps echoed as you moved deeper inside, the vast silence of the church swallowing every sound. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, an answer, a sign, something to tell you that coming here wasn’t a mistake.

The priest where nowhere to be found, so you took seat in one of the wooden benches, perhaps waiting, perhaps resting.

You got yourself comfortable, the sleep catching upon you. Your body felt heavy, exhaustion creeping into your bones the moment you allowed yourself to rest. The weight of the suitcase by your side, the long journey that had brought you here, it all pressed down on you at once. The church, with its quiet stillness, felt like the safest place you’d been in weeks.

That was where Joel Miller found you.

On a quiet evening when the chapel was empty, save for the flickering candlelight and the faint scent of incense clinging to the air. You were curled up on one of the wooden pews, arms folded beneath your head, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

He cleared his throat, but you didn’t stir. He hesitated before reaching out, tapping your shoulder. “Miss?” His voice came softer than he expected. “You can’t sleep here.”

"Father, do you always wake up strangers like this?"

Your voice was thick with sleep, eyes blinking against the dim glow of the chapel’s candlelight. The air smelled of old wood, wax, and something faintly metallic, like rain on stone. You looked young like this, your face soft, but Joel knew better. You shouldn't be older than thirty.

"You can’t sleep here," he repeated.

You smirked, rubbing your eyes. "Didn’t know God kicked people out."

Joel exhaled sharply. The world outside was changing, rock ‘n’ roll, free love, protests, women in miniskirts. But in this town, in this chapel, things were supposed to stay the same.

This town hadn’t met those changes.

Joel stood over you, stiff-backed, his fingers still hovering near your shoulder from where he’d tapped you awake. He shouldn’t have noticed the way your legs stretched across the pew, the way your blouse, too low-cut for a place like this, shifted as you moved, leaving no place to imagination.

Joel exhaled sharply. Lord, give me patience.

"This isn’t a shelter," he said. "If you need a place—"

"I'm not homeless" Your tone was firm and final, as if you were done, but there was something else in your voice too, something he couldn’t quite place, but it hinted sadness. "I just got into town," you admitted after a beat, glancing toward the stained-glass windows, dark now with the night. "Didn’t know where else to go. At least not tonight."

Joel studied you, his chest tightening."Are you in trouble?"

A small, humorless laugh left you. "Depends on what you call trouble."

Silence filled the chapel, thick and unmoving. The rain had stopped, leaving only the distant hum of the highway beyond the hills.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said finally. But his voice had lost its authority, had softened just enough that he felt the weight of it settle in his own bones.

“Why?” You asked

Joel exhaled slowly, shifting on his feet. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way his jaw tensed, something he was holding back.

"You can’t stay here," he said again, voice firm but not unkind.

You sat up properly this time, stretching your legs out in front of you, your boots scraping against the floor. His eyes flicked to them, brief, barely noticeable, you caught it, but you chose not to say anything.

"Didn’t mean to cause a problem," you said, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"You’re not a problem," he said, then hesitated. "But this isn’t a place for…"

You arched a brow. “For what? For a woman like me?”

For someone wearing boots and a blouse that clung a little too tight, a skirt that rode too high when you stretched out.

He didn’t utter that the sentence. Instead, he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

"Where you planning on staying tonight?" he asked.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Haven’t figured that part out yet."

Joel frowned. "You got family here?"

"No father, I don’t."

"Friends?"

"No."

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it. So, you’re alone.

You weren’t sure if that unsettled him or if it was something else.

He shifted again, exhaling through his nose like he was about to say something he’d regret.

"There’s a place near the church," he finally said. "A small guesthouse. Church used to use it for traveling pastors, but it’s empty now. You can stay there tonight."

You studied him. "Why?"

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean, why?"

"I mean, why help me? You don’t know me."

Joel was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. "That doesn’t mean I should turn you away."

You held his gaze, searching for something in it—hesitation, reluctance. But there was only conviction.

And yet you could feel something else there, buried beneath all that righteousness behind his clothes.

Something you hadn’t named yet.

"Alright, Father," you said finally, standing up. "Lead the way."

He hesitated, just for a second. Then, he turned, stepping toward the chapel doors, and you followed.

Back at his house behind the church, Joel lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The wooden beams above cast long shadows in the dim glow of the lamp beside his bed. He should’ve been sleeping, his body was tired enough for I, but his mind refused to settle. It was noisier than ever.

His thoughts kept drifting back to something else, to you. To the way you’d looked at him when you stood up from that pew, like you already knew he wasn’t as correct as he pretended to be.

To your voice, husky with sleep, the way you stretched without a care in the world. To your legs.

Joel shut his eyes. Lord, give me strength.

It had been a passing glance, barely a flicker of a thought, but now it gnawed at him.

He had seen a lot of things in his years as a priest. A lot of people in need, a lot of wandering souls. But he wasn’t blind. He could recognize beauty when it was right in front of him. And tonight, for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just his faith speaking.

It was something else. It felt dangerous.

He turned onto his side, sighing through his nose. This was just another test. He’d seen men struggle with temptation, had guided them through it. This was no different.

You were just a woman in need. That’s all. That’s all.

And yet, sleep never came easy that night.

The early sun cast long golden beams through the chapel windows as Joel made his way to the guesthouse. He carried a small plate of toast and eggs, as a gesture of hospitality. He thought about last night, on how he hadn’t offered food or a cup of tea.

He wanted to show kindness, but the second he stepped inside, he knew.

The bed was made, the blanket neatly folded. No sign of anyone.

And on the small wooden table by the window, a note.

Joel set the plate down and picked it up, his fingers tightening around the paper.

"Thank you for your help, Father."

That was it. No name, no explanation. Just a quiet departure, as if you’d never been there at all.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring at the empty room.

Something settled deep in his chest, something that felt too much like disappointment.

He was afraid of the fleeting feelings coming to him. Because last night, he’d told himself you were just passing through. But now, standing here, he wasn’t sure he believed it.

You were strong and brave enough this day. When you found yourself in the front of the paradise, the neon light flickered weakly in the daylight, music pulsed behind the doors, muffled but steady, a heartbeat beneath the night.

You inhale deeply, pushing the door behind.

The club smelled of sweat, perfume, and cigarette smoke. It wasn’t alive as you expected to be during the day, but there were men in tight pants, women in flowing skirts, people who existed somewhere in between, all shining under the low, colored lights of the place.

This wasn’t the kind of stage you were used to. But it was something.

Behind the bar, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard was pouring whiskey into a glass, his gold rings catching the light. He spotted you instantly, eyes narrowing slightly before softening.

“You must be the new girl,” he said, voice thick with an accent she couldn’t place.

You hesitated for a moment, but then you nodded.

The man wiped his hands on a towel, then leaned over the counter, studying you.

“You dance?” He asked.

You lifted your chin. “Yes.”

He smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

A warm hand touched your back.

Your turned to find a woman at your side, tall, dark-skinned, with a shimmering dress that clung to her curves. Her lipstick was deep red, her eyes lined in black.

“Come on, cariño,” the woman purred. “Let’s get you ready.”

You swallowed, but you followed her backstage.

Backstage was a blur of colors, perfume, and laughter. The other dancers moved around you effortlessly, adjusting their costumes, fixing their makeup, teasing each other in rapid-fire whispers. You stood still, taking it all in. People here were wild, free and beautiful, and you smiled at that.

The woman who had led you back, Carmen, handed you a black slip dress. It was simple, barely more than a tiny thing of fabric, with thin straps that draped off your shoulders.

“You need shoes?” Carmen asked, watching as you slipped it over your head.

You shook your head “I’ll dance barefoot.”

Carmen raised a perfectly sculpted brow but didn’t argue. “Suit yourself.”

The music outside shifted, growing louder. Your stomach tightened.

You had danced for crowds a thousand times before, but never like this. This wasn’t a stage with velvet curtains, with polished floors and orchestrated movements. This was something raw and new for you, something meant to be felt rather than admired.

You exhaled slowly.

You’ve already lost everything. What’s left to be afraid of?

A hand touched your shoulder. She turned to find Carmen smiling. “You’re up next, estrella.”

The lights were dim when you stepped onto the small, elevated platform.

The club wasn’t packed, but there were enough people to make the air thick with murmurs and expectation. A few heads turned, eyes gliding over you as you took your place.

You closed your eyes.

The music started, a slow, sultry rhythm, deep bass vibrating through your bones.

And then you moved. At first, it was instinct. The slow bend of your knees, the gentle sway of your hips. You let the music guide you, feeling it the way you once had in the studio, back when you were still the dancer, before you became the fugitive.

Your arms lifted, fluid and controlled, your body following in careful, deliberate motions.

And then you forgot to be careful. You turned, arching into a spin, the hem of your dress fluttering around your thighs. You let your feet move the way they had been trained to—pointed toes, precise steps, every motion a whisper of the ballerina you once were.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

Someone murmured, “Mierda… she can dance.”

You barely heard them. For the first time in months, you felt like yourself again. Not a girl running, not a girl hiding, but a girl who had been born to dance.

You let yourself go. By the time the music ended, a hush had fallen over the club.

And then—applause. You stood there, breathing hard, your skin glowing under the soft red lights.

When you stepped down from the platform, Carmen was waiting, grinning.

“Dios mío,” she said, shaking her head. “Where the hell did you come from?”

You just smiled. You didn’t have an answer for that. But for the first time since you had arrived, you felt like you had found a piece of home to stay in.

The night air was warmer as you made your way back to the church, the scent of warm pastries wrapped in cloth filling your hands. The applause from the club still echoed in your ears, the feeling of movement still lingering in your limbs. You felt light. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt less lonely.

You paused at the entrance, looking up at the towering stone structure, its stained glass barely illuminated by the sunlight. The contrast was almost laughable.

The dancer and the priest. A contradiction in itself.

With a breath, you stepped inside.

He was there, seated at one of the pews, his back turned to you. His posture was stiff, as if he’d been deep in thought, or perhaps in prayer.

“Father.”

He turned sharply at your voice, his dark eyes immediately landing on you. For a moment, he said nothing, just studying you as if trying to figure out why you had come back.

You held up the bundle in your hands. “I brought you something.”

His gaze flickered to the wrapped pastries before settling back on your face. Slowly, he stood, walking toward you with careful, deliberate steps. When he got close, the faint scent of smoke and candle wax clung to him.

“You didn’t have to,” he muttered, but he still took them from you. His fingers brushed yours briefly, warm, rough, calloused. The hands of a man who had worked long before he had ever been a priest.

You shrugged. “It’s a thank-you. For helping me yesterday.”

He watched you for a beat before nodding. “Did you find a place to stay?”

“I did.”

He didn’t ask where. He just looked at you, waiting. Maybe he wanted to know. Maybe he already had an idea.

You weren’t going to tell him either.  Instead, you smiled. “Don’t eat them all at once, Father.”

Joel’s eyes flickered down, lingering for a second longer than they should have. You noticed.

It was brief, so brief you might have convinced yourself you imagined it. But you didn’t. His gaze had traced over the curve of your waist, the way the fabric of your blouse rested against your skin, the gentle swell of your collarbones. The flicker of something unreadable in his expression disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Do you—” He hesitated. “Would you like to talk?”

You raised a brow. “Talk?”

He nodded, tilting his head toward one of the wooden pews. “If you want.”

A small part of you wanted to tease him, ask if priests usually invited strange women to talk in dimly lit churches. But you swallowed the thought.

Instead, you sighed, walking past him and settling onto the worn wooden bench. You crossed one leg over the other, tapping your fingers idly on the surface. Joel sat beside you, close, but not too close.

The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“Is this the part where I have to confess my sins?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Joel exhaled through his nose, almost like a quiet laugh. “Only if you want to.”

You studied him for a moment. The way his hands rested on his lap; fingers curled slightly as if he wasn’t quite at ease. The tension in his shoulders, the quiet restraint in his posture.

You tilted your head. “What about you, Father?”

His gaze lifted to meet yours.

“What do you believe in?” you asked.

Joel didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, something shifting in his expression. He looked away, staring at the rows of empty pews, at the altar beyond. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his fingers drumming idly against his knee. Then, without looking at you, he asked, “Why’d you come here?”

You blinked at him. “Here? To the church?”

He nodded. “Last night”

You considered lying. It would be easier. But something about the way he was looking at the altar, like it held answers he wasn’t sure he wanted, made you tell the truth.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just… felt like I had to. Like, something just called me, you know?”

His gaze flicked to you then, studying, searching. “You’re not religious.” It wasn’t a question.

You smirked. “Is it that obvious?”

Joel didn’t return the smile. He just kept watching you, unreadable. “Then what are you looking for?”

That was a harder question. Peace? A sense of belonging? A place to rest? You weren’t sure.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “Something different. A fresh start.”

Joel hummed, thoughtful. He leaned back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him. “And you think you’ll find that here?”

You sighed, tilting your head toward him. “What’s with the interrogation, Father? Trying to save my soul?”

This time, he did smile. Barely. Just a flicker of amusement in his expression. “I think your soul is doing just fine on its own.”

That shouldn’t have made your heart stutter the way it did.

Joel shifted, bracing his elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “You got people looking for you?”

Your breath caught. There it was. The question you’d been dreading.

You glanced away, suddenly very interested in the cracks in the wooden pew beneath you. “No,” you said eventually. “No one’s looking.”

Joel didn’t press. He just nodded slowly, like he had believed you.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The church was silent except for the occasional creak of wood settling, the distant sound of footsteps from somewhere outside.

Then Joel inhaled, shifting beside you. “You should be careful.”

You turned to him, frowning. “Why?”

His jaw tightened. He hesitated, then sighed. “This town—it’s small. People notice things.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “And what have they noticed about me?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to your hands resting in your lap, then back up to your face.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “Yet.”

The word lingered between you, heavier than the silence that followed.

“What about?” you asked, “What do you notice about me?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just looked at you, eyes unreadable, something working behind them, something you couldn’t quite place.

You held his gaze, waiting, heartbeat steady but slow.

Then, he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “I noticed you don’t like talking about yourself.”

Your lips quirked. “Maybe I just don’t like talking to priests.”

That got the barest huff of amusement from him. “Could be.” His fingers tapped lightly against his knee before he added, “But I think it’s more than that.”

You arched a brow. “Oh?”

Joel nodded, his voice quieter when he spoke again. “I think you’ve been running from something”

That made your stomach tighten.

Your first instinct was to deny it, to smirk, roll your eyes, brush it off like he was just another man who thought he had you figured out. But Joel wasn’t just another man. And the way he was looking at you, like he could see past whatever mask you were wearing, made it harder to lie.

Your fingers curled slightly against your lap. “And what makes you think that?”

Joel leaned back slightly, stretching one arm along the pew. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “The way you don’t settle,” he said simply. “Not even when you’re sitting still.”

The words sent something sharp through your chest.

You swallowed, looking away, suddenly feeling too seen, too exposed. “Maybe I just don’t like these wooden benches.”

Joel hummed, like he wasn’t convinced. But he didn’t push, instead he smiled at you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows across the empty church.

Then, finally, Joel shifted beside you. “Did you eat?”

The abrupt change caught you off guard. You blinked, glancing at him. “What?”

His expression was unreadable again, but his voice was casual when he repeated, “Did you eat?”

You frowned. “Why?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Because if you haven’t, I got food in the back.”

You tilted your head, a small smirk playing at your lips. “Are you asking me if I want to eat these pastries with you, Father?”

Joel huffed, shaking his head as he glanced down at the bag of pastries still resting between you. “You brought them” he said gruffly. “Seems only fair.”

You pretended to consider it, tapping a finger against your knee. “Well, I supposed I must take you for a man who shares.”

He shot you a look, one that might’ve been stern if not for the flicker of something else in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name.

“Don’t make me take it back,” he muttered.

You bit back a grin, shrugging as you reached for the bag. “Well, if you insist.”

Joel stood, nodding his head toward the back of the church. “Come on. I’m not going sit out here and eat in the dark like some kind of—” he gestured vaguely before shaking his head. “Just come on.”

You followed, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the stone floors. The air was warmer in the back rooms, less hollow than the empty church.

Joel pulled out a chair for you at a small wooden table, and you sat, watching as he grabbed a couple of plates and a knife.

“Tea?” he asked.

You arched a brow. “Didn’t take you for a tea drinker.”

Joel shot you another look. “Or coffee. Pick one.”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Tea.”

He nodded, setting a teapot on the stove before sitting across from you. The candlelight flickered between you, soft and warm.

You broke off a piece of pastry, popping it into your mouth. “Not bad,” you admitted.

Joel took a bite himself, chewing slowly. Then, he glanced at you,

You weren’t looking at him, too focused on the pastry in your hands, the way the flaky crust crumbled against your fingers. But he was looking at you.

He hadn’t meant to, not like this, not for this long. But there was something about the way you sat there, elbows on the table, the candlelight casting soft golden hues over your skin. Something about the curve of your lips as you chewed thoughtfully, the way your lashes lowered when you focused.

You were different. A fresh breath in a town that had long gone stale, where faces blurred together, where days passed without change. But you—

You weren’t part of this place. Not yet. And maybe that was what drew him in.

His gaze flickered lower, just for a second. The delicate slope of your collarbones, the soft neckline of your blouse that dipped just enough to hint at what lay beneath. He swallowed, jaw tensing, and forced himself to look away, to focus on something else, the flickering candle, the steam rising from the kettle.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, your voice pulling him back.

Joel cleared his throat. “Just thinking.”

You tilted your head, studying him now, those sharp eyes of yours peeling away layers he hadn’t realized were there. “About what?”

He could’ve lied. Could’ve told you something simple, something easy.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Nothing important.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t push, just took another bite of pastry.

And Joel? Joel tried not to look at your lips when you did.

The teapot whistled, breaking the silence. Joel pushed back his chair, a little too fast, the legs scraping against the wooden floor. He muttered something under his breath, maybe a curse, maybe just an exhale—as he stood and turned toward the stove.

You watched him, chin resting in your hand, fingers tapping absently against your cheek.

He moved with quiet fast, pouring the hot water into two mismatched mugs, the steam curling up between you like an unspoken thought.

“Sugar?” he asked.

You hummed, pretending to think. “Do you have honey?”

Joel shot you a dry look but opened a small cupboard, rummaging until he found a half-used jar. He set it down in front of you, his fingers brushing the edge of your mug as he did.

You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, taking a slow sip.

Joel sat back down, quieter this time, his elbows resting on the worn wooden table.

You tilted your head. “So, do priests always offer tea and pastries to strangers passing by?”

A corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “No.”

You raised a brow. “Just me, then?”

Joel held your gaze, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his brown eyes. Then he looked away, took a slow sip of his own tea.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just you.”

You set your cup down gently, the porcelain clinking softly against the table. "Thanks for being so kind to me." you said, your voice low, more than just for the tea and pastries. It was for the quiet, for the refuge, for something you couldn't quite explain.

Joel didn’t respond right away, but you saw the faintest shift in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders easing just a little. His eyes flickered back to yours, and there was something different about the way he looked at you now, less guarded, almost as if he’d let a small part of himself slip into the space between you.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, then reached for the teapot, his fingers brushing the warm ceramic. "You don't have to thank me," he said quietly. "It's... it’s nothing."

But you both knew it wasn’t nothing. It never was.

Behind his intentions there was always kindness, but now something new flickered.

A temptation threatening his faith, like the world had set on fire the moment you glances met for the first time and he wanted the flames to catch him to be saved by you.

tags: if you want to be removed, you're free to tell me.

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[eureka-its-zico]

Residuals

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: So, I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to do this, but honestly, I’m such a sl*t for Noah Wyle and older men. I also kept running into there being just hardly any fics in general for this amazing show and so…here I am. Attempting to create my version with an OC that does have a last name (it's for the doctor purposes but also I hate that whole y/n, y/l/n stuff, ok? It just throws my ass off and throws me out of a story) and follows along with the episodes of the show. Idk how this will go or be received but I’m here wrecking myself. Much Love

Shout out to @viridian-dagger for looking this over for me and hyping me up when I feel like my shit is trash. I Love you. Also, thanks to @strangergraphics for the cute little divider.

Word Count: 3259

Next I

7:00 AM

“No, absolutely not. Ask someone else.”

The break room was the perfect place for Gloria’s early morning ambush. You’d barely pushed in the numbers on the keypad, the door swinging open when your gaze homed in on her position leaning against the small kitchenette. The words blurted out from a place deeply seeded in not being ready for her or the administration's early morning bullshit. You hadn’t even got to enjoy your coffee yet. 

You’d turned on your heel and raced back out the door in what could’ve been record time. Your hand tried to steady the sloshing of your coffee as you could feel Gloria hot on your heels. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You’re right - I don’t. However, seeing you this early, Gloria is not a good omen for starting my day.”

There was nowhere in the entire trauma center that you could go to get away from her and, knowing Gloria, she wasn’t going to make it easy for you. Realistically, you understood that Gloria was just another cog in the corporate machine. She rode your ass - and every other medical professional in the system from doctors during residency to technicians and CNAs - because it’s what the big bad CEOs demanded. The hospital functioned on efficiency facilitated by money and if too many bad Yelp reviews arrived it systematically hurt numbers. Bad numbers equaled a bad flow of funds. 

Gloria no doubt listened to her bosses during an early morning meeting where they rattled off complaint after complaint that dealt with a showcase of data and numbers. Both, of which, the board constantly claimed, showed the true efficiency of the hospital - not the life-saving measures taken to keep people alive. No doubt its main focus rested on the emergency department downstairs, because, once again, Yelp reviews of massive wait times and poor satisfaction scores outweighed the expertise of attending doctors. 

You didn’t envy Gloria’s position of being hated for being said cog in the corporate machine. Her job focused on relaying the demands from the top. Gloria was forever the bad guy to staff whenever they noticed her no-nonsense demeanor coming towards them. It was hard to be sympathetic to her plight when she followed you around like a bloodhound. The woman was relentless.

“The board would like to see if applying additional support down in the emergency department would help alleviate time issues that are keeping patient satisfaction at a tremendous low.” 

Absolutely not. 

You would rather chew your arm off than be sent down there. Your retreat came to a halt as you turned to face her. There weren't too many places inside the hospital you could go, and you were willing to bet Gloria was willing to follow you anywhere until you conceded. Plus, you came to a full stop in front of the elevator, and no matter how much you’d like to magically teleport yourself inside of it, unfortunately, you were mortal and would just have to wait.

Gloria’s hands were interlocked in front of her middle - eyes drilling miniature holes in you that not that long ago used to make you squirm. That was back when you were just starting your internship - eager back then to make a great first impression. Terrified of being reprimanded for making an unpopular decision or speaking your mind. 

“Gloria, I’m in family medicine.”

“Last time I checked you started in the emergency department and helped out in intensive care.”

“Yes, great memory, Gloria. If you also recall, I moved to family medicine where I’ve been for the last couple of years.”

The transfer to family medicine was a hard pill to swallow. You’d grown accustomed to the craziness of the ER. The constant adrenaline rush that required you to always bring your A game. Where the anxiety was at an all-time maxed-out high where a simple mistake cost lives but a quick deduction could save them. Once you’d moved upstairs to help out Dr. Nave’s family practice, it’d been a huge adjustment. Eventually, once your body got used to the monotony of the days, you found you were finally able to sleep. To be semi-normal. 

There was no denying, however, that you left something important behind in The Pitt. Something you hoped you could leave there inside its sterile rooms and the overwhelming storm of emotions.  

“I’m not asking you to go back down there to answer every trauma call. I’m asking you to take your family medicine knowledge downstairs to help assess triage for minor issues -“

“You mean people who come in for chest colds,” you interrupted. 

“ - and help the senior doctors clear out these cases so they can focus on more immediate health care concerns.”

Gloria’s words crushed your small outburst and bore down on your shoulders, keeping you from trying to move away. Her hands were now connected at her elbows, which was her silent way of informing you she didn’t appreciate you trying to talk over her. That no would never be an acceptable answer. 

You felt the drag of your teeth against your cheek. The temptation to bite down to relieve your growing irritation was overwhelming but futile. No matter what argument you came up with, you knew Gloria was here to make sure what the board requested was done. 

Instead of bloodshed, you eased your frustration out inch by inch through your nose. Your eyes scanned over the shitty egg wash walls while you debated all of your available options, which were a big fat none. 

“How long?”

Gloria didn’t need clarification on what you were asking. The way she practically preened like a peacock let you know she knew she’d won. 

“As long as the board requires it.”

“I’ll do it just for today,” you interjected, ignoring her raised brow. “Today you can see if pulling me from Nave’s floor makes your charts or numbers move or whatever data it is you all look at. If it does nothing, today is my first and last day going down.”

Gloria considered your counterargument. The sharpness in her eyes brightened; the terms of this new agreement were revised without you knowing the new verbiage. The only thing you were sure of was that you could count on this small verbal agreement being drawn out in document form for you to sign later.  

“Alright, Dr. Fullerton. You’ve got a deal. I’m sure the board will agree. Now come on. If we walk down fast enough maybe, you’ll make it in time for shift change.”

She didn’t wait to see if you were going to follow. Why would she when Gloria knew very well you weren’t going to fight it, especially when the main reason for your denial currently wouldn’t be working today. 

Anniversaries were never really Robby’s thing.

You would never admit it, but your anxiety was fifteen feet away from grabbing you in a chokehold. 

Get a fucking grip.

It had been two years since you left the ER. Two years since Robby and you had called time on seven years together. Seven years of memories filled with all the good and bad, co-parenting Jake, and keeping your relationship secret until it wasn’t. The early years of walking to work together with quick kisses goodbye before you split up just before you turned onto the final street to the hospital. The both of you choose different entrances each time to try and not raise suspicion. 

It took Dana four days to figure out the two of you were together.

Dana was perceptive like that. Hell, she’d been the angel on your shoulder whispering hints that Robby just might like you as much as you liked him. 

“I told him to ask you out to dinner. He thinks you’ll say no.” “If he did ask, I should say no,” you countered.  Your eyes struggle to stay trained on the chart in front of you.  “Yeah, but I know you’ll say yes.” “And what makes you so sure about that, Dana?” “Because if you don’t stop giving each other googly eyes from across my nursing station I’m going to throttle you both.”

Robby had only been divorced from his wife for less than a year. You’d overheard snippets of conversations between Robby and Abbot, Dana, or Adamson about custody battles and visitations. The last thing you wanted to do was be a possible added stress to an already stressful situation. At least, that was the bullshit you kept telling yourself to try and stay away.

But Dana was right (she usually was, but you’d never tell her that). 

You couldn’t pinpoint a specific time when things started to change between the two of you. The coffee breaks on the roof looking out over the top of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The jokes that caused smiles to crest over his face, rivaled the glow from the sun's early morning rays. He told you later, in the med closet, how the sound of your laughter was something he looked forward to hearing; the warmth of it was enough to keep helping him make it through his shift. A sound he began to crave in the quiet corners of his home. You could still remember the phone calls and early texts. The caution and heavy breaths that harbored a desire that longed to reach out and consume the other. The two of you were equally afraid to be the one to take that first step over the bounds of professionalism. 

The two of you knew the dangers of playing with lingering touches and knowing glances. The way you both acted like you wouldn’t ultimately end up burned. You could still recall the way he’d traced his thumb across your lips. The possessive way his eyes followed the motion made the desire for him to close that space, to claim you, to take you, threatened to make you lose all self-control.

Eventually, you stopped listening to the warning signs of all the what ifs; of being the intern and worrying about how it would make you look. When Robby asked you out on that date you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

You didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with someone the way you did with Robby. He was so attentive; he was thoughtful in the most pragmatic ways - packing extra scrubs in your pack. Teaching you how to fish and the differences between the lures and bait. The way he took the time to explain the objects he carved from wood and how much pressure was necessary to create the grooves and pattern. The way his voice would sound as he read to you; the soothing vibrations of his baritone the safest place you could be with his fingers in your hair.

He carved out a life that made it possible for all three of you to co-exist. His son, Jake, becomes the deepest interwoven part of your life you never realized was missing. On days Robby had him, you planned camping trips up in the mountains to hike and fish. To go on museum trips into Jake’s latest hobbies with the two of you making sure to have his game day off to cheer embarrassingly loud for him in the stands. The shared looks of pain from beside each other on the couch while Jake practiced his clarinet upstairs when he thought he wanted to be in the school band. You got lost in furniture manuals, cooking dinners that ended a few times with questionable outcomes, and attempting to bake tarts and pies that led to a one-time usage of the fire extinguisher. The euphoria of loving someone and being loved so fiercely in return made the years feel weightless, and when Robby finally proposed it made so much sense to say yes. 

And COVID happened. 

The quarantine and the endless amounts of patients that just kept coming - that felt like, no matter what you did, they couldn’t be saved. Family and friends, you both knew were ravaged by the infection. There were no answers. No medical treatments that you knew for sure would be what would save them. It didn’t discriminate and took lives without mercy. You just came to work every day, exhausted, and fighting to do what you could to heal those you could. You showed up every day for your patients.

Then Adamson passed. 

There was no denying Robby blamed himself for what occurred with his mentor. It didn’t matter what you said. What Dana, Abbot, or anyone else said. The guilt weighed down on his conscience, pressed so violently, that eventually, Robby cracked under the strain. His grief was all-encompassing and the added loss that should’ve been experienced together, was left for only you to bear - widening the gap between you until it became a chasm. 

The last time you’d seen Robby he’d been leaving to go to work. The latest fight - the endless bitter silences that stretched on - tore at the fabric of your being. Fractured pieces you didn’t know how to pick up on your own no longer felt worth fighting for. So, you decided to remove yourself from the equation. 

When Robby came home from work that night you were already gone. Your engagement ring and house key sitting on a note that asked him not to contact you. He’d made it clear enough that there was no place for you in the new person that he was becoming - made it clear that your grief would be processed alone. 

And so that was how you ended up transferring to family medicine. How you made sure to steer clear of all the places Robby was known to frequent. You ignored, as politely as you could, texts from Dana. Refused to talk about him in a work capacity or to close friends. 

The truth was that you were still in love with Robby after all this time. The idea that someone else could ever make you feel as whole - as complete - didn’t exist. So, yes, you only agreed to come back down to the emergency department, where it all started, because you comfortably knew he wouldn’t be here. Dana, you could deal with her by using a little recon - you just needed to stay two steps ahead of her. Langdon was easier to deal with because his loyalty to Robby was absolute, which made you public enemy number one. For you, that meant he’d stay away from you on principle. 

You were in the middle of shoving down the growing dread that was threatening to spill out of you when you came around the north hall triage. It was morning rounds. It was the attending's job to give the early morning pep-talk, debrief about patients who came in last shift, and go over the board. What you found waiting for you was what looked very much like a fresh batch of interns and/or med students taking instructions from a doctor you knew painfully well. One that made you question if it was too late to back out and turn tail and run. 

“Oh, shit.” Dana huffed the words under her breath, but Robby caught them. The way each one dripped in a warning he should’ve heeded. “Gloria -” 

It didn’t surprise him to hear she was here. He’d been warned by Dana but what Robby hadn’t expected was to see you - you - standing beside her. 

You who he thought completely disappeared to the point you’d quit the hospital. You, who he thought of in the most inconvenient of times, who haunted him, and you who he wanted to fucking scream and curse at you but also ask how the fuck you’re doing because Jesus Christ…

He didn’t need this shit today.

At least you had the decency to look as uncomfortable as he felt.

“Good morning, Dr. Robby. I’m aware you and most of your emergency department know Dr. Fullerton. She used to work down here previously a few years back.”

“You could say that again,” Langdon muttered.

“I’m sorry why are you bringing a random fucking doctor down into The Pitt?”

The annoyance contrasted with the peaceful professionalism Gloria tried to hold together. But if she was going to bring random doctors down here, God, bring you fucking down here, he was damn sure going to make her work for it. Inch by irritating inch.

“We both know that Dr. Fullerton is not a hospital resident or an attending transfer. As previously stated, she worked down here in this very ED, with you no less. She also holds one of the highest Press Ganey scores in this hospital.”

“I’m sure she’s very proud,” his words ground out like he’d swallowed gravel.

Gloria shot him a warning look as she continued, “-Something I figure she could teach the new students and old physicians here. I’m bringing her down to assist Dr. McKay today in triage.”

“Let me guess - this either has to deal with the hospital's numbers or lack of working bodies down here. Am I right?”

“What a fantastic guess, Robby. It does indeed have to do with the hospitals' numbers and poor patient output. Based on those numbers alone today, if it shows Dr. Fullerton’s presence helps patient satisfaction go up and wait times decrease - even in the slightest - she’ll be staying here. Permanently.”

His jaw ticked violently. He wanted to bristle and tell her where to stick her metrics and numbers. To tell Gloria to get you the fuck out of his Pitt. Somewhere in his brain, his common sense slowly won out. It didn’t matter how much of a fit he threw; Gloria had every intention of making you stay. Down here. With him. 

Robby also knew, realistically, that the chances of you driving up productivity were high. You were a damn good doctor. One of the best. Adamson had made sure. Christ, Robby himself made sure. Fuck. The edges of his vision were beginning to tighten in glaring white; he needed to get away before he succumbed to a panic attack. 

He should’ve kept looking away, but he was fighting a losing battle trying to keep his eyes away from you. It’d been nearly two years since he came home to find you gone. Two years for him to think of the hundreds of thousands of questions that he would demand for you to answer if he ever saw you again. All those months of burying it all down, telling himself he got what he wanted, only for it to be dredged up, and on a day like today, he was already close to his breaking point.

You looked good. Great, even. Just as gorgeous as the first day he’d met you and begrudgingly, for a split second, he wondered how you saw him. If you were equally as fucked as he was.

“Make sure she stays with you up in triage, Dr. McKay. I don’t want to see her in my red zone.”

He didn’t wait to hear confirmation from Gloria or McKay. He didn’t bother to see if you understood he meant every word he said. You had no place down here. Robby needed to start his shift - to start the normalcy of seeing patients - before he completely forgot why he chose to come into work today. 

He needed to get away before all his resolve shattered. The easiest way to keep himself whole was to begin his day. To do his rounds and when he passed you, he did his best to pretend you didn’t even exist.

___________

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoyed it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! Much love.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Main Masterlist

Tag List or follow @seresinhangmanjake-library

Series:

The Harkonnen's Sweet Thing: Part 1, Part 2 - (Atreides!Reader) You watched your brother kill the man you love--a man you were once gifted to by the Baron--and now that he is gone, you think Paul will use you as a political pawn in his war. And you're right. But you're shocked to discover who is demanding to have you.

What Comes at Night: You have nightmares of Feyd's death and he's there to comfort you. *can be read alone* Mark of Luck: You give Feyd your mark of luck before he enters the arena. *can be read alone* Overprotective: Your son is due to be born any day now and Feyd is very protective. He kills anyone who so much as lays a finger on you, but it’s gotten out of control. *can be read alone* The Harkonnen's Loves: Feyd gives his four-year old son his first blade. (Mostly sweet family stuff)

His: You used to be a Lady, a daughter of a Great House until Feyd took you. Since then, your sole purpose has been to warm his bed, but when Rabban asks about having you for himself, Feyd makes a choice that changes your future.

Forever His: Post-marriage stuff His and Yours: When you're told your pregnancy could cost you your life, Feyd demands you do whatever necessary to keep yourself alive. Protecting His: One of Feyd's harpies saves you. His Boy: Feyd is worried his son is too much like him. Defending His Lady: Both Feyd and your son take issue with the people of Giedi Prime not accepting you as their Lady More of His: You want another child, but after what happened with your first birth, Feyd is less than thrilled at the idea. Prequel Fics: Becoming His: Feyd chooses you as his concubine. Don't Touch What's His: Feyd's harpies attack you while you're both asleep in his bed and he gets real mad. Only His: A diplomat from Caladan wants to borrow Feyd's concubine. He doesn't like that very much.

Fremen Girl: The potential wife of any future Baron must prove herself by surviving in the arena before the current Baron will permit the marriage. In this case, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen wants a wife, and he might have just found a woman capable of meeting that challenge.

Part 2 Part 3

An Heir: You and Feyd intend to be together forever--marry, have children, lead Giedi Prime side by side--but your plans are disrupted when the Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit reveals Lady Fenring is pregnant and, to Feyd's utter shock, the baby is his.

Part 2

One-shots:

Feyd x reader on her period: Feyd doesn’t like anyone keeping him from his wife’s side, especially when she’s in pain.

Unexpected: No one expects Feyd's bride to like him.

Anniversary: Giedi Prime doesn't celebrate anniversaries, but you show Feyd a tradition from your planet.

Respect: Your betrothed is a son from one of the Great Houses, an awful man who has enjoyed threatening and scaring you since you were children. Feyd makes it known he doesn't appreciate such disrespectful treatment of the woman he loves.

Do You Love?: Feyd is soft for his wife and only wants to know if she loves him. His wife just wants him to come home.

He Will Hope: Feyd is obsessed with his bride from the moment he sees her, but on their wedding night he finds out she might not feel the same. (Angst, but hopeful ending) *also serves as a very early prequel to Do You Love?*

Staining: You think your husband is heartless, but maybe you're wrong.

All He Knew: Feyd deals with the emotional aftermath of protecting you from his uncle.

Healer: Feyd's a bit attached to his new healer.

A Trade: When Feyd asked for your hand, your father refused and took you away from him. Now he’ll do anything to get you back, and he’s not above kidnapping your sister to offer a trade.

Bonded: You were a servant and companion to Paul Ateides, but the moment you met Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, you knew the universe had Bonded you to another.

What He Likes: When five daughters of Great Houses arrive on Giedi Prime, Feyd is meant to select one as a wife. But out of all of the foreigners on his territory, it is the Princess of Kaitain’s handmaid that catches his eye.

[xoxoavenger]

The Attack

pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

summary: Tommy's known for going out of his way to get to Y/N. What happens when they're both attacked and he's not permitted to see her?

word count: 1311

warnings: canon tyical violence (this is based off a specific episode but it's also been in my drafts as an idea for over two years)

12 Days of Christmas main masterlist

"Can we please just go?" Y/N begged. Her glass of whiskey was long finished, and she knew Tommy couldn't do anything more in the office. After his fight with Polly, she knew he would want to leave anyway. So he nodded, helped her into her coat, and off they went into the rain.

"Just gotta get to the garage," Tommy said over the rain, holding her hand tightly. They made it in no time, walking quickly to the car. She was holding an umbrella over herself, but Tommy was soaked; he always asked her not to hold her own umbrella over him, because then she would get wet and he didn't want that. As they approached the car and Y/N took down her umbrella, a man jumped out, gun in his hand pointed at Tommy's face.

Tommy put his hands up and backed away as the man pressed closer, and Y/N took out her own gun hidden her coat, pointing it at the man and dropping the umbrella. She wasn't shaking; this wasn't the first time she's had to hold a gun against a man. She was married to Tommy Shelby after all. Before she could even fire a warning shot, she was hit over the head from behind, sending her to the ground. She tried to get up as she saw Tommy getting beat up by six men, the sound of bones cracking sickening to her.

"Tommy!" She called out, trying to stand. The pain in her head was excruciating, her vision blurring and turning dark around the edges. Before she could get her gun back up, she was kicked in the head and knocked out, and Tommy was thankful for it because as soon as they had taken him down he was covered in blood. His only thoughts as he practically went limp with pain was of Y/N - he hoped they didn't kick her head in enough to kill her.

~

When Tommy woke up, he felt like he couldn't feel his body. It was all pain, like all his nerve endings had been set on fire. When he tried to open his eyes, he knew they were swollen. His mind went instantly to Y/N - where was she? Was she alive? Or was she dead? Even through his pain, he was able to open his eyes and move to stand except-

He couldn't stand. And not just because of the pain.

"What the fuck," He muttered, looking at the handcuffs that were tying him to the bed. He was just coming to, but he couldn't think of a reason why he would be handcuffed. It's not as if he was going to be arrested. He didn't do anything this time, and even if he did, he wouldn't be arrested; he knew all the officers.

"She's okay." Polly was in the corner, reading a book. Tommy snapped his neck to see her. He was in a hospital room, a small empty one with a small bed and the chair Polly was on. She didn't seem too concerned, which confused him.

"Get me the fuck out of here." He yanked on the chains again. He needed to go see Y/N, to go find her and make sure she was okay and then take care of the fuckers who did this.

"So you can go try and kill people?" She was still looking at the book. His brain was fuzzy, so he didn't know how to get out of this. He wasn't even sure why he was handcuffed.

"I need to go check on her." He said, but the two of them both knew that he was going straight to kill the men that attacked her as soon as he made sure she was okay. "Why was I arrested?"

"You can't go yet." Is all Polly says, nose still in her book. This is when he realized that he wasn't arrested - Polly had kept him here on purpose.

"Let me go." He seethed, anger filling him. How dare she keep him here when his wife was hurt, when he had business to attend to.

"No." The fact that she still hadn't looked at him made him angry.

"Poll," He starts, taking deep breaths to not lose his temper. It's not working very well. "You need to let me out."

"I actually need to keep you in." She fires back. "I am not going to clean up the mess when you try to kill everyone in sight." She turns the page of her book and it makes Tommy lose his mind.

"Why are you keeping her from me?" He yells, pulling against the handcuffs so hard it causes the skin on his wrists to break. He barely feels the pain; he can't even feel his face anymore.

"I'm not keeping her from you." She finally looks up at him, face serious enough to scare the shit out of Tommy. He lets her speak, heart racing fast enough to scare some of his anger away. "I'm keeping you away from her. She still hasn't woke up yet. You can't stomp in there while the physicians are hard at work trying to get her up." She tells him, and suddenly, he has too many emotions. He's guilty, because she wouldn't be in this position if he hadn't put her there. He's angry at Polly for not letting him see her. He's scared that she won't wake back up, that the last time he saw her alive was the image of her head being kicked in.

It's all too much. He can't fit these emotions in his body. His chest is suddenly too tight, his head fuzzy. He needs to get the fuck out of this room.

He doesn't break out of the cuffs, no, that would be far too difficult. Instead, He breaks the wooden bedpost right off the frame, splinters flying, and then the post was falling from between his hands. He was still cuffed, but he had full range of motion now. He turned to Polly, who was staring wide eyed at him.

"Tell me where she is right now."

~

When Y/N opened her eyes, she wished she could go back to sleep. Her head was killing her, and her entire body was sore. She blinked a couple times, trying to make out the unfamiliar room she was in. She had just figured out that she was at the hospital when she heard shouting in the hallway.

"Mr. Shelby, I understand, but it's really much better if you just wait to,"

"Get the fuck out of my way or I will shank you with a piece of this wall that I will pull out with my bare hands." The sound of her husband's deep voice startled her. He sounded so angry, like he was going actually going to kill this man that didn't do anything wrong.

"Mr. Shelby,"

"Tommy?" Y/N croaked out as she sat up, and Tommy was instantly in the room, his bruised face making her startle. "What happened to you face?"

"You're okay!" He disregarded what she said and came up to her, cupping her face and kissing her immediately. She smiled slightly, putting a hand on his own and moving it down to his wrist.

"What the fuck?" Y/N muttered as she pulled away, looking at the metal she had felt on his wrists. He looked as if he had forgotten all about them, wanting to go back to kissing. "What did you do?" She asked, trying to push him away slightly.

"I didn't do anything. My fucking aunt," He sighed, kissing Y/N once more. She didn't understand, but she figured if it had to do with Polly she would find out soon enough. She was just thankful Tommy was okay, that he was here with her.

"I love you." She whispers, and he just nods as he goes in for another kiss. 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @jbrownta

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Twelve: [Bring Me The Horizon]

Summary: After Jensen and Jake finish their face-off, you tell Jake how it is. He practices the art of holding himself accountable for his actions, and you get a call that would send you into a downward spiral. Putting you in jeopardy right before your surgery.

Warnings: MAIN CHARACTER DEATH Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Mentions of religion. JEALOUS JAKE!

Word Count: 5.1k

Author Note: WOW and we’re back baby. Another year has passed us by and we are finishing this series. Strap in for the final three episodes of this roller coaster of a series. You never know where we might just end up.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The triangular theory of love is a theory developed by Robert Sternberg. In the context of interpersonal relationships, the three components of love according to the triangular theory are, intimacy, passion, and a decision/commitment component. For Jake, he felt like love was more than just a triangular theory. Love is all-encompassing in every aspect of life. And if you look closely, love can be seen all around us in all different forms. 

“Bradshaw, now’s not the time man,” Jake sighed as he made his way back down the hospital hallway to your room, walking with his shoulders down and his ego battered and bruised. “I gotta fix an issue and my head’s not–” Before Jake could finish his sentence, Rooster interrupted with a crucial question he needed answered now. 

“How is your mother gonna react when I show up to take your kids?” The genuine concern in Bradley’s voice was clear enough for Jake to stay on the line as he walked. “Do I need to be concerned about her calling the cops?” 

“Dude,” Jake groaned to himself in frustration as he walked with purpose down the hall. He could feel his rage and frustration bubbling to the surface with every step he took. Who did this Jensen guy think he was? Who did Jake think he was? You didn’t ask for any of this and you definitely didn’t deserve his tantrum before. “She’s not gonna call the cops on you, just tell her to call me if you have any issues and get Jas to help you.” 

“Your mother is a terrifying woman–” Rooster added, just to rub salt into Jake’s already existing childhood wounds. 

“Well, at least she’s alive.” Jake had never regretted a sentence more in his life. The second he realised what he’d said and who he was speaking to, his heart fell straight out of his arse. “Bradshaw I didn’t mean–” Before Jake had a chance to speak, before he had a chance to explain that he wasn’t talking about Carole—he was talking about you—the line went dead. 

“Fuck!” Jake looked at his phone screen to see the call had indeed been ended. He felt the panic inside his chest. The guilt. 

Jake had developed a pretty uncanny ability to fuck things up. He couldn’t help himself at the moment. He was having a hard time regulating his emotions. It never had been his strong suit, but now it was worse than ever. Perhaps the idea of losing you forever was the cause. Jake couldn’t accept the possibility that there was a good to fair chance you might not walk away from this fight. 

But he could see the bottom of your bed again and where your feet were underneath the breathable hospital blanket that did nothing to keep you warm. With every step Jake took in the hall, he got closer and closer to where he’d left you. And with every step he took he tried to formulate an apology that would reflect his utter sorrow. His pain. His guilt. You were the first person that deserved an apology for Jake’s actions. Bradley would just have to wait. 

In hospitals, people see addiction every day. It’s shocking how many kinds of addiction exist. It would be far too easy if it were just drugs, alcohol and cigarettes people were addicted to. The hardest part about kicking an addiction is wanting to kick it. I mean we get addicted for a reason, right?

Often, too often, things start as a normal part of your life and at some point, cross the line into obsessive needs, compulsive out of out-of-control desires. It’s the high people chase. The high that makes everything else…fade away. But nothing could make Jake Seresin fade away. Nothing so far had helped you kick the addiction. Not even when you left. 

The harsh reality about addiction is it never ends well. Because eventually, whatever it is that was getting you that high…stops feeling good and starts to hurt. So when the very person you were addicted to walked back into your hospital room, the hurt started all over again well and truly after the high had died down. 

“Okay,” Jake stopped in his tracks when he saw that look in your eyes. Although a sense of calm washed over him the second he saw you again, he knew he was probably the last person you wanted to see after the way he behaved before. “I recognised I’m in the wrong here.” It was the look he wished he’d never been on the receiving end of again. A look of disappointment mixed with anger, hatred, and, above all, sadness. “I owe you an apology.” 

“No thanks,” The tone you conveyed was sinister. There was no warmth. No love. No room for compassion or empathy. “I’m not interested in another empty apology.” You didn't even look Jake’s way. You just continued on with the little word finder you had picked up in Jensen and Jake’s absence. “If you’re done swinging your dick around in the hall like a psychopath, I need to rest.” 

Jake was stunned. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He knew he deserved that. He knew he’d taken things too far. He knew he’d flown over the handlebars the second Jensen stepped into your room. But it was all out of fear of losing you. Why couldn’t you see that? Jake felt as if he could stand right in front of you and you’d look straight through him. 

“Honey, don’t be like that,” Jake sighed as he took a few steps towards your bedside. The bouquet Jensen had brought you was lying haphazardly on the little bedside cupboard. “I shouldn’t have acted the way I did alright, I know, and I promise you I’m trying here.” Jake sighed as he looked at the flowers another man had gone out of his way to buy you. A dying man. 

A dead man walking. 

“I’m glad you’re self-aware,” You replied yet again without paying any mind to Jake’s whereabouts in your room. “Never really was your strong suit.” You murmured just loud enough for Jake to hear your mild insult. You could have said it louder, hell, you should have. But regardless of Jake’s actions…he was an addictive drug. One that made it incredibly hard to kick the habit. One you knew you’d go back to. One you wished loved you the same way you loved him. 

“Jensen knocked some sense into me,” Jake tried his best to explain all the while he tried to hold back the lump in his throat. The kind of lump that brought tears and panic attacks with it. “He was kind enough to set the record straight.” 

“You understand how big of a piece of shit you have to be to say what you said, right?” It was the first time your tone had changed. There was something beyond painful in the way you spoke. Something Jake had tried time and time again not to be the cause of. Heartbreak. Betrayal even. “You jealous, insecure man.” 

For a second, Jake absorbed the blow. He took it on the chin like a champion because nothing you were saying was wrong. He was scared of losing the love of his life in a way that wasn’t just through marriage. 

“I know,” Jake replied as he picked up the bouquet and looked around. He was looking for somewhere to put them. Somewhere to display the beauty that they emulated. Beauty that reflected you. Where could he get a jug or something to put these in? “I don’t have an excuse to give you, honey,” Jake was trying his best to stick to the honesty is the best policy crap he’d been taught as a child. “I’m just, I got so worked up when he came in here knowing more about you than I did and–” 

“Jensen is a friend from group therapy,” You explained yet again. “And this is the last time I’m gonna say it before I let you run off with whatever version of a warped reality you wanna believe but I swear, there isn’t anyone else.” You sat up a little straighter in your bed as you closed your find-a-word book. “I have cancer, Jake. In what world would anyone want me?” 

“You love her, don’t you? You’re in love with my wife, say it.” Jake could hear himself asking the all-important question. He could see himself standing in the hall with the man who had selflessly intertwined his life with yours in order to make you feel less alone in the world.

“Maybe–” Jake vividly heard Jensens reply as he stood staring at the tears that fell down your cheeks. Tears he was the very cause of. “Maybe I love her, but I don’t get a chance to explore that, you do though.” 

“Me?” It was the sincerity in Jake’s voice that broke you as he put the bouquet down where he’d originally found it and made his way to sit beside you on your bed. “I want you forever and the very idea that some guy—some guy I know is a better man than I will ever be—brought you, my wife, flowers when I didn’t? Kills me.” 

“I don’t care about the flowers,” You sighed as Jake wrapped you up in his arms. 

“I know, but I let my own insecurities out in a way I never should have and I’m so sorry for the things I said. You don’t deserve that, ever.” It was genuine. The apology for his actions. Jake knew he was in the wrong with how he acted out. You could very clearly see that he was truly sorry. But letting him know that now would have been too easy. 

The pair of you sat in your hospital bed for the better half of five minutes silently enjoying each other’s presence and gentle touch. Until you broke. 

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to say apology accepted?” You smiled softly as you nuzzled into Jake’s chest a little more. Finding a comfortable position to rest in as you sunk lower in the hospital bed that wasn’t built for two fully grown human beings. 

“Nope,” Jake chuckled as he kissed the top of your head, freshly shaved and matching his own. “And I don’t think Rooster is gonna be accepting any apology I give him anytime soon, so the list is growing.” 

“What happened with Rooster?” You asked cautiously. You felt the tension take over your husband’s body as he processed what you‘d just asked. Jake held you a little tighter as he once again kissed the top of your freshly shaved head. The notes of your shampoo must have seeped into your scalp. He could still vividly smell the residual fragrance of bergamot. 

“Nothing that can’t be explained,” Jake sighed softly. He hated himself with a deep-rooted passion right now. The one thing he wanted to do more than anything else was take you home and pretend everything was alright for just one night. But he couldn’t do that. “Please, don’t worry about my mistakes when you have so much on your plate already. I’ll figure it out. Rooster and I always do.” 

“Hmm,” You replied with hesitation as you let your eyes close. The lup-dup of Jake’s heartrate soothed your soul, a heart that begged to be loved in all the ways he deserved to be loved. “I hope so. Martha Stewart’s best and closest friend said the words that sent her to prison,” You explained all the while Jake’s fingers drew unidentifiable objects into the supple skin of your forearm, careful not to mess with any of the tubes attached to you. It was grounding. “So whatever happened between you and Bradshaw I hope you fix it before he spills all your dirty little military secrets.” 

“Good thing you’re a true crime author, huh?” Jake smiled with a reluctance to give in to his biggest desire. What would be the repercussions of sneaking you out of this hospital right now? 

“No way you’re ending up in one of my books anytime soon,” You giggled softly. Jake felt his heart skip a beat at the sound of your happiness. You felt it too. The moment his heart decided it needed a second to process the laughter you let out. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, honey,” Although the circumstances said otherwise, for a second Jake felt like the luckiest guy on the planet. To be loved by you. To be the one you called home. To be the man you chose would forever be Jake’s greatest accomplishment in life. “I could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve you in any of them.” 

************************

“No signs of life.” 

There’s a reason surgeons learn to wield scalpels. They like to pretend they’re hard, cold scientists. They like to pretend they’re fearless. But the truth is they become surgeons because somewhere, deep down, they think they can cut away that which haunts us. 

Weakness, frailty, death. 

It isn’t just surgeons. It’s paramedics too. First responders like to think they have a hand in what fate holds for you. They believe that if they can move a little quicker, stop the bleeding a little faster, and save you from life-threatening injuries, they can give you extra time. Even for just a day. 

But the truth is, we don’t know a single person who isn’t haunted by something…or someone. And whether people try to slice the pain away with a scalpel, pull someone from a car wreck, or shove it in the back of a closet…our efforts usually fail. 

So the only way we can clear out the cobwebs is to turn a new page or put an old story to rest…finally, finally…to rest. 

“Do we have any information on the victim?” Ilona shook her head as her unit chief looked around the scene. A single-car accident. The mangled wreck of twisted aluminium and shattered glass really painted a telling tale of destruction. No one could have survived the magnitude of injuries that they would have sustained on impact. 

“I’ll see if one of the guys picked up a phone or something, perhaps it’s still viable,” Ilona replied in a monotone voice. She was new to the horrors that her job sometimes brought with it. The hurricane forced winds that would sometimes knock her right off her feet. But she was learning how to work through the plethora of different emotions in a professional manner. “Poor guy, what do you think happened?” 

The black body bag laid out on the stretcher was a not-so-gentle reminder that life was a precious gift. Paramedics carried the deceased man until they were loading him into the back of the van. No sirens would be needed for this particular patient. 

“Crash investigation should have a report for us in about a week,” Taylor, the unit chief, replied as he watched the doors to the ambulance close with a thud. “We’ll need to get an ID as soon as possible to inform the family.” 

“I have a phone!!” Ilona heard the explanation from one of her co-workers. She turned with a grin on her face back to her boss. 

“We have a phone,” She repeated. “I’ll get right on it chef.” 

************************

Lydia still felt awful. She hadn’t quite shaken the existential dread that came with her almost career-ending mistake. She sat behind the desk at the nurses station just replaying the events back in her mind. How could she just assume someone to be someone’s emergency contact? 

In retrospect, Lydia now understood clear as daylight that relationships were interpersonal and held deeper value than what was on paper. Jake Seresin may not have been your emergency contact, but he sure was the love of your life. 

“You want me to do her observations?” Lydia heard one of her colleagues ask with a snicker. They all knew by this point in time what she had done. But now wasn’t the time to retreat and fall back. If she wanted to get past this, she needed to put on a brave face. 

“Nope,” Lydia shook her head as he rose to her feet. “I’ve got it,” She explained with a faux smile. “Is he not intimidating?” 

“Mr. Seresin?” Her colleague, Rebecca, replied with a mouthful of two-minute noodles she’d been scoffing down in the small window of reprieve. “Guy’s like a labrador. I mean, that is if you didn’t fuck up his wife’s chart badly enough to call the wrong person labelled clearly as an emergency contact.” 

“Ha. Ha.” Lydia barely had the time or the energy to humour her coworkers as they giggled and snickered as she made her way into your room. Jake was wide awake. He hadn’t noticed Lydia standing in the threshold of the door. But Lydia noticed how he held you with such care as you slept soundly. 

“Oh,” She cooed softly as she knocked her knuckles against the door. “Sorry to interrupt Mr. Seresin but I need to take some observations for Dr. Ignati.” 

“Would it be alright if she slept for even just five more minutes?” Jake was quick to advocate on your behalf. He could tell just how tired and overwhelmed with everything you’d become. Now that he was here and by your side, he was going to make sure you got the best possible treatment there was to offer. 

Lydia looked around at the Christmas lights that hung around your room. They twinkled and changed colour on a whim, never staying the same colour for long. The way they hung like they’d been thrown all over the place added a joyful smile across her face. 

“I’m sure I can take my time,” Lydia agreed as she approached your bedside. “How’s she been feeling?” 

“As good as you’d expect to feel given the circumstances, kid,” Jake replied with a yawn. He was able to stretch his limbs a little as he did so. Although, with every move he cautiously made, Jake was careful not to disturb you. “I assume her surgery is still going ahead as planned?” 

“As far as I’m aware,” Lydia confirmed as she checked over your chart and wrote down what she saw on your monitors. “Dr. Ignati should be around earlier in the morning to discuss everything once more.” 

“How long have you been working here?” Jake asked. He thought some small talk would be beneficial for not only him but for Lydia too. He could tell the question struck a nerve but pressed on nevertheless. “Because if I’m being perfectly honest, it doesn’t seem like very long.” 

“Eight months now,” Lydia replied with a short tone. Jake chuckled to himself as he watched her cross out what she had previously written and wrote down what she had originally intended. “Can you tell I’m also not very good at my job?” 

“It doesn’t seem out of ignorance,” Jake offered up his version of advice. “I just think you’re rushing things.” The advice didn’t fall on deaf ears like Jake thought it might. Instead, Lydia stopped what she was doing and took a nice deep long breath in. “In my line of work, things can go wrong in the blink of an eye,” Jake explained as he gently rubbed small circles into the palm of your hand with his thumb. If he was careful, he could feel the throbbing of your pulse point. “Gotta learn how to trust your instincts.” 

“My last instinct was that you were your wife’s emergency contact,” Lydia didn’t feel as if she needed to remind Jake of her biggest mistake of all time, but she did anyway. Jake understood what it was like to stay hung up on mistakes he couldn’t change. But he knew what he was about to say next would ease the burden Lydia was feeling. 

“Honestly, that’s more on me than it is on you,” Jake sighed as you stirred in his arms. He hoped you‘d stay asleep for just a little longer. You needed it. You deserved to rest soundly. 

“How so?” Lydia asked softly as went back to her duties. What Jake said to her next, however, had Lydia looking at the situation she found herself in from a different perspective. And sometimes a little perspective is all you need. 

“Well, I shouldn’t have let it get to a point where I wasn’t.” 

************************

Life gets easier when you realise that there’s no such thing as a wrong decision. Decisions are simply pivots. Each one you make will take you down a new road that will likely be both magic and miserable. Beautiful and ugly. That’s because life is a polarity. Easy doesn’t exist without hard. Good doesn’t exist without bad. 

There is no right or wrong answer. Trust that whatever decision you make can always be followed by another decision. 

“I hate this,” You mumbled as you walked to the bathroom with your IV support poll. “I already hate all of this so much.” You knew you were feeding into the depression, but you couldn’t help but feel down in the dumps about your current situation. 

“I think everything you’re feeling is valid, honey,” Jake answered as he trailed behind, giving you the independence he knew you wanted to keep but also staying close by in case you needed him. “After surgery–” Jake couldn’t even finish the sentence he’d planned to speak into existence.

“Don’t mention surgery,” You interrupted as you made your way over to the shower. “I don’t even wanna think about the surgery tomorrow.” 

“You do know that even if you ignore it, you still have to have surgery?” Jake asked as he frowned his brows and looked at you through the mirror. “We’re on the same page about that, right?” 

“What if I told you I’m just scared and don’t want anything to happen while I’m cut open like a fish?” You sassed as you looked back at Jake through the mirror. “If something happens–” 

“Hey, nothing's gonna happen,” Jake was quick to close the small gap between the two of you. He stood so close that your back pressed up against his chest. His eyes never left yours through the mirror you stood before. “I won’t let anything happen to you, or the kids for that matter.” 

“You left the kids with your mother,” You reminded your husband as he pressed his lips into a tight line of regret. “That alone is gonna cause them enough trauma Mr. ‘I won’t let anything happen to the kids’”

“You wound me, sweetheart,” Jake sighed as he tilted his head back and let out a sigh. “Besides, it’s actually you she hates, not the kids,” 

“Do you wanna help me shower or not?” You finally turned around to stand face-to-face with Jake. He was already smirking ear to ear. And it didn’t take long at all before his hands were dropping to your waist, slowly but surely making their slightly calloused way to the exposed skin of your ass. The hospital gown left little to the imagination. Jake wasn’t complaining. 

“When have I ever passed up the opportunity to see you naked?” Jake replied with a smirk you recognised was laced with lust. You felt him squeeze softly at your arse cheek playfully. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” You giggled as Jake made sure to count the staples on your head. He knew whatever came next would have to be soft. It would have to be gentle and full of love. Not that it ever wasn’t full of love. 

“You drive me crazy, honey,” Jake explained as he caught your lips with his. You couldn’t help but to melt into his body as you kissed him back. Jake’s hands kneaded at the handfuls of arse he never wanted to let go of as he moaned into your mouth. 

The feeling was electric. The moan your husband let out sent shivers down your spine. It was an animalistic attraction that you’d tried so hard to suppress in your separation. But no toy on earth could satisfy you like Jake could. Not even when they were bought with his money. 

“I love you so much,” Jake cooed as he pulled back just enough to let his forehead rest against yours. “You’re gonna get through this, I promise,” He left it at that as you wrapped your arms around his waist for a much-needed hug. 

When you let go, you took a moment to drink in the sight of your husband. You stared at all the perfect little imperfections that littered his skin. The bags under his eyes were more prominent than normal. That was to be expected though. 

“Jake?” You cooed as you reached up to swipe the pad of your thumb across his lower lip. 

“I’m right here,” Jake replied as he kept his eyes closed. If he opened them he knew the tears he was trying so desperately to keep in would fall. If he cried in front of you he'd never be able to stop himself. 

“I need you to wake up for me, alright?” 

“What did you say?” Jake frowned as he opened his eyes and looked at you all confused. He knew what you said. He heard it crystal clear. But he needed you to repeat it. He needed to hear you say it again, just once. The fluorescent bathroom light flickered as he stared at you. For a second…Jake stood alone in a hospital room he didn’t recognise. Only for him to find himself standing right before you again in the blink of an eye. “Honey?” 

“I said I need you to get my phone for me?” You repeated calmly. “My phone is ringing and if I try to race to it I won't get there in time.” The explanation fit the response you gave him. Jake thought for a moment there he was going crazy. He needed more sleep, that was without a doubt the answer to his second of madness. 

Jake silently nodded in agreement before he kissed your forehead. He was only gone for a few seconds before he returned with your phone. Still ringing. 

“Who is it?” You asked as you reached out to take your phone from Jake. By the look smeared across his face, it wasn't someone he necessarily liked. 

“It’s your boyfriend,” Jake teased as he handed you your phone. Based on that comment alone you knew it was Jensen. 

“Careful Seresin,” You teased lovingly, hoping Jake believed what you had told him earlier. “He might be my next husband if you don't play your cards right.” 

Jake knew you were kidding and if anything he deserved that comeback. He didn't like the guy, that much was true. But he could see how having someone who knew what it was like to not know your own body could be beneficial to the mind. 

“You caught me at a bad time,” Jake watched as you answered the phone and held it up to your ear. “I–oh,” You paused. The immediate worry that took over the expanse of your face was enough to have the little hairs on the back of Jake's neck standing on edge. 

“Jensen Huges–” The name hung heavy in the air around you as you listened to the woman on the other end of the line. According to her, there had been a small piece of paper tucked into the phone case of this particular phone at the scene of an accident. Your name. Your number. “Oh, no, no don't tell me that,” You begged. 

Jake was unable to hear what was being said in the silence, but as he watched your eyes well with tears, he knew. 

“Y/n, give me the phone, honey,” He whispered as he gestured to your phone. You shook your head in response as you continued to listen to the woman who had introduced herself as Ilona. A police officer with the Rhode Island police. “Sweetheart?” Jake cooed as he reached out for you. The second his fingertips grazed your shoulder…You fell. “Shit–” 

“NOOOOOOO!” The guttural scream you let out scared Jake to his very core. He’d never in his life heard you sound the way you did as you crumbled on the floor in the bathroom. “NOOOOOO!” 

“Baby, baby I'm here, what happened?” Jake asked softly as he cupped your face in his hands. Your phone was long forgotten. It had crashed down when you did. “Tell me what happened so I can help you, honey?” 

“He–he left me,” You managed to gasp out between sobs. “And I can’t–I can’t breathe, Jake, I ca–” 

“Hey, I’ve got you,” Jake promised you as he held you tightly in his arms. “It’s gonna be alright,” Jake seemed to have been in the business of making promises he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep. He had no fucking idea if things would be alright. But he needed them to be. 

“I can't do this without him,” You cried out in utter anguish. “He, he was the st-strongest,” Jake could tell where this was going as you struggled to speak through your grief-stricken sobs. “If he—then I,” 

“I’ve lost count of all the rooms you've been tall in Y/n,” It broke his heart to see you like this. So full of heartbreak. So full of hopelessness. “You gotta keep fighting, I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” 

“I don't know how to!” You admitted to not only yourself but to your husband as well. “I don't know how!” 

“I’m right here, honey,” Jake held you as tight as he could on the bathroom floor. “You don't have a choice,” He explained as you cried your heart out in a way Jake had never seen you cry before. He could hear your voice echoing in his head. 

“You need to wake up,”

“You need to wake up,”

“You need to wake up,”

“Don't give up on me now Y/n, I can't lose you to this alright?” Jake felt his own tears streaming down his cheeks. The tears he no longer had the strength to fight. The way you willed yourself to wake up from this nightmare you were living broke his heart into pieces. The tears he no longer had the strength to fight. “Please, you gotta keep fighting this.” 

“He was the stronger one,” You replied as you cried yourself into a ball in Jake's arms. Clutching at his arms as your nails dug into his forearms. Grief was a funny thing. “I can't–” 

“You have to,” Jake cried with you. He was losing the love of his life and there was nothing he could do to stop this nightmare from happening. “I’m gonna be right here every step.” 

“I just want you to wake up,” It was all you said. Jake knew he heard you that time. He heard you loud and clear… “Please, don't leave me,” 

But he had no idea what you were saying. 

**********************************

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[alicesivory]

Old Habits Die Hard [4/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3370

Summary: Aemond ventures beyond the Wall.

“Your hair looks nicer when it’s braided now.”

It seemed that the she-wildling could not keep her mouth shut. Rolling his eyes, Aemond changed the subject quickly, “How long ‘til we reach your people’s camp?” Aemond asked. “Just keep the horse in a steady pace up ahead and we’ll reach them in no time,” she answered him whilst comfortably sitting in front of him, between his arms that held the reins of the stallion. The reins were relaxed, and the stallion responded effortlessly to his light guidance through the cold and dark forest. The forest stands in eerie silence, its dense canopy casting a perpetual twilight over the twisted, gnarled trees. Shadows dance menacingly across the forest floor, where fallen leaves and branches lie in disarray, as if disturbed by some unseen force. The trees themselves seem alive, their bark scarred and contorted into grotesque shapes, carrying with it the faintest whisper of forgotten secrets, and the occasional creak or groan of the wood echoes through the stillness, adding to the sense of foreboding. 

No wonder they call this the haunted forest. 

“What lies in these woods?” Aemond asked once again. “Wild animals, mostly. But we don’t really hunt at night. It's a bad omen,” she replied. “Sometimes we see them at night, that’s where they emerge.” Her words made Aemond wonder, “Who do you speak of?”

“What do you think the walls were made for?”

Aemond thought for a moment. 

“To keep your kind away from entering the realm,” he said, hesitantly. Not quite confident with his answer. For he knew that the wall’s purpose was more than just keeping a few wildlings out of Westeros but, he does not know what. “It wasn’t even built because of us. My people were separated from yours because we were unlucky enough to live beyond the wall when it was built,” she explained. “It was the others that they were afraid of.”

“Others? Other tribes?”

“No. The undead.”

Chills ran down from Aemond’s spine.

The White Walkers. 

He has read countless books about the white walkers and the long night. How the battle for the dawn unfolded, yet all he knew was that it was all a myth. A fairytale. Stories to scare your child so they would sleep for the night. He recalled how the White Walkers were first written and mentioned during the Age of Heroes. Born of powerful and untested magic, they were created to protect the Children of the Forest during their war with the First Men. What once used to be puppets and soldiers for the Children of the Forest, the magic within the white walkers took a turn and rebelled against their creators and brought nothing but destruction to the realm. 

“But they were nothing but old stories. Fiction, even,” Aemond protested. 

“They are far from fiction, snow-hair.” 

The wildling looked back to him, surprisingly close since they were cramped at horseback. 

“What did they call you back there? I couldn’t recall. Was it Almond?”

“Aemond,” he grunts. 

She chuckled, “I like snow-hair better.”

“And what of you?” Slowly speaking her name which seemed foreign to his tongue. 

“Close enough,” she shrugged with a smirk, looking back into the road. Aemond wondered once again of the undead she mentioned. Were they lurking behind the old trees of this very forest? Were their lives at stake when they stepped their foot to this forest. “They took my brother,” she said, capturing Aemond’s attention. “The undead?” She nodded at his question. “He seemed to forget about time that day. But what kind of child remembers time, really? They wanted to play all day. So he did, running inside the woods without me or my mother’s attention, wanting to become a great hunter who enters the forest with no fear like my father. And he never came back.” 

He felt sorry for the girl, for he himself had felt the same kind of grief when he heard of Aegon’s death. Especially when they could’ve done something to prevent their deaths. “Sometimes I wonder if they buried him at all. If they did, I wonder where they buried him,” she said, spacing off into the distance. “There is no sympathy from the dead. Nor do they care for the living,” he said to her. “I know. But I’d like to think they did. He was just a child.” 

The whole ride quickly became gloomy and sour as the pair battled their grief as bad memories and remorse overcome their thoughts. “Does that stop you from hunting in the forest?” Aemond asked, trying to bring peace to her. “No, not really. I think I became eager to hunt here. Maybe one day I can find him well and just…cleverly hiding between trees,” she said with a bitter chuckle, sensing her denial of her brother’s disappearance. A sense of protectiveness washed over Aemond, knowing what it felt like to see light in the midst of darkness. Denying the truth to comfort yourself. He knew of that feeling. 

“Maybe one day you would. One day.”

Crack. Swish. 

“What was that?” 

Crack. Crack. Crack. 

“A wild beast?” Aemond asked. 

A figure emerging slowly behind the tree as they pass. “That is no beast,” the wildling alarmingly said, taking over the reins and snapped it making their horse gallop through the dark forest. “I would’ve preferred it to be a wild beast so we can take it home, yet you and I know that is no beast, snow hair,” she spoke as the harsh winds of the north hits their faces. Aemond looked back, seeing two..three...four figures catching up onto them. 

“How do we escape them?” He asked. 

“Hold on tight.” 

She took a turn in a swift motion, galloping off the road going between trees. In hopes for them to stop gaining on them. The wildling kept snapping the reins ordering the horse to go faster with only the moon being their source of light. “C’mon…c’mon…,” he heard her grunting as she took a glance behind and saw some still following their tracks. Galloping between trees, their horse finally took them to safety at the edge of the forest, to a clear opening. 

Making Aemond have a clear vision of the undead. 

Their skins were pale, almost blue. 

They look like humans yet they were not at the same time. 

The creatures frightened him more than anything else, but as they neared the edge of the forest, the White Walkers ceased their pursuit and vanished behind the trees. Aemond exhaled deeply, relieved that they had escaped the forest unharmed. Suddenly the horse neighed, abruptly stopping. Making both of them grunt in pain when they nearly fell. “What’s wrong?” The wildling asked the horse before an arrow striked a tree behind them. They looked around, trying to find any signs of life. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond hissed when she stepped down from the horse. “Where’s my dagger?” She whispered, ignoring his previous question. Aemond sighed, tossing her the dagger beneath his black cloak. Catching it with ease, she spoke into the air,

“It’s only me! Gruff? Yuri?” Aemond was curious about those people she called out. Were they one of her people? Who were they?

“Blimey kid, you scared the shit out of us!” 

A loud booming voice suddenly said, emerging from the snowy ecosystem. Their thick fur coats also seemed to be efficient for camouflage. Aemond saw how his peculiar she wildling smiled brightly when she spotted her friend, running towards the tall red haired man giving him a tight hug making them both laugh as he picked her up in his arms. 

Aemond rolled his eye.

“Thought you were gone for! We saw those creepy dead people- thank the gods!” The red haired wildling said, ruffling her hair. “Oww! No! Do you think that low of me, old man?!” She asked with a laugh, shoving the man away from her. “Oi, I'm not that old, young lady.” Locking her head once again with his arm. “Yuri! Look who just came back from the dead!” The red haired shouted, now another wildling emerged from the opening. His hair was blonde, almost as light as the hair of the Lannisters. “We really thought you were dead, kid,” Yuri said, patting her shoulder. 

Who were they? Why were they awfully close with her? 

From what he witnessed, a young woman could only interact like this with the opposite gender if they were siblings or wedded. Even he never saw any of his wedded acquaintances interacting this way. Were they her siblings? They don’t seem to resemble one another, were they bastards? Did they came from different mothers?

Aemond cleared his throat, stepping down from his horse, interrupting their reunion. 

“Ah yes- Gruff, Yuri, this is ehm..Aemond Targaryen. The man that I spoke of to the both of you,” she said. The red haired, who was named Gruff looked Aemond from head to toe. “Gruff and Yuri are my hunting friends. We’ve been hunting together since we were children and fun fact, we have the same grandsire.”

Gruff slowly approached the one eyed prine, keeping an eye on him. Aemond straightened his back to appear taller, gripping the handle of his sword, preparing himself. Once Gruff stopped in front of him, their noses bumping into each other, he spoke, 

“Did your mum fucked a snowman?”

“I beg your pardon–,” Aemond stepped closer, ready to draw his sword out.

“–Alright that’s enough!” She quickly stepped between the two men. “What Gruff was trying to say was, how is your hair silver?” She asked. "My father, my grandsire, my great-grandsire��all of them had silver hair," Aemond hissed, his gaze fixed on the red-haired wildling. "How did they end up with silver hair?" the red-haired wildling asked, crossing his arms. Aemond couldn't believe how absurd this conversation had become. Frustrated, he let his hands drop. "We're from old Valyria," Aemond explained with resignation. "It's simply a trait we have—silver hair is just part of who we are."

“Valyria? What’s that?” The blonde wildling asked curiously. “It's a place far from the north, Yuri– Now come on! We must bring him to the Chief.” Walking past them, she held the horse’s reins and started walking ahead. Gruff purposely bumped Aemond’s shoulder as he passed through the one eyed prince. Aemond rolled his eyes again, resigned to the childish behavior of these people, before catching up and walking alongside her. Compared to the two wildlings, he found her more tolerable. At least she didn’t ask pointless questions.s. “I have told our Chief about you,” she said. “I am sure he will take it easy on you,” she said.

 “Does he takes it easy with anyone else?”

“No, not really. He’s quite rude if you ask me.”

“As rude as your friend there?” Aemond chuckled bitterly.

“You’re in for a ride,” she chuckled, patting Aemond’s shoulder. 

As much as Aemond would like to worry, he could not as he knew that she was the one who brought him to her people. For her people needed him, not the other way around. He hoped that this agreement would be the means for her to fulfill her promise and return him to Westeros once and for all. Additionally, he couldn’t help but notice her diminutive stature compared to his own—she barely reached his shoulder, smaller than any lady from Westeros yet possessing a fierceness and demeanor that defied conventional femininity. A smirk tugged at his lips.. 

And there he saw it. In the vast expanse of snow-covered terrain, a tribe lives a nomadic life, their existence marked by resilience and adaptability. Their tents, typically made of sturdy animal hides or woven materials, scattered across the field. The tents are insulated with layers of fur and cloth, designed to withstand the biting cold. The camp itself is a lively hub of activity despite the harsh environment. Smoke curls up from several central hearths, where fires are kept burning to provide warmth and to cook meals. The scent of roasting meat and simmering stews mingled with the crisp, cold air when he stepped closer to them.

Like when he first entered Winterfell, all eyes fell upon him, following him as he walked side by side with her. “It seems you have captured the people’s attention,” she teased with a cocky smile. “Why is it because of my hair or my eye?” He asked. “Neither. It’s your attire.” Aemond looked down to his clothing. Of course, he’s still dressed like a member of the night’s watch.

“We hate the crows in here, so it’s better for you to strip those clothes after you meet our Chief,” she said, giving him a wink. Before he could protest, a snow hit his cloak, making him flinch. Turning around, he saw a couple of children running around, even snickering at his presence. “Careful now boys!” She chuckled, greeting some of those children. “Never seen a crow, huh?” She crouched down, talking to the children surrounding her. 

“He only has one eye!” One of the children tried to whisper to her. “Scary, isn’t he? Tell you what, I’ll let you pick on him when I’m not around,” she said to the kids, making them snicker and giggle in excitement. 

She was really good with children. 

Throughout his life, he rarely sees his mother or even his sister being this natural with children. It makes him wonder if she has one. 

“For the meantime, can all of you keep an eye on our horse?” Offering the rein to the children, in which they eagerly accepted before taking the horse away. Aemond curiously kept his eye on the horse as the children led it away. “Don’t worry, they are very gentle with horses. They know their purpose,” she reassured him before she started to walk once more. 

Approaching one of the biggest tents in the area, the spearwife stops beside him, “If the Chief likes you, you’ll live another day.” Before smiling mischievously stepping inside the tent. Slightly on edge, he hesitated to follow them inside. But he would not cower in fear and enter anyways. Reminding himself to keep himself in check if he wants to go home. He stepped inside, his eye falling onto a man sitting in his chair as his companions surrounded him, whispering to each other. 

“Chief, I would like you to meet the crow I spoke of. This is Aemond Targaryen,” she introduced him. Aemond nodded with respect to their chief, an older wildling who carefully inspected Aemond, standing up from his seat. “Targaryen,” he said. “A peculiar tribe. Was it true that your family had power over dragons?” The Chief asked in which Aemond instantly nodded, “Yes, my Lord.”

All of them chuckled humorously. 

“Lord? I’m flattered to be called a Lord,” the chief said in humour. 

“So, where is your dragon now?”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Aemond spoke. 

“She was killed at war.” A sense of bitterness, trying to mask his grief and sadness for Vhagar’s death. 

“A shame,” the Chief said. 

A pregnant pause.

“I want everybody out of this tent.” Aemond’s eyes widened. Was he going to be murdered? Did he not fulfil the Chief’s expectations? 

“But Chief–,” 

“–Especially you, girl. I shall talk to you when I’m done with this crow.”

Aemond instantly locked his eye with hers. Even her expression was unreadable as she hesitantly turned around to exit the tent. She gave him a nod, giving him support before leaving him alone with the Chief. Aemond turned his gaze back to the Chief who was crossing his arms inspecting Aemond from head to toe. 

“The girl likes you,” the Chief chuckles. “If it wasn’t for her you’d probably be dead by now. Killed by those crows.” Aemond kept his expression stoic as he brushed off the Chief’s words. “Speaking of crows, she told me you were forced to be one. Was that true?”

Aemond nodded.

“Yes, Chief.”

“What was your crime?”

“I was called a traitor to the Starks. Yet I beg to differ, for it was them who were traitors,” Aemond bravely said. 

“Traitors to whom?”

“The Throne. My brother.”

“Your brother? Your brother sat on a throne?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“That makes you a prince, then.”

A title he deeply missed. Aemond stood proudly, straightened his back as he kept his chin up high. 

“I am–,”

“You were.” 

“For you are currently not in Westeros, my boy. You are beyond the wall. Everyone beyond the wall fights for survival. For nature does not care if you’re a king or a criminal. And so far as I know, you stand before me,” the Chief said, telling Aemond to abandon his title as prince. “Where does your loyalty lie, boy?” The Chief asked, stepping closer to the one eyed prince. “To the crows?–”

“–No,” Aemond spoke with no hesitation. 

“The Starks?”

“Never.”

The Chief hummed in agreement. “The girl told me you wished to be rewarded. To go back to your family.” Aemond nodded, wishing nothing more than that. “So you’re loyal to your family,” he pointed out.

Aemond nodded. 

“Good. A man should always stay loyal to his family.”

He poured his drink onto his cup, “But will you stay loyal to us as you serve my tribe? And lead us to victory?” Aemond looked down, seeing the cup lent to him. Offering a friendship– an alliance– trust. Trusting a wildling. It seemed impossible for him, but he recalled simple questions by those wildlings about his hair. They were a simple tribe, living out of the complicated politics of Westeros. He could outsmart them easily and they’re offering him friendship. 

She paced back and forth in front of the Chief’s tent, waiting for the Targaryen to exit the tent unharmed. “You seemed stressed, kid,” Gruffed snickered, crossing his arms as he took notice on worried expression. “Of course, I am,” she said, stopping her steps abruptly. “May I know why?” He chuckled.

 “Is it because of the crow?–”

“–He is not a crow. He loathes the crows as much as we do.”

Gruff chuckled amusingly. 

“And? I bet Chief will tolerate him–,”

“–What if he doesn't? What if he beheaded that man and puts him on a spike?!–”

“–So what? What if he were beheaded? You should not care for that outsider—,”

“–I don’t care about him! I-I-I just want what’s best for our people–,”

“–You like him,” Gruff points at her with a mocking laugh. “I don’t! You pig!” She shouted defensively, quickly slapping Gruff’s arm repeatedly. “You do! You like that snow haired boy!” Gruff kept pointing at her as he teased her. The young she wildling grunts in frustration as he denies her feelings for the Targaryen. “If you speak of this one more time, I will kill you in your sleep, Gruff.” 

“Oooh you’ll kill me in my sleep, eh? Right, sure you don’t like that boy, surely if he one day betrays us will you kill him in his sleep?”

“I will. And I’ll cut off his cock and hang it in front of your tent,” she speaks bluntly. 

“Right, you sure you won’t use that for anything else?”

Her face turned red before she threw a hard punch across the red haired’s face. Groaning in pain, Gruff still laughed at her being so flustered with his words. “Why do you like him anyways? Is it because of his hair? His eye? Ooh his other eye, the sapphire?” Gruff asked, sitting up curiously looking at his friend. “For the last time, I do not like our new comer,” she repeated herself. “Keep telling that to yourself, kid. If I see silver haired babies one day–.”

The tent opened, Aemond stepping out of the tent.

Unharmed. 

“Ah, so he gave you a chance to live another day,” she said quickly, changing her once worried demeanour into the confident young wildling she is. Aemond could only nod, towering over her. “I shall, and I will.” 

His purple eye fixed on hers, “Where can I find new clothes?”

a/n: stay tuned for the next chapter and I apologize if this is not my best work but😊✨

[space-blue]

A Radical Messmer Theory

OKAY so hear me out.

I think we're all on top of things regarding how much Marika used to care for Messmer despite the embivalence of their relationship.

On one hand you have the OP healing vials she created for him and him only. You have his love and dedication to her. You have her taking his eye and giving her a seal that both locks the serpent but also hides the fact that he is GRACELESS.

Then you'll have things like how he hates his flame and tried to be rid of it, yet was clearly made to fight with it, in her name. How he wishes for hate and resentment to come to him and not her, yet she seems to have abandoned him.

BUT CONSIDER THIS!!

What if Marika sealed him away to keep him safe?

Because... If you are of the opinion that Marika has orchestrated the entire thing. That she exiled Godfrey and his people asking them to come back stronger because she was laying out a plan... That she hooked Ranni up with numen warriors to engineer Godwyn's death, then broke the Elden Ring purposefully...

And then took her punishment and set out to *wait* for the Tarnished to return and free her from the control of the Elden Beast...

Then it's possible that she veiled Messmer and exiled him to protect him FROM US. From the Shattering War.

After all, we can completely skip the DLC. Killing Mogh is completely optional. And the only reason we enter the shadow realm is because Miquella has discovered something of the gate of divinity and has been cooking up a plan for ages as well.

Miquella got thwarted and has been forced to wait in stasis until someone killed Radahn AND Mogh for ages. The moment he does, we have the opportunity to enter and follow, and because of that we have to kill Messmer.

But Marika's grace leads the way! you argue. Not until a certain point though, and most importantly: once Miquella is on his way to become a god (partially through your actions freeing the tower from shadows) then he becomes someone you need to kill because he's threatening the old order.

Marika is gambling on us, and when Miquella rises, she leads the way towards us defeating him and his consort, and then back to the main purpose.

But there's no reason to go kill Messmer. And if we don't, we can easily stipulate that Miquella's happy go lucky band of misfits also wouldn't have managed to bring him down, trapping Miquella's soul in the of shadows, once more in stasis waiting for a hurdle to be overcome for him.

It makes sense then, that the land of shadows, all considered, is the safest place for one of Marika's children to be. Out of the way. Without a great rune. He protects something she wants to keep secret, but maybe the secret itself protects him.

She sent him on that crusade around the time she married Radagon. Everyone theorises she wanted him out of the way to either have his true nature hidden out of shame or to protect him from backlash at the time, but imo she sent him to seal him away because :

1- she knows he's endlessly loyal and devoted

2- it gets her revenge underway and keeps her secrets

3- it gets Messmer out of the public eye in the moment

4- it keeps Messmer SAFE from the dark shit she's got planned that will wreck the lands between.

The Messmer most beloved son theory! The good Tarnished doesn't play the DLC, or does just long enough to run around but leaves Messmer alive and Miquella forever blue balled.

[knightyoomyoui]

Heartbreak On Air

ft. Kim Sejeong (x Male Reader)

TYPE: Angst

WORD COUNT: 2618

NOTE: Finally got to create a one-shot featuring one of my favorite Korean actresses and definitely one of the most gorgeous I've ever seen. I kid you not, I have a huge crush on her lol. However, nobody is safe with my love for angsty stuff.

DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui

DESCRIPTION: YN, a lonely but determined man, calls into a popular late-night talk radio show, to share a story about the biggest regret of his life—breaking up with his ex-girlfriend years ago. ===OOO=== People say that time will help you move on from a devastating break-up, but it was all lie.

Instead, it brings you the opposite. It just makes things harder for you to let go.

Especially if that girl you still keep your heart linked for truly had you believing that she’s the most perfect woman you’ve ever had the golden luck to once claim as yours.

Until this day, you remained to be a lonely man who is still holding on for girlfriend who is now your ex after an unforgettable 3 years of relationship. You didn’t want it to happen, which is the reason why its still hard for you to forget it. However, there’s also another thing that keeps you uncomfortable every night when you suddenly think of her.

You’re aware to yourself to you are the cause of each other’s downfall. Back then, you didn’t admit it because of something that pulls you back. Although the consequences was that she had to watch you disappear and leave her with many questions she may be wondering at that time.

Regret eats you alive, and it disturbs you. That’s why if only an opportunity will be given to you someday, you’ll use it for one particular purpose: and that is to apologize for what you’ve done. For the peace of both worlds that once shared but has now gone apart.

That is until one day, when you were on your way home riding a taxi, the driver was playing this channel on the radio where it tells a random story from an anonymous person. You suspected that this is probably the main point of the show. As you gave it a listen, you also found it even more investing not only because of that person’s story… but also to the voice of the DJ narrating.

It almost sounded like… her. 

You shook it off, not wanting to let the delusions get onto you. Yet you couldn’t blame it for happening, everything reminds you of her. You’re the one who still deeply attached for Sejeong.

The story wasn’t finished yet and you’ve reached the destination. Before you were dropped off, you asked for confirmation to the taxi driver what’s the radio channel he’s tuned in. He answered and gave it a little extra information that its currently popular which made you thanked him before leaving.

He didn’t bothered asking more, but if he did then your response would probably be only that you wanted to listen more to this show. But no, there’s more to that. Realizing that it grants people the freedom to tell their unspoken stories to others, an idea was formulated in his mind.

Meanwhile, a week later, Sejeong who has been doing great these days notably due to the new installment of her own radio program called “Confessions Beyond The Nightsky” after a friend encourages her to be a DJ. She always wanted to try using her voice more not only through singing when she came up with an idea from her friend on how she’ll do that.

That is to become the voice of the voiceless for people who had something to say deep within them but unable to do so because of hesitations in their emotions.

“Thank you again to our second sender for getting in touch to our program! Again, I wish you all the best to your decisions in the future and if you know to yourself that it’s the right thing to do, then go ahead for it..” Sejeong now in her alias known as DJ Sam for work, said on the mic as she refolded the paper she was reading.

“Many people would probably gonna be so related to what Danica said in her letter, especially on being the breadwinner of the family.” She added with a tint of sympathy in her face. “Okay and now for our last sender to this week’s episode, let’s take a look beneath its story!”

She grabbed the envelope that was given to her by the manager. She unwrapped it and revealed its content. “So this one is coming from a guy named (your other name). I hope you are currently listening to me right now YNN because yours is up next to be told by yours truly. Let’s begin with our last story.”

“Dear, DJ Sam. You can just call me by the name of YNN, that’s the name my ex-girlfriend loves to call me.”

Sejeong paused for a moment. A strange familiar feeling crept up inside of her. His image emerged in his mind brought by the suspicious message. 

“I just want to share a little bit about us first. I’ll just gonna call her “Sesang”  h-”

Sejeong felt like her heart dropped after pronouncing that name. This wasn’t just a normal coincidence anymore. Her speculations were right, this was indeed coming from the only person… the only man she is thinking of.

“Sam, is anything okay?” The manager asked her dumbfounded state. She gulped and nodded. “I’m fine. I just… remember someone.”

“Okay, sorry listeners if I stopped for a moment.” She said, shifting back to bring a professional despite trying to conceal herself from getting exposed. “To continue, he mentioned that her name is going to be Sesang in his story. Sesang and I had a relationship that lasted for 3 years.”

It came from him. She confirmed it in her thoughts. She forced her emotions not to burst out with just a reminder of you.

“She was my first and definitely I could tell the best I’ve ever had. Setting aside the thoughts of me looking for somebody else or not, but I just have this confidence of mine that I could never find another woman who as perfect as her.” She continued, a bittersweet smile formed on her lips.

“Our relationship was something I would cherish for the rest of my life. It was unforgettable, a once in a lifetime moment of mine, and definitely because I got to spend those times with her. I still couldn’t believe these days that I got to make her fall in love with me too. 

Knowing how much of an average guy I am before while she is the center of attention by most of the guys back then in our campus because of how breathtakingly beautiful she is. Maybe her being conservative of me and I just doing what I always do that separates me from the rest was probably the reason why we ended up together.

Our relationship was nothing more of a rollercoaster ride. We had a lot of ups and downs, we did struggled during the early period when we get to convince both sides of our families to accept each other which fortunately I did. I was so happy, because all I ever wanted is to officially call her mine without any limitations.

I was proud to have her as my girlfriend and so did she, that’s why I know she must be highly disappointed of me when the end of us didn’t went the same as how we started.” 

Sejeong sighed for a second, she already expected that this is about to get heavy the longer it gets. “Yes, I blame myself. I am well-aware that I was the cause of our separation. Back then I became insecure, I was depressed, and I was scared. All of that whenever I just remember her, and knowing how my family went rock bottom when my dad got scammed abroad by his relatives of moving to another country for a better job opportunity.”

Sejeong started to furrow her eyebrows as she became more focused on what you have been mentioning in the letter. She didn’t know any of this and narrating your story would be the only way to reach the answers she was begging for a long time.

“Financially and emotionally, my family was torn apart because of what happened. My dad became very stressful and desperate to rebuild all of what he spent to provide for us that it affected his mindset and his personality. It caused him and my mom to argue, I tried to to be the bridge to get them back together but instead it just grew worse to the point they weren’t communicating with one another anymore. 

That’s why most of the responsibilities of attending to every concern regarding about us not only in the house but through stuff like my brother’s studies, I catched them all. It affected me as well that I had to abandon my dreams and look for a job to contribute since my dad’s salary wasn’t enough anymore. All of the burden started to get onto me, that I slowly changing from the type of person that Sesang used to love me for.”

“She did noticed that, I know she was.” Sejeong recalled the times she had to witness him suddenly acting cold, short-tempered, and unable to be present at times when she needed him, painfully agreeing to what you’ve said. The following lines referred to what she had thought, which confirmed it further.

“I tried to mask it whenever I’m close or I’m facing her but I just can’t. The responsibilities I’m carrying is too heavy for me to withstand. Which is why I thought that if I have to let go one important thing, maybe it’ll do for the better and it’ll won’t continue to affect us any longer.

“I didn’t want to… but I chose to let her go.” Sejeong squeezed her eyes shut to fight her tears. Her heart clenching as she seethes how those words sting. “My family needed me more. I know she does but… I just can’t keep on bringing her more to my problems. I can’t let myself be with her, making her believe that she’s spending time with the same guy that she loved from the beginning.

“I know I’ve gone different. I tried to fight it but it’s too exhausting that I just wanted for us to be free.” Sejeong’s hands trembling as she grips the paper. “I was the one who ended our relationship, and here comes the biggest mistake that I regret within this day, DJ Sam. 

I refused to tell her why. I told her nothing. I just left her there, probably wondering if she was the problem instead. I just said that it’s for the better and I just couldn’t do this anymore.”

That memory was still fresh for Sejeong as well. Standing in front of their house, watching you walk away wiping the tears on your eyes, desperately calling for your name to come back but you never did.

“I disappeared for 2 years. My family returned to the province and we got assisted there by my mom’s relatives. Fortunately, our life slowly went better and it eased me for doing a lot to them. I just hope that my happiness for my family was just as same as I am for me and Sesang. The cost of my decision was that it led me to sleepless nights, regretting my actions of cutting ties with her like it was nothing.

That’s why Sesang, if you’re out there, listening right now to DJ Sam’s show as she read this letter of mine for you, I want you to know I thank you for everything that we had and despite our breakup, I never stopped loving you.”

Sejeong curses under her breath. This is getting too much of a struggle of her to endure this amount of gut wrenching moment for the sake of her job and to not get embarrassed at the public. It was just handwritten sentence, but imagining him and his voice speaking it out loud for her and for the whole world to listen how much he regrets leaving her and that he still has her in his heart, she can’t deny that it touched her a lot.

She smiled through the pain and admired your final paragraph. “I should’ve fought for us. I’m sorry if you had to be the one I have to sacrifice for. I don’t know if what I did is right, but trust me when I tell you that you doing fine these days, probably together with somebody who won’t break your heart and value your love unlike me is what I wish for you to be.

But if you ever want to talk, I’ll be here waiting and I won’t ever go again. With love, YNN.”

Sejeong breathed deeply before closing the letter and smiled bitterly. “Wow. That was… pretty tragic.” She chuckled and wiped her tears. “You guys may not see me right now but I’m literally tearing up, I know some of you may be as well.” She faked her own surge of emotions to fool everybody.

“Well uhm, thank you YNN for that wonderful yet heartbreaking letter.” Sejeong cleared her throat and reached for some tissue that was handed to her by her manager. “You made some of us emotional here in the studio so great job, I suppose.”

“Anyways, here’s what I could say to your story, YNN. I know you’re listening right now just as she is too. You don’t have to wait anymore because I’m sure she has heard your words of longing and sorrow. 

And if I would be the one in place of her, I’d say that I forgive you.” She smiled within her teary eyes. She looked at her manager and some of the staffs monitoring her, she lowered her herself as she leans at the decision she had to do. 

To end both ends’ unresolved conflict for good.

"YNN… or should I say, YN… you have no idea how many nights I stayed up, wondering why you left. I thought maybe I wasn’t enough, maybe I did something wrong. But hearing you now…" She pauses, collecting herself. 

"I realized you weren’t trying to hurt me. That you gave up on me and abandon me like all we had was nothing. You were trying to protect me in the only way you knew how. But the thing is… I never needed protecting from you. I just needed you just as how I much I am willing to be there for you.”

A shaky exhale comes through the mic. "I won’t lie—hearing this now, after all these years, it’s a lot to sink in. Part of me wants to be angry, to tell you that you should’ve trusted me, that we could’ve faced everything together if you had just let me in. But another part of me… another part is just relieved to finally hear the truth.”

She hesitates for a second, then says, "I don’t know what this means for us. I don’t know if we can go back to who we were. But if there’s one thing I do know, YN… it’s that I hear you. And after all these years, I think it’s time we finally talk… maybe in that way, it can pull us back together just like the old times.”

Then, after a long pause, she adds with a hint of warmth in her voice. “Now for your letter, here’s a song that we would like to dedicate for you.” One of the crew in charge of the sound system then played “Talking To The Moon” by Bruno Mars.

As the songs ends, Sejeong steadied herself as the silence lingers between them. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer than usual, a mix of vulnerability and quiet strength. 

“And that’s the final story for this week’s episode of Confessions Beyond The Nightsky, thank you everyone again for listening! This has been your DJ Sam…. now going off air!”

===OOO===

[littledeathdove]

Little Mother Miranda Headcanons

From the state of how her laboratory looked in the game shows that she is most likely messy. I will say that she is clean for the most part, but I believe that after certain documents and papers lose their value she loses them and they eventually end up…somewhere. She doesn’t want to get rid of them just in case she will need later on.

She can draw and does it really good, I mean she literally had like a whole table dedicated to drawing. I believe she would draw things she finds interest in, and that she also draws little drawings of moments she shared with Eva in the corner of papers.

Her voice softens when she talks about Eva, it’s not completely noticeable since Miranda doesn’t mean to do it, it’s a unintentional thing. Unless you’re actively paying attention to her, you won’t be even able to notice it.

She doesn’t have many interests, and her interest is hard to earn AND keep. Simply because her mind is always on two main things, her dear daughter and advancing her knowledge on the mold. So when something does somehow catch her interest, she tends to become obsessed with it. Like badly obsessed, and this doesn’t shy away from people too.

She doesn’t talk much unless she is giving out speeches to villagers, or talking to the lords. But she does talk likely a lot when it’s about scientific topics, especially the mold.

Miranda can cook, and she does it very well. Cause when she was still a mortal and Eva was still alive, Miranda didn’t have a steady income source, so money was almost always small. Meaning she had to cook with whatever she was able to afford. Which led to her becoming good at making random ingredients into a delicious meal.

Miranda is the closest to Donna out of all the lords. Out of all the other lords, Donna is the only one who will ever be able to spend a peaceful moment with Miranda without it involving something of business. Miranda also enjoys Donna’s nature to stick to the shadows and not cause any problems.

Miranda also ordered Donna to make multiple dresses and also a few dolls in the past. Both items show the luxury of materials and the beauty of time put into them. These items are for Eva when Miranda brings her back. The reason they are so luxurious is that Miranda wasn't able to afford such things for Eva when she still had her due to her being a peasant during her mortal hood.

I have this funny idea that Miranda only prepared things that Eva would ever want when Eva returns, and not things she would need. For instance, Miranda doesn't have an actual house for Eva and herself to live in once Eva comes back. She just didn't think that far when it came to the whole rebirth. And one could blame it on the fact she is always too engrossed in her research to think of all of it.

Miranda doesn't know how to flirt. She was the one getting flirted with in the past when it truly mattered. But now Miranda is the big, powerful woman who most people fear so no one is going to be stupid enough to do such a thing now. This means if she now catches some type of romantic attraction to someone, she is going to have to be the one to initiate it. This is horrible for poor Miranda cause her flirting would make the person believe they are next to be killed instead of giving them butterflies.

Eva does come in her dreams, and no she doesn't appear in Miranda’s dreams, but Eva's soul purposely comes in her mom’s dreams. It is the real reason why Miranda has such strong faith in the mold to bring her daughter back. Sometimes Eva tells Miranda riddles, that Miranda always forgets in the morning or doesn't understand.

Miranda was forced to marry Eva’s father, but I wouldn't say the marriage was horrible. Eva’s father was a kind man and had died due to the same sickness that took his daughter. Unfortunately, he was the reason Eva caught the Spanish Flu since he passed it on to her before his passing. Miranda had a hatred towards him for many years because of this, which is also the reason why she doesn't work to bring her daughter and her father back.

Miranda finds it funny to annoy people or piss them off. She especially does this toward the lords because they are her easiest targets. Miranda finds it most funny to secretly annoy Alcina since Alcina gives the best reactions to being annoyed, except for Karl. Karl is her second favorite to annoy since he keeps his anger within, and it looks like he is a vibrating machine with how his body trembles out of annoyance from Miranda’s antics. Moreau is her least favorite because he just whines when he ever notices Miranda purposely annoying him. Miranda doesn't even know how to annoy Donna when that veil is in the way of seeing Donna’s reactions, so Miranda just gives up on that most of the time.

Miranda had forgotten part of Eva’s face for some time until Eveline was created, and Miranda finally remembered Eva’s full face from looking at Eveline’s.

Also after she remembers, Miranda takes a day to sketch out Eva's face as much as she can. Doesn't matter what type of paper or what type of writing utensil, Miranda would sketch her baby’s face out with whatever she can get her hands on at the moment as long as it helps her not forget ever again.

Miranda has been a tad bit…unhinged since she was mortal. It’s probably due to how she looked in that picture when she was holding baby Eva that I believe this. I don't know if it's just me but it just looks like she would do some outlandish shit if you give her a good reason to do so.

Like come on, look at her eyes.

Those don't look like crazy eyes to y'all? Just me? Okay 😔

Miranda forgot like a lot of her memories, the only ones she remembers is her favorite ones with Eva. And that’s only because she draws them — well sketch’s them — during her free time.

Am I tying this headcanon due to Miranda having short hair which means she probably cut it?

Yes.

(If you don’t understand, it’s because of the theory, I believe it is, that when you cut your hair, you are cutting off memories of your past.)

ANYWAY THATS ALL MY CURRENT HEADCANONS 😋🫶🏾 this is me also clearing out drafts since it’s been here for a longgg time.

[fsfghgee]

Bi-Han Breakdown: because I think he deserves it. And unfortunately, he's receiving a lot of hate for no sane reason

Bi-Han is not a saint, but clearly complex and misunderstood. I hope this post can help you to understand his character and alignment in MK1 better.

1° HE LET HIS FATHER DIE, HE IS EVIL!

Bi-Han letting his father die is the main reason that make people think he is evil, but let's think about it...

Bi-Han let his father die, he didn't kill his father in cold blood and Liu Kang knew about it! Why he kept Bi-Han close, had high hopes for him (his words) and still wants him back if he is so evil?

Liu kang: Come in from the cold, Bi-Han. ("Come in from the cold" Definition & Meaning: to become part of a group or of normal society again after one has been outside it.)

Bi-Han: And again kneel before you?

Liu kang to Scorpion (about Bi-Han): I had such high hopes for your brother.

Scorpion to Geras: I want to see the moment my father died. (so yeah, Liu Kang knows how Bi- han/Tomas/Kuai Liang's father died. And he doesn't blame Bi-Han for his death)

Besides, who said his father couldn't have done the same thing with Bi-han's mother, since she was also a warrior who followed Liu Kang and letting someone die is not a big deal for Lord Liu Kang...

Tomas: Did you intend for me to be orphaned?

Liu Kang: Some threads must be cut to weave time's fabric. (Translation: YES, I DID. WHAT YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?)

Why doesn't he resent his mother for following Liu Kang like he does with his father? Why does he genuinely believes that she would be pround of his actions?

Tomas: If mother were alive...

Bi-Han: She would applaud my actions.

C'mon, look at his eyes! You can see the pain in them:

Bi-Han to Kitana: Your mother's death is regrettable.

He never shows remorse for anything, but he's truly sorry for Sindel's death, because he wasn't there to help them defeats Shang Tsung's god counterpart and maybe prevent her death. He truly admired Sindel. Also, Sindel was a mother. And he loves his mother.

Bi-Han to Sindel: You wield the power that I aspire to.

Bi-Han to Sindel: I don't want your throne. Just part of Earthrealm.

He only despise his father and Liu Kang's authority...

Bi-Han to Liu Kang: My father was a fool to follow you.

Kenshi to Bi-Han: Why do you so resent Liu Kang's authority?

He keep saying to everyone:

Father was a fool, lacked vision, never saw the Lin Kuei's potential etc. Then, you can say BUT HE NEVER SAID HIS FATHER WAS EVIL...

True. But who knows? He doesn't see himself as evil for not trying to save his father (nor Liu Kang, a GOD.) when he had the chance, but a lot of people thinks he is evil for it. And his father was a man of many secrets...

That demon who thinks it's cool kill "evil creatures" whithin her parameters to get what she wants "a pure form/soul": There are many in the Netherrealm (hell) just like you.

Bi-Han: You conflate ambition with evil, Ashrah.

Bi-Han to himself: Our father was a man of many secrets.

2°

HE IS MEAN TO TOMAS AND TRIED TO KILL HIM, HE IS EVIL!

I truly love Tomas, but Bi-Han not accepting him as a brother in front of him, doesn't make him evil. Tomas's family was murdered by Lin Kuei's warriors in front of him and the grandmaster (Bi-Han's father) took him in to make of that broken child a powerful warrior who could also kill! In Bi-Han's eyes, Tomas was always a potential threat to the clan and he state it in his face:

Bi-Han to Tomas: Your treachery does not surprise me.

But despite everything, he also, multiple times, recognize Tomas as a worthy fellow Lin Kuei and even as his brother:

Look at how proud Tomas seems to be 🥺

How could Bi-Han think about harm Tomas when everything happened so fast?! He couldn't even see where Tomas was, he rushed to check where he was and not even looked at the ground to purposely kick a rock on him:

Liu Kang: Your brothers regret losing your fellowship.

Bi-Han: Then they shouldn't have disobeyed my commands.

He clearly recognize Tomas as his youngest brother, just not in front of him. You ask me why he doesn't do the same in front of Tomas? Firstly, he always had a foot out the door in his relationship with Tomas because of his background (TOMAS'S BIOLOGICAL FAMILY WAS MURDERED BY HIS CLAN); Secondly, Tomas was supporting all that Kuai Liang's mourning for their father's death and Bi-Han was clearly fed up and lost it. You can even see how surprised Tomas was:

He clearly wasn't expecting to hear him talk like that.

And we can't forget that Bi-Han was Tomas's idol before his betrayal. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't idolize and really miss someone who is constantly mean to me, so yes, I don't believe that Bi-Han was constantly an asshole to Tomas, just cold how his own statement:

Tomas: You've always been cold to me.

Bi-Han: Because your blood is not Lin Kuei.

And after defeating Nitara and Ermac the first thing that comes to his mind is the physical integrity of his brothers. He checked BOTH of them:

3°

HE TRIED TO KILL KUAI LIANG, HE IS EVIL!

We must have been watching different things, because there's no way that the GRANDMASTER of an ancient warrior clan, who can easily kill and is trained for it since childhood, would miss this chance if killing his brother was his true intention:

They trained since childhood, Tomas not even tried to separate them...

You ask why? Because he is used to it! They trained since childhood, they fight against each other since childhood too.

He only shows up to check Kuai Liang when he worries that Bi-Han could have blinded him, that is, gone too far.

And he quickly goes back behind the scene when he sees it was just a scratch:

End this, brother! Embrace the future!

He wasn't trying to kill him (look how he deliberately made this blow go soft here), he was trying to PUNISH him for disobey. And then, I ask you, with whom do you think he learned to do that?

And after this blow, he was holding back so much that he lost to him

4°

HE BETRAYED HIS BROTHERS! HE IS EVIL!

They feel betrayed by him, Bi-Han also feel betrayed by them, but Bi-Han actually betrayed earthrealm and more than once offered them the chance to join him, which they refused because they just want to defend earthrealm not govern it. Which hurts Bi-Han so much, since the entire clan and his best friends (Cyrax and Sektor) believe in his vision, make the clan great again (lol, I mean, achieve greatness, bring glory and respect to his clan etc), but his brothers don't:

Kuai Liang to Tomas: You forget Cyrax and Sektor. Their loyalty to Bi-Han is absolute.

Tomas to Kuai Liang: That the Lin Kuei won't aid us is unforgivable. Bi-Han has corrupted them totally.

His only wrongdoing was trust in Shang Tsung and Shao. They fooled him with false promises. And he already regrets having believed in them:

Bi-Han: I was wrong to trust you.

Shao: Yes, Earthrealmer. You were.

Shang Tsung: You have been cold to my entreaties.

Bi-Han: Because you proved you can't be trusted.

Havik: We were both played for fools.

Bi-Han: Shang Tsung and Quan Chi will pay.

But, unfortunately he has been hunted for helping Shao break out of prison and they are calling him a traitor for it, nothing more:

Sindel: With one act you betrayed two realms.

Bi-Han: Neither deserved my loyalty.

Bi-Han: I helped you, but I've earned no respect.

Shao: Because there's nothing lower than a traitor.

Bi-Han: You would still be in prison, were it not for me!

Raiden: I never thought you would betray Earthrealm.

Bi-Han: My only loyalty is to the Lin Kuei.

[kurigohan0909]

Rewatching Link Click: Easter eggs in your noodle soup?

So I've just finished watching both seasons of Link Click/Shíguāng Dàilǐ-rén, which means that obviously I'm watching it all over again. What did you expect me to do, sit around waiting for Bridon arc while the Bilibili official account taunts us with replays??

Besides, Link Click is one of those dishes that is best served twice. The early episodes are packed with hints and foreshadowing that only become clear once you've gotten up to date, so I've made it my mission to catch 'em all.

You don't say.

It's well known that certain early mini-arcs (for instance Chen Xiao's basketball match, and Doudou's kidnapping) have implications for the larger plotline or at least contain important exposition/character insights that the story would not feel complete without. There are also several that get written off as filler, or are generally considered to not have any purpose beyond familiarising the audience with the characters and setup, and lulling you into a false sense of comfort before everything goes to shit. Episode 2: Secret Recipe, AKA the Noodle Lesbians episode, beloved as it is, tends to fall into the second category.

Or does it?

On a rewatch, I still don't think it does anything to advance the main plot. We don't even really know where it fits into the timeline, because we're never told what day it is and Lu Guang's watch is never shown on screen (I'll get around to a longer analysis of this another day). However, I'm instead inclined to believe that it's one of the most important episodes in the show - if not THE most important - because it's essentially an allegory for the story of Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang, and gives you a bird's eye view of how the relationship between them is going to develop - which, as you know, is what the show is all about. And the fact that it's not situated in a specific time, in a show that cares heavily about timeline construction, makes it better.

The episode starts with this quote from German photographer August Sander, who believed that, through photography, he could reveal the characteristic traits of people. "The portrait is your mirror. It's you." It's pretty explicit, when you think about it. This episode is a mirror of the entire series, specifically of its protagonists.

Moving on. The episode's storyline is quite simple: two college "roommates" start a noodle shop together, and as time passes, they drift apart and eventually fall out as their priorities change. Yu Xia, the business-oriented one between them, wants to get hold of the secret ingredient used by Lin Zhen, to whose cooking the shop attributes its success. Does Yu Xia really want to steal the secret recipe? Or is it just one of the many things that the quieter Lin Zhen keeps hidden from her that she desperately wants to know, along with everything that went wrong between them? Your guess is as good as mine. Either way, there are lots of indirect parallels between Xialin of the noodle shop and Shiguang of the photo studio, even if for now they're very distinct individuals with their own personalities and struggles. It does, however, give some indication of what's to come.

This question isn't purely rhetorical, as we find out in the very next arc, where Cheng Xiaoshi has a fight with Lu Guang over letting his client's loved ones perish in the Wenchuan earthquake. Even if they eventually come to a consensus, they have fundamentally different life philosophies and approach their missions in very different ways. Cheng Xiaoshi is a hyperempathetic idealist who keeps trying to use his forays back into the past to fix his clients' personal problems, while Lu Guang remains utterly indifferent and staunchly against interfering, even in life-or-death situations. Which turns out to be a facade, because we later learn that he's just as much of a meddler as Cheng Xiaoshi - except he's focused on a singular, selfish goal, which is to keep Cheng Xiaoshi alive at any cost.

Let's go back to the noodle shop. After ten years of running the business together, it becomes clear that the ladies' aspirations are no longer compatible. Yu Xia has big plans for the shop. She wants to broaden their customer base - for profit, of course, but also so that more people can be made happy by the chance to taste their noodles. Lin Zhen's dreams, however, are on a smaller scale - perhaps only on a personal scale. Throughout the episode, it seems that she only really cares about making noodles for one person.

Sound familiar?

At the risk of digressing, it needs to be said that Yu Xia and Lin Zhen are absolutely very much a WLW couple. This isn't bait, it's elegant and really quite unsubtle queercoding that says 'to hell with censorship' loud and clear. Honeymoon jokes, the taxi driver assuming Lin Zhen had fought with her husband, and Lin Zhen's very bold attempts at flirting... we see you.

More to the point of this post, I think it's important to point out that Lin Zhen does not actually care for too many people other than Yu Xia. She's all worn out from making noodles for customers, but she forgets all about that when it's time to make a bowl for Yu Xia. She also keeps her special ingredient - which is one of the secrets she shares with Yu Xia, as we find out - highly guarded. She's never going to let these pesky reporters in on something so intimate.

Why is this important? Because, as it turns out, the episode's storyline - and Lin Zhen's motives - are all about saving Yu Xia.

We learn that the secret ingredient is a local specialty from Yu Xia's hometown. Lin Zhen has been using it for years, keeping the taste of home alive while Yu Xia's drifted further and further from home to the point where she can no longer remember where the ingredient came from. At the end of it all, when Yu Xia returns home, she finds Lin Zhen there waiting for her. Lin Zhen, mind you, does not hail from the same town. The girls met in college. It's home to her simply because it's Yu Xia's home.

This comes directly after a pilot episode that establishes the contrast between urban isolation and rural/familial warmth, through Emma's eyes, and in a show that continually reinforces the concept of longing for home and loved ones. By forcing Yu Xia to reevaluate her priorities, Lin Zhen manages to bring her back home - which is a place that includes herself.

Perhaps it's too early to say. But to me, it's a pretty neat thematic parallel of Lu Guang's solo quest to save Cheng Xiaoshi from death; which is intertwined with a greater goal of giving Cheng Xiaoshi a home, one that is safe and secure and surrounds him with those that love him and are there to stay.

But in the process of achieving this, one of his biggest obstacles is Cheng Xiaoshi himself - his insistence on interfering with the timeline so that Lu Guang can't predict events with certainty, his objections to the way Lu Guang does things, and the definite resistance Lu Guang will come up against if Cheng Xiaoshi learns about his plan. Pretty much every minor mission they undertake is a rehash of the same argument; Cheng Xiaoshi wants to use their combined powers to make a difference to other people's lives, and Lu Guang just has one goal in mind which means that he's going to ignore absolutely everyone else.

Notice how Yu Xia's looking to the future, while Lin Zhen's dream is to go back to a point in the past? Neat.

And when they finally part ways because it's clear Yu Xia is not going to support Lin Zhen's goal? Yu Xia asks her where she's going to go after they part ways, and Lin Zhen says:

I wonder where we've heard that before.

And if you need any more proof that this episode is in fact intended to be a mirror, do consider:

Their seating positions are mirrored too. Yeeeeaaaaaahhhh.

In conclusion: if this allegory is to be believed, then trust that Lu Guang will eventually succeed in his mission and Cheng Xiaoshi will find his way home to him. It'll happen, guys. In the meantime, at least our beloved noodle ladies will be living a peaceful life out in the countryside.

Since I don't know how to shut up and this website seems to be giving me infinite space to yap, let me include some more details about this episode that I found cool. There are so many.

Lin Zhen and Lu Guang are both shown while this line is being said. What with all that the fragrant flowers represent, it makes you think about what these characters' best memories might be and how much they treasure them.

This is such a tiny detail that you'd almost definitely miss it on the first watch, and it seems insignificant - until it isn't. When Cheng Xiaoshi hops into the girls' picture taken during their college days, he screws up and suggests they'd be better off dabbling in tech stuff like apps or intelligent management than running a noodle shop. Lu Guang makes him quickly eat his words, but they seem to have still struck a chord with Yu Xia - because later we see that she works over years to integrate an intelligent supply chain management system into their business. In fact, one of the reasons for Lin Zhen to alienate herself from the business is because she feels like it's gotten too techy and lost its human touch. Not really fair considering it was her own idea, is it?

I mean. This is probably a stretch. Digitization is pretty inevitable for big businesses nowadays, so Yu Xia, being as enterprising as she is, might have gone for it whether Lin Zhen suggested it or not. But it's interesting to think that it might be Cheng Xiaoshi's tiny alteration of the past that unfurled outwards like a hurricane from the beating of a butterfly's wing and catalysed their falling out. Especially because these kinds of bootstrap phenomena very much occur in later episodes and are a core feature of Link Click's time travel model.

Some suspicious behaviour on Lu Guang's part. He's quite certain there are no useful clues in the last picture Yu Xia and Lin Zhen took in front of their shop, despite it being the only one taken by Lin Zhen (seriously! you could go to her house, look through her phone, the possibilities are endless!) and the fact that this is the photo Cheng Xiaoshi did end up solving the mystery in, thanks to the ticket stubs he found in her purse (see?) Secondly, they outright miss a picture in the envelope - the most important picture of all which would have given them the answer right away, since this was when the fragrant flowers were first used. Not your best work, Lu Guang.

...or is it? Lu Guang is pretty meticulous, and it's unlike him to slip up in such obvious ways. He's also skilled at slipping things back into envelopes when he doesn't want them to be seen, as we know. Could it be that he didn't want Cheng Xiaoshi to solve the mystery? But why? Maybe it's metaphorical, like so much else of this episode: he doesn't want Cheng Xiaoshi to uncover his true intentions. The fact that all this is ultimately for his sake.

Interestingly, Lu Guang was very dejected at the idea of them seemingly being out of luck - they'd tried so many times and failed to fulfill the mission. Was he, perhaps, thinking about another mission he'd hate to fail? Anyway, it falls to Cheng Xiaoshi to cheer him up and give him hope for another try, which he accepts, with a small but genuine smile. My heart.

If you've scrolled this far, I'm glad you enjoyed my ramblings! I must say I don't know much about how Tumblr works so apologies if I mess up on formatting or tags, but I'll probably get the hang of it soon enough. I'll also probably end up enjoying Tumblr more than Twitter since it allows me unfettered yap space and won't feed my writing to the machine (yet). It's late and I should probably stop stop thinking bout it around now... but look forward to more random ramblings and thank you for reading!

[insert-random-account-name]

Crappy Character Analysis part 3

I didn't give up, so here's a third one. BTW, if you have anything to add, contest, or comment on, feel free to!

part 1 (Broken) part 2 (Skeptic) part 3 (You are here)

part 4 (Paranoid) part 5 (Stubborn) part 6 (Contrarian)

part 7 (Smitten) part 8 (Opportunist) part 9 (Cheated)

part 10 (Hunted) part 11 (Hero)

VOICE OF THE COLD

The Cold is rather famous for creeping people out. Me included. He doesn’t whisper, yet his voice has that whispery quality to it. Not to mention that all of his dialogue is existentially unnerving. He doesn’t mind being possessed, drowning, or burning alive. He survives being unwound in the Fury by the sheer depth of his apathy. Multiple times, he tells the other voices to just turn off their feelings, like he has. The only thing that seems to bother him is boredom. He dislikes doing the same thing over again, and suggests ridiculous courses of action just to change things up. He’s able to keep a straight head in absurd situations, such as the Moment of Clarity and The Fury (Through both Adversary and Tower). In the Moment of Clarity, he’s the only one who has any semblance of sanity left. In the (Tower) Fury, he actually helps Stubborn kill the Fury, by simply accepting that even though you are nothing, that doesn’t mean you can’t do anything.  The main misinterpretation I see people fall into is that the Cold is logical, due to his apathy. This could not be further from the truth. He purposely instigates the people who can make your life miserable (Opportunist, Narrator, Spectre, and Smitten) and encourages you to take actions that can end in your heart getting ripped out.

The Cold doesn’t really care what happens to you, as long as it isn’t just the same thing over and over. Seeing how you get the Cold by killing yourself, it stands to reason that he sees your life as something expendable, something that can be thrown away for trivial reasons. As shown in his mirror scenes, he is not afraid of death, again referencing his dark origins. His need to prevent boredom also comes from the motivations behind killing yourself (In most of the chapters you get him in, you end your life because you’re bored [<--simplified explanation]). The Cold’s desire for something interesting to happen is why he’s intrigued by incredibly undesirable and painful experiences. His response to getting hurt in the worst way possible (infinite tedium) was to numb his feelings, and now he craves something that could make him feel again. It also fuels his knack for getting on everyone’s nerves (Especially the Narrator and the Smitten), since bickering is amusing to him. He also isn’t scared of the Princess at all, which could be because, in Chapter 1, the Damsel, and the Spectre, you can kill her easily, so of course he doesn’t view her as a threat. That’s basically all my thoughts on him, he was harder than the last two.

[adhdnojutsu]

"Stop making them gay"

The main reason a lot of male characters in Naruto didn't have a chance with each other despite being written like lovebirds, is because Shonen doesn't do "gay". Itachi was canonically more attached to Shisui than to Izumi and Naruto more to Sasuke than to Hinata, but Shonen insists to be traditionally masculine, and traditional masculinity rejects what it assumes of homosexuality minus its allowance for "manly tears" or flamboyant outfits. Instead, it exaggerates male friendships/brotherhood to a point that is far from credible and has to screech "no homo" as a constant disclaimer. The Naruto franchise may have started "low key shipping" SNS as a joke, but it's not a baseless one at all.

ShiIta are so similar to Romeo & Juliet, it's ridiculous. While they weren't from warring clans, they were loyal to warring entities and bound to be pitted against each other in the coup if it had gone down and Shisui been alive. The conflict between the Uchiha clan and Konoha was in the way of them being as close as they wanted to be, with Shisui being tasked to spy on Itachi and Itachi tasked to spy on the clan Shisui was loyal to, so they had to meet secretly. Ultimately, they were both sacrificed for peace and for what was left of their respective allegiances (Sasuke and Konoha).

Naruto stepped in repeatedly when Itachi was beating up Sasuke, but kept pushing Hinata to fight Neji against whom she clearly stood no chance and who was intending to kill her, because he is pathologically ready to disrespect Sasuke's wishes to save him, but projected his own, naive ideals onto Hinata with no regard for her life, just because it made HIM mad to watch. I mean, he was visibly shocked when Hinata confessed to him 16 years into their lives... She was never a priority in his life before The Last, and he probably would have equally lost it if Pain had beaten up Moegi that way, because he was already livid over Jiraiya, Kakashi, the village etc. and wasn't about to stand for one more friend getting killed by this terrorist. Hinata, at that time, meant little more to him than his other classmates, Sasuke did and always has. He literally asked her why she'd risk her life for him because he did not see or feel anything that would make that question redundant. Izumi wasn't mentioned once post-mortem except vaguely, by Obito, while Shisui's influence on Itachi, both ideological and emotional, is canon gospel. It's so great that I can't help but wonder if he used Kotoamatsukami on Itachi before giving him his remaining eye. "Friendship" and "brotherhood" are NOT "emotional co-dependency and self-destructive emulation". Neither is a healthy romantic relationship, but people in fiction more typically go insane over or sacrifice their authentic self for, (lost) romance than (lost) friendship or siblings.

There's also nothing platonic about stalking your "friend" to a point where he feels compelled to kill you while you're screaming that you're gonna break all of his bones if that's what it takes to keep him by your side. Nothing cute or sane either, mind you. Sasuke and Naruto are a lot like Sarah and Setsuna of Angel Sanctuary. Sure, they're meant to be siblings or sibling-like, but DAMN that's not a sibling-appropriate degree of obsession.

Shonen has a tendency to exaggerate the importance of bonds and convictions, but Kishimoto took it to a level that has licensing companies make jokes in the form of couple-coded merch or fan service scenes. Even if he didn't do it on purpose, he clearly did it on such a blatantly obvious level that you get shit like this:

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

How about reader, who is a seasoned gamer, invites Gaz to play something like Valorant or Fortnite etc. She says "dw it took me a while to get good too" but he picks it up stupid quick. He spends the rest of the time enjoying winding her up more than the actual game.

absolutely absolutely. gaz can and should get away with everything.

1,833 words / lucky number 13

...

"Gaz... you know most people play video games to escape their responsibilities."

"So you've told me." Gaz's voice crackles over your headset.

You're staring at your screen, watching as he confirms his character selection in the game's lobby. "You're absolutely sure you want to play tank?" you ask him.

He locks in his character, and it appears in the pregame lobby: a bald-headed, square-jawed guy with a muscular build and heavy armor.

"Positive. You're playing healer, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm playing tank. Pocket me."

"You've never even played this game. We'll both get obliterated."

"Come on. How hard can it be? Shoot, use ability, reset. I take the damage; you heal me; I dish it back out; we win; you thank me for carrying you as always. It's just like our usual game."

"Repeat that last one. I think your mic cut out on account of the bullshit."

"You don't think I can keep the heat off you?"

"I don't need you to keep the heat off me. I just want you to have fun and not die in the first five seconds of the round," you tell him. He did buy this game specifically to play it with you. After a totally reasonable amount of prodding on your part. It's been your go-to for weeks.

"Then pocket me and I won't die. I'm not having fun if I'm not in the thick of it. You know me."

"Fine. For one game."

"Bet," Gaz says, sounding smug about it. "I'm not gonna disappoint."

During that first game, he's getting his bearings. But he takes to it rather intuitively, especially with your help over voice chat. His tactical skills are whip-sharp as always. As you pocket him, you focus your character's abilities on keeping Gaz alive. But you switch to upping his damage output when you realize he's holding down a choke point by himself, taking on enemies and laying out a field of fire for your team. It's impressive, considering this is his first time playing the game.

When an enemy sneaks up on you, his pocket healer, he disposes of them with slightly more prejudice.

"You're pretty good at this," you tell him, scanning the results screen. "I mean, maybe mid-tier if you were on your own."

"Mid-tier?" he says, a little affronted. "It's called being adaptable. Not that you'd know. Hundreds of hours in this game and you're mid-tier support at best."

You cross your arms, leaning back in your computer chair. "Because I don't play support. You know what? I'm switching to DPS. See what you carry without me patching your ass up every ten seconds."

Back in the lobby, you select your main. Gaz eyes the character with a bit of respect. "A rogue, huh? You must think you're pretty good. Gonna need a lot more healing."

"Only if I get hit."

"I could sponge that damage right up for you. Keep you nice and safe."

You scoff. "Won't need it."

"Let's see."

In the next round, you weave in and out of combat, gleefully dodging attacks and landing devastating blows before you disappear. Your bread and butter. Meanwhile, Gaz does--at worst--an admirable job tanking. Still, when you look back and see enemies surrounding him, it's clear he could use an assist.

You double back and flank two of the enemies on him, picking them both off one by one. But before you can gloat, his voice in your headset interrupts you.

"Good kills, baby."

That's not the reaction you wanted. It immediately ticks you off. "I know."

He chuckles and takes down another enemy. He's tunneling in on the fight now that you've got him back on his feet, but clearly he still has time to talk to you. "Can't take a compliment."

The face that he's purposely pushing your buttons just irritates you more.

The next few games, he makes himself indispensable as a tank. It should be a good thing, but he keeps getting in your way specifically. You'd swear it's on purpose. He tanks hits for you and then acts like you'd lose the game without him. His cockiness is insufferable. Worse--you can't ignore how deftly he's scaling the difficulty curve here. He's holding the attention of the enemy players, keeping them away from you while you deal the damage. And you'd never admit it, but the way he's holding aggro is saving your ass.

You shouldn't need him to do that, though. You tell yourself the only reason you're not playing better is because he's forcing you to maneuver around him.

Then he offs the enemy rogue right as you're finishing her off. You swear into the mic. "Gaz, come on! You stole my kill."

"I'm giving my little rogue the help she needs. Besides, you know it's not about getting the most kills. It's about the team's collective score," he teases, and you have to remind yourself it's just a game.

It's like he can tell exactly what to do to piss you off in record time after that. Bossing you around, telling you to take this point or make that kill. He even pipes up once to remind you it'd be a good time to use your ult. You open your mouth to tell him it's not ready yet, but to your chagrin, you glance down and realize it is. Somehow he's keeping track? Unreal.

You're a little impressed about that one, but you'd never tell him. In your defense, he's distracting you with all this banter and teasing. He's making it hard to focus.

"No backseat gaming," you tell him.

"Wouldn't have to backseat game if you played better."

"I would be playing better if you weren't crowding me!" You sigh out your nose. "You're only doing this to get a rise out of me. Micromanaging me. I swear you get off on it."

"You're giving me too many opportunities to obsess over you." He sounds smirky.

The way he says it makes something in your lower stomach flip. You lose focus for half a second--long enough for the enemy rogue to slip past Gaz and smack you.

Gaz slams into her with his shield to stun her, then spins around and uses his special to deal more damage. That last hit downs her. You don't even have a chance to react.

His voice in your headset is smug still. "Like I said."

"Fine. Thanks."

"You can thank me by not dying again."

After the game, you sit back in your chair, arms crossed. "You sure talk a lot of shit."

"Am I?" You hear him grinning. "I hoped you'd give me a little more attitude than that."

"Oh, I know. You're not subtle."

"Neither are you. You get riled up so easy."

"You want me to fight you? Because it sounds like you'd rather me just roll over and bite the damn curb."

"No, you want that. You're a masochist."

"Thank you."

"It isn't a compliment."

"I know. Keep bullying me," you snark into your mic.

It's hard to resist teasing you when you say stuff like that. "Okay," he says, his tone turning playful. He leans back, crosses his legs, and situates himself in his chair. The game's results screen idles on his monitor, forgotten. "You've gotta stop making it so easy for me, though."

"I get that a lot."

"I'm sure you do, sweetheart."

"Ooh, are we doing condescension now?"

"I've been condescending to you since minute one. I can turn it up if it's not obvious enough."

"Keep going and I'll get off."

"Off voice chat, you mean?"

You smirk. "No."

He smiles, rolling his shoulders back. "I can absolutely be more condescending to you if that's what your incompetent little heart desires."

You laugh. "You were just waiting to bring that one out, weren't you?"

"I've got several of them tucked away just in case you got mouthy, But let's be honest--you're always mouthy."

"You're one to talk. You talked hella trash that last match."

"Only because I had to pull your ass out of the line of fire all the time. If you were better, I wouldn't have to. You're giving me ammunition, here."

"I just think it's telling that you play tank."

"Are you saying I'm compensating for something?"

"You said it. Not me."

He rolls his eyes, smirking. "You want to talk about projecting? You're the masochist, and you play a rogue? The one class known for being fragile? You're putting a target on your own back. What does that say about you?"

"Better than a tank main," you quip.

"I'm taking all the hits so you can DPS your way to getting play of the game. Makes me sound proper generous."

You examine your nails. "Makes you sound like a control freak."

"Why don't you look me in the eye and say that? Turn on your cam."

Your grin widens. "Gaz, please. If I turned my webcam on every time some guy online asked me to, I'd never have time to play."

He leans forward, lowering his voice. "Who says I'm kidding? Come on, baby. Give me eye contact. Look me in the eye and tell me I'm a control freak."

"Nope." You know he hates that you're not budging.

"Why? Aren't you decent?"

"More like I have Cheeto dust all over my hands."

"Doubt that."

"It's true."

"Come on. Prove it."

"See? Control freak."

"Fine, I'm a control freak--withyou. But you like it, don't you?"

"Oh, I love when you order me around. I love knowing exactly what you want me to do so I can avoid doing it forever."

He sits back in his chair and stares through his screen. It's not like he's never seen your face before. You've posted a selfie or two in shared chats. But he's never seen you cozied up in your pajamas. Or in a cute little robe. Or maybe a big t-shirt, the soft kind. Like he wears.

Yeah, he's realizing he's down bad. Worse than he thought.

"You wanna make the next round more interesting, then?" he asks.

You arch a brow, propping your sock-covered feet up on your desk. "Like how?"

"You lose, you turn on your camera, obviously."

You snicker. "I don't know what you think I get up to on a Friday night, but you're gonna be sorely disappointed." You pop another Cheeto in your mouth, knowing he'll hear it crunch.

Gaz laces his fingers behind his head. "I've already curbed my expectations. Bet you're sitting around in sweats and a hoodie with some anime character on it." Not that the thought of that isn't appealing. He suspects you don't let many people see you that way.

"You're... uh..." You look down at what you're wearing. "Not far off, actually."

"I know, baby. I've seen your Discord handle."

"So what if I win?"

"Then I won't tell anyone how hard you got stomped these last few rounds. And trust me, I'd be telling everyone. It's embarrassing how much of a load you were. Don't take that the wrong way, though--by all means, just sit there looking cute while I carry this next game."

"Oh, you're on."

Gaz grins, leaning forward. "Yeah, we'll see how cocky you are when I put you back in your place."

You pull your chair back up to your desk, hands poised over your mouse and keyboard. "Promises, promises."

Gaz readies up, too. "Don't worry, baby. I'll keep my word. But once I humble you, you're gonna regret ever doubting me."

...

more Gaz / masterlist tag

[danykindaforgotaboutdre]

"The way the class conflict ended was realistic! It wasn't all going to get fixed overnight"

I mean, sure, but that wasn't really my issue. The class conflict just sort of disappeared until they remembered to tack something with Sevika on at the end. It was why removing Mel from the political side of things was such a mistake, I would have preferred her going to Zaun, in hopes that her mother would hold back on attacking them to keep her safe, but also for the purpose of removing her blinders and finding ways to help support the people and mend some of the damage caused by the council (this could have put her at odds with Jayce as well, at least temporarily, they never did anything with him deciding to supply the team with weapons in spite of Mel vowing to prevent that). Even her staying in Piltover or at the very least doing something more with the political aspects of the Black Rose lore would have been preferable to them yeeting her out of the story to get psycologically tortured and then come back as Sailor Moon. And I enjoyed Ekko's everything very much but he and The Firelights still should have been more present for this dimension of the plot, Jayce and Heimerdinger should have been as well. If that trio (and Mel) would have gotten taken out of the main story for one episode instead of multiple ones, more could have been done with their actual storylines in the primary world. Sevika joining the council was neat but where the hell did it come from? Even a scene of Mel offering her and Ekko the seat, Ekko declining (but taking on an administrative role of his own in Zaun), and Sevika accepting, and fleshing out their reasons through dialogue, would have been something. Also, Jayce and Viktor didn't need to sacrifice themselves to sacrifice Hextech, they both should have stayed alive for the chance to do some good to make up for the harm they caused, maybe on opposite sides but still maintaining their respect for each other. I haven't thought as much about how I would have changed Vi, Caitlyn and Jinx's stories but I definitely wasn't satisfied with them.

Oh well.