#just keep going and don’t ever stop; rest and allow yourself to heal and then keep going!! 💌 you won’t regret staying 💕

[tsuutarr]

Yandere!Hero (Chosen One) x Saint!Reader

Being the Hero – the Chosen One – means that the world’s fate is on Elias’ shoulders. He’s long since forgotten how to live for himself, his life belonging to everyone but him. He’s merely a puppet that’s being strung along by the world for the sole purpose of saving it.

At first, he was honored to be chosen as the Hero – it’s a privilege most don’t get. But everyone expects too much – everything – from him. His life is carefully shaped into what others want of him, people only looking at his role and not him as a person.

Now, he fights and saves people due to duty, not desire. There is no sparkle of pride when he helps villagers. Instead, all that is left is another thing checked off of his mental checklist. Now, he just wants to rest. He just wants things to be over.

So that’s why he despised the idea that some Saint from the Church would be his “helper.” Traveling with someone else is only going to slow him down. Not to mention the fact that he doubts the Saint has ever seen bloodshed and disease like he has.

But when he actually meets and travels with you, the Saint, he realizes that you’re actually not that bad. You’re actually kind of nice. He’d expected you to turn your nose at the commoner population, refusing to heal them, but you actively seek them out to help. You’re kind and gentle, but headstrong. Even when you’re visibly exhausted, you do your best to keep going. 

It’s… kind of impressive, actually. He had misjudged you, perhaps.

Even now, you’re helping the knights that were attacked by bandits (which Elias had vanquished), healing not only their bodies but their souls, too. He can’t help but look at you, a raw beacon of kindness that he hasn’t seen before in his travels. 

Once you’re done healing the knights, you look up at him, before a gasp escapes your lips. “Elias!”

He blinks at you, curiously.

“You’re bleeding!”

“Ah.” Elias looks down at his hand, blood dripping down his fingers. He had instinctively grabbed a knife by the blade earlier because he wouldn’t have been able to dodge it in time. “This is nothing.”

“Oh, shush!” you say, approaching him. You push him towards a tree stump, forcing him to sit, which he allows. Carefully, you take his hand in yours, frown deep set on your mouth. Your hand is so warm that it makes his heart burn.

“You’re tired,” he states, bluntly. He doesn’t tug his hand out of yours. “You’ve healed too many people.”

“I can–”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Rest for now, Saint. I am fine.” And he’s right – he’s the Hero, after all. His wounds heal much faster and better than a normal human being. He doesn’t necessarily need your healing.

“Still,” you murmur, looking up at him. “Can I at least clean and bandage it?”

It’s pointless, really, but Elias says, “Do what you want.”

So you do. You disinfect and clean his wound, before carefully wrapping his hand with bandages. For some reason, his heart squeezes painfully as he watches you tend to him so gently. He doesn’t remember if anyone’s ever treated him this kindly.

“There.” You look proud of yourself. It’s kind of cute.

“You didn’t have to,” he mutters without really thinking about it.

You give him a smile that makes his brain stop. “I wanted to. I want to support you.”

For some reason, your words almost make him want to cry. He’s not sure why – he’s seen so much death and destruction to the point that his emotions have become numb. Yet, you bring flickers of his feelings back to him – happiness, sadness, anger, love. 

You make him feel like he has an existence beyond just being the Hero. You make him feel human.

So, how can he let you go? He can’t – and he’ll do everything he can to make you his. Even if it means he has to destroy the world.

[fru1t4fr0gs]

You and Me - Chapter 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky has been turned back into the Winter Soldier. When you find him during his rampage, you expect him to kill you on the spot. His reaction is…a bit different than that.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Violence, Swearing, Attempted kidnapping (kind of?), the Winter Soldier is kind of obsessed with you, You kind of get stuck in the middle of a super soldier fight, Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author’s Note: We finally have the Winter Soldier making an appearance! Let me know what you guys think!

-

You’ve never run so fast in your life.

Your feet barely seem to touch the ground. You skid around corners, down flights of stairs, grab onto the edges of doorways and fling yourself through them quicker than you would have ever thought possible.

Steve and Sam are behind you, and you’re moving faster than them.

It’s right before you hit the bottom floor that you feel it.

Up. To the left. Three doors in, one hallway down.

It’s sharper than an instinct. Deeper than a passing thought. And you don’t have the time or wherewithal to question it.

While the two men behind you keep going down, you dart off down the opposite hall and lose them in less than a second.

You’re not even winded when you get to the right floor, gunfire and violence a distant thought as you sprint down down the corridor.

You whip around a corner, and you see him.

Bucky.

He’s less than ten feet away, and your momentum causes you to nearly collide with him as you skid to a halt.

A metal hand wraps around your throat.

Memories of that day so long ago flood through you. The pain and terror of it all. The way your helpless feet kicked against nothing. The way your fingernails vainly scratched against unfeeling metal.

You close your eyes, because this shell of the man you love is going to kill you, and for some reason all you can think about is how Bucky is still inside him somewhere. Bucky will remember this, like he remembered all of the others, and it will kill him. You can’t look at him. You can’t let him watch the life leave your eyes.

You’re going to die.

“You and me.” You whisper, almost to yourself, voice quiet and shaking. If he ever comes out of this, you pray that he’ll remember those words. That he’ll know that you don’t blame him.

His hand remains around your throat, but it doesn’t squeeze.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open.

The Winter Soldier is looking at you, and his eyes aren’t hollow this time. He looks almost perplexed, like he’s trying to place a distant memory.

You hold your breath.

The hand around your throat loosens, and his metal fingers slide upwards, agonisingly slowly, until they curl gently in your hair. His thumb brushes against an almost-healed bruise beneath your eye, soft as a feather.

“Мой” He murmurs, so quiet you almost don’t hear it. Mine. The reverent possessiveness in his voice makes you shiver involuntarily, and he leans closer like he’s trying to chase the feeling.

You’re terrified that any movement will shatter whatever spell he seems to be under, but you nod. Barely.

A warm hand slides up under your shirt, and his fingers brush over the scar on your stomach where his knife had twisted so long ago. This time, however, his touch is soft. Achingly gentle.

That same hand moves to wrap around your waist, and he pulls you closer until your chest is flush with his. His nose presses into the side of your head, and you feel his breath against your hair as he exhales like it’s the first time he’s ever been able to.

Hesitantly, you tilt your head so it rests in the crook of his neck. For a moment, you just stand there, allowing the killing machine who just caused so much carnage to hold you like he might never let you go.

A loud noise echoes down the hall, and his entire body tenses. He pulls back, looks you over, and you make a frantic attempt to speak to him. If he leaves again, you don’t think you can stop him. You don’t know what his orders were, or where he might be planning to go, but you can’t lose him. Not again. Not like this.

“Bucky, you’ve gotta snap out of it.” You sense someone coming. Fast. You hope beyond hope that it’s Steve and not another barrage of armed soldiers. “You’ve gotta come back. We have to- wait what are you-“

In one swift movement, he scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. And then he begins walking toward the roof.

You squirm, wiggle, even kick, but it’s like trying to fight against a brick wall. A frantic stream of words spills past your lips as you scramble for some kind of purchase against his back, but his arm only tightens around your thighs as he pushes through the door to the roof.

“Bucky you have got to stop picking me up like this put me the hell down what kind of insane caveman bullshit are you trying to pull here-“ you manage to look up, still trying in vain to get yourself free, just in time to see Steve burst through the door. You try to call out to him, but there’s no need for it. You’re sure that if it weren’t for the dire circumstances this scene would look absolutely fucking ridiculous.

Bucky - not Bucky, the Winter Soldier - puts you down in a helicopter seat so gently you almost wonder if he’s going to buckle you up. If there were time you think he actually might, but Steve is still running towards you and in the span of a second he’s in the seat beside you and slamming the door shut.

“What are you doing?!” Your words fall on seemingly deaf ears, and the helicopter starts to take off. You feel a jolt that throws you into the door, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that it’s because Steve is holding the helicopter.

Fucking supersoldiers.

“Fuck!” You might have a serum, but you’re pretty sure you’re not going to survive a helicopter crash into a river. The helicopter whips around again, and your stomach drops as you try to grab at something. Bucky’s arm yanks you back as the chopper jolts again, keeping your head from bashing against the window like the action is pure and simple instinct, and in the same movement he adds more power and tries to take off again. You don’t need the serum to know that this isn’t going to end well.

“Soldat!” You half-shriek, desperate and terrified, and he finally looks at you. You watch the shift happen like it’s in slow-motion.

He’s still not Bucky, but his mind is no longer focused on just keeping you safe and nearby while he’s fighting. He sees, despite the orders locked into his entire being, that you’re not safe, and his entire demeanor seems to shift.

He stops trying to fight. Stops trying to escape. And instead, he moves to get you out of the chopper.

You actually see genuine concern and fear in his eyes as he grabs at you, tugs you onto his lap and towards the door. But even the Winter Soldier isn’t quite quick enough.

The helicopter tilts. And you fall.

Everything after that happens in a blur.

Your new instincts kick in, time seeming to slow to a crawl in that way that’s becoming all-too familiar, and you bolt towards the door. The Winter Soldier’s hand slams out beside you, hard enough to knock the entire hunk of metal off of its hinges, and you feel a hand on your foot boosting you with enough strength to toss you what must be fifty feet from the chopper.

You barely have time to breathe before you hit the water, and the world goes quiet as you plunge into the murky river. The muffled sound of the helicopter crashing hits moments later, and you scramble to the surface choking on water and air and wondering how the fuck you’re not dead.

It feels like hours before Steve finds you, one strong arm suddenly wrapping around you and keeping you afloat. Bucky is on his other side, unconscious but alive, and you force yourself to kick alongside Steve as he pulls you both to the shore.

By the time you’re pulled onto a warehouse dock, you’re no longer gasping for air. You’re even relatively unscathed, despite the near death experience.

“You okay?” Steve asks, lifting Bucky’s large body like a sack of potatoes as you pull yourself to your feet on legs shaky with exhaustion. He’s looking you over for injuries, and from the relief on his face you see that you’re all in one piece. You nod. Your eyes fall to the unconscious supersoldier.

“Is he okay?”

Steve frowns, and the two of you begin making your way towards the nearby abandoned warehouse.

“We’re about to find out.”

-

It’s been hours.

They locked his arm in some big metal contraption, and he’s slumped over in the chair like a broken action figure. Over the course of the last couple of hours, you’ve gone from pacing around the room to sitting against the wall, tapping impatiently on the floor with your fingers.

What if he wakes up, and he’s still not Bucky? What if he’s never Bucky again?

You hate waiting. You hate not knowing.

Time trickles by.

You’re about to get up and start pacing again when you hear him groan, and you shoot to your feet so quickly you almost fall back down.

His eyes open, slowly, and he murmurs your name. You call Sam and Steve into the room and fight the urge to run over to him and try to pull him free with your bare hands.

“Which Bucky are we talking to?” Steve asks, calculated, and Bucky doesn’t look up when he answers.

“Your mom’s name is Sarah. You used to put newspapers in your shoes.” His gaze rises from the floor, and he looks to you. His eyes are tired, still bleary, but they soften as they meet yours. “You’ve burnt everything I’ve ever seen you try to cook, and you doodle schematics when you’re anxious about something.”

Relief floods through you, and don’t hesitate before you move over to the machine. One pleading look at Steve has him lifting it off of Bucky’s arm, and he’s immediately standing and pulling you into a desperate embrace.

“What did I do?” He asks, voice muffled by your hair. He pulls back, just barely, like he can’t fathom the idea of letting you go. His flesh hand smooths over your cheek, eyes searching you for injuries. “Are you alright? Did I…”

“No. No.” You soothe him, shaking your head and covering his hand with your own. You turn your face into it, pressing a kiss to his palm, and he lets out a relieved, shaky exhale. “You didn’t hurt me. You went a little King Kong on me for a minute, but you didn’t hurt me.”

“I understood that reference.” You hear Steve say behind you.

Bucky makes a face, confusion and concern clouding his features, and you shake your head again. “I’ll explain later. I’m okay. Don’t worry. You and me, right?”

He nods, and then he kisses you.

You kiss him back, the world melting away as you wrap your arms around his neck. He kisses you like he’s spent the last two days drowning, and this is the first time he’s been able to come up for air.

His arms wrap around your waist, and he lifts you a few inches into the air to deepen the kiss. You have no complaints about him picking you up like this, and you almost laugh at the thought.

A throat clears behind you, but neither of you notice or care enough to break for air. The familiar little jolts of electricity run through you at his touch, and your hands tangle in his hair as the smell of gunpowder and leather and pine invades your senses in the most wonderful way.

“Okay, okay.” You hear Sam say, and you finally pull back as your clouded mind reminds you that you’re not the only two people in the room. Bucky doesn’t look like he cares very much, and his eyes are burning so brightly you think he might just kiss you again before Sam speaks again.

“Save the hormones for later. We’ve got to figure some of this shit out.”

You nod in understanding, clearing your throat as Bucky lowers your feet back to the ground. He moves back a bit, but hesitates to let you go.

By the time you’ve all talked, discussed everything and figured out exactly why all of this might have happened, you’ve come to the conclusion that you might just be fucked.

Other super soldiers. Other Winter Soldiers. Like what they were trying to turn you into. Shit.

And you’re on your own. You can’t go to S.H.I.E.L.D. You can’t go to Stark. You have to take this threat down all by yourselves, with no weapons or backup.

“No chance you could give me access to a robotics lab in the next few hours, is there?” You ask, feeling painfully useless. You’ve got quick reflexes now, sure, but you’re untrained and out of your element. You barely held your own in Bucharest. How are you supposed to take down five super soldiers with nothing but your fists?

“I don’t think any of us have the clearance for that anymore.” Steve says. “But I might know someone who can help.”

And just like that, a plan begins to form.

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@vicmc624

[peasack]

Hello! You're work is so wonderful, I feel like you capture each Thunderbolt's personality so well! For requests, could you do some headcanons about teen!reader getting injured on a mission?

YESSS I LOVE THIS TROPEEEEEE, hope yall love it as much as I do!!!

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

✦ Thunderbolts reacting to you getting injured on a mission headcanons ✦

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✦ Alexei Shostakov

Immediate Panic. Alexei’s heart stops the moment he sees you fall or hears the news. His usual boisterous energy is gone, he's stone-cold serious as he barrels through the battlefield to get to you, bulldozing anything in his way.

Overwhelming Guilt. He feels like it's his job to protect you. Even after you're stable, he keeps muttering things like “This is my fault… I should have watched you better.”

Overprotective to the Max. For weeks after, you’re not allowed to go on missions without his permission. He treats you like you're made of glass, constantly fussing and hovering.

Physical Affection. He holds your hand when you're resting, not letting go unless someone forces him to.

Big Emotions. If you joke about the injury to lighten the mood, he gives you this cracked look like he's going to cry. He can't handle the idea of losing you, not another of his children.

✦ Yelena Belova

Silent Rage. Yelena goes dead quiet when she realizes you're seriously hurt. Her focus sharpens like a knife, and if someone did this to you, they’re not making it out alive.

Hypervigilance. She immediately calls in medical backup and does what she can to stabilize you, her hands trembling just a little though she won’t admit it.

Blames Herself. Even if it wasn’t her fault, she’s convinced she should’ve been there, she should’ve caught it, she should’ve protected you.

Acts Tough, But She’s Scared. She tells you you’re fine even while her voice cracks a little. When you’re finally resting, she stays by your bedside, quietly tracing your heartbeat with her fingers to calm herself down.

Determined to Make You Stronger. After you heal, she starts training with you more often, not to punish you, but to make sure you can always defend yourself.

✦ Bucky Barnes

Dead Silent. No yelling, no swearingjust this terrifying quiet as he pushes through enemies to get to you. His jaw is clenched so tight it aches.

Calm, But Shaking. He knows how to handle injuries, so he does exactly what needs to be done. But later, when you’re safe, his hands won’t stop shaking.

Avoids You at First. He’s scared to face you. The guilt eats him alive because you’re his kid in every way that matters and the thought that he almost lost you crushes him.

Soft Comfort Later. When he finally talks to you, he’s quiet, but you can tell how much it rattled him. He might grumble, “Don’t ever do that again,” but he pulls you into the safest hug you’ve ever had.

Heightened Protection. From then on, he stays closer to you in fights. You’ll notice him subtly putting himself between you and danger every time.

✦ John Walker

Immediate Action Mode. The second you’re hurt, John’s shouting orders, calling for backup, carrying you out if he has to. His protectiveness switches on like a reflex.

Angry at Himself. He’s furious he didn’t see it coming. He doesn’t really know how to deal with guilt, so he takes it out on himself by doubling his training, making sure the team is tighter, faster, stronger.

Fierce Lectures. He’s angry at you, but not really. He lectures you about being careful, about not taking unnecessary risks, about having his back. “You scared the hell outta me, kid.”

Actually Scared. It’s the first time you realize that John actually cares about you more than he lets on. He can’t handle the idea of losing you.

Soft Dad Moments. After the heat wears off, he’ll check in quietly, bring you snacks, sit with you in comfortable silence. You might even get a rare head pat.

✦ Ava Starr

She Vanishes. Ava disappears mid-battle to get to you. She’s faster than anyone else, phasing in and out until she reaches you.

Scarily Efficient. She’s the calmest in a crisis. She knows exactly what to do and gets you to safety quickly. But her breathing is ragged, like she’s on the edge of panic the entire time.

Crippling Guilt. She’s convinced she’s cursed to lose people she cares about. She won’t say it, but she thinks getting close to her is dangerous.

Withdraws a Bit. For a little while, she’ll pull away emotionally, trying to convince herself that it’s safer for you if you don’t rely on her too much.

Eventually Opens Up. You’ll have to push a little, but when you finally break through, she admits how much she was terrified of losing you. “You’re… you’re my family now. I don’t want to lose you.”

✦ Bob Reynolds

Immediate Breakdown. Bob is the one who falls apart the fastest. His powers are overwhelming, and so are his emotions. The second you get hurt, he freezes, like his brain just can’t process it.

Almost Loses Control. If someone’s responsible for your injury, the Sentry side of him nearly breaks loose. It takes everything in him to hold it back, to stay focused on helping you instead.

Utter Devastation. He won’t leave your side. He’s pacing, trembling, crying, fully convinced he’s failed you. “I was supposed to protect you. I’m supposed to keep you safe.”

Needs Reassurance. You comforting him while you’re the injured one is kind of inevitable. He needs you to tell him it’s not his fault.

Hyper-Attentive After. He starts over compensating, checking on you constantly, carrying you everywhere if he can, even when you’re mostly healed. He just… needs to know you’re safe.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

UGHHH I LOVED WRITING THISSSSS

Thank you guys so much for the support I've gotten, I can't tell you enough how much I love yall<3333

[tarotwithavi]

What is coming into your life?

+ some messages that you need to hear

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

This is a general reading so take what resonates and leave the rest.

Masterlist

paid services

Thank you so much for your love and support 💕🫶🏻

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 1

The first thing I’m getting is that many of you have been focusing on personal growth, and it’s paying off. I see a lot of you realizing that you’re truly capable of achieving anything you set your mind to. You’re stepping into a powerful energy of self-confidence and self-love, and this shift is going to attract a lot of good things into your life.

Keep your eyes open for new ideas, projects, or invitations that come your way. Whether it’s a sudden thought or an offer to attend an event, these opportunities could be really beneficial for you. Trust your instincts.

Some of you might be considering doing something that no one in your family has done before. This could be a bold move or a unique choice. I want to encourage you to take that leap. By doing so, you will break a cycle of family patterns, especially around standing up for yourself and your dreams. It’s a brave step, but it’s one that will bring healing and growth.

I’m also picking up that some of you will soon spend quality time with an important male figure in your life. This could be your father, grandfather, or someone you look up to with strong masculine energy. This time together will feel meaningful and may even strengthen your relationship. Some of you are thinking about having an important conversation with your parents. This could be about expressing gratitude for everything they’ve done for you, or it could be about something else on your mind. Either way, I see this discussion changing perspectives in a positive way, bringing deeper understanding.

I also sense that many of you will receive a new opportunity related to making more money. This might come through a job offer, a project, or a chance to use your talents in a way that allows you to earn from them. This is a great time to explore how your skills can be turned into something valuable.

However, I do feel that some of you are worried or stressed about something, particularly when it comes to the outcome of an exam, test, or project. Let me reassure you—you don’t need to worry. The results will be positive, and you’ll feel satisfied with how things turn out.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 2

You need to stop giving your time and energy to people who don’t appreciate or value you. If you are in a position where you can protect and care for the people you love, then do so without overthinking the outcome. However, if you’re not in a place to make decisions for them, it’s important not to try and control everything. Remember, before you can protect or help others, you need to protect yourself first. Secure your own place, take care of your own well-being, and then you can support those around you.

It’s also important to understand that you don’t always have to be strong. It’s okay to just be yourself. You don’t need to carry the weight of everyone else’s problems. Be honest about how you feel, and don’t be afraid to show vulnerability.

I see that many of you are incredibly talented, with unique skills and gifts. But what’s holding you back is your own self-doubt. You might feel like your talents won’t be appreciated or recognized, so you keep them hidden. But how will you ever find people who truly appreciate you if you don’t share what makes you special? Take this as a sign to put yourself out there. Show your talents to the world so you can connect with those who truly see your worth and value your skills.

For some of you, there’s a big change coming. You may be pushed in a new direction or forced to change the path you’re currently on because it’s no longer good for you. Don’t see this as a bad thing; instead, view it as an opportunity for growth and self-improvement. This change could lead you to a better version of yourself.

I also sense that some of you are stuck in a confusing or unstable relationship. The person you’re talking to or have feelings for might be giving you mixed signals , one moment they seem totally in love with you, and the next, they act like you don’t matter to them. If this is the case, it’s important to recognize that this is not a healthy situation. When someone’s actions make you doubt yourself, it’s a clear sign that something isn’t right. It’s better to walk away now, before it hurts you more in the long run.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 3

I see that in the coming weeks, you’re going to need to work very hard on something important. This could be related to a project, job, or personal goal you’ve been focused on. However, all this hard work might take a toll on your health, so it’s important to be extra careful and take good care of yourself. Don’t push yourself too hard. If you feel stressed or overwhelmed, make sure to take small breaks when needed. Remember, it’s okay to slow down sometimes.

The good news is that what you’re working on ; whether it’s something you’re involved with now or something you’ll start soon , is something you’ve been wanting for a long time. You’ve probably dreamed about this moment, so stay positive and trust the process.

I feel the need to remind you that you are deeply loved by the higher power, whether you believe in God, the universe, or Mother Nature. No matter how many mistakes you make or how unworthy you may feel at times, you are always loved and supported. You are part of something greater, and that love is unconditional.

Now, take a moment to think of a yes-or-no question that’s been on your mind. The answer to that question is “no.” This might be the guidance you need to help you move forward.

Back to the main message, something significant is going to happen within the next few weeks. I would say by the end of this month or the first week of October, you’ll experience an event that will bring up strong emotions. It could be overwhelming happiness or sadness, but either way, the feelings will be intense. Be prepared, and try not to let the situation control how you react. Stay calm and centered, no matter what comes your way.

Also, a little advice: some of you need to wear more yellow or add yellow to your wardrobe. This color might bring positive energy into your life. If you’ve been feeling unwell, like having a fever or headache, I see that it will likely pass within 48 hours. But if you’ve been having constant headaches, don’t ignore them ,it might be time to see a doctor just to be safe.

Lastly, angel wings and a purple or pink dress will be meaningful symbols for you, so keep an eye out for them. They might show up in your life in some special way.

I also feel like adding this

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[iheartmira]

Hey there! I was wondering if you could write something I been thinking about recently-

It's about Pure Vanilla, recently I saw the dialogue between Holy and him thought "Whoa this man surely doesn't take good care of himself, I would love to help him"... And then I realized I have various problems like he does with overworking or not eating (in my case, simply I don't feel on the mod of eating).

Then, I just began to wonder, how would he react to a reader (maybe friends but he or both are pinning for the other) that helps him with all his problems, as in, really kind and all, almost taking care of all of his worries and trying to help him improve, only to realize the reader is the same or worse on taking care of themselves- it would be like looking into a sick mirror, and if not like he can scold them because he is perfectly aware he does the same to himself- idk, just a silly idea

"sharing hardships" - pure vanilla cookie x reader

✧ ✧ ✧

the light of the vanilla kingdom’s grand library flickered softly, casting warm golden hues over the scrolls and tomes piled high on the wooden desk. pure vanilla cookie let out a small sigh, rolling his shoulders as he attempted to focus on the document before him.

the moment you noticed, you were already at his side, gently nudging a steaming cup of tea toward his hands. "you're overworking yourself again," you chided, your voice soft but firm.

he blinked, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he accepted the cup. "you always notice, don’t you?" his fingers brushed against yours for just a moment. brief, fleeting, but enough to send warmth through his chest.

"of course i do," you answered simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. you had made it your silent mission to keep an eye on him. he was a beacon of hope to so many, and yet, who was there to remind him that he, too, needed rest?

you were. always.

you made sure he ate when he got lost in his duties, that he slept when he refused to, that he let himself breathe between the endless responsibilities of being the kindhearted ruler he was. you picked up the burdens he never voiced, carried them as if they were your own, and never once did you complain.

it was only natural. until, one day, he saw it.

the way your hands trembled ever so slightly as you poured him another cup of tea. the exhaustion that pooled in your eyes when you thought no one was looking. how you never asked for help, never spoke of your own struggles, as if they were insignificant compared to the weight he carried.

it was like looking into a mirror.

"you…" his voice faltered as realization struck, his heart tightening with something unbearably heavy. "you do the same thing as i do."

you glanced up at him in surprise, the teapot still in your grasp. "what do you mean?"

pure vanilla cookie set his cup down with a soft clink. "you take care of me so diligently, but… have you ever stopped to take care of yourself?" his gaze was no longer just kind. it was searching, aching, almost pleading.

you opened your mouth, then hesitated. what could you say? that you were fine? that it didn’t matter, because he was the one who truly needed the care? because you had convinced yourself long ago that his well-being was more important than your own?

pure vanilla cookie sighed, shaking his head. "i cannot scold you," he admitted, "because i am no different."

a small, wistful chuckle escaped his lips. "but that is precisely why i cannot allow you to go on like this."

he reached out, taking your hand in both of his, cradling it with the same gentleness he used when healing others. "hardships are meant to be shared, are they not?" his voice was barely above a whisper, laced with something vulnerable, something tender.

you swallowed thickly, your heart twisting painfully. you had spent so long tending to his wounds, and yet here he was, holding your hand as if trying to heal the ones you never acknowledged.

"…then let's share them," you murmured at last. "together."

a silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy. it was warm, filled with something unspoken yet understood.

his fingers curled around yours just a little tighter.

"yes," he breathed. "together."

✧ ✧ ✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[sanatomis]

₊˚.⋆☾ ── 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄.

it’s 3am, and six year old megumi fushiguro just woke up from a nightmare. the thing he wants to do most? seek comfort in your arms.

content. this reader is gn, as the relationship with megumi isn’t developed enough yet for him to call her ‘mom’ but i plan on making future fics in the same timeline—which will then be a fem reader (just a heads up <3).

notes. healing my inner child through raising megumi with satoru? more likely than you might think. . .

It’s the soft shuffle of footsteps that first woke you from your slumber. Even after seven months of them being in your custody, you still haven’t gotten used to hearing footsteps that don’t belong to neither you nor Satoru—certainly not in the middle of the night. It’s probably why you were wide awake as soon as you heard them in front of your bedroom door.

As it stands, those footsteps don’t belong to you. Or Satoru. Or Tsumiki. They’re Megumi’s, and you know that because they’re so very quiet. As if he purposely makes himself small as to not stand out. Light as a feather in order to go unnoticed. Though, the small light in your hallway betrays him. It illuminates his figure, and allows you to see the shadows of his feet from underneath the door.

You glance at the digital clock that’s placed on your nightstand. 3:32am. It’s been ten minutes since the boy arrived at your bedroom door, and nine since you woke up. Will he finally summon the courage to enter, now?

A small frown settles between your brows. You attempt once more to untangle yourself from your boyfriend’s tight grip, to flee from his arms in order to take the little boy in front of your door into your own; it’s all futile, of course. When Satoru sleeps, he sleeps deeply, and he does so with you in his arms or not at all. He holds onto you as if you were a plushie, a teddy bear he could squish against him as much as his heart desires.

It’s endearing, sure, but it does put you in a bit of a pickle at the moment. You sigh, and glance at your friendly, sleeping giant. Satoru seems at peace. Cuddled into you from behind, it seems as if he doesn’t carry a care in the world. You smile, and make a mental correction. It’s very endearing—but still, doesn’t solve your current problem.

Tearing your eyes away from your boyfriend, you throw a worried look towards the door. He’s still there, and still lacking the courage.

“Megumi,” you whisper.

He stops pacing abruptly. It’s clear he heard you, despite the barely audible mumble of his name. And, though he's startled that you caught him, he doesn’t leave.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. There’s an attempt at pouring as much softness and gentleness in your voice as you can, not wanting to you scare him off. “You can come in, the door’s unlocked.”

The door opens very, very slowly. It seems everything Megumi does, he does so without creating too much of a fuss. All his movements are meek, careful—they’re made to not bother anybody. It saddens you a little, the fact that he’s so accustomed to making himself as invisible and easy to manage as possible.

A messy fluff of black hair appears in your line of sight. You suppress an amused smile at the sight. He shyly peeks into your room, one of his hands resting against the side of the door.

“Hey,” you say softly, and your eyes follow him as he quietly walks over to your side of the bed. He stops in front of you, but doesn’t speak. “Are you okay?”

It doesn’t take you long to notice the teary eyes, or the water staining his cheeks. You look at him sadly, and carefully bring a hand up to wipe the liquid off his cheek. He’s trying to be brave, you can see. Though the way his bottom lip shakes, and his eyes fill with tears again, completely breaks your heart.

“What’s wrong, Gumi?”

Megumi is really, really trying to keep himself together—ever the little adult that he is. Though his sniffles are quiet, they’re still there. They’re still present, and he’s unable to hide them. He’s crying. He’s crying, and came to you for comfort.

You shift on the bed, once again attempting to leave Satoru’s hold, and fail just as you have done before. A conflicted sigh leaves you. There’s little you can do to soothe him if you can’t get up. . .but he’s crying. The stoic, brave little kid that’s been residing within your apartment for many months now is crying.

Another tear falls down his cheek, and you make it your mission to catch it. “It’s okay,” you whisper softly, wiping the droplet away. The rustle of the covers beneath your hands is the loudest sound so far, as you push them aside to make place for him. “It’s okay, baby, come here.”

The solution to your problem isn’t one that’s welcomed eagerly. Megumi hesitates to snuggle under the covers with you—no, not with you, but with your menace of a boyfriend. He sniffs again, but doesn’t move.

“Gumi?” You mumble. A part of you fears it’s too much, too soon. It’s been seven months, and he’s difficult to open up. Perhaps cuddling into you is a step too far. However, then you see it; the way his eyes dart between you and Satoru. It answers a lot of your questions. “He’s fast asleep. You don’t need to worry.”

It seems he’s still a little unsure. Megumi gets rid of a lump in his throat, and frowns. “Are you. . .sure?”

“Mhm, he’s out like a light.”

That’s enough for him. Megumi crawls into the bed, and (albeit carefully) settles himself within your arms. He’s so very small—is what you think when he curls up against your chest. Such an adorable little kid, who definitely didn’t deserve the hardships he’s had to endure so far.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” You ask, voice muffled as you rest one of your cheeks on top of his head. “We don’t have to, but I’m here if you’d like to.”

Megumi’s breathing evens out. The shaky breaths and hasty intakes of air settle down, and you feel a sense of relief.

“I had a bad dream,” he confesses. It’s clear he feels a little stupid, reaching for you when he had something as fickle as a bad dream. “It’s—It’s not that important, but. . .”

“Why wouldn’t it be, hm?” You interrupt him, and gently brush a hand through his messy hair. It’s something he appreciates, as his eyes slowly flutter shut while he enjoys the feeling. “If it upsets you, it’s always important, Megumi.”

There’s another sniff. He’s crying again, though it might be for a different reason this time. Your arms hold him gently, and you sigh sadly when his small hands bunch up the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You don’t push him any further. If he wishes to talk about what bothers him, then you’ll be here to receive him. Until then, you’ll wait.

“. . .You won’t leave us, right?”

Though, you hadn’t expected his worries to break your heart. They’re vocalised by a voice so small, so pitifully tiny that it nearly makes you doubt that it was Megumi who said them—Megumi, who’s usually all snark and bite towards your ever loving boyfriend. The mere fact has you squeeze him a little tighter.

“Of course, I won’t,” you assure him.

There are things you want to ask him. Such as, what brought this on? How come you feel this way, now? Is there anything I can do for you? But you don’t. It’s not what he needs right now.

“And—And what if you and him break up,” he mumbles. You realise he must be truly upset, and genuinely worried if he refers to Satoru as ‘him’ rather than some insulting word. “What will happen to me and Tsumiki, then?”

You smile, and kiss the top of his head. “We won’t break up, so, there’s no need to worry about that, baby.”

“But—But what if you do?”

There’s a sincere concern in his eyes. You grab his face and gently hold it in the palm of your hands. “Well,” you say. “I suppose, I’ll just have to take you two with me.”

Megumi’s bottom lip starts to tremble again. He forces it to still, just as he forces the tears in his eyes away by blinking. “Do you promise?” He looks at Satoru, and frowns a little despite his sadness. “You—You can’t leave me here with him, okay?”

It can’t be helped. You laugh, and it’s a little louder than you initially meant for it to be. There’s a hand placed in front of your mouth rather quickly, not your own, no, but Megumi’s. He looks at you with wide eyes, almost in disbelief that you managed to find the humour in this situation. You smile against his hand, and he only (hesitantly) removes it when you open your mouth to speak.

“I promise,” you say. “I won’t leave you or Tsumiki—ever. Not even with Satoru.”

That does the trick, it seems, as the boy settles back into your arms after giving you a swift nod and small mutter of acknowledgement. He hides his face into the crook of your neck, and sighs deeply. It’s filled with a lot of things; relief, sadness, but above all fatigue. It seems that, now that he’s calming down, his lack of sleep is catching up to him.

“Gumi,” you whisper, and start carding your fingers through his hair again. The slow movement soothes him, as his eyes slowly start to close. “Would you like to sleep with us tonight?”

You feel him tense up in your hold. It was to be expected, you think. Despite that, you deem it important for him to make that decision himself. You could easily let him doze off, but you know he will berate himself for it the next morning.

Megumi doesn’t move. “. . .He’ll be annoying about it.”

It’s not difficult to realise that the ‘he’ he speaks of is your darling boyfriend, who, admittedly, would be annoying about it if he were to wake up with Megumi suddenly asleep in your bed. It’s been seven months, and the kid seems to have Satoru’s personality down-pat. His comments would be relentless.

“No, he won’t,” you assure him. Though your boyfriend can be considered childish, he’s also compassionate—and you don’t doubt for a second that he’ll cut down on the teasing when you speak to him about Megumi’s troubles.

The kid moves in your arms. Megumi shuffles around a little to look at you, and doesn’t bat an eye when you gently brush a few hairs out of his face.

“How are you so sure?” He mumbles, the usual grumpiness when speaking of your boyfriend slowly but surely returns. It makes you smile; it’s a sign he’s gradually doing better again.

“Because,” you say, and gently poke his cheeks. His eyes crinkle, and his nose scrunches up a little, but he lets you do as you wish regardless. “I’ll talk to him. He won’t say a word, okay?”

There is little in the world that Megumi trusts less than Satoru’s ability to keep his mouth shut, but—if he were to appoint something that he trusts most, then it would surely be your ability to control your manchild of a boyfriend.

Megumi looks at you. In silence, of course. It’s one of the few things he has never minded. He blinks up at you. Once, twice, and then he goes to rest on your chest again.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I trust you.”

The three small words uttered by the six year old in your arms are enough to squeeze your heart. They meant the world to you, as they did to him. Your hold on him tightens momentarily, filled with too much affection to bear.

That went well, you dare to think. Could’ve gone a lot worse. In his hazy state, Megumi curls into you further—and rests one of his arms over your waist, just underneath Satoru’s. You fight a smile. Yeah, that could’ve gone a lot worse.

EXTRA!

It takes Megumi a little longer to get out of bed the next morning. Not because he’s so much more comfortable in your enormous (and ridiculously soft) king-sized bed—though, that does add to it—but simply because he’s a little nervous.

Both you and Satoru have already gotten up, which means the white-haired man must have seen him sleeping next to the two of you. But, it also means that you must have seen your boyfriend by now, which means you have spoken to him about. . .

He wants to get up. He should get up. You told him you’d speak to Satoru, and Megumi trusts you.

And it appears that his faith in you wasn’t unfounded, as the only thing that greets him when he walks into the kitchen is an overtly aggressive and way too enthusiastic rub over his head. Megumi swats Satoru’s hand away immediately, the regular scowl settling on his lips as the man rattles on and on about the breakfast you two had prepared for them.

Though, as irritated as he might be when finally sitting down at the table with the three of you—that stupid rub over the top of his head doesn’t feel nearly as bad now.

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

[theskywithin]

🌿 Important Note: Jupiter is About to Bring Blessings, But You Need to Change Your Mindset to Receive Them

Jupiter moves into Cancer on June 7, and it wants to give you something real. Not just inner peace, though that’s part of it. Not just wisdom, though that’s coming too. It wants to give you comfort, softness, support, love, belonging. It wants to help you feel safe enough to finally exhale. But here’s the catch: Jupiter can offer you the whole ocean but if you keep showing up with a cup, you’ll only ever taste a sip. This isn’t about manifesting harder. It’s about getting honest about the parts of you that still brace when something good shows up. The parts that shrink, deflect compliments, that say “I’m fine” instead of “I need help.” The parts that feel more comfortable struggling than receiving. Because receiving takes trust takes presence, willingness to let go of control, believe you’re allowed to feel good without earning it through exhaustion. Jupiter in Cancer wants to nourish the parts of you that were never nurtured. To give you warmth without condition. To remind you that being held is not weakness, that comfort is not complacency, that abundance doesn’t only come when you suffer enough to deserve it.

So this week, ask yourself:

🌿 Where am I still rejecting what I say I want? 🌿 What would it feel like to be supported, not tested? 🌿 Am I ready to make peace with ease?

Because the blessings are coming but they’ll pass right by if the door is closed. So open it. Let life meet you with both hands full. You’ve carried enough... It’s time to receive.

♈️ Aries (Sun and Rising) Let someone else take care of things sometimes. Ask for help with the move, the bills, the emotions. Upgrade your space, get serious about your living situation, and stop pretending you're fine when you're overwhelmed. Receiving starts with honesty.

affirmation: “I am safe to slow down. I receive support, security, and softness without guilt.”

♉️ Taurus (Sun and Rising) Say yes to the invitation. Follow up with that contact. Start the project even if it’s not perfect. Stop gatekeeping your own ideas, someone out there wants to support them. And if you’ve been thinking about buying a car, laptop, or course? It’s time.

affirmation: “I receive new opportunities by speaking up. My ideas are allowed to be heard and paid.”

♊️ Gemini (Sun and Rising) Raise your rates. Ask for the raise. Spend like someone who knows more is coming. Invest in comfort, a better mattress, new clothes, food that nourishes instead of numbs. Start treating your security like it’s already growing, because it is.

affirmation: “I am open to more income, more worth, and more ease. Receiving is my new normal.”

♋️ Cancer (Sun and Rising) Update your bio. Launch the thing. Walk into the room like it’s already yours. This is your moment but you have to meet it halfway. Take the compliment. Say thank you. Stop brushing off the attention you asked the universe to send you.

affirmation: “I am ready to be seen, trusted, and celebrated. I welcome every door that opens for me.”

♌️ Leo (Sun and Rising) Rest on purpose. Delete the productivity app if it’s making you anxious. Take the sabbatical. Say no before you crash. Receiving for you looks like canceling plans and still believing you're worthy. Choose peace even when no one’s watching.

affirmation: “Rest is not a threat to my power. I receive healing and peace without having to earn it.”

♍️ Virgo (Sun and Rising) Start the group chat. Apply for the grant. Text the mentor. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. Receiving looks like sharing your goals out loud and letting people rise to meet you. It’s time to reconnect with the ones who actually get it.

affirmation: “Support is safe. I allow the right people into my vision. I don’t have to carry it all.”

♎️ Libra (Sun and Rising) Stop second-guessing your readiness. You are the expert now. Update your resume, pitch yourself, walk taller. Say yes to the role, the opportunity, the next step even if it scares you. Jupiter’s trying to promote you. Let it.

affirmation: “I am no longer waiting for permission. I receive recognition, respect, and my next chapter.”

♏️ Scorpio (Sun and Rising) Book the trip. Enroll in the class. Tell your story. Publish the work. Everything expands when you stop keeping it small and personal. You don’t have to have it all figured out to be inspiring. Take the leap, the world wants more of you.

affirmation: “I receive expansion by stepping into the world. I don’t have to stay hidden to be safe.”

♐️ Sagittarius (Sun and Rising) Start the healing process you’ve been avoiding. Open the scary email. Go to therapy. Let people in. Money might come from surprising sources this year, but so will emotional support if you stop pretending you don’t need either.

affirmation: “I am safe to trust. I receive emotional support, financial blessings, and deep healing.”

♑️ Capricorn (Sun and Rising) Be vulnerable in the conversation. Sign the contract. Trust the new partner. You don’t have to manage every dynamic alone. You’re allowed to want companionship in business, in love, in life. Let people show up for you.

affirmation: “I don’t need to do it alone. I receive love, partnership, and mutual effort without fear.”

♒️ Aquarius (Sun and Rising) Fix the schedule. Adjust your work hours. Upgrade your workspace. Say no to the clients that drain you. Receiving starts with protecting your energy, not burning it to prove you care. Make your daily life more livable now, not later.

affirmation: “I let go of burnout. I receive structure, support, and work that actually works for me.”

♓️ Pisces (Sun and Rising) Pick up the paintbrush. Go on the date. Share your work. Post the thing. Not everything has to be a masterpiece, it just has to be you. Jupiter’s ready to grow what brings you joy. But you have to stop keeping it secret.

affirmation: “I don’t have to prove my joy. I receive celebration, inspiration, and space to create.”

SUMMER SALE!!! My book is on sale until June 15 !! There's a full preview of the Moon chapter waiting for you 🌙 Click the link below to read and feel into it 💌

[heliads]

A Sea of Lies (1) - nikolai lantsov

As a Second Army Tidemaker, you're certain your latest mission to go undercover as a Ravkan spy in Sturmhond's fleet is nothing more than a fool's errand. The dread privateer certainly has tricks up his teal sleeves, but maybe not the ones you'd expected.

masterlist / part two

You start your day thinking the Darkling is making a joke, and that is how you know your life is over.

Nothing about today was a laughing matter, you should have sensed it from the start. You’ve been sleeping off your last mission for the last week, alternating between stopping by the Healers to fix up your wounds and helping to train some of the new Etherealki as Baghra loses her patience, but you’ve managed to piece together plenty of time to rest. The Second Army is always low on soldiers, whether from enemy attacks, or, shamefully enough, friendly fire from the First, so there’s never as much time to recover as you’d like.

The Darkling had called you into his War Room to receive your latest assignment. As one of his best spies, you’ve gained enough of his begrudging respect to be allowed into this hallowed hall of secrets, but you know better than to peer too closely at anything. Grisha have disappeared for less.

You swear it’s always colder in here, far from the never-silent throngs of Grisha outside, coaxed away from the slightest hints of sunlight. Maybe it’s just him. Regardless, you pull the sapphire fabric of your kefta closer to you, fingers running nervously over the fine blue stitching. You knew you were a Tidemaker ever since you were a child, and you could hardly be anything else now. The Darkling keeps you too busy to forget a thing like that.

He’s waiting for you when you arrive, dark eyes as shrewd as always, and he doesn’t say a word until the heavy door closes behind you. “Good morning, Y/N. I trust you’ve had enough time to recover since your last assignment?”

You nod on instinct. “Yes, thank you.”

It’s a lie. Your bones still ache from where you’d been thrown, the fractures so fresh from healing that you can feel the joins from standing alone. The Darkling isn’t interested in excuses, though. All he wants is a soldier, and you are that.

He inclines his head in acceptance. “I’m glad to hear it. I have use of your talents as a Tidemaker, although this time not on the warfront.”

You lean forward curiously, unable to stop yourself. “Sir?”

The Darkling gestures for you to come closer, indicating a map of Ravka and its harbors on the table in front of him. Several areas along the coastline have been marked with red, even stretching so far as to touch the borders of Fjerda up north and Shu Han down below you.

“These markings indicate targets of recent attacks by the pirate, Sturmhond, and his armies. He’s been intercepting merchant or military ships, often ones carrying Grisha, and taking their vessels and crews under his command. He’s grown more bold during recent months, enough to garner my attention and that of the king.”

The Darkling’s tone sours when he mentions the king, and you can’t help but share his sympathies. It is well known that the king of Ravka is nothing more than a greasy tyrant, but he’s a greasy tyrant that controls the fate of the Little Palace and all the Grisha within, so the Darkling must tolerate his whims, even when it obviously causes him great pain.

The Darkling clears his throat once and continues. “I’m interested in the great number of Grisha he’s managed to amass, which is why you’re going to be the one to get me information on them. You’ll head to the harbors and find a reason to convince Sturmhond to let you join his crew. Once he sees your abilities as a Tidemaker, he should be more than eager to let you aboard. After that, you’ll send me regular updates on the number of Grisha under his rule, as well as their designations and levels of expertise.”

It’s so absurd you almost laugh, and you’re glad you don’t, because the look in the Darkling’s eyes is nothing less than serious. “You want me to lie to one of the greatest liars on the True Sea?”

The Darkling stares at you coldly. “Are you questioning my assignment, Y/N?”

Your breath freezes in your chest. “Of course not,” you say hastily, “I just want– I want to be sure I understand the full expectations, that’s all. Won’t he be suspicious that someone from Ravka suddenly wants to join his ship?”

The Darkling waves this away. “Sell him a sob story about inhumane treatment from your homeland, I’m sure that damned pirate will eat it up. Criminals like him are more interested in a show than clear reason.”

You find this difficult to believe given that Sturmhond has been nothing if not faithful in his blockades and captures, but you know better than to argue with the Darkling. “Of course. And when do I leave?”

“Tomorrow at dawn,” the Darkling answers calmly. “There’s an early morning passage through the Shadow Fold, and from there you’ll make your way to the harbor. I’ll have other spies ready to guide you on your way, and they’ll be the ones to receive your reports whenever Sturmhond’s ship docks.”

Tomorrow at dawn. It’s so soon for your life to descend into chaos. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

“I know you won’t,” the Darkling says, eyeing you as you leave the room.

You retire back to your chambers and start to freak out. Sturmhond is infamous even without the Darkling’s description of his exploits. He’s legendary for backstabbings and betrayals, raids and attacks and mutines. This is no easy job. You’ve killed before, being an active spy in the midst of a war does that to you, but engaging with Sturmhond will require cruelty of a level you’re not sure you possess. And the Darkling expects you to lie to a man like that? You’re sure you’d have better luck trying to drown yourself in the Unsea.

Still, it’s not as if you have a choice. When the Darkling speaks, Grisha answer. You pack your bags mechanically, say goodbye to your friends, and take your last look at the Little Palace as you leave at dawn the next day. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ll never see it again. You’ve had dangerous missions before, yes, but this– this feels like suicide.

Even the journey to Sturmhond comes with its perils. You have to cross the Shadow Fold to even make it to the ocean. The moment the Fold swallows you whole, the darkness presses upon you, every shadow like a tangible weight on your back. You swear you hold your breath the whole trip, especially when the cries of volcra echo around you, but you’re lucky and no one gets hurt.

From there, the only thing to do is establish your cover, and try to find the most famous privateer across the whole of the True Sea. You sadly left your kefta behind in West Ravka, and miss its comforting weight already, the feel of the embroidery against your fingertips. You’re dressed instead in the typical garb of the locals, albeit with several knives hidden on your person. You may be quite powerful as a Tidemaker, but it’s not always best to make that obvious.

The Darkling had sent you to this specific town because he’d heard rumors that Sturmhond would be docking nearby, and as per usual, his information was good. Although it costs you a few drinks to win over enough informants, you find out where you could find his crew, and hopefully even the captain himself. You thank your sources kindly, and head out. 

By now, it’s well into the evening, the moon casting milky ripples onto the dark water of the harbor. You can’t help yourself and take a few moments to breathe in the smell of the sea, content with the familiar feeling of so much water around you, all tugging gently at your mind with the promise of being yours to command. It is in this moment of stillness that you hear something off behind you. It sounds like a scuffle.

Your soldier’s training makes you search for the source of the disturbance in the dark. You promise yourself that you’ll let it go if it’s just a few drunken louts looking for a quick bit of trouble, but you’re glad you looked when you draw closer and realize it’s a few locals harassing a Grisha. By the looks of it, a traveling Inferni had tried to use his gifts to warm his hands, and had attracted the notice of a few less than welcoming otkazat’sya.

You’re on them in a moment, you can’t help it. You have to help other Grisha, solidarity among practitioners of the Small Science is all any of you have. You call up a thick curl of water from the bay, and thrust it between the unfriendly parties, slamming the otkazat’sya attackers to the ground in a rush of dark sea. They’re out cold in a second’s flash.

The Inferni blinks up at you, startled. “Thanks for the rescue,” they mumble at last, eyes wide in the dark night.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, extending a hand to help them up.

They take it gladly enough, and it gives you enough time to take in their clothing. It’s mussed, rumpled, like it’s spent the better part of a few months wadded up in a trunk, and the cloth itself is bleached from excess time in the sun. It could just be your own fortuitous good luck, but you might have stumbled upon a member of the very crew you’ve been hoping to find.

You decide to take a risk. “You wouldn’t happen to sail on one of these ships, would you?”

The Inferni regards you warily. “So what if I do?”

You hold up your hands in mock surrender. “I’m not like those idiots, I’m not looking for a fight. Actually, I’m trying to find a way out of Ravka. You might not have noticed it, but it’s not always nice to be Grisha in these parts.”

A ghost of a smile flickers over the Inferni’s face. “Alright, I might know something. My ship is good for Grisha, too. You’re in luck, we’re looking for a few new sailors. I’m headed back there right now if you want to talk to the captain.”

You’d love to talk to the captain. “I’d be quite grateful if you could make that happen. What ship do you sail on?”

The words out of the Inferni’s lips are music to your ears. “The Volkvolny. I sail for Sturmhond. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

You have to be careful not to let your grin stretch too broadly. “Not in the slightest.”

The Inferni– Dobrin, you find out his name along the way– has served with Sturmhond for about a year now. He’s fleeing similar circumstances as you supposedly are. Whenever money runs low in a small town, Grisha are the first ones blamed. Sturmhond is apparently quite welcoming of Grisha. Dobrin claims the Volkvolny is the first place he’s actually felt at home with so many other Grisha. It makes you feel a pang of nostalgia for the Little Palace.

The Little Palace– you’d been there since you were a child, so you can hardly remember life without it. The few memories you do have of the time before Os Alta are often terrifying, full of disapproving town elders and an absolute horror over the power you couldn’t yet control. Your family sent you to the Darkling when you were very small, and haven’t yet tried to find you again. It’s about as silent and obvious as any door slammed in your face could be.

Once your powers as a Tidemaker became apparent, you were quickly sent on missions. There’s no age limit for soldiers, not in a war, and certainly not for the Second Army. You were needed. That’s what mattered. It’s impossible to imagine the Little Palace without coupling it with the battlefield. It was home but not, more of a stylized version of military barracks than anything else. Recently, you’ve been there less and less, typically only staying around for a week or so before receiving a new assignment. This latest trip was your shortest yet.

Hearing Dobrin talk about how he gets to practice his powers with the other Grisha on the safety of their ship, though, you start thinking about what it was like in your classes as a child, how for those first few sacred years all you knew were your limits and what it felt like to break them. You weren’t a soldier yet, just a Grisha, and it was wonderful. You’d never felt more free.

You assumed Sturmhond’s Grisha would be no better than glorified Grisha soldiers, albeit working against the law instead of for it, and you’re certain Dobrin isn’t telling you anything important or risky yet, but you can’t stop a pang in your heart imagining what it could be like to grow up free on the seas instead of as a young member of the Second Army.

There’s no use in imagining what-ifs, however, and soon enough you’re forcing yourself to focus again as Dobrin leads you onto the Volkvolny. It’s hidden cleverly in a far annex of the harbor, disguised by what you’re certain is a combination of Fabrikator skill and Squaller fog. You can just make out the shapes of several figures through the shifting gloom of night and small science as you make your way aboard. You wonder how many of them are Grisha, and how many of them suspect you already.

Dobrin guides you further into the depths of the ship, stopping at last before a door and knocking smartly on it. “I’ve gone recruiting again,” he says, mirth bubbling over in his voice, and you get the sense this has happened more than a few times.

He’s answered readily enough by someone inside calling you both to enter. Dobrin pushes open the door to the captain’s quarters and nods at you to follow him. You do so warily, looking around you for other seamen in case of an attack.

All that’s waiting inside for you is a single man. His hair is dark like rust, rough from sea-breeze yet somehow tousled in a way that feels intentionally charming. The lamplight casts harsh shadows on his face, but the effect is cut by the roguish grin on his face, as well as the lurid teal coat he somehow pulls off. This can only be Sturmhond.

Sturmhond stares at you intently, and although the Darkling’s spies were certain he was otkazat’sya, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s regarding you with a Corporalki’s sense for blood. You’re certain he can see right through your alibi to the truth of your situation, to the truth of you. Only one kind of man can make an empire on the cold and bloody seas, and it’s not the type to take betrayal lightly. You have sealed your fate. All that’s left to do is see how long Sturmhond gives you before he slits your throat.

“Who have you brought me this time, Dobrin?” Sturmhond asks, not taking his eyes off you.

Dobrin answers immediately. “A Tidemaker, and a powerful one at that. She got me out of a tricky situation with some thugs down by the docks, and mentioned she needed a new place to stay. One a bit friendlier to Grisha, to say the least.”

“Well, I’m nothing if not approachable,” the True Sea’s most dangerous privateer hums. “That’s awfully good timing on your part, Tidemaker, to stumble across my hapless friend here just when he needed help. The Saints must be on your side.”

His words are deliberate and slow, the silent accusation obvious.

“If there are any Saints out there, they left me for dead a long time ago,” you answer steadily. “Maybe your crewmate was just lucky enough to time his catastrophe when a Tidemaker happened to be walking by.”

Sturmhond’s face splits in a laugh, although his eyes remain icy. “She’s got you there, Dobrin.”

Dobrin rolls his eyes, although he doesn’t seem annoyed. “Apologies, sir. I’ll try to burn otkazat’sya soldiers to ash next time. That’ll go over well.”

Sturmhond gestures between the two of you, the picture of innocence. “We find ourselves with a conundrum, Tidemaker. I cannot insist he commit such an obvious act of violence when we’re trying not to make enemies with the beautiful people of this town, but I do insist that my crew be safe. How do you suggest we handle this?”

“Let me stick around,” you counter. “It’s a lot easier to blame dead drunks on a misstep into the harbor than full-body immolation.”

Sturmhond claps once, twice, and you have to fight not to flinch. The sound is sudden and jarring in his quiet office, and rings around you like a parade drum. “There you have it, Dobrin. Negotiation. The last trick of the witty. I’m convinced, are you?”

“Quite,” Dobrin answers, winking at you when you manage to wrest your glance from Sturmhond long enough to glance his way.

“Wonderful,” Sturmhond says, drawing out the first syllable as long as possible before continuing, “We’ll start you on a probationary period, my dear Tidemaker, and re-evaluate after a few weeks. We’ll set sail in the morning, so you’d best stay the night here lest you miss our departure. There’s a few open hammocks, Dobrin will show you the way. Oh– one last thing.”

Sturmhond stands up slowly, deliberately, and walks around the table until he’s hardly a breath away. He regards you coolly, and just when you’re certain you’re about to die, he holds out his hand. “We’ve forgotten a proper introduction. They call me Sturmhond.”

You stare at his hand; tanned and wiry, strengthened by callouses from guns or knives or swords or all of the above, and certainly capable of killing you within moments, powers or lack thereof be damned.

“Y/N,” you say at last.

“A lovely name,” he says. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Y/N.”

You reach out and shake his hand. “Likewise.”

His grip is strong but not overly so, just enough to remind you who he is before he lets go again, allowing Dobrin to lead you from his office once more. You glance over your shoulder one last time before disappearing down the hold and see that he’s still watching you, eyes searching yet– amused, somehow. Like he knows something you don’t. Like he’s already heard this story before, but is still quite delighted by the ending.

Then the door shuts behind you and he’s cut off at once. You do your best to focus on Dobrin giving you a hasty tour and congratulating you on joining the crew. You’re introduced to a few other crewmates you pass as well, although on a ship with Squallers aboard, you’re certain whispers of your arrival have already flown from one end to the next. You’re shown to a hammock alongside the rest of the crew, and prepare to settle in for the night.

By all accounts, your mission is a success so far. However, the ease in which you were able to join Sturmhond’s crew makes you hesitate. If you wanted, you could have killed the dread privateer in a heartbeat, and if it weren’t for the fact that you want him alive for now, you would have. He has to know that, has to expect danger from all sides. Why would he possibly allow a stranger into the very heart of his ship with so little questioning? It’s as if he already knew what to expect, as if he already knew you, but that’s impossible. You’re certain you’d remember a face like that.

Yet when you think back to your last glimpse of him, you can’t help but remember his expression– entertained, somehow, but prepared. One doesn’t become the unlawful king of the seas without extensive ability to handle threats. Somehow, you get the sense that Sturmhond has the advantage over you, even though you’re the one sent to spy on him. You’ll have to turn the tables on him soon enough, but how do you trick a liar and a crook?

You’ve done all you can for the night. What matters is that you’re on board and ready to set sail. All that’s left to do is attempt to get some sleep and prepare yourself for the morning. Whatever dawn brings you, you’ll have to be up for anything, even the devious machinations of Sturmhond himself.

grishaverse tag list: @blondsauduun, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @saltcxrcle, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @bl606dy, @gods-fools-heroes, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @budugu, @aoi-targaryen, @a-taken-url

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

[gullemec]

Responsibility

Bitten - Part IV

Bitten Masterlist ao3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: A glimpse into the beginning of your working relationship with Joel. Rare moments of relief scattered amid pain. You try to break through the impenetrable forcefield that is Joel Miller.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, gun use, description of injuries, Tess is here <3 (and a little mean but she's allowed), 24/7 365 ANGST, blood

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 8.3k

A/N: I'm going to try and get these chapters out on a more reliable schedule going forward! I just finished golden cage so of course i have to start another series alongside this one lol. big love to everyone who's commented/liked/reblogged or otherwise shown love for this series!

You squint against the sunlight reflecting off the painfully bright glare of fresh snow. The first snow of the season. The stark white landscape stretches out around you, broken only by the dark skeletons of bare trees clawing endlessly up into the pale blue sky. 

A bonafide Montana winter. 

It’s beautiful in a way that feels cruel, indifferent. The kind of beauty that doesn’t care whether you live or die.

Your fingers tremble as you unfold the map in your hands, the stiff paper crackling in the stillness. You trace the crisscrossing roads and the snaking blue lines of rivers, trying to pinpoint your location. If your navigation is correct, and there’s a decent chance it isn’t, you’re a couple of days’ hike from the Wyoming border.

You huff out a breath, the air materializing in front of you in fleeting clouds before dissipating into nothing. The cold bites at your exposed skin, seeping through your mismatched layers of clothing.

Joel walks a few steps ahead, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the snow, his rifle slung low across his back. The weight of his presence is as steady and unyielding as ever. It’s a quiet sort of reassurance, even now, even after everything.

You’d left the cabin early this morning, Joel sufficiently convinced that you’d healed enough to travel again. The weight of your pack digs into your shoulders with each step, the dull ache in your side a persistent reminder of how fragile you still are. But you don’t say a word about it.

You can still feel the way Joel’s hands had ghosted over your side earlier, inspecting your stitches, his touch tentative and fleeting as he helped you prepare for the journey. It sent shivers down your spine, a sensation that was both delicious and unbearable.

In another life, that touch might have meant something different. Something softer. The way a lover might gently wake you, their fingertips trailing over your skin with reverence. But here, now, it’s tainted. Blood-stained. An act of survival, not intimacy. Of necessity, not affection.

The pain flares again as you shift the pack on your shoulders, but you stifle the wince before it can reach your face. You grit your teeth and force yourself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other.

Because you know Joel would stop if you asked.

He’d find you both a safe spot to rest, grumbling all the while about how you’re slowing him down, about how daylight’s burning. But he’d do it. Without hesitation, without complaint that mattered.

And that’s exactly why you don’t ask.

His care, however gruff and begrudging it seems on the surface, is a kindness you’ve decided you don’t deserve.

You glance up at him again, his figure framed against the stark white of the snow. He’s quiet, as he often is, his focus ahead as though the horizon holds all the answers. There’s something almost comforting about the way he carries himself, all rugged determination and quiet strength. 

Your North Star. Strong and dependable and a thousand miles away. 

The space between you feels lighter than it did before you reached the cabin. Ever since the night he held you after your nightmare, the tension had eased. The conversations felt lighter, his gaze less accusatory. Still, there is an undeniable distance here that neither of you knows how to cross. 

The fresh snow crunches underfoot, the only sound in the otherwise silent wilderness. You focus on it, on the rhythmic sound of your steps and his, on the steady cadence as you push forward. Anything to distract yourself from the gnawing ache in your side and the heavier ache in your chest.

Your eyes drift back to the map in your hands, the lines and symbols blurring as your eyes readjust. Wyoming is out there somewhere, a distant promise of… what? Safety? Redemption?

You’re not sure.

It was what all the rumours said, what you’d heard from fellow QZ residents.

Heard they’ve got a place out in Wyoming. Some kinda safe haven. No FEDRA, no ration cards. Just people lookin’ out for each other.

"Sounds like a fairy tale,” Joel had said when you first told him about it.

And it had seemed like a fairytale back then, but it was enough. Once upon a time, it was enough.

…

You were perched on an overturned crate, tucked in the shadows of the alleyway behind Joel’s apartment. The cold, wet air seeped through your patched coat and settled in your bones. You were distantly aware of the distant hum of generators, the barking shouts of FEDRA soldiers. Always in the periphery. Never for a moment were you allowed to forget where you were, this hellscape of endless grey. The skies, the crumbling building facades, the soot-streaked faces and desperate eyes of the people you passed on the street. It all faded into the same monotonous shade of fucking grey.

You inhaled deeply, your lip curling with the rot and diesel that constantly tainted the air around you. A woman down the alley cursed as she spilled water from her ration jug. The sound of a scuffle broke out somewhere further down the street. Life in the QZ was a constant grind, a relentless struggle just to eke out another day of painful existence.

That was why you were there that day. A promise of something better, if only marginally. A tiny spark of something new, something exciting, to disrupt the miserable monotony.

You hunched forward, rubbing your gloved hands together for warmth. Your fingers traced the map Joel had sketched for you earlier. Routes through the city, marked with coded notations on where and when to avoid FEDRA patrols. It was all a blur of lines and numbers you still hadn’t fully decoded.

The sound of boots crunching on debris pulled your attention. You tensed automatically, only relaxing  when Joel stepped into view. His presence was steady, familiar, despite everything. Your newfound friendship, if you could even call it that, was barely a few months old, but he put you at ease regardless. He didn’t speak right away, just tilted his head for you to follow as he strode toward the mouth of the alley. His hand rested on his hip near his pistol. Always prepared, always scanning.

“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, glancing back to make sure you were keeping up.

As you rounded the corner, you saw her. Tess. She leaned so casually against the brick wall, but there was nothing relaxed about the way she watched you. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes scanning you from head to toe. She radiated a cool, unspoken authority, and you immediately felt like an intruder in a sacred space.

She eyed you up and down, the mask of cool indifference never leaving her face.

Then she turned to Joel, like you weren’t even there.

“You serious? What the hell is she doing here?”

Joel huffed. “She’s resourceful,” he said. “‘Sides, we need an extra pair of hands.”

“An extra liability, more like,” she snapped back.

Joel didn’t flinch under her scrutiny, but his jaw tightened. “She’s good.”

She turned her full attention to you then, and the weight of it made your stomach churn. “What’s your story, then? Joel might think you can handle yourself, but I don’t work with people I don’t know.”

Her words were biting, but it was the way she said Joel, so casually, so familiarly, that caught your attention. You weren't sure why it stung, but it did. Like you were peeping through a window, trespassing into something you didn’t fully understand.

“I can hold my own,” you said quickly, straightening your spine. You tried to keep your voice steady, to sound confident, in spite of the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’ve been outside the walls before. I know what I’m doing.”

Tess arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Is that so? And if things go sideways, what then? You planning to scream and hope Joel comes running?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Joel cut in before you could speak.

“She ain’t some kid,” he said. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

Tess’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she shifted her weight, clearly biting back whatever barbed remark she wanted to throw at him. Instead, she turned to him, voice dropping to a clipped tone. “You’re really putting a lot of faith in someone you just met.”

“She’s earned it,” Joel replied, leaving no room for argument.

There was something unspoken in the way they looked at each other, a brief but loaded silence that spoke of history and mutual understanding. It wasn’t lost on you, and though you didn’t want to dwell on it, you couldn’t help the tightness in your throat.

Tess finally sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Fine. But if this goes south, it’s on you.”

Joel gave a curt nod, and the tension between them seemed to ease, though Tess’s wariness didn't disappear entirely. She turned back to you, her expression still hard, but her tone less biting. 

“Stick close. Don’t do anything stupid. And for God’s sake, don’t get us caught.”

You nodded quickly, your pulse still racing. “I won’t.”

And you didn’t. For a few good months, the three of you managed to function as a team, A tense, fragile team, but a team nonetheless.

You tried to find your place in their dynamic, but you always felt like you were treading on thin ice. Tess’ coldness toward you never thawed, her clipped words and skeptical glances a constant reminder that you were an outsider here. And Joel… Joel never wavered in his defense of you. At first, it brought you comfort, but with time it only seemed to aggravate the rawness you felt, a constant reminder that you were an intruder here.

You watched them carefully, studying their rhythm, desperate not to disrupt the well-oiled machine of their partnership. Tess moved with a confidence that came from years of experience, efficient, calculating, always one step ahead. Joel was her counterbalance, quieter but just as capable, following her lead without question.

So where did that leave you?

You noticed the subtleties between them, how Tess would already be at Joel’s apartment when you arrived at the crack of dawn, leaning casually against the counter like she belonged there. The way her hand would brush his arm as they planned jobs, the easy familiarity in their movements. The quiet, murmured exchanges you weren’t meant to hear, their words too low to catch but their meaning clear in the way they glanced at each other.

At first, you ignored the uneasy twist in your stomach, brushing it off as your misplaced sense of intrusion. After all, they had history. You were the newcomer, the outsider trying to wedge yourself into a partnership that didn’t have room for a third wheel. It made sense that Tess would resent you, that Joel’s defense of you would only deepen the divide.

Later, with the gift of hindsight, you would realize that what you were feeling was jealousy, pure and green.

You hated yourself for it, for the bitterness that crept into your thoughts, for the way you resented their bond even as you relied on it. But the feeling was there, buried deep, a quiet truth you couldn’t bring yourself to face.

Whatever semblance of teamwork and trust the three of you built together came crashing down on a grey, overcast winter day.

You were in Quincy, delivering goods to a warehouse. It was a beast of a thing, a decaying skeleton of its former self, all broken windows and rusted metal and cracked concrete floors. You stuck to the shadows, three sets of boots crunching softly along the concrete. Tess led the way, her gun drawn, eyes sharp as they scanned the interior of the warehouse. Joel trailed just behind you, close enough that his presence felt like a shield at your back.

The buyer, a sketchy looking man named Lyle, stood at the center of the warehouse, flanked by two burly men. 

“Right on time,” Lyle said, his voice carrying a false cheer, grating against the tension in the air. His hands fidgeted at his sides, his fingers drumming against his thighs. “Tess. Joel. Nice to see you. And… your friend.”

Tess didn’t respond, stepping forward to place the duffel bag on the table with a thud. “Let’s just get this done,” she said curtly, unzipping the bag to reveal the neatly packaged supplies inside. Pills, antibiotics, ammo. The usual. 

Lyle whistled appreciatively. “Looks good. Real good.” He waved a hand toward his men, who stepped forward to inspect the goods. Tess’s hand twitched near her holster, but she didn't draw. Her entire body was rigid, her eyes watching vigilantly.

Joel shifted beside you, his eyes scanning the shadows. He spoke low as he leaned toward you. “Keep your eyes open. Somethin’ feels off.”

Your grip tightened on the pistol in your hand, the weight of it uncomfortable in your hand. You've always been better with a blade, but they'd insisted on you taking a firearm. You nodded silently, your heart thudding in your ribcage as you followed his eye line.

The tension in the air snapped like a rubber band breaking when one of Lyle’s men drew a knife from his belt.

“Don’t move,” the man snarled, lunging toward Tess.

Chaos erupted instantly, everything happening before you in slow-motion. Tess ducked and slammed the man’s wrist against the edge of the table, the knife clattering to the floor. Joel pulled you behind a cinder block pillar, his rifle already raised as gunfire rang out. The second bodyguard fired blindly into the shadows, his bullets sending sparks flying as they grazed the metal beams.

Lyle scrambled backward, shouting orders at his men, but Tess was already moving. She drew her pistol and fired once, twice, dropping the knife-wielding man where he stood. Blood sprayed across the table as Lyle dove for cover.

“Move!” Joel barked, pushing you toward the side exit as gunfire erupted at your back. You ducked, your pulse roaring in your ears as you sprinted across the open space. Tess followed close behind, firing off shots to cover your retreat.

A bullet whizzed past your shoulder, causing you to stumble, your breath catching in your throat.

“Joel! Grab her!” Tess shouted. 

Joel grabbed your arm, steadying you as he fired a shot over his shoulder. The echoing crack of the rifle drowned out the chaos for a moment, your vision narrowing on Lyle collapsing to the ground.

The three of you burst through the side door into the cold night air, your lungs burning as you ran toward the tree line. The warehouse disappeared behind you, the sound of shouting and gunfire fading away like a spectre.

By the time you reached the outer fence of the Boston QZ, your breath came in ragged gasps, your limbs heavy like lead. The distant glow of the QZ’s lights were a beacon of safety, but the nearby cacophony of a FEDRA patrol sent a chill down your spine.

“Shit,” Tess muttered, her face flushed from exertion. She glanced at Joel, her eyes narrowed. “We can’t go through the main gate like this. They’ll search us.”

Joel nodded grimly, eyes scanning the perimeter. “There’s a blind spot near the east fence. Should still be clear.”

The three of you crept along the fence line, your movements slow and deliberate. A soldier came scarily close, his flashlight sweeping across the ground. You held your breath, pressing yourself against the cold steel of the fence until it was gone.

Joel pulled out a pair of wire cutters from his pack and quickly cut a gap in the chain-link. He motioned for you to go first, his eyes flicking between the fence and the empty street behind you.

You crawled through the gap, wincing as the rough edges scraped against your coat. Tess followed, her movements quick and efficient. Joel came through last, yanking the cut section back into place before leading you both into the shadows of the QZ.

By the time you made it back to Joel’s apartment, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving exhaustion in its wake. You slumped into a chair near the table, your body trembling from the cold and the strain. Tess, however, was far from calm.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she snapped, rounding on Joel as soon as the door closed behind him. “Bringing her into this was a mistake.”

Joel stiffened, his jaw tightening as he set his rifle down. “She did fine.”

“Fine?” Tess let out a bitter laugh, throwing her hands up. “We almost got killed out there. You think that’s fine?”

“You don’t think I know how close that was?” Joel’s voice rose, frustration spilling over. “It was her first time gettin’ caught up in anything like that.”

“She shouldn’t have been there in the first place!” Tess shot back. “You’re too damn soft on her, Joel. It’s going to get us all killed.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and though neither of them looked at you, their argument made your face feel hot. You sat frozen in the chair, feeling like a scolded child.

“Enough,” Joel said, his tone warning, dangerous. “This ain’t about her and you know it. We got the job done. That’s what matters.”

Tess shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re blind when it comes to her. And one day, it’s going to cost you.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, pausing only to shoot Joel a look filled with equal parts anger and disappointment. “Don’t call me for the next one.”

The door slammed behind her, leaving the room in heavy silence. Joel didn’t move for a long moment, his hands braced against the table as he stared down at the scratched surface.

You cleared your throat, your voice shaky. “I’m sorry.”

Joel looked up, his expression unreadable. “Ain’t your fault,” he said gruffly. But the weight in his voice told you he didn’t entirely believe it.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

Joel glanced at you, his dark eyes shadowed and unreadable. For a moment, you thought he was going to brush you off, the way he usually did, but instead, he straightened up, moving to sink into the chair across from you. He looked tired, more tired than you’d ever seen him. It tugged at something deep inside you.

“Should be askin’ you that,” he said gruffly, leaning back and rubbing a hand over his face. “Wasn’t exactly a smooth run.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. “Shaken up, maybe, but… it could’ve been worse.”

Joel’s gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, his brow furrowing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he nodded, though it felt more like he was convincing himself than agreeing with you.

“Tess didn’t mean what she said,” you offered, though you weren’t entirely sure you believed it. “She was just… angry. Scared, maybe.”

Joel let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Oh, she meant it. Ain’t no sugarcoatin’ when it comes to Tess.” He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “She’s right, though. I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

The words hit like a small blow, even though you knew he wasn’t  trying to hurt you. “I can handle myself,” you said quietly, your words as weak as you felt.

“I know you can,” he said, a surprising gentleness in his tone that caught you off guard. “Doesn’t mean I like seein’ you in danger.”

The way he said it made your stomach twist, not with guilt, but with something else. You glanced away, unsure how to respond, and your eyes landed on his hands, still resting on the table. They were scarred and rough, calloused from years of hard living, but they seemed to tremble as he flexed them.

“Joel…” you began, but you didn't know where you were going with it. You just knew you didn’t want the conversation to end here, not with so much unspoken between you. “Do you ever think about… leaving? The QZ, I mean.”

His eyes snapped up to yours, startled, and you wondered if you’d pushed too far. But then he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest as he considered your question.

“More than I’d like to admit,” he said finally. “But it ain’t exactly easy, headin’ out there on your own.”

“Not on your own,” you said before you could stop yourself. “I mean… if you had someone with you.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed, studying you. You could see the wheels turning in his head, the way he weighed what you were saying in his mind. “Wyoming,” he said after a moment, almost a whisper. “You said before that there’s a place out there. Safe. Quiet.”

The idea still sounded too good to be true, and yet you felt a flicker of hope ignite deep inside you. “Do you think it’s real?” you asked, leaning forward.

Joel shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling wearily. “Don’t know. But…” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to the table between you. “Might be worth findin’ out.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, this new idea settling between you, fragile and precious. The idea of Wyoming felt like a tiny light in the vast darkness you’d been living in, and you could tell Joel felt it too, even if he wouldn’t say it outright.

“Would you… go?” you asked hesitantly. “If you had the chance?”

His eyes lifted to yours, and there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch. “Only if I had a damn good reason,” he said softly.

You didn’t know what to say to that, the implication of his words weighing on your mind. He looked at you like he was about to say something more, his lips parting, but then he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he leaned back.

“We should get some sleep,” he said abruptly, his voice taking on that familiar gruffness that felt like armor. “You should stay here tonight, s’past curfew.”

You nodded, the sudden shift leaving you feeling unbalanced. As you stood and moved to Joel’s couch, you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his eyes on you heavy and lingering. But when you glanced back at him, he’d already turned away, his shoulders hunched as he stared down at his hands.

As you pulled a blanket over yourself, you couldn’t help but think about the way he looked at you. Like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t. You didn’t know what it meant, not yet, but the thought of Wyoming and the small glimmer of hope it brought was enough to let you close your eyes with a little less dread.

Weeks later, the three of you stood in the shadows of a decaying old workshop on the edge of the QZ, a chain-link fence separating safety from the chaos awaiting you just a hundred feet away. The night air was heavy with the smell of oil and rust, the distant sounds of dogs barking and the creaking of a loose gate in the wind.

Your nerves were on edge.

Tess pulled the strap of a worn, overstuffed pack off her shoulder, thrusting it toward Joel. “Here,” she said curtly. “It’s not much, but it’s what I could scrape together.”

Joel took the bag without a word, his face unreadable in the dim light. He rifled through the contents briefly — a couple of cans of food, a few water bottles, a box of ammo, and a battered first aid kit.

“Should get you through the first few days,” Tess added, crossing her arms. Her tone was brisk, but there was an edge to it, like she was biting back something more.

“Appreciate it,” Joel said, his voice low.

Tess’s eyes flicked to you then, her expression hardening. “You’d better know what you’re getting yourself into,” she said, her words directed at you like a warning. “This isn’t a walk in the park. You screw up out there, and it’s not just your ass on the line.”

“I know,” you replied softly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Tess huffed, shaking her head as she took a step back. “You’d better,” she muttered, more to herself than to you.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on all of you. Tess’s eyes lingered on Joel for a moment, her jaw tightening. “This is stupid,” she said finally, voice cracking just slightly. “You know that, right?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quieter, his whole demeanour was quieter. “Yeah. I know.”

She exhaled, her frustration palpable, but there was something else in her expression, something softer, something she was trying not to let slip. “Fine,” she said, her voice hard again. “Do whatever the hell you want.”

She turned away then, but before she left, she paused, looking back at Joel, her eyes narrowing. “She’s your responsibility, Joel. Don’t forget that.”

Joel met her gaze, and for a moment, the two of them seemed locked in some silent conversation, something beyond your understanding. Finally, he nodded, the movement barely perceptible.

“I won’t,” he said..

Tess looked like she wanted to say more, but she just shook her head and walked away, her boots crunching against the gravel as she disappeared into the shadows.

You and Joel stood there for a long moment after she was gone, the night suddenly feeling colder and quieter. He shifted the bag on his shoulder and glanced at you, his expression unreadable.

“You ready?” he asked.

You nodded, though your heart felt heavy. “Yeah.”

Without another word, the two of you slipped through the hole in the fence and into the darkness beyond, leaving the QZ, Tess, everything behind.

…

Joel sidles up behind you, arm reaching around you to splay his thick fingers against the map. The sudden proximity jolts you. You didn’t even notice him moving closer.

“If we head West, we should hit Laurel by tomorrow afternoon,” he says, his finger tracing a path across the creased paper. 

Your heart stutters against your ribs, caught off guard by how near he is. You barely manage a huff in response, unsure whether it’s meant to acknowledge his words or simply expel the air that had caught in your lungs.

The two of you had always avoided cutting through towns if you could help it. Towns and cities meant more infected, more danger. But supplies were running low, the strain of your injuries and convalescence having burned through food and medicine faster than either of you had planned. There wasn’t much choice left.

You fold the map and tuck it into your pack, slinging the strap over your shoulder with a grimace you do your best to hide. Joel’s eyes flick toward you but he doesn’t comment. He just turns, leading the way through the snow laden forest.

The crunch of your boots is crisp in the soft powder, cold air biting at your cheeks. Joel keeps a few paces ahead, shoulder squared and posture tense as he scans the treeline. You trail behind, just focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, the ache in your side having grown less angry, but no less prominent in your mind. You grit your teeth and push on, refusing to let yourself slow him down.

Joel stops suddenly, raising a hand to signal you to halt. Your body tenses, eyes shifting around, scanning for danger. Your ears strain for the telltale sounds of crunching snow that don’t belong to you or Joel, or worse, the dreaded chatter of a clicker.

Instead, he gestures toward a tree to your right. Frowning, you follow his line of sight.

There, perched on a low-hanging branch, is a cardinal. Its feathers are vibrant, blood-red against the oppressively grey sky. The bird tilts its head, its black eyes sharp as it seems to observe the two of you.

“Pretty, ain’t it,” he murmurs.

You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of his observation, the softness of his voice. The gruff, angry man beside you, the man who had seen and done more horrible things than you could ever fathom, was captivated by something so small, so fleeting. All you can do is nod.

For a moment, the weight of everything fades. The two of you stand there in silence, watching as the cardinal flits from one branch to another, its red wings fluttering like a heartbeat against the pale backdrop. The world is quieter, softer, like the forest itself is holding its breath with you.

“Used to see these all the time back in Texas,” Joel says after a beat, and he seems distant. “Sarah… she loved ‘em. Used to try and draw ‘em in with feeders she’d make outta old milk jugs. Never caught one up close, though. They’re too skittish.”

His words hang in the air. He rarely shares these memories with you, and you hang on to every word when he does. He’s mentioned his daughter to you before, always in brief moments like these. You get the sense that she’s always there for him, her presence on his mind like sunlight glittering on the surface of water. He doesn’t need to say it outright for you to know this is why he keeps himself locked up so tightly. You don’t blame him. All the same, you soak up these moments, eager for any glimpse at the man behind the mask.

You glance at him, your throat tightening at the wistfulness in his expression. He isn’t looking at the bird anymore but somewhere far away, lost in a past you don’t dare intrude upon.

“Sounds like she was creative,” you offer tentatively.

Joel’s lips twitch, not quite a smile, but something close. “Yeah,” he said softly. “She was.”

The cardinal takes off then, its wings beating a hurried rhythm as it disappears into the trees. The spell breaks, and Joel clears his throat, his face hardening as he turns back to the path. “C’mon. We’ve wasted enough time.”

You press forward, the jagged outline of a town materializing on the horizon. It jostles something in you, the sharp edges and uniform structures standing in stark contrast to the gentle, organic lines of the wilderness you’ve grown used to. Civilization, or what’s left of it, always feels wrong somehow, an intrusion into the quiet simplicity of nature you’ve grown accustomed to.

As you approach a wide, frozen stream, Joel barely hesitates. He steps onto the ice, the frozen surface groaning ominously beneath his boots. He mutters a string of low curses under his breath, each step calculated, his weight shifting carefully as he crosses. When he reaches the other side, he turns back to you, leaning down and extending his hand.

“Here,” he says.

You hesitate, staring at his outstretched hand. There’s a flicker of doubt in your mind, about the ice, about touching him again, but it disappears as you meet his steady gaze. You take his hand, his calloused palm warm against your cold fingers.

He pulls you forward with surprising ease, your feet barely skimming the fractured ice before you’re safely on solid ground again. For a moment, you’re both still, the sound of cracking ice behind you the only reminder of what you just avoided.

“You’re not exactly light on your feet,” you say, the words slipping out unbidden, a teasing edge to your tone.

Joel’s brow quirks, his expression hovering somewhere between amused and unamused. “Careful,” he says dryly. “Or I’ll make you carry my pack.”

The faintest twitch of a smile plays at his lips, and before you can stop yourself, you laugh, a real, genuine laugh that feels strange and foreign in the cold, bleak air. The sound surprises you, catching in your chest like it doesn’t quite belong, but it feels good too, like a tiny spark in the frost.

Joel glances at you then, and for a moment, something in his face softens. His eyes linger, almost like he’s startled by the sound you’ve made, like he’s pleased to have coaxed a laugh out of you in spite of everything. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, a sliver of warmth piercing through his usual stoic exterior.

It’s only then that you both seem to realize he’s still holding your hand. His grip is firm but not uncomfortable, his fingers rough and steady around yours. The air between you shifts, quiet tension creeping into the space where laughter had been just a moment before.

For a second, a single, fragile heartbeat of a second, neither of you moves. The world seems to still around you, the weight of his hand grounding you. Your heart stumbles against your ribs, and you wonder if he feels it too, this strange, magnetic pull between you.

But then Joel clears his throat and lets go, the moment snapping like a thread. He steps back and turns on his heel, grunting as he throws the weight of his pack over his shoulder.

“C’mon,” he says, already walking ahead, all clipped and businesslike again. “We gotta find a place to hole up before the sun sets.”

You linger for just a moment, your hand still tingling with the memory of his touch. Then you follow, trudging after him as the skeletal remains of the town grow larger in the distance, your laughter left suspended behind you in the quiet hush of the snowy woods.

…

After another hour of walking, a house emerges from the shadows of the trees like a ghost, its silhouette solid against the gray afternoon sky. From the road it's nearly invisible, its walls obscured in a cocoon of bare branches and evergreens. 

It’s a small, squat thing, but it's far more intact than other buildings you’ve found. The doors hang evenly on their hinges, and thick wooden boards cover the windows, their nails weathered and rusted but sturdy. The yard is overgrown, wild grass and weeds creeping up the sides of the structure, but the way the house seems untouched by chaos makes it feel eerie, like the world forgot about it.

Joel tests the front door, his hand on the knob as he presses his shoulder into it. It resists at first, the wood swollen with age, but eventually gives way with a loud groan. The air inside is stale and heavy, a mix of dust, old wood, and trapped moisture. You step in behind him, your boots stirring motes of dust in the dim light.

Everything is quiet. Too quiet.

The house’s interior tells its story in whispers. The furniture is faded,  but still arranged neatly, as if the people who lived here meant to return at any moment. On the mantle above the fireplace, you notice a line of framed photographs. You brush the dust from one and see the faces of a family — two parents and two children — smiling wide in a life that feels impossibly distant. One of the frames lies face down on the mantel, as though someone had grabbed it in haste but abandoned it at the last moment. You don’t lift it up. It doesn’t feel right.

In the kitchen, Joel checks the cupboards. Most are empty, but a few hold scraps of a previous life. A half empty can of powdered milk, long expired, a rusted tin of coffee grounds, a jar of pickled vegetables gone cloudy with time. The table is small, meant for four, and one of the chairs is tipped over on its side. Still stuck to the fridge is a child’s drawing, its colors faded but still vivid enough to make out, a stick figure family standing in front of the same house you’re in now, the sky above them filled with round, yellow sun.

“People lived here for a while,” Joel mutters, running his fingers over the table's edge. His voice is quiet, like he’s trying not to disturb whatever ghosts still linger here.

In a small bedroom down the hall, you find more signs of hurried departure. A child’s bed is unmade, the blanket half-dragged to the floor. A teddy bear lies abandoned in the corner, one of its button eyes missing. A suitcase sits on the bed, half-packed with clothes. Joel picks up a shirt from it, holding it up to the light. It’s small, too small for an adult. He doesn’t say anything as he sets it back down, but the look on his face is heavy.

In another room, the master bedroom, you find a calendar still hanging on the wall. The month is January, the year faded but unmistakably long past. A series of dates have been circled in red, the ink and smudged. On the dresser sits a journal, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges. Joel opens it but flips through it quickly, not stopping to read the words. He mutters something about not wanting to pry, but you catch glimpses, notes about food supplies, weather conditions, and, in the margins, small, hopeful scribbles.

Made it another week.

Still safe.

Might try for the city tomorrow.

The bathroom is where things went wrong. The mirror is cracked, shards of glass scattered in the sink. A first-aid kit sits open on the counter, the contents rummaged through. Dried blood stains the edge of the sink and the floor near the tub. Whoever had lived here fought hard to stay alive, but the obvious suddenness of their departure fills you with unease.

As you and Joel reconvene in the living room, the weight of the house’s story presses down on both of you. It’s clear that a family had tried to make this place a haven, holding on for as long as they could before something — Infected? Raiders? Pure desperation? — forced them to flee. Dust and decay have claimed the house now, but the traces of the life lived here remain like ghosts.

Joel moves toward the boarded windows, peering through the cracks at the encroaching dark. “This’ll do for the night,” he says finally. “Better than sleepin’ out in the open.”

You nod, but your eyes linger on the family photo still sitting on the mantle, the faces smiling back at you as if to say, We tried. We did our best.

You wonder if that’s all anyone can do anymore.

The two of you make quick work of clearing the house. It was a process you and Joel have done so many times it’s practically second nature now. Every door cracked open with cautious hands. Every corner checked with calculated, trained eyes. In the end, the place is wholly abandoned, untouched for years except by the slow creep of decay.

You settle on staying in what must have been the parents’ bedroom for the night. The windows were already boarded up, and Joel adds a thick blanket over them to keep out any sliver of light. He pushes the sagging mattress against the door, reinforcing it with a dresser he drags across the floor with a grunt.

Now, he’s sitting against the wall, his rifle disassembled in his lap, your lantern’s weak orange glow glinting off the polished metal as he works. His movements are methodical, his focus trained on the task like it’s the only thing keeping him in the present moment. You sit against the opposite wall, knees pulled to your chest, staring at him. You’ve been staring for what feels like forever, the words you need to say swirling in your head, their weight pressing against your chest like a stone.

And maybe it’s the brevity you felt earlier, or maybe it’s the way these walls feel protective, like the love that filled this house once upon a time has lingered, but something pushes you to test him.

Finally, you take a breath, steeling yourself. “Joel,” you say softly.

His hands pause briefly, but he doesn’t look up. “Mm.”

“Can we… talk about what happened? Back in the woods?”

His jaw tightens. His hands resume their work, but there’s a stiffness in the way he slots the bolt back into place. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about,” he mutters. His guard is completely up.

You knew he’d respond like this, knew he’d deflect. But you’re not letting him off that easy, not again.

“You know that’s not true. I almost — I should’ve died that night, Joel.” You say. You’re getting frustrated now.

Joel doesn’t respond, his face tight, his hands working with a little too much force.

The words float in the stale, dusty air. His jaw works, and though his hands keep moving, they’re rougher now, more forceful. You wait, but he doesn’t respond, the silence stretching long and thin like a thread about to snap. So you fall back to that old, reliable method for forcing Joel to talk to you, the foolproof way you coaxed him out of his shell all the way back when you were barely more than strangers in the QZ.

You piss him off.

“You promised me. If it came down to it… You wouldn’t let me turn.”

That does it. His head snaps up, and his eyes meet yours, a storm brewing in them. “And you’re sittin’ here breathin’, ain’t you?” He’s being defensive now, but you know, you know, it’s an act. He’s trying to cover up what he really feels. “What’s there to say?”

You don’t flinch, holding his stare defiantly.

“And what about what I said?”

He freezes, the pieces of the rifle stilling in his hands. For a moment, he looks like he’s been struck, his shoulders tense and his breathing shallow. Slowly, he sets the rifle aside and runs a hand down his face.

“You were bleedin’ out,” he says quietly. “People say all kinds of things when they think they’re dyin’. Don’t mean nothin’.”

The cadence of his voice hits your ear first, the way his Texan accent filters in more strongly when he’s angry. But then his words settle, and they sting.

“Don’t mean nothin’?” you echo, an edge creeping in. “You think I didn’t know what I was saying? That I didn’t mean it?”

“You didn’t,” Joel snaps, raising his voice now. “You were scared. Hell, you were half outta your head from blood loss. You —” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if trying to physically push the memory away.

“Don’t tell me how I feel!”

You’re on your feet before you even realize it, the surge of betrayal snapping you upright like a bolt of lightning. The anger burning in your cheeks feels alive, a force of its own, crackling and untamed.

“You don’t get to decide that for me!” you shout, your whole body trembling. “You don’t get to act like none of it mattered!”

Joel’s eyes flash, and in an instant he’s standing too, his broad shoulders tensed and looming. “You think I don’t know what mattered?” he fires back. “You think I don’t remember every goddamn second of that night?”

“Then why are you doing this?” you demand, breaking under the weight of your frustration. “Why are you shutting me out?”

“Because it don’t matter what you said, or what you felt!” Joel yells, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him this angry. “It don’t change what I did! I should’ve done what we agreed. Should’ve stopped it right then and there.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you feel the heat of your fury drain away, leaving only an aching, hollow hurt. You stare at him, the space between you shrinking and yet feeling impossibly vast.

“You really think it was a mistake?” You feel exposed now. “Letting me live?”

Joel flinches, his expression crumpling for just a moment before he wrestles it back into something harder, more controlled. But it’s too late. You’ve seen it. He looks like a man drowning, like the weight of everything he’s carrying is finally dragging him under. His gaze flickers to the water-stained ceiling, desperate for some kind of escape, but there’s nowhere to go. No way out.

You watch him, a storm of emotions churning inside you, and for a fleeting second, hope flickers to life. Maybe he let you live because he couldn’t bear to lose you, because some part of him believed in the impossible, that against all odds, you’d survive and get a second chance.

But the memory of his face in the early morning light, when he saw you alive, pierces through that fragile hope like a blade. 

There was no reverence in his expression, no relief. 

Only fear. Only disgust.

The thought sinks into you like poison, twisting and bitter. Maybe he hadn’t spared you because he cared, but because he was too weak to do what had to be done. Maybe he’d been tricked, by your desperate, pleading words, or by his own fear of being alone again, of losing everything again.

Your mind spirals further, darker. If he’d known then what you’d become — this strange in-between state, not fully human, but not quite a monster — would he have made the same choice? Would he have let you live if he’d known what would become of you?

The bitterness curls inside you, ugly and hateful. At least you’d had the courage to be honest, to say what you felt, even in the face of death. Joel, for all his strength, couldn’t even bring himself to admit why he’d made the choice he did.

“You’re wrong,” you say, willing yourself not to let your words crack. “I meant what I said. I meant all of it.”

Joel finally looks at you, his expression taut, torn between anger and something far more vulnerable. His jaw tightens, and his hands ball into fists at his sides, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Don’t,” he mutters, warning. “Just… don’t.”

But you can’t stop now, not when the ache in your heart feels like it might split you in two.

“Maybe you couldn’t pull the trigger then because you didn’t see me as a monster,” you press, stepping closer to him. “But I do, Joel. I know what I am now. You can just admit it.”

He flinches, his composure cracking, his brows pulling together in a way that betrays the cool, guarded exterior he always tries so hard to maintain. For a moment, he looks like he’s been struck, like your words have landed somewhere deep, somewhere he can’t protect.

“You’re not a damn monster,” he growls, but he lacks the bite he had earlier. “Now quit.”

“Then why do you look at me like that?” you fire back, needing him to answer the question that’s been clawing at you. “Why is everything different now?”

“M’not lookin’ at you any kinda way,” he says, his tone softer than you expected but still edged with finality. “Ain’t no use diggin’ it up, talkin’ it to death. I’m here. You’re here. Let’s just leave it at that.”

His words don’t quell your hurt. They’re unsatisfying and incomplete. Your heart aches with frustration. 

“That’s not an answer, Joel.”

“It’s the only one you’re gettin’.”

You don’t let up. “Why do you do that? Why do you shut me out? Just tell me the truth.”

He exhales, the sound more weariness than anger. “What truth, hm? That I messed up? That I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’ half the time? You think I got all the answers? I’m just tryin’ to keep us alive, alright? That’s it.”

“It’s more than that, Joel, and you know it.”

His eyes snap back to yours, and for a flicker of a second, you see a crack in the wall he keeps so firmly in place. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, and he’s locking himself away again.

“You’re wastin’ energy on somethin’ that don’t matter,” he says all rough, like gravel scraping across your heart. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about than what you think I’m feelin’ or not feelin’.”

For a moment, it looks like he might say something more, his lips parting as if he’s on the verge of spilling something he’s been holding back. But then, just like always, he shuts it down. His jaw tightens, and his shoulders hunch as if he’s physically closing himself off from you.

He stands abruptly, startling you. Pulling his sleeping bag from his pack, he tosses it onto the floor with a thud. “Get some rest,” he says, not looking at you as he busies himself unrolling the bag. “We’re headin’ into town tomorrow. Long day ahead.”

The lantern flickers as he reaches out to snuff the flame, plunging the room into near darkness. He climbs into his sleeping bag, his back turned to you, his silence louder than anything he could have said.

You sit there for a moment longer, your heart pounding in your ribcage, staring at his rigid form as he settles into place. Whatever you’d hoped for, an answer, a crack in his armor, anything, it feels further away than ever.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you whisper into the dark, not even sure if he can hear you.

He doesn’t respond. The only sound is the rustle of fabric as he shifts, facing further away from you, retreating into the unreachable parts of himself.

Taglist: (if you would like to be added just lmk!)

@eviispunk

@javierpenaispunk

[just-dreaming-marvel]

A Princess & Her Knight ~ 33

A PRINCESS & HER KNIGHT MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,810ish

Summary: Logan and your friends enact a plan to help you.

Warnings: talk of miscarriage, mental health, injuries, sickness, just please tread carefully

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

The sun had barely crested the horizon when Logan stepped out into the gardens, shoulders hunched and eyes shadowed from another sleepless night. Waiting for him beneath the rose-covered arbor was Ororo, Wanda, and Jean, their expressions already laced with concern. Logan ran a hand through his hair exhaled hard.

“It’s not working,” he sighed.

“You mean the part where she’s supposed to be resting?” Jean said. “We gathered that when Peter came to us this morning and told us about you having to get her back to bed last night.”

“She’s going to tear herself apart with the guilt and pressure of the crown,” said Wanda.

Logan nodded, voice strained. “She snapped at me last night… and I let her. I deserved it. But she’s burning herself out. I can see it. She won’t let me in, but I can’t stand by and do nothing anymore.”

“So we change the plan,” Ororo said simply. “She doesn’t want to feel like a patient on bedrest who’s completely heartbroken, so let’s stop treating her like one.”

“We structure her rest,” Jean said thoughtfully, “but disguise it. Keep her mind occupied. Controlled duties from bed. Guests she approves of. Something tactile to keep her hands busy when the stillness gets too loud.”

“And you—“ Wanda pointed to Logan, “you start being where she can see you. Not pressuring. Just… constant. Stable.”

“You think it’ll work?” Logan wondered quietly.

“I think she needs to feel like herself again. And the longer we try to protect her by keeping her still and silent, the further away she feels from the woman she was.”

Ororo placed a hand on Logan’s arm. “This plan is for her healing,” she told him. “Not just her body, but her heart. Let’s remind her she still has a place in this world. And that it still needs her.”

Logan straightened slightly, something fierce returning to his posture. “Alright,” he nodded. “Let’s do it. Whatever it takes.”

~~~

It began with a knock— no one demanding or official, but soft and intentional. You remained in bed, arms crossed and lips tight as Peter slipped inside with a covered tray. You narrowed your eyes.

“I said I wasn’t hungry,” you grumbled. 

He offered a sly grin. “Good think I brought something you didn’t ask for.” He lifted the cover off the try. “Cards and pastries. You can ignore one, but not both.”

You scowled, but you didn’t tell him to leave.

~~~

That afternoon, Wanda arrived with a satchel of herbs and parchment.

“Jean says I’m allowed to bore you to sleep if it helps your recovery,” she told you.

Only, she didn’t bore you. She told stories— tales from Dolad and her childhood. Folktales and myths mostly. Then she asked your opinion on how to help repair broken village ties in the east. The two of you ended up arguing over tax policies before you realized that just that conversation had lasted an hour. From your bed.

~~~

That night, Logan didn’t try to enter. He just sat outside your chamber doors, like the knight on guard he was. But when Peter came in to do one last check, he dropped something on your beside table— a small folded note. It wasn’t long, but it was Logan’s handwriting.

You don’t need to forgive me today. Or tomorrow. Or ever. I’m just glad you’re still here. - L

~~~

The next day, Ororo came in with a stack of papers. She pulled up a chair and used your beside table as a desk.

“I need a ruling on trade agreements,” Ororo stated. “I figured if I’m reading these aloud, you might as well lie there looking regal while we work.”

You bit back a comment but allowed yourself a smirk.

~~~

On the third day, Jean brought you a pot of tea and news: you were cleared to sit in the garden— so long as you stayed in the shade and didn’t stand for too long. Ororo and Jean helped you walk there, slowly and quietly. And there, across the garden— pretending not to watch you— was Logan. Sitting by the fountain, sketching something into the dirt with a stick. 

When you finally met his eyes, he didn’t smile. He jus looked at you like you were the sunrise itself. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t immediately look away.

~~~

The next day, you stayed out in the garden longer than expected. The breeze was gentle. A pitcher of cool water sat at your side, untouched. Your limbs still ached and your body was stiff with strain— but for the firs time in weeks, your mind felt still. Well, almost.

Across the courtyard, Logan was pretending to read. Some old book Jean must have slipped him. But you could feel his eyes stray. Always watching. Never pushing.

Wanda reappeared from her task with a basket of dried flowers from the green house. “Let’s make bundles for the windows. Something pretty. Keep the scent of healing herbs in the air.”

She sat on the blanket beside you, hands moving slowly as she taught you the simple weave. You weren’t paying much attention. But it didn’t matter. Wanda’s voice was quiet, grounding. Then a pause.

“You know,” she began, “he’s out in your hallway every night. Bobby and Peter switch out being there with him.”

You nodded, but didn’t verbally reply and she didn’t press.

~~~

On the fifth day, you were sitting on the ground in the garden again. Ororo just left to get you a cushion, not wanting to leave you alone for too long. Logan was on his usual bench, trying to act occupied. He stood up to stretch and you caught the motion from the corner of your eye. You turned to look at him better. He didn’t come closer as he met your gaze, just nodded towards the covered alcove beside the garden.

“There’s uh… a bench over there,” he said loud enough for you to hear, but still quiet. “It’s a bit softer than the ground.”

You hesitated. Then, slowly, you pushed yourself up with a wince and a lot of effort. Logan stepped closer in case you needed help, but you said something. You began walking to the alcove with Logan two steps behind, steady and silent. You settled onto the bench, breathing harder than you wanted to admit. He sat on a bench on the other side. You let the quiet stretch between you like a fragile thread.

“I hate you,” you whispered quietly. His shoulders stiffened. “For walking away. For not being there when I needed you the most. For making me feel alone.”

He didn’t say anything right away and then… “I hate me, too.” 

The answer startled you. Completely truthful and broken. You turned your face to him. For the first time in a long while, you looked at him fully. The shadows beneath his eyes. The guilt etched into every line of his jaw. The pain he wasn’t trying to hide.

“I don’t know how to be close to you anymore,” you admitted.

“I know…” he replied. “We… We can learn again… almost like starting over.” 

Logan pulled something from his coast pocket— a small, folded parchment. He hesitated before reaching over and offering it to you. You didn’t take it at first. Then, with shaky fingers, you reached for it and opened it.

It was a list. Just a few things.

Tea in the courtyard.

Sleep under the stars again.

Build a rocking chair or a bird house.

Watch a sunrise in complete silence.

Sit beside her while she works.

Dance. Even without music.

Be her knight again— even if only from a distance.

“You made a list during our honeymoon, remember?” Logan said. “I know we never finished your list but I decided to create my own.”

You looked down at the list again. The ink blurred slightly from the heat behind your eyes. “You’ll— You’ll wait?”

“I’ll wait forever if I have to.” You looked back down at the list before folding it up and offering it back. Logan shook his head. “It’s yours.”

“Y/N?” Ororo called, having returned with your cushion.

Logan stood. “I’ll let ‘Ro know you’re in here.” He bowed slightly before leaving.

~~~

The next day, it rained, so Jean allowed you to go to the library. You were in there for most of the day, reading a book for your enjoyment for the first time in forever. Logan was on the other side of the library, watching you carefully. He could tell that the hours in that chair were causing your body to ache. You shifted slightly, wincing as a whimper slipped passed your lips. He was standing in a second.

Logan waited with bated breath, watching for your next movement. You grimaced as you set the book down, hand going to your abdomen. Logan quickly came to you. You didn’t even know he had moved until his trembling hand came into your line of sight. You looked up to see him staring down at you with concern. For a long moment, you stared at his face and then his hand. Eventually, you took his hand. His exhale of relief was near imperceptible— but you heard it.

With tender care, Logan helped you out of the chair and out of the library. He let you lead slightly as the two of you headed back to your chambers. As soon as you reached the door, you let go of Logan’s hand and he respected your choice, taking a step back.

“Can you…” Logan could hear the pain in your voice as you spoke. “Can you get someone to come run me a bath?”

Logan nodded. “Of course… my Queen.” Then he was gone.

~~~

Jean wouldn’t allow you to bathe by yourself. So after a warm bath was drawn for you, Jean helped you wash up and change into your nightgown. As she was helping you, you could hear voices from your bedroom.

“She’s resting,” Wanda said. “Try tomorrow.”

“Just… tell her I’ll be outside,” Logan said, voice low. “Just in case she wants to say goodnight.”

You froze briefly. Your heart suddenly crying out to say goodnight. Jean helped you into your room but, as she got the bed ready, you went to the door. You walked it just a crack. Logan straightened immediately, armor clanking as he was ready for his shift. He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“Goodnight, Sir Logan,” you said softly.

His breath hitched as a small smile formed on his lips. “Goodnight, My Queen.”

You closed the door slowly, as if closing the door would break the fragile moment. Jean helped you into bed and gave your hand a squeeze before taking her leave. And that night, you slept with more ease than you had in a long time.

next chapter >

[rorywritesjunk]

Suppose I never ever let you Kiss me so sweet

Your healing powers are limited to one person a day but that doesn't keep Buggy from demanding you heal him. Rating: PG-13ish. They kiss. It's kinda fluffy as well. Warning: Broken ankle, bratty Buggy, Reader teases and mocks Buggy (playfully). Established relationship. I think they're married? Kissing. Suggested themes near the end. Devil Fruit powers causing discomfort (Not sure if that's really a thing but I've seen folks talk about it lately and decided to run with it). A/N: Request from @chochotorianime10 "hey Love your buggy stories. I was hoping I could request a buggy and s/o that has healing powers like Karin from Naruto thank you!!!(sorry if I spelled anything wrong.)" This was fun to write. Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy it. Title comes from "Fidelity" by Regina Spektor.

“Listen, Cabaji, just bite my arm and you'll heal, okay?”

The acrobat could only stare at you in mild horror, eyes darting between you, your arm, and the captain that was hovering over the two of you, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched how this would play out.

It was just a broken ankle, that much you were able to tell when he fell off the unicycle with his foot catching in the spoke and pulling it down on top of him. While it had been hilarious to watch, almost happening in slow motion, you were at his side immediately, untangling him from the small wreckage before looking for injuries. 

“I-I 'm just fine. I don't need to… bite you.” 

“Oh, so you don't want to walk properly again?” You shrugged as you started to stand up. “Okay, then that's fine with me. I can't force you to do anything.

“Cabaji, stop being an ass.” Buggy said. “Bite her damn arm.”

He knew what your abilities were capable of. While Buggy found it a little harder to get hurt with his Devil Fruit powers, he wasn't invincible. He sometimes needed healing and while the first time you told him to bite you, he thought it was some weird kind of foreplay, but now he was used to it. 

Cabaji really really didn't want to do this but you knelt back down, holding your left arm out to him. He saw blue marks along your arm before he bit into your skin carefully. You didn't move, keeping your eyes on him as a warm aura surrounded him, the pained look in his eyes fading as he started to relax from the pain relief. He pulled back and looked at you with fascination as you stood up, holding your hand out to him. He took it and allowed you to pull himself up, stumbling for a moment but you caught him, steadying him on his feet while he hesitantly put weight on what was his injured ankle.

“How did you-”

“Good, you can walk.” You pulled back from him. “Get your shit out of the way and fix your damn unicycle.” You glanced over at Buggy. “You done with me now, Captain?”

“For now, but don’t go too far.” He told you. You put your hands on your hips and looked at him, giving him a look that said You’re an idiot. It took him a moment to realize why you were looking at him before it dawned on him. “Go get something to eat then, don’t crowd the place! Geez, Doc. Go away, we don’t need you now.”

You grinned cheekily at him before heading off to get a snack. Cabaji couldn’t help but watch you leave before Buggy turned on him. “What are you staring at?! Get back to practicing! Did you hit your head? You should know what to do by now for this shit, Cabaji!”

The acrobat did as he was told, not wanting to face the wrath of his captain.

~

You grabbed yourself a snack before retreating to the bedroom to read a book you found in one of the towns you recently stopped in. You managed to get some supplies you needed before Buggy launched some of the Buggy Balls at it, one of the items being a book to read while you rested. Being able to only heal one person a day was frustrating at times, you wanted to be able to help more people and you had to make the decision on what injury was a priority. Cabaji breaking his ankle was a priority, and you hoped no one else needed help until tomorrow. 

So to keep yourself from overdoing it, you made sure to rest, snack, and do something to pass the time until Buggy finished up for the day, demanding your attention for the evening which you were more than happy to shower him with. 

You were an hour into reading, eating some crackers and cheese when Buggy showed up, looking grumpy as he tossed his coat and kicked his boots off. He was making a fuss about something but you were tuning him out for now, knowing he needed to get that excess bit of energy out before he would relax for the evening. It often meant him pacing around the room, kicking things away if they got into his path, maybe punching a wall before he would settle onto the bed beside you.

Today, however, he paced a few times before stopping at the end of the bed with his arms crossed as he faced you. He cleared his throat a few times, trying to get you to look at him, and finally a hand came and pulled your book out of your hands and tossed it aside. 

“Rough day?” You asked, annoyed that you lost your place in the book. “Y’know, you could have just said something.”

“I shouldn’t have to say something!” He insisted, stomping his foot before he dramatically threw himself down onto the bed beside you, voice now muffled with a pillow when he spoke. “My body hurts and you can’t help me now because you helped Cabaji instead.”

You rolled your eyes and reached over him to grab your book to set it on the nightstand. “You wanted me to. He was a priority, Buggy.”

“Yea, but so am I.” He whined, raising his head just enough to look at you. You patted him on the head and he frowned. “Don’t mock me and my discomfort.”

“Well, Buggy, I’m tapped out for the day.” You reminded him as you leaned down to kiss him on the top of his head. “How about I kiss your boo-boos and make you feel better?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, of course not!” You insisted as you took his bandana off and tossed it aside, running your fingers through his hair. “Well, okay, actually, maybe a little, but mostly because you know Cabaji needed my help more.”

He rolled onto his back and huffed, looking up at you with a frown. “Maybe, but I still deserve your attention.”

“Well, obviously.” You said, rolling your eyes. “How can I forget to shower the Great Captain Buggy, the Genius Jester, with the attention he deserves?”

“Now I know you’re mocking me.”

“Never!” You feigned innocence, both hands on your cheeks as you stared at him, aghast he would accuse you of such a thing. “I love you too much to ever mock you.”

Buggy glared at you before rolling onto his side, his back now to you as he crossed his arms to sulk. You stared at him, the fearsome Captain Buggy acting like a petulant child in that moment. Honestly, you loved him but sometimes you couldn’t help but tease him just a little. Still, you felt just a bit bad, wondering if maybe you went a bit too far, so you leaned over him, your hand on his shoulder as you kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Buggy.” You murmured softly. He huffed, refusing to look at you. “I can’t heal you but I’ll kiss your booboos to make them feel better, how about that, love?”

“Hmph. You don’t deserve to.” He mumbled back, refusing to look at you. You managed not to roll your eyes, pressing your lips to his cheek, trailing kisses down to his jaw while your hand moved beside his face to turn his head to look at you. Thankfully he toned down the brattiness because he didn’t pop his head off to get away from you. He definitely wanted your attention. 

You pecked him on the lips, grinning down at him as he moved onto his back once more, arms crossed as he glared up at you. “Tell me where it hurts, Buggy, and I’ll kiss it to make it feel better.”

“Everywhere.” He sighed in frustration. 

Buggy had told you how his body sometimes ached from his Devil Fruit powers, the constant popping of his limbs off his body causing some discomfort if he did it too often in a day. He wasn’t in need of healing most of the time, he just wanted your attention which you were fine to give him. 

“Okay, so here?” You asked before kissing him once more on the lips as you moved to straddle him carefully, being mindful in case he was having more discomfort than usual. He uncrossed his arms, resting his hands on the top of his thighs as he relaxed underneath you. When you pulled back, looking down at him, he looked just a bit calmer than when he first came into the bedroom. “Where else, my love? I need you to tell me.”

“Here?” He pointed to the nape of his neck and you wasted no time in leaning down to kiss the spot where he was pointing, nibbling gently at his skin before sitting back up to look down at him. Buggy looked back up at you, obviously trying to think of where else on his body he needed some ‘healing’. You didn’t wait for him to tell you before taking both of his hands in yours, softly kissing his knuckles one by one, the backs of his hands and finally his palms, each brush of your lips over his skin lasting just a few seconds before you moved on to the next one.

“Where else, Buggy?” You asked as you lowered his hands back down. He didn’t respond so you leaned back down to kiss him on the forehead, holding his head carefully in your hands before you began to list off some options for him. “Shoulders? Elbows? Tell me, love.”

“Everywhere.” He mumbled, his eyes wide as he watched you unbutton his shirt, pushing it open before you kissed the base of his throat. He let out a soft moan, his hand back on the top of your thighs as you lingered there, sucking on his skin softly. “Y-Yea, there too, babe. The neck really aches.”

“I know, Buggy.” You chuckled as you pulled back. “Y’know, if your body hurts this much, I may need you to remove the rest of your clothes so I can give you a proper look over.”

He perked up a bit, a mischievous grin appearing on his face. “Is that what the Doctor orders? Get me naked so you can examine me?”

“Afraid so, Buggy.” You told him, shaking your head. “That’s the only way I’ll be able to treat you is if you’re completely naked.”

“You should have said something earlier then!” He sat up abruptly as he started to remove the rest of his clothes. “What else do you recommend, Doc?”

“I recommend staying in bed for the rest of the night.” You said as he tried to remove your pants while you were still on his lap. You put your hands on his to halt his actions for just a moment. “No strenuous exercises, rest, and to let me take care of you.”

Buggy looked up at you, head tilted to the side as he smiled softly at you. His eyes were almost sparkling, full of love now and trust for you, knowing you would always be there to take care of him. “That all, Doc?”

“That’s what the doctor orders, Buggy.” You told him as you gave him a kiss. “Just let me care for you, okay?”

“Okay.” He nodded, leaning into your kiss. “Whatever you want.”

[ssinnerplazahotel]

𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙚&𝙀

╭──────────.★..─╮

*Chapter Three*

╰─..★.──────────╯

WC:5k

Warning: 18+, age gap, smut, fluff, it’s the 50s/60s

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Masterlist: Prologue, Ch.1, Ch.2

Christmas was usually your favorite time of year, you loved the festivities and the decorations. You and your mother had an annual tradition of taking a trip downtown to soak up some of the atmosphere and to be a part of the hustle and bustle of the busy holiday season. You expected this year to be different, being in Memphis and away from home. But things were drastically different now.

You were in the dining room with Dawn and Cynthia setting up for the Christmas Eve dinner party that Elvis hosted every year. You weren’t sure how anyone managed to get excited over these parties like they didn’t have them nearly every night—you blamed it on the holidays.

You slipped away after setting the table, going upstairs to take a breath before the bulk of the crowd arrived. You heard the gentle sound of the piano resonating from the music room. You recognized the song playing, it was one you often heard coming from the room during some of Elvis’ many long, sleepless nights. You stopped by the door, leaning against the frame as you watched him.

He only played for a moment more before his hands froze on the keys. He turned his head, meeting your eyes. “Birdie,” He said, his voice no more than a whisper in the, now, silent room.

“Hi,” You whispered back. He held his hand out for you with a blank stare—just a hint of a smile on his face. “What’s wrong?” You asked as you crossed the room and took his hand.

He pulled you down beside him on the piano bench, bringing your hand to his lips and holding there for a moment before pulling away. “I’m okay,” He said. You weren’t convinced.

“Tell me,” You pressed. “I can see it in your eyes that something's wrong.”

He turned his head to laugh, looking back at you with a playful expression that you could see straight through. “I guess I get blue during Christmas.”

“Why?” You asked with a concerned tilt of your head.

His smile faded quickly, his eyes focused on yours but somehow distant. He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly a few times. “I miss her a lot around Christmas…”

You nodded, bringing your right hand up to cup his face. You felt your throat tighten as you brushed your thumb against his cheek. You had spent all day trying to force down your own emotions surrounding the holiday. It was the first Christmas without your mother, and as much as you wanted to push away the emotions stirring in your chest you knew it was just a matter of time before it really hit you.

“The years keep goin by a-and…pretty soon it’ll just be another Christmas.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It won’t be so different, it’ll be normal and it won’t feel like anything’s missing.”

“You’ll always miss her, E.” Your voice was unsteady as you held on to your composure.

He met your eyes again then, his expression softening. “Oh, birdie, I-I didn’t~ I-I shouldn’t’ve~”

“I want you to talk to me~”

“But I know you’re hurting too,” He said, putting his hand over yours where it still rested on his face. “Are you okay?”

“No,” You admit. “But…Dawn says it’ll pass. It has to pass, right?”

“I don’t know if it ever stops hurting,” He said somberly. “But I hope it gets easier to live with.”

“My mother,” You started, trying to blink away your tears. “She always said that you gotta hurt to heal but…I’m worried that once I start allowing myself to feel those feelings they’ll never go away.”

“You can’t keep it in forever, baby.” He turned his head to kiss your palm before letting your hand go. “That’ll only end up doing more bad than good.” He turned his attention back to the ivory keys of the piano. “I see you headin for that dark place. You can’t let yourself go there, you gotta find another way. If you can’t cry it out, maybe you can figure something else out.”

“Is singing your way?” You asked, watching as he began to play the gentle chords of an old Christmas song that you couldn’t remember the name of.

“I don’t know,” He said. “I just let the feelings happen, I don’t do anything to stop 'em but I don’t do anything to solve ‘em either.”

“I really miss her.” You sighed. “I can’t grasp the fact that I’ll never see her again.”

“Or put your arms around her,” Elvis added solemnly, his fingers slowing coming to a stop against the keys.

The two of you sat there staring down at the piano in silence. Tears welled in your eyes, you didn’t have to look up to know Elvis was crying after you heard the trembling breath he released. You didn’t say anything as you laid your head on his shoulder, a tear racing down the bridge of your nose as you did so. He put his arm around you, laying his head against yours. There was nothing to be said as the two of you sat there silently weeping for reasons so similar that you understood each other without speaking.

You wanted to stay there crying on his shoulder for hours, but you eventually had to pull yourself together to go finish set up for the party. Elvis was reluctant to let you go, he wanted to escape to his room and hide there until the festivities were over.

“Come on,” You said, pulling him up from the piano bench. “You put on a smile and go entertain your guests like your mama would’ve wanted you to.”

He smiled gently at that, tears still clinging to his lashes as he pulled you into a hug. “You’ll be there, that’s the only reason I’ll go,” He said. “You’ll come see me after?”

“If I can get past the guards,” You teased, pulling away from the hug and looking up at him. You reached up and thumbed away the remainder of his tears. “I’ll see you out there.”

“Okay, honey,” He whispered, closing his eyes as you kissed his cheek. “I’m right behind you.”

You left the music room feeling lighter than when you walked in. Talking about your feelings actually did ease the tightness in your chest.

When you got back downstairs there were already guests arriving, causing you to put on a smile as you greeted them on your way to the kitchen.

“Where were you?” Your aunt asked when you joined her by the stove.

“I needed a minute,” You said without elaborating, hoping your puffy eyes were enough of an explanation. “Do you want me to start moving the food to the dining table?”

“You can, I doubt anyone will really sit down to eat,” Dawn said. “Make it look nice anyway.”

“Sure.” You grabbed a pan of food from the counter before walking it out to the dinner table.

You caught a glimpse of Elvis as you sat the food down, you were surprised to see how well he had pulled himself together. If you didn’t know any better you wouldn’t have thought he was hurting at all as he smiled and laughed with his friends and family.

*

You were stripping the table to wash the linens when Dawn emerged from the kitchen, having just finished the last of her chores for the night. The party was still alive and well, though most of the guests had already left. There were still a handful of people hanging around making enough noise to keep everyone else awake.

“Let me help you.” Dawn started to fold the tablecloth.

“Don’t worry about it~”

“I insist.”

You smiled in thanks as you went to take the rest of the table linens to the laundry room, Dawn following silently behind you. Her silence made you feel unsettled, she was never quiet. You didn’t bother to say anything about it as you loaded the linens into the wash, hoping to escape to your room afterwards.

“Thanks,” You said after starting the washer. “I think I’m going to turn in. I’ll get up early to clean up after everyone’s cleared out.”

“Okay.” She nodded as you tried to get past her to leave the laundry room.

“Is everything okay?” You asked when she didn’t move.

She didn’t say anything as she reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out your mother’s scarf. “I found this in the laundry a few days ago.”

You took the scarf as she handed it to you.

“Elvis’ laundry,” She clarified, causing a crushing feeling to wash over you.

“It must’ve gotten mixed in somehow,” You said. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

Dawn sighed, turning to shut the door of the laundry room before facing you with her arms crossed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t act clueless, we both know you aren’t.”

You looked down at the scarf in your hands, mentally cursing yourself for not making sure you got it back sooner.

“I explicitly asked you to keep a low profile around here,” Dawn continued with a disappointed expression. “Of all people—Elvis?”

“I’m not sure what you think is going on~”

“I don’t need the lies or the excuses,” She said, her demeanor was calm but the glare on her face told you everything you needed to know about how angry she was. “I can’t lose this job, you know that. I let you into my home, into my life, I took you in after your mother’s death and you put me in jeopardy like this?”

You tried to speak but you weren’t able to get a word in.

“Whatever you think you’re doing stops now,” She said. “It’s insane and inappropriate.”

“Why is it so insane?” You dared to ask. “Is it so unbelievable that he likes me?”

“Yes, it is.” She lowered her voice in an attempt to keep from raising it. “There’s only one thing a man like that wants with a girl like you.”

“A girl like me?”

“A colored girl.”

Your lips pursed as you matched Dawn’s glare, your gaze unwavering. “And what’s that?” You asked, your voice quiet as you struggled to keep it steady.

“You’ll know once he gets it,” She said. “He’ll drop you so fast you won’t even get the chance to put your arms out and catch yourself.”

“You’re wrong.” Your voice sounded unsure even to your own ears.

“Really?” Dawn asked, her eyebrows raising. “Just how long do you think he’ll go on playing this game with you? Sneaking from room to room, waiting until the coast is clear—or at least until he thinks it is~”

“Your point?”

“Why would he keep putting himself through all that trouble when he can, and does, have any girl he wants,” She continued. “He’ll never choose you, for obvious reasons.”

“He’s not a racist, Dawn." Your hurt morphed into anger. “When he looks at me that’s not all he sees.”

“Is that what he told you?” She asked with an unconvinced expression. “His contract won’t even let him sing for a negro charity, you think they’ll let him walk around with you on his arm? It’ll never happen. Whatever you have going on, do yourself a favor and end it before you get hurt.”

“There’s nothing going on,” You said. “He’s my friend, we talk sometimes. There’s no harm in that.”

“Just don’t let your scarf get lost in Mr. Presley’s room the next time the two of you talk.” She turned to leave.

“Elvis,” You corrected before she was gone. “He hates when people call him Mr. Presley.”

She cut her eye at you once more before opening the door and leaving the room.

*

You didn’t meet Elvis in his room that night like you had promised. As much as you wanted to not let Dawn's words get to you, you couldn’t help it. She was right, and despite your own stubbornness to believe her, you knew it.

Elvis was Elvis.

There were thousands of women all over the country that wanted him. Only god knew how many of them actually had him. How many of them he pined after in the same ways that he'd pined after you, ways that you were a fool to believe were special. In reality, the only thing special about your situation with Elvis was that nobody knew about it. Nobody could know about it, even if you wanted them to. Your relationship wasn’t a relationship at all, it was just a secret--hidden behind closed doors. If you knew anything about things done in the dark, you knew they always came brutally to the light.

You were lying in bed that night when your door opened, startling you out of your uproar of thoughts. You sighed as Elvis closed the door. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” He repeated. “I’ve been waiting for you, birdie. You standin me up?”

“No, Elvis." You pushed the covers from your legs and got up before he could join you on the bed. “You have to go.”

“What’s the matter?” He asked, his expression turning serious.

“Dawn,” You said. “She found my scarf in your room and she…”

He seemed to relax after hearing that, putting his arms around your waist. You closed your eyes as his scent invaded your senses, making you swoon as it always did. “I’ll talk to her~”

“No.” You walked out of his arms and towards the door. “You have to leave, E. I don’t want to do this tonight.” You tried to open the door, only for him to stride over and push it back shut. “I don’t think we should carry on like this. Not anymore.”

“What’d she say to you?” He asked, trying to meet your eyes as you stood facing the door, your hand still on the knob. "Tell me."

“This was a really dumb idea." You finally met his eyes, the anger you felt towards Dawn returning as you replayed her words in your mind. “I don’t know what I was thinking, okay?”

“No, not okay,” He said, his eyebrows drawing together. “I-I thought we~”

“You thought wrong,” You snapped. “You can have any girl in the world, why the hell are you so bothered with me?”

“I don’t want any girl, darlin, I want you." He reached out to touch your face. “You’re my girl.”

“I’m not your girl.” You pulled away. “I’ll never be your girl, Elvis. Not as long as you are who you are and I am who I am.”

“I thought we were past this.”

“It’s not about color,” You said in frustration. “It’s about you being Elvis Presley. It's about everyone in the world knowing who you are, everyone in this house--they worship you.”

“Birdie~”

“I’ll never know you outside of these rooms, I’ll always be confined to this space with you. Behind closed doors, hidden. A secret. I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to understand who you are. Who I am.”

“Birdie,” He said again, taking his hand from the door and making you face him. “You’re my girl, that’s who you are.”

You shook your head, keeping your eyes down as he held you by the waist.

“W-What we have, it’s different,” He continued. “I don’t have to be Elvis Presley when I’m with you, b-because that’s not who you expect me to be. I can be me, I can be myself a-and you won’t want me any other way. That’s why you’re my girl, regardless of everything else. Regardless of what your aunt or anyone else has to say about it.” He took your face in his hands, making you meet his eyes. He stared at you for a moment, an unfamiliar look in his sapphire eyes. “You’re my girl...tell me.”

You looked at him, not saying a word as his eyes flitted wantonly over your features.

“Tell me,” He repeated before silence engulfed the two of you once more. His jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth, a short laugh leaving him. “Come on, baby, don’t make me force it out of you.” He stepped impossibly closer as he lowered his head and graced his lips over yours. “You know I can.”

Your eyes fell closed as he pressed his lips fully against yours, your hands coming up to hold his wrists as he held your face. You started to push him away, but your resolve was waning quickly. You broke the kiss first, trying to come back to your senses but failing miserably as he continued to trail kisses down your jaw and your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin.

“Tell me you’re my girl.” He breathed against your skin, his hand traveling down your sides as he continued his assault.

You couldn’t help the sound that escaped your lips as he hiked your dress up. “E-Elvis~”

“Uh-uh,” He chided disapprovingly. “You know that’s not what I wanna hear, little girl.”

You rolled your eyes, angry at yourself and your lack of willpower. You grasped his shoulders for dear life as his hand slipped past the top of your panties, bracing yourself for the mind-numbing feeling of his fingers pressing against you.

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the door. You were so wonderstruck by the feelings that came over you as he fingered you against your bedroom door. You would’ve done or said anything he wanted at that moment, despite the conflicting emotions threatening to consume you. All you needed was for him to keep making you feel everything you were feeling.

His lips found yours again, kissing you feverishly. You moaned when his fingers curled inside of you. He started slow, building his pace until he had you ascending towards your high.

You held your breath, barely holding yourself up on your trembling legs. “Oh, god.”

Elvis groaned, breaking the kiss and looking down at you. His free hand came up to wrap around your neck, not adding any pressure but holding you there as he watched you fall apart, his rings were cold against your burning skin. “Tell me you’re my girl.”

“E-Elvis~”

“Say it,” He said more firmly, his fingers halting deep inside of you.

You whimpered, throwing your head back against your bedroom door, teetering so desperately over the edge of your release.

“I-l’m your girl."

“That’s what I thought.”

He removed his hand from your underwear but before you could complain he dropped to his knees in front of you, pulling your panties to the side and burying his face in your heat.

You stood up on your tiptoes, unsure of whether to give in to the immense pleasure or run away from it. Your hands grabbed onto his hair in an attempt to ground yourself as your soul positively left your body.

The pleasure was unlike before as he sent you careening off the edge with stars dotting your vision. If not for the death grip he had on your hips, you were sure you would’ve hit the ground.

Elvis hummed approvingly as you rode out your orgasm, his tongue massaging your clit thoroughly throughout, only pulling away when your legs started to truly give out. He sighed as he stood, holding your body against his as he wiped the remainder of your release from his chin. “Should’ve tasted you sooner.”

Your expression was still dazed as he kissed you, wrapping your useless legs around his waist and carrying you to your bed. He laid you down under him, kissing you deeply for another moment before pulling away.

“Let me clean you up, mama,” He said, but you ignored his words and continued to kiss him, your hands traveling down his chest until they rested on the buckle of his pants. “What’re you doin?” He chuckled.

“I want you,” You replied breathlessly. “All of you.”

He pulled away and met your eyes with a concerned expression that you didn’t understand. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I am,” You insisted, you weren’t sure if you had ever been so sure about anything. It could be the high of your previous orgasm talking or your desire to actually feel like you were his, even if was only for a moment. “I-I’m your girl. I want to be your girl.”

“You are my girl.” He sounded as if he was reassuring you. “My pretty girl.”

You sat up when he stood up from the bed, watching him turn the lock on the door before he started to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt. He did away with the shirt before joining you on the bed again. He sat beside you, kissing your shoulder and helping you out of your nightgown.

You shivered.

He tossed it to the ground, putting your arms around his neck as you sat completely bare before him. “Please, Elvis,” You begged, putting your pride and embarrassment aside. “Make love to me.”

“Not t’night.” You immediately deflated, a disappointed sigh leaving your lips. You started to pull away, wanting to cover yourself as your confidence was shot down. “What?” He laughed as he kept you in your spot.

“Don’t laugh at me.” You crossed your arms, your embarrassment reappearing as you avoided his eyes.

“I’m not,” He chuckled. “C’mon, baby. I-I’m not laughin at ya.”

You kept your eyes down, your arms crossed over your bare chest and his arm still wrapped around you. “Why won’t you make love to me?” You uttered quietly, you were convinced that there was something wrong with you. There was something about you that he hated so much that he couldn’t even bring himself to make love to you. “Aren’t you attracted to me?”

“Of course I am. You don’t know the things I’ve done to keep myself from taking you all way.” He tapped your chin with his index finger and you met his eyes. “I want the time to be right, that’s all.”

“The time will never be right.”

“It’s not happening t’night.” His tone was final.

“I want to make you feel good,” You said anyway, only recieving an amused smile in return. “Why are laughing?”

“Why are you so sensitive?” He shot back instead of answering, running his right hand down you bare thigh—reminding you again of your own nudity. “It makes me feel good hearing those pretty sounds you make when I touch you~”

“No." He gripped the bend of your knee pulled your leg until you laid against your back beneath him. “You know that’s not what I mean. If you don’t want me~”

“I want you.” He kissed the corner of your mouth before meeting your eyes again. “It’ll happen, just not tonight. There are other ways you can make me feel good.”

“How?” You asked, listening intently to what he had to say.

“Lot of ways.” He kissed you briefly before pulling away from you, positioning himself so that he sat back against your headboard. “C’mere, darlin,” He encouraged, patting his lap. “Sit right here.”

You followed his instructions, of course. Crawling up to where he sat and straddling his thighs. He took you by the waist and held you still as he rolled his hips up once, causing you to feel his painfully hard erection through his slacks. You released a surprised sound as the material of his pants rubbed against your bare heat.

“You feel that?” He asked, his voice starting to sound strained as you met his hips in another roll. “That’s how bad I want you.”

You couldn’t stop the pathetic whimper that left your lips as you rutted against him. You wanted so badly to have him in any way that he wanted you. “T-Tell me what to do.”

Elvis released your hips, kissing you as his hands went to unbuckle the front of his pants. Your heart rate increased as you anticipated his next move, finding yourself eagerly awaiting his direction. He didn’t speak as he grabbed your wrist and guided your hand up to your mouth.

"Spit," He instructed casually. He smiled at your hesitation. "It's okay."

You felt hot all over but you followed his instructions. His gaze was intense as he watched you, his eyes never leaving yours even as he guided your wet hand beneath his pants. He exhaled tensely as he wrapped your wet fingers around him. You watched his eyelids go heavy as he showed you what to do, taking his hand away when he thought you had the motion down.

“That's perfect, baby,” He whispered, grabbing your waist again and moving you against your own hand as you continued pumping him.

You weren't satisfied. “I want to feel you.”

He sighed but he wasn't annoyed. "What do you want?"

"You?"

"Me?"

"Yes."

"My cock?"

He could've lit you on fire and you would have burned up in half the time than you did in that moment. He made your physically weak.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"No."

"Don't be shy, birdie, you can say it. I wanna hear you."

"I...I want your cock."

The sentence sounded foreign on your tongue but he still muttered a gentle praise and pulled your arm away before reaching down to push his slack down, fully exposing his erect penis. He kicked the material the rest of the way down his legs, leaving him as bare as you were. He shifted beneath you, pulling your hips down until your heat met his aching erection. The sounds that left his lips made you feral, you didn’t want to miss a second of watching him pleasure himself with your arousal.

Your hips stuttered from the contact and you felt him shutter. You moved experimentally, your eyes threatening to fall shut. Elvis began to meet your movements in shallow thrusts and the pleasure you were feeling to intensified.

“Just like that,” He encouraged, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. "Fuck."

Your hand moved from where it rested on his chest and wrapped around his throat. You applied the slightest pressure, teasing him. He tensed and his breath caught in his throat. His lips parted as if to say something--to warn you of his impending rapture. He started to push you away but you stopped him.

"I want you to," You insisted, encouraging him.

His movements faltered and his gaze went unfocused before his eyes rolled back and his hips stuttered against yours.

He swore, forcing you still as he came down. He exhaled while kissing your shoulder, still feeling the heat of your core against him. “Tell me.”

“I’m your girl,” You said knowingly, your eyes closed as you hugged him back.

“My girl.” His breathing started to even out again.

You pulled away from his embrace, looking down at his blissed out expression. You kissed him briefly on the forehead before standing from the bed.

“Where’re you are goin?” He asked following you with his eyes, a lazy smirk on his lips.

“Just a second,” You chided as you walked into the bathroom, grabbing a cloth from your towel rack before standing at the sink to run warm water over it. You cleaned yourself up quickly before rinsing the cloth, shrugging on the white silk robe that Elvis had gotten you. When you returned to the room he had pulled his slacks back up his legs. He sat against your headboard with them unfastened, staring at the ceiling.

He only looked up when he noticed you, his blank expression softening into a smile. “There you are. I was getting lonesome, darlin.”

You cleaned him up before going to discard the rag in the bathroom. You turned off the lights and joined him in bed after, pulling your comforter over the two of you and laying your head on his bare chest. You listened to the steady beat of his heart, closing your eyes and getting lost in the sound as he traced patterns into your shoulder.

“It’s Christmas,” He said suddenly, his low voice cutting through the silence.

You couldn’t see the clock on your bedside table, but you figured it was past midnight now. “It is.”

He reached up to turn on the lamp, causing you to squint against the light.

“What are you doing?” You asked as he sat up in the bed, sitting up after him.

“Here,” He said, taking the ring off of his pinky finger and grabbing your hand.

“No.” You tried to pull your hand away. “I can’t.”

“Take it,” He laughed, slipping the ring onto your middle finger. You sighed, looking down at it on your hand as he left a tender kiss on your cheek. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“I don’t have anything to give you.”

“You give me everything just by being here with me like this.”

“That’s not enough.”

“I don’t want anything but you.”

You met his eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

“Oh no,” He said with an exasperated sigh, pretending to think about it for a moment. “Fine, just don’t go getting yourself upset.”

You were hesitant to continue, you didn’t want to ruin the moment, but you had to ask. “Could you love me?” There was a beat of silence and you worried he misunderstood. “N-Not do you love me, but could you.”

“Could I love you?” He repeated, you nodded your head. He looked down, fidgeting with the ring on your finger for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Why do you ask?”

“I want to know how you feel.”

He chuckled softly, tapping your chin before answering. “I could love you.”

“You think?”

“I know I could.”

His response was enough to minimize your growing insecurities for the moment at least, so you didn’t question him further. Instead you smiled as he kissed you, kissing him back slowly. When he broke the kiss to turn off the lights you let your smile drop. Despite you temporary satisfaction, you were still dreading the feelings that would come back tomorrow when you left this room and went on acting as if this night never happened. You wanted to stay in this moment forever—or for any amount of time it took to fill you up enough to last a lifetime.

You knew then that, dreadfully enough, you were in love with Elvis Presley.

And it terrified you to your core.

*

[majoryeager104]

Betrayal part 4 (final

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/n Bit of a timeskip but this was the part I enjoyed writing the most + bonus at the end to cheer y’all up <3 summary: After Touyas final battle with his family, you’re finally allowed to visit

warnings: spoilers for his conclusion, language, injuries (his scars), ANGSTYYYY sad, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel pookie I promise 🙏

It was cold, and sterile-smelling in the facility. it had been some time since your attempt at a fight with him. Some time since you’d betrayed his trust, and now?

Now he was dying in a holding facility. you stepped quietly into the room, taking a deep breath as you mentally prepared yourself. Your burns had healed away, but your body still ached from the stress as you looked into the room. There stood Enji, Rei, Shoto, Fuyumi, and Natsuo- everyone was here.

Even Touya, in the tube-like contraption that kept him alive. Upon seeing it, you already wanted to cry. No matter what you did, nothing could prepare you for that sinking feeling. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t you save him? You stared at the machinery, the only things keeping his heart beating, your body feeling sore and empty as you approached the Todoroki family

“…hello”

was all you could muster, your eyes never leaving the machine that encased him. This was a terrible way to die. It wasn’t right. It was downright cruel. They should’ve just let him succumb to his injuries. Should’ve let him pass on, let him rest, let him- no, no, you wouldn’t be able to handle that either. And you’re here now, right? For the same reason they put him here- to spare any time you could with Touya. It was a gruesome environment, the faces of the Todoroki family as the looked towards you. Everyone in the room felt the same weight bearing upon their shoulders, some more than others- helplessness, grief, guilt. the only sounds in the room were the hums of machinery, and Touyas soft breathing, tucked away behind the glass as he watched the closest thing to a family he’d ever had, grieve over him before he was even gone. It was a bone chilling experience, even for him. “h…hey”

he rasped out weakly, and all their heads whipped around to look at the dark glass separating them. “…just y/n”

was all they needed to hear, with soft nods and glances towards you as the Todoroki family relented quickly to his wishes, leaving you alone in the room with him, with Touya. Your Touya. Trapped behind glass on a steady march to death. “…hey…Touya”

you whispered, stepping closer to the dark glass. You couldn’t see through it, and deep down you were glad of it. You weren’t sure you could handle seeing him in his current state- literal charred skin and bones. You placed a soft hand against the glass, as if hoping he’d feel it. he didn’t, but he saw it. He took a shuddering breath, not able to do much else as he finally attempted to speak again. “…’m sorry…for everything”

you blinked, your eyes already glassy as you processed his weak but gentle voice as it hit your ears.

“…didn’t wanna burn you…but I did…sorry..”

You looked up, a tear streaking down your face as you attempted to put your plea to gentler words. Stop it. Stop it you’re making this so much harder.

“Touya, you don’t need to-”

“let me finish doll….Please..”

his voice came out a bit stronger that time, his will overpowering his weakness. He was begging you to let him go in the most peaceful way he could.

“…I pulled you into my mess…let you get attached, let you buy me clothes, food, you know… I’m sorry”

you sniffled softly, covering your face with a palm as you looked down, your tears spilling down your face and hitting the floor as you listened.

“…I did warn ya though…”

you heard a wheezy chuckle through the glass as he spoke, shaking your head as you choked back a sob. You didn’t want to admit he was right. That he had warned you, so many times “don’t waste your money on a dead man” the words came back to your mind like a flash flood.

“…but honestly, I hoped you wouldn’t listen…and I’m sorry for that too…”

“Touya please…” you cried weakly, looking up at the glass, like if you looked at that blank dark glass long enough, you’d see him again, how he used to be, maybe even catch a smile on his face.

“Don’t waste your tears on me…’m not worth it, doll… been telling you for years…just…I love you… just leave…don’t visit me again…do it for me…”

“I love you too… I don’t wanna go…” you sobbed weakly, kneeling against the glass, your shoulders slumped in defeat under his soft tones and pleas.

“Me neither, doll…me neither…sorry…”

————————————————————————

(a/n bonus if you’re crying <3)

you stayed there for a while, with those being the last words he’d uttered before he couldn’t speak anymore, his body and mind spent as he silently watched you weep at the feet of his holding cell. God he wished he could hold you, wished he could wipe away those pretty tears- no, he’d kiss em away if he could, like he always did. He drifted in and out of consciousness, too weak to think or speak, even as an unfamiliar silhouette stood in the doorway. you looked up to see a little kid, a young girl, with silvery hair, red eyes, and a small horn on her forehead. She smiled, sympathy in her eyes as she reached down to hug you. Shoto walked in behind her, kneeling to rub your back, another hero- Eraserhead, you recognized, standing in the door with a cautious look on his face. “Hey miss! Mr Shoto told me you were sad… don’t cry, mister Aizawa said I was allowed to help you! Everything’s gonna be okay, okay? I promise!”

How’d y’all like that bonus 🥹🥹🥹

[cosmicwindmillcomplex]

Do you have any advice for people who are about to start EMDR?

actually yes! And I’m so glad you asked because idk if I ever would’ve thought about making it into a post! apologies for the late response but wanted to give it a lot of thought! I’ve been doing EMDR on and off for about 3.5 years now with my therapist, as a disclaimer: I am not an expert so this would be my advice based on my personal experience with and knowledge of EMDR.

1. Make sure you trust your therapist or whoever the professional who will be guiding you through the experience is; also make sure that they are qualified with EMDR experience. They should not offer the option if they have no experience with it.

2. Make sure you are in a relatively stable enough place to go through it. Don’t lie just because you want to do it. it’s a very intense psychological experience and can be draining so just be somewhat prepared and don’t be surprised if you feel kinda worn out the rest of the day after the session. There have been times I have taken breaks from EMDR when other issues of life became problematic and as a result I was less stable. It’s not something you want to force when you’re not stable enough, for safety reasons. For me it was difficult to admit I wasn’t stable enough as I wanted to just “push through” thinking it’ll automatically heal me, but it doesn’t quite work that way.

3. My sister is also a licensed therapist and gave me this metaphor when I was struggling with EMDR, it has shifted my perspective and helped me a lot. Think of EMDR as riding a train through your subconscious/inner world (however you like to think of it). In between the bilateral stimulation parts your therapist will usually ask something such as “what are you noticing”. This is when you peek out the train window or poke your head out and see where the train has stopped. but you stay on the train and then repeat the process at the next stop. Do your very best to observe and not be “sucked in” to whatever you are noticing. What you notice could be an image your brain gives you, it could be a memory, or a physical sensation of some kind as well. It’s kind cool like your brain is communicating with you!

4. EMDR does require bringing up and having to somewhat relive your trauma in the controlled environment, which is why you want to make sure you trust your therapist and have any grounding items nearby or with you. If you go in person and drive yourself, don’t feel the need to drive away immediately. It’s okay to sit for a while until you’re ready. If you do telehealth maybe keep some grounding items near you and always be in a room/environment where you feel really safe. Allow time afterwards for some self care and taking it easy.

5. My therapist describes it as a process to try and close the trauma loop in a way that the memories don’t impact you quite as badly. Some have equated it to “exposure therapy but make it trauma”, although it’s kinda right, it’s more complex than that. Often things that come up repeatedly can be clues, like a branch of a tree, and through sessions you may find the roots deeper down. There may be root memories you’re not aware of and through EMDR you may eventually find those roots when you’re ready.

6. Be patient!!! You don’t want to overthink or over analyze it too much outside of therapy. It’s okay and natural to think of it but don’t try too hard to investigate, give your brain time and it will probably make sense later down the road when you are ready. I usually will write down something if it comes up and then try to put it out of my mind until next session. Don’t push yourself or judge too hard. It is a lot to go through and very heavy, it makes sense to feel frustrated or discouraged but you will make progress in your own time. Don’t be afraid to use a stop signal if you feel overwhelmed, you don’t always have to keep going!

7. Be honest! Do your very best to not worry about being judged or anything like that. Let your brain go where it needs to go without judgment or trying to control it. Don’t lie or try to force your session to to a certain way, all it will do is slow your progress! (Not trying to call anyone a liar intentionally, but sometimes we would try to direct or deflect certain things in session due to feeling like we needed more progress faster and fears/anxieties/doubts, as an impulse reaction almost, in this case we think about it for a while and journal on it until we have the words to talk it out and explain more in another session later on. “Lying” in this context can also just simply be telling your therapist you’re okay when you know that you are not.)

I hope this helps and makes some kind of sense! Wishing you lots of love and comfort as you start your journey with EMDR ❤️‍🩹

[thefirstprince]

Men,

1. Privacy is power. What people don’t know they can’t ruin. Keep it private, people love to ruin things.

2. The cost of growth is sometimes loneliness. Learn the art of loneliness.

3. Everything is temporary. Be reminded, nothing last forever even the life you are given so stay humble.

4. So many people are fighting silent battles. Be kind.

5. Your partner is a reflection of you. Choose wisely. More reason why you must go after her VALUE SYSTEM And not only the physique.

6. Your mental health is more important than anyone’s feelings. This is something you need to be selfish about.

7. You don’t need more time. You need less distractions. Learn to be focused.

8. Be selfish with your time. A lot of people don't deserve it.

9. Go where your LOVED, APPRECIATED, a priority, recognized, respected and valued without having to ask.

10. Self love isn't selfish.

11. Anyone who makes your life even a little bit easier is a big blessing. Hold unto them, they are few out there.

12. Choose your circle wisely, whoever you allow into your space can affect your state of mind.

13. Peace of mind is priceless.

14. Stop being desperate to be in love and just live.

15. Be around people who have that “grow together” mentality.

16. No regrets in life, just lesson learned the hard way. Dust yourself up and keep pushing.

17. Go for someone who is proud to have you.

18. Never give up everyone has bad days, pick yourself up and keep going.

19. If you get tired, learn to pull back and rest, not to Quit.

20. Disappear. Come back better.

21. Learning from people's success is smart, learning from people's mistakes is genius.

22. How to be happy: dont expect anything from anyone. Don't, people owe you nothing.

23. Everything is going to be alright, maybe not today, but eventually. Always keep a positive and optimistic mindset.

24. Keep grinding. Your day is coming.

25. It’s so attractive when you get the same effort you give.

26. Stop being considerate in situations where you aren’t considered.

27. If nobody will help you, do it alone. And don't complain.

28. Be obsessed with improving yourself.

29. A conversation about how you feel is not supposed to end in a argument.

30. “I’ll do it tomorrow” is a big scam.

31. Don’t be the same, be better.

32. Better to wait than force things to happen.

33. Not everyone will understand you and that's okay.

34. Heal so you don’t become the people that traumatized you.

35. keep your circle small, keep only friends that have senses.

36. If they need you temporarily, ignore them permanently.

37. Everyone leaves. Learn how to survive alone.

38. Disappear if you have to. Focus on you.

39. People start hating you when they cannot control you.

40. Focus on improving yourself, not proving yourself.

41. Never, ever, run back to what broke you.

Keep pushing.

[frostfall-matches]

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@tillichan : [ profile and report ready ]

✧ Profile - L&DS

— Myth

Eternal and timeless. You used to be able to describe your life with those terms, as a celestial being working beneath and alongside various other divine beings. Their roles were numerous and vast, and your domains included those of light and healing.

Ever since you came into being, you knew what your role was: oversee the mortals and provide impartial aid to them. You were allowed to bestow small blessings of knowledge and divine power upon those who were worthy, those who dedicated their lives to your domains - they became your emissaries, guiding and aiding others of their kind. Your job, otherwise, was largely one done from a distance. You were supposed to allow the mortals - of their varying cultures, species, lifespans, and abilities - to make what they could of their fates. Death is an inevitability, just as life is; disasters and blessings go hand in hand.

But your heart was too big, too caring - you were warned not to interfere, but you just couldn’t help it. The plight of those who struggled time and again, only to meet their demise without achieving their goals or some semblance of joy and peace towards the ends of their lives. You found yourself boosting their meager efforts to fight darkness and disease when things were especially bleak, healing fatal wounds so a poor soul wouldn’t meet its end at that moment, staving off plagues that threatened populations. You knew you were overstepping the bounds of your role, but you just couldn’t help it.

Eventually, other celestial beings caught wind of your actions, looking upon you with a disapproving eye.

And so, as punishment, your immortality and divine powers were stripped away from you. No longer were you a part of the celestial realm that oversees anything and everything - no longer could you assist those with less power through your divine intervention. You were cast down, much like those stories of fallen angels, to the realms where mortals reside. But the other divine beings still saw use for you, for your abilities - or, at the very least, some saw you as a source of entertainment. Instead of living out a single mortal life and fading to nothingness when you inevitably died, you were made to reincarnate, over and over, living multiple lives over the course of time, and even in alternate timelines.

The only catch is, you will have no knowledge of any of your previous lives, divine or mortal. Perhaps, if the stars align and certain criteria are met, you could recover some of your old memories… But that won’t be guaranteed.

— Life in Linkon

In your current life, you are an office worker at the Hunter’s Association - specifically, you are the main secretary for the UNICORNS division.

Having a calm, peaceful life is one of your goals, so you searched for a job that would be both fulfilling but not overly chaotic; eventually, you came across an opening at the Hunter’s Association, and the rest was history. You have a deep desire to help others, and while you’re not out there risking your life as a Hunter, you can certainly help their lives go a bit more smoothly by taking care of some of the tedious tasks. While the Hunter’s Association has a number of divisions, you specifically work for UNICORNS, handling the bulk of their communications with other departments within the Association and even with outside businesses. There is a lot on your plate on a day-to-day basis, but you like it! It keeps you busy, but usually isn’t too overwhelming.

Yet, sometimes you feel like keeping yourself extra busy! Perhaps you just don’t know when to stop and rest? In any case, you also find yourself helping at Akso part time. Your Evol allows for a small degree of healing, which is of course highly sought-after in the field of medicine. You did consider working at a hospital full time, but something in you held you back - there’s something deep inside you that shies away from the idea of devoting your entire career, your entire being, to healing others… like you know it will only end in heartbreak.

— Abilities

Evol -> Moonbeam

Moonbeam is a versatile and unique evol, reminiscent of your powers when you were once a celestial being (not that you would remember, of course). You conjure beams of white light that can be used as shields and to promote the healing of wounds. The light is not overly bright like sunlight would be, but rather a gentle light that can still brighten up dark areas. While you are able to use beams of light to attack opponents, that is not the most effective use of your evol.

Weapon -> Staff.

It has the appearance of a clear, pale blue crystal, with silver vines winding up the staff. The head takes the appearance of a sphere with feather wings spreading out to the side. It glows with a silvery white light whenever you channel your evol through it.

Your match is…

✧ Xavier

-> [ The first time you meet Xavier, he is sleeping on the subway after he finished hunting down Wanderers. ] You’re on your way home from work, hopping on the subway to get home as you plan on relaxing and unwinding from the busy day you had. Since you tend to get off work a little bit later than most, you typically miss the major after-work rush, which you genuinely don’t mind. There are a handful of people in the car, one with ashen hair sleeping with his head leaning uncomfortably forward. People dozing off on the subways isn’t an unusual sight, but it always makes you worry a little. What if they miss their stop, or someone takes advantage of them? You hesitate for a few moments before taking a seat next to him and gently shaking him awake.

It doesn’t take much to wake him, and his gorgeous sea-blue eyes are meeting yours. You think he looks vaguely familiar, but you’re not quite sure where you might have seen him. Quickly, you shake yourself out of your thoughts and apologize for waking him, explaining that you didn’t want him to miss his stop. He smiles and thanks you, but “my stop isn’t for a while.” His statement confuses you - how can he know when his stop is, if he was sleeping? - but you don’t question it.

You are, however, surprised when he gets off at the same stop as you, and even more surprised to learn that you two live in the same apartment building.

-> [ Xavier stops by your desk with your favorite fruits, tea, or black coffee. ] During that initial meeting and the shared walk to your apartment building, the two of you chatted a bit. You learned he was a high-ranking Hunter, and he learned that you were the main secretary for the UNICORNS office. Ironically, it seemed like the two of you just kept missing each other at work! But now, Xavier makes it a point to stop by your desk if he’s heading into the office during work hours - and he always comes in bringing you something tasty for you to snack on or drink. Your coworkers like to tease you two about it, talking about an office romance, but it’s all lighthearted.

-> [ Xavier is perfectly content waiting, but he is not shy in his affections for you. ] While he isn’t exactly unfriendly, he is rather distant with everyone else around him, never allowing people in too close. But he warms up to you quickly, fondly remembering his past with… the other version of you that he once knew. He loves getting to know this you, too, learning all the similarities and differences you might share with her. He stares at you with such affection in his eyes that it takes your breath away sometimes. His confession comes in the form of sleepy words whispered to you as the two of you doze off in the middle of a sunny afternoon beneath the shade of a tree in a quiet park.

-> [ You will hear no complaints from him that you’re a homebody. ] Your desire to live a peaceful, quiet life is a very valid one, and one that Xavier very much shares. Yes, the two of you set aside time to go to fun festivals or events, but you’re both happy to spend weekday evenings indoors with each other. It’s just you, him, your pets, relaxing in your home (and yes, he stops by your apartment more often than you stop by his - he says that your home is much more lively and comfortable than his). Xavier adores cuddling on the couch with you while you two put something on the TV or read together.

-> [ He absolutely adores your pets. ] Xavier loves animals, especially when they’re cute, cuddly, and well-behaved. He actually didn’t know you had pets until he stopped by your apartment, noticing the dog hovering around your legs and the cat tree along the wall. He definitely wants to win your pets over, and he is confident it will happen! After all, just like him, your pets adore you so much - so of course they should be able to bond over their shared love for you. It is not uncommon for you to come home only to see him napping on the couch or floor with both your cat and dog on him, snoozing away.

-> [ Xavier obviously enjoys playing Kitty Cards - but he’s also happy to play chess and other board games with you. ] He almost never wins against you - professional chess player that you are - but he still has fun playing and attempting to beat you. However, he does tend to win at Kitty Cards… even when you think you’re getting the upper hand! But honestly, as long as he gets to spend time with you, he’s happy; it doesn’t matter if he wins or loses, in his eyes. He can get playfully competitive at times, especially if you declare that you’re absolutely going to win that day.

-> [ Your evols are very compatible with each other. ] Your Moonbeam ability will enhance his, similar to the way a resonance evol might be able to - light is light, after all, even if it comes in different forms, and he finds he is easily able to make use of the beams of light you’re able to conjure. In addition to this, your fighting styles compliment each other quite well. While your job isn’t hunting down Wanderers, on occasion you might get sucked into a battle alongside Xavier just while you’re out and about. He’s strong and he knows it, so he jumps right into battle (and can be rather reckless). Thankfully, you’re there to provide him with some shields and healing if necessary.

✧ Relationship with…

— Zayne -> Zayne deeply appreciates your efforts whenever you help out at Akso. He is a workaholic, so he is often somewhere around the hospital whenever you pick up a shift on the weekend. You really enjoy chatting with him whenever the two of you happen to run into each other while on your (all too short) breaks. The two of you often share your latest favorite healthy recipes, or good restaurants that might suit the other’s tastes. You also both share a deep love for animals - Zayne makes sure you get the chance to meet his dear squirrel friend, Clopidogrel.

— Rafayel -> You met Rafayel when you had to reach out to him for a few follow-up questions regarding the mysterious painting linking the demise of Raymond to his gallery. Whatever you expected from a world-renowned artist, Rafayel… wasn’t it. Despite his initial aloofness and moodiness, the two of you got on quite well, and he decided to continue communications even outside of work as he found you rather fun to interact with. He always makes sure that you have tickets to his latest exhibitions (and he will, surprisingly, make an appearance if he knows that you’re indeed going). You adore his paintings, the vibrant colors and beautiful, surreal sceneries he often depicts catching your full attention - and you absolutely gush about his skills right to his face, which earns you an amused smile from the artist.

— Sylus -> You’re not likely to run into Sylus often. You tend to avoid areas that are known to be dangerous, and Sylus doesn’t make very frequent trips into Linkon unless he has business to attend to or something catches his eye. That said, there is a particular crow that hangs out in the tree just outside your apartment that you’re trying to befriend, but it never seems to get too close. You know it’s the same crow, too, since it looks a bit different than the others you see around town. Occasionally, you come home to find shiny gifts like gems and jewelry on your balcony. You have a feeling that it’s the crow leaving the gifts, but you have yet to catch it in the act.

— Jeremiah -> You actually met Jeremiah before you encountered Xavier. You stopped by the Philo flower shop on a semi-regular basis, whenever you wanted to add a new houseplant to your collection or to get a bouquet for yourself or someone else. Jeremiah knows of you; he knows you’re the one that Xavier has been looking for, the one that is tied to his past (a life that he has lived, but you have not yet experienced - such is the confusing nature of the timewarp due to the Deepspace Tunnel). He has some great recommendations when you decide that you want to start a small garden on your balcony - whether you want to try growing fruits or vegetables, or just some beautiful flowering plants.