#i'm way less suicidal than i was a week and a half ago and for weeks before that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

me-and-your-husband · 1 year ago

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if you lie down with me || e.w.

summary: there's one thing you and ellie don't have in common: immunity.

warnings: not beta read, swearing, blood, canon typical violence, death by suicide, ellie has concerning ideations, smut, oral, scissoring, multiple orgasms, angst!, crying during sex, arguing, probably more

word count: 6k

a/n: i know, i'm sorry for using this photo 😭 actually i'm sorry i wrote this entire thing

The end never feels like the end, does it? When you wake in the morning, the air is as fresh as the day before and the sun streams through the window at the same angle. You smile fondly at the incessant banging on your door, and at her urging tone when she tells you to get out of bed. “We have patrol,” she says, like she's said a thousand times before. What makes today any different?

The gravel road feels the same as it crunches under your boots as she leads you to the gate. Her auburn hair shines the same in the light, the same way you've admired since you were fourteen and she had just settled in Jackson.

You were helping out in the library, arms full of books stacked above your head. You struggled trying to keep them up with one hand and shelve them with the other. She noticed you from the corner, where she sat with a pile of beaten comics and a Walkman. “Need some help?” she asked, standing up from her spot on the ground. She took half the books from your pile and put them wherever you told her. After, when you asked her about the comics she was reading, her face lit up and she knew that you'd be a part of her life until death. Finally, someone was interested in knowing her.

The friendly faces of the watchmen at the gate were the same as they were yesterday, a week ago, a month ago, a year. They waved at you and wished you good luck as you mounted your horse and rode alongside Ellie onto the trail. The way she shoved her pistol in her back pocket and slung her bow over her shoulders was always the same. The way your horse galloped evenly alongside Shimmer did not deviate from the norm.

When she spoke up, her words were usual.

“Look, babe. A hummingbird,” she said with glee, pointing to the frosty trees.

You smiled at her excitement. “Poor thing, it's so cold out.”

“Don't you remember?”

“Of course I remember, El,” you laughed. “How could I forget?”

How could you forget? It was a humid summer afternoon, shortly after Ellie had turned sixteen. You had snuck out of Jackson to explore a creek you had found the day prior on group patrol. You so badly wanted to show Ellie, to share every part of you with her. You didn't know what to call it, but you assumed it was just because you were really good friends.

The soft rush of the water and the gentle breeze across your skin contrasted to the beating sun plastering your hair to your skin. You and Ellie sat with your backs against a wide oak, watching minnows skip through the water.

“Do you think animals have feelings? Like us?” Ellie thought out loud.

You hummed, “I do, but not as complicated as ours.”

She nodded in agreement before her eyes drifted to the source of a new sound, a gentle humming. She saw the gentle bird sucking nectar from a flower, tapping your shoulder gently and pointing.

“Look, a hummingbird,” she whispered.

“Woah!” You beamed, “I’ve only seen them in those nature books in the library. That's so cool. Did you know the sound actually comes from its wings?”

As you watched the hummingbird, she watched you. “It’s really pretty.”

You agreed. She said your name, but looked away from you.

“Yeah?”

“I think I like girls.”

You let the words settle in the air.

“I think I do too.”

It was the first indication that something else could happen between you and her, something less platonic than you would've thought. After that, neither of you said anything about it, confident in the fact that something more could exist in the spaces between.

It was the same confidence you had today as you followed her through the Wyoming woods, putting your trust in her. You took the same path almost every time you went out on patrol, knowing your way around, knowing the landmarks of the area. You knew you were getting close to the danger zone when you saw your favourite tree, the one you and Ellie would lean against by the creek, telling each other secrets into the night, crossing your heart to never tell another soul. Each of you knew that the other’s soul was the only one that mattered, anyways.

It was just over a year ago that you’d both carved your initials into that tree, reminders of that early morning on patrol bringing a smile to your face.

You had stopped for a moment to take a short break against the tree, letting your horses get some rest. Ellie leaned up against the tree as you pet Shimmer. The sun shone despite the snow and the brisk weather, illuminating your features gently. She admired the curve of your lips and the shape of your eyes, imagining her fingers tracing your skin under lamplight late at night. You looked up at her when your name tumbled from her lips.

“Yeah?” You said, continuing to pet Shimmer.

“I like you.”

The air stilled and your hand faltered, breath hitching. But what if she didn’t mean it like that?

You forced a laugh. “Well, I’d hope so. We’ve been friends for how long?”

“No, I…” she struggled for the right words. “I want to be more than friends. I like you. Like…romantically. And stuff.”

She played with her fingers, shuffling her feet back and forth in the snow, not meeting your gaze.

“Ellie, look at me. Please,” you whispered. She raised her eyes to yours, but still kept her head low, not bringing it up until your hand cupped her jaw. She moved her hand on top of yours, trapping it there, wondering if it was just a dream.

She closed her eyes tight when she saw you leaning in, praying that you weren't messing with her. When she finally felt your lips ghosting across hers, she leaned into you. Your touch was fire on her skin, leaving a red blush in its wake. She pressed your mouth to hers hungrily, never wanting this to end.

“I like you too,” you mumbled against her lips.

When you finally broke for air, chests heaving, you were both beaming. Ellie nervously reached into her pocket for her pocket knife, flicking it open. She held the blade against the bark of the tree, grabbing our hand and putting it on the hilt, sliding hers over top of it.

She guided your hand as you carved your initials into the tree, trapping them inside of a heart. It was cliche, but it meant everything to you.

It was the same tree that, a year later, you and Ellie passed on almost every patrol. The same tree that symbolized your everlasting love for each other. The same tree that stood since the dawn of your and Ellie’s time.

You rode casually in comfortable silence until you got to the watchtower, negative memories plaguing both you and Ellie. The floorboards still held the echoes of your voices yelling, still soaked in your tears.

Four months ago, when the rabbits were still brown and the path was clear of snow, you'd come through this watchtower to find two clickers. It caught you both off guard, as Jesse and Dina had just cleared it as safe the day before.

Ellie, always being the hero, snuck up behind one, taking it out easily, and lunged at the other. The second one, however, pinned her to the ground, and she held it by the neck, its arms clawing hers.

The sound of your pistol rang out as the body slumped on top of Ellie. She rolled it off and got up from the ground, chest heaving.

“Well,” she said, brushing dirt from her jeans, “that was pretty close. Thanks.”

When you didn't respond, she turned to see you standing with your pistol still in both hands, brows furrowed as you watched the dead body of the clicker intently. She called your name.

“What is it?”

You shook your head.

“Come on, tell me-”

“Every fucking time, Ellie,” you said, shoving your pistol back in your pocket and turning away from her. “Why do you have to run head-first into danger like that every time?”

She didn't say anything, gaze on your back as she watched you turn back around.

“What would I have done if you had gotten bit?” You said, voice a little watery. “Say something.”

She stumbled over her words, not knowing what to say. “I don't try to, you know, it’s just…” she sighed.

“You know, Ellie, sometimes I think that I value your life more than you do.”

The words hung in the air between you two, both of you knowing that you were right. Knowing that she could've been more, done so much more, saved so many people. But she was stripped of that. So what kind of meaning could she give to her life? What did she really have to live for? Before Joel, she never really had someone she knew would care if she died. Now she had you, and she didn't know how her recklessness would affect you. Now she did.

“Okay, you're right. I’m too reckless. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll start thinking before I react,” she said, voice softening.

You huffed, “I just worry about you, El. I don't know what I’d do without you.”

She hugged you tight, letting you nuzzle into her chest. She knew how you felt. Before you, she was hopeless. She didn't see a point in doing anything if her life couldn't be used by someone. What was it all for? Everything she'd struggled through? All she'd suffered?

Now she knew that she was forced to experience it all so that she could end up with you. And she’d do it a million times over.

She breathed your name. “I need to tell you something.”

You pulled away from her, “Well that's one way to start a conversation.”

She laughed nervously. “No, it's nothing bad. It's just…it might be hard to swallow.”

She gestured at an old, ratty chair. You sat and watched her intently.

She took a deep breath, drawing it into her lungs and releasing it. “Do you remember why I got my tattoo?”

“Yeah, to cover up that chemical burn.”

“I lied,” she said. “That's not why I got the tattoo.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, silently begging her to go on.

“When I was fourteen, I was bitten. On my arm.”

You sat back in your chair.

“I waited and waited for my mind to go, for my body to go, for anything to happen, but it never did. So…I’m immune, or whatever,” she said, searching for a reaction.

Seconds of silence passed. It was shattered with a laugh.

“That's a good one, Ellie. Real funny.”

“It’s true! Ask Joel. Tommy. Maria. They're the only ones who know…”

“And you expect me to believe this?”

“Just trust me. Please. It's all I ask, is for you to trust my word. Why would I lie to you about this?” She pleaded.

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Because Joel thinks it's dangerous for people to know. That's how we met, you know. He was hired to get me to the fireflies…they were going to make a cure,” she said, voice trailing off towards the end.

“It didn't work, I take it?”

She shook her head. “Joel says they didn't need me.” Joel says.

“Okay,” you said, making her look up at you. “I believe you. But that doesn't mean I’m fine with you running head-first into infected like that again. Just because you're…immune, doesn't mean you can't be torn apart. Got it?”

“Got it,” she said, crouching in front of you and putting her hands on your thighs. “God, I love you.”

You cleared out the watchtower and made your way back to the path. This part was one of your favourites, winding through the mountains. Your horses trotted casually beside each other.

“Okay, okay, here's one: What do you say when a chef dies?”

“Oh god, I don't know?”

“He pasta-way!” She said, giggling before she could even say the answer.

Her laughter was contagious, sending it bubbling through your chest. “That's so bad that it's good.”

“Come on, just admit that I’m a top-notch comedian. If the world wouldn't have ended, I’d’ve been up there with Dave Chapelle.”

“Who’s Dave Chapelle?”

“I don't actually know. Some old ass comedian Joel told me about.”

You both laughed, smiles painted across your faces. However, the giggles subsided as you felt your horse start to shake slightly.

“Woah, Shimmer, you okay girl?” Ellie said, patting her side.

“Beau’s shaking too.”

“Maybe they’ve got…I don't know, a cold or something? Can horses even get colds?” You shrugged. “Maybe we should let them rest for a bit.”

You agreed, dismounting your horse and planting your feet on the ground. The shaking underneath you didn’t stop. You looked at Ellie, who looked at the mountain behind you. She yelled your name as you looked behind you.

A loud, grating noise sounded as you watched the earth of the mountain loosen from its side, rocks and boulders tumbling from it, falling in your direction.

You hurriedly mounted your horses again, kicking their ribs to get them to go. You rode as fast as you could, attempting to beat the oncoming landslide. You'd never seen one before, only heard stories and read of them in books. You were about three quarters of the way through the mountain range when the land detached from the mountain and began to slide.

“Go, go, go!” You yelled, Ellie a few feet ahead of you as her horse was younger than Beau. She glanced behind her every few seconds to make sure you were still there.

The rocks falling created a settlement of dust around you, making it increasingly harder to breathe. You finally saw the green clearing outside of the mountain range. Almost there.

The grating noise died, and you peered behind you to see the path completely covered in rubble. A few boulders still tumbled from the mountain, or whatever was left of it.

“Watch out!” Ellie yelled. You looked to your right, seeing a massive boulder rolling down the mountain, coming right for you.

You acted before you could think, much like Ellie, and propelled yourself forward off your horse as the boulder hit Beau and rolled atop of his body. You landed on the ground near Ellie, propping yourself up on your elbows to gawk at the sight.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, running to Beau. His body was mangled, bones sticking out of the skin and blood painting the grass. You felt like vomiting.

Ellie dismounted her horse, still shaking from the adrenaline, and put her hands on your shoulders, attempting to get you standing.

“Wait,” you said, leaning back down, planting a teary kiss on Beau's muzzle.

You stood, holding her tight. “Let's never come through here again.”

“Don't think we can, sweetheart,” she said, looking back at the obstruction. “Come on, we've gotta find a new way back home.”

She was about to help you mount Shimmer when you both froze in your tracks. A low, husky groan rung out through the air, scaring Shimmer. She ran into the clearing out of fright.

“Shit,” Ellie breathed.

“We’ll find her later. Come on, we have to go. It's either a bloater or a shambler, and I don't really want to stick around to find out.”

You turned to leave when the ground shook again. You turned around, looking back at the mountain. It wasn't the mountain shaking this time. Spewing through the hole the landslide left like spiders were hundreds—if not thousands—of infected. Clickers, runners, stalkers, bloaters, shamblers. Everything.

There was no way you were making it out of this unless you legged it now.

In unison, you and Ellie started sprinting to your last checkpoint— the old cabin. You ran faster than you ever had before, the sounds of hungry infected hot on your heels. You couldn't feel your legs, the burning in your flesh too intense. When the cabin finally came into view, you couldn't even allow yourself a breath of relief. You and Ellie had your guns out, shooting behind you as you ran, picking off as many infected as you could. When you were close enough to the cabin, the idea hit you. You knew that the creaky boards of the cabin wouldn't hold that many infected off. You knew what you had to do.

“Ellie, cover me!” You yelled as you slung your backpack off your shoulder and grabbed what you'd need. You grabbed an old bottle of whiskey you and Ellie had found at the watchtower and a rag. Stuffing the rag in the bottle, you lit it with your lighter.

In the ten seconds it took you to do this, the infected crept closer and closer to you. Ellie tried picking off as many as she could, keeping them away from you. Until her magazine ran out.

You threw the molotov in front of the hoard of infected. It exploded, creating a wall of fire between you and your death.

Until a single clicker went at you from the side. The light of the fire flickered in your irises and cast an orange glow across your face, and you didn't even hear it creeping up amidst the roar of the flames. You didn't even hear Ellie yell your name.

It tackled you to the ground before you could even turn your head all the way, talons scratching your arms and legs, sinking into your stomach. Its jaw was inches away from your neck, begging to gnaw on your jugular. In the struggle for your life, you couldn't even tell where you were and weren't hurt, what was bleeding and what wasn't.

Blood gushed into your hair and eyes as you watched Ellie slice its head clean off with her pocketknife. The same one you'd carved your initials into that old oak with.

Something inside of you rattled knowing that something could be used so innocently and yet so dangerously.

Ellie picked you up from the ground and helped you limp into the cabin, reeds of grass tickling your wounds. When you entered, you stood in the centre of the room as she barricaded the entrances.

“There,” she said, returning to you. You were both coming off adrenaline, suddenly feeling the ache in your bones to an indescribable extent.

You put your hands on your knees and leaned on them, heaving a little. “Ellie. We were so close.”

She just nodded in understanding. Her eyes survey you from top to bottom. You had a scratch across your cheek, a few minor lacerations across your arms and chest, and a few on your legs. She couldn't see any bites.

You brought your right arm up to run it shakily through your hair. That's when she saw it, brutal and bloody, painted into your skin like a brand. One that would decide your fate. Except that it had already been decided.

The sight of the bite on your forearm turned her stomach. She blinked over and over again, hoping that she was seeing wrong. Maybe she was still coming off of adrenaline. “Your arm…” she breathed.

“What?” You asked, confused. You looked over your left, then your right, and…oh. “Oh.”

The silence was deafening. It wasn't like you'd been badly injured, still with a sliver of possibility for recovery. No, this bite sealed your fate.

In the next day, you were going to become something Ellie had to detest. Something she had to kill.

You felt the bile rise in your throat just in time to grab a decayed flower pot. You choked out everything in your stomach and more.

Ellie grabbed her stomach as she felt her body start to shake, that feeling creeping up her spine again. Her breath felt like it was being siphoned out of her. She needed air, but her lungs would not take any in. She hyperventilated as she threw herself back against the wall, legs giving out.

A sweat broke out across her body, knowing that she's losing you tonight.

Her mind shoved memories into her vision that she swore to never bring up again.

“There're a million ways we should've died before today. And a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight…for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes…or two days. We don't give that up.”

She remembers the small, impossible slice of hope in Riley’s eyes, one that she knew was futile. Riley was her first love. She thought they were both going to die. She felt…horrible. You would be her last love, though she knew only you were fated to die. She knew she would die too.

Your voice calling her name broke her out of her fit. One look at you wiping your face and shaking was enough to make her want to break something, anything.

“Ellie,” you called. She stood and began pacing, running her hands over her face. “Ellie, stop it.”

“There's gotta be…there has to…we need…” she babbled, still pacing. An idea clicked, “give me your arm.”

You held out your shaking arm to your lover, expecting her to inspect the area. Instead, she took out her pocket knife and pressed the blade into her hand without any hesitation.

“Ellie! What the fuck?!” You said, trying to stop her hand from bleeding.

“Give me your arm,” she said firmly, a major contrast from before. When you hesitated, her hard gaze met yours. Her eyes softened when she saw the fear in your eyes. “Please,” she whispered.

You gave her your arm and let her rub her blood into the bite.

She took your arm and rubbed the blood into the bite knowing it wouldn’t work.

It wouldn't work on you.

She knew that.

She tried anyway.

As she massaged the blood as deep into the wound as she could get, all she could think about was that she would've been able to save you if they made the cure. Her life would've had meaning, so much meaning. She would've been able to cure you from this. But she was helpless, cursed to watch you suffer.

“Ellie,” you said, putting your hand atop hers to get her to stop and look at you. She could see in your eyes that you just needed to be close to her in that moment. She needed it too, needed to be impossibly closer as to grip into you forever.

She buried her head into your neck and you did the same, holding your breath. For if you breathed, time would pass. If time passed, you'd be gone.

You don't know how long you held each other like that, but it was long enough that your legs nearly collapsed with exhaustion. You were the first to speak.

“I need you to promise me something,” you whispered.

Ellie knew what you were going to say before the words left your mouth.

“No-” she began pulling away from you, but you squeezed her tighter.

“When it starts to happen…when I can feel it, I’m going to take my gun-”

“Stop it-”

“-and I’m going to go outside. You’ll know it's over-”

“-Stop-”

“-when you hear it. Just promise me you won't look.”

“Stop, please,” she begs, tears brimming in her eyes again. She takes a step back from you and turns around.

“Promise me.”

The words get caught in her throat. Her lip trembles. “Okay.”

Outside, rain starts to fall softly, tapping against the rotting wood of the cabin.

She breaks the new silence. “I should've been there. I should've taken my rifle out, anything-”

“El, it's not your fault. Look at me,” you say. She looks at you over her shoulder. You nearly crumble at her red eyes and wet cheeks. “Never blame yourself. You hear me?”

She just squeezes her eyes shut, willing for this to all go away.

You walk to her, putting your hands on her shoulders and leaning your forehead against her back. You tried not to look at the bite.

“Ellie.”

“Yeah.”

“Will you give me one last good night?”

The soft pattering of the rain against the wood, trickling off the roof and into the ground.

“Please?”

She says nothing, instead turning around and gently capturing your lips in a kiss. Your bloodied hands find her wet cheeks, noting that the tears haven't stopped.

Ellie wanted to give you everything you wanted and more, and she had sworn she would from the moment she met you. If this was the last thing you ever asked from her, she would give it to you.

But it was so unbelievably hard knowing that this time would be your last.

She pushed you back against the wall, nearly devouring you. The salty mix of your tears and hers slipped into the kiss, but you didn't care. She moved her hand down to cup you where you wanted her.

You bucked your hips into the friction, already needing her. You began to undo your belt, but Ellie’s hand on your wrist stopped you.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” She said, voice gravelly.

“Yes, El,” you said. “I don't know where I’ll be tomorrow, or…what I’ll be,” she let out a shaky breath, “but I know I want to be with you right now.”

She sniffled and nodded, getting on her knees to take your belt off. She threw it to the side, unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them down along with your panties. You opened your legs wider for her.

She ran two fingers through your slit before sinking one into your hole, tongue giving kitten licks to your folds.

You could tell that she wasn't going to be as vocal as usual.

You couldn't really blame her.

You whimpered as she added another finger, pumping them in and out of you, filling the air with obscene sounds. She lapped at your cunt, trying her hardest to give you what you want.

“Ellie, don't stop,” you moaned, whimpering when she used her other arm to hold your hips down against the wall. “Almost there.”

You could feel the coil tightening inside if you quickly, your climax coming in record time. You thought for a moment that it was because of how sensitive you were in this moment.

You moaned wantonly and grabbed her hair as you came, her tongue working on your clit and her fingers scissoring you open.

You expected her to stop, but she kept going. In fact, she added a third finger.

You heard her moan into your pussy, looking down to find her grinding into the floor, a wet spot forming on her jeans. She was so messy, your juices coating her face, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair, rutting into nothing and moaning into your cunt.

When the fabric of her jeans caught her clit just right, she took her mouth of your pussy, replacing it with her thumb instead, and leaned her forehead against your stomach. You came with her from the sensitivity, both of your moans filling the air, pleading for more.

When she laid you down on a thin blanket from her backpack and undressed both of you, you noted the scared look in her eyes. The way she looked at you, drinking you in, knowing this would be your last time together. Some part of you wished that neither of you knew about the bite, that you didn't have to treat this so differently. That you could enjoy it. Enjoy your last moments together.

She threw her leg over yours, kissing you messily, yet softly, as she ground into you, folds slotting against each other. You both moaned each time your clits touched.

As she grew closer to her climax, she buried her face into your neck. You tried to ignore the feeling of her tears trickling down and pooling at your nape.

You came together. You moaned, but she cried out, more guttural than you'd ever heard from her.

“I love you, I love you, I love you—!” she cried into your neck as she came.

When you slowed down, she held you like that without words.

“I love you too, Ellie,” you whispered, just loud enough for her to hear over the rain.

You held each other as the sun set, through the night, and through the rain.

The golden rays of the sun shone through the cracks in the walls and shudders, dancing across her bare body pressed into your side. Hours ago, her body had stopped shaking and her tears stopped spilling onto your chest, your hands running patterns across her skin lulling her into an exhausted sleep.

Your eyes had never closed, however. You knew you wanted to be awake to feel it happening, to know when you were losing control over your body. For Ellie’s sake.

The rain had stopped and the clouds were cleared. Birds sang outside and all the animals went about their day. You thought it strange that the world would continue on without you, that people will age and new ones will be born, that people will die and people will forget about you in time. Your impermanence had never struck you as hard as it did now.

You felt the twitching in your feet first, unnoticeable at first, but is it crawled up your limbs, you knew it was happening. It happened over three or four hours, and once you felt your neck jerk the first time, you knew.

Your blood didn't feel like your own anymore, like someone exsanguinated it and replaced it with jelly, slowing you down. Your vision wasn't gone, but you couldn't focus it on anything. It constantly sounded like you were underwater, drowning, gasping for air to no avail.

Your eyes hardly left the woman in your arms, clinging to you even in sleep. You know she'd curse herself for falling asleep, but you were thankful for it. You were thankful that you could press a tearful kiss to her forehead before gently escaping her grasp, muffling your sobs behind your hand. You threw your shirt and jeans on quietly, dizzy, slipping your shoes on. Your world spun, your lungs burned, your head throbbed.

You picked up your pistol, watching Ellie stir slightly in her sleep, creamy skin illuminated in the sun, her freckled face creased slightly with worry, even in sleep. You put the gun in your pocket.

You tried, as silently as you could, to move the barricade from the door. You were thankful that she was a heavy sleeper.

You were thankful that you didn't have to see the despair in her eyes when you said a forceful goodbye, thankful that you didn't have to convince her to let you go, thankful that your last memory of her was this, thankful that her last memory of you was bliss.

Through your sobs, you squeezed through the door and shut it behind you, leaning your head against it, willing for this all to be a nightmare. It wasn't, because you started to feel something else take over your will.

Before you could lose it completely, you forced yourself into a dense brush of greenery, somewhere you hoped she wouldn't look.

You panted, sweating, trembling, as you took the pistol out of your pocket. It shook with your hand as you held it to your temple, bright eyes taking in all of the world that you could before it was gone.

You squeezed them tightly, willing yourself to stop shaking. You conjured the image of your lover in your mind, her auburn hair, milky skin, pretty green eyes, and those familiar freckles. How could you ever forget her?

You took a breath in, and breathed out: “I love you.”

Ellie sat up in terror when she heard the sound of a single gunshot ring through the air, seeping in through the cracks of the window and underneath the door. It took her a moment to process what it was, reaching for her pistol next to her discarded clothes. When her fingertips brushed the gun, it settled in. She craned her head to look beside her, half expecting you to still be asleep.

When she remembered what the sound of the gunshot meant, what you had made her promise, her lungs collapsed and she couldn't take any air in. Tears spilled from her eyes as she heaved, clawing at her chest for any relief. It didn't come.

She knew it never would.

When Joel got word that you and Ellie still hadn't returned from patrol, he worried that you'd gotten stuck in the landslide. He pleaded with Tommy and Jesse to go out with him to search, knowing he wouldn't be at peace without knowing what happened.

When the two agreed, they set off on horses to clear all of the checkpoints. It took an extra day to get around the mountain range that was blocked off by rubble.

When they only had one more checkpoint to clear, Joel got increasingly worried. If you weren't here, where were you?

When the three men got to the cabin, they held their breath as they dismounted their horses. Joel tried pushing the door open, but the barricade stopped him. It took the three of them to open the door, pushing the barricade out of the way.

The open door shed light on the figure against the back wall covered in a thin blanket, trembling. Joel let out the breath he was holding in when he saw Ellie. She was clutching your backpack to her chest, trying to keep any remaining part of you alive, hers.

She had hardly noticed Joel pick her up and carry her to his horse, wrapping the blanket tighter around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, not ready to see the world without you in it.

“Ellie,” Joel’s gruff voice intruded her thoughts, “where is she?”

Ellie’s words failed her. All she could do was point to her forearm, to the bite that only Joel and Tommy knew hid underneath the tattoo.

She doesn't remember what happened after that.

It was warmer now, the flowers blossoming and the green coming back to Jackson’s landscape. Ellie sat facing your headstone, wishing you could've seen it. Wishing she could've shown it to you.

“It’s summer now,” she began. “We started planting these new flowers in your garden…Joel thinks you would've liked them. I think so too. They're really colourful…you know.”

She hesitated.

“Sometimes I wonder if you can hear me. Or if I’m just talking to myself like a crazy person. Joel says it's good for me. I don't know if I believe him.”

She played with her hands, tracing her tattoo.

“I wish you were still here,” she whispered. Her eyes drifted over all the flowers left by your grave from all the people who loved you.

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched a pretty red hummingbird land on your grave, searching for pollen in the flowers.

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz @pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams x reader angst #tlou #the last of us #tlou 2 #the last of us 2 #lesbian

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mydarlingclaudia · 4 months ago

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there’s always a piece of you

note : divider is from @/cafekitsune. uhhh idrk how to feel about this one I just kinda wanted to write angst so this probably sucks and I know it's ooc whoopsies

wc : 1.3k

desc : you've been dead for a few months now, Leon still can't get over it. established relationship, angst, hurt no comfort (I think? correct me if I'm wrong), not proofread, Leon contemplates suicide and is also reliant on alcohol, gn!reader, I kind of flip-floped between vendetta!Leon and re6!Leon so idrk you pick

There were plenty of things that happened to Leon that made his life miserable, one of them was losing you. It was no one's fault, you got sick, you had an expiration date, and Leon did everything he could to try and help you get better, but it didn't work. Leon didn't regret spending a bunch of his money trying to make your sickness go away, he just wished it would've worked, that you'd still be here with him.

Maybe not right this second, though. Maybe he doesn't want you in the car with him while he's speeding down the road, half-past one in the morning and half-past drunk.

He thinks too much, drinking doesn't help him stop thinking, like, at all, he doesn't know why he expects the outcome to be different whenever he pours himself some whiskey, but if he crashes his car then he has something to blame it on. He'd already gotten too many lectures from Claire and Chris about how he should take better care of himself, that things weren't going to stay as bad as they are right now, but things had been shitty for Leon for so long that this just added to the list of reasons on why he should drink himself to death.

You and Leon had your ups and down, everyone did, but he still doesn't believe you ever really knew how much you helped him. Knowing he had someone at home waiting for him made his job a bit easier, and knowing you were his and that he was the one who put that ring on your finger made him feel like there was something more to his life than being a weapon for the government. Leon was your husband, had been your husband, still is. He wished more than anything that he had spent more time with you, that his job didn't have to be the center of his life while you were forced to be secondary, he couldn't quit, not while he was still able-bodied, but he promised you that one day he'd have his final day in the DSO and that he'd take you on vacation without having it interrupted.

Leon was able to take you on vacation for a week to Greece, but even when the two of you came back home, he wanted to keep taking you beautiful places while he was still able to. There was still paperwork he had to do, a few less missions but he still had to do his job, you understood. He hated it, though. He wanted you to yell at him about how he should be at home with you, spending as much time as he possibly could with you. But you never yelled at him about it even though he knew it upset you, you said there was no use in arguing, he’d be there when you needed him.

He shouldn’t keep dwelling on this, you’ve been dead for five months now, but he can't get himself to focus on anything else. Leon didn't know why ghosts weren't real. If there could be zombies wandering the streets as well as dozens of other creatures that only Hell could spit out, why weren't there ghosts? Leon would take you being alive over you being a ghost any day, but if a ghost was the best he could settle for, then that's what he would accept. But he was yet to get any messages on the wall written in blood or find your belongings in places where they weren't before, not that you had to be a ghost to haunt him.

All the windows in his car are rolled all the way down, Leon's not listening to the radio or any music, he's been on all these roads before, but he still doesn't really know where he's going. He left D.C. around eight p.m. to go to a bar in Maryland, he had left the bar maybe half an hour ago and was driving through the woods, he didn’t have any plans on going back into D.C. just yet. Leon wasn’t the best driver to begin with, being drunk definitely didn’t make him any better, be he’d rather drive himself home or to the middle of nowhere than call someone to take him home.

He liked calling you, though.

Of course, you never picked up, he just liked calling so he could hear your voice on the recorded message for your missed calls. Sometimes he’d actually talk, others he’d just keep driving down the road while the silence on your end of the line dragged on.

Leon sighs softly and bites the inside of his cheek as he takes one hand off the wheel to dig in his back pocket for his phone. He steals glances between the road and his phone as he unlocks it and opens your contact, waiting patiently as it begins ringing. Leon clears his throat slightly and takes his other hand off the wheel to run his hand through his sweaty hair as he waits for your voice recording to switch on before grabbing hold of the wheel again.

He opens his mouth to talk once the ringing stops, but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything before he hears someone else on the other end.

“Hello? Who is this?” The tired voice of a woman makes his breath catch in his throat, he takes his foot off the gas and slams down on the brake, the tires of his car make a horrible screeching noise as he swerves to the side. Leon thinks he must've finally gone crazy, there couldn't have been another voice on the end of the line that was supposed to belong to you.

The woman speaks up again as Leon's car finally comes to a stop, he hadn't hit anything, but there are swervey skid marks that go down the road for a couple dozen feet. Leon breathes shakily into his phone, his foot still pressed down on the brake as he puts his car in park and leans back against his seat.

"I- fuck, I'm sorry." Leon began, his throat feeling even dryer than it already was. "Go back to bed, o-or whatever you were doing before I called. Just- goddammit." He quickly hangs up the phone and tosses it down onto the passenger seat. Leon runs his hands down his face, he can feel his chest tightening up like his lungs are about to pop inside his ribs, the stinging sensation in his eyes and throat only worsens.

When had they put your number back into use? That poor girl would probably block his number and he'd lose that little bit of your voice forever. Leon could go through his phone to find videos of you or just anything where he could hear your voice, but he figured he should wait until he remembered to work his phone more than trying to call you.

Day by day, it feels like he's losing you even more. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to get rid of your things, your clothes are still in his closet, your shampoo was still in the shower, God, even your medication was still in the medicine cabinet. But no matter how many of your things remained in his home, you're still gone.

Leon was supposed to die before you, he'd imagined it hundreds of times in his head, you knew it, too. All of this could have been avoided if he just killed himself after Raccoon City or had died on one of his missions before meeting you, maybe it would have been better for him if he had never sat next to you on that train and started talking too much.

There's nothing he can do about it now except weep and get so drunk that he could still hear you talking to him, not that he didn't imagine you laying back down in bed or lounging on the couch when he was sober. Maybe he'll see you again sooner rather than later, there wasn't really anyone who was around enough to stop him. All he knew was that his life was never really his after 1998, and without you in it, maybe it was time for it to come to an end.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader

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trans-queen-administrator · 1 year ago

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One year ago, give it take a few days, I started reading Worm. I finished it in a week. I don't think I'll ever read a story that affects me as much as Taylor's did, and since it's the anniversary of me reading Worm I think I might as well get sappy and emotional and write out how much Worm impacted me.

Tw: talking about suicide

I was in a terrible spot before Worm. Behind in every single class, failing to eat or drink or even just get out of bed for entire days, ghosting all of my friends and family just because I couldn't work up the will to talk, I just rotted in my dorm all day and let the tasks pile up higher and higher because I didn't know how to dig myself up, so I just gave up. I found Worm from some stupid meme that I saw while scrolling through social media for 13 hours a day in an attempt to drown out thoughts, and for reasons I still don't know I started to read it instead of returning to my blank inertia. I hadn't had the mental willpower to read or even feel anything in months, and it was completely out of character to immediately read it instead of just saying I'd do it later.

My sleep schedule was already fucked, once I got started it wasn't really a shock that I stayed up until like 5 am.

The week went by, I got to Leviathan, the Nine, Echidna, countless incredible interludes, and somewhere early on I think Worm became some sort of last hurrah. I'm not totally sure if I would have done it, but I had rough plans for methods of killing myself. Worm is a long work, impressively so, I was telling myself I'd finish it so I had something to be at least somewhat proud of before I went. It was a means of procrastination for the end since I didn't want to leave it unfinished, and also a road to it since once I was done reading then it would be time.

I became completely closed off from the world, even more than I had been previously. I dropped any pretenses of passing or attending class, what would the point be when I wouldn't be around for the grade? My meals became even less frequent, and when I had them it was always accompanied by reading. My sleep time was cut in half, I was waking up earlier and going to bed later all to read Worm. It was a week long fugue where I ceased to exist except for my ability to read the text. Once I was done reading, that would be it for me, and since I had closed myself off from pretty much everything there were no outside sources to convince me to change my mind. Just Worm. And it managed to do it.

Something about Taylor's absolutely insane amount of willpower just hit me hard. I remember when I read Speck and was reduced to a sobbing wreck for a day that was one of my strongest thoughts about her. She just tried so hard for everything, and absolutely never gave up as long as there was some way she could try to do something. I never learned how to put all my effort into stuff, but Taylor was inspiring enough that I wanted to at least try to learn how to try. It sounds cringey to write down, but if she could try so hard that she united all of humanity to kill an omnicidal god, then I could at the very least try to eat lunch.

Speaking of lunch, I read 90% of Speck in the corner of my college dining hall. It was like 4:00 and I was the only one there somehow, which is great because I was breaking down the entire time as I read Taylor fall apart. I don't think I'll ever read anything that hurt as much as Speck.

Another part of Taylor that was just as crucial to making me want to live was showing how much her self destructiveness hurt others. How could I justify killing myself when I just read how much it fucking tore at Taylor's friends when she became Khepri? When Lisa scrambled to just barely save Taylor from a suicide attempt in the first chapter of Gold Morning? Even when she just left them behind, Rachel's anguish was palpable, so who was I to ghost my friends because I was too scared to text anyone? I always knew on a logical level people would be sad if I died, but seeing such solid depictions of hurt from similar situations just... I dunno, I couldn't justify it when it was so much clearer to me how much it would hurt people I love.

I took a day to emotionally recover from the mental rewiring that comes from finishing Worm, and then I called my parents and told them how poorly I had been doing. I hadn't done it before because I didn't want to be a burden. They were happy to help. I dropped all my classes and went home. Worm stayed with me, it gave me some sort of substance to my life, something to latch on to. Making ideas for fanfics that I'd never write, talking with friends I'd made through Worm, rereading Speck if I needed a good cry, all of it kept me going and made my life feel less flat. Like five months later I started posting to this account and that was another outlet. It was just fun to analyze the text and make up theories about this work that did so much for me, and when I finally started posting them online that was good fun too. Thank y'all for reading my dinky little rambles, somehow I've cracked 400 followers on what was originally just a place for me to write down my thoughts during lunch hour at a mental hospital. Whenever I get a detailed comment in the notes, or I see someone like/reblog 20 of my posts in a row as they scroll through, or I see the names of people I always see in my notifications it just makes my day. Y'all are lovely.

And well, now it's been a year. Worm was supposed to be the final story I read, a countdown to the end in 1.7 million words, but it managed to convince me to keep going. I didn't think I'd make it to the next year or even the next month, but it's November again and I'm still here. I'm not doing great, but I'm here and I have Worm to thank for that.

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dustydaddyyy · 1 year ago

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iv: miss you | joel miller x f!reader

flash point (series) masterlist

pairing: pre-TLOU! joel x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: on a particuarly wet night, you run across tess servopoulos and joel miller, and they help you out of a tight spot chapter warnings: canon-typical violence and gore, swearing, nightmares, mentions of stab wounds, FEDRA is basically an authoritarian regime, fireflies are not much better, constant POV-changing (sorry not sorry I'm trying to be an omniscient b), a lot of jokes about joel's old-man status, the slowest slow-burn of slow burns (because I'm trash and like to make you all wait for it), joel is kind of slightly less of an asshole in some parts of this chapter (when is joel not an asshole tbf), !TW!: mentions of parent death and suicide

a/n: *cracks knuckles* time for some character backstory hehehe. also more sam interactions because mark my words he's going to be an important character. we're not going to be talking about how long this took me to post. all i can tell you is that chapter 5 will be up by the beginning of next week, as well, so stay tuned xx K

"I've been holding out so long

I've been sleeping all alone

Lord, I miss you"

It was always the same nightmare.

Same field, same sky, same scream.

You were always frozen, unable to move, watching helplessly as the figure advanced past the barbed wire of the zone slowly, arms so thin they looked like they could snap, shoulder blades visible against the thin material of the dirty shirt. You would watch in horror as the figure spread their arms wide, as if welcoming death, before opening their mouth. The scream always felt as though it were straight in your skull, echoing through every cavity in your body and sending white hot fear through your stomach.

You’d always woken up the same way, as well, sitting bolt upright in bed, gasping for air as your thundering heartbeat echoed in your ears, eyes wide and filled with unshed tears.

Tonight had been no exception.

You try to keep your breathing under control as you sit upright, eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. For a scary, disorienting moment, you have no idea where you are, gaze scanning the room for any hint of familiarity before your brain catches up and your memories fill you in.

Joel's apartment. Joel's couch.

Breathe.

The nightmare hadn't been new, but somehow, tonight, it had been worse. You were used to waking up in cold sweat and having to remind yourself it was just a nightmare, before falling back asleep, but tonight it was different.

Maybe it was the unfamiliarity with the environment, or simply the fact that this one had felt even more vivid and unsettling than the ones that had come before. Your heart pounds like a frantic drum as the remnants of your nightmare cling to your mind like cobwebs, a lingering haze of terror that refuses to dissipate.

It takes a second before your heartbeat settles again. Wiping the few tears that managed to escape your eyes from your cheeks, you try to take deep breaths. Casting a ghostly glow through the half-shut curtains, the moon is the only source of light as it hangs low in the midnight sky. Slowly you lower yourself back down onto the couch, hands trembling as they grip the sheet you'd been given by Tess, eyes staring up at the grimy ceiling. It's a warm night, one of those that makes every piece of clothing cling to your body. You had discarded your shorts long ago, leaving you in only the old but clean smelling t-shirt Tess had handed you before going to sleep.

Desperately trying to close your eyes and go back to sleep, you twist and turn. You lie awake for a good long while, but nothing seems to work, the adrenaline of your nightmare coursing through your veins and keeping your mind awake. Swallowing hard, you take a deep breath and sit up again, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and burying your face in your hands, trying to shake off the lingering fear.

"Jesus," you whisper to yourself as you straighten out, before standing on shaky legs and quietly padding over to the kitchen. Normally, you'd have some shame about walking around somebody else's kitchen in the middle of the night in nothing but your underwear, but thankfully the shirt Tess gave you is too big, and just about long enough to cover your ass. You turn the faucet on, the water coming out a measly and unstable stream, before you cup your hands under it, bending down to splash some water on your face. You're not expecting it to work, but you still find the that the cold water helps ground you a little as you straighten back up, using your t-shirt to wipe the drops from your face.

You try to pull open a few cabinets as quietly as possible, looking for a glass. As you peer into the third one, which is filled with what looks like old coffee tins, a voice sounds from behind you.

"Glasses are under the sink."

You can't help the sharp intake of breath as you turn around to give Joel a wide-eyed look. He's standing –or rather, leaning– against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest as he peers at you. The dim moonlight reflects off the bare skin of his arms in his t-shirt, and it takes a lot of willpower not to stare at the grooves of the muscles in his biceps, smooth and powerful.

"Fucking Christ, Joel," you breathe out as you pinch the bridge of your nose, "Give a girl a warning if you're going to do that."

"How would I have made sure you weren't stealing if I'd said I was standing behind you?" he asks, and you raise a single, sarcastic eyebrow.

"How do you know I'm not stealing from you, then?" you ask him, and for the first time since you've met him, Joel doesn't seem to react to your inflammatory tone, and he shrugs.

"You'd have looked in those tins," he says simply, and you press your lips together as you realize he makes a more than valid point.

You say nothing as you turn away from him, opening the cabinet he pointed out and pulling out a glass of water. Joel tries his hardest not to look at the way Tess' shirt rides up slightly over the curve of your ass to reveal the seams of your underwear, exposed skin illuminated by the peeking moonlight, but it's a force stronger than himself. It's silent between the two of you as you run the tap and fill up your glass, before taking a few big gulps.

"Couldn't sleep?" Joel asks suddenly, and again, you take notice of the fact that his tone is devoid of its usual gruffness.

"Yeah," you say, turning back to look at him, glass in hand.

Joel's eyes zero in on the t-shirt you're wearing, and he realizes with a start that he recognizes the faded logo on the chest and the once vibrant color of the material. Sure, Tess had appropriated the shirt a long time ago when it had stopped fitting Joel, but seeing it on you still sent a shiver through him. He wasn't sure how it made him feel.

"You an insomniac or something?"

"Sometimes," you say with a tight-lipped smile, "Why are you awake? Except to make sure I'm not stealing from you, apparently."

It's dark, so you aren't sure, but you swear you can see Joel's mouth twitch ever so slightly into what you might've considered a smile.

He shrugs. "Couldn't sleep either, I guess."

Joel wonders if you can tell that he's lying.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that once upon a time, Joel had been someone's father, but he was a light sleeper. This meant that he'd easily been awoken by the sounds of your crying whilst you'd been having your nightmare. He hadn't moved a muscle at first, assuming that you were awake and not wanting to get involved in personal business that didn't concern him, but eventually, he'd heard you wake up with a gasp and a cry and realized you'd been having a nightmare.

Usually, Joel would've relished an opportunity to get on your nerves. Maybe it was the peace of the early hours of the night, or maybe he'd been far too well acquainted with how these kinds of nightmares could rattle you, but he felt no urge to tell you about what he'd heard.

Besides all of that, he also figured it was none of his damn business, anyway.

You let out a hum as you nod, leaning against the counter, eyes on the floor between your feet. After another few beats of silence, Joel speaks up again.

"Do you trust him?"

You look up in surprise at his question, and Joel feels the need to elaborate.

"This. . . Samuel."

You give a nod, letting a breath out through your nose. "With my life."

There's another beat of silence.

"Ain't he FEDRA?" Joel asks again, and for a second you can hear the usual abrasive, skeptical tone. Your eyes move to meet his in the dark, gaze suddenly piercing through him as you give a little shrug and a slight raise of your eyebrow.

"I used to be FEDRA," you state simply, and Joel fights hard to keep the surprise off of his face, "You trust me."

"That's still debatable," Joel says, and you give a small huff of laughter, before taking another sip.

"Fair enough," you say with a nod, your eyes focusing on the water in your glass.

Joel really wants to ask you what you mean when you say you used to be FEDRA, but he doesn't. After a second, you let out a breath, looking up and giving him a semi-awkward smile.

"I think I'm going to try and get some sleep," you tell him, "When all of this has gone smoothly, I still have to work an 8 hour shift."

"You're going to jinx it."

"Anyone ever tell you you're kind of a pessimist?" you tell him with a tight lipped smile, and he shrugs his shoulders, making an indifferent face.

"Not to my face," he tells you, and you nod again as you push off of the counter. As you step past him, you stop for a second to look at him sideways, corners of your mouth twitching ever so slightly.

"Well, you're kind of a pessimist, Joel Miller," you tell him, your voice a semi-whisper, before you move on and away, disappearing through the doorway and into the darkness of the living room.

The next morning, you're gone before Joel and Tess even wake up, leaving nothing but a pile with the folded sheet and the t-shirt behind. You'd managed to sweet talk your manager into letting you open, having no problem letting yourself into the dark Starbucks to go about usual opening activities until you hear the sound of a truck pulling up in the alleyway followed by a few firm knocks at the backdoor. You open the door with a smile, and the soldier that greets you, frowns.

"You're new," he mutters, and you pretend to look surprised, "Where's Lucy?"

"Sorry," you say in your best apologetic tone, "Lucy said I could open today. . .she said she's sent word it would be me instead of her?"

"Fucking tower's been down again because of the storm last night," he mutters, before he takes a minute of silence to look down at you. Then, he sighs. "Whatever, I don't care enough. . . she tell you how this works?"

You nod. "You're just dropping off, right? Someone else comes by to do inventory and handle pick up?"

"Come on," he beckons you out into the alley, where the truck has been parked back first, canvas cover flipped open to reveal the contents of the truck, "Pick up's not until closing time, but someone will be by in a half hour to inventorize. . . he's always fucking late, that one, but he'll be there. Then pick up will be later in the day. . . help me with this, will you? Partner's out sick and fuck knows central couldn't spare me the extra kid."

Together you spend the next 5 minutes lugging crates, barrels and boxes into the back of the Starbucks. When you're done, you give the soldier a blinding smile as he closes up the truck.

"Thanks for the help," he tells you, and you nod, smile still on your lips.

"Anytime," you tell him in a sweet voice, "Thanks for not being a dick about it."

The soldier snorts slightly. "What's your name?"

"Jenny," you lie smoothly, and the soldier gives a small nod, the beginnings of a smile on his mouth.

"Thanks for the help, Jenny," he nods, before giving you a crooked grin, "I'm Jack. I'll see you around?"

"Sure thing," you beam, and it feels almost unnatural to smile this much this early in the morning. Despite this, the smile stays plastered on your face until the truck disappears around the corner of the alley.

There's a rustling sound behind you, followed by a voice.

"Jenny?"

You roll your eyes as you turn to face the source of the voice. Sure enough, Joel and Tess are standing at the back of the alley, having seemingly appeared out of the shadows.

How did they do that?

"I bet there are a million Jenny's in the QZ," you say with a shrug, "Means he'll have a harder time finding me if he decides to come looking. . . now come on, we don't have a lot of time."

They follow you inside the room, and when she catches sight of all the crates, Tess lets out a low whistle.

"This is a lot of shit," she says, raising a single eyebrow as her fingers run over the top of one of the boxes, which is labeled 'Penicillin', "Could sell this for a small fortune."

"I'd advise against it," you tell her as you walk over to one of the 4 barrels of fertilizer, "FEDRA might be sloppy with some things, but the one thing they're meticulous about is the medicine."

"Go figure," Tess says with a snort, before she watches as you grab the edges of one of them, before nodding towards her.

"Help me with this, please?" you ask, and for a second, a look of surprise crosses over Tess' face.

"Please?" she repeats, almost bemusedly, "You got some nice manners for a thief."

"Only cause I like you," you return semi-jokingly, and Tess lets out an agreeing hum.

"Can we focus?" Joel interjects, and when you turn to look at him, he's raised an unimpressed eyebrow, "This ain't fucking tea time, you know."

It takes all three of you to move the barrel of fertilizer back out of the door and against the wall, and when you're done lugging and have gone back inside, Tess gives you a look. "Now what?"

"We wait," you say, pacing slightly in front of the door, and Joel frowns.

"I thought we were on a schedule," he notes, raising another skeptical eyebrow, "On account of the entire working population of the QZ going to said jobs in about an hour, and all of that."

"Thanks for enlightening me," you snap at him, and your mind works overtime as you stop in front of the barrel, heaving a sigh.

Where was Sam?

You knew he was working a shift this morning, this shift, because you'd had a sneaky look at the roster he'd stuffed in his pants pocket when he'd been passed out in bed two nights ago.

"So, this is your great plan? Wait around?" Joel continues, crossing his arms and giving you an unimpressed look.

"Do you have a fucking better idea, hm?" you say, stepping towards Joel, hands curling into fists, your lack of sleep catching up to your temper, "Because all I've heard out of your mouth so far has been criticism, and it's starting to seriously piss me off."

"I ain't afraid of you," he counters as he crosses his arms, looking unbothered, and your jaw tightens as you take another step towards him.

At that exact moment there's a sound, and a pair of headlights illuminate the alley; then, the sound of a motor switching off and a car door slamming shut drift through the air. A few moments later there's a hurried knock on the back door. You give Joel another furious glare before stalking over to the door and opening it in one fell swoop. Sam is standing on the doorstep, peering down at a sheet of paper you assume is the inventory list, end of a cigarette between his lips.

"Sorry I'm late, couldn't find my fucking lighter," he mutters, before pulling the cigarette from his lips and dropping it on the floor, "You do know you've got one barrel out–"

His voice stalls in his throat as his eyes fall on you, the smoke of his last drag disappearing in the air around him. "Speedy? What are you doing here?"

You give him a dry smile. "Working."

"You never work the morning shift, you'd hit someone over the head with a coffeepot," he retorts matter-of-factly, before he narrows his eyes at you, "You up to something?"

"No," you deny, slightly offended, but when Sam gives you an expectant look, you shrug your shoulders as he steps inside, door closing behind him, "How come I always have to be up to something?"

"I've known you for over a decade, speedy, I know when you're up to something."

"As delightful as this conversation is, can we get on with it?" comes Joel's voice from behind you, and you resist an urge to suck a sharp breath between your teeth.

You wouldn't say Sam is a jealous man, but he isn’t exactly amenable to strangers.

Sam is silent for a second as his eyes move between Joel, Tess, and yourself, the playfulness in his eyes gone. "Who's this?"

His voice is tense, like an elastic that's been pulled taut, and you swallow slightly.

"Doesn't matter," you dismiss, shaking your head, "Look, Sam, I need your help."

Sam's eyes move between you and the two people standing behind you, expression unsure.

"Yeah?" he asks, raising a single eyebrow as he observes the scene, "With what?"

"The blue barrel in the alley outside. . . I need you to write it off the inventory," you tell him, and you watch Sam's eyes move from Joel and Tess to you, jaw falling open slightly. Then, he closes his mouth, eyes becoming stormy as his jaw twitches in anger.

"Are you serious right now, speedy?" he asks you, and you resist the urge to correct him on the nickname in front of Joel and Tess, and you watch as Sam runs his tongue over his top teeth in frustration, "Can I talk to you? Privately?"

"Sam–" you say, but he doesn't give you time to react as he takes a hold of your forearm and all but drags you through the door of the backroom to the front of the shop and out of earshot. Tess and Joel exchange a look at the action, both wordlessly taking a step a little closer to the doorway.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Sam tells you as he rounds on you, eyes narrowed into an expression that makes it clear he isn't happy, "Tell me you're joking, right now."

"Sam, please," you ask, and your voice is surprisingly vulnerable, "Listen, you know how I told you I stole from the wrong people. . . ? Look, all I need to do is this, and then we're even, but I need your help."

"You've got some goddamn nerve, asking me this. . . you're putting me in a fucking impossible position, speedy," Sam hisses at you, eyes bulging slightly, "What if someone notices, hm? Then it's my head on the chopping block."

"They won't notice. . . they can't notice something they never knew they even had," you assure him, putting a hand on his forearm, "Please, Samuel."

After a second of brooding silence, Joel hears Sam sigh.

"What do you even need a barrel of fertilizer for?" he asks, and you let out a breath, giving him an almost guilty look.

"It's better if you don't ask questions," you tell him, your voice slightly uneasy, "Just–. . . please?"

Another beat of silence.

"What's your big fucking plan, then?" he asks, "Even if you had a car, how are you going to move this massive barrel across the QZ without at least 50 guards on your ass?"

"The abandoned church on Salem," you say carefully, knowing he isn't going to take it well.

"That's been boarded off for a very good reason, and you know it," Sam says immediately, shaking his head, "There is no way in hell."

"Come on, Sam," you plead, "I know FEDRA cleared it out forever ago and just keeps those signs up to avoid people sleeping in it."

"How the fuck would you know that, hm?" he snaps at you, before Joel hears him sigh again, "Nevermind, don't answer that, I don't even want to know."

"It's on your delivery route, all you have to do is drop us off with the barrel so I can keep it there all day and move it as soon as it gets dark."

"That all?" he asks you sardonically, and for some reason, Joel finds himself getting irritated at this kid's tone with you. It wouldn't kill him to be a little nicer about things.

Eventually, Sam speaks again.

"Fine," he says, "But I'm not taking your little criminal friends in the truck with me, that's out of the question."

"How the hell am I going to move it, then?" you ask, and you sound put out.

"You can figure that out, since you're so clever," his voice is biting, filled with aggravation, and after a second, Joel hears you sigh.

"Yeah, okay. . . I'll figure it out. Thanks, Sam."

"Don't mention it," he says bitterly, before Joel and Tess hear his heavy boots walking back towards the backroom before he appears in the doorway again, eyes settling on both of them for a second. Then, he looks over his shoulder, looking back at you.

"Come on then," he tells you, his tone irritated, "You think I've got all day?"

Joel feels another stab of annoyance as he regards Sam, but he doesn't say anything, instead exchanging a glance with Tess.

"What's the plan?" Tess asks carefully, even though she's fully aware of it, and the soldier gives her a look.

"Go home," he tells her, rather bluntly, "She can handle it from here."

"I think we'll wait to hear that from her."

Joel doesn't know why he says anything; maybe it's the frustration at his tone, maybe it's the fact that he has stakes in this particular plan succeeding, but he gives the soldier a raised eyebrow as he receives a glare.

"It's okay," you say hastily as you watch Sam open his mouth to deliver what you're sure is a scathing rebuke, and you give Joel a look that clearly means 'drop it', "I'll meet you there."

Joel shakes his head. "And then what? You gonna move that thing by yourself? Not to diminish your abilities, but there's no way in hell you're moving 300 pounds of fertilizer in your lonesome."

"Who said anything about her doing it alone?" Sam interjects, and now Joel raises a single eyebrow.

"You did," he returns bluntly, not giving a damn if he knows he's been listening to their conversation, and Sam squares his shoulders, "Just now, actually."

"Not just a criminal, but an eavesdropper, too?" Sam says sardonically, before turning to you with a frozen, sarcastic smile, "This is the company you're keeping, lately, hm? Real nice."

Joel is about to open his mouth again to tell this little punk exactly what an eavesdropping criminal will do if he keeps speaking to you the way he is, but you beat him to the punch.

"That's enough, Samuel, we don't have time for this shit," you tell him, your voice firm, "I don't need to remind you about keeping bad company, do I?"

Your tone is biting, and clearly it works, because the soldier clamps his mouth shut with a furious glare as you turn back to Joel and Tess.

"I'll be fine," you say with a nod, mostly talking to Joel so he doesn't start anything when there isn't any time for it, "I'll meet you there. . . promise I won't run off with your shit again."

You say that last part with a small smile, which neither Joel nor Tess return, but eventually Tess gives a short nod.

"Tough crowd," you mutter to yourself, before you feel Sam's fingers close over your forearm, which makes you wince slightly, "Ouch, Samuel."

"Come on, then," he says in an irritated tone, ignoring your yelp of pain as he pulls you forward towards the door, "But if we get caught, I'm ratting you out."

Joel and Tess follow you out, and as Sam angrily stomps over to the truck, lifting the tarp from the back, you pull a set of keys out of your pocket and use them to lock the back door.

"You guys go already, you'll need the head start. . .if you cut through the abandoned post office on 5th, you'll get there in 10 minutes, tops," you say as the lock clicks, before grabbing the edges of the barrel.

Tess nods. "Meet you there?"

You give an agreeing hum and a nod, before there's a banging noise as Sam gives the back of the truck a whack.

"Let's fucking go, speedy," he lets out in an exasperated breath as he starts to walk back towards you.

"Sure you got it from here?" Joel huffs out as his eyes move between you and Sam quickly, and you give a small nod, shooting him a furtive smile.

"Yeah, thanks," you say, and you sound genuinely grateful, which catches Joel slightly off guard. He looks at Tess, nodding once, before they step away from you and start to jog down the alley, making sure to glare at Sam in passing.

"Not sure I liked the way that kid grabbed her," Joel lets out gruffly as they round the corner, and Tess gives him an unimpressed look.

"Barely 20 hours ago I had to pull you off of her when you grabbed her in the exact same way."

"That was different," Joel grumbles, and Tess' eyebrow raises.

"How, exactly?" she asks him, but Joel ignores her and gestures for her to move on.

Back in the alleyway, Sam lets out a grunt as the two of you lug the barrel into the back of the truck.

"Unbelievable," he mutters to himself, shaking his head, "You're going to get me killed one day, you know that?"

"Let's hope later rather than sooner, hm?" you answer as the barrel drops into the truck bed with a decisive thump.

Sam lets out a grudging hum, before gesturing towards the back.

There's a moment of silence as you exchange a look, before you make a face.

"You can't be serious," you tell him, and his eyebrows raise.

"No way you're riding in the front, speedy," he tells you, and this time he doesn't sound angry, "I'm sorry, but there's no way I can explain you to anyone if we get stopped. . . besides, wouldn't you rather stay anonymous?"

You give him an annoyed look, before you clench your jaw and grudgingly get in the back of the truck, sitting down next to the barrel on one of the makeshift wooden benches nailed to the side.

"Thank you," Sam says in a breath, before giving you a furtive smile, "See you in 5 minutes."

Then, he unties the tarp at the top of the truck so it falls to cover the contents of the back, you included.

The ride is semi-smooth, except for a moment where Sam gets stopped at a checkpoint because his 'buddy', Carter, wants to know if he has any cigarettes to share. It gives you half a heart attack when you feel him bang his rifle on the metal side of the truck in a joking greeting.

"Sam-my," he says, his voice low and arrogant, "Late on the early shift again, hm?"

"I overslept," Sam says, and you can tell from his dry tone he isn't totally enamored with Carter.

"I would say it happens to the best of us, but. . . we're all here, Sammy."

His smug laugh floats through the morning air, and it makes you roll your eyes.

Jesus Christ, this guy.

As you suspect, Carter just wants a cigarette. But as he leans through the window, you hear him clear as day as he speaks to Sam. "You got anything extra today? For my pain, you know."

There's a grunt from Samuel as you listen to him rummaging around, before Carter lets out a contented hum and clears his throat, stepping away from the truck. "Alright, come on, let him through."

The truck rumbles down the street as you leave the checkpoint behind, and barely a few minutes and a corner later, it stops and the motor switches off. You hear Sam's footsteps as he jumps from the driver side and walks around to the back of the truck, before lifting the tarp.

"Out you come," he says, and you clamber out as inconspicuous as possible, which you're not going to lie, is hard.

Finally your feet hit the ground in front of him.

"You know," you say as you stand up straight to face Sam, your face barely a few inches from his, "I wouldn't let Carter walk all over you like that."

"I can't remember asking for your opinion," he tells you with a sarcastic smile, and you raise your eyebrows slightly, making a face.

"You could take him."

"I don't want to, speedy," Samuel says with a scoff, shaking his head as he lowers the latch of the truck, "I'm not interested in making enemies like you are."

"I don't make enemies," you defend slightly, and even though Sam doesn't look at you, you can tell on his face he doesn't believe you.

"We've been here barely two months and you already owe the wrong people too much money."

"Who said it was money?" you ask again, and when Sam doesn't answer you, you let out a breath through your nose, pursing your lips.

"Is that why you didn't want Joel and Tess in here? Didn't want them to know you bribe your buddy Carter for some extra minutes of sleep? He just a smoker. . . ? Or does he use something stronger?"

"Oh, bite me," Sam tells you with a narrowing of his eyes, and you give him a half-smirk as you stare him challengingly in the face.

"Anywhere you like, Sammy," you tell him teasingly, and he lets out a scoff, shaking his head as the corner of his lips pull upwards.

At that moment, you hear footsteps at the end of the relatively small street, and you turn your head to watch Tess and Joel approaching.

"We all got there in the end!" you say brightly, and you're met with Joel's scowl as he scoffs.

"Speak for yourself, sweetheart, you came in a truck."

You watch as Sam's brow crinkles just slightly at the sound of the nickname Joel uses, but you move on as quickly as you can.

"A man your age, should be keeping fit," you say in a robust, mocking voice, before making a face at him that drips with false concern, "Wouldn't want to risk you dropping dead from a heart attack at the ripe old age of sixty-five, grandpa."

"Means a lot coming from someone who's been alive less than two decades," he snaps back, "Tell me, do you remember what a rotary phone is?"

"I know perfectly well what it is," you reply swiftly, and Joel makes a momentary face like he's considering it.

"How's the day going to work?" Tess interjects suddenly, gaze resting on the expression on Sam's face, whose eyes keep flitting between you and Joel.

You heave a sigh. "I'm going to have to go back to work, but I'll get here as soon as I get off at 3pm."

Tess nods. "Works for me, I got a 4:30pm job to get to. It should finish before curfew at ten."

"I'll stay in the area to make sure nothing goes wrong, then," you say with a short nod, before eyeing them both, "And then your friend and his dudes can do the rest."

"Dudes," Joel repeats, his voice slight with disdain.

"Men, goons, brutes. . . whatever," you say with a wave of your hand.

"You're in luck, my final shift of the afternoon is somewhere around here," Sam says sarcastically, before shooting you a look, "Although not very sure about the coincidences of that."

"M'staying," Joel grunts, exchanging a look with Tess, "Don’t have much going on today, anyway.”

You bite back a snippy comment about how he has no life, concluding that you all don’t really have that much of a life in a post-apocalyptic hellscape.

“I need to go back to the shop,” you say, giving a half-apologetic look, “I can’t miss this shift, and if my boss finds out I skipped after begging her for it in the first place she’ll fire me faster than I can even apologise.”

“Go,” Tess says with a nod, and you give a half-hearted smile before you walk away, Samuel in tow. Joel watches as you exchange a few words, not missing the way Sam’s hand brushes over the side of yours as you talk. Tess also seems to notice, brows raising slightly as she observes your interaction, but she says nothing.

She looks away instead, wondering what the fuck she’s going to do to kill 8 hours with the man-turned-brick-wall that was Joel Miller.

True to your word, you're back at three in the afternoon. The sun is still high in the air, which is thick with humidity. Boston didn't get many hot days, but when it did, they were also horribly humid. Joel and Tess are standing right where you left them, or rather a combination of standing and sitting. They look bored.

You hold up a paper bag as you approach.

“Anybody want a snack?” you ask semi-flippantly, and Joel shoots you a glare from his position leaning against the brick wall, beams of sun illuminating his feet as the rest of him stands in the scarce shade. When you receive no answer from neither him nor Tess, you give a dry smile.

“Not all at once.”

“This isn’t a picnic,” Joel snaps, and you give him a look.

“Who pissed in your oatmeal this morning, grandpa?” you ask him, before your face turns jokingly serious, “Tell me, did you run out of raisins?”

The glare Joel delivers is furious, but you shrug your shoulders in mock innocence.

“Out there you can be as mouthy as you fuckin' want,” you imitate his voice, exaggerating his accent as much as you can as you throw his words from last night in his face, “This counts as out there, right?”

Joel can see in your face that you’re enjoying talking smack to him; your eyes have a twinkle to them he’s not sure whether he likes or loathes.

“I don’t sound like that,” he says finally, resolving not to give in to your digs, because he knows that’s exactly what you want. He watches with some satisfaction as you let a breath out through your nose, almost a huff, eyebrows moving up momentarily as you turn away from him and go to sit down against the wall. Tess is sitting on it, peeling an orange in silence.

The silence doesn’t last very long, though. Joel’s eyes land on your twitching fingers; you’re not someone who likes silence – it makes him wonder why.

“Where the fuck d’you get an orange?” you ask Tess, hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun as you look up at her. She meets your gaze with a nonplussed look.

“Went to the market,” she returns sarcastically, “Selection’s great this time of year.”

Joel feels a distant urge to smile at her snark as you give her a dry smile.

It’s silent again, and for a second Joel rests his head against the wall and allows himself to close his eyes, the only sounds coming from the people in the street around him. It seems silly, but like this, Joel doesn’t have to see. Sure, the sounds of the QZ are quite a bit different from what cities used to sound like, but it’s still nice to close his eyes from time to time and pretend it’s the same.

His ears perk at a new sound, like something scraping against wood, and when he opens his eyes to investigate, they fall on you sitting against the wall. Your knees are pulled up, and Joel’s eyes have to look past your knees to see that you have that tiny blade clutched in one hand and a stick in the other, using your knee to sharpen it to a tip. You’re focused, eyes staring as the blade rolls over the wood, chips curling elegantly before falling into your lap.

“The silence was nice,” Joel comments, and you actually find yourself rolling your eyes, but you don’t look up at him.

“I didn’t say anything,” you tell him pointedly.

More silence. Joel’s eyes feel like they’re staring holes into your head.

“You one of those kids that can’t sit still?” he asks eventually, clearing his throat as he crosses his arms and peers down at you. Your mouth curves slightly but you still don’t look up at him, focusing on your stick.

“So what if I am?” you reply, your voice smooth but Joel discerns the slight defensive tone, “And I’m not a kid, Joel.”

There it is again. Joel hates how much hearing you say his name like that affects him. He looks away, directing his surly expression across the street. There’s a FEDRA checkpoint set up there, and he watches as Sam chats to another soldier. Occasionally, they stop someone, and search them, but it doesn’t get much more exciting than that.

You’re done sharpening your stick; you discard in the dust at your feet, before breathing a small sigh as you look across the road at the checkpoint.

"What's the story?" Tess asks you as she follows your line of sight to Sam, who is standing at the checkpoint actually laughing with one of his fellow soldiers.

"Hm?" you ask her, and she gives you a look as she nods in his direction.

"With your soldier."

"He isn't my soldier."

"He's something," Tess says matter-of-factly, and you let out a sigh.

Joel pretends he isn't listening as he leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes survey the square, but his ears are very tuned into the conversation. As much as he hates to admit it, he's just as curious about the nature of your relationship to Sam as Tess is.

"I've known Sam a long while. . . we met in FEDRA military school," you say finally, and Tess' expression barely changes as her gaze bores into yours, eyebrows moving up as they silently ask you to continue your story.

"Here in Boston?" she asks, and you shake your head.

"No, uh," you clear your throat, and Joel notices the way your fingers twitch nervously around the blade, "San Francisco. . . I was there before I came here a few months ago."

"Didn't they have a full-scale insurrection in San Francisco?" Joel speaks up, and you turn your head to look at him, nodding as your eyes fall back on your fingers, which twirl the knife around in your hands.

"Yeah, it was carnage," you say, swallowing, before your eyes move back up, resting on Sam again, "We barely got out of it alive."

"How'd you end up there in the first place?" Tess asks, and you give her a cautious look.

"How come you're suddenly interested in my life story?" you ask her, your tone almost defensive, and she raises her eyebrows as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"If this goes right, I have a nasty little feeling we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other, and I don't like going into my partnerships blind," she tells you, and you nod with a small scoff, "And I guess we've got time to kill."

"I guess we do," you say sarcastically, and Joel watches as you click the blade into the handle, before putting it in your pocket.

"Outbreak day was the day before my 10th birthday," you explain, swallowing, hands clasping together in your lap, "My parents owned a convenience store in Fresno."

"California?" Tess interjects, frowning, "The hell d'you come all the way out here for?"

"It wasn't my choice," you tell her, sighing as you clear your throat, and Joel watches from his peripheral as you start to pick the skin around your nails.

You’re nervous.

"By some miracle, we lived through outbreak day. . . then, for a while, we were in the San Francisco QZ, but that didn't end well."

"We heard that all the way over here."

You nod, swallowing. "Fireflies. . . just like you have here, I guess, only more willing to risk collateral damage for the cause."

When neither Joel nor Tess speak, you clear your throat again. "San Francisco QZ wasn't always bad. . . it started out relatively okay, but more people just kept coming, and for some reason they handled it badly. I mean the center of the city was heavily fortified, and probably the safest you'd find on the west coast. . . but you had to get in there, first. Most people lived on the outskirts, and into the surrounding Bay Area. . . FEDRA still had some control. There was a fence for infected all the way across the Bay bridge, but it became the number 1 breeding ground for crime and squalor. . . and resistance. People were starving, poor, and angry, and looking for someone to blame."

"Recipe for disaster," Tess mutters, and you nod, swallowing hard.

"They ignored the Fireflies for a long time, they just let them do their thing, it was all mostly non-violent. I guess we got lucky, because they allowed my dad to run this little store right on the outskirts of the inner city. . . he used to let the Fireflies use the storefront to move goods easily in and out of the zone and the suburbs without treading on FEDRA's toes."

"Your dad was a firefly?" Tess interjects, one of eyebrows raised, but you can't decipher whether she looks impressed by or dismissive of the fact.

"No," you say, pointedly, "He believed in the cause, definitely. . . but he had us. . . he couldn't commit to it like others."

"Touching," Joel mutters, and your eyes deliver a stinging glare as you regard him, before taking another breath and looking away.

"The first time the Fireflies took a more radicalized approach to their resistance, I remember I was in the store. . . I would help my dad, and the FEDRA facility two blocks down got blown up by a car bomb from the street. . . 14 soldiers died, all teenagers that were training at the academy they had there."

"Jesus," Joel lets out a sour breath, shaking his head as he looks away again for a second, eyes on the abandoned church.

"I remember my dad arguing with some guys on our doorstep that night. . . the SF Fireflies had had a change of leadership," you explain, and Joel notices the way you wring your hands nervously as you tell them, his own arms crossed as he regards you. "He refused to help them any longer and they weren't pleased. . .they tried to threaten him but he wouldn't give in. I guess someone overheard the conversation in the street because when I got back from school the next day, he'd been arrested–" your voice stalls in your throat for a second and Joel watches as you swallow, hard, before you continue, "They hung him in the square, for everyone to see. . . I didn't find out until I walked past him on my way home from school."

The silence that follows is heavy, and as you look down at your fiddling hands in your lap, Joel and Tess exchange a shocked look.

"I'm sorry," Tess offers after a second, and you nod. Even though you aren't looking at them, Joel watches as you swallow hard, your eyes blinking furiously, before you take a deep breath and look back up.

"Yeah, well–" you clear your throat again, offering a bitter half-smile, "I guess everyone's got a shitty story."

"What happened after that?" Joel asks, and you shrug.

"My mom enrolled me in the FEDRA academy a few months after that. . . I would spend weekends at home to see them, but most of the time, I was there. . . it's where I met Sam."

"Them?" Tess asks, and her tone is surprisingly gentle, and she watches as you swallow hard.

"Yeah, I had a little sister," you explain, nodding, "My mom was pregnant when the outbreak happened, and Grace was born a couple of months after outbreak day. . . she was 6 years old when my dad died."

"Are they here? In Boston?" Tess asks, and the minute you look at her, and she sees the pain in your eyes as you shake your head, she wishes she'd never asked.

"No, uh–. . . Gracie died of typhoid fever the next year, and my mom hung herself a few months after that– a couple of days after I turned sixteen."

Another silence follows as your purse your lips awkwardly, your eyes swimming with grief as your fingers pick at each other. Joel feels a familiar tightness in his chest; he wasn’t necessarily surprised you’d been through what could only be described as a pile of shit, but hearing it still stirred uneasy feelings for him as he thinks about his own loss.

If Sarah had been alive, she would’ve undoubtedly told him to be nicer to you.

Finally, Tess breaks the silence again.

"Why'd you come out here?" Tess asks, and you shrug. Joel watches as you blink furiously a couple of times, but when you clear your throat and look back up at them, he can still see the tears lingering in the corners of your eyes.

"Furthest away I could get," you admit, taking another breath, "The group of fireflies who took over San Francisco, they were out for blood. . . they hung as many FEDRA soldiers as they could get their hands on, young and old, and they didn't care who you were."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tess breathes, and you nod.

"I hadn't worked for FEDRA for a while by that point, but–" you voice quiets in your throat as you press your lips together, "Let's just say I wasn't very popular."

"How'd you two get out of here?" Tess asks, and your eyes fall on Sam again.

"We managed to drive a truck up to Seattle, but they were having their own problems. . . we got separated in the mess of it all. . . Samuel managed to get out in a fleeing FEDRA convoy, and they relocated here. . . I walked."

"You what?" Joel lets out before he can stop himself, making no effort to hide the shock in his voice, "You walked? You walked from Seattle to Boston?"

You shrug as you look between him and Tess. "Where the fuck was I gonna go otherwise? We'd agreed on Boston months before that. . . we'd heard it was better here."

Joel lets out a scoff, shaking his head. "That makes no fucking sense. . . How are you even alive?"

You shrug. "How is anyone alive? We're in the fucking apocalypse, dude. . . I guess my spite got me far."

"That's a lot of fucking spite to go on," Tess says, raising a single eyebrow disbelievingly, "How long did it take you?"

"To Boston? About two months, give or take," you tell her, and Joel lets out another scoff, shaking his head as his gaze rolls over the crowd again, but you ignore him, "Got lucky and found a bike somewhere on the border with Canada. . . cut the time in half."

An impressed expression crosses into Tess' eyes, and when you look to your side, Joel is frowning at you again, and you can tell from his eyes that he can't decide whether or not to believe your outrageous story.

"Look, believe whatever the fuck you want, but that's the honest to god truth," you say with a sigh, before getting to your feet as your eyes go from Sam back to Joel and Tess as you wipe your hands on your jeans uneasily,, “Do you need me here? Cause frankly I smell like shit and I need a shower.”

Even to you, it sounds like a clear lie.

Tess disguises her surprise well, but Joel can read her face because it mirrors his feelings. The unease in your face and voice at talking about your past is intriguing, and Joel can’t shake the feeling that hadn’t been the whole story.

“As long as you’re back for the actual pick up,” she says, and you nod your head, “Cause I gotta go at 16:30, and if I leave Joel to it, the dude’s going to end up with two less teeth than he started rather than with a barrel of fertilizer.”

You try to bite back the small smile that grows on your lips, but you don’t hide it well as Joel scowls at Tess.

“Don’t deal in anger management meds, huh?” you ask, an ounce of your earlier cheekiness returning as you look at Tess, who snorts.

“My life would be easier,” she comments, and you actually chuckle as you step away.

“You two are real fuckin’ funny,” he says, his voice a deep but sarcastic growl, and you give Joel a furtive glance over your shoulder.

“All in good fun,” you shoot back, “See you later.”

With that, you flounce off and down the street, fingers tapping nervously against your thigh as you start weaving through the people.

The minute you’re out of earshot, Tess heaves a breath. “Jesus fucking christ.”

Joel nods along with an agreeing hum, eyes meeting her stormy ones.

“She can’t be a whole lot older than–”

“27,” Joel says quietly, clearing his throat as he looks at his feet for a second, not wanting to meet Tess’ intense stare, “She’d be two years younger.”

The silence that follows is heavy, before Tess scoffs and shakes her head.

“At 27 I was fucking my way through Detroit city,” she says with a raise of her eyebrows, “Not fighting for my life.”

Joel makes a face. “Thanks for the information.”

“What?” Tess asks, raising a single eyebrow as she looks at him, “You’re not a prude, Joel, so don’t act like one.”

Joel’s eyes shoot her a warning look. Not an acceptable topic of conversation right now.

Tess says nothing more, only the remnants of a cocky smile on her lips as she heaves a sigh, before her eyes zero back in on Sam.

“What’s their deal?” she asks, practically squinting at him, “Are they together?”

Joel lets out a noncommittal grunt, shaking his head as he looks at Sam across the street. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so, or you don’t want so?” Tess asks him, and Joel can feel her eyes boring into the side of his face as he ignores her comment.

“He invited her in one night, she said no.”

Tess makes a face, sucking some air between her teeth. “Ouch.”

Joel nods and makes an agreeing hum, before he tears his eyes away from Sam and back to Tess with his usual, indecipherable stare. Her gaze is equally difficult to read as she stares right back at him, but says nothing before she looks away again with a breath.

Eventually, Tess leaves for her job. Joel stands in the same spot, occasionally stretching out or sitting on the little wall when his back starts to protest too loudly, eyes trained on the church and occasionally going back and forth to Sam. He knows the soldier is watching him, too, but Joel doesn’t mind, expression unchanged and as surly as ever.

You come back just after darkness has fallen, when the FEDRA checkpoint has had its last shift rotation and the people of the QZ have started retiring to their homes in time for curfew.

“Have you not moved?” you ask Joel as you approach him, and it takes almost all of his willpower not to jump in surprise. He doesn't know how you'd snuck up on him that way, and makes a mental note to keep an eye out for you doing it in the future.

Joel doesn’t answer you, just letting out a noncommittal grunt that makes you roll your eyes.

“You’re not really a man of many words, are you?” you ask him, sounding bemused, and Joel gives you a look.

“Trust me, I’ve got plenty of words for you,” he tells you, and your eyebrows raise as you put a mocking hand over your chest.

“Still angry with me for fixing your watch? And solving your supply problem?” you ask him, batting your eyelashes.

“I never asked for you to fix my watch, sweetheart,” he replies in an aggravated tone.

Your lips plump ever so slightly into a mocking pout. “You’re hurting my feelings here, Joel.”

Joel lets out a grunt. “Thank god I don’t give a damn about whose feelings I’m hurting.”

“Taking your role as bitter middle-aged criminal very seriously, I can see,” you say with a snort, and Joel shoots you a glare, but you aren’t looking at him anymore.

Your eyebrows knit together as you look at something, before your teasing expression falls away and it becomes guarded. “That your guy?”

Joel turns to watch Peter approaching them from the end of the dark street. His lips are twitched into that same smile that gave Joel the creeps the first time he met him. He gives Joel a nod, and behind him, two young-looking guys come out of the alley, too.

Joel is immediately on edge; the unnerving smile, the rifle one of the guys is wearing, coupled with the way all three men looked at you, sets him on high alert.

“Hello there, Joel.”

There’s a small crease in your brow at the tone of his voice as you come to stand level with Joel, who nods at the man. His whole body is tense as he stands as straight as he can, eyes never leaving Peter. He wonders whether you’ve noticed the change in the air yet, but he doesn’t want to stick around long enough for you to figure it out.

“We’ve got your fertilizer,” he grunts, nodding towards the church, and an impressed expression crosses Peter’s face. Then, he looks at one of the guys standing by his side, motioning with his head. The guy stalks off towards the abandoned church, as Peter looks back at you.

“I gotta say I’m impressed, shit’s been real hard to get my hands on. . . didn’t think you’d have it in you,” Peter muses, before his eyes move from Joel to you, “Maybe it has something to do with this lovely lady, hm?”

Joel doesn’t have to look at you to feel the shift in your demeanor as you stand next to him, and he watches your shoulders square from his peripheral and you give Peter a cold smile.

“You’re smooth,” you remark, your tone tinged with sarcasm, “What do you need all this fertilizer for?”

Peter’s smile becomes icy.

“Putting your nose where it doesn’t belong gets people killed around here, honey,” he says, Joel feels something stir in his stomach at the sound of the nickname and the implicit threat, “But if you’re done asking questions, you're welcome to come with us for a drink. . . promise we’ll show you a real nice time.”

Joel feels his fists balling up, and out of the corner of your eyes, you notice his shoulders tensing even more.

“I’ll pass,” you say, almost immediately, raising a single unimpressed eyebrow, “As. . . appealing as that sounds.”

Peter lets out a hum, shrugging his shoulders. “Your loss, honey.”

Joel still doesn’t love the look in his eyes as they linger on you, running down your figure.

At that moment, the man he’d sent to check on the merchandise comes back, giving a curt nod. “It’s all there.”

“Great,” Peter says through a breath, before he pulls out another wad of ration cards tied together by some string. He tosses them at Joel. “That’s the rest of it.”

Joel gives another silent nod, but he doesn’t check the ration cards, eyes instead trained steadfastly on Peter as he looks back at you, not wanting to take his eyes off this fucker for even a minute. Again, the twinkle in the guy’s eye gives Joel the creeps.

“You got a home I can walk you to?” Peter tries again, but as you open your mouth to reply, Joel loses his cool.

“She’s fine where she is,” he snaps, his voice steady but not any less threatening as he glares at Peter, who puts up his hands defensively.

“Didn’t mean to tread on anyone’s toes,” he says in a nonchalant voice, calculating gaze moving between you and Joel, “Ain’t she a little young for you?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap at him, and you’re starting to sound more annoyed by the minute.

“Let’s go,” Joel lets out in a low voice, and to your surprise, you feel his hand close around your forearm. It’s surprisingly gentle as he pulls you back, before showing Peter his back.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Peter calls after both of you, but Joel pays him no heed as he pulls you down the street with a hasty walk.

“Dude,” you say when they’re out of earshot, shivering slightly as you pull your arm out of Joel's grip, “What is with that guy? He’s fucking creepy.”

Joel gives an agreeing hum, nodding as he peers over his shoulder. “He’s definitely got an unnerving gaze.”

“Understatement of the goddamn century,” you snort, before you frown as Joel follows you when you take a left in the alley towards your apartment. "What are you doing? You live the other way.”

Joel peers over his shoulder again. “Walking you home.”

You raise a single eyebrow. “I’m not helpless, Joel. . . I can walk myself home.”

“I never said you were, trust me,” Joel says with a snort, remembering the press of your blade against his stomach like it was just yesterday, “But something tells me Ted Bundy's starving twin back there doesn’t react very well to being told no, and I don’t need your sudden unexplained disappearance on my conscience.”

It takes a significant amount of your willpower not to say anything teasing, instead nodding. “Thanks.”

You walk mostly in silence, but when you arrive at your street, you see that somebody is leaning against the building, arms crossed and clearly waiting. It’s Sam.

“You’re a popular girl tonight,” Joel notes with a raise of his eyebrows as he slows down slightly, and you let out a small snort.

“It has to do with my irresistible charm,” you tell him jokingly, raising your arms, “Half-dead and struggling to make ends meet. . . it’s the new sex.”

You watch with some satisfaction as the corner’s of Joel’s mouth twitch slightly into what you can only assume would be a smile, before he stops completely, eyeing Sam.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, giving you a look you can’t decipher, “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

You give a small nod, suddenly feeling a little awkward as you’re overcome with an urge to bid him goodbye in some way, but you don’t know how. Instead, you keep your hands by your side, swinging them awkwardly as you look back at Sam.

“You know where to find me,” you say with a small chuckle, before heaving a breath, “Night, Joel.”

Joel says nothing, just nods once at you, before he turns on his heel and disappears down the street, darkness swallowing him up.

taglist:

apart from those of you who explicitly asked to be added, i also took the liberty of tagging some of you that showed interest in more parts (if you do not want to be tagged, please please let me know, in which case i apologize in advance for doing so!)

@tanushreeg27 @user1112223334449890171 @frecklefacelm @samarav @alyssiamarierenee @platinumblondeedition @huntersandpie @lizlil @lumpypoll @pedro-pascal-3nthusiast @phryne-fish @ponyboys-sunsets

as usual, replies, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #the last of us

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valentijnsstuff · 1 month ago

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I really thought last week was gonna be chill but I overdid it again huh

Monday. Go to therapy, middle aged therapist asked how my date went that I was so nervous for two weeks ago. Tell her it was a huge dissapointment, but that its a funny story to tell. Do work. Text friends. Productive day.

Tuesday my dad comes over for lunch. He fixes some stuff he doesn't like in my house, without me having asked. We go for a walk, talk about jobs. A guy comes over for an intake to be my volunteer. He is a bit posh, but he is gay, ace and funny, and he thinks helping me is a fun way to do volunteer work. Go to queer focused trans support group in the evening. See some of the homies. Do my best to sit and listen, doodle drawings for my next porn comic. End up flirting with handsome transman from Italy.

Wednesday morning I go to my GP. I'm greeted with 'Wow buddy we heard you got into crisis treatment?' (yeh I was suicidal haha) 'You say that so matter-of-factly'. Have a meeting for a big gig in november. Spend the rest of the day chilling in bed, but also finishing work for comic deadline. Go to a transman support group in the evening. Get overwhelmed, bc I've been too productive.

Thursday I feel hungover, partly from taking half a Quetiapine. Try to mentally ready myself for the evening, because I'm giving a drag workshop with other drag artists. We have an interesting group of seniors and young people, everyone is shy but very excited about doing drag. A transmasc I matched on a dating app once is there, we flirt a lil. I go home and stay up way to late to take pictures of my make up.

Friday morning I skip therapy, because I am too hungover from the workshop, and everything before it. Spend the day purposefully aknowledging how miserable my body feels. Have a sleepy date night with poly girl. She cooks, we rewatch hungergames and cuddle. I am a bit put off by her boundless energy, but I regain some of mine as soon as the make out sessions start. Hot queer sex ensues.

Saturday morning, wake up in poly girls bed. Get up with them, but the sleepyness overtakes me and I go back to bed to take nap. They come and cuddle me when I wake up, it's nice and we both express how at ease we feel with eachother. I go home and get ready to chill, bc tonight is the big night in terms of a prestigious job that I have lined up. I give a workshop at a national museum for museum night. Everything goes really well, its a huge success, I get a lot of praise from the people I work with. But trough the rushed nature of the evening, I feel very flighty the whole time, and a bit scared I am going to crash really hard. Still totally worth it.

Wake up from a nightmare sunday morning. Ultimately I feel a lot less hangover than I thought I would. Get myself freshed up and go to poly girls house, because they are having a friend hangover. Immediately get infodumped on, now I do feel hungover. Two more poly people show up. Everyone watches me draw them as furries. We have a big cuddlepuddle, I get kinda sleepy and horny. I ask poly bestie if she'd like some when the others leave (she says yes). I'm a bit cautious, bc past partners never wanted to have sex twice a week. We have a good time, but when I go home, I somehow still feel horny. Spend the whole evening pent up, especially when having a call with the longer distance transman I have been flirting with for a few months.

(Bonus) Monday, sleep out till late, go to therapy. Have a fun session explaining my lore to a younger therapist who is a huge trans ally. I stick around the therapy building to do work, because it's a nice place to sit, with a garden. Have dinner at the house of a newly made poly friends. They are a huge nerd, who keeps telling me they are demi, but then continuesly flirts at me. They open the door with 'my other transmasc friend would definitely have sex with you' (hi buddy good to see you too). We chat about childhood stuff and make pizzas. At some point they propose cuddles and watching show, bc they know I like cuddling. We watch scavengers reign, and I somewhat taken aback how intimate they cuddle, but I act casual. We talk about our definitions of queer sex dynamics, while they are wrapped around my leg with theirs 😳 at some point we tickle fight 😳😳 before I go I mention I think I smell, they push their face into my armpit 😳😳😳 (can it get any gayer) I now have flustered feelings about all this. I dream about having sex with a transman later that night.

#valentijn weekly report

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spirituallyyellow · 6 months ago

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17/5/24 pt2

I wonder how long I'll keep writing this much.

In high school, I wrote in my livejournal just about every single day - sometimes multiple times a day, and usually really long entries, too. I kinda believe that writing in my LJ was a major factor in surviving my teens and very early twenties. I wrote deeply personal stuff on livejournal, and I had a physical journal that I wrote in often, too, and then on top of that, I had an online friend who was quite a bit older and pretty much filled the role of my Internet Aunt who I could email for advice about boys, friends, school, body stuff, all that. It's such a risky thing in hindsight, but she was lovely and helpful - a really deep source of support.

I stopped updating my LJ every day when I went to the commune at 19 - this was before internet was easy to access and we had to schedule in half hour slots twice a week, and I was nervous about other people there finding it in search history or something. I'd update occasionally and wipe the history, but mostly I just wrote in my physical journal.

Then a weird shift happened where N and I went from being LJ friends to being RL friends, to dating, to being engaged and then married, and it felt strange to write about my thoughts and feelings when I wasn't always telling him about them.

I worked very hard to try to keep my family from ever being able to see my LJ, and I think when N made the shift to family, my brain kinda went, "my private thoughts are off-limits now".

I don't like it when people I see in real life know about my thoughts.

Anyway, eventually Russia bought and killed LJ, and that outlet disappeared completely. And I had kids, so I had less time and energy to write, and then it kind of became a bad association because every time I did write, it was because everything felt so awful I had to get it out, but then it meant that there would be huge gaps of multiple months or years and then a short entry that basically said, "Everything sucks, I don't know how to cope" and that was it. Just unscrewing the cap juuuuust enough to let out the carbonation, not enough to actually relax.

I think what makes this different is that I finally came to the end of what I could bear. And I do like typing and sending my thoughts out into the internet void - that's a strong hardwired positive thing in my brain, just because I had been doing online journalling for pretty much the entirety of my adolescence, to mostly positive results. I'm still in contact with some of my LJ friends, and obviously I'm still married to N.

The only thing I don't like about this is the lack of comment thread function, to be honest. LJ really nailed that.

Anyway, I've given a couple of people this address - I don't know what will come of it. I did it mainly because I didn't want to actually tell them the whole story - I preferred to link them to what I'd written. It's very exhausting to tell people you wanted to kill yourself because then they have feelings and I feel like I need to attend to them and I can't because my feelings are so horrible.

Also, how do you even comfort someone in that situation?

"No, don't be upset, I'm not really that great tbh"

"It's OK, you would have been a little sad for a short time and then you would have gotten on with the rest of your life"

"It's all right, it's just me, I'm not worth all this"

I don't think that would go over very well, even if it does feel true.

I remember a long time ago, the last time I felt suicidal. It wasn't even that bad, more of a hopeless feeling than anything, an "I'd be better off dead" but not really planning anything kind of deal. I went for coffee with someone I was friends with but not like super deep friends with, and she asked me how I was doing as I seemed a little down. I told her, very calmly, and she started crying, and I was one hundred percent bewildered. Like, girl you do not care about me this much, come on. Couldn't fathom it.

I still sort of feel that way, even with the friends I'm very close to. Like when Pam started crying on that phone call, I felt horrible and ashamed of myself, but there was a little feeling of, "but why though?"

And it's also extremely awkward and weird to try to move on from the conversation, I'm finding. Like how do you go from, Hey buddy, just wanted to let you know I almost tried to kill myself recently, no worries to here's this stupid gif I found? You don't.

I hate it when people say reach out or call me anytime. I have no idea how much they mean that. I don't know what their schedules are like. I don't want to be that person who calls when somebody is already having a shitty day and then all of a sudden they have to be on high alert for their suicidal friend. I don't even know what I want to say, 90% of the time.

It does feel like such a huge thing for people to not know about. It makes it hard to connect to people, especially in real life. I don't want to tell a lot of people, I don't want to deal with the reactions, and I don't want to deal with my inner anxiety gremlin constantly clawing at the walls of my brain, desperate to know what they're thinking.

In early 2020, before covid, I told my best friend from uni about my cousin. And because he was also training as a therapist, we were both really comfortable just straight up asking each other, "How do you feel after hearing this? What are you thinking? What's going on for you right now?" and both of us had the emotional intelligence and self-awareness to be able to name those feelings and sit with the complexity without trying to fix it.

Although, when I told him about my cousin, I asked, "What are you thinking right now?" and the answer was extremely simple.

"I'm thinking about how fucking proud of you I am, and how much I want to fucking kill this guy." He smiled at me, but not in a pitying way. In a caring way. Maybe a little sad. I felt too nervous to spend a lot of time looking at him.

"Do you see me differently now?"

"Of course not. Are you okay?" That of course not did so much heavy lifting. Like it was just a complete given that I was still the same person.

I smiled and said, "Yeah, I'm just - really shaky and sweaty," and he passed me his glass full of ice so I could cool my hands down.

R is really good at just moving on from difficult topics. Probably of all the people I could tell, he would handle it the best, but it's really overwhelming to think about letting somebody else in to all of this mess right now.

I need to do something this weekend. I'm kind of sick - one of these super lethargic, coughing, struggling to breathe sometimes kind of bugs. But I think I need to push through this weekend and do something else because I just can sense how easy it would be for me to spiral.

I've spent all day in bed today. To be fair, I really have been sick and I've slept a big chunk of the day, but it did feel appropriate. This has been such a hell of a week that I had no choice but to take to my bed, like in a Tennessee Williams play.

N and I had a really difficult conversation last night and eventually I said, "I just feel like if this was a Jane Austen novel, I could go live in a mansion in the countryside for a month with a kindly aunt and uncle while I recover from my melancholia."

"So we just need to find a rich aunt and uncle in the countryside," he said with a gentle smile.

I laughed, a little bitterly. "I feel like the closest thing I could have to that is going back to [the commune] but like..." and here I did start crying a lot, "I just don't have the energy for that right now."

He rubbed my foot and said, "Just because it's the right answer sometimes doesn't mean it's the right answer all the time. It does take a lot of energy to be there."

And when I think of going back now, honestly, I'm mostly remembering the amount of shame that got dumped on me, that feeling of, I can never do anything right for these people, I always misread everything, I make it too deep, I'm doing it wrong. I'm doing that place wrong, every fucking time. At this point, to be completely honest, I don't know if I'll ever go back. I'm tired of always being told the same old shit: I'm needy, I'm too intense a person, I always go too deep, I always look like I'm desperate for people to love me. And Andrew, years ago, telling me that I am dangerous when wounded, like I was a fucking dog.

I don't know what I did. That's what really upsets me: people tell me all of this every time I go there, but they never tell me what to do differently. I just have to magically figure it out.

And at home, in my normal life, I have literally everyone around me telling me the opposite - that I'm not needy at all, that I'm extremely competent, that I could do with being more needy, that I'm not too intense for people, that I'm kind and funny and make people feel cared for. It's such a wildly different perception of me that I just have no idea where to even start.

It all feels like a trick. Reach out to people, but not like that. Ask for help, but you have to figure things out for yourself.

You know, like, how am I supposed to deal with this anxious-insecure attachment when literally all the feedback I get about my behaviour is so wildly contradictory? I feel fucking paralysed.

I talked about this with J, my friend and office-share person, and my therapist, neither of whom are Christians, and they were both like, "It's crazy that anybody would see you as needy, I don't see that at all."

And then I have M from the commune being like, "I've known you for a long time, Lauren, and you are..." blah blah blah all those negative things.

And you know what actually, how fucking ridiculous is that. She hasn't known me for a long time - she sees a two week glimpse of me, every few years, during what is usually a really turbulent time in my life, and she's hardly ever even been in the house when I've been there. Even when I was there for the full term, seventeen years ago, I don't remember any significant conversations with her. I had a different tutor, who also gave me shit. It honestly makes me feel like I have Punching Bag written across my face.

I don't know if I'll ever go back - I honestly think at this point that I might not, I might just be done with it, but if I do, I can't see how on earth I could ever sit down across from her and get anything productive done.

I wish I'd had the wherewithal to stand up for myself and tell her to shove her tutorials up her ass. And Andrew, too. And I'm using his real first name because I'm done protecting the identity and role of some asshole who told me that being molested by my cousin wasn't significant enough for him and his stupid tutorials.

The only thing I miss about that place right now is sitting in the small study with a fireplace and a board game. But I miss that a lot, even though it's so small and stupid. It was just the only time in such a long time that I can think of feeling okay in. I almost wish I'd never had it because now I wouldn't know what I was missing.

I believe that God put me there, in that place, at that time, for a reason - so many things lined up to just fit perfectly - but damn, sometimes even gifts feel painful.

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darthmaclunkey · 6 months ago

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I meant to write down my thoughts about this film like 3 weeks ago but kept forgetting lol. anyway spoilers for the film below the cut

I'm so glad I went to see this. I was interested in the concept, but tbh I was mostly going to see it because I like Daisy Ridley, and I was looking forward to seeing her in a new role. my partner tagged along with me because he'll see anything, but wasn't super keen. and we both loved it. it's so lowkey, understated, and so beautifully observed. it's also much funnier than I think the marketing makes it out to be - our screening wasn't too busy (3pm on a sunny saturday), but there were a lot of laughs. tears, too; my partner was pretty much sobbing at the end.

more than anything, I think it's one of the most relatable films I've seen. once upon a time I was a numb, depressed & antisocial woman working in a dull office actively fantasising about death, but not actively suicidal. sometimes i think about dying really nailed that limbo - where you're thinking about being dead, thinking about being an artfully-arranged corpse (a pretty corpse; a tragic corpse) in a remote forest or hanging from a crane, but not actually thinking about the method of dying. not really wanting to die, because, functionally, you're already dead. you're quiet, you're unsettling, you're not sociable, people don't notice you. they stopped noticing you a while ago. when you do step out of your comfort zone, you're always thinking: what happens when they see the real me? what happens when they find out who I really am? and instead of sometimes i think about dying becoming a cutesy boy-gets-girl-out-of-her-shell story, as a lesser film could be, we see how Fran does fuck it up, and ultimately hurts the one person who has seen her - and yet he still chooses to extend empathy and kindness to her.

Daisy Ridley really nailed the character of Fran, her performance full of subtle little facial expressions and stiff, considered movements. the most relaxed we see her is in the back half of the film when she spends her whole sunday rotting on her sitting room carpet, only moving to turn onto her side, or to get the beam of sunlight out of her eyes as it tracks across the floor - and then it's monday, and she gets up and ready for work, stiff and curled in on herself again. then we have the beautiful scene where she bumps into her old coworker at the cafe, and we see her perched on the edge of her seat, frowning, bag clutched to her chest, unable to reach out and comfort the woman she's known for years but never really known.

Dave Meherje was great, too, as Robert, Fran's new coworker, someone very sure of himself but also someone with a lot of grace, kindness, and patience. I was reminded - and my partner was too - about my own relationship, although in a less extreme way than we see in the film. I saw much of myself - melancholic, moderately antisocial, physically withdrawn - in Fran, just as my partner did, and I saw him - generous, empathetic, patient, someone who can talk to anyone - in Robert. thankfully our relationship (seven years strong) works out a bit better than Fran and Robert in the film, but I was reminded of the sweetness of finding someone who sees you and accepts you for who you are, someone with the depth of spirit to show you empathy and understanding. the final scene, where Fran confesses (and pretty much says the title of the film) her inner thoughts to Robert, and he just embraces her, and the camera pans out to show the office around them full of greenery from the forest where she so often dreams about her own dead body - I found that so moving, so beautiful. not a happy ending, but not a sad one; an understanding one. an empathetic one.

it's also a deeply funny film, something I didn't expect from the trailer and promo. Rachel Lambert & the cast really nail that experience of working in an office, being stuck in a stale, beige room with a group of people you'd never choose to spend time with otherwise day in, day out, on repeat. every character felt like the protagonist of their own film. I know I've worked with every character in that office. the inane banter and weird rituals of the office are so well observed, from the stilted, formal joking over microsoft teams to the icebreaker questions in the all-hands meeting. the scene where Fran has to play the murder victim at the party is also hilarious - her awkward, uncomfortable death pose in the bath, the way her voice croaks and pauses as she comes up with her story ("acid....in my stomach?") and the way the other guests stand and watch in dumfounded silence for a moment before laughing and applauding, having seen, for a second, something that clearly unsettled them; a glimpse of the darkness inside the quiet, mousy girl who never talks.

it also looks gorgeous - the PNW scenery is a whole character in its own right. every shot, even the office interiors, is carefully framed and composed.

my main takeaway, walking home from the cinema, was catharsis. I remembered what it was like being 20, working an admin job in an office where I typed up reports from cassette tapes that other colleagues had dictated, feeling nothing, fantasising about being hit by a car on my walk home. (I am better now, I cannot stress that enough). I felt seen and understood. it's hard to be human. it's hard to be someone like Fran, but it's even harder to be someone like Robert:

It's so easy to laugh, it's so easy to hate It takes strength to be gentle and kind

tl;dr great film. watch it.

#darthbingusposting #it'd be my fave film of the year if I hadn't seen the holdovers in january

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nothing-but-dreamy · 3 years ago

Text

REGRET

Pairing: FFXV! NYX ULRIC x GENDER NEUTRAL!READER

Words: 2.416

Warnings: hurt - comfort; some small cursing

Summary: Nyx dates you for you eight months and everything seems good. At least, you think that. Therefore, you're shocked as Nyx breaks up with you.

Nyx broke up with you because of reasons but ... was it really the right decision? And might his friends be helpful to knock some sense into Nyx?

Nyx watched how you danced through the kitchen. Soft music was playing from hidden loudspeakers. With a low voice, you hummed along while preparing two cups of hot chocolate. For eight months, Nyx dated you. You were pure joy, the kindest person Nyx had ever met. You cared for him in a beautiful way. You gave him the feeling to be something special. To be valuable. There was no time you weren't there for him. You had been able to soothe the pain he was carrying in a loving, self-less way.

"We have to stop this.", Nyx said low but serious and almost feared you hadn't heard him as you didn't react.

But you had heard him. Frowning, you turned over to the man who stood in the middle of your apartment, "We have to stop- what?", you asked, confused even if you already had an odd feeling spreading through your body as you saw Nyx' serious expression.

"This. Between us. I can't do this anymore- well... I could but I don't want it anymore.", Nyx said while looking you straight in the eyes.

"Y-you wanna break up with me?", you considered that it might be some cruel kind of a joke but the longer Nyx stayed silent, the less funny it became, "Nyx? You scare me. What is going on?", you asked, stepping forward, reaching for him.

But Nyx stepped back, drawing his brows together, "I told you what is going on. I'm leaving you. Now. We… Sure, we had some fun together but… it's not enough. You are not enough for me."

Your blood ran cold by his emotionless voice. The soft blue eyes you loved so much resembled more sharp diamonds, "I- I don't understand. Nyx, where does this come from? Have I done something wrong?"

"No. I mean, yes! It's not one thing you have done. It's everything you do. To be with you gives me nothing. I'm bored having you around.", he continued his merciless honesty.

Tears were brimming in your eyes, almost spilling out of them, "No… you can't mean that.", you whispered helplessly, feeling your heart breaking into tiny pieces while a voice told you that his words were just lies. Even the way Nyx looked at you, told you that there was more than he said. He wasn't telling the truth but you had no idea why he tried to hurt you then, "Tell me the truth. What is really going on?", you asked.

Nyx stared at you, blinking several times because he couldn't believe what he heard, "Damn, I had no idea how stupid you are! I told you what is going on. I'm leaving you. I don't have to explain anything. Don't call me or stuff like this. Just … forget me.", he said, grabbing his jacket and leaving your apartment without looking back for one second.

You stared at the closed door, motionless. Just one single, hot tear was escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheek, leaving behind a trail of sadness on your skin.

***

Three days had passed since the last time Nyx had seen you. Three days since all the things he had said to you. You, the most precious and important miracle that ever happened to him. You, whose eyes would forever haunt him. Day and night. His nightmares were nothing compared to the shock and the sadness he had seen in your face because of the words he had chosen to hurt you.

Nyx was awake for seventy-two hours straight. Trying to drown his guilt and sorrow with alcohol but no matter how much he drank, Nyx couldn't get your tears-filled eyes out of his mind. Or the way you had tried to reach out for him. The TV blurted some nonsense. It was nothing more than background noise. He couldn't focus on anything around him because you always came back to his mind.

Therefore, Nyx needed several minutes to realize that the dull knocking sound came from his own door. Slightly swaying, Nyx crossed his small, one room apartment to answer the door. He already expected to see you. That, even if he had said you should stay away from him, you would ignore him. Somehow, Nyx hoped you had come to see him.

But instead, Crowe and Libertus stood in front of a tired looking Nyx. His hair was tousled and all in all, he looked miserable, "Wow… you look…", Libertus said, searching for the right words.

But Crowe was faster. She pushed past Libertus, "You look like shit.", she said. As she spotted all the empty bottles, she added: "And you smell horrible."

Nyx crossed his arms over his chest, "Are you done with insulting me?", he said, turning around to let himself fall into his armchair.

With a stern expression, Crowe followed Nyx while Libertus opened a window for some fresh air before he looked at his best friend, "Spit it out. What is going on?"

"YN left me. That's going on. I'm just trying to deal with this. Problem?", Nyx hissed and glared at his two friends.

Crowe frowned, looking skeptical, "YN... left you…", she asked doubtfully, "And when?"

"What day is it?", Nyx asked, noticing that he had kinda lost track of time.

"Friday.", Libertus answered serious.

"Oh, then three days ago or so-"

"Or so? Nyx!"

"What?", Nyx snapped, looking at Crowe with gleaming eyes, "They left me, ok? They said they couldn't do this anymore with me being a Glaive. And I don't blame them.", he said angrily while taking the next bottle of booze, "And now, if you don't wanna drink with me, I would be thankful if you two leave me alone."

Crowe and Libertus waited a moment but they saw that there was no way to discuss anything with him. So, they left Nyx alone with his self-destructive behavior. At least, for a little while.

On the street, Crowe stemmed her fists into her sides, "You believe what he said? That YN left him?", she asked Libertus.

He shook his head, "Not for one second."

***

But no matter how often one of his friends asked, Nyx stuck to his story: you had left him after eight months because the life with a Glaive wasn't what you wanted. You wanted more. You needed more stability and mostly, you didn't want a life where you always feared for Nyx' life.

So, one day, Crowe and Libertus walked to Nyx who was busy polishing his Kukris while looking tired like every day during the past two weeks.

Nyx noticed the two well-known shadows towering above him, "What is it now?", he asked, annoyed, without looking up.

"We watched you long enough and this has to end!", Crowe said.

Nyx was about to answer but the siren interrupted him and the others. A new attack by Niflheim troops killed this unwanted conversation before it even started.

While getting ready for action, Crowe watched Nyx. From the outside, he seemed to be composed and calm, dressing his combat clothes and putting his Kukris into the right spots but she knew the difference. She saw his wild eyes that told her that some kind of storm was raging inside of him. She just wasn't sure how this storm could break through: if Nyx would just let off some steam or if he would do something stupid.

Slowly, she walked over to Libertus and Pelna, "Hey, guys, do me a favor when we're on the battlefield. Look out for Nyx."

Pelna frowned, "You think he's not ready to fight?"

"Oh, trust me. Nyx will fight. I just fear he could do something stupid."

And somehow, Crowe should have been right with her assumption. While she was busy with the other female Glaives to create a thunderstorm to destroy some of the Niflheim ships, Libertus was fighting on the ground against upcoming waves of demons. Pelna fought on his right side while Nyx on his left.

It was a hell of a battle and everyone was busy but at the same time, Libertus kept an eye on Nyx as he had promised. But as Libertus checked Nyx' position once again, his friend was gone. Quickly, Libertus called Pelna over to him and together, they searched for Nyx.

"Over there! Is he suicidal or what?", Pelna asked as he watched how Nyx tried to fight against a bunch of ass-kicking demons at the same time. One demon aimed for Nyx without his knowledge and both, Pelna and Libertus, feared the worst.

"We have to do something. He has to get out of there or he will get killed!", Libertus called out over the ear-piercing sound of an explosion some distance away.

"I will warp me to him, help him to fight.", Pelna said, threw his knife to Nyx' position and fought against the last few remaining demons.

As the field was clear, Libertus ran over to Nyx, grabbing him by his uniform jacket to push him against the next half broken wall, "Stop this shit!"

"What? Doing my job?", Nyx hissed, pushing Libertus away from him with a glaring expression.

Libertus kept Nyx' glance, "No! You try to get killed! Since you left YN, you're more reckless than ever before."

"I told you YN left me!", Nyx called out, ignoring the next explosion which covered everyone in dust and debris.

Libertus stepped forward, towering above his childhood friend, "You weren't really thinking that I believed that for one second, right? Crowe neither. YN would never leave you like that! Unlike you, they are sure how they feel for you. YN already loves you too much to leave you! And that's why you left them with some flimsy excuses, am I right? Because you’re too scared to admit your feelings you have for them.", Libertus hissed angrily.

Nyx' eyes flickered back and forth between Libertus' eyes. He swallowed thickly before he tried it again, "N-no… YN... They said they couldn't do this anymore-"

For a quick moment, Libertus lost his temper and punched Nyx right in the face so Nyx' head snapped to the side before Libertus grabbed Nyx by his collar again, "Don't lie to me ever again! YN spoke with me. They told me what you have said to them! And you know what? They weren't even crying because they knew that everything was just a lie! YN knew that you did it to push them away from you!"

Nyx felt how the guilt was back in charge about what he had done to you. There was no excuse in this world that would ever be enough for what he had said, "But I... I...", he whispered weakly.

Libertus let go of Nyx, staring at him with a stone cold expression, "We will end this damn mission! Alive! All of us! And then, you apologize and go back to YN!"

***

It was raining for hours and you were just making a cup of hot, delicious chocolate as someone knocked. As you opened the door, curious who it would be for such an hour, a dripping wet Nyx stood in front of you, looking like a kicked puppy with his long hair clutching to his face.

He still wore his Glaive battle uniform, coming straight from a mission. Libertus and Crowe had made sure that he went to you. He still had dirt and dust in his face, a few scratches were crossing his skin while the rain water was dripping onto the floor of the hallway. His eyes were red-rimmed and all in all, he looked more tired and worn out than you had ever seen him before.

Nyx' heart hammered in his chest as he saw your eyes holding a caring glance while you looked at him patiently, "I- I'm sorry-", he breathed, shaking with coldness and a tear filled voice. He wanted to say more. He wanted to apologize for everything but he got cut off as you just pulled him to you for a strong embrace with your arms firmly snaking around his neck.

Nyx immediately snuggled into the crook of your neck with his nose, shaken by sobs while inhaling your warm, familiar scent. Your body heat enclosed him and within one second, he felt back home again. The emptiness and darkness he had felt during the last days slowly vanished and got filled with warmth.

"Welcome home, hero.", you breathed lovely, raking your fingers through his soaked hair to soothe him.

"I don't deserve you.", he breathed against your skin, embracing you even stronger, clinging to you desperately in fear you could disappear.

"Well, maybe you're right... maybe you're wrong. But ... it doesn't matter. I just want you, Nyx.", you answered honestly.

Nyx leant back, slowly cupping your face with his shaking, cold hands to stare into your eyes he had missed so much, "But why? Just why? I'm a mess. I could die so easily and I don't wanna put you through this pain because you would miss me... So, why god damnit do you want me?"

You nudged Nyx' nose with your own, "Because you're wonderful. Nyx, I saw your real you. How caring you are. How lovely you can be. You're so soft and sweet to me. You're perfect. Even without admitting it, you love me so much and I try to give you as much as I can back because you deserve it."

"And still, I tried to push you away...", he whispered, devastated about what he had done to you, about all the cruel things he had said.

"Yes, and you know, I understand why you did it. But, trust me, I would rather live a life in pain because I have lost you than to live one minute without having you in my life at all.", you swore solemnly.

Nyx couldn't stop the tears from running down his cheeks, "I'm so, so sorry.", he whispered and kissed you desperately because of the loyalty and unconditional love you showed him when he didn't even deserved it but when needed it the most.

You broke the kiss after the first sensation to have him back again. With closed eyes, you were slightly swooning and with a soft smile on your lips you said: "Come in. You have to get out of these wet clothes before you get sick. I also made some hot chocolate that will warm you up.", and with these words, you brought Nyx softly back into your apartment and into your life where he belonged.

#final fantasy nyx ulric #kingsglaive nyx #nyx ulric x male reader #nyx ulric x reader #nyx ulric #male reader #female reader #nyx ulric x gender neutral reader #final fantasy kingsglaive #final fantasy xv

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love-hatred-stuff · 3 years ago

Text

Villain's girl } Im Changkyun [monsta x]

genre: royal/soldier au, vampire au

warning(s): mentions of war(indirect), kind of kidnapping

word count: 1.9k

He, he was perfect, but I just wasn't ready to get involved with him.

I knew I would regret it because we needed each other. But he just hurt me too much. No, actually I really didn't care about myself. Still, I ran away from him again, probably the most unnecessary decision of my life. The only thing that stood in my way was my fear of the gilding of his life. I simply wasn't worth it, was I?

before:...

I was lying on a green meadow that was on a mountain. Hundreds of Lisianthus flowers had grown next to me. I loved them, their scent, their colors and also their sizes. They had a calm effect on me because I had known them since my short childhood.

I've been looking after myself since I was ten years old. My parents? Probably dead. They had left me for a reason unknown to me, but I hadn't thought about it for a long time, because it had racked my mind for the next thirteen years after they disappeared.

Now I was lying here and as far as I knew it was my birthday that day. I couldn't exactly remember that date, but I had celebrated it over and over again on the same day for a long time.

It wasn't a big deal to me as it wouldn't change anything in my life but I was finally eighteen.

The sun had just started to rise, but I wanted to start the day like this, with a quiet hour on my favorite meadow in the morning sun that smiled at me. Unfortunately she was the only one who did that.

Often times I would lie there all night and watch the stars. I was more than lonely, for many years I hadn't met anyone except soldiers who attacked and burned villages, as well as my house eight years ago.

I lost my parents, my house, my food and everything else I owned. Even if it wasn't much, my already small property shrunk even more. But I had to take it for what I was, what I was trying to do.

Despite my health, which had kept up well, I had thoughts of suicide several times. Jumping off a cliff is, eating any branches and herbs. And after a few temptations, I gave up. I couldn't do that to myself yet.

As slowly as possible, I got up to look for something to eat. I didn't really liked to go hunting because I was very fond of animals and hated to hurt them, so I mostly ate berries or mushrooms.

Except once a week, I took my bow with arrow to get me a hearty meal.

When I finally got up on my two legs, I ran and went to my hut, which I had built a long time ago from branches and bushes.

I was there in no time, but something bothered me. Everything was still in its place, but I could make out a musty smell of smoke, which made me cringe.

I looked around silently and indeed, about half a mile away, a huge gray cloud was making its way through the trees.

My heart pounded alarm and without thinking twice, I sprinted in the opposite direction from which the possible fire was coming.

At the moment I didn't care about my growling stomach, nor my hut.

After a while of running I could hear voices in the direction I was walking towards.

I slowly walked slowly in order to be able to listen to every sound, no matter how small. But suddenly a soldier was standing in front of me who looked at me with a grin. I was wearing only a thin, white, yet dirty dress that hung airily up to my knees.

Uncomfortable, that's how I felt. I had never had closer contact with men, how could I (?).

"Well, who do we have here?" The soldier mockingly said.

I just widened my eyes, not to mention my mouth, which had been open since I saw him.

After a short time, more and more soldiers came and looked at me, but I was frozen. People were so fascinating but at the same time so nauseating. The soldier, who was still grinning stupidly at me, stepped closer and grabbed my hand.

"The little one must have forgotten how to speak. But she is breathtakingly beautiful. Take a look at her, guys!" He asked his men to examine me too, which is why they all took a few steps closer.

"Hey!" I heard it from not far away, in the woods.

The one whose voice it was now also ran towards me, which made me take some steps back.

"Don't touch her! She's an innocent one!" The soldier who was now standing in my immediate vicinity.

Fortunately for me, he now attracted the attention that had been on me. He pushed the others away from me, who then stumbled backwards. Then he grabbed my wrist and I felt a heat rise in me instantly, it was a completely new feeling.

I looked into a prominent face with defined cheekbones, which made him look very masculine to me. He looked like someone that could be royal, naturally beautiful.

He looked at me out of his intense brown eyes in which I could have lost myself in, in a matter of seconds.

He raised his hand, pushed a strand of hair out of my face and touched my cheek in the process. All I could do was to stay still like a statue and admire his figure.

His dark black hair that was a little messed up and some strands also graced his face.

A cold but pleasant shiver ran down my spine from his touch. I was fascinated by his looks, it seemed like he looked like a friendly devil. Although his features seemed absolutely flawless, he radiated a dark aura. I couldn't see it but I could sense it. He also had broad shoulders from which two muscular arms protruded. He was looking like a God next to me.

"She really is quite acceptable. Nevertheless, she has to come with me." He pulled me by the arm to the horses, which were not far away at a campsite.

Damn. I should have run faster, now I have to go with them if I don't get a chance to get out of here. I blamed myself silently.

The men were in the majority and clearly superior to me.

The Soldier's grin was quite strong and even when we were already in one of the tents, he was still holding onto my arm tightly. After we I hissed in pain.

Besides all that, I was still totally in shock as it was my first close contact with people in many years.

Suddenly he stopped and took a close look at my body, me not really thinking anything, because I first had to get used to people's behavior and body language.

With his gaze he stopped where he had gripped me tightly to probably prevent me from running away, but slowly the pressure got too big and hurt. Immediately he let go, but he took a closer look at the now yellow spots that adorned my arm.

They weren't the only wounds I had, I kept getting injured and accordingly had blood wounds or scratches all over the place. We were alone in the tent and he finally broke the silence.

"Who did this to you?" He asked, pointing to my wounds, like the blood stain on my dress, over my stomach. At first I didn't know what he meant but then I understood. He meant if I had been hurt by someone else.

"Nobody." I answered clearly and looked up into his wonderful eyes that flashed at me.

"What's your name?" Was his next question.

"Y/n. I think." I guessed to myself.

My name had never been relevant, but I still had vague memories from my childhood and how I was often addressed by that name back then. In the other moment, his gaze softened. He put a strand behind my ear again, as he had earlier. My attention went to his full lips which he twisted into a small grin.

“You are beautiful, Y/n. You will be mine I promise it. Nobody's going to get you." He said with determination.

What did he say? Was that just a compliment? If so, then they sound really nice, but actually I didn't really know what they meant to me. Although I could speak his language fluently and had a good vocabulary to choose from, I wasn't up to date.

"What do you mean?" I was taught to ask when you didn't understand someone, so I did just that.

"Means that we will take you to the palace where you can be sold." He suddenly changed his face and removed his hand from my cheek where it had lingered for a moment.

He had just changed his mind from one second to the other. He wanted me to be his and complimented me, so what now? Now he just wanted to drag me along and let me get sold? Great, I probably wouldn't find a way out on all these soldiers.

"But, to whom should I be sold?" If it was to my advantage I would accept it, then I would no longer be alone and would finally be among people who were equal to me.

"To some rich snob." He simply replied.

I was surprised at his sudden change of heart, but it was the chance for me to finally escape this hole. It had made me sink deeper and deeper until that point. I was redeemed.

"You have to change. We'll stay here one more night before we leave." He stepped away from me and took a white dress down from a kind of drawer, to give it to me afterwards.

A little baffled, I stood there and took the soft fabric towards me. It was soft and embroidered with small flowers.

"Thanks, where should I change and where should I sleep?" I asked briefly.

"Change here. There's a bed back there, behind the curtain. You will sleep with me, I don’t want you to run away." He answered less summarily.

Only after a short moment I could understand what he wanted from me. He was still standing right in front of my feet and looking down at me.

"So I'm supposed to change here and now?" I asked with disbelief in my voice.

"Yes, you should." He persisted.

I suspected he wouldn't give in, so I told him to at least turn around. Then he innocently raised his hands to shoulder height and obeyed my request. When he let his hands fall again, I pushed my dirty dress off my body, which meant that I stood in front of him, completely bare for a moment. Fortunately, he was standing with his back turned to me. But even if not, I would probably have obeyed, because I didn't know whether I corresponded to the typical image of women and had never had unpleasant situations like this before. That's why I never had a reason to be ashamed of my body. But as I stood in front of him I realized how important it actually was to be able to see someone like that.

I quickly slipped into the fresh dress, which clung to my thin body and my delicate curves. It actually looked very pretty, but I could hardly judge it because I still had no taste for fashion.

"You can turn around." I wanted to point out, but my words got stuck in my throat when I noticed that he had already turned around.

I had focused on my dress the whole time and trusted it. Obviously this was a mistake.

-to be continued-

#changkyun #monsta x #monsta x i.m #monsta x au #royal au #vampire au #monsta x smut

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dormarunt · 3 years ago

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I think I’ve seen you say that originally Rodrigo’s character was intended to die in the script but they changed it? When I saw ep 7 and Tokyo was narrating about how Martin was going to have to grow up one day just like Berlin when he was setting off to tell Sergio his plans in the middle of the night— I seriously thought that we’re making a direct parallel to Berlin’s death and I was sure that Martin would be killed. I’m just curious if you think that was possibly a line that they for some reason kept from the original draft or if I’m interpreting it wrong? I mean I’m glad he didn’t die but also feel like his death would have still been ok because plot wise it brings their story full circle back to the beginning when we meet Palermo— I’m almost surprised they didn’t do that. I feel like if Lcdp had been a book than he definitely would have died for the ‘symbolic poetic romance’ or whatever you want to call it- the Romeo and Juliet kind of trope.

Oh I have no knowledge of how the original scripts were supposed to go; at most I speculated that they could have written it like that to parallel Berlin or to fulfill Andres' "one way or another time will bring us together again". Honestly, if I'd had any knowledge that he was supposed to die I'd have been a lot less enthusiastic about part 2, lol. It was paramount to me that he lived, and I remember having a huge ranty post as to why (some of which I'll rehash below, I'm sorry).

NOW, this doesn't mean that it wasn't a parallel that could have gone that way! I see why the writers would have wanted to go there, there's a lot of ways in which they could have written it to make sense. (short break to watch that scene and ugh, thank you, I love those scenes with my whole heart, thank you for having a "reason" to watch them again - okay, re-watched, hah, I love him omg)

Heh, I do love the implied thing that Palermo never really "grew up" because he didn't give up on his dreams. <3

So - I agree, it could be that that line was a leftover from the possibility of having Palermo die, if only because we have enough Palermo flashbacks, esp in ep7, for it to be his "death-cut" just like Nairobi and Tokio had in the episode(s) before they were killed.

But I really really didn't want him to die. Yeah yeah I get the parallels and the ~promise by Berlin but? Tokio already sacrificed herself for the team; having Palermo pull the same move just a few episodes later would have robbed a little bit of the impact from his sacrifice, I think. But I'm sure it was a considered way to go, and some people believe Rodrigo may have preferred it this way based on some interview - not sure which, and absolutely not sure that I could find it if I tried, sorry!)

I have my personal view of how Palermo's character should have gone, and it may be projection or just-- no, yeah, I think it's mainly projection.

Again, under a cut for (TW) mental health talk and, frankly, personal shit.

Martin was a fucking mess after the chapel. I'm sure he only spiraled deeper after he learned of Andres' death. From his talk to Sergio, when we first meet Palermo in S3, it seems that he - unlike Sergio - did see Andres' death in the heist as a possibility. Still, we all saw what it did to Martin; even if he was expecting it, it still wrecked him further.

So on to my personal shit/personal views on the matter - I struggle with my mental health a lot. I'm "better" than I was a year and a half ago (when I was BAD. Like - Martin bad, with all the suicidal thoughts and the self-destructive patterns and hopelessness and-- all of that). But I'll never be fine. Case in point, these last couple of weeks when, oh man. I am Not Okay. But - I'm trying? I'm doing my best, yaknow. One day at a time and all.

And I latched onto Palermo because I recognized a bit of my struggles in his character. I would have seen it as cheap if he wasn't given the chance to "heal". If he was just as a plot device, a parallel to Berlin's character in this heist and nothing more. A waste of a good character, if you ask me.

I like the ending. We saw what the heist meant to him, we saw him fulfilling it. We saw him get a chance to live after having closed that chapter of his life, and we saw him stepping into a future where he has the possibility to move on. To live the rest of his life, as hard as it may be - because it *will* be hard. It's a life-long battle just to make this battle as long as you can. So for purely personal, maybe even selfish reasons, I prefer this ending and would have seen the "Romeo & Juliet" one as a cheap cop-out.

#asks #Palermo #lcdp5 spoilers #personal interpretation yaddayaddayadda #personal stuff and mental health talk #just ignore the cut and the rest is the answer - to the best of my abilities at least

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rpbetter · 3 years ago

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Urgh. Okay, full disclosure, I haven't been on tumblr much over the last week or so, because I was one of the people that Raven initially called out after the COAR mess, and it was in the interest of my own mental health to fuck off for a while so I didn't stress myself out into oblivion. So I'm scrolling through most of this stuff for the first time, and talking to other people who were targeted. And pardon my French here, but I'm fucking disgusted at the lengths Raven has gone to assert themselves as a victim, how many people they've affected, and the waving around of something as serious as suicide for brownie points.

I have sympathy for people who overinterpret things in a strictly emotional and mental sense (actual reactions aside) because they lack the maturity. There's always a reason for that, and it's not their fault. And I have sympathy for people if they legitimately feel suicidal. That, too, isn't their fault. If I hadn't been blocked, I would've reported Raven in case their claims were true as well, because yeah, I don't mess around with that stuff either. But what's unacceptable is how Raven acted on those sentiments and behaved towards others, even after people tried to provide perspective. How Raven claimed to be done with the drama, but continued inciting it; how they claimed to be suicidal and had left tumblr, but wrote what amounts to a "fuck you" in their header and were still putzing around on their blog, and were apparently still editing their posts until as late as today; how they claimed to have deleted but only changed the url; how they weaponized all of this stuff and used it as a tool for guilt-tripping. Like, come on. It's okay if you're down in the dumps, but it's not okay to treat innocent people like garbage, and carpet bomb half the RPC. To me, it really feels like there was an intent to weaponize all of their hurt, offense, anger, and suicidal ideations, despite the possibility it did come from somewhere genuine, and that's so harmful to anyone who is actually struggling with depression.

Every time someone weaponizes mental illness in this way, it just makes people more and more apathetic the next time someone is genuinely just hurting, and saying they feel like they're at the end of their rope. And it makes people suspicious of whether those words are being used maliciously, or legitimately. That suspicion and that association is now there, unconscious or not. And every time this kind of stuff happens, the association gets stronger. What happens if Raven does this again? Some people will still report, but some people might just scoff and walk away - people who might've actually acted before. So in a way, that kind of behaviour impacts Raven as much as it impacts other people.

And you know what? They're not the only one dealing with serious shit. I've been suffering from MDD for the last fifteen years, and I've been in the process of changing medications and having little success for months. I've been going through hell offline. I have a shit list of people I want to yell at because they're dragging their feet on really important things I need to function; I'm constantly running a deficit on spoons. Until a week or so ago, roleplay was one of the only ways I could unwind. So for Raven to bully me by sticking that stupid post in my tags, because they needed to make a scene on COAR, which I was obviously going to comment on (like many other people), then to "like" an unsubstantiated callout about me and other innocent people related to that mess, it's only worsened my own mental health. It sounds melodramatic, but really. Someone else mentioned this too, but the fear of being in another callout, and the fear of that first callout somehow exploding, was in the back of my mind all week, despite being away from tumblr. So that was a little anxiety-inducing, much as I tried not to think about it.

And I'm debating whether to return now, or take more time off, and I have no idea what to do. Because that callout post is still in my blog's tag. I'm freaking out because I was planning on approaching some people to roleplay, which is something I rarely ever do, but now I'm concerned that I'll contact someone, they'll look at my tag to get an idea of my writing/partners/who I am, and see the callout post, and immediately dismiss me because even seeing the word "callout" on its own will send up red flags, by unconscious association with more impactful drama. And as long as that callout is up, these fears are going to be there.

That's just not fair.

And Raven's "apology" is completely unacceptable. Like you and others said, it doesn't reach anyone who needs to hear it, because they've all been blocked. I would fucking love an apology if it came from a place of honesty, but am I going to receive one? Probably not. And even for the followers who can still see that apology, it doesn't address anything. It isn't directed to anyone in particular. It doesn't mention the specific behaviours that were wrong on their part. And miss me with the "my intentions were good" part. No, they weren't; going around blocks and sticking shit in peoples' tags is vindictive and entirely intentional in all the worst ways, and shame on them for pretending otherwise, and by leading with such a poor example for many roleplayers, some of whom are in their teens. One of the people who tried to message Raven (they, too, were called out on Raven's blog) was speaking to a nineteen-year old who was completely clueless about the extent of the manipulation Raven was pulling. They thought all of it was normal and acceptable behaviour. That genuinely terrifies me. And while I imagine if Raven was genuinely apologetic, they would've gone to the callout blog and ask them to delete the callout post (attempt it, at the very least), somehow, I don't think that would've happened given all of their prior actions. God forbid something else is going on there.

Phew. Yeah, I'm angry. Maybe I'm just biased and tired. But honestly, I have a right to be. Raven's apology is a handwave, and they know it. It's a slap in the face to me, to you, and to everyone else who was involved in this clusterfuck. They're not the center of the universe. They affected real people, with real problems of their own. Anyways, I am so sorry for this, argh. Really had to get this out, and I didn't want to dump it on discord or somewhere else; I sure as heck didn't want to go to COAR with it. But hey, maybe people here will feel less alone if I added my own account to the mix. The more, the merrier? In a sense, anyways. Sometimes if you feel like you've been singled out, it's nice to know you're not actually the only person it's happened to.

Sorry for saving your reply for last, Anon. It's such an important one, I wanted to be properly thoughtful!

I think that it is going to make some people feel less alone, and there is always some relief in sharing one's trials. That might be especially true when one has been unable to share them anywhere else. It's not like you can address this on your own blog right now, COAR is definitely not a safe place to do so, it's a very isolating feeling that is made worse for having done nothing.

Coming back and being required to wade through this shit was really damn disgusting to me as well, but at least in my case, I had neither been obliged to distance myself for the sake of mental health nor was I treated to the sickening display of drumming up ideas of victimization from someone who victimized me. What I experienced was just incredulity and disgust, I cannot imagine how incensing this must be for you, I am so very sorry. If it makes me angry having a degree of removal and watching in it real time? What you're experiencing...there really isn't a single word to adequately encapsulate that, I'm sure.

You've still expressed so many of the things I've thought and felt. I found all that initial behavior uncalled for, shameful, yet another display of what's actually wrong in the RPC, but it was increasingly upsetting to me the more I looked into it because it did feel a little (a lot) too reminiscent of the sort of bullying experienced in person. It's really something else to be viciously picked at by someone who keeps upping the game until such point as it begins to cause them trouble, then get to be painted the wrongdoer and punished in some way for it because they're presenting as a sympathetic victim. A more sympathetic victim than you, that's really what I mean, I'm just going to say it.

And that was already in swing by the time I got from the launch point to the smoking crater of then current events. I got to Raven's again after bouncing back and forth between their interactions with others, largely from COAR, yes, and the shit on the callout blog...to see...everyone else being blamed in increasingly drastic ways.

Because on tumblr, unlike reality, if you throw out enough times ahead of time that you have disorders people can get behind, you're more sympathetic, not less. So long as one has set that foundation and has others to broadcast it once convenient, any horrible action one undertakes is given a pass. Anyone disagreeing, anyone not tolerating the abuse, is in the wrong now. In the worst possible way, of course.

This whole thing began with incredibly unnecessary bullshit and every, I mean fucking every, further action taken was a new level of fucked up, but the trivializing of and damage done to the perception of mental health and differences is quite possibly the worst. Are those things that need any more of that? It's already such a problem! I already see suspicion and fatigue with this, every time it's given validation, it grows.

Even if I wasn't mentally ill, with one of the disorders that gets vilified even on tumblr, even if I were not autistic, even if I never knew a single person who suffered worse than I do from the the complications they won by way of being born, hadn't anyone I loved that took their lives, this would be extremely upsetting to me. Using the idea that "whatever I do, it's got to be acceptable because I am X" while not caring that anyone else is X, Y, and/or Z. Weaponizing it for bullying and sympathy simultaneously. Way too much. Incredibly gross and harmful, legitimately fucking problematic.

I want people to be taken seriously when they choose to speak of the boundaries their mental health requires, I want muns to be able to say that they are having a difficult time without it coming off (even to the rest of us with mental health conditions) as a ploy for attention/guilting for whatever action they desire be taken by partners, and I want people to take threats of oncoming, serious harm seriously. How are they to do this, when it is continually used as tool or weaponized against others? At very best, it becomes another thing to ignore and scroll by on the dash.

As we've all had the misfortune to experience or witness so recently, once it is weaponized, it's a problem of priority. I've said in damn near every message I've gotten that Raven isn't the only person involved here who has serious shit going on, but like the absurdity with trying to spin an accident as transphobia, or having the audacity to attempt speaking from a place of peace in a way that might benefit everyone, Raven included, resulting in a callout about being against ND people...it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter that any of us are neurodivergent, have serious chronic mental health complications, or are not cisgender. Raven was swinging that around like a flaming sword to drive off bigots real and imagined before we ever got their attention.

Attention they fucking asked for.

Reblogging that post from COAR was just like posting those rules. The intention was to get attention, and it was asked for with extreme hostility. I have no idea how that is coming off to anyone as simply them defending themselves. It was a great moment to either not out themselves as the person in the confession at all, not engage with it, quietly remove the post, or to reblog it and take responsibility in a meaningful way at that point. Can you imagine what a difference that would have made then? If Raven had chosen instead to reblog it and apologize for doing what they had. Just that. No shitty, snide little comments about how they're sorry, but still absolutely correct and here are five reasons why everything they've misconstrued won't be tolerated. Just an acknowledgment of wrongdoing, an apology for doing so, and awareness gained moving forward.

Their decision to interact with that post in the way they did wasn't just more of the same nonsense, it was actively upping the game. I don't really care if it was intentional bait or just continuing to let malicious impulse run free, it was used as bait. Everyone who interacted with that post was effectively consigning themselves to harassment, and if they happened to interact on literally any other topic that group held a passionately opposing opinion on, they were attacked for it. Curiously, it became necessary for them to be harassed by way of the callout blog, but that is getting a little close to off-topic, so, I'll leave it at that.

So, while I initially really wanted to have the appeal to Raven work because their expressions of regret that I was greatly on the fence about being genuine, I'd say those flags were accurate. I cannot believe that someone who took every opportunity to do the wrong thing is genuinely sorry. Sorry for themselves, absolutely, sorry for anything they did, not so much. This constant narrative I got of "they SAID they were sorry" and "they apologized again and again and took the posts down," including from Raven, is incredible. On that last one, they, yet again, couldn't actually address me.

Appropriate response: messaging me or reblogging that post (you know, the rules snippet I found right the hell there still, despite the claim of it being deleted and the final catalyst of me needing to say something after I saw that, nope, surely was not) with the acknowledgment of a single thing I said.

Extra appropriate response: ^ plus going to everyone who could still be located that they harmed with a genuine, individual, private apology.

Inappropriate response that was had: new post, shitty, childish tone like they at once wanted to argue with me and didn't want to drop the act, restating of this apology that had already been deleted and meant exactly shit while it existed, restating of how they deleted this post and couldn't control reblogs, ignoring that I literally reblogged the original copy from their blog.

Apology neither believed nor accepted. Just as it wouldn't be if my nephew came to my house, broke a bunch of my things, said he was sorry while throwing the pieces at my pet, then threw himself on the floor screaming that he said he was sorry when I told him to go have a time out.

(Yes, I absolutely did just make a comparison to a child, y'all can shit yourselves again. It's not my problem if you want to misconstrue "this person's actions are not befitting of an adult" as "Vespertine said autistic people are children!" Fucking miss me with that. I'm an autistic adult who pays my bills, apologizes, doesn't treat people like shit while trying to excuse it by being ND. You're offensive with that shit, and contributing to the negative perception people have of those on the spectrum. Be a good ally today! Don't valid that! Free ninety-nine offer!)

Again, sorry for yourself does not equal being sorry for what you've done. The former can contribute to the development of the latter, but as I said in a response yesterday, there has been no display of that beginning to transpire. I genuinely hope that will eventually be the case because that would be the best outcome, the only "best" outcome at this point. Even if it was two years from now, if it did happen, I certainly would not be kind to people refusing them any such growth in peace, and I hope that, by some distant chance, I get to prove that.

But...stating "my intentions were good" over any part of this is not remotely promising. When? Where? At what point? Oh, right, when you took it upon yourself to label a random mun you took issue with. That's when your intentions were good. Then, when you vehemently needed to defend that point by callouts and individual attacks under the guise of it definitely not being about your pride, no! It was the defense of everyone else! Defending the community by carpet-bombing it, yes. This is not a "the path to Hell is paved with good intentions" situation.

I am so disturbed about the nineteen-year-old mun, my god. I'm telling y'all, my anger and disgust almost reach what I think is a pinnacle, then there's something new like this.

I don't even subscribe to tumblr's ideology that anyone under twenty-five is an actual infant who needs be kept in a protective bubble and forgiven for all bad behavior with infinite kindness, nineteen-year-olds deserve the agency of the adultier adults they are becoming, but it is a transitional age. Especially today. Most socialization and formative ideas take place online, and by the time younger RPers are entering the adult sphere of RP here, they've already got some really unhealthy ideas. About themselves, about others. There is such a demand for rabidly performative action that gets internalized, it shouldn't be being heartily fed by people in the community they might look up to.

At that age, someone like Raven is going to be a person looked up to. They espouse all the right ideas, and it's an age in which aggressive interaction over those things is seen as amusing and correct, no matter how wrong the actions taken are or the basis upon which they are founded. When these people foster an environment of cruelty for questioning, of course, that is not going to be the natural response. The response is now going to be the requirement of being told otherwise with adequate proof.

I have suspected that many of the hateful anons I've gotten were from Raven's even younger followers who feel like it's normal, acceptable, and that everything they're being told by Raven's sales team over at the callout blog is absolutely true. Of course, they're now morally obligated to come harass me for the things they were told I did! I think it's likely that several of the anons people got were from actual minors, which is so many levels of scary and irresponsible. Really great example all around, yes!

Because whether it is one's intention or not, that is potentially exposing minors, or muns who are still close enough to be more negatively impacted, to who even knows what. As well as violating the rules of blogs who do not interact with minors for good reason, setting those blogs up for yet another callout for treating someone they didn't know was a minor the way they did or having "freak shit" on their blog. Setting up the other party to be treated with full hostility as an adult would be. Very cool, very responsible.

There is just so much here that is unacceptable, I don't think people who were not directly impacted or have never had a callout against them understand the results, and that is one more unacceptable thing you've been good enough to talk about.

Even while taking a break from the RPC, it affects you negatively. Wondering what you're coming back to, your blog is no longer a safe feeling space, and there's nothing you can do to "cultivate your blog" to change that. They've taken away the ability to simply block and avoid others, the thing that keeps all of us comfortable here as well as allowing that to be all of us no matter how disagreeable we might be to each other. Callouts negate adult behavior. Callouts mean that one doesn't know where more potential for harassment might be coming from, or how long we might have to be worried about that.

It would be a major concern for me as well about what putting myself out there to new writing partners might bring. What the success of that might be. It's incredibly unfair that they've made finding new people precarious and more unpleasant than it can be anyway. That puts all of the future of your RP here in question, and if you're like me, just dropping a muse, picking up another, and moving to a new URL isn't going to be a good choice for you. It isn't that simple if you dedicate time to a muse for a long period of time, when that's the case, that's the RP you want to do and have laid the groundwork for.

I don't know if it will help at all, but it has seemed to me, over the past several days, that there are fewer people in the RPC who are inclined to believe or support callouts than there once was. I was hoping that was the case, since there is always so much interaction on my posts against callout culture, but until this crap went down, I had no idea just how many people are not positive toward it. It has seemed to be that the people who are inclined to listen to callouts are just louder.

I've also noticed that those people have the same set of red flags, so maybe sharing that will help you or others?

They don't have simple, basic, reasonable Do Not Interacts. It isn't simply asking that minors don't interact because the mun is over eighteen, that muns writing a triggering topic not interact, or that sort of thing. No, it's URL dropping of specific muns, outright links to callouts or "receipts," and an accusatory tone about any topics or types of muns who shouldn't interact. Such as "nasty ass proshippers" or "pedo apologists shipping incest."

Their rules are reflective this as well. A statement cannot be made that they do not write, let's say, toxic ships and left at that. There will be some morality wank present about normalizing or romanticizing toxic/abusive relationships.

There are less assured flags, but literally, anything that stands out as an interest in RPC or fandom-based activism as opposed to an interest in writing, their muses, or even their friendships with a variety of muns. I don't mean a rounded-out interest in things, I really do mean a glaring predominance of buzzword-laden reblogs and PSA's while they've not written a reply, headcanon, or answered a meme in months.

I'm not saying any of that because I feel like you, or anyone else's, judgment is terrible or that you're oblivious to warning signs! It's just that when we've experienced bad situations, it can compromise our ability to see clearly. It becomes easy to see a potential threat everywhere, and maybe that seems contrary, but it's then easy to fail to see real threats from those we're blowing up. We question whether we're being just as judgmental as the people who wronged us, putting words in other muns' mouths and thoughts in place of their own as was done to us. While we still are afraid to be wrong in giving someone an in to ruining our time again.

So, please, don't feel like I'm questioning your intelligence or speaking from a place of ultimate knowledge, never making mistakes in such a choice! I just really hate that you, and many others, are going through this, and anything at all that I can think of that might help you move forward from this utter bullshit you've been through, I've got to try to grab it.

Because, Anon, like all those sharing their experiences these last few days, you sound like the kind of mun we need in the RPC.

You're someone willing to share with others for the benefit of others. You're being honest about your feelings of anger and even the hopeless sensation of whether it's even worth it to try to return, having your progress on and offline stomped on, while still maintaining a sort of fairness and calm that I know is not easy. Because that's the mature thing to do, it's the right thing, and unfortunately, those are usually the harder things to do as well.

You did the right thing in expressing your opinion and doing what people like Raven's group love to be on about, can only do through bullying: not tolerating it. I'd hate for the RPC to lose someone like you!

Just as your message matters to more people out there than myself, I have no doubt that your choice to not quietly allow this behavior mattered to more muns than you'll ever know. I'm sure that none of them would have wanted this result for you, but so many muns have experienced such toxic, bullying behavior over the years in which not a soul spoke up.

Many of you proved something very important with challenging Raven and the callouts blog, that unlike them, it isn't necessary for good people to even know each other to do the right thing. They have to dogpile and engage in cliquish behavior, what they do isn't coming from a place of inner ethics and strength, but what you all did? It's the opposite.

So, not only do I thank you again for sharing and providing the important support of simply not being alone to others, I thank you for being the example to the RPC that people dealing in callouts and generalized shaming cannot be, no matter their platform.

I hope that, whether you choose to remain, leave, or take a very long break, everything you've been dealing with starts to look up. I know it's easy to say things made hollow for their repetition and flippant use, like telling you not to let them win, or that their bullshit just isn't that important. So, I'm not going to say them.

It doesn't work that way when you're dealing with mental health concerns! You can logically know that this is just petty bullshit not worth being run out of something important to you, but that doesn't stop the worry, frustration, or depression. You can have all the determination in the world to hang in there, even the spite to back it up, but neither is a match for the things you cannot control coming from your brain. That is the cruelty of mental illness on the very best of days.

You have all of my respect, support, and genuine sympathy that this happened to you. No one should be allowed to continually and unapologetically go out of their way to throw a wrench into someone's hard-won progress. You did nothing to deserve this, and the people out there worth interacting with are going to be the same ones who will have no question of that.

Lastly, I also hope that some of the anons sharing their experiences have helped you feel less alone, or like you're not just irrationally upset. Please know that you're seen and supported as well! And that you are always welcome to talk more, vent, share successes here.

Thank you, Anon.

#vespertine #answered #anonymous #long post #drama cw #rp harassment #callout culture

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