#kills my self with one Thousand hammers.

[junkissed]

OH MY GOD

all these asks are so cute omg wait i just saw this !! if you're still doing them i'd love to hear about jun please :3

mdni underneath the cut!

it's nights like these where you're thankful soundproof walls exist. ("soundproof", heavy on the air quotes. you're 90% sure the hotel concierge mentioned something like that when junhui had checked in. the other 10% of your poor brain was figuring out how to deal with the vibrator in your cunt.)

the silk sheets of the bed feel endless, cool like water against your skin. you lie on your back, feeling the bite of your fingernails in your thighs as you hold them open. between them, junhui's kneeling figure.

earlier, your fiancé had given you your first birthday gift of the day. double holiday, he had called it. double the gifts. naively, you had thought it was makeup, maybe a new perfume. instead, you had undone the big bow, unwrapped the sparkly paper, and found, instead, the vibrator. quickly, you had felt all the blood rush to your cheeks, then, downstairs. even more quickly, junhui had you bent over his knee, watching you take every inch of your new gift. (the second gift: the most beautiful necklace you had ever seen. the price, even more outrageous.)

"c-can't," you breathe. your voice crawls its way from your chest, curls in your throat. "wanna cum...feels too good."

he responds with a cruel tilt of his head, a smile playing on his lips. "you're almost there, darling. show me how good you are."

delirious, you nod. almost there, you repeat, your mind treading over those two words despite the pleasure. you had already endured a phone call with your best friend (in which junhui had decided to try out all the intensity settings on his phone) and your birthday dinner (in which you wore a dress with no panties, and he couldn't seem to get his hands off your thighs). you could do this, a few minutes more.

through your frosted vision, you watch junhui palm himself over his jeans, rough, desperate. without thinking, you whimper, feeling yourself tighten around the toy. compared to feeling him, this was nothing. this didn't hug your sweet spot, didn't fill you til you couldn't breathe, didn't rock against your clit just how you needed, not like junhui did.

fuck. now you're thinking about junhui fucking you, which is not helping your situation. if you're lucky, he'd do it tonight, with your ankles over his shoulders.

"you're soaked," he murmurs, voice quiet, reverent. he parts your legs a touch wider, his touch searing into you, so that you are fully on display. "so cute."

like this, you can feel everything, the cold air of the room you're in, the way his gaze seems to haunt your skin. a few gasping breaths, oh, even just a breath too deep would send you over, but you're determined to be good, no, better than good. you squeeze your eyes shut, letting your lips fall open in another noise somewhere between a moan and a pathetic hiccup--no longer can you tell the difference.

it's then that junhui sees this gasping window of opportunity and places two long fingers in your mouth, right against your tongue, and watches as you gag. "you know what to do, pretty girl," he tells you, and you do. like a dog, you suck, dreaming about him doing the same with his cock. traitorously, your hips rock up at the mere thought, oh, all the pressure in your belly might just make you explode.

but junhui is never cruel, never unloving to his favorite girl, the only one he's loved like this. so with these fingers, covered in your desperation, he trails them down your trembling neck, the curve of your tits, swollen from his mouth, over your stomach, and presses them to your puffy clit.

no words come to you, instead just a cry, shuddering, one that rips through your body. a white-hot feeling erupts inside you, one like fireworks, and you cum around the vibrator, again and again and again, as junhui works you with two fingers alone.

you're gone, somewhere unspeakable, too high to tell him again, again, i want more. luckily, he's always been able to read your mind. a long gasp, a reaching hand, a hot mouth over yours; before you know it, the vibrator is god knows where, replaced by junhui's cock, heavy on your abdomen.

"ready for round two?"

[themareverine]

A King & His Castle | In You, My Fortress | oldman!Logan x fem!OC drabble

series summary: Breadwinner. Bring-Home-the-Bacon. King of the Castle. He's heard it all before, but it's never been true of the Wolverine. Until her. Coming home to her is the only thing to live for, the only thing keeping the heart behind his ribs spinning.

synopsis: Insane, sick. Straight to hell if that’s the case—he couldn’t think of worse torture, and he’d outlived excrutiating. He knows it more intimately than he should, living it every day. Leaving his small Eden behind, in the biting Mexican dust that wilds it away in the glass of his rearview, it’s hell beyond the little limits of everything he, now, holds close.

warnings: drabble series, day-in-the-life, dad!Logan, age gap, angst, domesticity, pregnancy, babies, children, Logan is a boy dad because I said so.

a/n: based on this. and I have to dedicate this to @1800-fight-me for that post, which changed my brain chemistry and prompted my first oldman!Logan.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

On days like this, Logan could kill. 

Redlight. Redlight. Red, again. Red fuckin’ light. 

He could see them in his fuckin’ sleep. At a little after four, a text from a bunch of digits suggests a phone number—Chicago, if his guess was right. You booking rides? like it’s normal business hours instead of ass o’clock in the morning, like he hasn’t just passed out in bed after getting home and standing beneath a lava-hot shower for all of a handful of minutes—managed three and a half hours of fucking, much-needed racktime. 

Need a limo for five, 7:15. $1k green. 

Squinting into the screen without readers had been like staring into the sun, but Logan had managed. Dimness dropped to low as hell—fine, i'll be there with slow thumbs that burned, felt as if the weight of US-57 had been chained to every fiber of his skin structure. He’d managed to arrange a call time without so much as hammering his phone through the floor, a small mercy—place was barely standing as-is. Hauling old bones from bed was just short of crawling from hell, the warmth of under-covers and threadbare sheets more alluring than Egyptian gods. 

Hair not dry from his first shower, smothered against a thick, hard pillow for the three hours of sleep he’d managed, he stalked his ass back into the shower. Tried to work the cold irritation at humanity swimming in his veins beneath more hot water, failed—wrangled into only-slightly wrinkled slacks and jacket, may as well have been like roping steers. Skipped shaving, fuck that, started the hunt for another of his damn socks. Fumbling about the room like a green linebacker, he didn’t even feel the bed stir. Tangle of sheets around feet, the low moan of a curious, half-asleep lover. 

“Logan?” Drowsy, she props her pretty self up on an elbow. He can see her squinting into the lowlight of the room, thick streams of light from the moon creep over the bed in an otherworldly, nightingale kind of way—half bathed in lunar milk, he couldn’t miss the slight pull of her satin nightdress for anything as she sits up, scrubbing a hand down her face. She asks him what’s up, “Haven’t decided to finally leave me, have you?” 

Insane, sick. Straight to hell if that’s the case—he couldn’t think of worse torture, and he’d outlived excrutiating. He knows it more intimately than he should, living it every day. Leaving his small Eden behind, in the biting Mexican dust that wilds it away in the glass of his rearview, it’s hell beyond the little limits of everything he, now, holds close. Never in a thousand lifetimes would Logan ever imagine being that guy—the guy who fortresses a home. The man who makes vows. Oaths before heaven, whispers sweet nothings and pretty everythings to a heart that beats like his. Never was one for wishing on stars or counting them, slow in a different kind of way—slow in sense of the half-dead, way that smells roses hardly fathomable. If anyone would’ve told him his heart would beat for someone else, for living—-in this shell of a body, this phantom of a man, he’d have laughed. Never believed, no sir. Not him, not the Wolverine. 

Her slow, half-drunk chuckle off the statement claws at his aching ribcage. Fingers brushing what feel like a wad of socks, Logan moves to stuff them into his pocket. Swipes shoes from where he’d dropped them not long ago, slips through the darkness carefully. Where she’s risen from bed comes up quickly, and he blocks the milk of light swathing over their bed from view—fingers her hair away from her face, wild from where it’s fallen from her usual satin cap. 

“You’re dreamin’,” he hums, can’t deny the hint of a mile as she manages a rough, morning-dry chuckle. It sits low. Rattles around the adamantium in his chest. “G’back to sleep, baby—it’s early.” And if that isn’t the God-awful truth, he isn’t sure what is. 5:34 glares back at him when he checks the screen of his phone, not missing the pretty smile laughing back at him from the lockscreen. His lips brush her forehead lightly, hand firm at the back of her neck as his thumb skips over the steady thrum of her pulse. 

Lithe, curious fingers reach for him in the night. As always, they find him—her nails scratch lightly through his unshaven face, skin that’s dewy. An idea of Irish Spring still floats in the air around his nose, but it’s overpowered by the scent of her—the flow of her blood, the oil of her skin. Frankincense she uses in her hair before bed claws at his chest, unmistakable hints of petroleum jelly on the plush of her lips lights cravings in the back of his throat. Even today, after years, her touch still trailblazes through him like wildfire—cuts trails through the jungle of his unknowns, his hesitations. Three days away had felt like fallout, she’d been asleep like any sane person at 3 in the witching hour when he’d dropped into bed.

Blood pistoning to his cock reminds him how long. He’s been a starving man, deprived of her honey—her fruits. 

“You’ll be back?” Her palm against his cheek is God’s gift to humanity, may as well have carved the peak of mountains. “You just got in, Lo,” even in the light of stars he can see the worry mottle pretty features, the depth of her eyes couldn’t be masked by any amount of midnight the universe knew. “You sure you’re okay to drive?” I can drive, if you need me to. She hadn’t driven in years, not since—

“M’fine,” he nods, “don’t you worry ‘bout nothin’ honey.” Slipping her hand into his, he lifts it to press an airy kiss the heel of her hand. It’s soft, for the most part—only partly chapped, mostly from the dry. Dry, and the in-and-out of the desert sun. Keen senses can still taste the brush of earth on her skin, dirt from good hours spent outside. Laughing, running. Playing pretend, exploring the mesa. Like a child, like innocence. 

“Be back tonight,” it comes off a thick cough, “don’t have to wait up.” 

Her snort is sharp. “ I’ll wait. Hate this BS,” the nod is resigned though, knowing. A deep sigh puffs out her cheeks, blows hot against his lips as she looks up at him. “Need you here, Logan,” I know, don’t I know—guiding her arms around his middle, her cheek falls against his chest. Her weight against him reminds him he’s alive, still breathing—reminds him that this, right here, is his. He can feel her hum low at the bottom of her ribs, and rests his chin in her hair, rocking her back and forth lightly. Relishing her heat, the slip of satin. The spring of curl cream in her hair, the zip of adrenaline and sex in his blood. “Want you here.” 

As 5,000 volts as the day he met her, all those years ago. Logan can still taste the rain in the air, the sting of sour sweat and testosterone in the bar. The bite of the steel cage. It’s still clear in the back of his head, glancing at her on a barstool in the corner—more of a drowned lizard than a girl, as the bartender had so aptly noticed. Tired, pretty in the eyes. Broke as hell and as lost as they came—he’d never forget the smile she gave him as he’d tucked her back into that ancient Jeep as long as he lived. 

And she’s still pretty in the eyes, even if they are a little deeper. Haven’t aged a day in all the years she’s been chasing shadows, stalking the sun by his side—racing to die, chancing to live. As Wolverine as they came, in a different kind of way. Unkillable, like him. God’s gift to him, certainly—an Eve for his unkillable Adam, to taste the sun. Lifetimes and mementos of the forgotten behind them, this is his castle. His home— life that, had finally, birthed. 

Wrapped up in pretty satin and swaddling clothes. “I should check on little man,” and there it is. The nail in his coffin. Mention of their son—his son, it’s like a slow poison. Logan never, in any of his days, would imagine that the idea of a child, his offspring would do such devastatingly good things to him—he can’t remember when it changed, how it happened. But it stabs at the mesh of his ribs unlike anything he’s ever felt all the same, toys with his pleasures like a cat with a mouse. Her head tipping back greenlights the pad of his thumb gently pulling at the plush of her bottom lip. Looking up at him with a teasing smile, through low lashes undoes him in a way that should be sin. 

And he kisses her the way she likes, slow. Hard. When her arms snake around his neck, pulling him close, he loses his composure. Deepens the kiss, moans against the heat of her tongue playing with his. “Careful,” he smiles through every languid stroke of her tongue, every little breathless gasp, “don’t start somethin’ we can’t finish, pretty.” 

“Who says we can’t?” 

“When I get back, baby.”

Her pleasured hmmm, heady whispers in dark shadows light him up like a firecracker, but he can’t. Can’t stay, can’t go—trapped in situation’s limbo. Hell of a thing, really. His finger traces the curve of her hip, up—falls in line against her bottom rib, tugging at the skin beneath satin. Erupting in a fit of ticklish giggles, her fingers tug at his hair, play with damp at the nape of his neck. “Logan—not fair!” her breathlessly sharp whine—it fucks his brains. 

“Plen’y fair,” another kiss, one more taste of her, and he steps back. Creates a chasm and his pulse jumps, almost flatlines. Fingertips linger against his as he moves for the door—her tongue chases over kiss-fat lips, and Logan swears to God he can see the fire dancing in the cradle of her womb as she follows after him. Once they hit the door, he kisses her again—it’s the only thing that will keep him alive. 

“I love you, kid,” kid. Hasn’t called her that in awhile. She still smiles at the name, like she always has. It’s true but isn’t—he’s 200 years older than her, another sin on his growing list of indiscretions with God. But she’s lived enough life at his side for it to count, seen enough blood. Heart racing behind his ribs, waiting—breathlessly. All too damn breathlessly for a man who couldn’t give up his breath if God asked. 

“Love you more,” a Betty Crocker kiss to his cheek and she slips away, into the darkness, opposite direction. Nursery, the quiet pull of the innocent. His feet point to the kitchen, to the reckless hour of the world’s morning. 

Twenty-seven steps. Out the door, sink into the limo. A text lights up the phone he’s tossed to the passenger seat as headlights cast lowbeams into witchy darkness. Foot on the brake, he fumbles the breastpocket for hardly-new readers, ignoring the tag still hanging out on the templepiece. Grabbing it, opens the photo attachment. Her, and his child—his son, his side of the bed. His never-in-a-million-years, impossible-to-the-stars family—

— his fortress, the castle to which he returns. Lucky son of a bitch. 

tags: @fandomxo00 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

[nights-at-crystarium]

HI. so. im going to dump a load of thoughts about this illustration on tumblr instead of bluesky because i have so many thoughts about this so please bear with me (feel free to post this if u want!)

like. one of my favourite soulcrushing parts of shadowbringers grahas characterisation is ironically: how hes portrayed in post shadowbringers - a free spirit with a thirst for adventure

its so clear therefore, from how he composes himself after hes been freed from his duties at the first that he wants to see the world. reclaim the joy that he abandoned to save a world. finally live after spending thousands of years as a dead man walking. a ghost in the shell

but in shadowbringers, that graha, the adventure-loving graha, is killed. stuck at the top of the crystal tower, forever unmoving. he didnt necessarily get cut and paste into his new body, he creates a second entity with all his memories and identity.

so THIS graha, the one with the crystal arm stays dead. his story has no happy end. and i LOVE how uve specifically placed focus on his crystal arm and intentionally saturated the blue. hes transparent. fragile. ephemeral. hes a dead man walking, half tower-half man. his state is unstable, like glass, the tower slowly creeping through every part of him until hes subsumed into it. theres such a specific sense of beautiful body horror that i think your illustration plays into and highlights. the red - his signature colour is slowly being washed away with the tide of blue, like his whole self is slowly being washed away as his duties literally eat away at his life

and god. that expression. its a little unreadable - partly because hes trying to cover it up, but yet you can still SEE that quiet anguish and terror show through. hes simply too earnest. any hard face he tries to put up will fall away with time simply because not him, nor anyone, can bear the burden of a whole world.

and i know hes portrayed as happily self destructive throughout the msq, him literally concoting a brazen suicide plan to save the first and the warrior, yet we know that he is someone who appreciates life, living. he was literally able to convince an unfeeling robot that life has joy in it in endwalker, so i dont think its too much of a stretch to say that theres a part of him in shadowbringers that is intimately terrifed of his duty. the horrific trolley problem of your life against the star, where you pull the lever. and this terror is so nakedly presented in your illustration, the way he tries to hide away from it, but simply cant, the way that his stare seems both anxious, afraid, yet resigned, a grim awareness that this version of him, the one stuck in the first only has one destination: the end.

but he still fights! still tries to hide away from it, appreciate life every step along the way. gaze at the night sky that returns after eons. make his loved one some sandwiches. try to hide that gnawing inevitability of his fated death. the one that he physically cannot avoid. the one that he knows will shatter him, like a pane of glass hit by a hammer.

youve nailed almost every part of shadowbringers graha that made his story so fucking compelling!!!!! god!!!!!

i think everyone present here will enjoy reading this

[holylulusworld]

Auction of love

Summary: Your friend talks you into being part of a charity auction.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Plussized!Omega Reader

Warnings: angst, insecurities, low self-esteem, chubby/plussized reader, a/b/o, scenting, true mates, love-struck Dean,a hint of fluff, tension

“Mel, no. You know I hate big parties and events,” you whine. Your friend wants you to join a charity auction. “I’d rather go home, have a glass of wine, and watch my favorite show.”

“Y/N, we need you. All of us agreed to join the auction. Come on.” She nudges your side. “You bought this sexy dress and killer heels for a reason. I know the alphas will go crazy when you get on that stage wearing the dress.”

You shake your head. Mel is your friend, and she means well. Sadly, she doesn’t know how it feels to you to get on a stage to show your body to men bidding on omegas. You’re not slim and pretty like her.

“I don’t want to. Just look at me. I'm twice your size,” you sniff. “Mel, they will judge my body.”

“You’re beautiful. I love your boobs and ass. Don’t sell yourself short, babe. Let’s get you all dolled up. I bet you’ll get the highest bid.”

Nodding you give in. You know better than to believe one of the alphas will bid more than a few bugs to spend an evening with you. But you don’t want to disappoint Mel. If you can at least help raise the fund with a few bucks, you’ll get on that stage.

Even though, you hate standing in the spotlight.

“Five hundred.” 

You watch the alphas fight over your best friend Mel. She smiles sweetly and winks at the alphas. Mel looks like she belongs on a stage, and maybe she does. 

“Six hundred,” another alpha lifts his paddle. 

“Eight hundred.” The next one barks. It looks like he’s about to jump at the other alphas.

“One thousand.”

You sigh deeply. All the alphas are bidding on your friend, fighting over her.

“Two thousand.” Mel sucks in a breath as the next alpha raises from his seat. “For the pretty lady, I want to have dinner with.”

“Do I hear more?” Your boss asks. She plays the auctioneer tonight and grins as the alphas grumble under their breath. “Gentlemen, remember. It’s for the orphans. We want to support the local orphanage.”

“Three thousand!” 

“Alright, gentlemen. Going once,” your boss says. She lifts the hammer while looking around the room. “Going twice.”

The alphas shake their heads. No one will bid more than three thousand bucks for a date. You never thought any guy would pay so much money for a date.

“Going thrice,” she slams the hammer down. “Sold to the gentleman with the lucky number seven. Congratulations.”

Mel grins and gives you a wink. She mouths your name, hoping to encourage you.

It’s no use. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, and your legs wobble when you walk on the stage. All eyes are suddenly on you, and it feels like the alphas staring up at you, are there to judge your appearance from head to toe.

“Alright, gentlemen. One of you already got lucky with our charming Mel. Now we have Y/N. She’s smart, funny, and speaks six languages. Our lovely lady bakes pie to die for, knows how to repair a car and, she’s my best employee.”

Your boss gives you an encouraging smile. Jody nods as you nervously shift on your feet. The heels are killing you, and the dress uncomfortably sticks to your body. 

“We start with one hundred dollars.” 

Silence greets you. 

Your boss clears her throat and taps the microphone with her index finger to check if its working. “Gentlemen, you must bid if you want to spend the evening with this lovely lady.”

Your heart drops. No one is going to bid for you. If only you listened to your gut instinct, you wouldn’t stand on a stage, making a fool out of yourself.

Jody looks around the room again. She can’t believe no one is bidding for you. 

“Gentlemen, we are waiting for you. Doesn’t she look lovely in this dress?” she gets nervous. Jody and Mel talked you into getting on the stage and now, no one is bidding for you.

“Jody, no one is going to bid for me,” you whisper. “Can I go? I think the other ladies are waiting behind the stage. Let’s just…”

“Ten thousand!” Jody gasps watching a tall alpha step toward the stage. He looks you up and down, licking his lips. “No. Wait.”

You sigh. For one moment you believed someone bid for you only to realize he tried to be funny.

“I think this sweetheart is worth fifteen thousand and more,” he flashes you a cocky grin. “Gentlemen, your loss. I’ll make sure this pretty lady will have the best date of her life.”

“What? I-“ you stammer. 

“Uh-going once, twice, and,” Jody looks at the other alphas one last time, “thrice. Our lovely Y/N goes to number sixty-seven.”

“Awesome,” the alpha exclaims as you hurriedly walk toward the back of the stage.

Your heart is pounding wildly. This must be a dream.

“BABE! FIFTEEN THOUSAND BUCKS FOR YOUR CUTE ASS!” Mel squeals. She jumps up and down, giggling as you just stare at her with wide eyes. 

“I think he tried to be funny,” you tut. “Do you honestly believe any guy would pay fifteen-thousand bucks for a date with me?”

“Of course, babe. Look at you!” She clicks her tongue. “No more self-doubts, Y/N. That guy pays a fucking lot of money for a date with you.”

“Still, this smells like a hoax.” You don’t believe for one second that the man will pay the money to go out with you.

“There you are,” the alpha bidding on you pants heavily. “Alright. I paid the money to the auctioneer. Where do we wanna go?”

“What? Now…I—” You stare at the cocky alpha. He’s the most attractive guy you ever saw outside of magazines and movies and your heart starts to flutter.

“What do you want to eat? I love me some good food.” You can’t react or talk. All you are capable of is watching the alpha step closer. 

He’s at least six feet tall, maybe even taller. Shit, he’s naturally built and muscular, with gorgeous green eyes. Calling him handsome would be an understatement. 

“I like food too,” you finally say. 

“Great. So,” he smirks. “Now that I know that you like food too, we can get to the point where you tell me what you like to eat.” 

“Maybe you could tell me your name first.”

“Crap, yes. Uh—sorry sweetheart,” he chuckles and holds out his hand. “Name’s Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you Dean,” you say before you can shy away. You shake his hand and smile at him. “Why did you pay so much money for me? I mean… there are more beautiful girls in the back. You should’ve waited.”

“Let me stop you right there, Y/N. I bid on you because I wanted to have a date with you. Not your friend, or any other woman. It was you who picked my interest.”

“Why?”

He cocks his head at your question. “Sweetheart, have you seen and smelled yourself? I can barely think straight since I saw you walk around in that dress. If I wasn’t a gentleman, your dress would lie in the back of my car for half the night.”

Your cheeks heat up at his words.

“Only the dress?” You question.

The alpha dips his head to sniff at your neck. He purrs as he finally can get more of your scent.

“I got me a cocky one, huh?” Dean pecks your neck. “I lost it when Jody said that you love to bake. I love me some pie.”

“If you promise to behave like a gentleman during dinner, I’ll make you a pie.”

“I’ll be the perfect gentleman for you, Y/N,” he inhales your scent deeply. “Until we are done eating. I can’t promise that I won't try to make you mine after dinner…”

Tags in reblog.

[supernatural-bias]

rant about Gabriel to me I need to understand him

im going to format this like you've never seen the show, just in case you haven't, so if you have just bare with me

gabriel is a bit of an enigma. for the first two and a half episodes he shows up in, he's not even known as gabriel. he's on screen as 'the trickster' and is masquerading as one. (tricksters in spn canon are powerful demigod creatures of myth that can alter reality how they want, normally using their powers to play deadly pranks on malicious humans in ironic ways. i.e mauling someone who tests products on animals via a sewer alligator)

the reason he's doing this as a self proclaimed "witness protection" method is because he's in hiding, pretending to be a trickster to hide from his family; which is heaven since he's the archangel gabriel. surprise surprise. this is revealed in the episode 'changing channels', (season four) which is i believe the best ranked episode on the entire show by the audience and one of my favorites. 'mystery spot' (season three) is another one he stars in (as rhe trickster, not gabriel. we still dont know that), and i think it's the second highest ranked. and 'tall tales' (season two) is the first one he shows up in which is also very highly ranked.

gabriel has a habit of faking his death a lot to escape responsibility, which he does in the episode 'hammer of the gods' (season five [?] i think) after being "stabbed" by lucifer so he doesn't have to really stick around and watch his family (lucifer and michael) fight. but we don't know that it was a fake out for nearly eight seasons. (there is an instance where he shows up again in season nine but that was a fake out and not the real him). in 'hammer of the gods' we also find out that gabriel really had gone all in with his so called witness protection while pretending to be a trickster; so much so that most of the mythological world/pretty much anyone but cas sam and dean knows him as the actual god of tricksters, loki, and not by his true name. later on when he comes back in season thirteen we find out that's because the real loki offered to share the same face with gabriel back when he first came to earth wayyyyyyy long ago to help him out. and when we meet loki later when gabriels trying to kill him for selling him off to one of the princes of hell asmodeus (i'll get into that) it's basically just the actor richard speight jr playing two roles at once. if that makes any sense. one of my favorite episodes, although i think that's just because i hadn't really seen gabriel in months and was over excited. i'll have to see if the hype holds up on my rewatch

but okay, for some backstory on the whole being sold thing, after gabriel faked his death in 'hammer of the gods', he ran off to some island to get in contact with loki and his kids (think fenrir. spn uses real mythological names and bloodlines as side plots sometimes) to go dark again. loki pretends to entertain the idea and let's gabriel play poker with hookers for a few days (gabe has also stared in a porno before and enjoys eating candy even though angels never get hungry. he's fun that way) before betraying him and basically selling him off as a slave to a prince of hell, who locks him away for hundered (thousands maybe?) of years, constantly draining his archangel grace just enough to not leave gabe powerless, but also enough to torture him horribly. it's awful, and all explained in the episode 'unfinished buisness' (season thirteen) which is all about him enacting revenge on loki and the tricksters kids. but the takeaway is that the first time we see gabe after season five, he's a completely different person. almost like a scared animal. if the animal has had its mouth sewn shut by a demon, that is.

anyways, sam and dean and cas help revert him back to his usual self, and he runs away from his problems for a few episodes, before finally confronting them and dying for real this time at the hands of an alertnate world version of his brother michael a few episodes later. the later seasons writing was so fucked up in my opinion, and the way gabriel died was done so wrong, but i think that's because im biased. frowns

my explination of him does no justice. he's a smug, silly, tricky, multi layered, funny son of a bitch that has fuck ass smile where his eyes crinkled at the corner and i. oughhh. i love him. urgh. yeah

[bitethedevil]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love 💚

I have only written three longer fics, so some of them will be oneshots

Living with The Devil You Know (AO3 Link):

It's probably my favorite that I've done. It's getting rather long but we are nearing the end soon. It's at 14 chapters right now. It was supposed to be a very light-hearted fic but it has turned pretty dark.

Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge. Tav gets chained to the House of Hope with constructs similar to those of Prince Orpheus'. When her friends eventually come to save her and brings him back his Orphic Hammer, Raphael will kill each and every one of them in front of her before claiming what is rightfully his: her soul...

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

The Devil's Dinner Party (AO3 Link):

This one has a special place in my heart because it was the first fic I ever showed anyone! It has a bit of a dark twist that I won't spoil too much. It's three chapters and it's a finished work.

Summary: Tav accepts Raphael’s invitation to a dinner party after she had handed him the Crown of Karsus. None of her companions show up, so it is just her, Raphael, and a bunch of Raphael’s favored clients. Raphael is suspiciously kind to her, but everything might not be as perfect as it seems

More Than Our Fathers (AO3 Link)

I love writing this one so much. It's a Raphael x Demigoddess!Reader fic. It's probably my most planned work to date and I have read so much lore for this one. It is still ongoing but there are currently four chapters.

Summary: It was in the years after the Fall of Netheril that fate decided to push the two of you together: the daughter of the God of Divination and the son of the Archdevil of the Eighth. An unlikely pair, but you learned throughout the years that you had more in common than you thought: you were both driven by ambition and you both longed to become more than what your fathers made you.

A Portrait of a Cambion (AO3 Link)

This was a 'character study turned fic'-kind of situation. It is basically my headcanon about why Haarlep is with Raphael and why he hates his father. It's a story of how he once loved someone and how he learned the consequences of getting distracted by those feelings. It's a oneshot. (Fun fact: I consider it as canon in Living with The Devil You Know too, and when Raphael tells Tav about his previous love, this story is what he is talking about.)

Summary: Raphael rejects his icky mortal feelings for Tav because he remembers what happens when one is distracted by matters of the heart. He reminisces about a woman who taught him how to paint and who stole his non-existent heart over a thousand years ago.

Good Little Mouse

This is just pure depraved smut but I really liked writing it. It's pretty short. It is also pretty fucked up so remember to read the warnings.

Summary: Reader/Tav did not give Raphael the Crown but it ended up in his hands anyway. You become Raphael's pet as revenge and he uses the Crown of Karsus on you to keep you docile.

(Thank you so much for the ask! I love the idea of spreading self-love like this. It can be hard to remember to appreciate one's own work I feel like.)

[cadmium-free]

Day 23 of 26 with @neopetsdotcom

DR. JEKYLL AND SISTER HYDE (1971)

Lauren’s Review

Is there anything more frustrating than a really good story trapped in a bad one? As Awl warned in his review, it is best going into this movie with no illusions as to what it is, a campy hammer horror starring a murderous monster who will face narrative punishment for her crimes, and nothing else. Because if you consider the implications of it being anything else it is like TOO depressing of an ending 

Despite Awl’s warning, and knowing full well what would become of Ms. Hyde, how am I NOT supposed to root for her? When she so clearly loves being herself and seems a thousand times happier and full of life than the sullen, miserable Dr. Jekyll. Yes maybe she murders people. So what. I wish she had been allowed to remain the version of herself she clearly preferred, and I wish this movie could have been a better version of itself as well

Awl’s Review

To watch this movie, you must first understand what it will be: it is a horror movie, a Hammer Film Production, and so it will have been made with the intent of there being a monster who the audience fears. Everything else is incidental to the concept: What if when Jekyll turned into Hyde, he just became a woman?

But oh my god, what if Jekyll became a woman? What if Jekyll became a woman? What if the only monster here was the fear of who you really are, who you want to be, who you have discovered yourself to be? What if the monster was just denying yourself? It feels so good to be Misses Hyde. She adores herself, she takes pleasure in the world, she lives fully in a way she never could as Jekyll. Jekyll fears her and what she means, even as the two increasingly become one person.

The shift between actors almost feels more like a shift between perceptions of the self. The transformations are not clean: Jekyll reaches with Hyde's hand. Hyde reaches with Jekyll's hand. Jekyll picks a dress out of the wardrobe to wear, and Hyde remembers Jekyll's friends. No one else seems to notice, except sometimes they are speaking to a compelling woman and sometimes they meet a withdrawn man.

Of course, again, it's a Hammer Film Production, so it cannot just be compelling. You must walk into this knowing it will fumble the ending. There can be no life for Hyde, or even a satisfying death for Hyde. She will be rendered monster, and she will die. And we have to reckon with a film that positions her womanhood, no matter how glorious, as only achievable through the murder of other woman. It's not good.

But I wish it could be good. I kept thinking to myself how wonderful it could be, the desire to be a woman at any cost. Hyde would kill to exist. Under a creative team being intentional and compassionate about that idea, it would be stellar. But for all it may bumble into transphobia and misogyny, wow, the first transformations scene, it certainly understands gender euphoria.

(To be glib: placing this right next to Frankenhooker in a collection of films where a male scientist has some wild concerning ideas about estrogen as the key to immortality, and becomes a woman)

[fourswords]

starting sketching out light and like. HES 12??? like I get it- he's about to be 13- And knight is the oldest at a grand total of 15 but like-

BRO DOESNT EVEN HAVE AN ATTENTION SPAN YET???

like I know they're dumb in the manga but 😭 every 12-13 year old I've ever met is like a certified dumpster fire, which you might wanna consider in his character lmso

but I just feel like after the manga it wouldn't even matter that he saved Hyrule, he's just getting grounded until he's a legal adult 😭

like azure THATS A BABY- Aint no way he's smart enough to have even survived half the manga even with his dumb luck!

im crying please add like one year to all their ages im on my hands and knees is your goal to give this tiny child some form of PTSD because he is IN CONSTANT DANGER.children need to have a sense of safety (and their stupidity doesn't count, blue got swallowed alive and frozen, vio was lying to SAVE HIS LIFE, green was straight up about to kill vio and had to deal with attacking another knight, and couldn't bring himself to attack their own dad, and then red got chased by an angry mob and then lost all will to LIVE with blue in that one temple-) 12 is barely even conscious and self aware 😭

like I know 12 year olds have complex emotions and can handle abstract concepts and start getting into deeper moral understanding- but my human of earth the self awareness is either ONE THOUSAND OR ZERO AND THERE ISNT A BETWEEN AT THAT AGE-

im sorry if I sound rude or something btw I'm mostly just joking and I tend to overdramatize for comedic effect but I genuinely cant wrap my head around him being just 12- like at least 14??? maybe bump knight to 16 while ur at it? ?

also I'm gonna figure out some way to incorporate the different colors into his hat probably, its big so its like a bag lol since in the manga blue just shoved his whole hammer in there I'm pretty sure

smithy will be extremely small without complaint.

feel free not to take my words seriously tho lol I just cant imagine a 12 year old going thru the manga, like look me in the eyes and tell me a 12 year old-

if I misunderstood anything lmk lol I am a lil stupid sometimes

HAHAHA YES HE IS IN FACT TWELVE. The Legend of Zelda is a series that's all about "yeah let's hand this child a sword and let him go nuts" (to use a popular example, BOTW Link being canonically handed a sword at age four and is said in Mipha's diary to have been able to best grown men in fights: "At the request of Hyrule's king, a group of outsiders came to greet us at the domain. One of them was a Hylian child of only about four years of age. His name was Link. He made quite a first impression. He was curious and full of energy, with a ready smile. Are all Hylian children that way? One thing that surely sets him apart is his swordsmanship, which I hear is exceptional. He has even bested adults. He must be somewhat reckless, however, as he was covered in bruises.") and I absolutely intend to lean into that as much as possible. Light's age comes mainly from comparing Akira Himekawa's designs for Links of varying ages side-by-side with each other; for example, you have Minish Cap Link, who's very obviously drawn like a young child:

You have Twilight Princess Link and Ocarina of Time Link, both drawn to look like older teenagers (and we know OOT Link's older age is 16-17 depending on who you ask):

We have Skyward Sword Prequel Link, who is a fully-fledged adult (his other panels illustrate the difference more sharply, but this is what he looks like, so):

And then we have FSA Link in the manga, who is drawn to be VERY visibly younger than OOT, TP and SS Prequel Link, but is definitely visibly older than MC Link (he's got the rounder face + eyes, the shorter stature, and it becomes even more visible when compared to the knights in the FSA manga itself):

His maturity level also does, to me, match that of an average 12-year-old nepo baby (which he really kind of is)—kid who thinks he knows everything & that he's hot shit but is kind of a giant train wreck internally.

All three Four Sword heroes prior to him were explicitly stated to be "young boys", and FSA manga Link is really no different in that regard—in the context of my own AU, he's actually the one who went on his adventure at the oldest age (with Smithy going on his around 8-9, Four going on his at 10, and Knight now going on his at 11). It's just been a shorter time since his adventure than it has been for the others ^^;

[pretty-chaotic-world]

if my BPD can scream

1. I wish i could have a normal love... but no, my brain wants to worship every little detail of you until it drives me insane

2. sorry i pushed you away i felt abandoned and suicidal 

3. I’m sick of going to bed and knowing things won’t be better tomorrow 

4. I'll ask you thousands times if you really love, please don't get annoyed

5. I'll create "drama" and mishaps only to feel like I'm in home

6. i’m afraid that one day my anger will overshadow the little love i still have left for the world

7. I feel numb. No tears, no anger, nothing. Just going through the same day again and again. I would rather just sleep without waking up.

8. I'm so tired of everytime one small argument or inconvenience breaks out I want to end it and self destruct, it's so draining. 

9. I want to stop feeling anything and when i actually don't it breaks my heart but I can't cry it out.

10. "its all in your head" well duh where tf else is it gonna be??? in my fucking kidneys????

11. I am constantly between wanting people to care about me and wanting them not to so I can hurt myself without feeling guilty 

12. Psychiatrist told me there is no cure for bpd and I've to change myself. Well why cant they just let me die then?

13. Until you live with bpd you'll never know what it's like to be too much and not enough at the same time.

14. i know im constantly too much for everyone but sometimes i just want to be enough for someone

15. if he will leave me, my next diagnosis will be of "sociopath"

16. im so jealous of all the people who see him and touch him and talk to him every single day it should be me me me me 

17. oh I got my hair coloured. why? because I can't hurt myself anymore 

18. "you're so distant" because you can't handle my abandonment issues.

19. My younger self disappoint me a lot. like why were you begging people to stay in your life? ohh no worries I know the answer

20. I wanna throw a plate against the wall, stab a knife through my hand, destroy my laptop with a hammer, smash my door in with an axe and spray graffiti all over the walls of my room 

21. Why shouldn’t I be mad? Why can’t I just be angry and be allowed to feel it? Why can’t I burn everything down?

22. I have to watch my mouth every fucking second to make sure I don't destroy every relation I have coz apparently social life matters!!

23. Isnt it fucked up how he got away with every horrible thing he made me experience and I’m the one who has to live with myself feeling absolutely fucking worthless 

24. I don't deserve food and love. im a horrible person.

25. this is how my eating cycle goes

feeling weak coz i haven't ate anything -> eat -> purge -> feeling guilty after purging -> eat more -> feeling guilty after eating so much -> cry coz you don't know what's happening

26. the diagnosis makes me believe I'm not insane just lil emo ig!! NOOOO YOU'RE INSANE

27. “don’t let it bother u” baby i’m gonna be bothered by this for the next 10 years 

28. if I tell you I love you its equivalent to I can kill someone for you

29. Actually upon further inspection that shit really hurt my feelings 

30. I don't dive into insecurity anymore, i drown in self-loathe

31. i shut up in between group convo coz I know I'll talk invaluable shit and nobody really cares what I say until it's psychology class

32. "if you are fully aware of yourself, why do you keep acting like that?" slapping self awareness on top of bpd only grants the ability to watch yourself self-destruct straight from the vip section thats all it does literally

33. “Where do you see yourself in the future” building a cult for mentally ill people 

34. ofc I've a praise kind i was ignored as a child

35. I'm much better than I was before. you know why coz I don't to air now and don't see monsters walking by side all the time

36. No I don't want to self harm anymore I need to kill that fucking monster

37. Don't mind me, I'm just casually sabotaging all my positive relationships with negative delusions because my life doesn't feel real unless something dramatic and destructive is constantly occurring 

38. i don’t care i don’t care i don’t care (im going to sob my fucking eyes out)

39. “Stop making your disorder your personality” I have a fucking personality disorder for god sake

40. turning my mental illnesses into kinks and calling it the BDSM-5 

41. "destroy something precious while you're in rage" ohh yeaa and then I'll do that again and again 

42. what I hate most about my BPD is the fact that I have started doubting every emotion that I’ve ever felt in my life, whether it’s love, my grief through multiple traumas, or my anger, & it’s so saddening. It has actually led me to start questioning my reality.

43. if I need medication to stay alive, am I really meant to be here?

44. it's either be alone without 75% of my symptoms, or be with someone and display the most horrendous unstable awful version of myself. why do i have to choose between love & happiness or peace & stability?

45. That fucking bpd rage where everyone's voices makes you want to scream and every noise around you makes you want to sh and you're so mad you can almost feel the cuts everywhere 

46. getting worked up to the point of becoming physically ill (throwing up/stomach issues etc) because you felt rejected/abandoned by your favourite person  

47. i wish my trauma made me kind as everyone says but i’m becoming what i fear the most- a monster.

48. imagine getting diagnosed with a personality disorder and the only visible representation of that disorder is an animated horse man, a sociopathic sitcom character from philadelphia, and darth vader

[xserpx]

Leo🦁 for the blorbo bingo!

Thank you so much for sending me this ask 😆! And just to be extra obnoxiously self-indulgent I'm gonna ascribe each square I picked to a specific chapter in the Age of Madness trilogy! 🦁❤️:

OUGHHHH *disintegrates into dust*: "Jurand looked up and their eyes met, and Leo froze, his breath held, his face tingling." The Same Side, TWOC.

Blorbo from my special interest: "Leo bared his teeth, squelching forward through mud battered and mashed by countless boots advancing and retreating, advancing and retreating. The fighting had been fiercest here. Bodies everywhere. Bodies from both sides. Men still and men still moving, crawling, crying, pawing at the ground, pawing at themselves. Leo stepped between them, stepped over them, teeth clenched, head throbbing, pushing on towards the bridge." Settle This Like Men, ALH.

Putting them thru the horrors: "‘I’m fine,’ said Leo, weakly shaking the man off. Fine. Broken, defeated, in constant agony, with a useless arm and an amputated leg, convicted of treason and already on the gallows. Fine." A Footnote to History, TTWP.

I HATE YOU: "Before the Great Change it would’ve been him asking whether they should do something. Bursting through that door in some self-indulgent, self-defeating puke of gallantry. But then he used to be a reckless, soft-hearted fool." Love, Hate, Fear, TWOC.

Fandom is so mean to them 💔: "‘Are you sure?’ asked Brock. ‘I have three-score flatbows with a different opinion.’" The Sentence, TWOC.

Explodes them with my mind (affectionate): "‘No, no, it’s the small cutlery, Leo.’" Common Ground, TTWP.

Gay infinity: "They’d touched each other a thousand times. They’d wrestled and sparred and hugged. But there was something different about that touch. More than one old friend supporting another. Far more. Jurand’s hand didn’t just rest there. It squeezed, ever so lightly, and Leo felt a strange need to tilt his head and press his cheek against it. Take that hand and hold it to his face, to his heart, to his mouth." Grown Up, TTWP.

Bouncing off the walls: "‘Cheer up.’ Leo hugged him roughly with one arm, looking back to the building. The one lit window. ‘There are plenty of ladies for all of us.’ Though he couldn’t think of any close to Savine dan Glokta’s class. ‘Plenty of ladies,’ Jurand echoed, gloomily." A Bit About Courage, ALH.

Killing them with hammers: "Now they huddled in close. United by a common enemy, and a shared purpose, and a righteous cause. Just talk, of course, fuelled by Leo’s frustration, and jealousy, and the pain in his leg. Just talk, perhaps, but dangerous, still. Exciting, still. Just talk, wasn’t it? But with each word said it became more thrillingly real." Future Treason, Past Affairs, TTWP.

Bestie it's not funny anymore get therapy: "They’d both stabbed him in the back while they stabbed each other in the face, yet somehow they could glide away friends, ruling the gardens, loved by all, while he was left nursing unhealable wounds, hated and feared and alone." Good Times, TWOC.

Free Space: "As handsome a crowd of young heroes as you could hope to find. What a painting they’d make! Maybe Leo would get one commissioned. Who’d know an artist?" Young Heroes, ALH.

Babygirl 💖 (has committed horrific atrocities): "‘They love the fire,’ said Leo, tugging his jacket smooth, then turning away. ‘They can have the fire.’" Purity, TWOC.

HGGHHGHHJKGHJURTGEHJM etc: "He wanted to say it all. To puke up his resentments. He had his mouth open to do it. But why bother? The past isn’t made of facts, not really, just stories people tell to make themselves feel better. To make themselves look better." Not For the Prizes, TWOC.

Smacking the floor: "What he wanted to do more than anything was lurch into Jurand’s arms and never let go of him." Different This Time, TWOC.

Rotating in my brain like a rotisserie chicken: "He hated Styria, hated Sipani, hated Cardotti’s, hated this degenerate excuse for a king most of all. He raised his chin, trying to look haughtily down his nose, but his eyes kept being drawn to that trail of dark hair from Jappo’s navel into the not entirely concealing shadows of his gown…" All Tastes, No Judgements, TTWP.

The fandom doesn't know them like I do: "‘We both know you’re not a fool, Leo. For whose benefit are you pretending to be one?’" Where The Fight's Hottest, ALH.

pls talk to me about them I promise I'll be normal :))): "‘You can call me treacherous. Call me ruthless. But ask who I learned it from.’" The Villain, TWOC.

Explodes them with my mind (derogatory): "‘Goes to show,’ he grunted, ‘you have to be your own hero.’" Redemption, TWOC.

Tearing them apart with my teeth: "A representative from the Angland delegation was plucking at the hem of Leo’s jacket in an effort to pull him down, but Leo angrily slapped his hand away. ‘Sit down, you bloody fool,’ Savine forced through gritted teeth, gripping the rail of the gallery. But the Young Lion would not sit down." The King's Justice, TTWP.

Tucking them into bed and kissing them on the forehead 💖: "Tits. Men talked a lot about tits. So Leo did, too. Nudge in the ribs, look at the cargo she’s carrying. But if he was entirely honest, he didn’t really understand the appeal. To Leo, tits were just… there." The Lion and the Wolf, ALH.

[sprites4ever]

THE LOW VOLTAGE MISANTHROPE VS THE HIGH VOLTAGE HUMANIST

„I honestly can't tell what's more tragic: Humans destroying their species and the earth out of selfishness, or humans wanting their species to be destroyed because of that.“

Visiting an ocean exhibition today, which mentioned overfishing and ocean pollution, got me thinking about environmentalism and science, and what others have told me about them.

Not just in my generation, Generation Z, but especially in my generation, I see misanthropism, the hatred for the human race. They talk about how humans are inherently horrible, killing and ruining each other and the planet, and how humans don't deserve this world and should just stop living.

Now, in my generation, a lot of that stems from suffering-induced self-hatred, people projecting their hatred for themselves onto humans. But it's more systemic than that.

Arguably, the origin of misanthropism, coupled with anti-intellectualism stems from WWII. Because the Nazis used new technology to inflict unparalleled human suffering and death, and because they justified it with a twisted parody of Darwinist biology, claiming that they were the best 'race' who had the right to destroy the others. This is acutally where the mad scientist trope comes from, as the Nazis didn't have scientists. German scientists had fled the Nazis or were killed by them, since every autocrat's greatest weakness is people who can see through their propaganda. What the Nazis had, was insane people who were paid to invent new torture methods.

This, and the subsequent development of the nuclear bomb, created a new view on humanity, one in which humans and the things they do (those being science and technology) are inherently evil. Misanthropism.

It is false, and there are two reasons why it exists, both having their root in the fundamental, archaic nature of us humans, as seen from a biological perspective.

Negativity bias Originating from our archaic survival instinct, we focus on the bad and do not appreciate the good. We do this because we perceive the bad to be a threat. This is also why we want to be good, because we want to solve the issues with the bad, to stop the threats. Factually, there is as much good in the world, and in each of us, as there is bad. But we only pay attention to the bad and pass off the good.

Egocentrism Being predators by nature, humans are selfish by nature. This leads to each of us having a worldview that is centered around how we perceive the world, and each of us assumes their view to be true. So, if someone has seen a lot of human evil, in concert with negativity bias, they will project it on all humanity.

Misanthropes beat up their own species over some members of said species violating standards that their species has created. Factually, we have as much of a right to live on earth as all other species. Factually, we humans did not invent violence, war, conquest, mass destruction etc. Look up ant wars.

And yes, evil people do horrible things that affect so many humans and other creatures. But they are the fewest, and most people who serve them are not evil, only deceived into thinking that they're doing a good thing.

So, good people must not limit themselves in their ability to affect each other and the world. They must not reject technology or society. Like how a hammer can be used to build a home or to bash a person's skull, like how a nuclear chain reaction can be used to generate power or to cause an explosion that kills hundreds of thousands, these things, just like every other thing humans have invented, are neutral tools that humans can use for good or evil.

Evil humans will use them anyway, so the good humans must stop the evil ones from using these things for evil, and not stop themselves from using them for good.

[umbramatic]

Godfall

Oh god this was also written in 2009. Have another original fiction oneshot from my seventeen-year-old self. It, remarkably, has no ties to any of my current projects, but I'm thinking of making it a kind of backstory to a super special secret upcoming one. It is also instrumental to my love of "what if god-killing is a bad thing. What if it has consequences."

But brace yourselves for a: 

Godfall

The sword cut a wide arc though the air as it hurled toward the enemy, barely missing a critical blow as the foe dodged. Argeth cursed, and then let loose another slice at the behemoth before him.

All around were Argeth’s companions; an elemental sorcerer, shooting bolts of energy into the monster’s face (if what it had could be called a face); an archer, shooting arrows into the beast’s hide; a berserker, dealing savage blows to every part of the body; and finally, a white- magic specialist, sending out pulses of healing energy to all her allies.

And then there was the beast itself- a hulking monstrosity, a dark god summoned to defeat any hero that stood in its way. Its wedgelike, alien head leered down at them, while its fists, like hammers, slammed into the ground, sending tremors and chunks of earth at the heroic party. The mountainside upon which the battle was taking place had been reduced to boulders and rubble. 

So exhausted… Argeth thought. His muscles ached, his armor rubbed painfully against him, and his face was coated in sweat. Looking around, he saw his friends were in a similar condition. “Are you all  having any luck getting a scratch on it?”

“No!” the wizard, Verd, said back. “Nothing’s working at all!”

I can’t let my friends down, Argeth thought. But I can’t figure out how in the world to kill this monster… 

Then, he saw an opening, a throbbing area, right where the heart would be on any normal creature.  Immediately, he ran up to the being, dodging swipes from its great hands. With every bit of his remaining energy, he stabbed his sword into the monster’s chest.

The sword hit, plunging through the deity’s essence. The creature screeched like a thousand eagles, then stepped back, staggering.  

Argeth smiled. “W-we did it. It’s over. We finally killed the thing. ”

But he immediately regretted those words as the being’s rocklike skin began to shudder. Suddenly, millions of black particles burst forth from every part of the god’s body, streaking upwards into the sky like a horde of black birds. 

The heroes could swear they heard laughing as it went. 

The warrior saw the beast’s eyes and realized they were no longer filled with malevolence. Now they only showed confusion and fear. Cracks began to appear on its skin, slowly spreading across the being’s weakening body.

“No…”  said Argeth. He stood there, limp, helpless to stop whatever horrible thing would happen next. 

Then the god exploded, spewing golden shards of itself in its final glory, shards that rocketed into the sky and flew above the heroes’ heads in a gorgeous and terrible fountain of light. The resulting sonic shockwave almost destroyed the ears of the band of five. Down at the bottom of the mountainside, villages were being overwhelmed by earthquakes and floods. In the distance, Krakatoa-esqe volcanoes erupted where they never were before.

And as for the god, there was only a tiny, prone body, lying in the middle of a charred landscape. 

Verd was first to approach. Holding his nose against the rancid stench of sulfur, he walked towards the body, gravel crunching under his rapidly moving feet. As he got closer, he could see what this new form looked like: a human male, with blonde hair and pale golden skin. His body was twisted into a contorted position, his legs splayed out like he had broken one.

Verd touched him, and then pressed his ear to the being’s chest. An ominous silence followed. 

Verd’s eyes suddenly widened. “I think we have a heartbea-“

The god-being then jolted awake, slapping the wizard in the face. He began to crawl backwards across the rough ground, fearfully babbling in some arcane language. 

Argeth ran over,. “Listen!” he said. “I know why you’re so upset. We hurt you, and you have every right to be afraid of us. “

Hearing the sincerity in his voice, the being stopped, and he looked at Argeth expectantly. 

“We made a mistake. We thought we thought you were the villain here. But we were wrong, and we want to help you figure out who’s really responsible for both our plights.”

The chill wind rustled their hair as they both faced each other silently. 

Then the being nodded.  

“Alright,” Argeth said, “We’ll help each other out…”

He turned solemnly to the landscape of chaos below. “… If the universe doesn’t collapse on us first.”

+++

(Not to be confused for the video game of the same name WHICH THIS PREDATES DAMN IT)

[arts-and-drafts]

Come Morning Light (Part 9)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight

(In which Tommy finally breaks, and his admin is there to help. This is a pretty big chapter in terms of Tommy's upcoming arc!! I'm pretty excited for this one :] Mind the TWs, there's a LOT of angst)

CW: Violence mention, LOTS of death mentions, self harm (minor), abuse mentions, unprocessed grief

-

This fucking sucked.

Tommy was outside when False respawned, but he wasn't far enough to escape her gut-wrenching gasp as she came back to life after falling to Dream's blade. It was a sensation Tommy knew intimately, a feeling that he would never forget.

Dream beat False. Because of fucking course he did. Tommy knew he asked everyone to intentionally not kill Dream, but it still stung viciously to see that message in chat. Seeing False's name before Dream's in that manner of message made bile rise in Tommy's throat.

He couldn't face any of the hermits he asked to die for him, hence why he was outside his old repurposed doghouse Joe lent him at the very beginning, where every remaining hermit set their spawn on his old bed. He couldn't bear to look them in the eye and tend to them after sending them to this fate in the first place.

Tommy wasn't used to feeling like this. He wasn't used to caring for other people so much that it hurt when they died for him. Back on the SMP, Tubbo was the only one left that got close enough to Tommy's heart for it to hurt when he was gone, and there was no way in End that Tommy would let Tubbo take any sort of bullet for him again. Tubbo was all Tommy had now, and he would rather die his final death than lose him.

Thinking about Tubbo made Tommy's chest constrict painfully, so he shut down that line of thinking. Or at least, he tried. His mind was never good at listening to him.

Instead of thinking of something else, Tommy's mind wouldn't stop circulating around Tubbo. There was always a hole in his chest where Tubbo used to be since he'd come here, and it hurt more than anything physical that had ever happened to him, which was certainly saying something.

For a horrifying second, a voice in his head spoke up.

If you go with Dream, you'll see him again, you know.

Tommy shot to his feet, shaking his head until he was dizzy and then bopped his fists against his skull just to hammer the point home. No, no, a fucking THOUSAND times, no. He'd rather die. He would.

So why was his brain circling around that now?!

He needed to go mining. He needed to dig a big hole and forget everything else. Tommy's fingers itched to summon his pickaxe, but logic stopped him. He had to stay here, he had to lure Dream to him. He had to be the bait or everyone else would die.

FUCK.

Tommy jumped a foot in the air when he suddenly sensed someone walking up to him. He whirled around to see Xisuma, of all people, holding up his hands in surrender as if he couldn't take a scrawny kid that was at least three feet shorter than him.

Tommy lowered his axe and scowled. "What."

A mistake. Xisuma raised an eyebrow underneath his visor, and Tommy knew he was in for it.

"Hey, cool it, kiddo. I'm just coming to check on ya." Xisuma said. Tommy never had a parent, but he would bet diamonds that they would sound just like this. "How are you?"

Tommy barked an incredulous laugh with no humor behind it. "Are you fuckin' serious?"

"Watch the language," said Xisuma, on instinct. Tommy's chest tightened more.

"Don't start with that shit!" Tommy stood to his full height, jabbing a finger at the admin he was supposed to fear. "This is the second worst day of my fucking life! I can swear all I fucking want!!"

"Okay!" Xisuma exclaimed, exasperation on his face of all things. He gently put a massive hand over Tommy's, lowering it from his chest. "Okay. That's fine. You can swear, Tommy, I'm sorry."

And now Tommy felt like the asshole. He opted to sniff haughtily at the admin and pulled away from Xisuma's touch to cross his arms. "That's what I fuckin' thought."

He didn't like the way Xisuma was looking at him. He looked like Bad when he pinched his eyebrows like that, almost the exact same way the demon used to do when he noticed something was up with Tommy and he was trying to play it off.

Why was everything reminding him of the SMP? Why couldn't he just leave it in the past? Why wouldn't it let him heal? Why did it haunt him everywhere he looked? He thought he was finally getting better--and then of fucking course Dream turned up to ruin it.

"Hey," Xisuma said gently, and Tommy blinked back to the current situation. Xisuma was close, but not touching him. The admin wasn't sure where they were in regards to that, and Tommy would've been lying if he said he didn't appreciate the caution. It made him feel respected.

"You're in the anger part, huh?" Xisuma asked, making Tommy blink. "What's that mean?"

"The stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance." Xisuma rattled off, nearly losing Tommy's attention in one sentence. "Dream invaded us. I'd think you a madman if you weren't doing pretty bad right now."

Tommy sucked in a shaky breath, his anger wavering. He wanted to hold on to it, because when he was angry he didn't have to feel scared and sad. He had to harness that anger to fight Dream.

Wilbur's voice echoed sharply in his head. 'Tommy, calm.'

Fuck, he missed Wilbur.

"Oh, Tommy." Xisuma murmured, and with a start the boy realized tears had started to fall yet again. Tommy hurriedly scrubbed them away.

He was so sick of being hurt all by himself. He was so exhausted from keeping memories to himself. He was so tired of missing.

He was so, so tired.

"This has happened before." Tommy croaked, struck with a sudden honesty. Xisuma didn't move, and whether or not the information surprised him remained unknown to Tommy. He still decided to continue.

"Back home, it...I was part of a revolution." Tommy said. The words were foreign on his tongue. Wilbur was always the one telling this story.

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut.

"Dream was--he wasn't so bad, back then. But we still wanted to be free." Tommy recounted. "So we made L'manburg. Our own nation, free from tyranny." He parroted. Xisuma thankfully stayed quiet as he wiped away more tears.

"And we fought. We fought really hard. And we lost. I lost." Tommy sniffled, his hand twitching towards the scar in his abdomen. "I lost the duel."

Tommy took a breath. "But then I clutched with my disks and we were free. But Dream fuckin' hated our guts after that, and--"

Tommy caved in on himself, covering his face with his hands.

"He took everything from me. Everything I ever-"

Tommy swallowed a sob, his chest raw after finally letting out what was killing him inside. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and stared at the ground, anger and hurt swirling inside him.

"...So of course I'm doing fuckin' bad, Xisuma." Tommy uttered bitterly. "Everyone's in danger and it's all my fuckin' fault. Again."

"If it's anyone's fault, it's Dream's." Xisuma finally spoke, a new iron in his voice that made Tommy meet his eyes. "You are the victim, Tommy. You came here for asylum. Dream chose to pursue you here. It was always Dream's fault."

Xisuma kneeled again, his purple eyes wide and earnest. "And I promise you, it will come to an end. I'll do what I need to, Tommy. We'll stop him."

And here was the admin of the server Tommy invaded, literally lowering himself to the boy that put his people in danger. Here was the admin of the server Tommy doomed, promising that he'd take down the monster Tommy brought to his doorstep.

Tommy learned a long time ago to trust promises with a grain of sand.

"I want to be alone, please." He said, his voice very small against his will.

Xisuma blinked, as if he didn't expect that reaction, but his eyes remained even as he stood back up. "Of course, bud. I'll be right inside if you need me."

The admin turned to go back into the doghouse, and Tommy watched him go.

And then they both froze in place as they noticed the night sky glowing red.

The acrid smell of smoke choked Tommy's senses, and it took everything inside of him to push back the rapidly gaining fog in his mind. He blinked, taking a step back.

"I-I thought fire didn't spread here!" Tommy stammered, his gaze latched onto embers that were beginning to reach the stars from the direction of the shopping district.

Tommy wrenched his eyes away from the scene to the admin, desperate for an explanation, but Xisuma was so still that he could've been an armor stand.

"...It doesn't."

[obeymeluv]

Isnt devildom liquor weaker than human world liquor? Mc had beat Asmo in a drinking contest. How do you think it they'd act, completely hammered in the human world. I think harder liquor means stupider drunks.

Spoiler alert to the in-game MC’s “heritage” reveal. You know, the descendent/reincarnation thing. If you know, you know.

Below: Thoughts on Devildom liquor + the specific incident Nonnie is talking about with Asmo in game + THE ACTUAL ANSWER TO THE ASK. My bad, haha.

My thoughts on Devildom liquor at that point in the game:

The MC is not as affected because they are human/angel. Maybe the angel part fortifies MC and makes it harder for them to get drunk?

Maybe the HUMAN side of MC is what makes it harder for them to get drunk on Devildom liquor? Like...everything in the Devildom is made primarily for demons so maybe there are ingredients in there that specifically affect those with demon blood. Maybe humans don’t have the biology to be inebriated by those ingredients?

I am a little fuzzy on that point in the game but did Asmo pre-game? Like, a lot? Did we ever find out? I could see him being so emotionally distraught that his lovely MC is leaving that he just wants to be sloshed. Maybe he assumed MC beat him in a drinking contest because he forgot how much he already drank?

Maybe Solomon gave MC a heads up that Asmo was down for drinking and gave them a pre-game potion of their own to ward off the affects.

End hypothesis: Maybe Devildom liquor IS strong (for demons) but that potency just can’t translate in human bodies so the bros (Lucifer especially) don’t want MC drinking it because they’re not sure what it will do. They just ASSUME it will do to MC what it does to them.

Other thoughts: Because demons sprinkled little secrets to the humans over the course of history, gave them trinkets and magic and things, I’d like to think they gave humans the idea or process of alcohol-making but are TOTALLY not prepared for the end result. All the flavors, types, etc. 

As far as I understand it (at the point I’m at in the game), travel between the Devildom and human world was widely discouraged until Diavolo could make a program that united the three realms and improved the overall image. So basically everyone has been separated for thousands of years.

What if demons are equally bad at holding human world liquor? I could just see a drunk Asmo being like, “What is this? Sangria? This isn’t what I told them to call it.” as he’s trying to drink and (speed) walk away from Beel, who wants the fruit out of the pitcher.

I could just see them all getting TOTALLY wasted on human world stuff just because they thought “Ahh, we taught them this 5,000 years ago! Of COURSE we can handle it! We invented it!” (spoiler alert: they cannot). Like, I’d like to think their biology works against them here. They heal quicker and probably get over stomach aches and things quicker, so they probably metabolize alcohol quicker to restore bodily equilibrium so they probably get flash-drunk off of just about anything with a decent alcohol content. 

HOW THEY WOULD ACT (AKA: the real question)

The facts: 

They’re all going to be like drunk kittens, big bassy purrs and wanting to cuddle you or scent you. 

They’ll basically curl up in a pile together; you occasionally have to move body parts (so no one suffocates). 

Do a head count every now and then, give them some crackers/carbs when needed, and put water all around them like a summoning circle because when one of them wakes up, all of them will and they’ll act like big babies

Put a bucket near Lucifer and Asmo, they’re sympathy pukers.

Levi and Belphie need total sensory deprivation when they wake up. You may only breach the darkness to bring them things to settle their stomach and anything to kill the headache

Just give Beel bread and anything like Gatorade/Pedialite. He’ll help you with the others after three loaves or so.

Asmo will be especially pitiful and demand you take care of the others first. Once they’re decently able to take care of themselves he’s near teary-eyed, demanding tummy rubs and tell him he’s still pretty even though he feels awful. Please get him a sheet mask.

Mammon’s not functional enough to help with anything major but he’s standing the next day so he rubs that in everyone’s face. He’s the one shuffling around with a half-eaten sandwich, looking for any comfort item (heating pack, cold wrap for his head). He will demon screech at you if you touch any of the lights in the house.

As Mammon comes to, he demands dim lights and acts like a grumpy mom. He’s making porridge and they better shut up and eat it. Says it’s for him but there’s a suspicious amount of bowls nearby.

Satan just swears he’ll never drink again (like always). Dutifully waits for porridge. Spends most of his time letting cold water run over his head. Can’t spend too much time hunched over because he gets nauseous. Baby him a little. Find a way to let his head float in a bit of water where he can lay down and he’s as quiet as a mouse. 

Who can drink the most? (Best to worst - my opinions only)

1) Beel (body mass helps), 2) Mammon (party king), 3) Asmodeus (huuuge history with mixed drinks. Boy is READY), 4) Lucifer, 5) Satan (neck and neck with Lucifer - casual drinker only. Even wine is rare for him), 6) Leviathan, 7) Belphie (usually sleeping instead of drinking). 

Lucifer:

We’ve seen little gags about how ‘Lucifer got drunk and unplugged the router’ so this guy’s either going to be super cuddly, a hot mess, or both

You know the people who fluff their hair, comb it back, undo a tie or some buttons and just get comfy as they drink? That’s Lucifer.

He’ll smile a bit more, laugh a bit more, and there will be some color to his cheeks

He’s not sloppy, just cozy. 

Drunk Lucifer is not overly loud but he is honest. He won’t throw himself into groups or pester all the brothers, but he’s up for some accidentally-heartwarming one-on-one

When he’s drunk he’ll lay his head on your shoulder and let you play with his hair

Will not win any drinking games. Is actually a lightweight compared to his brothers (see best > worst drinker, above).

Mammon:

GO BIG OR GO HOME! MAMMON’S HERE TO PLAY FOR BIG MONEY! (AKA: bragging rights that he can handle more than his brothers)

He and Asmo are quick to get the drinks flowing because they want to try shots of everything. 

He and Asmo are pretty good at matching brothers to drinks and tasting subtle notes, things like that

Show Mammon beer pong once and it’s done. He’s betting the brothers he can whoop them and is somehow able to pull off ping pong ball math to get Lucifer shit-faced real quick (might do it even faster if Belphie or Satan slip him some money)

The type to be like “Bet you I can hit that cup right there--third row, second from the left.” and can do it flawlessly. You have to give him head pats or $5, that’s the rules.

He’ll be one of the bros you have to chase around and make put his clothes back on. Boy will try to strip and strut

Will definitely hoard his favorite bottle (picked it on smell) and spend a majority of the time trying to drink it and avoid the bros. (”YOU CAN’T MAKE ME SHARE IF YOU CAN’T CATCH ME!”)

Leviathan

Not the best drinker. Not a frequent drinker at all.

His envy makes him drink because as he starts to go on a tangent about how ‘it’s not fair! Everyone’s having a good time!’ when he realizes it’s as easy as picking up a drink. Like...he can join in too.

Levi won’t grab himself an alcoholic drink because he’s a nervous over-thinker. Asmo or Mammon will just hand him a cup like the resident Liquor Fairy and he trusts their judgement

The first one to let his demon form out just because the liquor is a little warm in his belly and he feels like he’s flying? Also comfortable?

The excited drunk who goes on animated, slurred rants

The loud laugher

He’s honestly so adorably animated that anyone who knew him would be surprised? He seems far from a shut in

Trade off: he can’t hold his liquor well

Boy probably trips on his own tail or thinks something snagged his ankle to bring him down when, in fact, he just fell down

Sways when he sits

When he’s done, he just wants a nice comfy lap to lay in and maybe play with his hair. 

Like Lucifer, liquor will make him confess all his feelings. 

Watch out for the tail. It will be all over you when he starts to lose the ability to wrap it around himself.

Satan:

It’s a toss-up as to whether he gets drunk before Lucifer or vice versa. I’d like to think his tolerance is slightly higher since he might run in the same circles as Asmo, but he is a part of Lucifer so I’m sure it balances out

He’s a drink snob and this is what hurts him the most. He goes to fancy tastings and random things he’s invited to, but this is a drop in the bucket

He’s never gone hardcore before because he’s afraid he’ll be prone to anger

He’s not. He’s actually a lot like Levi. He just wants to smile and laugh and have fun.

The one who knows a lot of random/interesting stuff and has unexpectedly awesome party tricks

He and Asmo act as instigators and somehow con everyone else into getting drunk. It’s mostly because he wants blackmail material, but he enjoys the mind games

He’s the one you’re going to have to carry BUT he’s super chill when he’s having a good time. You want him to wear a lampshade? Okay, but only if you call him Enlightened One (get it?)

Makes bad jokes. Lucifer definitely laughs

The one that randomly dances with someone at the party. But it’s a fancy dance or slow dance, not something crazy

Will try to prove he’s not as drunk as he is by reading or reciting something and just breaks down into snorts and giggles

Cat Mode: Activated. He wants to be all over you. Hug him and play with his hair, please.

Asmo:

Asmo isn’t really different from his usual self.

He’s a little social butterfly, making his rounds and checking on people

He’s the silent, sneaky drunk. No one notices he’s drunk until his face starts getting red and his eyes get glassy

The quiet cuddler. Just progressively gets closer to you until he’s resting his head on your shoulder, hugging you from the side and asking you to give him his drink.

Would be the happiest person on the planet if you literally just held his drink up to his lips and let him drink it when he wanted to. You just love him so much?! You’re so thoughtful?! He wants to cry

Guilty party #2 for ‘chase him around and make him put his clothes back on’

Next in line for ‘Liquor makes me tell the truth and my darkest secrets’.

Will try any activity at the party and will dance at least once with everybody

If he gets in a fight, that’s because someone doesn’t respect what he put on the party playlist. He knows good music, okay?!

Has a personal goal to steal one drink from everyone, drink it before they realize, and hand them back the empty cup as he slips away. Something about it just amuses him.

Wants to leave lipstick/lip gloss kisses on people. Thinks they’re the cutest accessory!

The one who loses something at the party and makes everyone look for it the next day

The one who’s passed out in a random spot and no one has the heart to move them but everyone checks on them to make sure they’re safe. When everyone’s turned in for the night, he is safely moved like the precious baby he is.

Beel:

The one who takes the longest to get drunk. You don’t know if it’s because of his build or how much he ate to offset the alcohol

Unofficial baby sitter of the group. Pays special attention to everyone but Belphie, Asmo, and Levi in particular.

Not super loud. Just vibes and enjoys time with his family.

He’ll participate in the party activities because he does have that competitive streak but he’s not as invested in it as Mammon. If he wins at least once he’s proved his point and is on to something else

Surprsingly, #3 to ‘you might have to chase him and make him put his clothes on’. Drunk Beel is convinced he’ll get over the alcohol faster with less clothes because of temperature regulation and something that doesn’t really make sense because he’s slurring

Will drink more if Belphie is nearby or if he can hold onto Belphie. Taking care of Belphie and knowing he’s okay (in a tactile way) makes him a little more carefree. 

Doesn’t really confess like the other bros but he’s the one no one can really hear talking because his purr takes over everything. His purrs are so loud and deep! Big boy is truly happy

Drunk Beel is affectionate as ever and this is where you learn that demons can express affection by licking people. Most of the bros end up with a Simba-style mohawk. It’s just one lick but Beel’s got a long tongue and it fucks with hair real good.

Will jump in for a song or two if karaoke is a thing at the party. A really good singer but wouldn’t do it unless he had a decent amount of alcohol in him.

He’s the type to trip over stuff trying to help clean up. If he falls down he says he’s just ‘taking a break’ and will ‘help in a minute’. Might not get up again.

Once Beel lays down, Belphie, Satan, and Levi drunk crawl/stumble/slither over to him for warmth. This is how the cuddle pile starts.

When he lays down, if you get anywhere near him, he’s begging you to lay down with him. Wants to whisper little compliments and lovely things. A big sap. Handsy but will definitely know when to lay off and will listen if you get uncomfortable. 

Belphie:

Honestly, doesn’t really drink. He’s more interested in the nap.

His biggest motivation is to get the others drunk so everyone’s quiet and he can sleep. Definitely wants Lucifer blackmail.

He’ll have a few things but he prefers a lot of something mild versus a mix or a few shots of something super potent

Will try the funnel drink challenge.

The third enticer. He wants to work everyone up (Lucifer especially) and get the booze going.

Borrows off of Beel’s body mass and ability to handle alcohol here and there, but it all catches up with him eventually

The type to have really diluted drinks because he’s already sleepy by nature and doesn’t want to faceplant with a shot glass.

Will slow dance with Asmo. When Asmo starts to struggle with his weight as Belphie gets cozy and sleepy, Beel steps in and you just see the twins purring and warbling to each other as Beel just scoops him up and lets him sit on his hip like a toddler.

Another one who wants to slither into your lap and take all your attention.

The type to do random shit like boop your nose and giggle about it.

The one who doesn’t want anyone else to touch you. If he’s laying on you then the others need to leave you alone. It’s not hard to understand!

[x-i-l-verify]

Part 3 of my character references for my Inscryption D&D AU (drawn by the talented @macaronipup), featuring Poe, the warforged tinkerer/fighter. More info under the cut.

- Was created by a disappeared, advanced civilization, but he'd been lying deactivated and gathering rust in the ruins of one of their cities for the past couple thousand years. By the time he booted up again, his memory banks had corrupted completely and he was left a blank slate, forced to relearn nearly everything from the ground up.

- Was found, repaired, and taken in by the Dredger, Melter, and Inspector (humans with cybernetic implants or prostheses in this AU), who also gave him his name, derived from the only semi-legible series of foreign symbols stamped on his rusted armor, which sort of looked like “P-0-3.”

- The Dredger, Melter, and Inspector were killed in a raid on their village about 10 years before the main story starts. Poe himself was captured and sold for an obscene amount of money the next continent over, treated like an object and forced to work for his new master in the smithy day in and day out.

- Enchanted shackles around his wrists and ankles are engraved with powerful spells, which cause him excruciating pain every time they get activated (Poe has a profound distrust of magic in part because of this). They are unable to be removed by normal means because of how heavily enchanted they are; Magnificus would need access to his library to break them.

- Body is made of a strange type of living, self-repairing metal alloy. Healing spells actually work on him, which freaks him and everyone else out. He also - somehow - has a soul, unlike most repurposed forged, who are mindless, empty husks that can be programmed to carry out basic tasks.

- Can mimic any voice he hears perfectly. Can also project other images on his screen when he wants to.

- Does have clothing and a cloak Grimora made for him for when they need to pass through settlements without being noticed, but he doesn't like wearing them. But he likes pretending to be the rest of the party's mindless servant even less, so he reluctantly puts up with it.

- Carries all his tinkering tools and blacksmithing materials with him, and often drops into smithies in the towns they pass through to get some inventing done.  He makes little bots of his own for extra support in battle, and also explosives, bombs, acid, and other chemical compounds.

- Fights predominantly with his blacksmithing hammers, and is not averse to throwing them directly at someone's cranium. Like this. :V

- Has the best aim of anyone in the group, and is lethal with a crossbow, gun, or anything else he can point and shoot.

- A resourceful and creative fighter, but not in any way elegant or graceful. Values function over form, and focuses on just causing as much damage as he can ASAP. It doesn't have to be pretty or poetic, it just needs to work.

- Just as dramatic as everyone else, though, even if he may show it in different ways, mostly through cutting sarcasm and dry insults.

[misspearly1]

Be My Redemption

Chapter xx

Pairing: Joel Miller x YOU

WC: 6.2K

Warnings: ANGST, lots of angst. Violence. (Joel Fighting) Captured, Interrogations & Psychological Torcher Tactics. (Nothing too drastic). Some revelations amidst this interrogating. 18+ No Minors!

I'm overusing the 'shit hits the fan' trope 😬😂. The gifs I have used do not belong to me. (They’re fucking great and hot as fuck) All credit goes to the original owners 💜.

AN: Please read the warnings my loves. I haven't gone too hard with the 'torcher'. Also, The POV changes a lot between reader and Joel, so I'll add named dividers to help. Thanks folk, please enjoy <33

Joel

Joel’s heart was thumping a thousand to one. Hammering around in his chest with rage and anxiety. He was going to explode.

Images of Sarah blew through his mind, bringing a deep dark depression in his gut with it. The situation with Michael hit him hard. It was too close to home and It damn near broke Joel.

It is breaking Joel.

Needing to get out of the University to blow off some steam, to calm down, to find some cathartic release, to let go of all the bottled up rage for the loss of his daughter, he walked out of the University and walked out on you.

Her smile, her laughter and her voice. It’s all too much and he can’t handle the memories, he can’t handle the pain that comes with those memories. So he kept walking, and walking, and walking.

Her smile, her laughter and her voice. It’s all too much and he can’t handle the memories, he can’t handle the pain that comes with those memories. So he kept walking, and walking, and walking.

The snowy environment outside is cold. Too fucking cold to be walking around in, but he doesn’t care. Padded up with enough layers of clothes, he can handle the weather.

Joel can handle the icy bite on his cheeks and nose, so long as it distracts the icy bite of sorrow in his heart.

Finding himself in a small area beside the University named Cambridge - about a fifteen minute walk away - he walked along a street with no particular direction in mind.

The snow on the ground was thick and fluffy. His boots crunched on impact, compacting it together with each step that he took, yet he had no clue as to what he was doing or where he was going.

Head hung low, all he could hear was Sarah’s last whimpering sounds ringing in his ears. The dark moments before her death.

His rage was simmering, threatening to just tip over boiling point and if there were a FEDRA official - anyone actually - standing in front of him right now, he knew he would go off.

That’s why he had to leave you. Joel can’t trust his anger and he’s glad that you didn’t try to stop him. He’s done some very inhumane things during his time as a hunter and the time that he has spent with you, just being his normal self, those things that he did now scare him to his core - they sicken him.

He doesn’t want to fall back into it, back into the darkness. It’s so easy to do. You’re the one who reminded him of Sarah that day on 5th Avenue.

The push for him to come to his senses and realize that the life of a hunter is wrong. Utterly and downright fucking wrong in so many ways.

Ever since then, you have unknowingly kept reminding him to be human again, to open up little by little and let you in, and let some of his pain out.

But today is too much. Mary and her father were too much. Michael pleading with Joel to keep his daughter safe was too fucking much.

A grown man moments away from death, blood, snot and tears staining his face, gripping Joel’s shoulders and looking into his eyes, begging - begging and wailing for Joel to keep Mary safe. ‘Tell her daddy always loved her’ was the last thing he said.

Joel was as frozen as the ice outside.

Holding Michael and looking into his sickened, pale face, his eyes that were a blotchy red and sunken into the sockets, Joel froze while looking at him.

He was supposed to kill him but he couldn’t. He was supposed to put Michael out of his misery, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. So instead, he left.

Walking out that room and leaving Diego to deal with it. Joel stepped into the hallway with balled up fists, leant against the wall and sunk to the floor.

Sometime later - god knows when - Diego joined him and placed a hand to his shoulder, “it’s done herma- Wow! Joel?”

Joel had grabbed him. Standing up and shoving him against the wall by the shoulders. The look that he gave struck Diego with fear. It actually scared Diego.

Joel shook his head back to reality and stepped back, “I can’t be here. I need to leave.”

“Don’t you want to talk about it first? Calm down and speak to Y/N-” he tried to reason but Joel snapped his head back to him at the mention of your name.

Gritting his teeth and hands baling up into fists again, he growled, “What if that was Y/N? I just shoved you against a wall, old man. Fear in your eyes and you’re asking me to stay and talk with Y/N?”

Joel stepped closer, face inches away from Dee’s, “I need - to leave.” Not giving him a chance to comment back, Joel turned and walked away from him.

Walking back to his room to gather some clothes to leave, he knew it would hurt you but he couldn’t think about that right now, it would hurt more if he shouted at you, or worse…

He couldn’t think about the worst either. He wouldn’t allow the ‘what if’s’ to flow freely and instead, he admitted his love and left.

Exiting the University and walking away, he’s kept walking for nearly an hour now yet his pain still soars and his rage still simmers just over the edge.

He needs to release it. Some way, anyway, he needs to let it all go and instead of finding something to unleash upon, something has found him.

Lifting his head as he walks, he darts his eyes side to side with instinct. Acting like he isn’t aware of his surroundings but he is very much aware of the people that are hiding behind cars, watching him.

There’s two of them.

This is what he needs and he welcomes them to try anything. In fact, he’s desperate for them to make a move so he can use it as an excuse to release his anger.

Hearing the soft scrape of their boots meeting snow, they’re useless at trying to be stealthy and using only the sounds they make, he can tell that one of them is trying to sneak up behind him.

Joel smirks. Like some madman hell bent on a fight, he smirks and waits to the very last second to jerk to the side. Watching this person who jumped for him tumble to the ground in front.

He looked down as the stranger looked up and kicked him in the jaw. Then he tempted him cockily, “get back up.”

Opening up his jacket, he pulled out his revolver but another man jumped over a car to grab it. Joel swung out of the way and this man also fell to the floor.

Towering over them both with his gun in hand, he looked between them and the weapon before he started emptying out the rounds.

They looked at him with confused expressions and Joel pocketed his gun, along with the ammo that he removed. Once he did that, he looked back at both of them and muttered with a deadly threat in his tone, “I said, get back up.”

Both of them stood and stepped closer to Joel, yet he didn’t move. When one of them darted his arm out, he ducked and punched them in the gut. Turning quickly to punch the other guy, he kept doing this. Kept dodging their hands but punching them harder each time in return.

Knuckles turning pink, the two men's faces were littered with bruises by now but Joel wasn’t anywhere near done. He growled, “C’mon. I ain’t finished with you yet.”

They were hesitant to move and after too many seconds of them standing still, Joel grumbled, “Alright” then moved forward however the butt of a gun hit him in the back of the head and he tumbled to the ground.

Face submerged into the snow, he started chuckling deeply. Turning around to face whoever hit him, he laughed mockingly at a woman standing over him.

This woman was wearing a scowling expression while she stood over him and shook her head before she drove the gun down again, knocking him out like a light.

Y/N

“Diego,” you gasped in a whisper. He shushes you under his breath in return. Soothing you lowly with his voice, he speaks closely into your ear, “stay quiet, Hermosa, it’s okay..”

Holding your body flush against his chest, he placed a hand over your mouth when you tried to whimper and gasp again, he repeated his words with caution this time, “we have to be quiet, Y/N. Otherwise they’ll find us.”

Joel

A soft, tranquil hum rang through Joel’s ears and he stirred. Mind waking up before his body does, he focuses on the sounds around him first.

“I know you’re conscious, so open your eyes asshole,” a woman's voice spoke out, sounding like she’s at her wits end.

Joel lifted his head and lolled it back with a low groan. Grimacing with the pain in his nose, he smiled wickedly and finally opened his eyes.

Blinking back the bright glare of a light hanging from the ceiling, he looked around himself to take in his surroundings and see where he was.

Small room, one light shining down above him. He knew what this was, it was an interrogation.

Turning his head to locate the woman's voice - no doubt probably the same woman who hit him - he felt the tug on his arms and looked down to find that he was tied to the chair.

Puffing a humourless chuckle past his lips, he tutted “let’s get this over with already.”

“You busted up my men's faces and I want to know why,” she asked, to which Joel countered, “Self defence, they came at me.”

“Bullshit. You were itching for a fight - why?” keeping his head straight, he blinked slowly and didn’t answer her. Joel couldn’t give a fuck what this lady wants to know, nor does he care who she is.

“Don’t want to talk? No problem.” she quipped. Her boots hitting the ground faded away before a door opened behind him then closed.

He expected a couple men to come in and start beating the shit out of him, to rough him up and make him answer her questions, but no one entered after she left.

She left him tied to this chair and didn’t come back.

After a while, a really long while, Joel got bored of waiting so he turned his attention to the binds on his arms, to see if there was a way he could break free but he couldn’t.

Zip ties.

Lots of zip ties were placed up his arm and around the arm of the chair. Not only that, his legs were tied in the same manner. Without even trying Joel knew that there were simply too many for him to get free.

Lifting his head back up with a smile, he knew what they were doing now. They’re waiting for him to break first. To call for them and say he is ready to talk, but he won’t do that. So he closed his eyes and thought about the ways they’re going to break first.

But they never did.

Y/N

You panted heavily with Diego. A deep pain in your body, filled with sorrow and regret -for Joel. Holding your hand in his own, he squeezed you, reassuringly, but it didn’t make you feel any better.

You felt guilty. What will he think when he comes back? How will he react? You hope that he will know deep down in his heart and bones that he will understand what’s happened.

You hope that instead, he will follow you. Follow your trail of breadcrumb clues you left behind as you run from the University. Your temporary home that’s now overrun with infected.

Jackie, Johnny and Mary’s whereabouts are unknown as of right now. You and Dee got split from them while hiding out in some closet.

Infected in front of your face on the other side of the doors while he shushed your fears of being caught and torn apart.

Now, you’re hand in hand with Diego, running. He’s practically dragging you along because you don’t want to leave them. Wherever they are, you don’t want to leave them behind.

You don’t want to leave Joel behind either.

“Dee, what are we going to do?” You stopped and cried into his shoulder. Too many bad things have happened to count and it’s too much to bear.

With your friends missing, Joel too, you worry for them. For their safety and most of all, you worry for Joel.

You wonder where he is. You’re distressed. Wrecked and broken with concern for him. It’s been too long without him. He didn’t specify how long he’d be but, you didn’t expect him to take this long.

Maybe he did leave you. Maybe he left and felt better so he stayed gone with no intention of returning. The notion of that hurts. Deep in your heart and soul - it hurts.

Joel

It was hours, maybe a full day before Joel finally started to feel uncomfortable. His backside and legs were numb. Tingly.

His spine ached with the need to stand up and stretch, to twist and pop the gas bubbles that have gathered at the joints from his time sitting in this chair.

Still, he wouldn’t back down. He was too arrogant, so he wont succumb to their mediocre torcher and break first.

As the minutes - hours? - rolled by, the silence began to bother him. He was lethargic and confused, and thirsty.

So unbearably thirsty, his mouth was as dry as a desert, gagging for water. Uncertain of how long he actually has been in here, he was left with nothing but his thoughts.

And when he had thought of every possible way of how they or she would break first, or how he would kill them, he was left to think about Sarah.

Humming the tune of Texas Fight - the song that you sang that day on 5th Avenue - he used it as a distraction. He can’t think about his daughter, he refuses to.

A little while after he finished humming, the door opened and his mind dinged with delight, Knew you’d break first.

But what entered was not a human, it was a clicker.

Eyes instantly widening. He remained as still as possible and as quiet as possible while it snarled and screeched terrifyingly.

Braying on the door and shrieking with defeat because it couldn’t get what it wanted, it started to walk around the room instead.

Not turning his head, not even breathing, Joel used his eyes to try and locate its exact position. It hadn’t noticed him, yet.

The room was so quiet that every single noise was crystal clear, so much in fact that when Joel slowly let out the breath that he was holding in, the clicker snapped around to face his direction.

Still remaining calm, he narrowed his eyes and waited for its next move.

It clicked excessively, using the echoes vibrating back to it to feel if there was any movement, and because Joel couldn’t move, the clicker moved on. Now he was starting to thank these zip ties.

They’re good. This is.. Yeah. Nice move, woman, but yer gotta try harder than that.

Carefully timing his breaths with the creature's movements, he could breathe each time it walked and it didn’t notice he was there.

Joel is adaptive - a survivor.

And he isn’t going to break first, oh no. They got to try harder tactics. Closing his eyes once more, he used the clickers noises and movements as distraction from the thoughts of Sarah.

They unintentionally helped him, not amped up their interrogating and he smiled to himself with another failing on their behalf.

They must be able to hear me, or see me in some way, he wonders.

Smiling more and making a point to show that he is unbothered - that their torcher isn’t working - Joel’s mind wanders with the thoughts of how pissed off they must be. The notion of that nearly makes him laugh and he rolls his lips together to stifle it.

After some more time passed by, it wasn’t as amusing anymore for Joel’s situation and he was left with only the sounds of infected’s hushed clicks as it stood in the corner.

Body jerking and convulsing lightly, it was dormant. Waiting for a spike of stimuli in its surroundings. Waiting for Joel to move or to make a sound.

He wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. Joel won’t give the clicker, or that woman the satisfaction and he wishes he could find it amusing but he’s starting to tick with annoyance.

The quietness is starting to become loud again. The thoughts of Sarah are coming back and to distract himself, he thinks about you instead.

He tries not to think about how he must have hurt you for leaving and he hopes that you still understand why. Maybe Diego spoke to her, explained that I shoved him against the wall.

Nodding mentally, not actually moving his head, he agreed with his inner voice that you would understand his reasons.

Joel couldn’t ever picture himself hurting you, he wouldn’t hurt you. He just needed some space to let go of his emotions without it affecting you in any way.

A thought crosses his mind that you might look for him, he must have been in here for nearly a day now, you are most definitely going to be worried about his whereabouts and he hopes that you aren't doing exactly what he fears.

For the sake of your own safety, he hopes you’re still at the University, laying in bed upset over his stupid ass and waiting for his return.

He doesn’t like to imagine you crying over him, waiting for him, but he would prefer that other than you out in this weather, looking for him and possibly running into the same people he has.

That idea makes him angry.

Please don’t look for me, girl… I promised I’d co-Fuck! I promised I would come back..

Opening his eyes and gritting his teeth. Joel remembered his promise. How can he fulfil that if he is tied up here? If he dies because of his stupidity?

Looking around the room carefully to see if someone could be watching, a camera, a window, anything, but he can’t see a single thing past the light provided from above.

Now he is starting to get pissed. He can’t battle against his own mind and he thinks that they probably hoped he wouldn’t. Forcing him to be quiet from the clicker and to focus only on his thoughts, they most definitely hoped he’d lose it.

No matter what direction he takes mentally, he’s at a loss.

He can’t think about Sarah. It hurts too much. He can’t think about you. It worries him endlessly. He can’t think about who these people are and what they want because he has no fucking clue. All he can focus on is his rage… again.

“You ready to talk?” A voice echoed out from a and he watched the clicker rush towards him. It came from behind him and the deadly beast was inches away from his back.

Joel must have visibly shown his anger to prompt them the question, nodding curtly, the tannoy shut off but no one entered the room.

They left him to wallow in his rage. It was a ‘fuck you’ for taking so long and being so smug.

And he did wallow. His toes wiggled, fingers too, while his jaw ticked and he closed his eyes to ignore it but it was all too overpowering. Sarah was overpowering. You were overpowering.

It was a mental battle. The memories and the ‘what if’s’ finally broke through. He couldn’t hold them back anymore and they flowed as one.

Sarah's voice reverberated off the walls. The memories burdened him with reliving the moments of holding his dying daughter in his arms seconds before she drew her last breath.

Over and over again this played back and he tried, with all his might, he tried to think of you, but those ‘what if this happened or that’ was all he could think about. What if you hate him. Leave him. Look for him. Die because of him.

Sarah’s voice is screaming now, screaming for her dad and Joel mentally screams for her too. He screams for his daughter and you.

He needs you.

He needs you to remind him that everything will be ok. Your voice that drowns out the sound of Sarah’s cry. Your face that helps him remember her sweet, happy face, not the one she wore when she died.

Joel needed you to help him with the loss of his daughter.

The revelation of his was a kick to the teeth. Why couldn’t he have just stayed at the University? Talk about it to you like Diego suggested. Or not talk about it at all.

You would understand, you would have given him all the space he needed. You would give him every- you have given him everything and he left.

Throwing it all back in your face and looking where he is now, without you, he now knows how much he needs you. You're his anchor.

You are what keeps him human and without you, Sarah is all he can think about. She calls for him. Over and over again, he can hear her voice calling out for his help.

He finally reaches breaking point and bellows a blood curdling cry of her name, “SARAH!!!”

*POP* *POP*

Two gunshots rang out and then, silence…

Y/N

Opening your eyes with a shock in your body, you jolted upright in your position. Was that gunfire?

Turning instantly and shoving Diego’s shoulder to wake him, he grumbled and jumped up the same as you, “what-what? Is it the others? Are they her-“

Shaking your head, he stopped his questioning and rubbed his sleepy eyes. Taking refuge in some café for the night, you and Dee still haven’t found Mary, Jackie or Johnny or Joel.

“I heard gunshots. What if that’s them? Trying to signal us? We should go look for them Dee, they need us, they need our help” you rambled through a new set of tears and he pulled you in for a tight hug.

“I know, Querida…” rubbing comforting hands up and down your back, he squeezed you and kept reassuring, “I know. We’ll look for them and we’ll find them. They’re smart, you know this, they know how to survive.”

Sniffling into his neck you knew he was speaking the truth, they do know how to survive and take care of themselves, but it won’t ever appease your plight. They aren’t ok and won't ever be ok in your eyes unless you see that they are. You need to find them.

Joel

Two gunshots rang out behind Joel.

Shooting the clicker that was running straight for him and he dropped his head feeling beat. He had ultimately broken first.

Shortly after he shouted for Sarah, the door opened and someone entered, a human this time. They strode along to his position and sat in the chair that was placed in front of him.

It was that same black woman who hit him in the face with her gun.

“Ready to answer my questions?” she asked again with no emotion behind her words. Joel nodded and muttered defeatedly, “yes”

“Who are you traveling with?”

Joel gave it a moment to answer, in hopes to make it sound believable, “no one. Just me”

“I don’t buy it. Where are you headed?” she asked another question, to which Joel retorted, truthfully, “nowhere, just..walking.”

“Who is Sarah?” lifting his gaze to look directly into her eyes, he shook his head side to side with a clear notion of ‘no’ in his stare.

With locks of curly black hair tied up into a ponytail, she wore a vest shirt and Joel could see the many scars along her arms and a prominent one along her collarbone. As well as wearing those scars, she wore that same scowling expression from earlier.

“Who are you then? Can you answer that?” she jested, seemingly fed up with his shit by now. Joel shared his first name and she narrowed her eyes then stood.

Walking towards the door and whispering to someone, Joel couldn’t hear what she was saying but he was confused as to why her interest had piqued since sharing his name.

Then he heard ‘Miller’ slip past her lips and he jolted around to look at her.

How the fuck does she know that? He thought to himself. He wanted to ask but it would give away his concern, so he kept his worry to himself for now.

Instead, he shouted, “You gonna tell me what you want now? You’ve kept me locked up for hours.”

“Thought you weren’t heading anywhere, what’s the rush?” she snapped back, then added, “You’ve been here for two days now, I’ll keep you here another if you don’t tell me what I want to know”

Joel furrowed his brows, two fucking days?

Yanking on his binds, he instantly thought about you. About how worried you must be for him, he never intended to be gone this long. This woman began moving towards him when he fussed with the zip ties. She stood by his side and asked, “Miller, Joel Miller, right?”

He didn’t answer but from the reaction he gave caused her to start smirking. He wonders again how she knows who he is. He only gave her his first name, maybe she heard of him, or his fam-

Tommy.

His goddamn brother. Tommy left Joel when he joined the Hunters in New York six years ago.

He hasn’t seen his brother in a long, long time and he now wonders why he is with a group that likes to run up on people from behind and kidnap them.

Considering he left Joel with the Hunters this group seems no different than them. Unless… no it can’t be. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have, it was all talk, he wouldn’t have actually joined...

Looking back up to the woman, to her neck in particular, he looked at her pendant and saw the symbol. Clear as day, he saw their logo and it confirmed his suspicions.

Turning his head to look forward again, he chuckled dryly and muttered, “firefly, I should have known.”

Y/N

After Diego had finally managed to calm you down, you both got yourselves ready to head back outside to continue your search. Exiting the cafe and walking onto the sidewalk outside, you tried to remember what direction the gunshots came from.

“Can you remember what way?” Diego asked and you closed your eyes to think back on when it happened. It was an hour ago at least but it doesn’t matter how long ago it was, even when you heard it in that moment, you couldn’t tell what direction it was.

“Dee.. I…” you stammered and he moved closer when seeing your bottom lip quiver, “Hey now, relax. None of that Y/N. We have to be strong for them. Let’s go searching again and see what we come up with, ok?”

Nodding in return, he led the way and you followed. For the last twenty four hours you have been searching. Looking everywhere possible for your friends but have come up short every time.

Two days ago when Joel left, everything went to shit after. Laying in your bed and crying over him, Diego had come in to check on you shortly after and while he was comforting you, explaining what Joel had done to him after the situation with Michael, it eased your state, but something - unknown to all of you - was about to go wrong, very wrong.

The infected on the other side of the building had gotten loose. Originally thinking that there may have been around ten or eleven of them, there actually was a horde of them. High numbers of all different stages of infected, maybe fifty or sixty in total.

However, you and Diego didn’t catch on to it right away. Being in your dorm room, you both didn’t know that they were out.

Only when you caught sight of some of the creatures spilling out onto the courtyard from your window did you both realize what had happened. Both of you were moving instantly and he went to open your bedroom door but there was a clicker screeching into his face.

Slamming it shut and ushering you backwards quickly, he opened a closet door and shoved you inside. Just as the clicker barrelled in the room, he managed to close the closet door without it noticing. Then you both were stuck inside of that closet for a long time.

Throughout the night and halfway into the next day, you and Diego spent half of your Christmas hiding inside a closet. If you thought earlier that your worries were excessive, they were nothing compared to how worried you were in those moments.

Runners, clickers and even a bloater walked past you both at one point. He had to hold you close through most of it, some moments with a hand over your mouth, especially when that bloater was an inch away from your face.

It didn’t know you both were in there, thank god, but your stomach sank with terror nonetheless and Diego had to shut your whimpers up forcefully with his hand. It hurt him to see you so scared and he hated that he had to shush you in your state of panic, but he had to.

Otherwise you both would’ve died.

When enough time had passed without another sighting of an infected walking by, he stepped out first to check if the coast was clear. Bringing you with him when he was satisfied that it was safe enough, you headed straight for your guns and then towards the lounge for Johnny, Jackie and Mary.

But they weren’t there.

A part of you knew that they wouldn’t. That they would have ran the moment they caught the horde in their eyes but you were still heartbroken to not see them here, safe and sound. Looking around carefully as there were still infected roaming the hallways, you didn’t find clues.

Understandable. They’ve rushed out the door in a panic and of course they can’t stop to leave a message for you. Looking closer to see if there was any indication of what direction they headed for, if they’re still in the University or if they have literally rushed out the door, you and Diego couldn’t find anything.

Spending the rest of the day and evening looking inside the University, you both kept coming up short and when every inch had been searched, you turned your attention outside instead. Where the mass of the horde was.

They were migrating towards the Somerville area so you and Diego started there, thinking that the horde was following your friends, that’s what you both started off with but everywhere you looked, you still kept coming up empty.

Searching endlessly as the evening turned dark and the night sky rolled in, Diego pulled you into a café and ordered you to sleep. Spending half a day and a whole night inside a closet and then the whole of the next day searching some more, you both needed to rest.

Even when you lay down with exhaustion nipping at your eyes, you still couldn’t manage to sleep. Worry kept you awake and when you heard those two gunshots, you both had to act on it. Regardless if you slept or not.

So, this is where you are now. Wandering the streets of Somerville in the dead of night, looking for your friends and Joel.

Joel

“Where’s my goddamn brother?” Joel shoved against the two men marching him through the medical clinic hallways. Walking along behind that woman, he shouts at her back.

She doesn’t answer, only stops and gestures with her hands to a window and Joel stops to look. There he is. Tommy. Laying in a bed and looking… he looks like he’s knocking on death's door, hooked up to IV’s and slee- he’s awake.

Opening his eyes and widening them at the sight of his older brother, Tommy pulls himself up on the bed to sit up and mouths his name. Joel shoves against those people again, shaking their grip and walks forward to open the door.

“Tommy,” he greets him and enters.

“Joel. Goddamn,” he replies and tries to go to him but Joel stops him, “No, don’t move.” Walking forward and standing by the bed, he looks down to his baby brother.

Black and blue in the face, Tommy looks like he has been beaten- brutally beaten. Joel grits his teeth, “Who did this to you? Was it them? The fireflie-”

“Fedra.” Tommy cuts his speech off and leans back with a pained groan.

Joel falls silent.

F.E.D.R.A - Federal Disaster Response Agency. The only sense of a government that the world has left, a word that he hates to hear, they are what the world has to rely on yet they are killers. It was a Fedra officer that shot Joel’s little girl and looking at Tommy now, face like he was beaten to a pulp, his anger for that agency grows.

He's had enough of being angry.

“Why?” he growled, shaking his head judgmentally. Joel adds to that and asks a series of questions, “Why did they do this to you Tommy? Is it because you’re with that woman? The goddamn fireflies! I told you. I told you this was a bad idea six fucking years ago.”

“That’s all you’ve got for me, Joel? Six years and you come in here, acting like this.” Tommy fired back. Not liking his brother's tone of voice. He hoped that Joel would at least be happy to see him and he asks, “You still with them fucking Hunters?”

“No.” Joel retorts.

“No?” Tommy shakes his head, huffing a dry chuckle of disappointment.

Silence fills the space between them once more. Tommy looks up at his older brother with saddened eyes that are almost swollen shut. Joel can make out the pain behind his words when he asks, “You’re not with the Hunters, just walking around the streets of Cambridge? Are you looking to get yer’self killed brother?”

Shaking his head, Joel takes a deep breath and blows out his frustrations with it. There’s so much he wishes he could say to him, but there’s too little time, so he replies with “Too much has happened since I last saw you, Tommy, I can’t-”

“Well I’ve got the time. Look at me,” he gestures with his hands, “I ain’t going anywhere, Joel. Talk to me.”

“I don’t have the time though, Tommy. Your leader out there kept me locked up and I got someone waiting on me. I can’t stay.”

“So.. You’re leaving me then.. again,” Tommy whispers, voice laced with sorrow but Joel can’t see that. He can’t think about that right now and he tells his younger brother, “Tommy, I’ll come back for you. Just rest up here, I’ve got to find someone first, then I’ll bring her back here with me.”

“Her?” turning his head to look back at his older brother at the mention of a woman, Joel nods in affirmation. Tommy sighs, “wow,” looking away again and shaking his head some more, he mumbles, “You’ll walk out on me but not for some lady.”

“I walked out on her! She’s the reason I left the Hunters Tom- You know what, goddammit. I ain’t got time for this, I have to find her-” he stopped what he was saying to grab Tommy’s attention, adding emphasis to what he was promising, “I have to find her Tommy, then I’ll come back for you. Ok?”

“If you say so,” he replies. Cutting off Joel’s gaze by facing his body away and laying onto his side, Tommy mutters, “Ok, brother.”

Joel spent another moment looking at him, the urge to just say fuck it and stay here to tell him everything that has happened was strong Tommy would understand and probably join him in his search for you, but there is literally no time for that. He has been gone for two days, nearing three and he has to find you now.

So he leaves his brother with another promise hanging above his head of returning. A promise that he will fight to fulfil if he has to. For you and his brother, he will come back, and he will be reunited.

Exiting the room and then the medical clinic too, he runs through Cambridge and heads straight for Harvard University to find you. Unknown to him, you are actually on the outskirts of Somerville, heading towards Cambridge.

The place he has just came from.

End Notes: Sorry for not adding more, I really wanted to but I need a break away (gather my energy) from this chapter otherwise I’m going to burn out quick with this WIP. (One shots are my strong suits 😅) hope you understand my lovelies 💜

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