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winged-self-indulgence · 10 months

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Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

#reference list is completed!#yandere #sunny day jack #my dear hatchet man #mdhm #stnaf #ddlc #john doe #boyfriend to death #tpof #degrees of lewdity #your boyfriend #14dwy #br<3ken colors #camp willowpeak #br0ken colors #obey me #binary star hero #favor vn

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rarepears · 21 days

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Oh! MBJ "bridenapping" SQH, it sparked an ~idea~

What if instead of MBJ bringing his husband to rest, it's an INJURED MBJ, looking for his Qinghua because he always heals and protects him. But since he's injured, he doesn't really have the cognitive thought process to realize SQH's aura isn't in a safe spot in his internal GPS and doesn't think to go to SQH's house. Just straight to SQH. In the middle of a meeting with most of the Peak Lords, excluding LQG because I agree, nothing would be able to happen if he was there since he'd kill an injured MBJ in an instant.

SQH has a split second to think.

Save MBJ or himself?

SQH tears a reserve teleport talisman he had MBJ make for him so writers choice if anyone knows if SQH did it himself or if the injured Demon Lord did.

Anyways, MBJ tears open a portal, covered in blood and SQH doesn't have much time to think and catches his husband King and has a split second to choose.

EITHER WAY THE GOSSIP!! The An Ding Peak Lord was kidnapped out of a meeting with the Sect Leader and multiple Peak Lords present by a demon.

That'd be terrifying just at first thought. A demon made it past Cang Qiong's wards and Qiong Ding's, all the extra wards in that meeting room alone, faster than all present Peak Lords could react.

Then we have the 2 main gossip chains. Why was SQH taken? Logistics and Love

Logistics for all the info the An Ding Peak Lord has access to since he maintains it all. Prime target for a surefire way to do a lot of damage. If SQH talks, the Demon Lord can get past all the wards and kill, pillage and raze anything in a high profile area.

Love because if they hear he did this super injured, just to collapse onto SQH and spirit him away? The screams from the BL lovers. I bet LMY could belt out a few chapters pretty quick about it lol.

She writes the next love epic, countering HHP's propaganda by accident lol.

Prominently, both SQH and MBJ now know that SQH would save MBJ even when he might/is declared a traitor.

MBJ would feel so much more secure knowing that. Maybe even becomes forward enough that SQH can't mistake the interest.

And SQH just cut off his own path to safety by not letting his sect kill his King.

So now they both get to live with this neat bit of trivia.

Don't really have any other thoughts besides HHPM ends up dead and SQH is Queen in the North by the end. Maybe TLJ gets let out and hears a whisper about a child on the Luo River.

Would be hilarious if Cang Qiong found out that there's a loophole in the Cang Qiong wards to allow in demons that meet very specific conditions... like being a peak lord's spouse, so they don't even realize that Shang Qinghua modified the wards to let in Mobei Jun (and Shang Qinghua doesn't even realize that he could had hacked the wards by getting married instead of spending 6 months painstakingly learning the wards and then learning how to crack the wards.)

Somehow it doesn't even require the peak lord to know that they have a demonic spouse.

#svsss ideas #svsss #svsss au #mxtx #scum villain's self saving system #shang qinghua #mobei jun #Somehow Shang Qinghua is the last Cang Qiong peak lord to find out that he's married to a demon AU

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valtsv · 1 month

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This is your formal invite to info dump about your figure skating horror murder mystery (I want to know more lol)

okay it's still a very vague outline but the premise is that a disgraced ex-figure skater whose suffered a career-ending injury as a result of sabotage by her fellow skaters becomes a suspect for murder several years later when skaters - several of whom are connected to her past - start turning up dead, apparently at the hands of a serial killer. while her career was already terminated, the catalyst for her fall from grace was when she assaulted one of her former teammates, who was involved in the sabotage, making her a prime suspect, since she has both apparent motive and a history of violence. the few people left around her who she hasn't alienated since then are unhelpful - one of her parents (haven't decided which yet) is far more interested in capitalising on the media attention than defending their daughter, and the other is absent, any siblings she might have she's estranged from, and she has no friends - so she ends up reluctantly teaming up with a trashy small-time tabloid journalist of the worst sort of kind; a person who's in it for the potential of finally landing that big scoop, but who is perhaps the only one who doesn't seem to care whether she's guilty or innocent. while initially incredible hostile, their working relationship begins to grow into something almost like caring for one another as they uncover more information about the case and learn more about each other, and the turning points in their lives where they lost their way. however, the killer begins targeting them too, trying to convince them that the other is out to get them and that it would be in their best interests to break that tentative trust. it's not the most original premise, but perhaps i'll draw some of the characters at some point. selina and jules (the dreadful duo) have a fun dynamic.

#unnamed figure skating horror story

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rveyjules · 1 year

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A Second Chance

Pairing: RE6!Leon Kennedy x Prime Minister's Daughter! Reader (ft. Ada Wong)

Genre: Smut, Romance, Angst

Warning: cheating, Leon is obsessed with the reader, stalking, taking photos, the reader is cold but deep inside she’s a sweetheart, mentions of arranged marriage, pure smut (mentions of masturbation, foreplay, kissing, breasts fondling and sucking, markings, p in v intercourse, virgin sex, penetrative sex, Leon is huge [I think it's at least 9 inches, sheesh], creampie, aftercare)

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: As the eldest daughter of the Prime Minister and one of the faces of the family, you received multiple assassination attempts. So, your father hired someone to keep an eye on you. And to your surprise, out of all people, it was Leon Kennedy your father picked for you. You and Leon had a secret relationship but soon did not last because another woman came into his life. Now that the both of you meet again, will it be the start of chaos or a continuation of romance?

author's note: This story is entirely fictional. I do not know what the President and the Prime Minister exactly do for the country. Same with the occupation of being a prosecutor and the chief of the CIA. English is not my mother tongue so pardon if you encounter mistakes and grammatical errors. This is only for entertainment purposes only. And minors, please do your homework first.

—

It all started when you had an assassination attempt for the fifth time. Being the only daughter of the Prime Minister isn’t easy. The more your father becomes powerful, the more assassination attempts you receive because if the opponent can't attack the Prime Minister, their target will be his family and pick the most treasured and precious gem of his life, his daughter.

"The President will help to capture those bastards who tried to kill you." Your father spoke, looking at you, who was fixing the files from the CIA.

"Papa, this is the fifth time you told me that. All the men you hired to guard me ended up being fired."

"Because they failed to protect you," The Prime Minister replied in a strict fatherly tone. "This time, it was the President who recommended this agent to keep an eye on you."

"I hope he wouldn't think that I am being a spoiled brat and a baby when he found out that I am a prosecutor." You chuckled, shaking your head a little.

"Yes, you are a prosecutor. Not just a simple prosecutor. You are one of the most powerful prosecutors in the Supreme Court. You have access to every government agency as the Chief of the CIA. So, it’s quite understandable that those people who tried to eliminate you were not just because of me but because you are one of the most influential people in politics.”

You sighed and gave him a small smile. Your father has been stressed out with international political stuff plus your assassination attempt. And speaking of the President, both of them are best friends and they climbed the political ladder together. The President is personally closer to the Prime Minister than the Vice President. That’s why when you survived your fifth assassination attempt, it was the President who was one of the first people that paid a visit to check on you.

“Alright, I’ll accept whoever the President has to recommend to guard me. But Papa, I don’t want to be guarded all the time. You know what I mean. I need some private time.” Your father nodded in agreement.

“I understand. I’ll call the President.” With that, he walked out of your office and was escorted by his bodyguards as he walked down the hallway of my office.

—

“I heard our dads having a conversation about your assassination attempt. Are you sure you’re okay?” Your friend, Ashley asked in a concerned tone on the other line of the call.

“Yeah, I am fine. The assassin must have poor eyesight.” You laughed but Ashley only sighed.

“You’re still joking around as if you weren’t stunned when you barely dodge the bullet. By the way, my dad recommended the man who saved me from Spain. You haven’t heard about him, have you? Because you have three cases to finish.” Ashley chuckled.

“The two are successful, only the rape case left. But believe me, I was so worried about you. And don’t tell me his name. I love surprises.” You grinned.

“Oh, no. Here we go again with that behavior of yours. I think you know this person. Because when I mentioned you once in our conversation, he was surprised to hear that you are the Chief of the CIA and a prosecutor.”

“Do we know each other?” I asked, confused. Ashley hummed and chuckled.

“You’ll meet him tomorrow, according to the conversation between the Prime Minister and the President.”

With that, you started critically thinking about the person. According to your father, he’s a federal agent and was exclusively picked to save Ashley from an insane cult in Spain. But why did this person seem to know you?

—

“This is Leon Scott Kennedy. Your bodyguard starting today.” Your father, the Prime Minister introduced the federal agent who saved your friend from Spain and the one the President recommended.

And for the very first time, you hated surprises. This is the worst surprise you’ve ever had. Leon looks different from before. How long has it been since the Raccoon City outbreak? Fifteen years? Leon looked at you, scanning you from head to toe. You are wearing a black tight turtleneck knee-length dress, black high heels, and simple makeup but the matte red lipstick made you look bold. Your chest and curves perfectly fit the dress you are wearing. His gaze went back to you and swiftly rolled your eyes.

“Bodyguard?” You repeated, hiding your irritation because out of all people to become your bodyguard, why this fucking bastard? Why your ex?

Your father nodded his head.

“If he saved the President’s daughter alone from a deadly cult in Spain, then he can save you from assassination attempts.”

“Papa, that guy can’t predict if there’s someone who will try to eliminate me.” You retorted and your father gave you a disapproving look.

“We agreed on this already, Y/n. And this is an exclusive decree from the President. You are one of the secret weapons of the country so for him, it is also his responsibility to take care of you.” Your father reminded you.

“I know my job, Papa! You don’t have to remind me of that! Right now, I can’t help but feel embarrassed of myself that the Chief of the CIA needed to be guarded as if I can’t protect myself.”

“Y/n L/n!” Your father yelled, shutting you up. “For Christ’s sake, Y/n! Just for once! I am trying to protect you but you wouldn’t listen! And for the first time, you despised the man we selected to keep an eye on you. I mean, what’s wrong if this guy keeps an eye on you?”

His question made you pause. Your father must never know the reason why the hell you hated Leon so much. Even thinking about it makes your heart break. So, you looked down and replied against your will to not make this worse.

“Alright. End of discussion.”

Your father scoffed at your sudden change of mood and aura. He had never seen you glare and roll your eyes at the agents he picked to protect you. You are warm to the four guards who used to protect you. It was he who fired them when an assassination attempt occurred and those men failed to protect you. But now, he sees nothing but the fire of rage in your eyes when he introduces Leon to you as your bodyguard.

“Y/n, what the hell is wrong with you?” He asked.

“I accepted him already, Papa! Don’t ask me such questions again. Just fire him the moment someone fired a gun on me while he was nowhere to be found. Just like what you did to my former bodyguards.” You replied, turning your back on him so that he couldn’t see the tears forming in your eyes.

And then, the Prime Minister’s phone rang. He accepted the call and there was silence in the room so that he could have a proper conversation with the caller. After a few seconds, he hung up and looked at you.

“I need to go. They need me to discuss something in the White House.” He announced and you gave him a nod without sparing him a glance.

When your father left, you turned around and faced Leon who was looking at you the whole time, realizing that you are not the young girl he left for another woman back then. It’s true, he thought. You are no longer naive, eyes full of anger with the mess he made fifteen years ago.

“You changed, Y/n. After fifteen years…” Leon started which made you smirk.

“Unlike that woman who’s still manipulative. Bet you didn’t last.” You straight-forwardly rebutted and headed over to your desk. You sit on your executive leather chair and cross your legs as you rest your back against the backrest.

“Tell me, what’s your motive?” You asked sharply.

“It was the President who recommended me to the Prime Minister.” He replied but you shook your head in disapproval.

“You can decline but you didn’t. There must be a reason why you accepted the offer. The government needs you to save the country from bioweapons but here you are, standing in front of me as my bodyguard.”

“Well, I am protecting the country’s secret weapon so I think it’s considered. Besides, the President and I agreed that I will still work as a federal agent of DSO while guarding the Prime Minister’s daughter.”

Well, he has a point. You hummed in satisfaction with his answer and opened a file and checked the documents regarding the case you are currently in. There was a silence between you and Leon couldn’t help but feel your anger behind your calm expressions. No matter how much you tried to not make this personal, the pain he gave you makes it difficult for you to calm your nerves.

But Leon decided to give it a try…

“Ada and I were not in a relationship… or even on good terms.” He stated, causing you to grin.

“Not interested. Besides, you are nothing to me.”

You can feel that your words affected him but you don’t care. And there’s an awkward silence again until you receive a call from the Chief Prosecutor. At least it saved you from the uncomfortable feeling of being with your ex. You stood up and kept your documents in the proper places and grabbed your handbag.

You walked to the door but Leon moved faster to open the door for you. You ignored his presence and walked out of your office to the ground floor. Leon tailed behind you until you came out of the law firm’s building and your driver pulled up the car in front of you. Before Leon can move, you open the door for yourself and get inside the car.

Leon paused for a moment and shook his head and was about to get inside the front seat but you rolled your windows down and said…

“I do not allow my bodyguard to come to join me in my car so go join my other guards in the other car.” Leon scoffed and retorted back. “According to the Prime Minister, I shall join you in every vehicle you are going to ride.”

“Are you working for the Prime Minister or me?” You sarcastically asked.

He didn't want to make further arguments so he sighed and just obliged. You rolled your windows up and your driver drove away to your destination.

—

It was now nighttime. You and Ashley decided to hang out in a fancy bar in the city. You are staying in the VIP Room while your bodyguards are staying outside of the room, securing the area. You two are regular customers of the bar and the owner doesn’t mind if you two brought a bunch of bodyguards for safety purposes.

So here you are, sipping a glass of whiskey with your legs crossed and back against the backrest of the leather couch as you stare into nowhere in the room. It has been two weeks since your father hired Leon as your bodyguard. Having him around you during those days felt like being chained up again to your past.

“Hey, you’ve been staring at nowhere. Are you even listening to me?” Ashley’s voice snapped you back to your senses. You hummed and took the last drop of the whiskey before putting the glass down and pouring yourself another shot.

“You rarely drink whiskey, Y/n. What’s wrong?” She asked and you didn’t reply to her. Instead, you pulled a cigarette and put them between your lips, and lit them up before huffing out a smoke.

“Knew it. Something’s wrong. Was this because of your new bodyguard?” She asked and you hummed, huffing out another smoke.

“Tell me, Ash. Do you think my life right now would be different if I asked you his goddamned name before we met?” You asked.

“Why do you ask?” She asked too while you breathed out another smoke and sipped on your glass of whiskey.

“Because I could’ve stopped Dad from hiring him! That bastard has been getting on my nerves for the last two weeks.” You hissed.

Like your father, Ashley asked the same question. “What’s wrong if my dad recommended him and your father hired him to be your bodyguard? Y/n, Leon is one of the top agents in the country. He saved many lives and protected the country from bioweapons. And this is the first time you despised your bodyguard. You weren’t this cold to your former bodyguards until Leon came.”

There was another pause as you finished your cigarette and put it on the ashtray and drank your whiskey. Ashley continued, “Was I right? Do you two know each other?” She asked and you hummed again as the response. Even responding to her is difficult, especially when you're talking about the man who ruined you.

“We used to, Ash. We used to.” You replied, chuckling to yourself as you tried to stop your tears from falling. Ashley has been your best friend even before his father became the elected President of the United States of America but you don’t want her to see your vulnerable side.

“Used to? Like, he’s a part of your past?” She asked and you nodded your head.

“Worst part of my life, rather.” You sipped again, gulping the strong liquor down to your throat.

“You know, it would be nice if you would share your backstory with me. Even just the highlights, I’m sure I can understand it.”

“Ash, he’s my ex-boyfriend.” You frankly said. Ashley gasped upon hearing this from you.

She never thought that the man who saved her in Spain was your ex-lover. This is a shocking revelation for her. Ashley recalled the moments she mentioned you during her conversation with him back in 2005. Leon’s reaction was still clear in her memory when she told him that you are a prosecutor and one of the most powerful ones in the Supreme Court. He was completely surprised but then he was grinning moments later.

“No wonder why he was surprised when I mentioned your name back in 2005. How long has it been since you two broke up?”

“Since 1998. It was during the Raccoon City outbreak. After we parted ways, I never heard from him again and just focused on my studies.” You lit up another cigarette, putting the stick between your fingers and lips.

“Why did you two break up?” Ashley asked.

You paused for a moment. A lump formed in your throat and a tear slipped out of your eye. Your only way is to gulp down the whiskey in your glass. Ashley doesn’t want to force you to spill out the truth. Her point is to ease the pain in your heart. Seeing you struggling to speak is enough for her to understand that you and Leon did not have a good end.

“He’s a traitor,” You managed to speak out, taking deep breaths as you struggled to breathe.

—

Ashley had to go because her mother, The First Lady called because of curfew. She doesn't want to leave you in tears but you ushered her to leave, saying that you will be fine and enjoy the time by yourself. Ashley gave you an apologetic look before grabbing her purse, kissing your cheek, and leaving the VIP Room.

And there you are, having deep thoughts. You huffed out another smoke and groaned. You are not a menacing teenager who will do everything to get rid of Leon. That’s too immature. Ever since you graduated in Law and become a prosecutor, you promised yourself that you are no longer that young girl who’s sweet and naive. You need to be tough no matter how hard the situation is. No matter how much pressure a case gives you, you will do everything to win the trial.

Same as being the Chief of the CIA. Your hacking skills, high potential on battlefields, gunfight skills, and being a deadly agent made you reach your current position. None of the missions you had were easy. Most of them cost the lives of agents that failed to complete the mission. Only you are the last man standing. At the end of the missions, you’d always look around and see the pools of blood scattered around whether it is from your enemy or comrades. Dead bodies lay down on the bloodied ground. And now, the President takes you as the country’s secret weapon against the threat from other countries who will dare to attack.

Those events happened within fifteen years. You didn’t get enough rest. Your mind is so occupied with your job that even when Ashley was kidnapped back in 2005, you did not let your emotion take over you and continued pursuing your goals and fulfilling your responsibilities as a prosecutor and the Chief of the CIA. Leon never popped into your mind ever since. Now that he’s here again as your bodyguard, you couldn’t help but recall what pain he gave you in Raccoon City fifteen years ago.

Fifteen years ago in Raccoon City, things go wrong as you, Leon, and Ada encounter another group of survivors and now they are chasing you down to kill you. Ada, the most experienced one in fighting got shot in the leg causing her to fall to the ground. You and Leon are shooting them with your guns but he saw Ada get shot.

“Ada!” He yelled and shot those people who are after her before running to her to check on her. But there’s a guy who appeared out of nowhere and pointed his gun at Leon.

“Leon, duck!” You yelled and covered Leon with your body. A gunshot echoed around the road and you hissed in pain as the bullet hit you on your arm.

You growled and reloaded your gun as fast as you could and shot the guy right in the head. You took care of the rest of the people while Leon is busy treating Ada’s injury with a small medical kit he has. After a few seconds of silence, you lowered your gun and held your injured arm to stop the bleeding. You turned around and found Leon carrying Ada in his arms.

In your view, Ada was telling Leon that she’s fine and can’t walk, even including a phrase that it was just a bite of an ant. But Leon insisted on carrying her. It makes you feel jealous. Like, you are his girlfriend while Ada is just a random FBI Agent who appeared out of nowhere and saved Leon from infected dogs. Then, why is he treating her as if you are not around? Does he even realize that he was hurting you? Does he realize that a man who’s in a relationship shouldn’t act like that around his girlfriend?

So, to not ruin Leon’s time with her and to avoid making an issue between you in the middle of a zombie outbreak, you uncovered your arm, letting it bleed. You’re wearing a black hoodie so the blood isn’t noticeable. Claire will be here soon so you can treat your wound later. You wouldn’t die if you bleed and wait for Claire, would you? With a heavy sigh, you walked away, taking the lead while Leon followed you with Ada in his arms.

Soon, you found Claire with Sherry in a safe room. She was treating Leon’s wounds too while Ada was resting in the bed. While you are looking outside through the window. It was your only way to ease the pain and jealousy you felt. That shot could have killed Leon if you didn’t cover him. That could’ve cost your life too. This isn’t the first time you felt jealous. This is the tenth time you felt this way and you hate it. You noticed how Ada acts around Leon and she usually dismisses you. If she did, it was against her will.

You are in deep thought when you hear Sherry gasp…

“Y/n, you’re bleeding! Why are you not saying anything?!” With that, you gained everyone’s attention. Claire immediately approached you and found your arms bleeding.

“How could you not say anything! You’ll die if we don't treat this immediately!” Claire scolded you, rolling up your sleeves, and gasped when he found your injury bleeding more. She grabbed all the things she needed and started treating your wound.

You gritted your teeth as Claire took the bullet out of your arm and wrapped it with a bandage. Leon approached you too and attempted to hold your hand but you declined and said, “I can manage.” And there Leon realized that something was wrong.

Until one day… you find out Ada’s secret. Upon finding out about this, anger quickly rushed down through your veins and quickly grabbed your gun and pointed it to Ada and fired multiple times but none of the bullets hit her as it was your way to catch her attention.

“Tell us the truth, Ada Wong,” You growled venomously. “Tell us who the hell are you…”

“Y/n!” Leon quickly stood between you and Ada, facing you. “Put the gun down! What the hell is wrong with you?!” He shrieked.

“That bitch is fooling around us! She told us that she was an FBI Agent when I didn’t see her record on the FBI’s server! Stay away from that traitor, Leon!” You hissed, firmly pointing your gun at Ada.

Ada did not reply but there is no hint of worry or regret in her eyes. Instead, she glared at you. She stepped in front of you, never breaking eye contact with you. She then smirked and put on a smug look on her face.

“Traitor? Seriously? If you are just a student, you wouldn’t know how to access the FBI’s server. From the very start, I’ve been helping you and Leon. I’ve saved your life a lot of time and now this is how you are going to repay me?!” Ada hissed at you.

“For an eighteen-year-old student, it’s not easy to hack the FBI. What about you, Y/n? Who the hell are you?” She turned the tables around. She takes steps closer to you as if she was challenging you.

“Don’t change the topic, Ada. You’re working under Albert Wesker, right? One of the researchers and the reasons why the hell we are here in this damn situation? Too bad, Ada. You did not pass as the best actress.”

Then, Ada attacked you at such speed. Of course, you dodged her attacks and are more trained than her regardless of your age and state in the government. You may be just a student, practicing Law but no one must look down on you or even doubt your commitment especially when you are doing this for your team’s safety. The combat between you and Ada ended when you pulled the trigger and hit her on the waist. Ada grunted and you took the opportunity to take her down.

“Y/n, enough!” Leon pulled Ada away with such care which breaks your heart more. Claire was holding Sherry who was sobbing in her embrace.

“Leon, are you defending her?” You asked, feeling betrayed. Leon put Ada to the side for a moment before pulling you away to a more private room.

“What the hell did you just do?! You know that Ada is our key point to survive this damn apocalypse!” Leon hissed at you and of course, you retorted back.

“From the very start, I did not trust that woman even a bit! It feels like she planned to cross paths with us to gain our trust and take the samples because she is working for Albert Wesker!”

“Aside from accusing her, shooting her, how did you access the FBI’s server? We have only limited devices! We even barely called for help and now we found out that you accessed the FBI just to do some stupid research on her!”

“Stupid research? I did it for our safety!” You rebutted. “Leon… I don’t understand. Why are you being so protective of her? Why are you defending her? Leon, I am your girlfriend.”

Leon sighed. “You are. But these days, it feels like we’re not together. It feels like you are different from the girl I love. I… I don’t know you anymore.” Your heart shatters as Leon said those. Tears filled your eyes, your heart pounded against your chest, and a lump formed in your throat.

You couldn’t believe that Leon was saying this to you when you just want to protect him, to protect everyone. A tear slipped out your eye and you pulled yourself away. “Are you doubting me, Leon? Do you believe that the fake agent is your girlfriend?” Then Leon snapped at you,

“Don’t call her that!”

“Then what?!” You yelled at him. “You think I don’t notice your behavior ever since she came into our lives? That you are becoming more affectionate to her than me? That you will prioritize her over me? That night when those groups of survivors chased us and tried to kill us, I saw how worried you were for her that you insisted on carrying her when she just had a shot in her leg because of her stupidity, rather than me catching the bullet for you!”

Leon was taken aback by your sudden outburst.

“If there’s someone I truly don’t know anymore, that is you, Leon. Even thinking if I should approach you for help is difficult for me because your attention was on Ada. Tell me the truth, Leon. Is there someone else? Is there someone else who captured your heart away from me?”

He didn’t reply to your question. Seeing you in this kind of situation hurts him. But he couldn’t lie to you. His silence is enough for you. With a deep breath, you turned away from him.

“I can leave, if that’s what you want. I know you very much, Leon. As a rookie police officer, you wouldn’t ride the same boat with the person you are doubting. But mark my words, Leon…” You paused but Leon interrupted you.

“You’re not leaving.” You turned to look at him and he was looking directly into your eyes. “We will survive this apocalypse together, I promise. Please, stay with us. For me….”

For his sake, you stayed. To not lose him, you swallowed your pride for him. Until one night… when you almost escape the damned city, things went wrong again. He broke his promise.

You woke up from being knocked out and there you found yourself cuffed in a chair. You looked out to the glass window and found Leon heading to the helicopter with Ada. And the sound of zombies banging outside of the room you are in made you panic even more. So, you forcefully pulled your hands off the handcuffs. You kept pulling yourself and your wrists started to bleed. Tears fall from your eyes, struggling to be free. “Leon!” You yelled and winced in pain until you successfully freed yourself. You banged against the glass to gain his attention.

He did. He looked at you who was crying, scared of death. The banging of zombies against the door gets louder and you look at Leon with pleading eyes as blood stains the clear glass that was coming from your wrists.

“Leon, don’t leave me here! Help me!” You screamed but Leon only looked at you with saddened eyes.

He had no choice but to leave you. Even if it hurts him to see you crying like a puppy, injured and terrified, there’s no other way but to leave with Ada. The woman in red noticed that Leon was looking in your direction. So, she held his hand and gave him an assuring smile.

“Leon, I know that this is hard but you need to strengthen yourself…”

What breaks your heart more is that he smiled at her before proceeding to walk to the helicopter. After connecting the dots, you realize they use you as the bait while they take the opportunity to escape. With that, anger rushed throughout your veins upon realizing that Leon just betrayed you. He betrayed you for Ada. Your hands clenched into fists while your wrists keep bleeding.

Leon gave you a last look and he saw nothing but pain and anger in your eyes as if you were cursing him for betraying you. There’s no point in turning back now. Call him selfish but he made up his mind…

And so he rides the helicopter with Ada, leaving you, scared and alone. Soon, the zombies break into the room where you are in. You ain’t going to cry and let those zombies eat you alive. On that night, you vowed to yourself that no matter what it takes, you will get your revenge on them. You used all the weapons you can use just to survive even if you’re alone.

Remembering how you struggled to survive made your eyes teary. You don’t want to be as weak as the person you used to be. That night when Leon betrayed you, another persona came into you. It made you more powerful. Having Leon back makes you feel like meeting your past self. A naive, sweet, and caring young girl who was now looking at a sophisticated, high-class, elite, and exclusive prosecutor and a superior of the country’s most powerful agency, the CIA.

You put your glass down and the cigarette on the ashtray before removing your black leather gloves and looking at the scars on your wrists that were carved on your skin. You still can feel the pain those cuffs gave you. When you survived and escaped that damned city, you started wearing gloves, not wanting to see your scars.

Anger rushed down through your veins. You grabbed the glass and threw it away with a growl, creating shattering sounds. There, you broke into tears. You rest your head against the backrest while you drape your arm over your eyes as you weep.

“I will make your life a living hell, Leon Kennedy.” You muttered under your breath before passing out.

—

Leon, who was patiently waiting for you outside the VIP Room heard a shattering sound inside. And there he found you, sitting on the couch with your head resting against the backrest with an arm draped over your eyes. He sighed in relief that you were fine.

“Is that how you throw tantrums?” He asked. You didn’t reply, not even moving from your position. Leon sighed again, realizing that you passed out.

The man approached you to pick you up but something caught his attention. Your scars. He moved closer to you and stared at your scars. It was carved around your wrists. Your skin was torn, he can tell that the cuffs he gave you back then have made you ruin your skin, desperate to escape.

Leon still remembers how you looked at him with a fire of rage in your eyes as your tears fell uncontrollably. When he looked at you during his introduction as your bodyguard, the flame was even worse behind your calm expression. The mystery of Prosecutor L/n's gloves is now finally solved.

Suddenly…

"Traitor…" Leon snapped back to his senses and looked at you. You are looking at him with hooded eyes. You stood up and grabbed your bag and gloves before walking to the door, without regretting telling him that. Because that's what he is.

—

To be continued...

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secular-jew · 1 month

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I’m a Palestinian American. Here’s Why I Can’t Support the Anti-Israel Protesters. By Elizabeth Gillanders. August 16, 2024

Walking past Union Station in the nation’s capital, I recently was met with a heartbreaking sight. Vandals had defaced the Columbus Memorial Fountain with spray paint, writing the words “Hamas is coming” in big red letters.

Trash and signs discarded by anti-Israel protesters littered the ground. A burnt shopping cart stood off to one side with piles of ash beneath it.

Most depressing, however, were the three bare flag poles that had been robbed of their American flags. Protesters had burned the flags, the only remnant a charred piece of fabric atop another pile of ash.

This was the aftermath of the July 24 “pro-Palestinian” protests in Washington, D.C., organized in response to Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s address that day to a joint meeting of Congress.

As an American of Palestinian heritage, some expect me to cheer on these people. They expect me to condemn the U.S., hate Israel, and support Hamas, a terrorist organization dedicated to wiping out the Jewish state.

But these expectations don’t represent me, nor my family.

I inherit my Palestinian background from my mother’s side of the family; her parents emigrated to America from the Middle East. My grandma was born in Israel and later moved to Ramallah in the West Bank and eventually to Jordan.

After arriving in America in her 20s, my grandma worked hard to become a U.S. citizen. She learned the English language while raising my mother and uncle. She opened a restaurant with my grandpa, lovingly named the Chicken Pantry, in Hamtramck, Michigan. When that business closed, my grandma worked as a real estate agent before eventually retiring in the land of prosperity.

America brought my family prosperity. My grandparents taught my mother to “kiss the ground you walk on” because they knew what a blessing America is.

They passed this lesson on to me.

Although many seem to think that my Palestinian heritage should cause me to align with protests that supposedly are “pro-Palestinian,” it’s precisely because of my heritage that I cannot do that.

Israel went to war with Hamas in the Gaza Strip only after Hamas terrorists slaughtered 1,200 and kidnapped about 250 in a rampage of rape, torture, and murder Oct. 7 in southern Israel.

About 10 months later, as pro-Hamas protesters march in this country to “free Palestine,” they call for the death of America. As they burn the American flag, they burn all that my family has worked to achieve.

As the protesters pledge their allegiance to Hamas, they encourage a group that my grandmother wouldn’t hesitate to call a terrorist organization that operates with a strategy of human sacrifice.

Think about it. Why are there no Hamas military bases in the Gaza Strip adjoining Israel? Because the terrorists hide behind their own people.

They dress like noncombatants in Gaza. They establish bunkers in hospitals. They commandeer ambulances for transportation.

These actions are all in direct violation of Article 18 of the Geneva Conventions, the international pacts that set minimum standards during armed conflict for the treatment of civilians, soldiers, and prisoners of war.

One example is Hamas’ use of Gaza’s most important hospital, Al-Shifa. According to the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, Hamas uses a bunker under the hospital as a base for military operations. This not only makes the hospital a target, but takes medical resources needed for the sick.

In contrast, the Israel Defense Forces have given civilians in Gaza opportunities to evacuate and warned of impending attacks. No other nation goes this far to protect enemy civilians.

How can I support pro-Hamas demonstrators who wish to end the nation that brought my family so much? How can I back a terrorist group that uses its own people as human shields? How can I hate Israel, when the IDF has worked to keep Palestinian civilians out of harm’s way?

I believe it’s important to point out that, contrary to popular belief, not all Arabs think the same. Some of us do see this conflict differently. And our thoughts and beliefs should not be snuffed out because they go against the “narrative.”

To some, perhaps our stance makes us walking oxymorons. But we are proud ones, nonetheless.

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wingedhallows · 7 months

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i was a kid ; harry potter

pairing: harry potter characters ( no particular pairing ) | 0.6k words plot: molly seems to forget that war happened before prompt: "i was a kid" authors note: i love molly, really, but i've alway wanted to yell at her in that one scene in order of the phoenix. so, here u go (also the dialogue isn't accurate to the movie)

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Your hand clasped the cup of firewhiskey for dear life. It’s been fifteen years, yet it felt harder than before. You were ready to fight and give your life just like fifteen years ago you’re ready to do that again, of course, but your body reacted differently. Your mind was plagued, plagued with nightmares, with images of death and so much more.

You were on the edge when Lily and James died, when Sirius was locked up for something he didn’t do. All of that just swam around in your head once more, while you sat at this table.

“There’s something coming, something bigger.” Sirius spoke. Your hands began to become clammy, your eyes closed as you kept quiet. You knew that he was back, stronger than ever. You knew what that meant, of course.

“Then I want to be a part of it, I want to fight.” Harry spoke, chair squeaking as he leant over.

You were seated between Sirius and Harry. Your breath quickened. You were just like him in the past. Impulsive, you all were. You had sprung to your feet that night, a smile on your face as you almost begged Albus to make you a member.

You wished he had turned you away. Harry on the other side needed to be a member, he was the prime target, you’d protect him. Those kids were in danger and if you could protect them you would.

“There you have it.” Sirius spoke. Your breathing began to speed up, if more was possible right now, your hands held the cup so tightly you might dent it.

The anger cursed through you as Molly huffed and protested. Your head became light, as you pressed your eyes shut. They weren’t there when it all came together, when members died left and right. “Y/N.” You could hear Remus, his eyes on you.

“Enough, they’re just kids.” Molly interrupted and that was just too much. You scoffed, a chuckle leaving your mouth.

“Kids.” You said, face in a sour snarl.

You lifted yourself off the chair and looked at the people in the room. Your eyes focused on Molly.

“You think Voldemort cares if they’re kids?” You said, the room uncomfortably quiet.

He hadn’t cared then either.

“You think just because they’re kids, they won’t be murdered?”

Molly frowned at you and placed a hand on your arm, you shook her off.

“Y/N, please.” Your face held nothing but disgust.

“This is war, Molly. People die when they don’t know shit, they get murdered. No matter if they’re kids or not” Molly sighed and tried to get a hold of you.

“They’re just kids, they shouldn’t have-”We were kids too!”

You said, a bit louder. No one said anything, too stunned by your outburst.

“I was a kid.”

You whispered as a tear made its way down your face, features twitching in sorrow. “I was a kid when war struck.” You paused to bring a hand to your chest, eager to stop your heaving.

“I was a kid when I was tortured. When-When My friends were murdered, when Sirius was locked up for something one of us betrayed us for, when all hell broke loose.” Molly gasped, hand grabbing at a chairs rest.

Your eyes found hers as you gulped, pushing the emotions back. Sirius and Remus looked at you, tears in their eyes. It had struck all three of you, so hard, all those years ago.

“So don’t tell me they’re just kids.” You paused before grabbing your cup and chugging the rest of your firewhiskey down.

“It doesn’t matter what age you are when war strikes.”

#harrypotter #hp fanfic #marauders era #marauders imagine #the marauders #sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter fanfic #harry potter angst #harry potter x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #the order of the phoenix #order of the phoenix #post azkaban sirius #sirius black angst

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ghastigiggles · 1 month

Note

Okay okay so that one art you did where Sebastian's getting dragged by the Void in the locker got me thinking! Seb's really big compared to a regular human, yeah? He probably wouldn't fit in a locker or could just jam himself against it so he can't get pulled in, making it a stalemate

Which, yay! He's not stuffed in a locker! The updownside? He's pretty much a sitting duck for tickles (from both the Void and anyone who happens upon him, now that I think about it!)

Bonus if he gets stuck facing the locker- if the Void has a mouth, that makes Seb a prime target for nibbles or raspberries!

-😢 anon

errand runs become very long, very hard days, very quickly.

#my art #mine #pressure tickles #roblox pressure tickles #sebastian solace

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mgparker · 2 years

Text

keep your eyes on me

joel miller x f!reader

warnings: ANGST, stab wound, mentions of violence and blood, lots of violence actually, protective!joel, reader being moody and angsty, some gore (wound details), inaccurate stuff probably (definitely), inconsistencies for sure

word count: 6.63k UNEDITED

here’s the full version of ‘keep your eyes on me.’ i apologize in advance for the reader’s moody and angsty monologue in the intro and all that follows after. prepare the tissues?

The mission was simple.

A quick in and out, a regular check for supplies in one of the surrounding buildings of the QZ and that was it. Nothing you hadn’t done countless times already, even before Joel entered your life, and it was relatively easy.

The hardest part was sneaking past the supervised borders and even that had been figured out when you started paying one of the guards to turn a blind eye whenever you went out for a run.

It just so happened that this run had to occur in the smack-dab middle of a feud you’d found yourself in simply because you associated yourself with Joel Miller and Tess Servopoulos.

It didn’t help that Joel, in particular, rarely associated himself with anyone at all. Perhaps that’s what made you a prime target in his dispute with his former partner Robert Navarro.

Because Joel went out of his way to join your side more often than either of you cared to admit, it made sense that, in turn, Robert’s fury would extend to you.

That’s how you found yourself a little more jumpy than usual, on edge as you scoured the few abandoned buildings in the far east of Boston that hadn’t been touched by common smugglers… or you.

A crash tore you out of your compulsive thinking and you sprang into action before you could even blink.

The end of your newly sharpened blade found Joel standing on the other side of it, a scorned look on his face mixed with a hint of annoyance.

“You could’ve taken my eye out,” he grumbled with a slight shove as he moved past.

It wasn’t enough for you to lose your footing, but you scowled at him anyway. “Don’t expect me to apologize for your foolishness.”

“Never,” he called back from the next room.

You pocketed the knife and sighed.

Despite your banter, you’d consider Joel a good friend. And even that was an understatement; despite the code of living you’d created and stuck to since life had been uprooted and torn from beneath you nearly two decades ago.

Truth is, since the moment you met him, Joel Miller somehow dug his way into your rigid heart, along with Tess in some ways, but Joel was different. You weren’t sure if it was the hardened exterior that masked a broken person underneath, much like you, or something else, but it didn’t take long for his acquaintance to become friendly and then something more.

Like it or not, the warm feeling you’d get whenever Joel would reveal a new piece of himself, no matter how meticulously small, or when he’d simply exist around you was something you couldn’t ignore.

And nowadays, as the world was quickly becoming even colder and harsher, it was a feeling you found yourself unwilling to let go.

It was near impossible to find something that inspired feelings that didn’t match the gloominess and grayness of the world around you, and now that you had, it was like a drug.

But if his knee-jerk reaction to pulling away from any type of affection or semblance of love is any indication, Joel Miller could not and would not ever feel as deeply for you as you did for him.

And though it left a painful lump in your throat, you’d accepted it long ago.

For now, you’d stick to the passive aggressive flow you two seemed to fall into in each other’s company. It was how you two had first treated each other before you got involved in each other’s lives and it wasn’t going to change now.

You knew for sure, despite all other uncertainties revolving your relationship, consistency is something you both needed in these trying days.

You’d settle for it as long as he stayed in your life.

“Find anything interesting?” You’d been silent for too long. You realized it with an awkward jolt and you set yourself back into motion.

“No,” you called back. “You?”

“The whole place has been swept clean,” Joel sighed as he came back into the room.

“That can’t be right,” you leaned against the wall and stared at your feet in confusion. “The smugglers haven’t gotten this far, I’m sure of it.”

You looked up to find Joel staring down at you with a hint of sympathy. He knew how excited you were about this one—it was a medical building. Tall with a few stories of what you’d assumed had been doctors’ offices and reception areas.

You’d been kind of right. It definitely seemed to have been an office building of some sort, desks still neatly organized in separate cubicles, but everything was pristinely empty.

No medicine, no supplies, no tools. Nothing.

“Goddamnit!” You furiously kicked a nearby desk over.

Joel continued to stare at you with the same brewing frustration. With what you were both expecting to steal and sell off, it would’ve been enough to get the battery Joel needed to get the hell out of dodge.

Despite the trip being for the sole purpose of finding his brother, Joel knew from the moment you started splitting your illegal earnings with him, you had both feet in the door. Getting out of Boston was just as important to you as it was for him. And while it may have started out for personal gain, you started caring about Joel’s mission somewhere along the way.

And despite his best efforts against it, Joel started caring about you. Battery or not, you were here to stay.

You were in his life.

When he focused back into the real world, you were pacing the office space, mumbling to yourself with waving hands.

“Seriously, even yesterday these cabinets had been full—”

“Yesterday?” Joel cut in with furrowed brows. “You were here yesterday?”

“Where do you think I got those prescription lenses?” You’d returned yesterday with a box full of glass lenses, not the cheap shit—actual optometrist lenses, shit that would make you a fortune on the black market once you came back for the rest. When Joel got back from work yesterday to where you, him and Tess had been shacking up (an ‘apartment unit’ that was falling apart), he’d found you sitting on your bed, grinning from ear to ear with a small box full of them.

It'd made you a good amount of ration cards and you made enough to quietly pay a man who claimed he had a functioning battery on the market. Joel didn’t know yet— you weren’t going to tell him until the deal went through and the battery was in your hand.

No point in bringing anyone’s hopes up until it was a sure thing, right?

You brushed past Joel, bristling at the thought of someone taking your fortune.

He followed you towards the door, hot on your heels.

“You went this far out by yourself? Are you crazy?” He realized how pathetic he sounded. How it teetered too close to sounding like he cared more than he should, but he did.

And the mere thought of you putting yourself in serious danger irked him in a raging way.

“Our options were getting limited, Joel,” you whipped around with flames in your eyes. “And it would’ve got us what we needed. If that makes me crazy, so be it.”

Protectiveness wasn’t unusual for Joel. You’d see it when anyone spoke to you in the wrong tone. How he’d snap at whoever for even looking at you the wrong way. You’ve seen it with his insistency in finding his brother.

And you’re seeing it now.

Only this time, it didn’t cause those stubborn butterflies in your gut. It only fueled your ever-growing frustration.

Joel grabbed your arm firmly. “If something had happened to you—"

Slam!

It cut off Joel before he could finish, both of you whipping towards the doorway and looking at the stairs that led to the first floor.

“Spread out,” a gruff voice commanded below you. “They’re in here somewhere.”

“Shit,” you cursed quietly, ripping your arm from Joel’s tight grip, rushing over to hide against the wall next to the open door.

Joel did the same, a loaded pistol in his right hand, aimed across his chest toward his left. He stared at you across the doorway, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You fell into immediate silence as Joel brought a finger to his lips, hushing you before you could utter another word.

“This is stupid, man. Everything’s untouched, are you sure they even came through—”

“Shut the fuck up. We follow his rules. We do our job, and we get paid and that’s it.”

Breath hitched in your throat, you stared over at Joel, watching his face contort with every piece of information the two idiots revealed.

“Isn’t he scared of this dude? I mean, if he wants them gone, why not come after them himself? Who knows what this Miller guy is capable of—”

“Get a fuckin’ grip, Santiago,” you nearly jumped out of your skin when his gruff voice sounded much closer. “It’s two of them against all of us. You’re a fuckin’ pussy. Don’t know why Robert chose you in the first place.”

Joel threw his head against the concrete with a roll of his eyes. But his fingers curled over the trigger and you did the same.

“I’m lookin’ out for myself,” their footsteps echoed up the stairwell. “You should do the same.”

Slowly raising your gun, your lips silently counted down.

‘5..’ Joel gave you a curt nod.

‘4’ “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Don’t talk about shit chu don’t know about.”

‘3’ You tried to check your ammo as quietly as possible.

‘2’ Something uncomfortable pricked at Joel’s stomach, staring at you as he imagined fighting side-by-side. It wasn’t his first time, but every single time got harder than the last. And this time, he wasn’t even sure how big the ambush would be.

If something happened to you—

‘1.’

He shook his head a bit more aggressively than he meant, ignoring your questioning gaze, before swinging around the corner with his gun in one hand, blade in the other.

Instantly, the two men went to scream, but you and Joel took care of it quickly. You tried to ignore the pang of guilt in your chest as you fired your muffled weapon directly between one of the men’s eyes.

Beside him, Joel held his partner against his front, hand over his gurgling mouth, blood spilling out the side of his neck.

Your eyes were locked on his until the man in his arms went limp and Joel let him drop emotionlessly.

You ignored the temptation to follow his body with your eyes and instead hardened your gaze toward Joel.

It wasn’t his fault that you still hadn’t grown as desensitized as he had over the years, but your envy was hard to swallow. Even if you were better at hiding it, you knew Joel would’ve eventually noticed. Despite his careless exterior, Joel was a nitpicker, constantly inspecting, constantly searching.

You were just glad that his faith in your abilities hadn’t wavered despite your stubborn empathetic streak.

You refused to appear weak, especially in front of him.

A rush of voices and footsteps pulled both you and Joel out of whatever spiral your minds had thrown you into, a calloused hand wrapping around your arm and dragging you to the center of the room and then pushing you to the right side behind a rather large desk.

Your knees roughly hit the dusty mat in front of the workstation, and you whipped your head around to search for Joel before he could disappear within the room.

A flash of brown hair was the only indication that your partner hadn’t left you high and dry, but you had no time to dwell on it. The door was busted down and a chorus of voices entered.

They must’ve seen Santiago and whatever the other guy’s name was because there was a simultaneous shift in which your mind shut down everything else but the need to survive.

The sight of bullets flying registered before the sound of the shots, blood rushing to your ears and fingertips as you flew up instinctively, pulling your own trigger.

The fight became quickly divided, a few more flocking toward Joel’s side of the floor and you felt the rush of determination more than ever.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins as your mind chanted one thing only.

Fight, survive, protect.

“You bitch!” A blonde came rushing toward you, face screwed in anger as he bared his teeth at you.

He was lifting his gun, looking between you and Santiago’s body from behind your desk. You were quick to respond, lifting your weapon quicker and firing the bullet.

You didn’t even get to see his body hit the ground. A sudden pain in your jaw blinded you, the force of a fist smashing against your face sending you tumbling into the nearest wall.

Black spots dusted your vision and you quickly shook them away. You swung back and kicked against whoever had gotten the jump on you.

His fist was wrapped in your hair, pulling as you fought back tirelessly. You managed to catch a glimpse of your attacker’s eyes before you were finally getting a grip on the pistol strapped to your thigh, firing into his side as he made one final move.

Your skin tore quickly, stretching down your chest agonizingly, and you almost fell to the ground with him.

A harrowing yell escaped you before you could help it. You’re not even sure how you managed to stumble away but you found yourself quickly pressing your hands against the knife that was still lodged in your stomach.

Without hesitation, you ripped the weapon out.

It was a hinderance to your survival, to Joel’s survival, and you couldn’t afford to wait on the sidelines. But then a wave of agony made you fall to your knees.

You could hear your name being called over and over again, but then the blood was suddenly rushing into your head, your skull pounding behind your eyes.

Did you answer? Did you call Joel’s name like he did yours? God, the pain was blinding. Your hands shook violently as you tried to rip a piece of your jacket.

The fabric slipped between your fingers like water and you pulled away in frantic confusion.

Red. It was all over the place. It stained your fingers, your shirt— it wouldn’t stop.

Why won’t it stop?

A disgruntled breath escaped you, just as you rubbed your hands against your shirt again, and both things hit you like a freight train.

The pain, blossoming from the sharp intake of air and the contact against your ever present wound, was enough to send you tumbling in realization.

You’d ripped the knife out of your stomach. It wasn’t just a scratch. Your fight-or-flight mode seemed to override the severity of what had just happened.

“Shit,” you whispered, putting pressure against the wound despite every part of you wanting to pull away.

A distance away, Joel yelled your name again. It was desperate, enough to cut through your gaze of panic. As calm as you could manage, you threw him a glance over your shoulder.

He was cornered again, three men surrounding him with knives and pistols. They were putting up a decent fight but it didn’t worry you. You’d seen your partner fight against greater odds and win without breaking a sweat.

As long as he stayed focused.

“I’m fine,” you called back to him, staring down at your blood-soaked hand. “Just got the wind knocked out of me is all.”

You hated lying.

The numbers behind you were slowly dwindling down...

Until suddenly they weren’t.

A chorus of shouts emerged from the hallway to your right and a sudden rush of adrenaline numbed your pain.

You felt a flood of relief.

Joel couldn’t handle this alone. After everything you two had been through together, a stab wound was not going to take you out.

Not without a good fight before.

The grunts behind you finally died down and Joel was quick to join your side, pulling his handgun from the holster on his belt.

The action quickly started again, men flooding into the room with pointed guns.

Your finger pulled the trigger on instinct, taking down the closest man before he could make a move towards you.

It was a series of bangs and flashes after that. Purely running off adrenaline and instinct, ducking behind whatever desks were still in one piece and flying back up with a bullet in tow.

Across the room, Joel was holding his own, clearing the room as quick as you were.

Suddenly, a bullet whizzed past your ear, close enough you could feel the rush of wind speed past you and you spun on your feet, firing before you even laid eyes on your final target.

Luckily, by the time you spotted him, the last man was dropping to the floor with a heavy thud.

Your arm fell slack, loosely gripping your pistol.

It was silent for a few moments as you gazed over at your partner and he seemed just as winded as you.

Joel’s breaths were loud, chest heaving with exhaustion. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees.

“They must’ve been tipped off,” he said.

The adrenaline was slowly leaving your body.

Weakly, you nodded. You didn’t even stop to think that he had his back turned toward you.

The air was suddenly punched out of your lungs. The pain was back, and it felt like the prick of a hundred needles. You weren’t sure you could hold yourself up much longer.

“Joel…” Your lips could barely form the word. Where did all your strength go in an instant?

He must not have heard you over his increasing anger. Joel was a loud thinker; at least, he was with you.

For anyone else, the man was a damn puzzle that was impossible to solve. It’s what made you feel a pang of guilt, just as your legs gave out, because there was a dreadful feeling in your gut that maybe this wasn’t one that you could come back from. Not this far out from the QZ, and even then. Medical supplies were scarce and expensive, more than both you and Joel could afford even with joint forces, seeing as most of everything you had had gone into this mission.

You hit the ground hard enough to send Joel spinning faster than you’d ever seen him move. His stance was sure, gun back in his hand before you could even see it move toward his belt, ready to take on whoever else had threatened him and you.

Black dots began to fizzle the corners of your vision.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” Joel pocketed the weapon and rushed toward you. “Hey, Y/N, look at me.”

You tried. Your eyelids were too heavy.

A noise of panic left the back of his throat. “Open your eyes,” Joel grabbed your face roughly. “Look at me now!”

Startled, your eyes opened wide and a bit of awareness came back to you.

“What happened?” Joel demanded, scanning your body with urgency. His eyes zeroed in on your hands that were pressed against the wound.

Shakily, you pulled away and for a moment, he thought he was trapped in a nightmare. Blood coated your shaking palms.

“One of those fuckers got me good,” you hissed. Joel was mercilessly pressing his hands against your stomach now.

“Ease up, will you?” A flare of annoyance struck you when he pressed harder. “Jesus Christ—"

“I’m a little busy trying to save your life,” Joel gave you a hard glare. There was something in his eyes, a mix of frustration and anger and—and something else.

Joel Miller’s impeccable mask of calmness was cracking, panic seeping through the seams.

That confirms it, you thought dreadfully. It really is as bad as I thought.

Things suddenly became blurrier than before. You squinted through the haze. “Sorry, I know. Sorry, it just—it just hurts.”

At that, he finally let up and curled his fingers around the hem of your torn shirt. As quickly as you nodded, Joel pulled the fabric up and instantly regretted it.

Though he tried hard to disguise it, you saw the drop in his expression, the disappointment in his gaze as he studied your stomach with a horrible poker face.

You looked up at the ceiling, a deeper pit in your stomach settling. You weren’t leaving this torn-up building. Not alive at least.

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, and you angrily blinked them away before Joel could see them.

“It’s not too bad,” Joel said finally.

If you had the strength, you would’ve scoffed. “Don’t lie.”

“Like you did?” He accused.

You dropped your chin to glare at him through half-lidded eyes. “We were surrounded. You were surrounded. I had no choice.”

He was looking down at your torso again and you dared to follow his gaze.

Torn skin, fiery red around the ragged edges of what had been a rather large, hefty blade. It nearly dragged down to your navel, bleeding profusely down into the fabric of your pants, likely ripped open by the rush of adrenaline that allowed you to finish the rest of Robert’s men.

“Don’t ever lie to me again,” he began to tug on your arm, dragging you up from the ground with a grunt. “Never again.”

A whine escaped you before you could stop it, teeth gritting from the blinding pain, and you had half a mind to whack Joel with all the strength you could muster.

“Fuck,” you coughed. “W-warn me next time.”

An apology was at the tip of Joel’s tongue, but he swallowed it down. He wouldn’t start going easy on you now. Not until he was sure you were out of death’s reach, and he could properly scold you for being so stupid.

“Talk to me,” he demanded as he more or less dragged you down the first flight of stairs, struggling to store his gun in the holster of his belt. His hands were shaking too badly and a wave of nausea hit him.

“Why?” You hissed in pain, brain still foggy from the blood loss and irritated from the numbness in your legs. You weren’t making sense of anything.

Joel bit his lip harshly. “So, I can keep you awake. You need to be alert, you hear me?”

You didn’t hear him.

In fact, all you could hear or think or even see was blinding red, an ache so deep in your bones. You weren’t even sure if you were still dragging your feet along.

Your silence had Joel stumbling to a stop, pushing you against the wall and pinching your cheek desperately. Your eyelids were barely open. A string of mumbles left your lips and Joel firmly shook your shoulders.

“It—” you centered yourself again. “It hurts—"

The world spun again, and you were suddenly looking straight up at the underside of his jaw, clenched in worry, eyes straight ahead as he began to hustle down the rest of the stairs with you in his arms.

As he finally made it outside, the lump in his throat got harder to swallow and something began to crack in his chest. An anxiety that he hadn’t felt since he had someone else in his arms like this, since spilled blood coated his arms and shirt.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not ever.

It was eerily quiet, only your protests that went unheard by him breaking the silence of sunset over the city, and his mind tortured him even further.

Plaguing him with memories of when you were alive and well.

Joel knew he was in for a night of trouble when you came through the door that evening with a sly tone in your voice.

“Guess what I found today.”

“Trouble, no doubt,” Joel responded mindlessly, bottom lip pinched between the grip of his calloused fingers, troubled with memories of the past and the horrors of the possible future.

You shrugged with a cunning smile on your face, sauntering to the ‘kitchen’ and out of his peripheral view. “Could be.”

He heard the clatter of your keys, the familiar rustle of you shrugging off your jacket, and he only looked up once you made your way to the edge of the living room.

There was the hint of a smile on your face, as if you were containing an excitement over God knows what. It wasn’t often that he saw that particular look on your face. He secretly decided that he liked it a lot.

His gaze left your face as you pulled something out from behind your back and held it up with pride.

A dark red bottle dwarfed your hand in size, a peeling label wrapped around its front and he squinted his eyes to read the cursive inscription— ‘Tuscan Vineyards Cabernet.’

He looked up at you with wide eyes and you were full on smiling now. You walked over to him, and Joel had to arch his neck to look up at you from his spot on the floor. Gently, you handed it over.

“Can big and bad Joel Miller handle his liquor?”

“This is wine,” Joel scoffed, inspecting the bottle in his large hands. “I’d hardly consider this liquor.”

You watched as a hint of pink flooded the apples of his cheeks, despite his best efforts to ignore your teasing. The corner of your lips curled up.

“I don’t know,” you slipped the bottle out of his grip with a pointed sigh. “It’s been a while since we’ve had the good stuff. Our tolerance is probably not what it used to be.”

“Speak for yourself. I was never the first to tap out of any drinking game. That was Tommy’s job.”

You tried not to let the surprise show on your face.

It was rare that Joel spoke about his past, and with how anxious he was to hear from his little brother, you were surprised he was bringing him up so casually.

Busying yourself by getting up from some glasses, you threw an eyebrow raise over your shoulder. “We’ll see about that.”

Joel rolled his eyes. Even after you turned around, he kept staring at you, entranced by your fluid movements, reaching to set two glasses down and searching for a suitable knife within the stash you had accumulated in the apartment.

There was something so normal about watching you flounce along the kitchen, eager to indulge in a treat you two hadn’t had since before the world ended.

It was almost… domestic.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, Joel cast it away just as quickly, sharply looking away from your figure and glaring down at the carpet with a sudden anger.

Domesticity and anything along the lines ceased to exist for Joel long, long ago. Even if an odd pang in his chest was begging him to look back at you and chase the feeling, he’d ignore it and bury it down deep inside.

He couldn’t afford to entertain such thoughts.

“Ah!” You carefully crossed the living room, two glasses full to the brim in your grip. “Finally.”

Seeing the alcohol had Joel perking up slightly, quickly accepting his cup with a familiar spark in his eye.

“Thanks,” he grumbled slightly, still bewildered by his impulsive thoughts. Silently, he watched as you carefully lowered yourself to the ground beside him, folding your legs under yourself and letting out a sign of relief as your muscles finally took a much-needed break.

You were tempted to clink your glasses against his, and it seemed Joel had the same beat of hesitation too, but you quickly reeled yourself back in.

This world hardly allowed for any wins, and now it was just pitiful to raise your glass in this day and age.

A nod will have to do, Joel decided first, and you gratefully tipped your head back toward him.

The tartness burst along his tongue at the first sip, smooth but shockingly strong, carving its way down his throat slowly.

Beside him, you also drank with a pleased hum.

“Where’d you find this?” Joel asked as soon as he’d gotten his first fill.

“The city,” you avoided his eyes, busying your mouth with wine again.

You were a shit liar when it came to personal affairs.

“I’ll ask again,” Joel corrected with the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Who’d you steal this from?”

“Some guy named John Dean, ’twas the name on the liquor license in the bar. You think I could afford this on the market? We’re lucky John had this stashed in the back.”

“I can see why. It’s pretty damn good,” Joel admitted.

“It is, isn’t it? It’s a shame Tess isn’t here to share with us.”

Right. He’d almost forgotten about her impromptu solo trip to ‘visit some friends’ in Detroit.

If he cared more, Joel would’ve pressed for more information, but Tess had never done him, or you, wrong before. It wasn’t his job to worry about her personal life.

Joel hummed in response. The sun was setting, casting you two in darkness and neither of you made an effort to get up and flick on the light switch...

Time must’ve eluded him because your voice cut through the silence that had settled like a knife.

“We’ll find him, you know?”

Joel hardened his gaze and took another sip. The wall was suddenly very interesting.

“We’re going to find your brother,” you said again, staring over at Joel with a look he couldn’t quite place. Not even after he moved his eyes over to you.

Your eyes were rounded with sincerity, the golden hues of the sun reflecting in your gaze, lips parted with hints of stained red. The glass of wine hung between your fingers loosely, half-full but still briming with unspoken truths.

It was that look in your eyes that cracked his rugged exterior, meticulously built from years of grief and horror.

He wanted to say something, anything, but he was coming up blank. Ensnared by the absolute beauty you exuded in this very moment.

He’s been looking at you for much longer than you’d consider normal, there’s no point in pushing anything away now. Might as well go the full nine yards.

And just as he was taking that leap, bringing his face closer to yours, his own hands flashed in his vision.

Covered in a red deeper than the stain on your lips, dripping and dripping...

Joel pulled back with a jolt, unnoticing to the small sigh that left your mouth, and tried to blink away the blood on his shaking hands.

He swallowed down the bile that threatened to burn the roof of his mouth with a sip of wine.

Death followed him around every corner. His failure to protect what was his would always haunt him.

He couldn’t allow it to happen again.

Your breaths evened out after a moment, and he listened to them with closed eyes.

An apology was at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t let you be another casualty.

You had to stay alive. Joel would keep you alive...

You’d said something before he managed to fuck things up.

Joel racked his brain for the memory. It seemed like it’d been so long ago.

‘We’re going to find your brother.’ That’s what you’d said...

Joel would keep you alive, even if every nerve in his body ached to connect with yours. He wanted to explain it to you, but you’d made him a promise. He’s making one to you too. He’s going to keep you alive...

‘We’re going to find your brother,’ you’d said.

Apologize. Explain. His brain was screaming at him-- no.

Respond.

“Okay,” is what he settled for instead.

You were still alive.

You were still alive and that’s the only thing that mattered. He had to keep it that way.

“Stop,” you begged breathlessly. It was like he hadn’t even heard you, pushing on even as the sun began to set in the west.

How long had it been?

There was a buzzing in your head; it was numbing, as if you’d been injected with some sort of laughing gas. It was a little bizarre and it was enough to add some bass in your tone.

“Joel, please. Stop.”

It was your grip that made Joel finally look down. Your hand, quivering and weak, had come to wrap around his bicep, nails digging in with urgency.

He staggered as he looked into your dim eyes, half-lidded and bloodshot red.

“Put me down,” you whispered. “Please.”

You were slipping away; he could feel it.

It was happening all over again, and he was helpless to stop it.

“No,” he said firmly, but his body was still going through the motions. He was still falling on his knees, a shock spreading to his spine, but he didn’t feel the pain.

All he could feel was you.

Your staggering breaths, the twitching of your hands, he guessed some sort of state of shock from the blood loss… It was probably a miracle that you hadn’t passed out from it all yet.

Gravel dug into his jeans, but he paid it no mind, frantically searching your eyes for something. Anything—any sort of solution because he couldn’t go through this again.

Desperately, he pulled up your shirt to look at your wound. The blood wasn’t clotting, it was going faster than your body could respond.

Maybe he could find something to stitch you up with, try to work through all the blood, but the small logical part of him knew that searching through any of these buildings would be like finding a needle in a haystack. And he didn’t trust that you’d keep yourself awake while he was gone…

With a jolt, Joel realized he was no longer hearing anything at all. Your breaths had gone eerily quiet, your hands devastatingly still…

“Hey!” Joel looked toward your face frantically.

His shout jolted you awake, reaching toward the last bits of consciousness your brain could muster.

It was as if a thousand-pound weight had been tied to your ankle and you’d been thrown in the ocean. Desperately reaching for the surface as you sank further and further. Like your oxygen was running out...

“Hey, stay with me, you’re not allowed to rest. Not yet.”

You’re barely able to pinpoint where the voice is coming from until he’s shaking your shoulders roughly.

Your eyes focused back on Joel, a heaviness in your chest.

“Joel?” It takes an extreme amount of effort to form his name on your lips, but you know it’s worth the pain. The dull headache it forms to not give into the peaceful silence that sleep was promising you. It was luring you in, but love made in a little bit easier to keep yourself rooted to the land of the living.

“I’m here. I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not—”

He’s caught by surprise when a sob lodged itself in his throat. He did his best to swallow it down.

It felt like something was ripping at his own chest, breaking through the grief he’d buried down decades ago. And his grip on your body got tighter.

Joel pulled you in to his body like he’d done years ago.

He loved you. God, he loved you. It was threatening to swallow him whole, the flood of emotions as he stared down at your pale cheeks and dim eyes.

He’d denied himself the opportunity to love you, truly love you, because of his stubborn belief that he knew what was best for you.

He knew that if he allowed himself to indulge, he’d set you both up for disaster. Because that’s just how the universe worked for him.

But now, as he sat doused in your blood, Joel Miller felt a deeper heartbreak than anything he could’ve ever imagined the universe had in store for him.

He didn’t think he’d ever feel this way after Sarah.

He was a fool.

“Joel—” you breathed with a hint of a smile.

“Why? Why did you lie—you should’ve told me before—”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” you coughed, the taste of iron on your tongue. “I wasn’t going to let them get the jump on us. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you—”

You’re kidding. Even as you look death in the face, you’re talking about his safety before your own.

It cracked his heart further.

His lips quivered and you were so close that you could feel the small puffs of breath that escaped them. “We gotta get back to the QZ, the sun’s going down. We gotta get you stitched up—“

Even though his knees screamed against it, he was already hauling you two back up before your shrill scream sent him right back down in panic.

One look at your pained expression and he was reminded that he couldn’t afford to spare you the luxury of rest.

“I know, I know it hurts, I know,” he repeated because he was stuck in the same nightmare. “I’m sorry, I know.”

“No,” you begged. “We won’t make it. Please, please, Joel. Stop.”

He only managed a few staggering steps before he was collapsing again, shrinking into himself in anguish.

It seemed like a century had passed as he sat on the gravel, cradling your frail body.

Joel didn’t even feel the tears running down his face until your fragile hand touched his cheek.

“I—I should’ve said it before, but I didn’t want to ruin what we had,” it was getting harder to breathe, but you knew this was what you wanted to use your last breaths for.

“I love you, Joel Miller... And –”

Joel’s eyes flew open in shock, staring into yours in disbelief.

He was unlovable, he’d made sure of that, but here you were. Looking at him with the most sincerity he’d ever seen in anyone’s eyes, glistening with unshed tears of what could’ve been.

“And I’m sorry I’m telling you this now. But you—you had to know. Tell Tess I’m sorry and that she better find what she’s looking for in—in Detroit.”

“Y/N…” His hands cradled your face, just as you ran your fingertips over his quivering lips.

“You’ll be okay, Joel,” you smiled weakly. “You’re going to find Tommy and you’re going to be okay.”

“Please.”

You seemed to ignore his plea, choosing to look over at the orange sunset with that same easy smile on your lips.

And when it slowly began to drop, when your eyes started to glaze over, Joel leaned over to press his lips against the corner of yours, feeling the air leave your parted mouth. And his lips found your forehead, pressing firmly with the whispers of a thousand apologies against your skin.

And there he sobbed, cradled your head into his neck, facing away from the sunset your eyes lastly rested on, the world falling apart at his knees.

Joel Miller loved you too. You left this world without knowing it.

He loved you too.

uh… this will be edited 1000% when i’m completely sober <3 tipsy elle clocking out!

— elle <3

taglist:

@rendiore @words-are-cheap @justhereforthosefics @angelmenace @lady-bellyn @encephalitiskat

@sloanexx @rendiore @words-are-cheap @justhereforthosefics @angelmenace @lady-bellyn @encephalitiskat

#mgparker #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x y/n #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel tlou #TLOU #the last of us #the last of us imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller angst #angst #pedro pascal angst

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