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roanofarcc · 5 months ago

Text

THE OLD FASHIONED WAY

pairing. trevor lefkowtiz x alive!reader

summary. You had always regarded your ability to see ghosts as odd, until you met Sam and her eclectic group of ghosts.

warnings. kind of/kind of not happy ending, ig? sad trevor :( angsty and a little flirty. reader gets stood up.

word count. 3.8K || masterlist

a/n. alive!reader HURTS but in the best way

trevor tag list. @marcos-scorpion , @youngdumbamericanteen

“I have one last, fun, interview question,” Sam said and you inwardly cringed. You had sat through so many job interviews that you knew a ‘fun’ question was normally anything but. Nevertheless, you smiled politely and nodded at her to continue asking. “What are your thoughts on ghosts?”

You laughed, against your will. It was a reflexive response that you immediately regretted. “Sorry!” you rushed out.

She didn’t seem put off by your laughing. “I know, it’s a ridiculous question. But the last guy that worked here…uh, this place may, potentially, be haunted. Not that I know, but there’s speculation. I just want to know how you feel about ghosts. Do you believe in them? Do you think it's all a bunch of mumbo-jumbo?” That was probably one of the oddest interview questions you’d ever been asked, but it was better than explaining how your weaknesses were really strengths. It also felt pointed.

You didn’t know Sam and she didn’t know you, but the question made it sound like she knew your weird talent. And for some reason, you didn’t feel the embarrassment you normally did when someone brought up the concept of ghosts. There was something about Sam that compelled you to tell the truth, even against your better judgment.

“Actually, that’s kind of a funny story-” you started, but were cut off.

“Samatha, when you are done, your assistance is needed in the television room. Someone believes it is his turn to watch another horrible film of space nonsense, but I distinctly recall it being my turn to watch those horrible women pick out whorish dresses for their weddings.” A woman appeared at the threshold of the entryway and the living room, dressed in a gown not from that century with her red locks pinned up in a curious updo. You were taken back, confused when your eyes fell on the man that stood beside her, dressed formally on top but lacking anything but socks and shoes on his bottom half.

“First of all, Star Wars is not ‘space nonsense’ it's one of the biggest movies, like, ever,” the man started. “And second of all, you just got to watch your pick two days ago.”

Sam cleared her throat, ignoring the two with a tight-lipped smile. You looked between the two, which seemed to confuse them. “I’m so sorry, will you excuse me for one second? I’ve got to take care of something really fast.”

“Yeah, of course. Take your time. I don’t mess around when it comes to Star Wars either,” you said.

The two people overlapped in with a ‘what?’ and an ‘excuse me?’ Sam stared at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape as she looked between the two figures behind her and you. “Hold on, can you see them?”

It took a moment for you to understand why that was odd, which was too long if you were being honest. Obviously, no one was walking around in a gown like that or pantsless for no reason. You weren’t looking at cooky guests, but rather ghosts. Did nowhere not have any spirits lingering? It seemed like every job you worked or applied to had ghosts haunting the building. Though, you supposed out of all of the places, it did make the most sense for the old mansion to be haunted.

But Sam wasn’t a ghost, but she seemed to be able to at least hear the ones in the threshold. “Can you see them?” you asked.

“Y-Yeah. I can.”

“Me too.” You have been able to see ghosts since you were little. As a child, most of your friends were the collection of ghosts that inhabited your childhood home. You thought you’d eventually outgrown it, but you never did. Now, nearly everywhere you ventured, you encountered dead people. It was interesting, a little obnoxious at times, and often made you feel like a freak of nature. But the woman in front of you could see them too; that was a first.

Sam sat speechless for a moment before she said, “You’re hired.”

You weren’t sure what to expect, working in the haunted mansion. In your lifetime, you’d encountered just about every kind of ghost, so you prepared yourself for anything when Sam introduced you. The Woodstone ghosts were an eclectic bunch, comprised of ghosts spanning nearly every decade. They were interesting, to say the least. But even if they had ended up being terrible, you were just happy to be around someone who shared your ability to see them.

Sam and Jay had set you up at the front desk, putting you in charge of checking in guests. And when it was slow, the Woodstone ghosts often found their way to you if Sam was busy.

One ghost in particular liked to hang around you, Trevor. He was the definition of an overgrown frat brother, with a lazy smirk and incessant flirtatious attitude. Every time he sauntered up to the front desk, calling your name, you made a habit of rolling your eyes.

“Good morning,” you greeted, tone flat as you clicked away on the computer.

Trevor leaned against the desk, his gaze burning into the side of your face. “How you doin’?” he said, and you sighed.

“Watching Friends again, I see?”

He blew air from his cheeks, deflating just slightly. “I’m a little rusty, okay?”

“Rusty? At what?”

“This,” he pointed between you and him. “Flirting.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Is that what’s happening?”

“Well, yeah. My flirting with Sam is useless because she and Jay are annoyingly sweet together. But you…” Trevor trailed on, a smirk on his lips and a certain cocky attitude wrapped up in his voice.

“I hate to burst your bubble, no-pants, but we’re not exactly… compatible.”

He raised his brows. “Because I’m dead?” You winced slightly. You didn’t want to be the one to say it; some ghosts were really sensitive to that, but Trevor didn’t seem too bothered. He shrugged like he saw it as no big deal. “I see that as a minor roadblock.”

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes once more and shut him down, you were impressed at his relentlessness.

You thought after a couple of weeks of working at Woodstone, Trevor’s ploy to win you over would fade alongside his attention. But he started to hang around you even more than when you first started, and you two had created a weird but kind of nice rapport of his continued flirting, peppered with more authentic conversations sprinkled in. He told you stories of his college days and the assholes he befriended before they ended up killing him in that every house. You told him about your own school days and how you were currently floating through the motions of young adulthood, trying to figure things out.

“Scoring a job here was nice,” you said, comfortably resting your elbows on the front desk as Trevor stood across from you, listening intently.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam and Jay are pretty cool.” He paused, toying with the end of his tie. “So, you think you’ll stick around?”

A small smile fell across your lips. “I think so. Things are pretty interesting around here.”

“Well, if you ever want them to be more interesting, let me know.”

“Oh, yeah?” you asked, raising your brows.

“Oh yeah. I could rile up the basement ghosts, convince Thor minivans are enemy warships, you name it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You are something else.”

“Careful,” he teased. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was supposed to,” you replied, not missing a beat.

Trevor’s eyes widened just slightly, the smirk wiped right off his face and was replaced by something that resembled confusion with a slight fluster. Clearing his throat, he managed to say, “Oh.” You didn’t know ghosts could blush until that moment, even with their lack of blood, because Trevor’s cheeks tinted a light shade of pink as he made up some excuse to leave, mumbling something about helping Sass before he hurried away.

You chuckled, resuming your work as another guest popped in.

To say your dating life was pathetic would be a polite understatement. It was almost nonexistent, which is why when an attractive-looking person popped up on the dating app you forced yourself to get, you got your hopes up a little too high. Sam had encouraged you to go out on a date with them, excitingly helping you get ready and everything.

You had been excited, believing it was a fresh start for you. First a new job and then a new romantic interest. Unfortunately, after waiting at the restaurant, alone, for a solid hour, you realized your dating life had quickly circled back around to being pathetic. Embarrassment didn’t quite cover how you felt as you left the restaurant and headed back home to wallow.

The following day at work, the second you stepped inside the mansion, Sam was there with an excited energy, ready to hear all about your date. She grabbed your hand and dragged you into the kitchen before you could protest. She had made tea and had left off sweets Jay had made for the guests yesterday. The other ghosts lounged around the kitchen too, and you felt even more embarrassed to talk about your total bust of a date around all of them.

But you slouched down in the one empty seat and let Sam push a mug of tea in front of you.

“Tell me everything!” she insisted.

You smiled politely but it didn’t stay on your face long before it morphed into a frown. “There’s not much to tell,” you sighed. “They stood me up.”

“Wait, seriously?” Trevor said, seated beside you, brows furrowed.

“No call, no apology, nothing. I sat there for an hour, like an idiot.” You rubbed your forehead, a scratchy feeling in your throat. There was no way you were going to cry in front of your boss and the ghosts. You tried to swallow down your emotions as you stared at the steam curling up from your tea.

Sam’s frown deepened. “I’m so sorry.”

“That is why you should meet suitors the old-fashioned way; not on the web,” Hetty said.

“People meet online all of the time,” Sam said. “Bad dates happen, but you’ll find someone.”

“At this rate, I’ll die alone,” you muttered before realizing your audience. “Sorry.”

“Dying alone not so bad,” Thor said, in his own odd way to cheer you up. “Die here!”

“Thor,” Sam sighed but you laughed lightly. “I’d prefer no one else to die in the house.”

The Viking shrugged. “Just suggestion.”

You picked at your fingernails, the same pit that’s been in your stomach since your ruined dinner last night turned.

Someone called from the entryway, the newest guest at the mansion. You moved to stand, but Sam waved you off. “I got it. You stay here, finish your tea.” You started to object, but she left before you could. With a huff, you sank back down in the chair.

“You’re young, you got plenty of time. If I learned anything from being alive, dating in your twenties is usually a, what’s that phrase Jay uses?”

Flower piped up, “A shit-show!”

Alberta nodded. “Yeah, a shit-show. Brush it off and get back out there, while you’re still young and hot.”

You smiled. “I’ll try. But you might be right, Hetty.” Maybe dating apps weren’t the way you were going to find someone. Old-fashioned dating sounded a little bit like a nightmare, but you figured it’d pay off more than mindless swiping through apps until another asshole stands you up.

“I normally am,” Hetty said.

The ghosts dispersed, going about their day-to-day while you lingered in the kitchen. Trevor stayed with you, quietly drumming his fingers against his bare knees. “At least you didn’t get catfished by a dead dude.”

“Excuse me?”

“I did that once,” he said. “Catfished Jay’s sister, actually. I didn’t know she was Jay’s sister at first, obviously. But, uh, yeah. It was a whole mess. I tried to possess her friend’s body, but he ended up almost dying, so it was a total bust. Then Sam started putting the iPad in the drawer.”

You laughed, that pit in your stomach easing just a little. “That’s insane,” you said. “A ghost on a dating app. For all know that’s why my date stood me up.” That sounded a little better than them just not being interested in meeting up with you in person. “But I doubt it.”

Trevor shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“I think it might just be me. I’ve never been great at the whole ‘dating’ thing.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Trevor said. “Looking like that, I’m surprised you don’t have every weekend booked.”

You shook your head, a little flattered and a little exasperated. “Definitely not. But by the sounds of it, you did.”

He smirked, throwing his hands up in a ‘what can I say’ gesture. “I got around, if that’s what you’re implying.”

It was odd, being around ghosts. To you, it never felt super different than hanging around livings. Besides the ability to touch them, the ghosts were every bit as real as Sam and Jay. You had started to forget that the Woodstone ghosts were just that, until they did something that knocked you back to reality. Trevor, being the most recent death, made it even harder to tell the difference. You could almost convince yourself he was living.

“Did you ever have a serious relationship before you died?” you asked, curious.

Trevor thought for a moment before he shook his head. “Nah. I was having too much fun being a bachelor and screwing around with my buddies to care about anything serious.” He paused, his smug attitude slipping away a little. “I didn’t know I was gonna end up dying before I could, though. I guess I would have liked to.”

“You guess?”

He looked a little zoned out, staring at something across the kitchen with his brows slightly knitted together. “I don’t know, I didn’t think much about it until I died.”

Sympathy fell hard against your shoulders, and you itched to reach out to Trevor and offer some kind of comfort but you couldn’t. Instead, you said, “I’m sorry.”

He tried to brush it off, regaining his normal composure but it didn’t shine in his eyes like it usually did. “It’s whatever. I don’t ever have to worry about going on a first date again, which is nice; those were always awful. And getting your heart broken probably sucks, so at least I’ll miss out on that.”

“You never had your heart broken?” you asked, impressed. Even though you’ve never had a super-serious relationship, you had a tendency to fall for your crushes hard, which usually resulted in a broken heart.

“Nope.”

“That’s pretty lucky,” you said. If you could go the rest of your life without a broken heart, you thought that’d be nice.

“It’s an interesting choice for a bachelor party, don’t you think?” Alberta said, but you had to ignore her because of the group of men you were checking in. You did agree though. The B&B was perfect for weddings and romantic weekend getaways. It was the kind of place you brought a family or your parents, not a bachelor party. But the men didn’t look like the kind to get too rowdy. The groom, in your small talk, had said they were just looking for a quiet weekend to unwind before the wedding chaos. They wanted to play video games and board games, drink whiskey, and catch whatever game was on TV. It was rather sweet, you thought.

“You’re all set. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The groom said no before thanking you and leading his small group of friends up the stairs. They weren’t up there for long though. After they carried in their bags and settled in, the group was back in the entryway, waiting for a car to take them into town, where they planned to bar-hop for the evening.

One of the groomsmen found himself at the front counter, handsome and smiley as he met your gaze.

“Do you have any bar recommendations? So far, our ‘bar-crawl’ only consists of two bars,” the groomsman asked.

You hummed in thought before replying, “The Black Dog is nice. It’s right on Main Street, if you’re heading downtown.”

“Do you hang out there often?”

“Sometimes.”

“So it has pretty company then, huh?” Your eyes widened and a flustered laugh fell from your lips.

From a couple of feet away, some of the ghosts had gathered to observe the new guests. A loud scoff sounded from Trevor before he said, “Seriously?”

You ignored him in favor of not looking crazy in front of the guests. “Oh, uh, no-”

“Oh, come on,” the groomsman said. “I’d say you’re pretty, really pretty, actually.”

Your face felt hot, and you tried to focus on the man in front of you, but the ghosts refused to stop talking.

“Get a load of this guy,” Trevor huffed.

“He’s got game, I’ll give him that,” Alberta said, to which Trevor scoffed once more. “What? Look at him.”

“Thank you,” you said.

The groomsman tilted his head to the side, pausing for a beat before he said, “Would it be too much to ask when you get off work?”

“A little.”

He held his hands up and chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“This can’t seriously be working on you?” Trevor said. “Look at this guy! He’s got khakis and a polo on!”

“At least he is wearing pants,” said Hetty.

“Unbelievable.” Trevor got closer to the counter, much to your disdain. It was hard enough trying to look sane in front of the guests when the ghosts were talking to each other, let alone you. “You’re clearly out of his league-”

“Enough!” you said, raising your voice regrettably so.

The groomsman looked at you oddly. “Whoa, sorry I-”

“No!” you quickly cut him off. “Not you! I was, um, I-”

“Dude, let’s go! The car’s here!” the groom shouted from the front door, beckoning the groomsman over.

He shot you one last smile, dipping his head in goodbye as he followed his friends out of the mansion. The door closed loudly behind them before the house was drenched in cold silence. The ghosts all stood quietly as you glared. “How many times have you asked you guys not to talk to me when I’m helping guests?”

“I don’t know if that counted as helping-” Sass started but shut his mouth when you shifted your glare onto him.

You mumbled under your breath before you left the front counter and bee-lined for the kitchen. Sam and Jay were out for the evening, leaving the mansion in your hands.

You only got a singular second to yourself before Trevor appeared in the room with you. Rubbing your fingers against your forehead, you asked him. “What was that?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment before he shrugged and said, “He was flirting with you, clearly, and was out of your league like I said.”

You stared at him, the way he fiddled with his tie and avoided your eyes. Then it hit you. “Are you jealous?”

He blinked. “W-What? No…” By the way, his voice trailed off, you felt a terrible knot tangle in your stomach.

“Trevor…”

“Don’t,” he quickly said, shaking his head. “Don’t do that. I don’t…I don’t need that,” he gestured to the very clear glaze of pity in your eyes, but you couldn’t help it. You felt bad, really, terribly bad.

A heavy breath slipped from your lips as you walked toward him, placing yourself right in front of him. His lips tugged downward in a still sadness that made your heart ache. “I’m really sorry.”

Trevor sighed, “Don’t be. It’s…ugh.” He pressed his hands against his eyes, laughing bitterly at himself. “I’m dead,” he said. “You’re not.”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, unsure of what else to say. Maybe if you had met him in a different life, one where you both were either alive or dead, you’d take his flirting more to heart. But that wasn’t your current situation. You existed in different realms, untouchable but on each other’s paths. You’d never described your ability as cruel until that moment.

“And I’m an idiot,” he added.

“No, you’re not. If things were different…” Even saying the words aloud, they felt bitter on your tongue, doing more harm than good. You could tell by the wince that twitched in Trevor’s face.

He smiled sadly, recovering from just the implication of your unfinished sentence. “But they’re not.” He let out a breathy sigh before he nodded his head toward the kitchen door. “I’m gonna go,” he said, slipping away before you could say anything else.

The next couple of days passed uncomfortably inside the mansion. Trevor barely showed his face, and you felt worse and worse by the hour. Hetty and Issac kept you company at the front desk, making light conversation between their reassurance that Trevor would be okay. But your guilt weighed on you. You didn’t know how to make it better; you feared you wouldn’t be able to.

But things came to a turn on the last day the bachelor party was there. The handsome groomsman had left his number on a slip of paper that you crumbled and shoved in your pocket, heavy on your side. You watched as they pulled out of the driveway and when you were alone, you unrolled the paper with his number, staring at it so intently you missed a presence appear beside you.

“You should call him.” Trevor’s voice started you. You yelped and clutched your heart, which brought a small smile to his lips.

“What?”

He sighed, shifting in his shoes and looking a little unsure of himself. “That’s his number, right?” You nodded. “You should call him.”

“Oh, no-”

Trevor cut you off. “Why not?” Because you felt bad, but you didn’t need to say that for Trevor to understand. “Don’t not call him because of me. Seriously, I…I lied when I said I’ve never had my heart broken.”

You peered at him, confused. “Why?”

“Because it sounded a little pathetic to say I crush hard. I liked my recess teacher so much that I cried like a baby when I had to move to fourth grade. In high school, my girlfriend of two weeks broke up with me because she was moving schools and I faked sick for three days because I was so, embarrassingly heartbroken. It’s just how I am,” he admitted, much to your surprise. “But I’ll get over it. It’s like not it would have worked out with me being dead and all. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you said. “And you’re not pathetic. It’s sweet, actually. Really sweet.”

Trevor shrugged. “I’m glad someone thinks so.” He pointed a finger at the paper in your hands. “Call him, okay? You deserve a good date, the old-fashioned way.”

And so you did, the old-fashioned way.

#trevor lefkowitz #trevor lefkowitz x reader #trevor lefkowitz x you #cbs ghosts #cbs ghosts fanfiction #sam arondekar #jay arondekar #hetty woodstone #sasappis #issac higgintoot #thorfinn

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neysaadept · 13 days ago

Note

heyyyy,

I LOVE your Emily fics and only just saw you’re taking requests!! Congrats on the followers.💗 I was wondering if you could do an Emily/Reader fic maybe with the prompts “they didn’t deserve you” and “why are you doing this”, (early days in the relationship) where it’s Christmas time and Emily mentions in passing how she always spends Christmas alone cause it’s too much to go to her parents and reader decides to surprise her by making dinner and bringing it to her on Christmas Day! Emily is confused because she’s never had this kind of care or treatment and reader says she deserves it ( maybe first time saying ily?)

anyways just an idea and NO pressure if it’s stupid lmao! Ily

thanks

Please let me know what you think of this. It got really carried away and I really hope you liked what I did with this. *hides*

Take a Chance

Emily Prentiss x Female Nurse!Reader

Tags - No use of Y/N, swearing, angst, fluff, meet cute, first Christmas. Minors DNI

Summary - Please refer to the ask for summary!

AO3

Word Count: 4.4k

As a nurse, you had few rules for who were out of bounds in dating. Doctors are a big hell no. Yes, it seems romantic and dreamy to fall for some sexy, brilliant, doctor but there is too much overlapping and fucked up hours to connect that things can fizzle out so quickly once you realize there is no compatibility. And god forbid you end up having to work with one another? So, so awkward after a breakup.

And yes, you’ve been there and done that. Never, ever, again. You moved out of ICU to have less contact with the intensivist, Dr. Vanessa Hyland, and the ER has been headhunting you for a while now. You took the opportunity and ran. It is a change of pace, but it had the same adrenaline vice that you crave working and triaging the unknown that walk through MedStar Washington Memorial that was close to the VA*.

Your exclusion list also includes paramedics, firefighters, police officers, and anyone in your department. You didn’t want someone that had similar bizarre hours as you and that you might end up seeing at work if shit hit the fan. Healthcare was a small world, and you didn’t need your exes in your immediate orbit. You had enough drama at work and for the last year, the ER has become your work home and it has pushed you to pursue your license as a nurse practitioner. You had one year to go and were currently a resident.

You are career focused, intelligent and driven which currently made dating a low priority for you. Since the fling with Dr. Hyland fell through, you focus on yourself and enjoy being single since no one of genuine interest caught your fancy. And you stopped looking.

You didn’t realize your world was about to flip upside down when you knock on the window to Bay 3 in the ER and a deep voice said to come in.

That definitely didn’t sound like an Emily Prentiss to you. That must’ve been her partner speaking per the report given to you that he came along for the ambulance ride.

“Morgan, I can speak for myself …” came the snippy reply confirming your suspicions.

You pull the curtain back and take in the two feds in the room. The tall, dark, and muscular handsome fellow was hunched over the side rail before he saw you. “Hey, Doc. Mind telling princess here that she needs to behave?”

Your eyes dart to the woman on the cart who was squinting her best death glare at him. “I am behaving. I came here, didn’t I?”

With the concussion the female fed has, the bright lights of the room weren’t helping which made her glare pathetically cute. You turn the lights down, which the staff should have done in the first place.

“Better?” you say with an understanding smile.

She nods thankfully.

“Also, not a doctor. NP in training.” You walk in and introduce yourself. “So, shall I call you Emily or Agent Prentiss?”

She looks at you funny.

“Some feds have a stick up their ass about titles.”

“I definitely do not have a stick up my ass. Unless you count him?” She points a thumb at Morgan in all seriousness.

His face falls playfully with feign hurt, clutching at his chest. “Ouch, girl.”

“Hm,” you look thoughtfully between them and could feel the deeply rooted respect and love for these two partners. You decide to play along and return your attention to Emily. “Well, I’m sorry to say we don’t have a surgical consultant that specializes in that.” Then you wink. “I can always call security and throw him out if ya like.”

“Hey! Wait a second.” He lowers his hand accusingly. “You’re all not playing nice now.”

Emily chuckles. “I guess he can stay. He’s kinda my ride anyway.”

“Duly noted. Now, to business. May I?” You gesture to Emily’s head as you put on gloves. She nods and you start examining her scalp by gently running your fingers along her hair to smooth back to getting a better look. “The officer that was driving with you is doing OK. Same issue with head trauma after the T-bone. Do you remember hitting your head on anything before the airbags deployed?”

“Well, I was driving. Then we got the call on our suspect. Then we … we got the call on our suspect …” she shakes her head, wincing, trying to recall the memory before impact.

“Hey, if you don’t remember, it’s fine. I’m sure you know that. Doubt this is your first concussion?” You stop for a moment to make eye contact with Emily who rolls her eyes in affirmation. “Alright, well… you do have the start of a nice bruise here.”

You gently brush over the injury mid-scalp about halfway up from her left ear. “How’s the headache?”

“Pounding”, as she winces from your touch.

“Any nausea or vomiting?”

“No.”

“Dizziness or lightheadedness?”

“Nope.”

“Double or blurry vision?”

“A little. Tho it’s an improvement for Morgan’s looks.”

He whistles, shaking his head. “I’m letting that one slide since you’re suffering.”

You chuckle. “Alright, let me take a quick look at the rest of you. Anything else hurting that isn’t Morgan’s heart?”

That made her laugh as you pull the stethoscope over your head. “No. Nothing else hurts.

“Ladies, I’m starting to take offense now.” But he was all smiles.

You knew she suffered minor injuries from the ambulance report – contusions and small lacerations from shattered glass that didn’t require stitching. The officer on the passenger seat got cut worse being on the side of impact. You then listen to her heart, lungs and abdomen and palpate her stomach after making sure nothing was tender. Then did the same with her limbs testing neurological strength and any sore spots that may have been missed.

“Okay, Emily. Let’s get that CT done of your head.” You put the stethoscope back around your neck before placing your hands in your lab coat pockets. “If that comes back clean, I’ll release you home …” You see she’s about to ask a question you’re already anticipating. “… and no work until you’re medically cleared.”

She pouts rather prettily. You wish you didn’t notice. “And that also means no pretending to be cleared and going to work either.”

Morgan shakes his head and half smiles down at his partner. “Busted.”

“Had a feeling.” Morgan smirks between the two of you. “I’ll get those orders in.” You check your watch. “Should be done within the hour and we’ll go from there. If you need me, just call.”

Morgan steps around the bed to shake your hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” And you turn to look at Emily with a firm tone and playful eyes. “You behave.”

She huffs and settles back against the pillow, but Emily was fighting with a smile. To you it appears she was grumbling under her breath which was oh so common with law officials. When you leave the room, Morgan looks at Prentiss with a knowing look. In her state, she was genuinely confused. “What?”

“You’re making heart eyes with the nurse.”

“What? I … wasn’t. No way I was doing … whatever that thing you said I’m doing. It didn’t happen,” she says with a scowl.

“Heart eyes,” he reminds her.

“Whatever,” she snips. “Has to be the head injury.”

“Uh huh.” He looks back at the curtains then at his partner. “She’s your type too …”

“I’m not having this conversation right now,” she says, stopping Morgan from talking further about the nurse that was definitely her physical type. Plus, you were clearly smart and had a fun side at the bedside that made her smile.

Morgan smirks, seeing the dopey look. He knows she’s thinking about you. “When you’re better, then.”

“I’ll probably won’t remember this stupid conversation then either.” She ends the topic by crossing her arms and looking away from Derek. A perfect model of a petulant Prentiss.

Emily does hates that he was right. The question that remains is if she was going to do anything about it after Morgan’s teasing that would inevitably come at a later date.

Two weeks went by since you discharged Agent Emily Prentiss and life went on. You were working a double today in the ER.

“Let’s get a bag of O neg going on Bay 2 and prep endo for a scope.” You put the orders in and use the inter-hospital chat through the EMR* with Dr. Aorsen who is the GI specialist on call. Poor patient had a bleeding ulcer.

One of the techs calls your name and you answer without looking up, continuing to type up the H&P* on the patient so there will be no delays in the procedure. You answer with a pen dangling between your teeth. “Yeah?”

“An Agent Prentiss is here to see you.”

The pen drops from your lips as you swivel your chair around to look at the disheveled tech in surprise. “Uh, what?”

You couldn’t have heard that right.

He throws a thumb over his shoulder and nods in confirmation. “Fed named Prentiss is here to see you.”

Your eyes dart around the room trying to figure out why she is here and come up empty. “Is she here by herself?”

“Yep.”

“O … kay. Yeah. I’ll see what she needs. Tell her I need ten minutes to finish something before I can see her. Thanks, Marc.”

“Kay.” He wanders off and you finish your necessary charting. You weren’t going to drop everything to speak with her just yet when a patient needs your attention. Though your mind couldn’t grasp why she was here. You sent over the medical report on Agent Prentiss to the FBI the same week you discharged her. Nothing was out of the ordinary in your report. She suffered a typical concussion and filled out all the workers’ compensation documentation for the feds. It was way worse than filling out the damn metro police claims, and it took over an hour to finish.

Once you have all the necessary orders and documentation for your patient to go to endo, you meander through the nurses’ station and down the hall to where Emily is waiting. She currently has her hands behind her back which shows off the gun holstered to her hip. The white button down was under a black blazer that made her professionally beautiful and it was nice to see her be more casual from the waist down with jeans and black work boots.

And then there you are in your navy-blue scrubs, lab coat, hair up in a messy bun, and a stethoscope hanging around your neck. She definitely looks put together and was easy on your tired eyes.

Emily is distracting herself as she waits for you by taking in all the scenery around her from laundry bins to rolling medical equipment. But when she sees you, she visibly perks up and shifts on her feet.

You wonder if Emily is nervous but that is ridiculous. You push that thought out of your mind as you smile to greet her. “This is a surprise, Agent Prentiss.”

“Ah, Emily’s just fine. This isn’t anything official.” She says it a bit too quickly that makes your brows raise up in question.

“Well, that’s good. I was wondering.” You look her up and down and see that’s she’s recovered nicely, even if she isn’t relaxed speaking with you. Her hands are still behind her back. “You look well.”

“So, do you,” she says a bit too quickly when your eyes narrow in thought to her response. “I mean … for working long hours are the ER. It’s not easy.”

Your head moves to the left in curiosity as to where this was going. “Definitely not, but I love it. Wouldn’t be anywhere else. Though …” you bring your arm up and slowly gesture towards back down the hall “ … I’m sorry to be abrupt but with patients waiting … can you let me know how I can help you, Emily?”

You see her look mortified at keeping you waiting and that is when her arms swing around to her front, one crossing her abdomen. She was definitely nervous, but it is unclear why.

“Yes, I did want to thank you and see …” She nervously licks her lower lip, and your eyes are inevitably drawn to the motion.

You were hanging on her next words. The moment between you is filled with the sounds of electronic beeps, a patient moaning in confusion, and then the old Batman TV show theme goes off alerting your hospital that an ambulance was calling in a patient on the emergency line affectionately dubbed ‘The Bat Phone’ by the hospital. That seemingly jolts her back from looking at anything but you.

“ … well, see … you,” she says bashfully.

Your eyes widen. “See me?” You sound as confused as you appear.

“Yes,” Emily confirms with a hesitant nod.

Your eyes dart upwards in continued bewilderment before settling on her hopeful-looking brown orbs. “Look, I’m a complete idiot right now. Why did you need to see me?” You smile brightly with encouragement.

That seemingly provides the necessary motivation to be direct. “Yes. Socially. As in … dinner …?” Though Emily did end the last part awkwardly and began to flick at her thumbnail that was lying against her thigh.

Now with Emily’s intentions clear, you take a step back in wonder. “You’re asking me … out?”

Seeing that you took a step back makes Emily frown, thinking you weren’t interested. “Well, I was …”

“And you came here. To ask me out.” Your continuation of confusion is making her slowly back up towards the exit.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I …” she loosens the hold she has on her stomach and gracelessly swings her arms as she is about to turn, and hits the linen cart, causing a pile of towels and washcloths to tumble onto the floor. “Oh my god! I am so sorry!”

She crouches down to pick them up as you do the same but sliding to your knees. This wasn’t your first laundry pile up in the ER. “Hey, it’s okay!”

“No, it’s not.” Emily’s pale face was flushing prettily, and it makes you smile. “I made a mess.”

“Sweetie, this isn’t even close to a mess in my ER. Ever drop a commode?” That makes her laugh and diffuses the tension between you a little, but she was avoiding eye contact with you.

You both work at cleaning up when the two of you end up grabbing a towel at the same time. There was a quick game of tug of war and that finally brought her eyes up to see you. She was nervous and expectant, ready to run off in a heartbeat.

You give her your answer. “Yes.”

Her head leans in with disbelief. “Yes … what?” She asks hesitantly, needing confirmation.

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.” And just like that, you broke your rule about dating officers. There was something enigmatically irresistible about her and Emily mustered the courage to come down to your place of work to ask you out. How sweet is that?

Emily is too fucking adorable as her face works through the shock of what you said. “Oh … kay.” She nods. “Good. I mean …” She grins wide and bright. “Great.”

You both remain on the floor for a couple of beats before you lower your head, eyes studying Emily with a coy look. “Does this mean I can have the towel back?”

She busts out laughing and finally lets go.

That was a little over a month ago and you found out on your first date that it was her partner, Morgan, that helped talk Emily through her concerns. She explained how he was not just a good friend but was also like a brother to her. You were happy that Emily took this chance, and it was the happiest time of your life. You never thought that you’d find a partner that was able to understand the demands of your job and education by someone not in healthcare. Emily’s job is mentally, physically and emotionally draining like yours and despite the differences in careers, you understand the depts of humanity. Emily saw the worst of it and tried to bring the criminals to justice or at least provide closure for the victims and families. You do the same in your own way trying to save as many lives as you can as well as being the one to break bad news to people who loved your patients fiercely. You also saw the worst in a different way – shootings, stabbings, rapes, protests gone ugly. You and DC metro had a lot to talk about a lot of time. But the times you make a child smile when feeling terrible, or provide information that eases the mind of a patient that was so scared of why they were sick, or even the simple bedside talk to show you were a human being that truly cared, it was worth all the shit you dealt with.

But in between the long hours and when Emily was out of town, you make time for one another. Simple dinners, going out to the movies, long walks discussing nothing and everything, but the best was when Emily took you to the Smithsonian to see the staff carefully place a Santa hat on the life size brontosaurus display since Christmas was just around the corner. You didn’t even know they did that, and Emily was so pleased with herself at seeing your face light up in wonder. You of course took a selfie together after it was placed, but it ended up being at an awkward angle where you both were laughing as you were pointing to the dinosaur.

When you weren’t together, you had long talks over the phone and constant texts when Emily was on a case to make sure she was doing alright, which she did for you too! You both cared about your workaholic selves and kept reminding each other to take a break, eat and drink more than just beer when off the clock. Emily was able to keep work at work when in the moment with you but you could hear the weight of Emily’s job straining her voice. A hint of raw insight to her true feelings. You never push. Your relationship was still new, and you both were still learning one another.

When Christmas came, you were coming off a sixteen-hour shift that started right before 7am Christmas Eve. You were exhausted, the status quo for any resident, but you were also determined. This was your first Christmas with Emily, and you wanted to make it special. She admitted that the relationship she has with her mother is complicated and didn’t need, nor want, to show her face at one of her mother’s extravagant Christmas parties. Emily would just be shown off for propriety’s sake. It was easier being home alone with leftovers that Rossi made on Christmas Eve of pasta, seafood, and amazing Italian beef and sausages right after midnight. Between that, the homemade cookies gifted to her by Garcia, and a six pack of Stella bottled beer, Emily settled in for the day watching Die Hard because it is, and always we be, a Christmas movie. If you wanted to disagree with her, Emily was ready to fight.

By mid-afternoon, John McClane is crawling through the air vents and iconically complaining about ‘Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs…’ line when there’s a knock at Emily’s door. This confuses her because she wasn’t expecting anyone and you were at the hospital working. You told her that this morning over the phone during a break that, unsurprisingly, the hospital was short staffed, and they needed you. She put down Garcia’s festively colored frosted chocolate cookies and went to see who it was.

Which is why when she looks out through the peephole of the door, she gasps and quickly starts unlocking the door. She holds out her arms in surprise at the sight of you and speaks an octave higher in greeting. “What are you doing here?! You said you had to work tonight!”

She was all smiles seeing you … and you weren’t wearing your work clothes. You have on jeans, an ugly Christmas sweater that said ‘Fabulously Grinchy’ and arms full of bags. Emily was distinctively not festive on purpose with grey shorts and a baggy Yale sweatshirt. Even the black slippers were humdrum. It empowers you to see this and that you made the right decision to surprise her this way.

“Well, I lied,” you explain as she takes some of the bags from you. “Surprise!”

She steps aside to let you in and smells the familiar scents of pasta, sauce and bread. “What did you do?” she asks cautiously.

“I made Christmas dinner for us.” You beam, spinning around carefully in the living room with your arms out to display the bags. “Just need to warm it all up.

As you really did have to work long hours at the hospital, you enjoyed Skyping with your parents who lived of town while making homemade manicotti. It was your tradition to cook together, and it was nice to do it together this way. Thankfully you still had some frozen homemade pasta sauce that you could use and not be considered a heathen to your family because no daughter of theirs was going to serve their girlfriend pasta sauce from a jar.

“Oh my god,” she says your name and follows you quickly into the kitchen, trying to catch up. “You … you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble. And, really, why are you doing this? You’ve gotta be so tired after working a long shift. You should be relaxing.” Emily knew you did work today since she heard the intercom and all the various beeps, whirls and whistles of a hospital.

You left the bags on the island counter and start fiddling with the oven controls. “Eh, I’ve had worse.” You smirk over your shoulder. “So have you. Therefore, we deserve a nice Christmas not alone. Now. … ” you start looking for oven mitts and utensils by pulling out drawers and opening cabinets. You’ve been here once before and don’t have the lay of the land yet where Emily keeps everything.

What you didn’t know is that Emily is standing by the island counter with a firm grip on the edge because she is feeling a powerful rush of affection for you and a profound sense of guilt. She swallows hard and almost jerks with her movements in trying to find words to address you.

“Hey, Emily? Where’s the spatula? I don’t need to whisk anything, and you got like, three of them here.” With no answer, you turn around with the whisks in hand and a goofy smile which soon falls into a look of concern. Emily was staring at you with watery eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, quickly setting aside the whisks that roll around the counter. One drops and bounces off the floor, but you don’t care. You place your hands around Emily’s shoulders and rub soothing circles. “Talk to me, please.”

Her face scrunches to the side, still struggling with guilt. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re tired. You should be sleeping. Or resting. Or just –“

You cut her off by gently cupping her face. Your thumbs continue their gentle stroking along Emily’s cheeks. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.” You smile with sincerity. “Only place I wanna be.”

“Fucking sap,” she says, curling her hands around your forearms. You both naturally bring your foreheads together in that moment and feel Emily’s shaky inhalation of breath. “I don’t deserve this.” She feels the need to clarify. “You.”

You close your eyes and ask nonjudgmentally. “Why?”

“Because I’m gonna mess it up. I always find a way to do it. Even if it’s not exactly me.” She sighs. “Like work, or my mother…”

“Hey, don’t do that.” You bring your hands down while lifting your head to gaze into Emily’s eyes. “Anticipating. We just gotta take it day by day and right now, I feel, that this is a good one.”

“Yeah?” she says quietly, licking her dry lips.

“Yeah,” you confirm, bringing one of her hands up to gently kiss. What you’re about to say you feel in your heart and it has been growing for the last week. Perhaps it was too soon to say it, but Emily deserves to know how you feel and that despite this being new, this was a relationship you were determined to see where it takes the both of you. “Maybe if I give you one of your presents, it’ll help you feel better?”

Her eyes look along the ceiling while she chucks. “Maybe.”

You lean forward and cup her cheek, gently caressing it until you lock eyes. “I love you, Emily Prentiss.”

Her audible gasp at the admission is swallowed by your lips gently kissing hers. The kiss was soft, a silent signature of proof to the words already spoken. It is affirmation that you want to be here with Emily, and you feel her free hand slide around your waist as she steps closer. The press of her body forces a sigh from your lips which makes Emily smile against yours.

“I love you, too.” She confesses quietly, pulling your joined hands against her chest. “And it scares me.”

“Well, here’s the good news.” Emily pulls back to look at you, brown eyes equally fearful and exhilarated, as she waits for what you must share. Your smile helps to ground her. “We get to be scared together.”

She laughs as a couple of tears fall free and you reach up to wipe them away. As she leans into your touch, Emily asks you a question since she has doubts about this gift of yours, no matter how much she treasures it. “Was that really one of my gifts?”

“No,” you admit and kiss her forehead. “But it’s all true. Consider it a bonus.”

Emily looks up to you with a smile that lights up the entire room. “Mm, I do like the sound of that,” she says before capturing your lips once again.

*Vetarans Affairs

*EMR - Electronic Medical Record

*H&P - History and Physical

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader #emily x reader #emily x you #fic request #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you

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cripplecharacters · 9 months ago

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The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media

[large text: The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media]

If you followed this blog for more than like a week, you're probably familiar with “the mask trope” or at least with me complaining about it over and over in perpetuity. But why is it bad and why can't this dude shut up about it?

Let's start with who this trope applies to: characters with facial differences. There is some overlap with blind characters as well; think of the blindfold that is forced on a blind character for no reason. Here is a great explanation of it in this context by blindbeta. It's an excellent post in general, even if your character isn't blind or low vision you should read at least the last few paragraphs.

Here's a good ol’ tired link to what a facial difference is, but to put it simply:

If you have a character, who is a burn survivor or has scars, who wears a mask, this is exactly this trope.

The concept applies to other facial differences as well, but scars and burns are 99% of the representation and “representation” we get, so I'll be using these somewhat interchangeably here.

The mask can be exactly what you think, but it refers to any facial covering that doesn't have a medical purpose. So for example, a CPAP mask doesn't count for this trope, but a Magic Porcelain Mask absolutely does. Bandages do as well. If it covers the part of the face that is “different”, it can be a mask in the context used here.

Eye patches are on thin ice because while they do serve a medical purpose in real life, in 99.9% of media they are used for the same purpose as a mask. It's purely aesthetic.

With that out of the way, let's get into why this trope sucks and find its roots. Because every trope is just a symptom of something, really.

Roughly in order of the least to most important reasons...

Why It Sucks

[large text: Why It Sucks]

It's overdone. As in — boring. You made your character visibly different, and now they're no longer that. What is the point? Just don't give them the damn scar if you're going to hide it.

Zero connection with reality. No one does this. I don't even know how to elaborate on this. This doesn't represent anyone because no one does this.

Disability erasure. For the majority of characters with facial differences, their scars or burns somehow don't disable them physically, so the only thing left is the visible part… aaand the mask takes care of it too. Again, what's the point? If you want to make your disabled character abled, then just have them be abled. What is the point of "curing" them other than to make it completely pointless?

Making your readers with facial differences feel straight up bad. I'm gonna be honest! This hurts to see when it's all you get, over and over. Imagine there's this thing that everyone bullied you about, everyone still stares at, that is with you 24/7. Imagine you wanted to see something where people like you aren't treated like a freakshow. Somewhat unrealistic, but imagine that. That kind of world would only exist in fiction, right? So let's look into fiction- oh, none of the positive (or at least not "child-murderer evil") characters look like me. I mean they do, but they don't. They're forced to hide the one thing that connects us. I don't want to hide myself. I don't want to be told over and over that this is what people like me should do. That this is what other people expect so much that it's basically the default way a person with a facial difference can exist. I don't want this.

Perpetuating disfiguremisia.

"Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk

[large text: "Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk]

It's quick when compared to my average facial difference discussion post, bear with me please.

Disfiguremisia; portmanteau of disfigure from “disfigurement” and -misia, Greek for hatred.

Also known as discrimination of those mythical horrifically deformed people.

It shows up in fiction all the time; in-universe and in-narrative. Mask trope is one of the most common* representations of it, and it's also a trope that is gaining traction more and more, both in visual art and writing. This is a trope I particularly hate, because it's a blatant symptom of disfiguremisia. It's not hidden and it doesn't try to be. It's a painful remainder that I do not want nor need.

*most common is easily “evil disfigured villain”, just look at any horror media. But that's for another post, if ever.

When you put your character in a mask, it sends a clear message: in your story, facial differences aren't welcome. The world is hostile. Other characters are hostile. The author is, quite possibly, hostile. Maybe consciously, but almost always not, they just don't think that disfiguremisia means anything because it's the default setting. No one wants to see you because your face makes you gross and unsightly. If you have a burn; good luck, but we think you're too ugly to have a face. Have a scar? Too bad, now you don't. Get hidden.

Everything here is a decision that was made by the author. You are the one who makes the world. You are the person who decides if being disabled is acceptable or not there. The story doesn't have a mind of its own, you chose to make it disfiguremisic.

It doesn't have to be.

Questions to Ask Yourself

[large text: Questions to Ask Yourself]

Since I started talking about facial differences on this blog, I have noticed a very specific trend in how facial differences are treated when compared to other disabilities. A lot of writers and artists are interested in worldbuilding where accessibility is considered, where disabled people are accepted, where neurodivergence is seen as an important part of the human experience, not something “other”. This is amazing, genuinely.

Yet, absolutely no one seems to be interested in a world that is anything but cruel to facial differences. There's no escapist fantasies for us.

You see this over and over, at some point it feels like the same story with different names attached.

The only way a character with a facial difference can exist is to hide it. Otherwise, they are shamed by society. Seen as something gross. I noticed that it really doesn't matter who the character is, facial difference is this great equalizer. Both ancient deities and talking forest cats get treated as the same brand of disgusting thing as long as they're scarred, as long as they had something explode in their face, as long as they've been cursed. They can be accomplished, they can be a badass, they can be the leader of the world, they can kill a dragon, but they cannot, under any circumstances, be allowed to peacefully exist with a facial difference. They have to hide it in the literal sense, or be made to feel that they should. Constantly ashamed, embarrassed that they dare to have a face.

Question one to ask yourself: why is disfiguremisia a part of your story?

I'm part of a few minority groups. I'm an immigrant, I'm disabled, I'm queer. I get enough shit in real life for this so I like to take a break once in a while. I love stories where transphobia isn't a thing. Where xenophobia doesn't come up. But my whole life, I can't seem to find stories that don't spew out disfiguremisia in one way or the other at the first possible opportunity.

Why is disfiguremisia a default part of your worldbuilding? Why can't it be left out? Why in societies with scarred saviors and warriors is there such intense disgust for them? Why can't anyone even just question why this is the state of the world?

Why is disfiguremisia normal in your story?

Question two: do you know enough about disfiguremisia to write about it?

Ask yourself, really. Do you? Writers sometimes ask if or how to portray ableism when they themselves aren't disabled, but no one bothers to wonder if maybe they aren't knowledgeable enough to make half their story about their POV character experiencing disfiguremisia. How much do you know, and from where? Have you read Mikaela Moody or any other advocates’ work around disfiguremisia? Do you understand the way it intersects; with being a trans woman, with being Black? What is your education on this topic?

And for USAmericans... do you know what "Ugly Laws" are, and when they ended?

Question three: what does your story associate with facial difference — and why?

If I had to guess; “shame”, “embarrassment”, “violence”, "disgust", “intimidation”, “trauma”, “guilt”, “evil”, “curse”, “discomfort”, “fear”, or similar would show up.

Why doesn't it associate it with positive concepts? Why not “hope” or “love” or “pride” or “community”? Why not “soft” or “delicate”? Dare I say, “beauty” or “innocence”? Why not “blessing”? “Acceptance”?

Why not “normal”?

Question four: why did you make the character the way they are?

Have you considered that there are other things than “horrifically burned for some moral failing” or “most traumatic scenario put to paper”? Why is it always “a tough character with a history of violence” and never “a Disfigured princess”? Why not “a loving parent” or “a fashionable girl”, instead of “the most unkind person you ever met” and “total badass who doesn’t care about anything - other than how scary their facial difference is to these poor ableds”? Don’t endlessly associate us with brutality and suffering. We aren’t violent or manipulative or physically strong or brash or bloodthirsty by default. We can be soft, and frail and gentle and kind - and we can still be proud and unashamed.

Question five: why is your character just… fine with all this?

Can’t they make a community with other people with facial differences and do something about this? Demand the right to exist as disabled and not have to hide their literal face? Why are they cool with being dehumanized and treated with such hatred? Especially if they fall into the "not so soft and kind" category that I just talked about, it seems obvious to me that they would be incredibly and loudly pissed off about being discriminated against over and over... Why can't your character, who is a subject of disfiguremisia, realize that maybe it's disfiguremisia that's the problem, and try to fix it?

Question six: why is your character wearing a mask?

Usually, there's no reason. Most of the time the author hasn't considered that there even should be one, the character just wears a mask because that's what people with facial differences do in their mind. Most writers aren't interested in this kind of research or even considering it as a thing they should do. The community is unimportant to them, it's not like we are real people who read books. They think they understand, because to them it's not complex, it's not nuanced. It's ugly = bad. Why would you need a reason?

For cases where the reason is stated, I promise, I have heard of every single one. To quote, "to spare others from looking at them". I have read, "content warning: he has burn scars under the mask, he absolutely hates taking it off!", emphasis not mine. Because "he hates the way his skin looks", because "they care for their appearance a lot" (facial differences make you ugly, remember?). My favorite: "only has scars and the mask when he's a villain, not as a hero", just to subtly drive the point home. This isn't the extreme end of the spectrum. Now, imagine being a reader with a facial difference. This is your representation, sitting next to Freddy Krueger and Voldemort.

How do you feel?

F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]

[large text: F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]]

As in, answers and “answers” to common arguments or concerns.

“Actually they want to hide their facial difference” - your character doesn’t have free will. You want them to hide it. Again; why.

“They are hiding it to be more inconspicuous!” - I get that there are elves in their world, but there’s no universe where wearing a mask with eye cutouts on the street is less noticeable than having a scar. Facial differences aren’t open wounds sprinkling with blood, in case that's not clear.

“It’s for other people's comfort” - why are other characters disfiguremisic to this extent? Are they forcing all minorities to stay hidden and out of sight too? That’s a horrible society to exist in.

“They are wearing it for Actual Practical Reason” - cool! I hope that this means you have other characters with facial differences that don’t wear it for any reason.

"It's the character's artistic expression" - I sure hope that there are abled characters with the same kind of expression then.

“They’re ashamed of their face” - and they never have any character development that would make that go away? That's just bad writing. Why are they ashamed in the first place? Why is shame the default stance to have about your own face in your story? I get that you think we should be ashamed and do these ridiculous things, but in real life we just live with it.

"Now that you say that it is kinda messed up but I'm too far into the story please help" - here you go.

“[some variation of My Character is evil so it's fine/a killer so it fits/just too disgusting to show their disability” - this is the one of the only cases where I’m fine with disability erasure, actually. Please don’t make them have a facial difference. This is the type of harm that real life activists spend years and decades undoing. Disfiguremisia from horror movies released in the 70s is still relevant. It still affects people today.

"But [in-universe explanation why disfiguremisia is cool and fine actually]" - this changes nothing.

Closing Remarks

[large text: Closing Remarks]

I hope that this post explains my thoughts on facial difference representation better. It's a complicated topic, I get it. I'm also aware that this post might come off as harsh (?) but disfiguremisia shouldn't be treated lightly, it shouldn't be a prop. It's real world discrimination with a big chunk of its origins coming out of popular media.

With the asks that have been sent regarding facial differences, I realized that I probably haven't explained what the actual problems are well enough. It's not about some technical definition, or about weird in-universe explanations. It's about categorizing us as some apparently fundamentally different entity that can't possibly be kind and happy, about disfiguremisia so ingrained into our culture that it's apparently impossible to make a world without it; discrimination so deep that it can't be excised, only worked around. But you can get rid of it. You can just not have it there in the first place. Disfiguremisia isn't a fundamental part of how the world works; getting rid of it won't cause it to collapse. Don't portray discrimination as an integral, unquestionable part of the world that has to stay no matter what; whether it's ableism, transphobia, or Islamophobia or anything else. A world without discrimination can exist. If you can't imagine a world without disfiguremisia in fiction... that's bad. Sad, mostly. To me, at least.

Remember, that your readers aren't going to look at Character with a Scar #14673 and think "now I'm going to research how real life people with facial differences live." They won't, there's no inclination for them to do so. If you don't give them a reason, they won't magically start thinking critically about facial differences and disfiguremisia. People like their biases and they like to think that they understand.

And, even if you're explaining it over and over ;-) (winky face) there will still be people who are going to be actively resistant to giving a shit. To try and get the ones who are capable of caring about us, you, as the author, need to first understand disfiguremisia, study Face Equality, think of me as a human being with human emotions who doesn't want to see people like me treated like garbage in every piece of media I look at. There's a place and time for that media, and if you don't actually understand disfiguremisia, you will only perpetuate it; not "subvert" it, not "comment" on it.

I hope this helps :-) (smile emoji. for good measure)

Mod Sasza

#mod sasza #disfiguremisia #face difference #mask trope #writing trope #writing resource #writing reference #writing resources #writing advice #writeblr #writing tips #long post #burn survivor representation

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malereadermaniac · 10 months ago

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Serial Cheater ~ Mako x Male Reader

This takes place somewhere along season 2 - Mako having just broken up with Korra and chatting to Asami again You are a core member of team Avatar! word count: 750 - Short fic! Sorry lol m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

Even though Mako is the kind of guy fan girls swoon over, most people would say that he's pretty down to earth

Your friends wouldn't describe Mako as flirty or as a serial romantic

But for the entire time you've known the muscular fire bender, some things have stuck out to you - most notably that he is, in fact, a flirt and a serial cheater (on accident)

Mako never actually means any harm to the girls he dates, but you have noticed a trend in his dating patterns of dating drop-dead gorgeous girls with a little overlap between them

It may just be the law of attraction - maybe Mako is just a magnet to romance and he can't help it

But it's most definitely a fact that if an opportunity is presented to the police officer, he takes it

And that is exactly what got the both of you into this situation

Mako and you were hanging out, Korra away somewhere on avatar business and everyone else at their respective jobs

The two of you were just chilling in Mako's apartment, having ordered take-out and drinking some new companies mass-produced rice-wine

As conversations drifted from one to the other, Mako started to vent about his highly active love-life

Being a good friend, you listened to the tall police officer - nodding along to assure him that you're listening to his ramble about his feelings for Korra and also for Asami

You of course throw in a joking comment or two at Mako's adulterous nature, but all in all you listen to his problems and offer your comfort

And your comforting and caring nature, mixed with the alcohol in Mako's system, was what resulted in your current situation

That being you on Mako's lap, making out with you handsome friend

Yes, you broke the kiss initially

Yes, you said you two shouldn't do this because of your close friendship with both of Mako's love interests

Yes, Mako begged for your warm, soft lips and for your comfort

And yes, you gave in...

Even though Mako was just yapping on about kissing Asami less than 24 hours ago, his chiseled face and warm brown eyes drew you in like an inescapable black hole

As the two of you made out, clothing started to make its way off of your body - the air in Mako's apartment becoming hotter and stuffier

But as your nude chest rubbed against the handsome man's pecs, a knock of the door forced you two apart

"Mako? Hey I wanna... talk about earlier!" you could hear your dear friend's voice shout

Asami was behind that door, and you most certainly didn't want her to walk in and see you and her not-so-boyfriend-boyfriend getting it on

You and Mako struggle to get off of one another and desperately reach for your clothes to cover up

You head to the bathroom to hide and dress back up as Mako let's Asami in to talk

You over-hear the two as you wait in your friends' tiny bathroom

Their conversation had ups and downs, but it definitely ended in an up

You peaked out of the crack between the door frame and the door, watching as Asami and Mako kissed goodbye

As the front door shut, you open the bathroom door and lean on the frame

"Sooo... looks like you really just can't help yourself" you say with a smirk to Mako

The tall man chuckles as he walks over to you

"Heh... yeah, I guess so"

"I don't think you deny being a playboy much longer, haha..." you joke

Mako holds you head up with his soft hand to make you look him in the eye - Mako's height being emphasised

"Shut up... and what if I am?" Mako half-lids his eyes as he focuses on your features

And while you know that it's a dick move on your part, breaking Asami's and even Korra's trust, you couldn't help but push your lips against Mako's

Your hands rest on Mako's strong chest, his tongue slipping past your lips as his masculine hands slip onto your waist

"That's what I'd do if your were... Hmhm~" you laugh after breaking from Mako's warm lips

The two of you laugh as the strong man picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck

As Mako makes his way to his bed, all thoughts of guilt float out and away from your brain

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caelivir · 10 months ago

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red lips, dying for a kiss | rayne ames

— synopsis. in which rayne discovers that red lip combos are his weakness.

— pairing. rayne ames x fem!reader

— genres. university au, friends-ish to lovers, rayne has a little bit of a crush

— word count. 2.3k

— warnings. very brief violence mention in the beginning, alcohol consumption (rayne and reader are 21 in this), making out (i tried to keep it brief), ooc rayne but he’s kinda drunk so

— notes. breaking theme for this one but it’s okay. i wanted to drop this on valentine’s day… clearly that didn’t work out. also as i go to post this hidden lights reached 1k notes which is absolutely insane to think of. thank you for giving it so much love. anyway, happy 100 followers! thanks for sticking with me. enjoy!

dedicated to all the rayne girlies. i pray we find (or already have) a man like him. ♡

ryoh’s parties are always a bad idea. rayne can’t count the number of times something has gone wrong. cops show up. someone locks every single bathroom from the inside. a dumbass jumps off the roof and into the pool. any incident you could think of has probably happened. the last one rayne went to nearly got him screwed over when he fought against a guy picking on his brother, and it was not pretty (for the other guy) to say the least.

from that moment on, rayne had made the decision to never attend another one of ryoh’s parties. it doesn’t matter who begged him or what the circumstances were. no one was going to change his mind on that.

unfortunately, ryoh grantz would not have that. it took three days and a two hundred dollar bribe to convince rayne to go because who would he be if not taking advantage of the rich.

so that’s where he finds himself now, standing in a circle with his friends as music blasts in ryoh’s mansion. they talk about who knows what as rayne wishes he could go home. he has to see it out though because this would be the easiest two hundred dollars he would ever make.

his second red solo cup of the night is filled with some unknown (but surprisingly delicious) concoction that sits untouched. he swirls the cup around in his hand, his eyes darting around the room for an escape.

rayne chugs his entire drink down, setting the empty cup on the first surface he finds before mumbling an excuse of having to use the bathroom, not caring whether his friends heard it or not. he stops by the kitchen to rummage through a cooler, skin freezing as he digs through the ice. he finds two cans of a beer brand that he likes.

he weaves through the crowd in the living room, trying his best to not bump into anyone or spill any drinks because the last thing he needs is another altercation.

unfortunately for him, life always has a curveball in store for him.

“hey, look! (y/n)’s here!” someone had yelled, causing people to push closer towards the front door. the flow carries him closer despite his protests.

the half blonde finds you easily. it’s hard to miss your bright smile, even in a room surrounded by dozens. a crowd surrounds you and your group of friends. they greet you with hellos, offer drinks, and fight for your attention. you try your best to address everyone as you and your friends inch closer to the dance floor.

rayne knows you. your friend groups overlap often so he was bound to meet you at one point. you're popular around campus, known for your friendly nature, kind acts, and most of all, you're known for your beauty. he hears about a new attempt to gain your affection almost weekly. you never seem to accept them for some odd reason. it doesn't matter who it is. the d1 basketball prodigy? the rich girl in your philosophy class? they'd be rejected all the same. your lack of care for relationships has sparked up rumors, but even those never seem to faze you.

as for his opinion on you, rayne acutally likes you, which is a rare feat considering that the half-blonde cannot stand the presence of most people. but in this case, he likes you. he has the smallest of crushes that he wouldn't dare to admit to anyone except his brother, maybe.

in the times your paths had crossed, you had been an easy person to be around, never doing anything to irritate him and always trying to include him in every conversation and activity. it makes him feel all warm inside. the thought of it brings the ghost of a smile onto his face.

he also can't deny that you are indeed one of the most beautiful people that he's ever come across. you would have to be a fool to try and deny that. it's a little shallow on his part to like you partly for your looks, but he can't help it when your smile has the power to blind angels.

"rayne?" your head tilts, surprise written all over your face. he locates two shots in your hands. "woah, i'm surprised you're here! people said you wouldn't come to these anymore!"

rayne is barely to pick up the sound of your voice over all the music. "got paid to be here." he speaks loudly, avoiding yelling as much as he can.

"well, that's one way to get someone to come to a party." you giggle.

it's at this point where rayne closely inspects your face. his eyes are immediately drawn to your lips, colored in a combination of reds. he's never seen it on you before, and paired with the rest of the makeup on your face, it stands out, commands attention.

and it looks… really fucking good. rayne takes the sight of you in fully. yeah, you look really fucking good tonight. the half-blonde gulps, forcing his eyes back up to your face.

"take this with me!" you urge rayne, holding out a plastic shot glass to him.

unwilling to bring himself to say no to you, rayne sighs, accepting it. the two of you raise your glasses up in a silent toast before pressing the plastic to his lips, tilting his head back, and letting the alcohol slide down his throat. it burns. it tastes horrid on his tastebuds. the half-blonde scrunches his nose in disgust, and you take the empty glass from him, how you went unbothered by such a disgusting beverage is beyond him.

as much as rayne wishes he could be with you, he desperately longs to find someplace quiet. the bass of the music pounds against his head. "i'll see you around, (y/n). have fun tonight. be safe." rayne says.

"oh okay. see you rayne." you frown, but maybe that's just the lighting messing with him. he swears there's disappointment laced in your voice, but that could also just be the alcohol playing games with him.

rayne makes his way upstairs. he prays that he won't barge into people having sex. luckily for him, it's still early, and the room that he chooses, the one at the very end of the hall, is empty. he relaxes the moment he locks the door as if a weight was being lifted off him.

the half-blonde sets his unopened beers onto the nightstand and lies on the made bed. he stares at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, contemplating his life choices. his thoughts drift to you and your gorgeous lips, but he’s quick to dismiss them. when he’s finished with that, he cracks open his first beer, leaving a ring of condensation on the nightstand, and opens up his phone.

the next hour or so is spent watching compilations of bunnies and sipping on his beers. it’s perfectly fine like this. save for the bass of the music bouncing against the walls, it’s peaceful. he feels the effects of the alcohol he drank humming in his veins. it puts him into a lighter mood. however, that peace is disturbed when there’s a loud pounding on the door.

“what the hell?” rayne mumbles under his breath. did someone confuse this room for the bathroom? the half-blonde pulls himself out of bed, unlocks the door, and cracks it open just a little bit to see who it is.

“rayne, is that you? oh my god, please let me in.” you beg, clasping your hands together in prayer.

confused, but without any complaint, he allows you into the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

you practically collapse on the edge of the bed, and rayne can sense that something is amiss.

“are you alright?” he asks cautiously, standing a foot away from you.

“do you ever just get sick of people?” you ponder suddenly, shooting to sit straight up.

“sure.” rayne shrugs, still unmoving from his spot.

“you can’t tell anyone i told you this,” you point at him with narrowed eyes, voice slurred. “swear you won’t.”

“i won’t.”

“good.” you nod. “as i was saying, i get so sick of people sometimes. being popular is fucking exhausting. i don’t know how much longer i can keep up with this. i swear i can’t enjoy things on my own time without people barging in or commenting on it.

“i can’t sit on a couch to catch my breath without people wanting to talk to me. not that that’s bad of course, i love talking to people, but christ, just back up a bit. like can’t they just take a hint and realize that i don’t want to talk? do you get that?”

rayne nods. “must be rough.”

“it is,” you groan and then sigh, standing up to dust off your clothes. you stumble from dizziness after having gotten up too fast. however, you shake the feeling out. “sorry, i shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you. that was a stupid thing to complain about.”

“no, it wasn’t.” rayne argues. “people who are always in your space are fucking annoying. i would know so there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.” at this point, he could tell the alcohol is doing its number on him, making him more vocal and bold.

“do i annoy you, rayne?” you ask, eyelashes batting at him, this innocent worry behind your eyes. it drives him mad.

“no.” he says sternly, inching closer, his gaze falling to your crimson lips. that damn red lipstick. he wonders what would happen if he were to mess it up. what would happen if he were to ruin that precise lining of color? what you let him cross that line? in his tipsy state of mind, he wants to find out.

“are you sure? because i know whenever we see each other i kinda cling to you, but if that bothers you, just let me know. really it’s no-” you ramble before rayne cuts you off.

“i want to kiss you.” the half-blonde mutters. his eyes stare deep into your own. your eyebrows raise in shock.

"huh?"

"i want" rayne's hand flexes at his side as he exhales, resisting the urge to touch you. "to kiss you."

"why?" you whisper so quietly that he almost didn't hear you.

maybe this is a reckless decision. maybe he shouldn't be risking a friendship with a drunken mind, but honestly in the moment, he really couldn't care less. he can regret it in the morning if things fell apart.

"i like you." rayne admits.

a moment of silence falls onto the room. you stare and stare, sinking your eyes deep into rayne’s as his confession weighs further down onto you.

“oh thank god.” you exhale, pulling rayne in by his shirt.

rayne practically melts into the feeling of your lips, soft against his own. he can taste faint traces of alcohol on you. he places his hands on your hips to press your bodies together. his palms explore your figure, circling around your lower back, trailing upwards to your ribs and back down to your waist. your hands entangle themselves in his hair, eliciting a soft groan out of him.

kissing you is a feeling like no other. it’s straight euphoria, maybe even something greater than that. the butterflies flap violently on his stomach. fireworks ignite his blood. being with you is like soaring across the sky.

you deepen the kiss, exploring each other with such desperation that it makes you dizzy. his tongue moves against yours in perfect sync, as if it were a choreographed dance. by the time you pull away to catch air, you and rayne are breathless, huffing as the half-blonde rests his forehead against yours.

you beautiful red lipstick is now smeared across your mouth, staining at the corners and below the chin. rayne pulls his head back. his fingers graze over your lips, admiring the mess. he’s sure it transferred onto him as well.

“you got something right there.” you joke, pointing at him.

“shut up.” he whispers. however, a smile breaks out onto his face, betraying his words.

“so,” you say, snaking your arms around the half-blonde’s waist. “the rayne ames has a crush on me? i never thought i’d see the day.”

he hums as confirmation. “would i be wrong to guess that you like me too?”

“no.” you grin. “in fact, you’d be one hundred percent right.”

“wonderful.” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss. you turn your head, having him miss your mouth entirely.

“i’m starting to believe you only like me so you could have a make out partner.” you tease, causing the half-blonde to sigh at your antics.

“i like you because you’re kind.”

he pecks one cheek.

“because you’re fun.”

he pecks the other.

“because you’re intelligent.”

he presses his stained lips to your forehead.

“because you’re so beautiful.”

rayne kisses the tip of your nose.

“my beautiful, (y/n).” he mumbles with a barely noticeable slur, cupping your face.

“you should drink more often. i like this side of you.” you comment, looking up at him with a gaze that drives him crazy.

“please just let me kiss you again.” rayne quietly begs, his mouth centimeters from yours.

“kiss me whenever you want.” you whisper before colliding with him once more.

in the morning, ryoh has to pick the lock to get into the guest bedroom. he stumbles in pissed off and ready to blow up on the person who dared to put him through such a hassle.

however, the sight he walks into flips his mood instantly. ryoh finds you and rayne tangled in each other’s arms completely knocked out. upon closer inspection, he notes the matching lipstick stains on both of your mouths, and a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

the blonde man pulls out his phone, snapping pictures in different angles to solidify this moment in history.

“he better thank me for this.” ryoh says to himself before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

#anime #manga #mashle #mashle magic and muscles #mashle x reader #rayne ames #rayne x reader #rayne ames x reader #⭑ — fics ⭑.ᐟ♡#♡ — mashle #♡ — rayne

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neversetyoufree · 6 months ago

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The way Noé Archiviste is written is so good. I'm so obsessed with him.

He's such a protagonist—endlessly hopeful against adversity and filled with kindness and attempted understanding toward everyone he meets. He's a good person! He wants to save everyone! He is genuinely and utterly without any sort of cruelty or unfair bias.

Yet, the more the series goes on, the more he's written as a very obvious parallel to our antagonists.

The most blatant example of this is the Ruthven parallel. Ruthven once happily said that he liked vampires, and in the same way, he liked humans. Noé repeats this exact same line when he has tea with Ruthven.

This parallel doesn't reflect too poorly on Noé, since it's pretty clear that something Happened to Ruthven to change him between his speaking that line and him becoming our antagonist, but it is an interesting way to tie the two of them together. It raises certain questions in readers' minds. In what other ways are Noé and Ruthven still similar, and how might Noé change to become more like him?

Then there's Noé's toxic optimism. The "you should be a little bothered, actually" aspect of him. Noé is the mirror to Vanitas's toxic pessimism. He latches onto the good in the world to a fault, and in this way he detaches from reality and endures an endless series of abuses to his person without even understanding they're abuses.

That is also one of the defining traits of Mikhail. Misha is unsettling in part because he is completely detached from any understanding of severity. Misha happily recounts being abused and watching his mother die not because he's cruel or hateful, but because he doesn't understand what's happened to him or why those things are bad. Misha wants to bring Luna back to life because he's in denial of the reality of their death. He believes he can just resurrect them and everything will be fine, and he'll get to play happy family again.

If Noé went just a little bit more extreme with the over-optimism, he could disconnect from reality just as badly as Misha has.

Finally there's my favorite parallel—the tie between Noé and his Teacher. Noé Archiviste has a tendency to watch others in fascination, trying to figure them out from the sidelines while he fails to understand his own impact on them, and he absolutely loves the Blue Moon. He thinks the Blue Moon is beautiful. Teacher spends his time collecting interestingly damaged children in putting them in awful situations, apparently just for the fun of watching what they'll do next, and he calls The Vampire of the Blue Moon "the most beautiful creature in the world."

Noé's curiosity-driven fascination with Vanitas's trauma and his love of the blue moon—neither of these are necessarily a problem on their own, but when written in direct parallel with The Count of Saint Germain, they become somewhat alarming.

In the same way that Misha is "worse" than Noé because his obliviousness to his trauma leads him to harm others, Noé's teacher is surely a worse person than him because he lets himself harm others in pursuit of his interests. Noé doesn't do that. But what would it take for that to change? He's pushed boundaries before. He learned to hurt Astolfo and Misha in the name of protecting those he cares about. What other strange places could his headstrong nature lead?

What might Noé do when his fascination and his obliviousness intersect? When the parts of him that are Teacher and the parts of him that are Misha overlap? What would he do to see Vanitas again? What might he do without letting himself realize how terrible it was?

Noé is a good person. He's one of the best people. But in his attentiveness and his optimism and his love, there's the seeds of something that could lead him down a very dark road. Each of the above antagonists is a little bit a part of who he is.

Misha wants to bring Luna back to life. Ruthven is working toward some mysterious aim with the dead or dying Faustina. And given how he talks in mémoire 55, I wouldn't be surprised if Teacher also had an interest in bringing back The Vampire of the Blue moon in one form or another.

In all his fascination and love and hope, would/will Noé be able to let Vanitas die when death is preferable to the alternative? This is a story about the inevitability of death, and the denial of that inevitability creates nothing but horror and perversion. Noé is growing and learning to understand both Vanitas and the moral complexities of the world, and we can only hope that he learns enough. We can see through his many reflections in other characters what he might become if he can't accept painful reality.

#vnc #vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #noé archiviste #noé archiviste my beloved #english major hours #I've been sitting on these thoughts for a while #be free.

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beaulesbian · 6 months ago

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I've been thinking about the Whiskey Peak Luffy vs Zoro fight and how nothing is truly finished or contained within just one arc in One Piece - where the themes and character development always overlap and span over many later arcs as well.

It's an interesting scene, and I feel it's almost impossible to dissect that fight just within that arc alone - like it wasn't meant to be taken seriously by itself at that time, but later with more context of what's to come after that.

A short version: It's a great set up of how the trust between Luffy and Zoro would develop after this fight.

Specifically, how it gets to this in Skypiea:

And a longer version under the read more:

To start at the beginning again - Luffy knew about Zoro's reputation by the time he reached Shells Town and heard about him as Demon Pirate Hunter of the East Blue, and decided to see if he's a good guy to have on his crew.

Once Luffy freed Zoro and they took down Morgan together, they could see how the other was similary strong, as well as they were able to fight in sync and well together, but maybe they still didn't understand how much they could depend on each other.

With Luffy, anyone who offers him food becomes something like his hero. If they offer him hospitality, he would protect them with his life.

With Zoro, he's always looking out for the danger, used to travel alone (or with just Johnny and Yosaku), he does what's needed, and usually without telling the others.

And this is, I think, that crucial moment when they realize this about each other -

Luffy wakes up and sees the people who helped him lying on the ground, and telling him that Zoro was the one who did that. Luffy goes berserk without needing to hear why, because there shouldn't be a reason why. Whatever Zoro tells him must be a lie, right? He must have gone mad.

Maybe if Zoro didn't fight back, Luffy would see something was wrong, but Zoro isn't one to back down from a fight, especially when being falsely accused, and if he saw that Luffy was fighting him for real, he in turn would give him the same courtesy. They're both very stubborn in the same way.

The misunderstanding trope can be a bit annoying, but I think it's all just to see them actually fight together on equal footing. It was one of the first examples of what they can do together.

After this fight, where they defeat the two Baroque Works agents together, and after everything is explained, Luffy understands, in his own way.

When rereading this part of "I thought you got mad (...)", I had a feeling that Luffy might have even think Zoro could become a danger to others and was ready to just.. contain him. He heard about him as a demon pirate hunter - of course, those where a lot of talking from the Marine's side of the story perpetuating the myth of him, Zoro never called himself that and Luffy knows it, but part of me thinks maybe Luffy wouldn't care about that - he just wanted Zoro on his crew no matter what, and would deal with the consequences after that. Like in Whiskey Peak.

But what's even more interesting is, since this fight, they began to understand how they work separately.

I kind of like that they don't come back or talk more about this fight, because once it's done, they're past that. But both take it as a learning experience, Luffy still has a long journey to go as a captain, and I feel with knowing what Zoro does without saying, Luffy began finding the footing as captain with putting this specific trust in Zoro - learning he can fully depend on him to protect their crew when something would be amiss, when some danger would be nearby.

And that despite the sudden fight, the bad communication and the immediate resolve, Zoro sees another most important part of Luffy's character - how far he would go to help someone who offered him food or helped Luffy and his crew. And this knowledge has helped Zoro many times since this arc, in situation where the rest of the crew might not understand Luffy's thinking, Zoro's usually the first one who does understand.

On Jaya, that trust takes the main role when Luffy orders Zoro not to fight Bellamy's crew:

Later on Skypiea Luffy says it out loud how much he trusts Zoro to protect the rest of the crew:

It goes on each arc more and more, subtle but with that trust between them deepening.

With Zoro letting Luffy know being their captain is hard but he cannot falter,

in Post Enies Lobby it's Zoro telling him what rules need to be followed, otherwise the crew would fall apart,

It feels since that Whiskey Peak fight, Zoro really took it onto himself to protect the crew without having to say so, and Luffy understood that's what he does. It's Zoro's instinct to do that - Skypiea protecting Robin and Chopper, Thriller Bark - protecting Brook, saving Sanji and of course Luffy from Kuma. On Punk Hazard, while Luffy is against Ceasar, Zoro fights Monet so Nami and Robin could get away. On Dressrosa his final fight against Pica is to protect Usopp and Kinemon.

I also like this bit on Zou, where Zoro doesn't enjoy the Minks' attention on him, and Luffy reprimands him that it's rude to talk back to someone who's hosting a feast for them. Again, kind of a callback to Whiskey Peak, ch. 807

And then there's whole Wano, with Zoro protecting Tama, Otoko and Yasuie, Hiyori, and it gets very personal when they're hurt.

During Onigashima Raid he keeps reminding Luffy that he would go with him up to the rooftop to fight Kaido, because this time the enemies are too dangerous and he needs to protect Luffy as well. And they both protect each other there:

Conclusion: I love the Whiskey Peak fight now, because it brings up many small details that are so important over the span of many arcs later, slowly showing just how different these two are built and how much trust they learnt to put in the other.

bonus:

On their way to Enies Lobby on the train, this scene looks very similar to their Whiskey Peak fight, except this time they're intentionally using their strengths together against the Aqua Laguna.

Whiskey peak, ch. 112

Water Seven, ch. 367

#idk if this is coherent. i just had too much whiskey peak thoughts so i put them all down together #zolu #luzo #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #one piece #one piece meta #mine #gif:zolu #gif:op manga #gif:op meta #long post #whiskey peak #whisky peak #one piece manga

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ollycohens · 6 months ago

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oh no you guys. i’m going to spew things i’ve realized while rewatching umbrella academy. I’m realizing were all being too sucked into fanon things after being stuck without canon content for so long. We have convinced ourselves Five acts like a mean mean dude to everyone but rewatching, i’ve realized he’s only stressed and is saying things out of panicked anger, especially in s1 with the apocalypse dooming over them. he acts soft to his siblings multiple times, he’s really not as mean as we write him in fanfiction. he is a little crap though, that’s for sure, and i love him for that <3

also realizing that the siblings don’t hate five. they just literally don’t know him at all. he came back a completely different person after 17 years for the siblings, they don’t know five, he’s a stranger so of course they’re gonna be cold to him. it’s like, “i don’t know you well, but you’re always going to be my brother in the end”.

ALSO. for those who ship some of the siblings, uhm… i’ve seen a lot of you guys try to prove that they don’t see eachother as siblings and more like academy students, but they very much say in just about every episode that they see eachother as siblings. they don’t actually SAY that word by word but they say things like “she’s our sister”, or “our dad”. if they say OUR dad… bro. i’m not even going to continue, you can put it together yourself. But, i do realize why people ship the siblings. I am not defending incest shippers but with umbrella academy i can see why people have resorted to it. only 3 of the characters in the main sibling cast has romantic partners. people like shipping people, people love writing romantic relationships, but with only diego/lila, dave/klaus, and sissy/viktor, (i’m not going to count five/dolores for now) people are desperate with the need to ship the rest of the siblings with someone, and since there are only a few actual canon characters in the show that interact with our main 7, people start shipping them together… yikes. anywho, that’s all for that peice. i blame the show writers as well for shipping luther/allison, they did not have to do that, but i’m hoping it was only to convey the severity of what childhood trauma does to people.

ALSO THIS HERE SHOOK ME. I actually think Reginald cares for the siblings. i hate to say it, but it’s true. caring for them does not mean being good, though. he was a horrible father, and person, but he genuinely did care for the siblings, in a like, “being the best is the best thing for you, i will make you better, for your sake, even if you don’t know it now, you will see that i am right” kind of way.

also why has NOBODY MENTIONED THIS. in season 2 when diego first reunites with five in the asylum, while he’s walking into the visitors room, he’s staring at five with this heartfelt, soft look, and then says “five…” in the most soft spoken voice ever 😭 your honor i love them

ALSO UGHHH THIS. IM GOING TO FREAK OUT ABOUT CAMERAWORK AND METAPHORS HERE SO BARE WITH ME. we as a fandom complain about the lack of flashbacks five has due to his ptsd. we’ve seen his first flashback since getting back to his family in s1 during the van scene when he gets triggered by those kids playing and starts thinking about his own childhood, i’m guessing. i ate that scene up, and was sad to see that be one of the only deeply vulnerable scenes he has in the season, and during my first watch i thought they’d never bring it back up. but they do!! i may be stupid for not realizing but whatever. in season 2, when five is trying to explain at elliot’s with all his siblings around that another apocalypse is coming, everyone starts talking about each other. as someone who studies film and camerawork, i love this scene. we see the camera focus on five as it slowly zooms in. it doesn’t switch scenes at all as the siblings voices overlap and echo over eachother. this whole scene conveys him getting overwhelmed and he starts to zone out, starting to think of the nuclear war he saw his siblings in. the scenes of the war start quickly switching through, showing many different scenes of it before it switches back to five, who says “guys, you all die. i want to forget it but i can’t” which just UGH its so well done there. if you think about it, he was starting to slip into another flashback. he was triggered by talking about their deaths in the war but was handling it well until the siblings started fighting, where we see the overlapping voices happen. it portrays him losing control and being unable to pull it back together with too much going on for him to focus on grounding himself. we DO however, see that five was able to pull himself out before he fell too deep into the flashback. i love how they show this through them still having the scene showing the war, but then fives voice starts talking over the scene which is still focusing on the war as if he was pushing it back and forcing himself to come back to the present.

thank you for reading if you’ve made it this far, i will continue to freak out another time <3

#umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #tua #theumbrellaacademy #umbrella_academy #FREAAAKING OUT #five hargreeves #number five #reginald hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #lila pitts #camera work #film #nerding out

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becausegraf · 5 months ago

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So... Gulool Ja Ja and his troubled eldest

Some musings on why the Dawnservant, social skills-powerhouse, observant and transparent and trustworthy and capable and responsible Gulool Ja Ja

seems to have massively dropped the ball when it came to, you know...

preventing his own only biological child from turning towards murderous self-destructive supervillainy.

Gulool Ja Ja's biggest, most tragic failure in my understanding is that when it comes to Zoraal Ja specifically, he has a blind spot, and I think he knows it but he can't fix it.

I mean, what do you think is the ONE area that, unfortunately, he truly has nobody, not a single person in Eorzea, he can seek experienced, trustworthy counsel on?

It's being born a Blessed Sibling, living as a Blessed Sibling, Ruling as a Blessed Sibling, and raising a Son Of A Blessed Sibling who doesn't have two heads and will grow up facing extremely vicious treatment by some people as a consequence.

Zoraal Ja is unique, and the complications that come with being what he is in this cultural context are SMACK in the hazard zone of Gulool Ja Ja's own vulnerabilities and struggles.

Gulool Ja Ja's flying blind on this one, and his son's temperament is precisely the sort that his usual tools aren't a good fit for.

Papa's style is to give his children space, let them make their own decisions, to invite them to seek help and give them everything they could ask for in their environment to support them when he cannot.

Zoraal Ja's issue is one that would have required Gulool Ja Ja to be much more confident in his capacity as his parent than he seems to have been. He needed to see clearly that his son was struggling and that under his circumstances, he couldn't just ask for help, and ACT ON THAT OBSERVATION. Asking for support is not something that comes naturally to Zoraal Ja, and I can see a dozen reasons why he would actively avoid it, too.

'Kiddo, something's bothering you and for your own good, we need to talk or have you open up to someone else before this causes you great harm, and I will be accountable for this happening whether you're happy to cooperate or determined to run away from it. We're gonna figure this out, okay?'

That's the initiative it would have taken, at a much, much earlier point in time, for Zoraal Ja to have gotten the support he needed. He needed his parent to see the danger and protect him from it.

Gulool Ja Ja, through no ill intent or inate fault of his own, simply failed in that.

He doubtlessly has his own hangups, painful topics, things that drive even him to look away and lie to himself. Even if he had the amazing instinct of compensating for a shitton of his own flaws and limitations by cooperating with others that had what he lacked, again, in this one regard

literally nobody in existence

would have any sort of experience with this particular complexity, let alone the keen eye to identify Gulool Ja Ja's massive blind spot AND take the initiative to reach out to him and offer aid.

He and Zoraal ja both are masters at hiding their pain (these chicken dudes are a lot like cats, apparently), and both have pretty compelling reasons to do so. There aren't many people that would

a) care about them personally enough to even decide something needs fixing

b) have the emotional insight to detect what's going on and empathize with the exact problem

c) be the kind of person who could think of a suitable way to help without making a mess

d) have the guts to prod at their personal life without being asked to do so, and avoid getting shown the door immediately

In a sense, Gulool Ja Ja's unique circumstances, the rare thing that DISconnects him from others with no overlap with others anywhere, is his Achilles heel, his one fatal weakness in a person otherwise dipped in invulnerability.

And Zoraal Ja is the arrow that came for it, and it makes my heart break for the both of them.

(This gets a little personal for me, too, in the sense of 'my parents are so capable and smart and empathetic, they're so admirable and competent with everything and everyone EXCEPT WITH ME, for SOME reason, what the FUCK is wrong with me'. Nothing, my issues were just too much like their own issues, which isn't my fault and not theirs either.

Tell ya what, it's really weirdly painful to be in such a position as a kid, caught between love and admiration on one hand, and burning frustration and resentment and shitty self-esteem on the other.)

#Dawntrail spoilers #FFXIV #Zoraal Ja #Gulool Ja Ja #your honor I love them so much ugh

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hannahbarberra162 · 6 days ago

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I was wondering if you could do an SFW Alpha!Marco x Omega!Reader ABO Drabble? I don’t know if you would do a soft power dynamic between the two, where Reader is under Marcos Division. They have a big fat crush on them but low-key refuse to acknowledge it until they’re stranded on an island together. Reader goes into heat and usually they would just power through it in their own or ask Tate for suppressants. However no one is available and Marcos the only one around that catches it before Reader gets hunkered down. He goes into Mother Hen mode cause, Y’know he’s their division commander and wants to make sure they’re okay, however reader gets flustered and it’s just angtsy sweetness

Soda licious, Nonnie. I absolutely love this idea….. I think I kept the gist of what you were looking for. Hope there’s enough angst for you <3

I’ve been thinking about a night nurse reader for a long time but didn’t know where to put her - I was originally going to pair her with Haruta… BUT

Imagine you’re an Omega in the First Division...

~~~

“Tate, I don’t think I can stay on the ship anymore,” you lamented to your friend, tossing back another shot. It was Girl’s Night on the Moby, meaning you had a rare opportunity to spend some quality time with Tate. All the nurses were hanging out in the galley, which was closed off to the men of the crew. You enjoyed the monthly girls nights for the atmosphere and time spent with your friends and coworkers, especially your old friend Tate. As the night nurse, you didn’t see her much except for an hour a day when your shifts overlapped in the morning and evenings. Tate had hired you to run the infirmary at night so everyone else would feel secure enough to get a good night’s sleep.

You’d met Tate long ago, the two of you bonding in nursing school over a shared interest in helping those less fortunate. You’d become study buddies and had been friends ever since. Over the years as your lives had taken different turns you’d kept in touch, keeping each other up to date on the adventures you’d taken.

Not that you had been helping the unfortunate, it turns out you needed to take a regular job to earn a living. Before working for Whitebeard, you had been the ship nurse for Doflamingo. The gig had been alright but really boring as Doflamingo didn’t sail very often. Save for the few times a year he left for Warlord meetings, you spent most of your time on the ship doing nothing and waiting around. You didn’t renew your contract with the Warlord and were taking short term jobs at different hospitals when you’d gotten a letter from Tate inviting you to be the night nurse for the Whitebeard Pirates.

After interviewing with Tate and Marco, you accepted the unconventional job and you’d been with them ever since. It was interesting, fun, and there was always something going on with 1,000 wild pirates on board. In terms of clinical care, you enjoyed your work and found tending to the Emperor’s crew to be rewarding in its own way. You enjoyed interacting with Whitebeard, the old man reminding you of your own grandfather who you missed dearly. No, the problem wasn’t with the job or the crew, you thought to yourself.

“Why do you wanna leave me? I thought you liked it here,” Tate whined, grimacing as the bite from the vodka hit her throat. Tate wasn’t using a chaser, the two of you already a few drinks into the night. Not that it was a problem, you’d both given your livers quite the workout during nursing school.

“I do like it here, it’s a great job but -” you started, trying to break the news gently.

“It’s Marco, isn’t it? I knew it, I knew you liked him. You’ve got good taste, he’s a catch. You don't need to leave because of some crush," Tate said with a smirk, making you choke on the beer you were drinking between shots. The Commander in charge of the First Division was...something else. He was smart, kind, charming, and an incredible doctor. His handsome smile disarmed you daily as you passed off the patient reports to him at shift change. He treated you like an equal, not like a lowly Beta nurse as you’d come to expect from Alpha doctors. His scent was amazing, better than anyone you’d ever been around before. And yes, you could admit to yourself that he was stunningly handsome. You weren’t sure what lucky star he’d been born under to make him such a perfect person.

“No, it’s not that. I don't have a crush on him, I just don’t know if I can keep this up,” you said, motioning to your whole body. Marco was one thing, but you’d worked with intelligent and sweet doctors before. No, the bigger issue was that you were an Omega. It was well known on the seas that Whitebeard didn’t allow Omegas onto his crew, not even among the nurses. He said that they caused nothing but trouble as their scents and heats would throw the crew into chaos. And so it had been…until you’d come around. Tate begged you, literally on her knees, to join the crew. She said there wasn’t anyone else she trusted to take care of the crew at night, that she couldn’t sleep at night over worry for the patients, that you were the only person who could fill the job. She said she’d keep suppressants secretly stocked on the ship and that no one would ever know. You thought it was a bad idea to disobey an Emperor’s command but the offer of working with Tate on the ship was too alluring to turn down.

Month over month you took the suppressants to dull your heat down to an unpleasant sensation similar to period cramps. It messed with your head sometimes but overall the medications were working. None of the many Alphas on board smelled your heats or tried to scent you and they treated you like any other Beta. It was kind of freeing in a way, not to be taken less seriously because of your designation. Omegas were thought to be flighty, vapid, and childish, even if it wasn’t true. You were finally getting a taste of what it would have been like to be born as something other than Omega and you'd been enjoying it.

The suppressants worked but the stress you felt every month was overwhelming. You didn’t want to have to answer to Marco in case they ever failed. You started having stress dreams about going into heat and someone finding out, the Captain making you walk the plank to your demise because you were an Omega. Knowing Whitebeard's personality you didn’t think it would happen but ultimately he was a powerful pirate who answered to no one. So even though you enjoyed the work, you didn’t think you’d renew your contract with Tate. You just couldn't take the stress of hiding your dynamic from Marco anymore.

“Oh, come on. No one knows and no one will ever know. The meds work just fine and besides I don’t think anyone would care at this point. You’ve saved me n’ Marco so much anxiety by being here that Whitebeard would make an exception for you,” Tate explained, already eyeing the bottle of vodka for another shot.

“I don’t know, I think it also does something to me. Y’know, avoiding…that for so long,” you said quietly, indicating your heat. Suppressants weren’t meant to be taken long term and you’d already been on them for six months, you needed to take a break or they’d stop working. You’d have to pay the piper and suffer through another heat. You didn’t know where you’d do it - you’d have to find some island far away from anyone on the ship that might know you.

“Just do it on the next set of islands - there’s a huge city filled with all kinds of people on the main one but you can rent private cabins on the smaller surrounding islands. If you’re missing from the crew no one will notice with so many people and smells around. Rent a cabin room and find some rando to help you. I’ll cover for you, say you need a break from the crew if anyone asks,” Tate argued, filling your shot glasses again. You hummed, mulling over the idea in your head. It wasn’t a bad plan and you hadn’t had a break from work in months.

“Alright, that might work. Let’s think through the details tomorrow - after these SHOTS!” you finished with a whoop, causing the other nurses to woo their enthusiastic reply. You’d deal with all your Omega problems in the morning, it was time to have fun with your friends.

A few days later you came around to Tate’s idea. The Moby docked at a densely populated island known for its nightlife and partying. Surrounding the main island were quieter islands known for their tranquility and privacy. No one was likely to find you during your leave, you’d booked a solo cabin on a small island. You were spending a ton of money on the cabin and you didn’t think the other crew would bother spending their hard earned wages on something that they couldn’t drink.

You were preparing to leave the ship, making sure your notes and reports were all finished when you felt someone looking over your shoulder. Glancing up, you saw the beautiful blue eyes of the First Division Commander and became flustered.

“Oh, h-hi. I’m just wrapping up, I have um - well, you know, you approved it -”

“Shore leave,” Marco finished your sentence with a lazy smile. He glanced down over your notes from his high vantage point and leaned over your shoulder. Your face burned with a flush as he took the pen from your hand and crossed out a word in your report and rewrote it from behind.

“You accidentally wrote carotid with two ‘r’s. I’m a stickler for spelling,” Marco said, putting the pen back in your hand. You hadn’t moved an inch, the heat and proximity of his body throwing your senses into overdrive. If Marco stayed for a moment longer you were going to combust from all the blood rushing to your face.

“Whatever perfume you’re wearing for your trip is becoming yoi,” Marco said with a tilt of his head and a smile, straightening up and walking away. You felt sweat dripping down your back from sudden stress- you weren’t wearing any perfume. You’d stopped your suppressants that day in anticipation of going into heat for the next few days but you hadn’t expected your scent to begin to come on so strongly so quickly.

“Uh, t-thank you Mar- Commander. Commander Marco,” you stammered, trying to end the conversation so you could get away from the ship full of Alphas.

“Just Marco is fine. I’ll be on shore leave too, maybe we can meet up for a drink?” His tone was calm but his eyes held a fire in them that you couldn’t identify.

“Ah, oh. Um, I’m gonna be busy, I have to - um…I’m busy,” you trailed off, not wanting to tell him the reason you’d declined. If he asked you a second time you felt like you’d fold immediately, telling him anything he could ever want to know about you.

“Of course, maybe another time then yoi,” he said easily, unwinding his stethoscope from around his neck to continue working.

“Y-yeah, another time,” you said, still blushing.

You practically threw your notes at Tate to get away from Marco as you left the infirmary that morning. Any other time you might have considered his offer to get a drink but today was not happening. You were already tired from working the night before and you still had a ways to go before you could rest. The urge to nest was building in you, you could hardly stand being on the dinghy to the island with the Alphas and Betas on the crew. It felt like it took an eternity to get from the ship to the little island with the cabin you’d rented. You were bursting with the need to arrange the clothes you’d brought with you as you disembarked on the tiny island. You were walking on the path to your cabin when a familiar bird landed on the dock of the island and transformed. You felt the blood drain out of your face as you ducked and tried to hide behind a tree from your Commander. It didn’t work as Marco spotted you right away and waved. Cursing in your head you couldn't think of a way to get rid of him without at least speaking to your boss.

He began walking over to you with a smile but it faltered into something more serious as he sniffed the air. Tilting his face and looking about, he quickly located what he was looking for - you. He walked briskly over to you in long strides, his brow furrowed as he continued to take deep breaths through his nose.

“Come along,” Marco said calmly like he was talking to an errant child, taking your forearm in his large hand. You bristled at the contact, hoping he was just smelling your stronger scent like in the morning, not reacting to you going into heat. Maybe he was just upset that you’d turned him down for a drink saying you were busy and found out you were alone on a vacation island instead. There was no way he should know you were going into heat this early, the suppressants should hold you over for a few hours until you had time to make your nest.

“W-wait, I need to get to my cabin, I rented -” you tried to object weakly.

“No, you’ll stay in mine, I rented the only other cabin on the island. It’s bigger and has better accommodations. I need a break from my siblings every now and again yoi. I didn’t expect you to be here - and going into heat,” Marco said with a pointed look as he pulled you towards the larger cabin. Your hopes were dashed along with your future - you hung your head as you continued to trail behind your Commander, tears falling unbidden down your cheeks. Finally reaching the little house, Marco opened the door and pushed you gently inside. When the door shut, your fingers itched to begin making your nest in the bedroom, wherever it was.

Marco was right, his cabin was way better than the one you had rented. It had two bedrooms, a full kitchen and a huge claw footed bathtub. You hadn’t had a bath since you’d joined the Whitebeard Pirates and the thought of soaking in hot water was enough to make you swoon. But you had to deal with Marco first, your Commander looking at you sternly as you set your bag on the floor.

“How long do you have until your heat comes on?” Marco asked with concern. He was standing in front of you as you studied the floor at his feet. You couldn’t make eye contact with him right now, it was too overwhelming. He was your boss, your Commander, and the only Alpha in the room and you didn’t want to make things worse.

“It’s supposed to come in about two to three hours,” you whispered. Marco tutted at you, wiping your tears off your cheek with his thumb.

“And what was your goal yoi? To have it here, alone on the island? What if another Alpha smelled your scent and tried to get to you? What if the pain became too unbearable and you suffered? Not a very good plan.” he said, chastising you gently while cupping your cheek. The heat building in you had you wanting to nuzzle into his hand but you were able to stop yourself - for now. You took a deep breath and held it to calm yourself down.

“I didn’t - wasn’t - I’ve been on suppressants,” you stated plainly, glad to be done lying to Marco.

“I figured that out yoi. I won’t help you through it if you don’t want me to. But I’d like you to stay here where I can keep you safe. I would feel…neglectful if you were hurt during an unattended heat,” he said, stroking his fingers along your cheek.

“Because you’re my Commander?” you asked in a whisper.

“Something like that. Go on now, make your nest,” Marco replied, picking up your bag and handing it to you. You grabbed it with both arms, clutching it to your chest. What you really wanted was the shirt he was wearing and his sash - you needed it for your nest. Maybe you’d ask later but for now you were already ashamed enough at being caught lying to the Emperor and being caught going into heat by your boss. You didn't know what the punishment was going to be but your mind was already clouding with the heat. Scurrying along, you quickly found the bedroom and threw your clothes on the bed. You didn’t have much time before you were hit by the pain of heat onset, you had to hurry.

You felt Marco watching you from the door frame as you stripped the bed of its blankets and pillows to move them around. Sniffing through the room, you tossed out the rank decorative pillows into the hallway.

“Do you need anything else? Any more linens?” Marco asked, still watching you.

“Ah, no. I think I brought enough,” you said, staring at his sash. Following your gaze, he removed his sash wordlessly and handed it to you with a soft smile. You flushed furiously but took the garment, barely able to stop yourself from putting it over your face to bask in the scent.

“And did you bring ibuprofen for when the pain starts?” Marco asked as you worked his sash into your half built nest.

“It doesn’t help much,” you said while arranging the sheets into a new formation. Marco hummed and continued to watch you. Having him observe your process was even more nerve wracking than it usually was to go into heat. Part of you wanted to tell him to leave but another part was preening for the Alpha in the room. Pushing off the wall, Marco walked towards you slowly. You watched him warily, putting down the shirt in your hands.

“What?” you asked suspiciously as he approached you.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to yell at you. I’m disappointed you hid the truth from me but now’s not the time for that discussion. We can talk it all through later. Tell me what you need, little Omega.”

You cleared your throat and looked up at the handsome doctor. He was watching you with concern, like you were something precious about to shatter. No one had helped you in so long, you'd been taking care of yourself for years. Maybe just this once you could depend on someone else, on someone you knew you could trust.

“I need you, Marco.”

#marco the phoenix #Alpha Marco #omega reader #omegaverse #SFW who is she #never heard of her #I did it though #do you want part 2?#I could do it if you want #abo Marco #ask away!#so many delicious ideas #so little time

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justagalwhowrites · 6 months ago

Text

Yearling - Ch. 38: Reckoning

You form a connection with an unlikely companion while Joel searches for you. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-37 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and several steps beyond that. Fairly graphic torture. Attempted rape. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 17.6k

A/N: As with recent chaptesr, I want to state, real quick, that Bambi is NOT going to be sexually assaulted again. This is a highly triggering subject and, given the situation she's in, I understand if folks are bracing for it. That's not going to happen. Things are going to look really dicey this chapter but it does not happen.

We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. This character is in THIS CHAPTER. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

She was a girl. Just a girl.

You couldn’t seem to move past just how young she looked, her face twisted into a hateful snarl. There was something gaunt about her features now that you didn’t remember there being before but then, your memory of that day was twisted. You’d been so focused on saving Joel - and suffering from losing blood yourself - that things were hazy. But you were almost certain she’d been more imposing then, a golf club in her grip as she stood over your husband’s broken body.

“You’re with them?” She spat. “Fucking figures, should have known you’d be just as fucking bad as him…”

You cocked your head at her a little, trying to puzzle her out before releasing your hold on your chain and tugging your pant leg up enough that she could see it wrapped around your ankle. It was already rubbing your flesh raw, blood starting to cling to the metal.

“Does it look like I’m with them?” You asked, brows raised. You kept your injured hand cradled to your chest, the throbbing pain where your fingers used to be oddly muddled with the ghost of a feeling of the flesh and bone still there. You kept absently trying to flex them, expecting to feel the tension in the muscle when you moved. Your mind hadn’t quite processed that it wasn’t coming.

The girl - just a girl - clenched her jaw, shaking her head and looking away from you. You dropped your pant leg and pressed yourself tight against the wall at your back, holding your damaged hand with your intact one. It didn’t make it hurt any less but it was still a comfort, to shield that vulnerability.

“What are you doing here.”

The girl said it more than asked it, still not looking at you.

“Same as you, I imagine,” you said, your stomach churning at that, knowing what had probably just been done to this girl. Knowing what was waiting for you. She looked at you then, a darkness in her eyes that you knew well. You clenched your jaw and nodded slowly. “You OK?”

She scoffed.

“Don’t act like you care,” she snapped. “I’m sure you’d love exactly what they’re fucking doing to me, what they’ve been doing to me -“

“No,” you cut her off, tightening your hold on your wrist. “I don’t. I’ve been here before. I know what they do. I don’t wish that shit on anybody.”

She looked at you again, skeptical now.

“That how you met him?” She spat the word, like referring to Joel at all left a foul taste in her mouth.

“Kind of,” you said. “He found me after I got out, saved me from bleeding to death in the snow.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not,” you said, watching her, your chest tight. Joel had told you that his raider days were far behind him and you believed him but you couldn’t think of another reason why this girl would want to hate him in particular. “I owe him my life.”

“So he’s alive then?” She asked, gathering her knees into her chest.

You considered lying for a moment but you didn’t see much point in it. Chances were, neither of you were making it out of this alive, anyway.

“Yes,” you said. “He is.”

She just looked at you for a moment and you wondered, for a second, if she heard you. But then, her eyes brimmed with tears and her lip quivered, her breath quickening.

“Of course he is,” her voice shook before she slammed her fist back against the wall, hard enough that the sound made you jump. “Of fucking course he is! Do you know what I fucking did to get that far? What I fucking sacrificed!”

She screamed and brought her fist down on the sagging mattress again and again until she was sobbing, the kind of choking almost strangled sobs that made you feel like you were going to suffocate when you were in them. It took her a moment to calm down enough to speak again.

“That’s how these fucking assholes caught me,” she said, still taking deep, shaky breaths. “I was looking for some sign of him, of him or of your fucking people. I hoped I’d be able to find out that he died, that I fucking killed him, that I could actually fucking breathe again. Instead, these fuckers got me. Because I hadn’t lost enough to Joel fucking Miller.”

She knew his name. That fact made your breath hitch. It hadn’t been something random or even something from a chance encounter, she knew him in some way. You just didn’t know how.

“Why,” it was your turn to say more than ask. If you were trapped here with this girl, you needed to know if she was going to turn on you. But, more than that, you needed to understand.

You had survived a lot of terrible things since the outbreak but the days you thought you might have lost Joel were some of the worst of your life. You’d trade years of enduring everything Mitchum and his men had put you through if it meant you’d never have to see Joel like that again. You needed to understand what made this girl hate him that much and you needed to know if there was anyone else who would come for him that way. Not that there was much you could do about it here, chained to a wall and in Mitchum’s grasp, but you needed to know that he was safe. That he would continue on and take care of your daughters without this threat hanging over him. You needed that comfort.

“Why do you want him dead.”

“Why should I fucking tell you?” She didn’t seem to say anything without biting it out, like she was made up of rage. You didn’t much blame her. It didn’t take long surviving like this before every other emotion was impossible and, before too long, rage was gone, too.

“Because I’m your best hope of getting out of here,” you said. “I’ve done it before, I can do it again. And I meant what I said, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Even you. But if it comes down to your life or my husband’s? I’ll kill you. Wouldn’t even lose sleep over it. So you need to tell me why you want him dead because I’d rather not kill you. We can get out of this together but I need to know that you’re not going to kill him when we do.”

“Husband?” She looked at you and laughed once, darkly. “Fucking… You married a monster, you know. A fucking animal.”

“Why.”

“If he hasn’t told you about the shit he’s done…”

“I know what he’s done,” you cut her off.

“And you still married him?” She shook her head, a disgusted look on her face. “Then you’re a monster, too.”

“I can be the monster who saves you or the monster who kills you,” you replied. “How much do you want this grudge to destroy your life?”

“Grudge?” She asked, brows raised. “That’s what you think this is? Like he called me names on the playground? He killed my fucking dad!”

Your chest got tight.

“People kill other people every day,” you said after a moment. “It could have been anyone, it…”

“You know a lot of other guys who slaughter an entire hospital of people in cold blood?” She spat. “People who were just trying to save the fucking world?”

Your face fell and she huffed.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You’d thought - or maybe hoped - that her rage was a result of something that happened on patrol. That the blame could be comfortably placed somewhere else, that it was something that Joel could maybe even regret having done.

Instead, it was the one thing you knew he would never even apologize for, not in a million years. If it had kept Ellie safe, it wasn’t something he could make amends for. And you didn’t want him to.

“You don’t understand…”

“No, I understand perfectly,” she cut you off. “He murdered my father…”

“No,” you shook your head.

“…and ruined every shot the world had at a fucking cure!”

“That’s not what happened,” you said, straining to keep calm but starting to fail.

“It’s not?” She seethed. “Then tell me! Tell me what fucking happened, give me one goddamn reason why anyone would…”

“He saved our daughter!” You all but yelled it, eyes wide, begging her to understand.

She sat back, laughing darkly once.

“No,” She shook her head. “No, he decided one life was worth more than every other life on the planet…”

“So!”

“SO?” She gaped at you. “That’s… that’s psychotic, that’s…”

“Do you think your father would have done anything different if it was you?” You asked. “You think he’d have just let them kill you?”

“If it meant saving the world?” She asked.

“If it meant anything at all,” you said. “Do you really think he would have let them kill you.”

“He…”

“You’ve done how much to avenge him?” You asked. “Think that means he wasn’t a piece of shit.”

“He was amazing,” she snapped. “Whole hell of a lot better than that fucking…”

“Do you really think your amazing father would have let them kill you,” you asked. “Be honest with yourself. Would he have let them kill you or would he have done the exact same thing as Joel.”

“He wouldn’t have become a mass fucking murderer!”

“Wouldn’t he?” You asked. “You’re not a parent, you don’t know what you’d do for your kids…”

“I know there’s a fucking limit!” She cut you off.

“No, there’s not!” You yelled. “I have two daughters, I’d do anything for them…”

“Even that?” She asked, incredulous.

“I’m only here right now because of them!” You said before forcing yourself to calm down. “I’ve been here before. I barely survived. Some days, I didn’t want to survive but I did and I escaped. But they took my daughters and they wanted me to trade myself for them and I did it without a second thought. They’re my children. I’d do anything for them. And your dad would have, too.”

She just looked at you for a moment and it was like you could see her deflate.

“When it’s your kid, there is no such thing as too far,” you said. “I’m sorry your dad died for that. I am. But I’m not sorry that my kid lived and I’d have killed anyone to make sure that happened, too. I ain’t sorry for that part, either.”

“Then you’re as much of a monster as him.”

You just shook your head a little, turning your attention to your injured hand.

Curiosity got the better of you, even though you knew you should leave it alone. You carefully unwound the cloth they’d put around your wounds where your fingers once were. The burned flesh, at least, had stopped bleeding and was just weeping where blisters were forming. The skin was ragged and the bone was splintered and it was surreal, realizing that part of you had been cut away.

“Jesus,” the girl said and you looked over to her. You’d been so lost in your own pain for a moment, you’d almost forgotten she was there. “That… shit.”

You looked back at your hand and flexed your remaining fingers, staring at where the two should be.

“If you wanted to try to kill me, now would be the time,” you said. “I’m still down a lot of blood, you’d win this round.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” she snapped.

You took a last look at your injury before wrapping it back up slowly, carefully.

“If I’m a monster then…”

“Don’t give me a reason to kill you and I won’t,” she said.

You looked up at her, bandage half around your wound.

“Same to you.”

You went back to wrapping your injured hand, wincing at the pressure put on the cuts. You could feel the girl’s eyes on you as you worked and you cradled your hand to your chest again when you were done, something about holding it to yourself feeling more secure.

“I think we should work together,” the girl said eventually. You looked at her, brows raised. “We’re both stuck here. We both want the same thing. I know what you’re capable of and you apparently know these assholes. You said you got out of here before?”

You nodded slowly.

“I did.”

“Then you know where to start,” she said. “I’ve been here for… I don’t know how long. A few weeks, I think. If you help me, I’ll help you.”

You considered her for a moment.

“What’s your name?”

She considered you back, like she was trying to puzzle you out.

“Abby,” she said eventually. “Yours?”

“Bambi,” you said. She raised her eyebrows. “That’s what everyone calls me, anyway.”

“Stupid fucking name,” she said.

You snorted.

“I don’t really disagree with you,” you said. “Abby, if I help you, I need to know you’re not going to try to kill my husband the second we’re out of here.”

“Are you serious?” She gaped at you before laughing darkly. “Jesus…”

“I’d rather us both die in here than get out and lose him,” you said. “That’s the deal. You leave us alone, we leave you alone.”

“Yeah, because he’d just let me live…”

“We haven’t exactly hunted you down before now, have we?” You said. “That’s the offer on the table. We help each other and we go our separate ways.”

She looked at you, her jaw clenched tight.

“Do you think your dad would want you stuck here, in a place like this, so you could kill someone in his name?” You asked. “Because I wouldn’t want that for my kids. I wouldn’t want them to kill anyone for me at all.”

She ground her teeth, watching you closely.

“Fine,” she said eventually. “We make it out of here, I won’t go looking for him. And if I ever do run into him… He’ll leave alive.”

“Thank you,” you said, relaxing back into the wall.

“What do we do now?” She asked. “You’re the expert.”

“Watch each other’s backs,” you sighed. “I’m in no shape to get us anywhere and I don’t think you’re doing so hot right now, either. When was the last time you got a full night’s rest?”

She scoffed.

“Like these fuckers leave me alone long enough for that.”

“They will now,” you said.

“Right,” she said. “Because you’re magically going to make them back off.”

“Nothing magic about it,” you said. “I just know what I’m worth to their boss. They won’t go through me to get to you, he’d kill them if they did. You can take a breath.”

She looked skeptical but she also looked exhausted. After a moment, she lay down on the mattress, her back against the wall and her arms crossed tight over her chest.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she said before closing her eyes.

“Yeah,” you said. “You too.”

***

Joel rode with one hand resting over your fingers in his pocket.

They were a comfort to him, his heart beating more steadily when he could feel the parts of you there.

He tried not to think about why he found them so comforting. The truth of it nagged at the back of his mind but he tried to leave it tucked away. He wasn’t equipped to face that. Not now.

But the truth of it was, if he couldn’t get you back, he needed to have some part of you he could put in the ground. He wouldn’t be able to bury an empty box so he had somewhere to lie when what was left of the world became unbearable and had a place to go when his time came, too. He had something he could honor and be close to if he lost you now.

“Joel,” Tommy said. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been riding. “We need to rest the horses, we can’t keep pushin’ ‘em like this…”

“They can rest when we find her.”

“Joel,” he said again, and he actually turned to face his brother, his hand still on your fingers in his pocket. He could feel the metal ring of your wedding band beneath his palm.

I promise to protect you. Promise to never let anything hurt you.

“The horses won’t be in any shape to get her out of there if we push ‘em too far right now. We need to rest them, for her sake. We need to rest ourselves, too. Can’t fight if we’re exhausted, it’ll just get us all killed. Please, Joel.”

Joel clenched his jaw. Tommy was right. He knew he was. But it didn’t feel right. He didn’t want to sleep or eat or let another hour pass without knowing you were alive.

“Let’s get to the stream,” Joel said, nodding toward where he knew there would be some water coming up. “Then we can take a break.”

It didn’t take long, the three of them making it to the water almost too quickly for Joel’s liking. But he stopped all the same, dismounting his horse and giving him a chance to drink. Ellie and Tommy did the same, Ellie pacing for a moment before stopping, staring at the water.

“Be back in a minute,” she said. “Need to use the restroom.”

“Don’t go far,” Joel cautioned. She didn’t respond, just stalking into the brush.

Joel stared at the water, too, shifting his weight from foot to foot, adjusting his back as his body settled into a different position than it had been in on the back of a horse.

“Joel,” Tommy said, coming up alongside him. He kept his eyes on the water. “Look man, I can’t pretend to know what it is you’re goin’ through right now. Don’t know that I’d be doing any better in your shoes but… Jesus, man. Ellie’s a kid…”

“Old enough to patrol.”

“Patrol,” he repeated. “Not do the shit we used to do. There’s a difference.”

“She wants to know how to protect what she loves,” he said. “You know as well as me the kind of world we live in…”

“Don’t mean she needs to be doin’ that,” Tommy cut him off. “You really want her to live with that shit in her head the rest of her life? Knowin’ what she’s capable of doing to a person?”

Joel didn’t respond. He just crossed his arms a little tighter.

“She wouldn’t want that for her,” Tommy said after a minute. “Bambi loves that girl. She wouldn’t want her torturin’ someone in her name.”

“Well she’s not here to put a stop to it, is she?” Joel asked, finally looking his brother in the eye. Tommy didn’t say anything. “Ellie’s an adult. I’m not gonna pretend like she’s not grown enough to make her own choices. If she wants to make a man pay for takin’ someone she loves? I’m not about to stop her.”

Tommy just squared his jaw, watching Joel intently for a moment.

“So we’re clear, I’m not just out here for you,” he said. “I’m out here for Bambi, too. She’s my family and I’m going to do what she would want me to do, including saving that kid from herself.”

Joel rounded on his brother fast and firm, forcing him back into a tree.

“You really mean to tell me what my wife wants?” He was seething, in Tommy’s face. “I left her and our girls in the place you told me was safe and now she’s gone, I might never get her back and you’re gonna tell me how to handle it? That it?”

“You really gonna blame me for this?” He asked quietly. “You gonna tell me I’m in the wrong?”

“Dad?”

Ellie’s voice appeared behind him and Joel stepped back from Tommy who cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Everything OK?” She asked, looking between the two men.

“Fine,” Tommy said. “We’re just… worried.”

“No shit,” Ellie said. “Me too.”

“We’ll give the horses an hour,” Joel said, looking between the two of them. “Then we’re back on the road.”

It wasn’t a relaxing break. Ellie patched up the knife wound on his shoulder. Once that was done, Joel just tried to not pace, feeling the burn of Tommy’s gaze on his skin. But it was like he was on fire, his muscle and his marrow burning with the need to move, to do something besides just fucking stand here at the water’s edge and watch it go past, as though everything was normal and life shouldn’t have come to a grinding halt because you were gone.

It was just shy of an hour when Joel couldn’t take it anymore.

“C’mon,” he said, mounting up again. “Let’s go.”

They rode for a few hours more in brutal, damning quiet when Tommy finally spoke again.

“Should talk about a plan,” he said.

“Plan is to get my goddamn wife,” Joel spat. “What else do I need.”

“We’re gonna be outnumbered, for one,” Tommy said, his voice almost eerily calm. “For another… it sounded like Mitchum ain’t gonna be there…”

Joel was quiet for a moment, waiting for him to finish the thought. He didn’t.

“Sounds like you’re arguin’ about the fact that there’s one less person standing between me and my wife,” Joel looked at his brother, his jaw clenched tight. His hand went to cover his pocket again, feeling where your fingers were against his leg.

I promise to protect you.

“I’m not,” Tommy said. His tone reminded Joel of the way you spoke to the feral horses you’d brought to Jackson. Like Tommy knew he was an unbroken, wild thing, something that was dangerous and could lash out at any second. “But… He knows where to find her now and it doesn’t sound like he’s going to stop coming for her. We need to get her back but we need to make sure she’s safe and to do that, we need to kill him, too. We have to wait for him to come back otherwise we’re just buying time, that’s all. We have to end it.”

Joel looked straight ahead, grinding his teeth.

“He’s right,” Ellie said quietly. “We need to kill the guy at the top, too, or it won’t stop.”

He was almost embarrassed to admit, even just to himself, that he hadn’t put much thought into that. He’d been singularly focused: Get to you, save you, destroy whoever he could reach who’d hurt you.

But if he wanted to do what he’d vowed to do, he couldn’t let it be that simple. He would have to make sure he cut the snake off at the head. There was no other way.

“So what do you propose we do?” He asked gruffly, even though he knew they were right.

“Find ‘em,” Tommy said. “Take someone from the perimeter, if we can. Pull information from ‘em. If we can know when he’s coming back… if it’ll be soon, we can wait him out. If it’ll be long, we get Bambi and get a message back to Jackson, bring people out to take care of him when he does come back.”

Joel nodded slowly, considering.

The only faults he could find in the plan was that it could mean you were with these monsters longer than it took to reach you or that he wasn’t the one to take Mitchum apart. He needed to get to you as fast as he could, make sure you were still breathing and still you as fast as he could. And once he had you back, he wasn’t leaving your side. He’d have to trust someone else to handle your captor and that made his skin crawl. Mitchum needed to pay. He needed it to be long and harsh and cruel and he needed to know that, when he died, he knew why.

But holding you was more important than any of that.

“Alright,” he said. “We get there, we find someone, we take the information. We can decide from there.”

Tommy nodded but was quiet for a moment.

“It’s the right move, Joel,” he said gently. “You’re doin’ everything you can for her and we’re going to get her back. She’s…”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” he snapped, his chest getting tight, so tight it was getting hard to breathe. “Don’t tell me she’s going to be alright not… not when I left her there, not when I should’ve…”

“She’s strong,” Tommy cut him off, looking quickly at Ellie who’s head was hung low. “She’s the strongest person I know. She’ll make it.”

The three of them made it to the edge of what they thought was Mitchum’s territory as night started to fall, finding a place to hole up and collect information.

“You two stay put,” Tommy said, once it was dark. He went down to the basics, leaving his pack and horse behind. “I’ll find where to go. Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Joel clenched his jaw but gave him a nod, watching what little he could see of his brother in the dark.

“Get some sleep,” he said to Ellie after sitting in silence for too long.

“I’m not tired,” she said, her voice harsh but quiet.

“Try,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

She sighed but he heard the rustle of her getting her sleeping bag from her pack all the same and watched the outline of her as she settled in nearby on the ground. Joel kept his hands on his rifle, tracing his fingers over the familiar edges of it. The weapon was a comfort, the corporeal reminder that he was not powerless, that he could do damage and take what he needed. He had what was necessary to save you, he just had to do it.

“Joel?” Ellie said softly.

“Hm.”

“Are you OK?”

His hands stilled on the gun and he looked over to her. He couldn’t make out her face in the dark but he could feel her eyes on him.

“Shoulder don’t hurt,” he said. “M’fine.”

“Yeah, but…” she paused. “What about the other stuff.”

Joel sighed, not really sure how to answer that question. How did he tell Ellie that he felt like he was on the edge of a knife? There were only two options for him: bringing you home or not going home at all. He knew that now, there would be no coming back from this without you. He didn’t want to come back from this without you.

“You can talk to me, you know,” she said. “I’m not a little kid anymore. I know you still see me like a kid but…”

“I know you’re not a kid,” he said. “But there are some things… some things just ain’t yours to carry.”

She was quiet for a moment, long enough that Joel thought the conversation might be over. But it wasn’t.

“How do you do it?” She asked.

“Do what.”

“Hurt people.” She sounded so small it reminded Joel of when they were coming to Jackson, when she was scared and uncertain and had already survived so much more than she should have.

He sighed.

“Just do.”

“How do you not lose yourself to it?” She asked. “When I saw him there, when… when I knew what he did and knew he was still breathing, I got so angry. Like all I wanted in the whole fucking world was to hurt him that way, too. I wanted to make him pay for it, pay for everything and I would have hunted him to the ends of the fucking Earth to do it but when I actually… when you gave me the knife, when I was able to… It didn’t feel better but I couldn’t stop it. I knew it wasn’t helping her and it wasn’t changing anything but someone needed to make him pay and I wanted it to be me but all it did was make me sick but I couldn’t stop it. How do you stop it?”

He adjusted his grip on the gun, fingers pressing too hard into the stock, his chest tight.

“Lot of practice,” he said eventually. “Started… it started out just for information. And… well, truth of it is, I wasn’t able to feel much when I started doin’ it. After I lost Sarah, I just didn’t feel much of anything at all. I just wanted to keep Tommy alive. Did a lot of shit I regret in the name of keeping me n’him alive. But that made it easier. And doing it when… when there’s trouble, when it’s you or her… I don’t feel much then, either. Can’t feel bad about doin’ anything to a man like that when he’s between me and… There’s nothing in me to feel bad. Only hard part is not killin’ someone who deserves it too fast. But the information’s important. Easy to remember to get it when I need to. It’s just… it’s practice, same as anything else. Practice you don’t need to have, baby girl.”

Ellie sighed.

“I get what you mean,” she said eventually. “I lost control with Cody before but… I don’t know. It’s like there’s part of me that’s missing right now and I don’t know what to do if I don’t get it back.”

Joel’s heart clenched at that.

“I’m sorry, baby girl.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “We… we’ll take care of each other, right Dad? No matter what?”

Joel was silent, trying to figure out how to speak without his voice catching.

“We will,” he said after a moment. He wasn’t sure if he was lying to her.

Ellie was asleep when Tommy made it back to their small camp, sitting heavily beside his brother.

“Found their perimeter,” he said quietly. “We ain’t too far, half a mile maybe? Got an idea of how they patrol, there are spots we can grab one. Looks like a decent set up, we’ll have to be smart about how we do this, Joel. If we ain’t, it could get her killed as much as it would you or me.”

Joel knew Tommy was saying that to try to keep him from charging in, hot headed and foolish, but that didn’t make it feel any better to sit here and wait.

“Think we get a few hours rest,” Tommy said. “Grab one of their men just before sunrise.”

“Alright,” Joel said, settling in to wait, trying to ignore the pull in his chest at the thought of you so close but so out of reach. “You sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

“Joel…”

“I’m not sleeping without her,” he cut him off. “I’ll be fine. Sleep.”

Tommy was silent for a moment.

“She wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself, either,” he said quietly. Before Joel could argue, Tommy got up and got his sleeping bag from his pack, settling in on the other side of Ellie as Joel looked toward Mitchum’s base, watching the place where you were in the dark.

***

Abby was right. They weren’t letting her rest.

You weren’t entirely sure how long you were watching over her as she slept when you heard the front door open. You knew it was still dark, it couldn’t have been that long. You’d been trying to do something to keep yourself calm in the time that you’d been sitting there, watching over the girl who had nearly murdered your husband.

Your entire body was tense and on high alert. You didn’t think you could hope for much else while you were here. Even before you’d never really been able to turn off the constant thrum of fear that pulsed through you. It wasn’t paranoia, it was self preservation. You had to be prepared for someone to come and hurt you at any moment. Your heart beat faster because of it, breaths came faster. You were sure you’d lost more blood because of it when they took your fingers. But you knew you couldn’t stay this tense for long and be useful. You needed to calm down enough that you could function and eventually rest. You needed to recover the blood you lost before you could do anything at all.

But the tactics you used before to keep yourself sane couldn’t happen now. You couldn’t pretend to play guitar anymore. You’d never tried to play with just three fingers on one hand and thinking about losing that hurt, more than even losing the fingers did. You weren’t in any condition to train, either.

Instead, you just stared at the wall over Abby’s shoulder, her back pressed to it. You tried to think about how to get out, what you had to leverage. If there was a time where you and Abby might be unchained at once, maybe together you could overpower them.

Maybe Joel would come for you.

Not that you thought he wouldn’t try, you knew he would. But you’d changed hands, groups had gone separate ways. Tracking you would be basically impossible. You couldn’t count on him to find you under these circumstances. You could only count on yourself and your need to get back home to him.

Still, you thought you’d have more time of staring at the wall before anyone would come for you or for Abby. You were wrong.

You tightened your grip on your chain and looked around for other options for weapons but Mitchum and his men had been thorough, the room stripped bear of everything but the bare necessities. You grabbed the bucket from the end of your bed - one that, thankfully, you hadn’t needed to use yet - before turning to the sleeping girl on the other bed.

“Abby,” you hissed quietly, stretching your unchained leg out and jostling her mattress. She jerked and scrambled, already panicky and gasping for breath. So different from the girl who’d held Joel’s life in her hands. Her darting eyes found you and she seemed to remember then, relaxing a little. “Someone’s in the house.”

“Fuck,” she swore, looking around for something to fight with but coming up as empty as you had.

“How far can your chain reach?” You asked as quietly as you could, eyes darting toward the door.

“Um,” she moved almost to the middle of the room, her chained leg stretched far to the side. “This far.”

“OK,” you nodded, not sure you believed it. But yours went about as far, and you were able to place yourself in front of her. “Just.. stay behind me.”

“You really think this will work?” She asked. You looked back over your shoulder at her. Her teeth were gritted and fierce but her eyes were wide and afraid.

“They won’t touch me,” you said. “If you stay behind me, you’ll be OK. Just stay behind me.”

The door opened and a man you didn’t recognize stalked in. Mitchum had either expanded or replaced a lot of his henchmen in the years you’d been gone. The man looked you up and down for a moment, his eyes calculating and hungry, before looking behind you.

“Come here, girl,” he said, ignoring you completely.

“Fuck off,” Abby snarled, but she stayed behind you.

He squared his jaw, his nostrils flared.

“Do as I say,” he snapped. “Or I’ll make it hurt.”

She laughed once, darkly.

“Like you wouldn’t anyway.”

“Fine,” he said, going to move around you. “I’ll drag you, then.”

You did’t let him pass. Instead, you lashed out with your unbound leg, kicking hard and landing a blow on his inner thigh - not quite where you were hoping to hit but it was enough. He hissed in pain and stumbled, looking vicious.

“Fucking…” he rounded on you, moving toward you, but you raised your still-booted foot, ready to kick again.

“Try it,” you said. “See what happens. Think your boss would just let you get away with fucking up his favorite toy before he got back? Take a guess what happened to the fuckers who took my fingers.”

He hesitated then, looking between you and Abby.

“Not getting her without going through me,” you said. “And he’ll kill you if you go through me.”

His lip curled.

“Bullshit.”

You shrugged.

“Risk it if you want,” you said. “Or ask the men who brought me in. Personally I think it’d be fun to watch you become clicker food…”

You pressed back closer to Abby, feeling her at your back, ready to move as best you could if you needed to.

The man, however, didn’t move. He just let out a short, enraged scream and turned his back to you for a second, stomping toward the door before turning back.

“Mitchum is back soon,” he said, your body tensing at his name, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. “He’ll take care of you himself.”

He stormed off, slamming the door behind him.

You relaxed then, your heart still in your throat as you moved back to your side of the small room. You didn’t want to be any closer to Abby than you had to be.

She, it seemed, had the same thought, moving to her mattress and pressing her back against the wall, taking slow but shaky breaths as she did.

“You alright?” You asked, pulling your injured hand back into yourself again. It felt so much better there for some reason. Not any less painful but at least less exposed.

“Fine,” she said, a little breathless. You nodded, closing your eyes for a second and counting your breaths, trying to force them to slow. “Why did you do that?”

You looked at her for a moment as she watched you, her eyes narrowed but in curious examination, not anger.

“I meant what I said,” you replied. “We’re stronger together. And… I might have every reason to hate you but no one deserves what they do. Not even you. I’m not about to just let them do it. I don’t have much power here but I have some and goddammit I’m not going to waste it.”

She nodded a little and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

“Thank you,” she said eventually. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m not sure how much more I can take and… Thank you.”

You just nodded, fingers absently seeking where your wedding band had rested just days earlier, a motion you’d done almost daily since Joel had put it on your hand. Instead, you found broken flesh. You took your fingers back.

“You should try and sleep,” she said after a few minutes. “I won’t be able to for a while, not after… I’ll keep watch. Wake you up if anything happens.”

You nodded slowly before stretching out on mattress, trying to calm yourself enough to actually rest.

You did manage it, for a few hours. You drifted in and out more than properly slept, but it was something. When you finally woke, you traded with Abby, her lying down to rest while you kept watch.

There wasn’t much to watch for, though. Your threat, it seemed, had been taken seriously. No one came for Abby and you knew no one was going to come for you, not while Mitchum was away. You weren’t sure what was going to happen once he did come back. You just hoped you’d have some kind of opening when they moved you to wherever they tried to take you for him to try and use, that you’d be staying close enough that you could easily come back for Abby and that the two of you could make a break for it together.

Once you were both awake again, you tried to learn what you could as quietly as possible. Abby gave you an idea of the layout of the place you were in, where the horses were kept, when people tended to congregate. She’d been here long enough to have a decent enough lay of the land, enough of one that you thought it could be helpful when trying to find your way out.

She was, as you learned, a resourceful young woman. She’d made one escape attempt already but she was caught quickly. She learned from it, though, telling you where she thought was better to avoid after watching certain areas after her attempted break out.

If it weren’t for your shared history, you’d probably like her. You could even sympathize with her, to a point. If someone had taken the only person you had left in the world, you probably wouldn’t care much about the reason they did it either. You’d just want them to pay. But all that pain had been what landed her where she was.

After leaving Joel to bleed and die in the lodge that day, she’d been content with it for a while. Satisfied that she’d ended the man who had ended her father, she felt like she could move on and she tried to, for a while. She spent time with the group of people who had helped her hunt Joel down, started looking for someplace to call home.

Then, doubt took hold. She couldn’t be sure he was gone. She’d left him with you, after all, someone who seemed as determined to save him as she had been to destroy him. How could she know, with deep and comforting certainty, that he was truly gone? How could she just live her life if there was a chance he was out there, living his?

So she set off toward Jackson. Her friends had tried to talk her out of it but she was unrelenting. She needed to see evidence of his demise before she could rest and - on the off chance he survived - she needed to finish the job. Two had come with her for a while, trying to talk her out of it the whole way, but, eventually, they gave up and she was alone.

She didn’t know what her plan was, really. It wasn’t like she had resources to take on an entire town but she figured he’d leave eventually. She’d found him almost on his own before, she could do it again.

She was closing in on where she thought Jackson was when one of Mitchum’s men - patrolling the areas around the town, looking for a foothold - found her. She fought hard and took several of them down before they took control of her, chaining her and dragging her back to Mitchum’s camp more than a month earlier.

You had the fleeting thought that you should, in some way, find this satisfying. That her lust for pain had brought her here, victim to a monster of another kind entirely, knowing that if she’d just left well enough alone, she would be with her friends.

But you couldn’t. You knew the kind of pain Mitchum wrought, how he and his men took a person apart from the inside out, separating them from their humanity with surgical precision until they were just a shell of who the were before. No one deserved that, not even her, especially not when you thought of her as somewhat like a girl you’d been once, one filled with so much hurt and anger you thought you might burn the world with it.

It was an uneasy alliance, one that you were forced to trust. She watched over you as you slept and the two of you were only disturbed by an angry delivery of jerky and water.

You wished you had some idea of when Mitchum would be back. Being left alone was almost disturbing and the feeling of looming agony was heavy and only grew heavier as time passed. You knew he would come back eventually, returning from whatever dark business he had and he’d come straight for you when he did. He always did when he came back unless he was too injured to do what he wanted with you. Any frustration that had built up in his time outside he seemingly loved to work out with your body, relieving it with your fear and pain. You could only imagine what he would do to you now, when you’d been a source of frustration and denial for him for so long and when he was apparently willing to trade so much for your return. The only solace you could find in that was the fact that he likely wouldn’t kill you too quickly. That would give you more time to get out and get back to Jackson, assuming he didn’t accidentally break you past the point of survival.

You were pretty sure it was the afternoon the next day when someone came into your room again. You and Abby moved to the middle of it, you in front as you stared down the man, watching for an opportunity. You were stronger now, still not recovered from losing your fingers - no where near it - but you felt like you had a fighting chance now. You weren’t about to miss your shot at escape if it arose. But he just smirked, collecting the buckets from the feet of the beds.

“Don’t get too excited,” he said. “Just cleaning up for the boss. Doesn’t want to deal with your stink.”

Your heart sped up and you fought to keep it from showing on your face. If they were doing this now, he had to be close. He might already be here and time was running out.

In truth, regardless of how careful Mitchum was to keep from killing you, you weren’t sure you could survive any of it again. His hands on you now would be poison, the feeling of him inside you now ruinous. There was some part of you that had started to believe that this was behind you. That no one would ever touch you without your permission again, that you had the skills and the tools to fight whoever came for you and you were safe. You could finally relax.

That sense of safety had healed parts of you that you weren’t sure you’d ever get back if you lost them again and the man who would take them was all but knocking on your door.

“Fuck,” Abby’s voice was quiet and panicked at your back.

“He doesn’t like an audience,” you said softly, watching the door. “They’re going to take you away. See if you can make a run for it…”

Before she had a chance to respond, the door opened again, the man returning the buckets. This time, they were far from the ends of the bed, tucked into the corner near the door where you couldn’t reach. You swallowed and tried to force yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t do this if you were panicked, you had to focus.

“Alright,” he said, standing and looking the two of you over before nodding to Abby. “You’re coming with me.”

“Fuck you,” she spat and you felt her tense behind you.

“That’s the idea,” he sneered. “And you I’ve got permission to fuck up, so best if you listen.”

“Still have to go through me, you fuck,” you snapped. “Don’t think you can just do what you want with me.”

“No,” said a chillingly familiar voice from the other side of the door. Mitchum came in slowly, smirking and confident, his boots falling heavy on the plywood floor. “But I can. You’re my toy, little doll, in case you forgot. And just because you went and got yourself all feral out there doesn’t mean you can just run roughshod over my men like you have been.”

You resisted the urge to scramble as far back from him as you could reach. You knew it wouldn’t help, he’d get to you anyway and then he’d have evidence of your fear when he did. You fought to breathe and hold yourself steady, even as your heart raced and your stomach churned.

Mitchum prowled forward, a limp in his right leg you didn’t remember him having before. You tried to think back to a few nights before, when Cody had handed you over, and picture his gait then but you were so afraid and so lightheaded you could hardly recall anything specific. You stared up at him as he squatted in front of you and you tried not to flinch back. Everything about him being close like this felt wrong, the threat of his presence, the stink of horses and chewing tobacco and sweat, the uncomfortable heat of his body. Everything in you screamed to run, you had to force yourself to not try to take off so fast that it would pull your chained leg out of its socket and he reached out, his hands chapped and harsh, snatching your chin into his rough grasp.

“You’ve always been a pretty thing,” he said, forcing your face to the angles he wanted as he examined you. “Glad to see you’ve still got that fire in your eyes. I’d have to fuckin’ kill Cody if he took that before I had my chance. Thought about it for your fingers - you’re no fun if you go too easy, can’t have you too damaged. Should never have sent him after you, should have known better… Was he who helped you the first time? Always thought he was goin’ soft for you. Not too soft, apparently, but…”

You jerked your chin away from him and he let you go, a satisfied smirk on his face when you did.

“Levi,” he said, glancing back to the man who’d come in with you. “Take the other one where ever you want, back bedroom should be open for you. But you’d better not damage her permanently, she’s a fun one, too.”

“C’mon,” he went to take Abby but he wasn’t paying attention to you, leaving himself exposed as he tried to move past you. You took advantage of it, lashing out with your still booted foot and slamming the heel into the crotch of his jeans. He cried out and fell to his knees, clutching at his genitals before he fell to his side, damn near writhing and he moaned in pain.

You looked at Mitchum.

“Your lackeys are fuckin’ weak,” you said through clenched teeth.

He barked a laugh, the stench of rot on his breath as he did, before he turned to look at the man who was struggling back to his knees.

“Now how am I supposed to believe you can wrangle a woman if you can’t even handle ‘em when I’m around?” He asked before whistling, high and shrill. A moment later, two more men came in, armed and large. He nodded to the girl. “Take her, do what you want as long as it’s nothing permanent. Take this idiot with you.”

They moved with more caution, unchaining Abby carefully before hauling her away. She met your gaze for a moment, her eyes sharp but afraid. They closed the door behind them.

“Before you get any bright ideas,” he said. “Got more men waiting not far away. I’m the only reason you’re still alive. Want to stay that way? You do what I say.”

“You think I want to live if I’m stuck here with you?” You asked, eyes darting over him as best you could, seeing what weapons he might have that you could reach. “Rather die than be stuck with you for…”

“Anyone else?” He cut you off. “I’d believe ‘em. But you… you were always different. Something special. You just don’t have it in you to die, not like that. You’ll just keep on going until I make you die. And that, pretty thing, is hard to find.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond, instead clamping his large hand around your throat and squeezing. Your eyes went wide and your fingers scrabbled at him, trying to claw him off of you but failing miserably as he dragged you by your neck to the mattress, throwing you roughly onto it. He moved you so roughly that your skull smacked into the wall, making your head spin and knocking you off balance.

You tried to reorient yourself, vision doubled for a moment, as Mitchum unlocked the chain at your ankle, removing the metal from your bloody leg before pulling off your remaining boot and reaching up and opening your pants. You scrambled to stop him there, too, shoving at his hands while trying to kick away from him but he grabbed the ankle that had been bloodied by the chain and yanked you toward him, the shock of it jerking you to a halt.

“This would hurt less if you’d just cooperate,” he snapped before ripping your jeans down over your hips and to your knees. You ignored him, feet scrabbling for purchase on the mattress. It didn’t seem to make much difference and soon, all you had on from the waist down was your underwear.

“Now let’s see,” he said, panting a little as he moved up your body. “You still got my mark on you, little doll? Or did you find a way to get rid of it?”

Before you could do anything to stop him, he tugged your shirt - Joel’s shirt - up and the side of your underwear down, exposing the brand he’d pressed into you the night he’d lied to you about Savvy’s death.

“There she is,” he said, almost reverently, his fingers tracing the letter on your skin and you wanted, desperately, to climb outside of yourself in that moment. Or, at the very least, claw away every scrap of flesh that he’d touched to purge him from your body. “Almost surprised you left me here so long. Maybe you missed me, too…”

“Fuck you,” you hissed through clenched teeth.

Mitchum looked up your body, a sickening smile on his face.

“You may not know this,” he said before gripping your thighs and forcing them wide apart. He wedged his large body between your legs before letting them go. You could feel the thick of his penis through his jeans and it made your stomach roll. “But you need someone like me. You’re too headstrong, too wild on your own. Without someone to keep you under control, you’ll destroy yourself. You’re much better off with someone like me. Just give me what I want and you get a pretty good life, just like one of those horses you love so much. Just let me break you and this gets so much easier for you.”

His hand went around your throat again, fingers tightening to choke you until your vision grew spotty, your legs instinctively kicking as you clawed at his arm, trying to pull him away so you could breathe. You could see, just barely in your field of vision, his other hand going for his belt and you knew, if you passed out, you’d wake up with him inside you, forcing everything you’d fought for since you’d escaped him the first time out of you when he did.

You couldn’t do that. Not again.

The fear and the realization were so sharp that you had a split second of clarity. Instead of your hands instinctively pulling at the thing that was nearly killing you, you gave up on that, instead throwing them forward, your thumbs quickly finding their place in Mitchum’s eyes, pressing as hard as you could as your consciousness faded.

It didn’t take long for him to jerk back from you, releasing the hold he had on your throat and giving you the chance to take a breath. You almost choked on it, the rush of oxygen a shock to your system and you felt his weight leave your hips. You took advantage of that, too, kicking blindly, bare feet connecting with the round of his stomach and the thick of his neck.

“Fucking cunt!” He roared and dove for you but you were able to dodge him, his hands missing your body, head coming to land near your shoulder. You had just enough leverage with your body weight to throw him into the wall with a sharp thud and you scrambled away, going for the door. But then you remembered the guards that were waiting on the other side of it.

You gave a whistle like the one he had, high and shrill, standing just to the side of the door as you waited to ambush the men who came when they thought he called.

It only took a moment, the first one rushing in, a puzzled look on his face as he watched Mitchum try to catch his breath and get off the mattress. You jumped on the guard’s back, wrapping your arm around his shoulders and pulling back on him. He choked and sputtered against you, slamming you back against the wall but you tucked your head into his neck so you wouldn’t get hit there again. Instead, you sank your teeth into the tender flesh there, not like a lover but like an animal, ripping and tearing in search of his jugular. He shrieked and fumbled for his knife, grabbing it off his belt and slashing blindly back toward you.

The man didn’t need much precision, though, the blade sinking into the thick of your arm just as your teeth closed around the flesh of his neck. You ripped your head away, a gush of blood in your mouth as you pulled his skin from his body, spitting the part of him you took onto the ground. The knife was still lodged in your arm and you released your hold on his shoulders to pull it free, adjusting your grip on it as quickly as you could to stab it into his bleeding neck. He dropped to his knees and you released your hold on him, rushing into the hall covered in blood, the knife in your grip. You wiped your mouth on the back of your sleeve and were about to make for the room where you thought they’d taken Abby when another figure darkened the mouth of the hall - the other guard.

“What the…” he began. You didn’t give him a chance to finish. You launched yourself at him, his hands flying up on instinct to protect himself and he did a good enough job of it, catching your shoulders and keeping you not quite at arm’s reach. But you didn’t need to be any closer than that, sinking the knife into his throat, too.

You heard a commotion in the back bedroom then, heavy thuds and a scream as the door flew open, Abby leaning against the frame and panting for breath, blood dripping from a gash at her cheek.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she said, a broken piece of wood tight in her grasp.

You just nodded once, making for the door, acutely aware that you didn’t have shoes or pants - so like the first time you’d fled for your life all those years ago on the ranch as the world came crashing down around you.

The two of you peered out of the window at the front of the house, the guards who had been posted just outside gone.

“Think those assholes were the ones who came in as back up,” you said, eyes darting back toward the bedrooms. You knew you hadn’t killed everyone but you couldn’t risk going back to finish the job, not now. People would notice the missing guards too fast and then you’d be outnumbered. “Which way?”

“East,” she said. “The shortest route to the woods. We can lose them there.”

It was dusk, not the best time to be on the run but at least soon you’d have darkness on your side.

“Right,” you said, looking over at her for a moment. “See you on the other side.”

She looked at you, too, like she wasn’t quite sure what to make of you.

“Yeah,” she said, giving you a firm nod.

You led the way, knife still firmly in your grip as you moved onto the porch, crouching low and sweeping the area. There were men in the distance, running toward something you couldn’t see with rifles drawn.

“Go,” you whispered, staying bent over but letting your legs extend, ignoring the pain of sharp weeds and broken concrete below your bare feet as you ran, looking frantically for anyone who might try to stop you.

You froze on instinct when there was a sharp whistle that cracked through the air, three short blasts like some kind of signal. You grabbed Abby and ducked between two houses, just in time to see a cluster of men with rifles tight in their grips running past.

“Ever seen them do shit like that?” You asked quietly.

“No,” she said. “They used whistles before for signals but never three…”

“Well, let’s hope whatever the fuck made them raise the alarm stays busy with these assholes,” you said, peeking around the corner. No one else was coming. “Let’s go.”

You darted from house to house, seeking cover in shadows where you could and you were starting to think that, maybe, you’d managed it. That you were going to get out of here and find a way back to Jackson when Abby shrieked behind you.

A guard had grabbed her, his arm around her neck as he yanked her back. She flailed and thrashed, trying to dislodge him but he withstood her, pressing a handgun against her temple.

“I’ll do it!” He snapped and your hands went up as Abby’s eyes met yours, wide and wet and afraid. “I’ll shoot her and you’re next if you don’t just calm down and come with me…”

“Please,” Abby said, but she wasn’t begging him. Her eyes were locked on yours, pleading. “Don’t let him take me again, just let them kill me, please…”

You held her gaze, tears burning as you did.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice wet as you started to lower yourself toward the ground. You looked toward the guard. “Just going to set the knife down…”

“Go slow,” he said, the gun still to Abby’s temple.

You just nodded, watching him closely, waiting for her to do something that would draw his attention. You didn’t need to wait long.

“No!” She screamed, the sound thick with tears. His eyes went to her but that was all you needed. You shot forward and thrust the knife into his calf, the blade embedding in his muscle before you twisted it. He screamed and instinctively dropped the weapon, his hands flying toward you and his leg, his hold on Abby gone. She stumbled forward and you snatched the gun from the ground, shooting him in the head at such close range it covered you in his blood.

“Thanks,” she said shakily. “I… thank you.”

“Told you,” you said, rolling the dead man over so you could get the rifle from his back. “We’re in this together.”

You handed her the smaller gun and kept the rifle for yourself and the two of you pressed on. You were able to dodge other trouble as you heard the commotion from the edge of the neighborhood get closer. There was the crack of gunshots and the boom of explosions and you just hoped whatever was coming for you wasn’t worse than you’d already been stuck with. Mitchum had pissed off a lot of people in his time. If he was gaining territory now, there was no telling who might have come to put a stop to it. And that was assuming a hoard of infected hadn’t picked up on this place, something you could only survive by outrunning.

“Do you know where the stables are?” You asked, gun still tight in your grip.

“No,” she said. “But I’m not exactly a great rider, if we don’t have time to saddle a horse…”

You almost laughed at that, the absurdity that a horse could possibly hinder you.

“Don’t worry,” you said. “All I need is a horse. I can take care of shit after that.”

She looked at you for a second before she took a deep breath and nodded.

“Right,” she said. “Still…”

“Let’s split up,” you said, grip tightening on the rifle as you said it.

“No,” she said quickly. “Fuck that, we split up…”

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” you said. “And out run whatever’s making all that noise. Our best shot is on a horse. You go right, I go left, we meet up in the tree line on the other side. If you find the stable, just grab a horse, don’t worry about any tack, I just need a horse. Got it?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Fuck I hope you’re not crazy.”

“I’m not,” you said. Taking a deep breath. “Be careful.”

She looked at you again.

“You too.”

You went your separate ways, smoke on the horizon now as you searched as best you could for some sign of horses but found nothing. You were nearly stopped once by one of Mitchum’s men but you shot him before he could flag anyone down, the sound of the gunfire blending with the sound of the chaos that grew closer.

You made it to the tree line, a wide open span of grass between the house at the back of the subdivision and the start of the forest. You looked around quickly before you ran, darting from the shelter of the house and moving as quickly as you could for where you said you’d meet Abby, hoping that she found a damn horse.

But you barely made it that far when it happened. A thick, meaty hand closing over your shoulder, ripping you around to face Mitchum’s ruddy skin as he seethed, a murderous look in his eye.

You raised the rifle and tried to shoot even though he was far too close and he knocked the gun away as you pulled the trigger, the bullet going wide and barely catching the side of the leg he limped with.

Still, he hissed in pain before he lifted his leg, planting his foot in your chest and kicking you, hard, forcing you to stumble back, your bare feet catching on a tree root and sending you to the ground.

“You fucking bitch,” he stalked over as you scrambled up onto your hands, pulling yourself backwards from him, breathlessly looking around for something - anything - that could help you. “You think you can just do whatever you want, that it?”

His foot collided with your shoulder this time, forcing you onto your back and he all but fell beside you, taking your face sharply in his hand.

“Could have just cooperated,” he said, panting, keeping his face a good distance from you now so it was just out of reach and your fingers had nothing to scratch at. “Could have made life easy for yourself. You think I’m the worst thing out here, huh? Think there aren’t other men who would have let you fuckin’ die a long time ago?”

“Fuck you,” you hissed as his fingers dug into your cheeks.

“You want me to treat you the way those other men would?” He asked, releasing your face just to punch it. The blow made your head spin and your vision go spotty. “Fine, I can do that, I can stop bein’ gentle with you. Because you better believe I was being gentle before. Won’t be gentle now, not for you.”

He grabbed your knees and wrenched your legs apart, going between them before you could snap them shut and you more heard his belt buckle than saw it.

“You want to die on my cock?” He asked. “Who am I to fuckin’ stop you…”

Time slowed, only for a moment. In that long, torturous second, you remembered everything from your time in captivity that your mind had tried to protect you from. The haze of pain the last time Mitchum had you, the way he forced your body to bend to his will in such a way that it didn’t feel like yours anymore, the burn of his brand on your flesh, the strange mix of fear and hope that maybe this time he would kill you.

But you remembered everything that had moved in to replace all that agony, too. The way you’d slowly, gently come to love Joel more than you knew it was possible to love somone. The way Ellie was the opposite, bursting her way into your life and leaving you not other choice but to love her with everything you had. The way you’d grown to love everyone in Jackson, all these people who had come to rely on you, too. The way Savvy had joined you there, finding a place in a world you thought had died years before her birth.

You couldn’t let him unmake all of that inside you. You had too much to lose, too much that made you who you were now, you didn’t have room for it all alongside the pain he was trying to force on you. You couldn’t let him take it all away. Not now.

Time righted itself again, just as his hand came to rest over the gusset of your underwear and you roared, the sound more ripping itself from you as you shot forward, slamming your forehead into Mitchum’s nose and feeling the satisfying collapse of it below your skull. He shocked back from you and you wrapped your hands around his neck, shoving yourself onto your knees and screaming as you did. He was larger than you and you had to work to knock him off balance but you were determined and he collapsed back, your hands still tight to his throat as you sat on his chest, knees on either side of his ribcage.

He kept his wits about him as you tried to choke him, though, his fist catching you sharply on the chin and knocking your hands free for a moment. He took advantage of it and grabbed your left hand, bringing the place where Cody had cut your fingers away to his mouth and biting down, making you shriek in pain. You ripped your hand back from his mouth and punched him across the face with the other as he tried to wrench you from your place on top of him, leveraging your body with his own.

Eventually, he managed it, his large hand shoving against your ribs as his torso twisted at just the right point when you moved to punch him again, sending you sprawling onto the forest floor.

He was on you again in a second, the heavy weight of him on top of you as you tried to free yourself.

“Told you, you little bitch,” he panted. You could feel his erection through his pants. “You’re mine and if I say you’re gonna die on my cock? You’re gonna die on my fucking cock.”

You screamed, trying to wrench your hands free but it was no use, the panic in you rising. This, something inside you said, was the end. There would be no return, there would be no survival and there would be nothing left of you to save.

And then something pulled his body from yours. You didn’t stop to see what, rolling onto your knees and scrambling to your feet, running into the trees before something else could destroy you.

***

“Bambi!” Joel screamed, frantic, but you didn’t seem to hear him, running headlong into the trees.

“I got him,” Tommy panted, a boot on the man he’d pulled off of you’s chest and a gun pointed at his head. “Get her!”

“Don’t kill him,” Joel said sharply to his brother. “He’s mine.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, just taking off after you as fast as his bad leg would let him move. He was so close to you now, so close to feeling you alive in his arms, so close to keeping you where no one would ever hurt you again.

But Joel’s body was heavy. He’d been awake for far too long and had put it through far too much, especially for someone his age. But he didn’t have another choice. He couldn’t rest, not when he knew what was happening to you.

He’d stayed awake all night, going with Tommy to grab someone toward the start of their morning patrol. It would be hours before anyone knew they were gone.

The man they took was young, not much older than Ellie. Joel should have felt bad about that, he thought, especially when he knew that he’d done much the same thing when he was far older than this boy, after he was raised in a time where he knew better how men should behave. But that didn’t matter. He was nothing more than an obstacle in his path to you. One made of flesh and bone and pain but an obstacle none the less. It did not take long to break him and he told Joel what he needed to know: that you were in the camp, kept in a guarded house toward the middle of it, and that Mitchum was on his way back that day. They expected him there before nightfall. Joel killed the man quickly and hid the body, then three of them moved to hide out the rest of the day, not able to get close enough to the camp to watch Mitchum come in. They’d just have to hope the guard was right and that nothing held up his return.

It was early afternoon when Ellie noticed something coming up behind their hiding spot. She damn near jumped to her feet, rifle in hand and aimed into the forest.

“Who’s there?” She snapped. “Not afraid to fucking shoot if you don’t answer.”

“Take it easy, Williams,” Gene said, emerging from the brush with his horse following behind him. “Been lookin’ for you three.”

“Normally, Miller, I’d be up your ass for being this easy to track but, this time, it was lucky,” Warren said, coming up behind Gene. “Should mean the others can keep up, too.”

“The fuck are you doin’ out here?” Tommy asked, moving to embrace the men.

“Made it back from looking for the kids to learn they’d made it back and you three headed out,” Gene said. “Soon as we could trust the horses to make the ride, we came too.”

“If you’re here to try to talk us out of this…” Joel began, tightening his grip on his rifle, but Warren cut him off.

“We’re getting her back,” he said, a sense of finality in his tone. “We can’t let aggression like this stand. It shows weakness, that we’ll just let any asshole come to our city and take our people. And besides all that… she is our people. Not going to just them have her. We’re here to help you, Joel. And there’s more coming behind us.”

He was right. By the time it was getting closer and closer to dark, damn near everyone from Jackson who had a patrol rotation had amassed where Joel, Tommy and Ellie had holed up to wait. The last to join were Maria, Julie and Savvy, Gatling perched on your daughter’s lap as she sat astride Perseus.

“What are you doing here?” Ellie asked, looking at her, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be back in Jackson, it’s not safe…”

“I’ve spent more time out here than you,” she said defensively, looking at Ellie like she was daring her to argue. “And she’s my mother, she’s out here because of me. I’m not about to sit at home on my ass while everyone else fights for her.”

Warren focused on coordinating everyone else, planning a full blown incursion of Mitchum’s encampment. Joel didn’t care. As long as he was able to get you back safely, the rest of it didn’t matter. Warren, thankfully, seemed to understand. He left Joel, Tommy, Savvy and Ellie out of the planning. The rest was on him. The four of them were finding you.

As everyone got into position to launch the attack, Joel rode up alongside Warren. He adjusted the grip on his reins, looking for something to do with the nervous energy thrumming through him. He was close to you, so close he could almost feel the warmth of you next to him.

“Thank you,” Joel said, more glancing at Warren than really looking at him. “Know we ain’t always gotten along…”

“You think that really matters at a time like this?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. “We take care of our own. You and her? You’re both part of this place now, like it or not. That means we ride for you.”

Joel nodded.

“You focus on finding your wife,” Warren continued. “We’ll make sure none of ‘em ever come back for her or for anyone else.”

“Mitchum, the leader, is mine,” Joel said, meeting his eyes this time. “After everything he’s done, he’s mine and I mean to make him pay for it.”

Warren looked at him second, the smallest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less. Good luck, Miller.”

Joel sighed and looked toward the camp.

“You too.”

The whole of the encampment was drawn to where the people of Jackson had begun their attack, giving Joel, Tommy, Ellie and Savvy plenty of space to search. They still had to be careful, ready to kill anyone who challenged them, but they didn’t need to. It was hard, letting the handful of men who ran past them go knowing that they may have been men who had hurt you but Joel swallowed that small hurt. The only comfort was knowing that they’d meet death soon, anyway. He just hoped it’d painful when they did.

Joel found the building he thought was yours, a house at the center of the encampment like the man they’d taken before had said. It was empty of everything besides signs of a fight, dead guards and bloody chains evident. Joel found your boots and jeans in a bedroom and his hands shook as he picked them up, blood around the ankle of one leg of the pants. His chest got tight as he folded the jeans, picked up the boots and put them in his pack before he left to look for you again.

He had to keep reassuring himself that you were here, that he’d find you soon, anything to keep the panic from taking over. He had repeated that comfort so many times that, when he saw you, he thought, for a second, that he’d imagined you. That his mind had broken under the exhaustion and the fear and had started showing him the only thing that keep him going. But you were in nothing but a shirt - one of his shirts - with blood on your bare legs and a rifle in your hand and he knew you were real. He wouldn’t picture you like this, hurting and afraid and, for a second, there was relief. He’d done it, he found you.

You took off before he had the chance to call your name and he grabbed Tommy, Savvy and Ellie to go after you when they were stopped by a group of men who were heading for the fighting at the edge of the encampment.

Joel had very little patience for them. They were just more obstacles, more things that needed to be destroyed so he could reach you. They made quick work of them, not even bothering to move their bodies from the street before following the small path between houses that you had.

When he didn’t see you at first, he was terrified that he was too late. That you’d run into trouble and he’d find you limp and lifeless on the ground and all of this would have been for nothing, that he’d have to find a way to stay here with you because there would be no going back otherwise.

But he heard you then, your scream harsh and angry and afraid and he ran for the sound. Your cries shifted for a moment, to one of shock and pain, and then you went quiet. He tried to push himself faster, harder, and then he found you. The sight made him sick, you fighting below a man trying to hurt you. It was a sight so like those he’d seen with other women before but now, he would do the right thing. This time, he would save you.

He roared and ripped the man from your body, tearing him back and throwing him to the ground and you scrambled away, not even looking back over your shoulder as you did. He had no choice but to follow you.

While Joel’s body was beaten down, yours was, too. He could see it as he drew closer, the bandage around your hand, the blood at your arm, the slight limp on the leg with the bloodied ankle. You were running like your life depended on it but he still caught you quickly, his hand closing around the wrist of your intact hand and pulling you back against him.

It was like he came back into his body when he did, the feeling of you in his arms the thing that tied him to the Earth, to his humanity. The pain in his shoulder from the knife he’d taken there hit him then, the soreness of his leg, too. None of it compared to the relief that was there when he touched you. You were alive. The rest of it didn’t matter.

“No!” You shrieked, colliding with his body, planting your injured hand against his chest to try and shove him back. “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Bambi!” He said, panting for breath, clutching you tightly to his chest, his hand finding your cheek and forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were wide and wild, just like they had been the first time he’d seen you. They darted, frantic, over his face and there was a kind of desperation there he had never seen before, one that sent a chill up his spine. “It’s me, it’s me, I’ve got you, it’s OK baby. You’re safe, I’ve got you, you’re OK.”

“Joel?” You said it like you didn’t believe he was there, those wild eyes softening at the edges.

“It’s me,” he said again. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s OK.”

“Joel,” your voice cracked and you pulled your wrist from his hold to put your arms around his neck, clinging to him. “You’re here, the girls, we have to find the girls, he…”

“They’re safe,” he said, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tighter than he should but he couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, baby, m’so sorry…”

Your legs gave out and he held you tight, lowering you both gently to the ground as you cried against him with choking, wracking sobs that shook your whole body. He just held you, rocking you gently as he did, his nose pressed into your hair as his lips kissed the crown of your head again and again.

“Is she OK?” Savvy’s voice sounded so small.

Joel looked to find the girls standing beside him, watching with concerned looks on their faces.

He wasn’t sure how to answer them.

“We’ll get her back to town,” he said, still holding and rocking you. “It’ll be alright…”

“Joel,” Tommy called. “What are we doin’? We gotta move.”

He pulled himself back from you just enough to look at you, putting a finger gently below your chin and tilting your face to his. Your eyes were glassy.

“That man,” he said softly. “The one who was on top of you. That Mitchum?”

Your chin trembled but you nodded. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, leaving his lips there until he felt you take a deep but shaky breath. He pulled back enough to see you again.

“I’m gonna go take care of him,” he said. “Our girls are here, they’re gonna stay with you, OK?”

“They’re…” you frowned and looked around until you saw them, your eyes going a little wide when you did. It was like you couldn’t fully process anything that wasn’t right in front of you. Your eyes darted back to him. “What are they doing here? They should be back in Jackson, they should…”

“They’re OK,” he said gently. “They wanted to come get you back and they did. You stay with them. I’ll take care of him and then we can all go back to Jackson together…”

“Jackson…” You frowned for a moment, like you were trying to think of something and then your eyes went wide again. “Jackson, they want to take Jackson, they’re coming for the city, that’s what Cody was trading me for, he…”

“S’OK,” Joel said, running a soothing hand over your hair. “Already killed Cody. We’re killing the rest of them here today, whole town is out here. We’re ending it. They won’t be a threat, not anymore. It’s OK, baby. You did it. You saved the girls, you survived. You can rest now.”

He looked up to Savvy and Ellie, giving them a small nod toward the ground. They knelt next to you, one on either side, looking at each other for a moment before reaching to gingerly touch you. You flinched at first and then relaxed and Joel kissed your temple.

“Gatling,” Savvy said, the dog suddenly at attention at her side. She snapped and touched your shoulder. “Guard.”

The dog turned and stood sentinel, watching with ears pricked. Joel stood, leaving you with your daughters and your dog before prowling to the man who had tried to take everything from him.

As he drew close, there was an explosion, closer than Joel was happy about hearing, and Tommy looked at him.

“Don’t think we got the kind of time you want,” he said, tightening the grip on his gun. “Better make it count.”

Joel gave him a nod, squaring his jaw before looking down to the man on his side. Tommy had bound his hands and his eyes were somewhere between rage and fear. Something told Joel he hadn’t been challenged, not this directly, in quite some time.

He reached down and took a fistful of his shirt, lifting his shoulders roughly from the dirt and dragging him back to a tree. He propped him up there, kneeling beside him and he saw a flash of defiance for a moment, like he was going to move to stop Joel.

Joel wasn’t having that. He punched him, hard and sharp, across the face, sending his head whipping around. He glanced back, finding Tommy over his shoulder as he leveled his gun at Mitchum. Joel turned his attention back to his quarry.

“I don’t know who you are or what you want,” the man said through clenched teeth, looking between Joel and Tommy. “But I’m sure we can make a deal…”

“Time for deals is long past,” Joel said, pulling his knife from his belt. He turned the blade over in the fading light between them, giving Mitchum a chance to actually see the size of it.

“What do you want?” He said, his eyes darting from the knife back to Joel’s face. “Name it, it’s yours. Territory? Fine. Support of my men? You have it. Resources? Take it.”

“You think it’s that simple?” Joel asked. “What I want, you can’t give me.”

“Try me,” Mitchum said, teeth clenched.

“What I want,” Joel said, voice flat and calm. “Is to take back everything you took from my wife.”

He took his knife and plunged it into Mitchum’s leg then, sinking the entire length of it into his thigh until he hit bone. The man screamed, writhing and thrashing below him. Joel held the knife in place, each jerking motion making the cut wider, harsher. It wasn’t long before he stilled, panting for breath. Joel kept his hand on the knife.

“You took her from her daughter,” Joel said, twisting the blade as he did. He kept his voice quiet, hopefully quiet enough that neither Ellie nor Savvy could hear. Mitchum’s feet scrambled uselessly against the dirt. “You branded her.” He pulled the knife free. “Told her you’d raped and murdered her child.” He thrust the weapon into his arm now, wanting to save his stomach until he knew he was ready for him to bleed out. “Held her captive for years.” He twisted it, cutting a new path through his flesh as he screamed and panted for breath. “Sent your men to hunt her down and take her away from me and our girls.”

He pulled the knife free of his arm, the man limp and panting on the ground and Joel had this sickening feeling settle in his stomach. He could never hurt Mitchum enough to fix it. No amount of agony he brought upon him would bring back the parts of you he broke. No amount of torment would bring Joel comfort when it was done. He would always hold you and look at you and see the ways he failed you, from decades before when he should have done better and saved women like you to days ago when he should have been there to keep you and the girls safe. You would forever be the reminder of the many ways he should have been better and forever be the bearer of the scars because he wasn’t.

“And you did all of that,” Joel said, taking the knife and cutting through the denim of Mitchum’s jeans, revealing the thin cotton of boxer shorts below. “So you could, what? Rape her?”

Mitchum shook his head, straining to get away from Joel but he had nowhere to go. Joel still took his shoulder and shoved him roughly back against the tree, anyway.

“You think she was some thing you could just take?” He asked, trailing the tip of the knife over the round of his stomach, the breadth his chest, pressing the point into his chin to force him to look Joel in the eye. “Thought if you branded her like livestock you’d own her? That it?”

“I… I tried,” he managed through clenched teeth, panting for breath.

“Tried what?” Joel asked when he didn’t continue.

“Tried to get her to come with me,” he said. “Tried to buy her horses. Could… could have used her but she decided to fight…”

“So you thought you’d treat her like an animal?” Joel asked, head cocked to the side. “See, that don’t sit right with me. Not one bit.”

Joel took the knife from his chin and went to the boxers, carefully cutting the elastic over the fly. He quickly glanced toward you and made sure the girls weren’t looking too closely before he used the blade to fold the fabric back, exposing his penis and balls to the air.

“Anything you and your people want,” he squirmed below Joel. “Anything, name it, anything at all…”

“Right now?” Joel said, looking at his face. “I want this.”

Joel lined the tip of the blade up with the base of Mitchum’s penis so the width of the knife ran down his length and pressed through it, slow and firm. Mitchum’s legs kicked uselessly as he shrieked, his body straining for an escape but Joel didn’t give him one. He just pushed the knife further and further into his flesh until the handle of it was all that was visible, the blade bloodied by his genitals.

Joel left it there and was silent until Mitchum had screamed himself to silence.

“We’re somethin’ alike, you and me,” Joel said, watching him. “Both know what we want, know how to take it. But difference is, I only take it when it’s owed and I only take it from some who deserves to lose it. You should have left her alone. Should’ve left her alone then, really should’ve left her alone now. You decided to take more than what’s yours and now you have to pay for it.”

“Fuck you,” he managed through gritted teeth, his face wet with tears and spit.

Joel nodded slowly.

“See, you have a lot to learn,” he said. There was another blast, one that sounded close, molotov cocktails flying between opposing sides in a war the man bleeding had begun. “And I don’t got much time to teach you.” Joel pulled the knife from his body and he screamed in pain, trying to double over but Joel didn’t allow him to. “So I’m just gonna take it from you in blood and in pain because when you die? Want you to know why. Want you to understand that you could have lived. If you’d just kept to yourself, not taken what wasn’t yours to take, not taken her, you could have lived. You chose otherwise.”

He put the knife into his leg, just over his knee and pushed, dislodging his kneecap as he screamed. Joel nodded, learning the different tenor of his cries. He liked hearing the change in it, the way his pain shifted and pulled from him. He moved to his shoulder, driving the knife down through it and in toward his lung, listening to the change of his pain.

Mitchum’s blood was sticky and hot and gunfire was getting louder and Joel was lost in taking him apart. He grew tired of the distance the knife afforded, deciding that he wanted to feel the collapse of your tormentor’s body with his own skin. He left the blade embedded in his arm before taking his thumb and pressing it into the wound at his shoulder, the sticky heat of his blood driving him forward as he felt the give of his body beneath his force. Once he was satisfied with that, he curled his hand into a fist and pummeled his face to the point of disfiguration. Mitchum’s nose was broken, his jaw dislodged, eye socket collapsed, a mass of bone and viscera that was clinging to life, something Joel didn’t understand but was grateful for all the same. He couldn’t keep hurting a corpse. He only had as long as Mitchum’s will to live hung out and he wanted that to be a very, very long time. Even if it didn’t heal you or him, even if it brought him no satisfaction, he wanted it. In this world, the only justice to be found was in pain and in blood and he intended to give you justice in the only way he knew how.

Tommy, he knew, was trying to pull him back from the edge, but he tuned him out. He understood why his brother was worried, why he’d pulled him back before, why he’d stepped in with Ellie the way he did. He knew, on a certain level, that the path he was done was not who he’d made himself to be in Jackson. But, with Mitchum in his grasp, he didn’t care. All that mattered was destroying the man who had tried to destroy you.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d cut and beaten and hurt Mitchum when he heard you, your voice quiet and shaky over his shoulder.

“Joel.”

He stopped what he was doing, leaving the blade embedded in Mitchum’s side and adjusting his body to block the carnage from your view before turning to see you there. In that moment, you were a contradiction. He’d never seen you look so vulnerable or so strong, your injured hand cradled to your chest but a defiant look on your face. He’d never seen you so small or so tall, so desperate or so determined. Gatling was at your side, glued to your leg as she stared at Mitchum, her ears pressed back on her head and her eyes narrowed. He got to his feet, wiping his bloodied hands on his shirt before stepping closer and taking your cheek gently in his hand.

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, searching your tear streaked face, your eyes so wide and afraid and unyielding.

“I want to finish this,” you said, your voice thick. “I want to finish him and I want to go home. Please, take me home.”

He looked at you for a moment, your gaze pleading and stubborn, before pressing his lips tenderly to your forehead.

“Whatever you want,” he said softly, dropping his forehead to yours. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep, shaky breath before taking his hand in your uninjured one, lacing your fingers together. He touched your wedding ring in his pocket, still attached to part of you, as you led him over to Mitchum, Gatling still at your side.

The man was slumped against the tree, covered in blood, the sound of his breaths rattling and wet and Joel knew he didn’t have long left.

You stood over him, looking down at him with your hand tight in Joel’s, something cold and almost analytical passing over your features as you did.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to do it like this before,” you said eventually to the dying man at your feet. “I never liked killing before. I never wanted to kill anybody before you, never. Even… even people who hurt me or tried to take what you took, I never wanted to kill them. When I did kill, I never much liked doing it. But I want to kill you. You made me want to kill, you made me like this. I was good, once. And you took that. So I’m going to kill you and I’m going to like it and you should know that it’s because of what you made me.”

Joel gave your hand a squeeze, ready to hand you whatever weapon you asked for and you held tightly to him.

But you didn’t need it. You gave his hand a squeeze before you released it.

“Gatling,” you said, snapping your fingers and pointing to Mitchum. “Kill.”

The dog obeyed instantly, getting down low and growling, her ears pressed back to her head before she shot forward, a bullet from a gun, and locked her jaws around his throat, ripping and tearing, Mitchum screaming for only a moment before going quiet, the only sound left on the air the guttural snarl of your dog ripping him apart.

Joel was certain the man had been dead for a few minutes by the time you called her off, Gatling immediately dropping the shredded flesh when you gave the release command.

You collapsed against Joel then, burying your face in his shoulder and sobbing into him as he held you.

“You’re OK,” he said quietly, running a bloodstained hand soothingly over you. “I’ve got you. Never gonna have to do that again, you’re OK.”

He held you close for a moment, until your breaths became less shaky and he thought you might be able to stand on your own. Joel pulled back from you then, brushing your hair back from your face. Your eyes were glassy again.

“Let’s get you dressed,” he said gently. “Then we can get the fuck out of here.”

You just nodded and watched as Joel got your jeans and boots from his pack. He helped you into them, guiding your body through the necessary movements. You trembled under his touch and all he wanted to do was get you home so he could hold you close and tight and never let anyone lay a hand on you ever again.

When you were dressed, Joel got to his feet and you fell against him. His arm slipped around your waist and he held you close, Ellie and Savvy moving to be alongside Tommy. Ellie had her arm around Savvy’s shoulders, holding her back from the devastation that had once been Mitchum.

“Should see where everyone else is,” Tommy said, watching Joel carefully. “Don’t like how quiet it’s gotten.”

Joel nodded slowly, having forgotten for a while that there was anything else to worry about outside of getting you back.

Tommy led the way, Ellie and Savvy staying close to him, you still against Joel’s side as he followed his brother, on alert for anything that was a threat to you.

He didn’t need to wait long. There was a rustle in the brush and Joel turned and raised his gun, only to see a young woman emerge, a rifle tight in her grip. For the second time that day, Joel thought he might have been imagining things. Because the girl in front of him looked just like the one who had nearly killed him months earlier.

“You,” Tommy snarled, raising his gun, too, and Joel realized that he wasn’t imagining things. She was here, too. “What the fuck are you doing here?

“Don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said, lowering her weapon, nodding to you. “And I’m here for the same reason your friend is.”

Joel turned to shield you but you stopped him and he looked down to you, frowning slightly. He lowered his gun then and saw out of the corner of his eye as Tommy did, too.

“It’s alright,” you said, staying pressed tightly to his side, watching her. “You made it.”

“So did you,” she said, looking you up and down, her gaze staying on your face. “You OK?”

“I think so,” you nodded, still clinging to Joel.

She didn’t look like she believed you but she pressed on anyway, turning her cold gaze to Joel.

“I don’t want to be here talking to any of you for any longer than I have to be,” she said. “So I’ll let your wife explain the rest of it. Just know that after what she did for me, I won’t ever look for you again. And if, for some reason, we run into each other? I won’t hurt you. I’d appreciate if you did the same.”

“You really expect us to just let you…” Ellie began but Joel cut her off.

“S’OK baby girl,” he said, still watching the woman who had nearly killed him. She still seemed so young. She had a look in her eyes that reminded him of you, wounded but determined. He remembered what little he could of her after she turned on him that day, how she’d seemed so angry and in so much pain for someone so young. He’d told Mitchum that he only took what was owed and only from people who deserved it. Even after everything, he wasn’t sure this girl deserved it. “No use in killing people who don’t need to be.”

“Thank you,” she said, looking at you. “And I really hope this is the last time I ever see fucking any of you but… thank you, for what you did for me. I won’t forget it.”

She watched your group, her gun still held low, not turning her back to any of you until she was swallowed by the brush.

“You really want to just let her go?” Tommy asked, looking to Joel.

“That’s bullshit!” Ellie said, looking quickly the direction the girl had gone in. “She’s a fucking threat, she…”

“She’s not,” you cut her off, tightening your hold on Joel. Ellie deflated a little but you pressed on. “You can’t let revenge swallow you up, honey. You just can’t.”

“Good lesson,” Warren said from behind Joel. He instinctively turned, keeping you away from the newcomer even though Joel knew the man well. He looked you over briefly before turning his attention back to Joel. “See you found her. It’s done, we wiped them out. A few injuries on our side but nothing major. We’re going to see what’s here and post up a few guards, make sure anyone else who comes around and thinks they can try us knows better, but all the trouble we’ve run into on patrol lately should be done for now.”

“Good,” Tommy said. “Bout time something went our way around here.”

“Expect you’ll be heading back?” Warren asked. Joel just gave him a nod. “Good. Let the folks at home know we’re all OK when you get there. Safe travels.”

“You, too,” Joel said, tugging you closer.

He held you close as Tommy led the way back to where they’d left the horses, taking stock of you as you went. Your breaths were shaky but even, your footing unsteady but driven. Joel couldn’t be sure what was done to you here. He could only hope that you would find peace in Jackson and the life you shared with him and that, in time, you’d recover from it.

The encampment was decimated, bodies of Mitchum’s men on the ground, Jackson folks already going from house to house taking stock, piling the dead together to burn. You stared at the carnage, a half dead look in your eyes as you did. Joel just held you, feeling everything again for the first time since he’d found you gone, until the five of you reached the horses.

“Don’t have one for you,” Joel said gently. “But Ellie can ride with me or her and Savvy can ride together if…”

“I want to ride with you,” you cut him off, looking at him with those wide eyes of yours. “Please, Joel. Take me home.”

And so, he did.

A/N: And Mitchum meets his end. I hope it was worth the wait for you all!

We are very, very close to the end of this fic, just two more chapters to wrap everything up. But Bambi is back with Joel, they have their girls and Jackson is saved. It's all going to get better from here :)

Thank you all so so much for going on this journey with me. It's been wonderful to share Joel and Bambi's story with you and it wouldn't be the same without you.

Love you!

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#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc

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