#the back pain i sustained finishing this :) worth it

[gay-dorito-dust]

For the writing requests, can I request a hurt/comfort scenario where Bi-han has accidentally hurts or almost hurts the reader with his powers? Like maybe he loses control during an argument or an intimate moment, or maybe they're training or on a mission he accidentally hits them with ice in the heat of battle. He feels really guilty about what he did, but reader knows it was an accident and tries to help him through it. Feel free to edit the scenario as you please. Thank you!

Bi-Han was furious.

No, that word doesn’t even begin to come close to describing how he felt in that moment. Bi-Han was livid and it was all in due to the sheer recklessness that you had shown during your most recent mission. You almost died on serval occasions throughout the mission but had managed to escape with minimal injuries by the skin of your teeth. However Bi-Han didn’t care about that part of the story because despite being happy and relieved as he was that you had came back to him with treatable wounds; his main focus was on the fact that you were so careless with your life, so irresponsible and so seemingly uncaring of the consequences that your actions would’ve caused had it weren’t been for your quick thinking.

So as Bi-Han was practicing patience whilst waiting for you to finish up your medical examination, you finally exited the room and just before a single word could escape your mouth to question his reason for being here, fulling believing that he would’ve been deeply involved with some Grandmaster business. Bi-Han then grabbed you by the bicep, his ice cold hand drawing a sharp gasp from you as he wordlessly dragged you to your shared room, where upon arriving, he swiftly shut the door behind him before addressing you directly. ‘What were you thinking out there!’ The cryomancer hissed, taking a step towards you. ‘Your reckless could’ve jeopardised the mission.’ Bi-Han adds and everything leading up to now had finally started to make sense.

You knew that it would only be a matter of time before word reached Bi-Han and you knew it would only be a matter of when before he would hunt you down and demand answers. ‘The only thing that you should concern yourself with is the fact that we achieved what we were sent out to do. The mission was a proven success, the method as to how we obtain that success shouldn’t matter.’ You replied straightforwardly, wanting to be done with this argument as fast as you possibly could, having already finding it redundant; and while the fact that you had gotten ahead of yourself during the mission was something worth criticising.

You weren’t new to this. You knew exactly what you were doing and you knew that Bi-Han’s frustrations often came from a place of worry and deep concern, but since he doesn’t give himself the leeway to express his innermost emotions that when he does, it comes across as him being angry or frustrated. ‘You almost got yourself killed!’ Bi-Han practically exclaimed, his hand that was clutching onto your bicep tightened it’s grip, causing you to wince as you felt a numbing or a painful tingling sensation -which one it actually was you weren’t really sure- spread across your bicep. You tried to breath through the pain and act as though Bi-Han wasn’t currently giving you frost burn, but you knew that the longer you let this went on, the more severe the damage you would sustain.

And not even a second later, your willpower to push through the pain was quickly reduced to nothing, as you found yourself wanting nothing more then the numbing, tingling pain stop. ‘Bi-Han.’ You tired saying with a steady voice but the inflictions of hidden pain within the way you said his name had him on guard. ‘Please let me go, it’s hurts, you’re hurting me.’ Was all you said in a whisper, just as a tear escaped from your eye and streaked down your cheek, before gesturing with your eyes towards the hand he had kept glued to your bicep since the beginning of your argument; which at this point had felt as though there was a small impact of ice growing from within. Upon your desperate plea to be released, Bi-Han immediately removed his hand as though you had somehow burnt him.

He watched as you whimpered and it all hit him hard that despite the fact that he had already let go, you were still very much in pain and he was the reason that you were in pain. He had let himself become overwhelmed with emotions and as a result his powers, something that he has sworn to only use as a means of protecting you, had potentially caused you irreparable damage. Bi-Han was sickened by the thought and by extension he was sickened with himself for allowing you to get hurt in the one place he promised that you’d never be hurt. Ever. ‘I hurt you.’ He said after a moment of torturous silence. ‘I was hurting you, the one person I’d swore to protect with my last breath.’ His soul was screaming, completely torn between wanting to come to your aid and comfort you but also fearing the idea of harming you more than he already had.

‘How long was I hurting you before you spoke up?’ Bi-Han asked as he gauged your expressions closely in the instance you were still withholding the rest of your pain from him.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ You say, trying to reach for his hand to hold but Bi-Han withdraw from your attempts, hiding his hands behind his back in shame as he averted your forgiving gaze that he didn’t feel he deserved.

‘It matters to me, my love.’ Bi-Han stated, clenching his fists. ‘I hurt you. Whether it was intentional or unintentional doesn’t make much of a difference when the end result is all the same. I hurt you. I caused you pain. I made you shed a tear. I made promises that I see now that I can not keep.’ The cryomancer finished as he chose to stare at the floor before closing his eyes, where he would be greeted with flashes of your pained face and the tear that streamed down your cheek; Even from behind his eyelids he was being haunted. If Bi-Han could take your pain he would without hesitation, but he couldn’t and with that brought the dreaded sense of helplessness.

‘Bi-Han.’ You uttered softly, moving to stand in front of him, watching closely as his breath hitched in his throat and took notice of how his body tensed uncomfortably into itself, as you reached your hands out to cradle his perpetually conflicted face between them before Bi-Han melted into your touch, practically nuzzling his face further into your touch. You smile at this as you proceeded to stroke the apples of his cheeks with your thumbs. ‘You didn’t mean it and I know you’d never intentionally hurt me. Ever. You’ve proven that more then enough times for me to know that you’re a man of your word.’ You told him as you pressed a kiss to his forehead, then down to his nose, then finally pecking his plush lips. ‘Your hands are the only hands I could ever feel safest within.’ You admitted, kissing his lips once again.

[joelsgreys]

a safe haven l eight

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: Joel encourages you to leave Luke and live the life you deserve with him and Ellie; Luke confronts you about Joel; Ellie discovers your secret and tells Joel, leading you to make a heartbreaking decision for the good of everyone in Jackson.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. reader gets shoved and sustains an injury as a result (non life threatening). mentions of skin discoloration, the word bruise is used but no mentions of specific skin tone for reader, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. *other chapter warnings and tags include: soft Joel, domestic fluff between reader and Joel, Ellie is a little shit but we love her, death of two minor OCs, talk of grief, funeral and burial, confronation between Ellie and reader, confrontation between Joel and reader, ends with angst and a slight cliffhanger.

Word Count: 10k

News of the ambush attack spreads like a wildfire.

Jackson’s safety and security has been rattled.

One life lost and another life hangs in the balance.

People are anxious—and they’re terrified.

And who could blame anyone for feeling this way?

For the first time in a long time, their peace of mind had been completely shattered.

“Where the hell did the kid run off to?” Joel grumbles, shifting uncomfortably on the examination table.

Now that the adrenaline is beginning to wear off, he’s really starting to feel the pain in his shoulder. It had started throbbing something awful not long after you’d finished stitching him up, and the expired oxycodone tablets you had given him had very little potency left—they hadn’t done a goddamn thing to help ease his discomfort. Not that it really came as a surprise to either one of you that the two decades old painkillers hadn’t worked, but it’d been worth a shot to at least try and see if they would do him any good.

“She’s with Rose in the supply closet,” you reply, taping a piece of gauze over his wound in an effort to keep it protected until you could take him home and get him cleaned up—then you would bandage up his shoulder properly. “They’re gathering some supplies you’ll need and looking for a sling.” It’s quite foolish to be this close to Joel with Luke just mere feet away in the exam room down the hallway, but you can’t seem to help yourself. Offering him a look of empathy, you lift your hand and cup the side of his face, delicately cradling it in your palm. You softly graze your thumb over the scruff of his beard. “I know, I know. You’re itching to get out of here. I promise, as soon as Ellie comes back with the supplies you need, we’ll get you home, okay?”

Joel raises a questioning eyebrow. “We?”

You nod. “I want to help Ellie get you settled in for the night and make sure you’re comfortable.”

He lowers his voice. “But what ‘bout Luke?”

“He’s going to be tied up here at the clinic tonight. It’ll be a while before he heads home,” you assure him. Dropping your hand away from his face, it falls back down against your side as you step back, putting some distance between the both of you. It probably isn’t the wisest idea to spend the night looking after Joel considering you’re already treading on thin ice with your husband for tending to his injury earlier, but your desire to take care of the man you love simply can’t be suppressed. Sensing his unease about it, you quickly add, “But if you don’t want me to, then I completely understand.”

Holding your breath, you anxiously wait for his response. 

Part of you almost hopes he’ll say that he doesn’t. 

One of you needs to be the voice of reason, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be you.

“No, that ain’t it—that ain’t it at all, sweet girl,” Joel says, shooting you a stern glare for even suggesting such a thing. “‘Course I want you to come home with me and Ellie. Just don’t want you riskin’ your neck for us. I don’t want you gettin’ yourself in some kinda trouble with Luke, that’s all.”

You flash him a small, wry smile. “I’ll be fine, Joel.”

That can’t be further from the truth.

But he doesn’t have to know that.

He doesn’t have to know you’ll be in for it when you’re finally home alone with Luke.

“We hit the fucking jackpot,” Ellie announces, walking into the room. She has an old, brown canvas bag slung over her shoulder and in her hands she holds a sling for Joel’s arm. “Well, sorta. Rose said this is the only adult size the clinic has in stock, so it’s more of a loaner. She said we’ll have to bring it back as soon as his shoulder heals. It’s seen better days,” she remarks, holding it out to you. “But it should do the job.”

Taking the sling from her, you start helping Joel into it. “What about the list I gave you?” you ask her over your shoulder as you adjust the thicker strap around his neck. “Did she get you everything that I wrote down?”

Clicking her tongue, Ellie double checks the bag.

“Uh, let’s see—saline, clean bandages, and a vial of penicillin.”

“And what about the syringes?”

“She could only give me three of them since stock is too low,” she replies. “That okay?”

You shrug. “We’ll have to make it work. We can always clean and boil the needles if we have to.” You tug the strap around Joel’s neck lightly making sure you’d fastened it securely, but not too tightly, either. You touch his arm. “That feel okay, honey?” The pet name slips out, falling from your lips before you even have the chance to catch it. Blood rushes to your face and your cheeks start to burn—even with your back turned to Ellie, you can feel the smirk that’s now plastered on her face. 

“Aww,” she teases. “Honey. How fucking cute is that?”

“Ellie,” Joel says her name warningly as you pick up his bloodied denim shirt and drape it over him in an effort to cover him up. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t start.”

“Okay, I won’t.” Ellie pauses, her smirk widening as she slyly adds under her breath, “Honey.”

“Jesus, it’s like this place turned into a fucking ghost town or something,” Ellie observes, glancing around as the three of you make your way down Main Street and head towards the residential side of town. “Where the hell did everybody fucking go? Did we miss something?”

“Maria must have sent out a message to call off all of today’s evening work duties,” you tell her. Even though there isn’t anyone else outside, you keep a healthy distance in between you and Joel as you walk beside him. “The last time that something like this happened, she let everyone take the night off so they could be with their families and mourn. She might even cancel tomorrow’s duties too, if she hasn’t already.”

Ellie lets out a small, understanding hum. “I see.”

“So someone dies and everythin’ just stops?” Joel asks, lightly shaking his head at the thought. “Just like that?”

“Jackson isn’t like the zones,” you remind him. “We’re a community. We all love and care for one another, and when we have a loss, it hits people hard. Peter was a husband and a friend who everyone adored. It’s not like he was some faceless number working himself to the bone to earn just enough rations to survive.” You look around the empty streets, shrugging lightly as you shove both of your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “Here in Jackson, we don’t toss bodies carelessly into a big fire pit and walk away without giving it a second thought. We bury our dead together—we grieve together. We’re still human, Joel. We can’t let the world outside these walls make us forget our humanity.”

“S’ppose you’re right,” he agrees, quietly.

The sun’s just starting to set by the time the three of you make it to Joel and Ellie’s.

“Careful, Joel,” Ellie fusses, looping her arm through his as she guides him up the steps of their front porch. “Careful, careful, careful—”

“Ellie!” he snaps irritably. “I got shot in the shoulder, not in the fuckin’ kneecap. I can fuckin’ walk just fine.” 

Ellie glances over her shoulder at you, scoffing. “It honestly blows my fucking mind that you have the hots for this.” She jerks her chin towards him and rolls her eyes. “Seriously, how does someone like him even manage to pull someone like you? Pretty sure it wasn’t his incredible personality or dashing good looks that reeled you in, so what kind of voodoo spell did my old man put your ass under, princess?”

Joel glares at her. “Now you listen here y’little shit—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” you cut him off. “Knock it off, both of you.” Putting a hand on his lower back, you request, “Ellie can you get the door, please?”

She nods. Letting go of Joel’s arm, she reaches into one of the back pockets of her blue jeans. She digs out her single house key and quickly unlocks the front door, ushering you both inside. “His room’s upstairs,” Ellie informs you as she flips on the lights in the foyer and leads the way up the staircase. She beckons with her hand for you to follow her down the hallway and opens the door to Joel’s bedroom. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

“For you two to stop makin’ a huge fuss over me so I can lay down and get some fuckin’ rest?” Joel hopes. “M’exhausted.”

“Soon enough,” you promise him. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“S’that door there on the left.” He pauses, shooting you a quizzical look. “Why? What are you gonna do?”

“Run a bath to get you all cleaned up, of course.”

“Gross.” Ellie makes a face at you. “Sorry, but you’re gonna have to fly solo on that one, princess. I refuse to help you give the old man a sponge bath.”

You laugh lightly, not the slightest bit surprised by her reaction. “Fair enough. How about you go downstairs and fix him something to eat while I help him wash up?”

“Don’t have to fucking tell me twice!” Ellie whirls around on the heels of her sneakers, booking it for the door. She sings out over the shoulder, “Behave yourselves in there, you two! Don’t forget there’s an innocent child present under this roof and she doesn’t need to hear you guys bumping uglies!”

Flustered, you look down at your boots.

“Ellie!” Joel bellows her name, angrily. Before he has the chance to reprimand her, she scurries out of the room and flies down the stairs towards the kitchen.

Choking back a nervous chuckle, you pivot on your heel and walk into his bathroom. You make your way over to the porcelain tub and turn on the faucet. You kneel beside it as you wait for it to fill with water, occasionally dipping your hand into the water to check the temperature.

“M’real sorry ‘bout her,” Joel apologizes from the door. 

“It’s quite alright,” you assure him, despite the heat burning your face and neck from the teenager’s teasing. As soon as the tub is full, you shut off the faucet and stand up. You must have risen to your feet too quickly—a wave of dizziness sweeps over you and for a second, the room spins. Blinking furiously, you brush it off and beckon with a hand for Joel. “Bath’s ready. Come here.”

“Peach, you don’t gotta do this for me, y’know.”

“I know, Joel.”

“M’perfectly capable of cleanin’ myself up.”

“Yeah Joel, I know that too,” you say. “Now come here, please.”

Sighing, Joel slowly makes his way over towards you, taking your hand in his. He gives it a gentle squeeze. “You’ve done more than enough for me today, darlin’. I appreciate you for wantin’ to take care of me, but you don’t—”

You cut him off by tenderly pressing your mouth to his. “Then please, for the sake of what little sanity I have left tonight, just let me,” you murmur quietly against his lips. You reach up, pushing his soiled shirt off of his shoulders, letting the torn, bloodied denim fall to the floor behind him in a crumpled heap. You place your palm on his bare chest, right over his heart and feel it thrum strong and steady beneath your fingertips. Perring up at him, you ask, “Will you let me take care of you, Joel? Please?”

He sighs again, this time in defeat. “It really ain’t fair, y’know.”

“What’s not fair?”

Joel brushes a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“The fact that I can’t ever fuckin’ say no to you.”

With a satisfied smile, you start to help him out of the sling, setting it on the counter. You then take off his belt, unbutton his jeans, and pull down his zipper for him.

“Turn around,” he says, kicking off his boots. 

Amused, you cock an eyebrow at him. “Joel, are you kidding me?” He nods and you shake your head at him, reminding him, “I’ve seen you naked plenty of times before.”

“Never in the light,” he counters, sheepishly. “S’always in the dark.”

You lean forward and kiss his collarbone, eliciting a tiny groan from him. “Joel, please,” you mumble against his warm skin. “Don’t be silly. Now come on, let’s hurry before Ellie comes back upstairs with your dinner.” You take a step back and tug at his jeans, pulling them down his legs along with his boxer briefs. After dumping his dirty clothes into the woven laundry basket behind the door, you help him into the bathtub.

Joel hisses out in relief as he sinks into the water.

Once he’s settled in, you kneel beside it once again.

“How does it feel?”

“Feels good,” he remarks, the hot water easing the aches in his bones that have nothing to do with his injury and everything with his age. “Real fuckin’ good.”

Cupping your hands together, you dip them into the water and start wetting his hair. You can’t help but smile when you notice how it curls more so than usual when it’s wet. “Scoot forward and then lean back a little. I’m going to wash your hair—I don’t want to soak the gauze on your shoulder.” Reaching across him, you grab his bottle of shampoo, twisting the cap off. You pour some of the product into your palm and set the bottle back down. After lathering the shampoo between your hands, you start running the suds through his damp locks.

“Christ,” Joel’s eyes roll into the back of his head as soon as you start massaging his scalp. “Fuck, sweetheart. Y’know, I think I could get used to this,” he admits with a sigh of content. “Feels fuckin’ incredible.”

You smile again, opening your mouth to speak, but then immediately clamp it shut.

Suddenly, you’re feeling a little off—something doesn’t feel right.

Brows knitting together in confusion, your smile falters. 

Normally, you love the scent of Joel’s shampoo.

You can’t even begin to count all the nights you’d hold him in your arms, breathing in the earthiness of jojoba oil combined with calming lavender from his hair as he rested his head on your chest. It’s usually fairly subtle, however now, as you wash his hair, the scent seems heavier and much more potent than usual—it makes your stomach churn violently and you can taste the bile as it slowly creeps its way up your throat. Pausing, you take a brief moment to breathe your way through the wave of nausea and swallow back the bitterness, willing yourself not to be sick right there in his bath. Worried you actually might, you drop your hands from his hair, close your eyes, and sit back on your heels as you wait for the feeling to subside.

“Baby.” You hear the water slosh around him. He tries reaching out for you with his injured arm, but grimaces, unable to make it very far before a sharp pain shoots through his shoulder. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

After a minute, it passes. You open your eyes only to meet Joel’s as he watches you with concern. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong, darlin’? You feelin’ alright?”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Leaning forward, you lift your hands to continue washing his hair. Shrugging dismissively, you realize, “I think I just need to eat something. It’s been a while since my last meal.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast,” you reluctantly admit. “I had quite a bit of work to do at the stables, so I decided to skip lunch today, and before you scold me for it, I know I shouldn’t have worked through lunch.” You flash him a crooked little grin as he pins you with a disapproving frown. “I promise I’ll eat something as soon as I get home, Joel.”

“You’d better.”

After rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, you take his washcloth and lather it up using his bar of castile soap.

“How’s the water, honey? Does it still feel alright?” you ask him sweetly, running the wet, soapy washcloth over his chest and neck. You’re careful to keep it away from his injured shoulder. Leaning over the side of the bathtub, you start washing his side, being gentle as you sweep over the bruise he’d gotten from falling off of his horse during the attack. A lock of hair falls loose from your ponytail and into your face.

Joel lifts his hand out of the water, tucking it behind your ear. “S’perfect,” he murmurs, his hand grazing your cheek. Water drips off of his arm and lands on your camisole, soaking through the thin cotton. “Looks like you’re gonna have to take off your shirt, peach. Got’cha wet.” He chuckles at his own awful innuendo.

“You’re unbelievable, Joel! I just pulled a bullet out of your shoulder, and you’re already thinking of getting me naked,” you tease him with a giggle. “Oh, and by the way, I hope you know that there will be none of that for a while, not until you’re all healed up. Got it?”

“You can’t be fuckin’ serious.” His face falls when he realizes that you aren’t joking. “But you said it could be four to six weeks until I heal. How am I s’pposed to go that fuckin’ long without touchin’ you?”

Giggling again, you give his chest a gentle pat. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Rolling his eyes at you, Joel grumbles incoherently underneath his breath.

“Oh, come here, you big grump.” You lean forward and press a delicate kiss to his right temple. Your lips linger over the small, jagged scar near his hairline, causing him to shudder slightly.

Joel hasn’t vocalized it to you, but you know that of all the scars he possesses, the one on his temple is the scar he’s the most self-conscious about, especially now that you know how he’d gotten it.

“You know, you were right about Ellie,” you murmur softly against his skin. “About her knowing. You were right to warn me that night.”

He frowns. “She confronted you ‘bout us?”

Pulling away from him, you nod. “She sure did.”

“Well, I reckon that explains why she was givin’ us so much shit earlier,” he huffs, shaking his head. “When did this happen?”

“Earlier this afternoon, when we were alone at the stables,” you answer. “She offered to work through lunch with me and it was just the two of us. It happened just before Tommy showed up and told us you had been shot.”

Joel grimaces. “Might regret askin’ this, but what did she say?”

You chew nervously on your bottom lip.

“She said she wants me to leave Luke.”

His eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline.

He knew his kid was pretty bold, but to go as far as telling you to leave your husband was pretty ballsy, even for her. He should reprimand her for it, but he can’t fault her for being brave enough to do what he still hasn’t mustered up the courage to do himself. “She did? What else did she say to you?”

“That the three of us could be a family together. A real family.” You drop the washcloth into the water and rest both arms on the edge of the tub as you continue filling him in on the encounter between you and Ellie. “She said it wasn’t complicated—that all I had to do was take off the ring, pack up my things, and leave him. She also said that I could just move in here and live with you two.” Pausing, you let out a small, breathy laugh. “I told her I would love that more than anything, but I can’t. It just isn’t possible. I can’t leave my husband.”

His jaw clenches, teeth gritting together. “‘Cause he won’t fuckin’ let you.”

You can’t help yourself and you laugh again.

Now you’re absolutely sure of it. Joel and Ellie really are cut from the same cloth.

You breathe out a long, melancholic sigh. 

“Joel, I love you. And I’ve grown to love Ellie, too. You both make me happy,” you tell him, softly. “Ever since you two came into my life, something in me changed. It was almost like I’d forgotten what it felt like to love and to be loved in return. I thought I’d lost that part of me when I lost my father two years ago. I thought that part of me had died along with him. His loss left left me feeling so empty. It left a void inside of me—but you and Ellie have filled it. It’s kind of silly, but sometimes I honestly think he sent you two to me. It’s almost like he knew I needed you.”

His eyes soften. “Ain’t silly at all, darlin’.”

“You both mean so fucking much to me,” you confess. 

“And you mean so fuckin’ much to us—you belong with us, peach. Your place is with us. Your home, it ain’t with Luke. It’s here, with me and with Ellie.”

“I know, trust me, I know that Joel. But I can’t—”

Joel sits up straight in the tub, wincing slightly.

“Joel, stop. Come on, you need to take it easy.”

Placing both hands on his chest, you try to push him back against the tub, but Joel’s hand reaches up and catches one of your wrists. He lightly curls his fingers around it. “Don’t you think it’s what your dad would want?” he questions. “You think he’d want you to be livin’ a life of misery with Luke?”

“Of course he wouldn’t. But I can’t leave him, Joel.”

“Look, whatever it is that you’re afraid of—”

“Joel, please,” you whisper, thickly. “Don’t do this.”

“You ain’t gotta be afraid, baby. I can protect you. I can keep you safe.” His thumb lightly caresses the thin, delicate skin on the inside of your wrist as his eyes meet yours. “I mean it. I can keep you safe, my sweet girl. I would never let anythin’ bad happen. I swear it. I wouldn’t let anythin’ bad happen to you, and neither would the kid. She loves you too goddamn much.”

You swallow the emotional lump in your throat. 

Lifting your wrist, Joel feathers a gentle kiss on the inside of it. He feels your pulse racing against his lips. “You’d be alright with us, y’know.”

“I know I would.”

“Then what the hell’s stoppin’ you?” Joel challenges. “We’re your family, baby. We’ve got you. No matter what—me and Ellie, we’ve got you, peach.”

Joel makes it sound so simple, so fucking easy. 

But he doesn’t know Luke the way you know Luke.

He won’t let you go, not without some kind of fight.

And Joel Miller wouldn’t be afraid to fight back.

He would kill Luke, if it came down to it.

After a moment’s silence, you finally speak. 

“Just—just give me a little time so I can figure things out, okay?” you bargain with him. “I need some time to sort things out.” Before Joel can even ask you what you’re talking about, you cut him off and shoot him a pleading look. “Please, Joel. Please. I’m just asking for some time, that’s all. If I can have it my way, I’ll be living here with you and Ellie before winter comes around in a couple of months.”

Joel sighs heavily. “Fine. I’ll give you time, but only on one condition.”

Apprehensive, you question, “What condition is that?”

“He does anythin’ to you, you come and tell me so I can handle it. Alright?”

“Joel, he’s not going to do anything to me.” The lie rolls off of your tongue with such ease that it actually takes you by surprise. “He’s not going to—”

He stops you. “Just promise me, baby. Promise that you’ll come to me if you need me. Please. S’all I’m askin’ of you.”

Knowing there is no other choice but to agree, you nod. “Of course I will.”

It’s a promise you can’t and won’t keep.

“That’s my girl.” Joel places another soft kiss onto your wrist. “I love you. I love you more than fuckin’ life itself.” He glances down and brushes his thumb over your wedding band. “Y’know, someday you’re gonna take this goddamn thing off for good and you ain’t gonna have to put it back on. You’ll be mine.”

Frowning, you counter, “But I’m already yours, Joel.”

“All mine,” he rephrases himself. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll find a ring to put on your finger myself some day.”

Worried you’ll break down, you gently tug your wrist out of his hand. “We should finish up in here. Ellie’s going to come upstairs soon.”

After you finish rinsing off the suds of soap from his body, you drain the tub and help him out of it and into a clean towel, wrapping it around his waist. You hand him a second towel which he uses to haphazardly dry off his chest and hair before walking back out into his bedroom. With his permission, you start searching through his drawers for some comfortable clothes. You pluck a pair of clean boxer briefs from one drawer and faded, navy blue sweatpants from another. Once you help him dress, you instruct, “Sit down. I’m going to bandage your shoulder.”

Obediently, Joel perches himself on the foot of his bed. 

You stand in front of him, unrolling the bandage.

“C’mere.” He grabs your hip, pulling you between his thighs. “Y’know, you make a real cute nurse.” He slides his hand up your shirt, his fingers gliding up the soft, smooth skin of your stomach.

“Joel, stop. Cut it out,” you scold him, playfully. “I need to make sure I do this right. Don’t distract me.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll behave,” Joel gruffs. He withdraws his hand from under your shirt and keeps it to himself.

You wrap the elastic, flesh toned bandage over his injured shoulder, pulling it behind his back before bringing it around across the front of his chest—after wrapping the excess material snugly around Joel’s bicep, you secure it, fastening the plastic clips at the end of it. “How does that feel? It’s not too tight, is it?”

“S’fine,” he answers. After you help him back into the sling, he wraps his opposite arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “So do I get a kiss or somethin’ for bein’ such a good patient for you, darlin’?”

“Yeah, I suppose you earned it.” Grinning, you carefully wrap an arm around his neck and lean down, swelling his lips with your own in a deep kiss. He swallows the soft moans that find their way from the back of your throat and into his mouth as his hand once again snakes its way up your shirt, touching each and every last inch of skin he can possibly reach.

“Oh fuck, my eyes!” Ellie’s voice cries behind you.

Startled, you rip yourself out of Joel’s grasp.

She stands at the door holding a steaming bowl in her hands, a horrified look on her face.

“Ellie,” you say her name, breathlessly. “We didn’t hear you coming up the stairs—”

“Obviously fucking not,” she huffs, rolling her eyes at you as she makes her way into his bedroom. “Well, now that I’m fucking scarred for life—” She pauses and sets the bowl down on Joel’s nightstand. “Here you go, Romeo. I made you some soup. And by made I really mean, I opened a can of twenty one year old chicken noodle soup and warmed it up on the stove.” Smirking, she adds, “So chow down. Unless you’re way too busy sucking her face off to eat, of course.”

Joel narrows his eyes at her. “Y’know I only need one hand to wring that little neck of yours, right?”

Before she has the opportunity to fire back, you step in. “I have to get going. It’s getting late and I need to make it home before Luke does.” You turn to Ellie. “He’s going to need a penicillin injection every six hours, okay? He’s pretty vulnerable to infection right now so he has to be on antibiotics for the next week or so.”

She nods, giving you a thumbs up. “You got it, doc.”

“Normally, you inject penicillin into the buttock—” You pause, holding back a laugh as a look of pure disgust flashes across the young girl’s face. “But, it can also be injected right into the thigh muscle. I’ll show you.” Pointing to the exact spot on the outer portion of his thigh, you instruct, “Five hundred milligrams, no more and no less. Easy enough?”

“Oh, okay. So that’s how you inject penicillin,” Ellie muses with a hum. After a moment, she mutters under her breath, “That would have been fucking useful to know about eight months ago.”

Your lips purse together tightly as you recall her story about what happened in Colorado with David and his group. 

“What’d you say, kid?” Joel asks, confused. 

“Nothing,” she replies, innocently.

Clearing your throat, you reach up, smoothing a hand over his damp curls, slicking them back. “I’m going to head home. Get plenty of rest, alright? I’ll come over and check up on you as often as I can. I promise.” You lean down, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his forehead. 

“Jesus, you two make me so fucking sick already,” Ellie remarks, making a loud gagging noise. However, when you look at her, she’s smiling.

You walk into the house, only to find it empty.

Luke must have still been caught up at the clinic.

It seems like a good sign that Carl might still be alive. 

After taking a quick, hot shower, you hastily put on some comfortable clothes and hurry downstairs to prepare a late dinner. You had just finished peeling some boiled russet potatoes you planned to mash up when the sound of the front door opening and then slamming shut echoes throughout the house. You hear his footsteps approaching and a chill runs down the length of your spine just like back in the clinic—all you can think about is what he’d said to you as he was leaving the room. 

“We’ll talk about this at home.” 

Anxiously, you turn around just as Luke enters the kitchen. He’d changed his clothes at the clinic, trading his blood soaked scrubs for a pair of dark wash blue jeans and a plain black button up shirt. “Hey,” you greet him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel. “How’s, um—how’s Carl doing?”

“He didn’t make it either,” he replies curtly. He sets his black leather satchel down onto the kitchen table. “He lost too much blood during surgery. And without a machine for a transfusion—” He stops short. He hangs his head and even from you’re standing at the stove, you can see the way his jaw clenches.

Luke takes it hard whenever he loses someone—and he always takes it out on you.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to tell him. Despite trying to remain calm and collected, you’d started wringing your hands together out of habit.

“Well, at least there was one hero in that clinic today,” he scoffs out bitterly with a shake of his head.

You frown. “Luke, please don't do that. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Peter and Carl’s injuries were too severe. And besides, you said it yourself. We don’t have the proper equipment here in the commune.” You know there is no consoling him, not a single word of comfort could ease the blow of his failure, and yet, you find yourself trying anyway. “You did all you could do for them with what little we have. There’s nothing you could have done differently to change the outcome. Their wounds were fatal. Their fate was sealed long before they made it back to Jackson.”

Luke pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales a long, exasperated breath through his lips. It’s like watching a ticking time bomb.

“Look, it’s been a long day for everyone. Why don’t you go upstairs to take a shower, relax a bit, and then come back down for dinner?” you offer. “I’ve got a chicken baking in the oven, it shouldn’t be all that much longer now—”

Luke glares at you. “I just lost two fucking people today. Do you really think I’m fucking hungry right now?”

“You still need to eat,” you say, your voice small. 

“Are you really that fucking stupid?” He starts to walk over towards you. “What?” He asks when he notices you flinch, your body shrinking away from him. “What’s the matter, darling? You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

You answer him in the steadiest voice you can, but even you can hear the way it trembles with fear.

“Of course I’m not afraid of you, Luke.”

He lifts one of hands, prompting you to flinch again. “I’m not going to hit you,” he murmurs, touching your cheek before taking it in his palm. Knowing how uncomfortable he’s making you, his green eyes seek yours, only making it worse. “How is your boyfriend? Is he doing alright?”

The color drains from your face. “Excuse me?”

Luke cups your cheek harder. “Patching him up back at the clinic wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

You grab his wrist and try to tear his hand away from your face as you sputter, “What—what are you talking about, Luke?”

“Esther came into the clinic this evening with Martha and Lisa so they could say their goodbyes. While we were out in the hallway giving them a moment of privacy, Esther told me she saw you with Joel and Ellie. She said she watched you walk into their house with them—is that true?”

Left without another choice but to tell him the truth, you nod meekly. “It’s true,” you confess. “I walked them back to their place.” As soon as you see the anger flash in his eyes, you begin to ramble an explanation. “I went home with them so I could help Ellie get him settled. She’s fifteen years old, Luke. I needed to show her how to care for his wound and how to inject the penicillin he needs, that’s all—”

“Bullshit,” Luke seethes through his teeth. He grabs your shoulders, taking them harshly in his hands. “I’m going to ask you one more time—what the hell is going on between you and Joel Miller? And before you even think about giving me the same lie about his fucking brat of a kid, just know that I don’t fucking believe you.”

“Luke, let go of me—”

He starts shaking you as if it’ll somehow shake the answer out of you. “Fucking tell me the truth!”

You squirm in his grasp. “Luke, please! Let go of me!”

He shakes you harder, his violence escalating.

“Why were you at the fucking clinic in the first place, huh?”

“Luke, stop it! You’re hurting me!”

“What were you doing there in the first place?” He repeats, shouting the question into your face. “What were you fucking doing there? You heard your boyfriend got shot while he was out on patrol? You needed to make sure that he was okay? That he was still alive? Is that it?”

“Ellie asked me to go to the clinic with her! She was with me at the stables when Tommy showed up and told her Joel had been shot,” you try telling him. “She didn’t want to go alone!”

Finally, Luke stops rattling you. “And I suppose she asked you to tend to his injury, too?” He sneers. “She asked you to patch up his wound?”

Dizzy, you take a second to catch a quick breath, then respond, “Actually, she did. She and Tommy both asked me to take care of his shoulder and if you don’t believe me, then you can go find him and ask him yourself!”

“How fucking convenient,” Luke snorts. “Do you honestly take me for a fucking fool?”

“Luke—”

He shoves you back roughly.

Your side meets the sharp edge of the countertop in a loud, painful thud. Clutching at your ribcage, you sink down to the kitchen floor, curling yourself up into the fetal position as you brace yourself and wait for what’s undoubtedly coming next.

Luke steps towards you, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. But before he has the chance to lay another finger on you, the doorbell rings. 

You breathe out a small sigh of relief.

“Get up,” he hisses. “Go answer it. Now.”

Your side is throbbing, but you scramble up to your feet quickly and hurry to do as you’re told. “I’ll be right there,” you call out, wincing. You briefly stop in front of a mirror hanging in the hallway and check your reflection to make sure that you look—well, that you look normal. You fix up your hair a little, smooth your shirt, and put on a brave face before opening the door. “Tommy,” you say his name in surprise. Your eyes then flicker to his wife. “Maria. What are you two doing here?”

“Sorry, little lady. We know that it’s kinda late,” he apologizes, holding Maria's hand gently in his. “But we’re wonderin’ if we could come in for a minute to talk to you and Luke?”

Without hesitating, you step aside to allow the couple into the foyer of your home. “Of course you can,” you say, closing the door behind them. “I’ve got a late dinner in the oven. If you guys are hungry, then you’re more than welcome to join us. I made plenty.”

“That’s awful kind of you,” Tommy says with a grateful nod. “But it might have to wait for another time. We’ve still got a few more people to see tonight.”

Luke steps out of the kitchen. “Tommy? Maria? Is everything alright? It’s not the baby, is it?”

Maria places a hand on her swollen midsection.

At about five months, her belly had finally popped.

“The baby’s just fine,” she assures him. “Been kicking a storm up all day long.”

“Good.” Luke stands beside you. “I know today has been very difficult, but remember to take it easy, alright? You can’t stress too much, or it can put the baby in distress. I don’t want you going into preterm labor, Maria.”

She cradles her belly. “I know, Luke. I promise, I’m being very careful,” she swears. “We’re just going out door to door and checking in on everyone, offering support where it’s needed.”

Tommy nods, his face looking worn and tired as he pulls Maria close and tucks her into his side. “What happened today was a real fuckin’ tragedy. Two people gone, just like that,” he shakes his head, sadly. “We just wanna make sure everyone’s doin’ okay.”

“How’s Martha?” you ask, tentatively. “Lisa and her daughters, how are they holding up?”

“They’re devastated,” Maria replies, sighing. “Lisa can keep it all together for the sake of her girls. It’s a whole different story for Martha, though. Peter was the only person she had, you know?”

“I can check in on her,” you offer, kindly. “I can stop by on the way to the stables in the morning to see her. Make sure that she’s taking care of herself.”

“We actually canceled tomorrow’s work duties, so if you two need to take the day off, you can,” Maria informs you, her eyes flicking from you to Luke. 

“We’re holdin’ a memorial service tomorrow in the old church house,” Tommy states. “And the burial will take place right before sunset.”

“We’ll be there,” Luke nods, taking your hand in his. He squeezes it tightly. Harshly. “Won’t we, sweetheart?”

You wince a little. “Yes, of course we will.”

Tommy notices the way you squirm. “You alright there, little lady?”

Luke squeezes your hand even tighter. It’s a warning.

“Yes,” you lie to him. “I’m perfectly fine.”

The next morning, you stop by Martha’s place, just like you’d told Maria you would. While you had no words that could console the grieving widow or ease the pain of her loss, you sat with her for a good hour and simply let her cry into your shoulder. She tuckered herself out quickly, and just before she fell asleep on the couch in her living room, you made her a promise, telling her you would see her at the memorial later that evening.

“What do you even wear to a funeral?” Ellie asks, curiously. She sits comfortably in Shimmer’s black leather saddle, the mare’s reins clutched in one of her hands. Despite work duties being canceled for the entire day, the two of you met at the stables to tend to the horses—the animals had enough water and food to get by until the following day, but still needed to be exercised so you’d suggested a short ride in the field out behind the paddock.

“Well, people typically wear black to funerals,” you answer, leading the way across the vacant patch of land on Ranger’s back. “Ellie, how many times am I going to have to tell you to hold onto the reins with both hands?” you chastise her over your shoulder. “I’m serious. The last thing we need is for you to fall off and break a bone. Both hands, missy.”

“Alright, alright. Sheesh, mom.” You can’t see it, but you hear the joking grin in her tone. “Why do people wear black to funerals? Was that always a thing?”

“Yeah. It’s the traditional color of mourning.”

“Why black? Why not like, green or something?”

“I don’t know, go ask the Ancient Romans.”

“The who?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Nevermind.”

Clicking your tongue, you start steering Ranger, signaling him to turn back towards the paddock.

“I don’t even think I own anything that’s black,” Ellie says behind you. She gently squeezes Shimmer’s sides with her calves and the horse breaks out into a trot, catching up with you and Ranger. “Green it’ll have to be, then. Oh, by the way, Joel told me to tell you that he’ll see you at midnight. Your usual place.”

You frown. “He’s one day into his recovery. He needs to rest.”

“That’s what I fucking told him. But I guess he just can’t stay away from you, princess,” she teases as the horses arrive back into the paddock.

“Alright, let me hop off Ranger and I’ll help you—”

You stop short, watching as Ellie swings her leg over the back of Shimmer’s saddle and jumps off.

She grins. “Please. I’m practically a professional at dismounting horses now. Call me Seabiscuit.”

You snort. “Ellie, Seabiscuit was the horse.”

“Oh.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Well, you know what I fucking mean.”

Laughing, you roll your eyes at her. You pull a foot free from one of the stirrups then swing your leg over and start dismounting Ranger—but the second you start going down, your opposite leg still in the stirrup supporting your weight wobbles and you lose your balance. You fall forward against the horse, accidentally sliding down his saddle.

To add insult to injury, the horn catches your sleeve and hikes up your blouse as soon as you land your feet on the ground.

“That was real fucking graceful,” Ellie cackles as she watches you try to unsnag your shirt from the saddle. Walking around Ranger to get a better view of the mishap, her grin suddenly vanishes. Her brown eyes widen when she catches a glimpse of the discoloration that starts near your hip and goes up your entire length of your side. “What the hell? Is that a fucking bruise?”

Finally, you free yourself from the saddle. Feeling your heart pound, you tug your shirt down into place, but it’s too late.“Ellie—”

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing happened to me,” you fib. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?” Ellie repeats, incredulously. “There’s a fucking bruise the size of the state of Wyoming on you and you’re fucking fine? Really?”

“I fell,” you tell her, giving her the first excuse that you could think of. “I’m really clumsy, Ellie. Clearly I am.” You gesture to the saddle. “You saw it, just now. I almost fell off a damn horse.”

“You fell.” Ellie raises her eyebrow at you. “Or were you pushed?”

Staring at her helplessly, you reassure her, “Ellie, it’s nothing. I fell and I hit myself. Alright?”

She steps towards you and grabs the hem of your blouse, yanking it up. “That,” she points her index finger at your side, “That is not fucking nothing! That is fucking something.”

“Ellie!” Gasping, you harshly slap her hand away.

“Luke did that you, didn’t he?”

Her accusation comes without hesitation.

“Of course he didn’t,” you stammer. “I told you I fell—”

“Bullshit. I’m fucking telling Joel.”

She spins around on the heel of her sneaker.

“Ellie! No!” You catch her arm, stopping her. “No, please don’t do that! Don’t tell him. Please don’t tell Joel.”

“Then I’ll tell Tommy and Maria,” Ellie says, shrugging. “I’ll tell them about what their precious doctor is doing to you behind closed fucking doors—” She starts to leave the paddock and you’re quick to stop her once more.

“No! You cannot tell anyone! Not Tommy, not Maria, or anyone else. And you especially cannot tell Joel.”

“He’s fucking hurting you!” Ellie all but shouts at you.

“Ellie, I have it under control—”

She snorts, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, clearly.” Sarcasm drips from her tone. “I can tell you have it under control.”

You take her hands, clasping them in yours. “I can handle Luke, Ellie. It’s all under control.” Your gaze meets hers. “Please. Do not tell anyone about this.”

“But—”

“Ellie, please. I’m begging you,” you plead with her. “Don’t tell anyone—and especially not Joel. Please.”

It pains you to see her look so fucking helpless.

Maybe it’s selfish of you to ask her, a child, to keep such a secret.

But it’s for the good of Jackson.  

“Swear to me that you won’t tell him about this. Swear it.”

Again, she looks helpless, helpless, helpless. 

Eventually, she sighs out in defeat. “Okay. Fine. I swear I won’t tell Joel.”

“Or anyone else,” you add.

Her eyes fall away from yours as she mumbles, “I swear I won’t tell Joel. Or anyone else.”

Later that evening, after the memorial service, everyone makes their way to Jackson Cemetery, a makeshift graveyard right outside the west wall that’s protected by a steel fence. With men and women armed and standing around the entire perimeter of the site, the burial carried on. Miles, a former pastor, reads verses from a bible out loud at the request of the men’s families who were people of faith. You stand at Martha’s side, holding her as Tommy and two other men lower her husband’s casket into the ground and begin to shovel in the dirt.

From the corner of your eye, you see Joel as he stands in the crowd with Ellie and Dina. The girls have their arms linked together. Ellie looks over at you, then glances away, sourly shaking her head as Luke puts a comforting hand on your back. She knows it’s just for show. He’s playing the role of a good husband when he’s anything but.

After the burial, the entire town is invited back to the commune mess hall for the traditional funeral repast. Food, drinks, and plenty of stories of the patrolmen are shared—fond memories are exchanged in efforts to lighten the somber mood.

Joel watches with jealousy as you stand by Luke’s side the entire evening, his arm secured around your waist. He’d been sitting at a table across the hall near the doors with Ellie. Forcing himself to look away from you, he turns his attention to her and notices she hasn’t scarfed down her food as usual. Joel would often have to tell her to slow down before she made herself sick, but tonight, he doesn’t have to. Instead of inhaling her potatoes like a human vacuum, she pushes them around on her plate with her fork.

“Is everythin’ alright, kiddo?” he asks her, worriedly.

She lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

He frowns. “Ellie, don’t lie to me.”

She sighs again. “Okay, everything’s not fine.”

“What’s goin’ on? The funeral bother you?”

Ellie looks over towards you and Luke, nervously biting down on her lower lip. She then glances back at Joel.

“Ellie? What is it?”

“She made me swear not to tell anyone. Especially not you.”

“Who?”

The second your name comes out of her mouth, he stiffens in his chair.

“I swore to her I wouldn’t say anything, but—”

“Ellie, what the hell’s goin’ on?”

“She’s going to be so mad at me if I tell you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. “No one’s gonna be mad, kiddo. I can promise you that. No one is gonna be mad at you, alright?” He promises her. “Just tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“Well, you see—” Ellie hesitates. “The thing is—”

She trails off, unsure of how to say it.

“Christ, Ellie. Just fuckin’ spit it out.”

“I think he’s hitting her,” she finally blurts out.

Joel freezes. “What?”

“Luke. I think he’s hitting her or something.”

“Why do you think that?” he asks, his voice rigid.

Ellie lowers her voice. “Today we were taking two of the horses out on a ride around the field behind the paddock. When we got back, she slipped while she was dismounting Ranger. Her sleeve got stuck on his saddle and her shirt pulled up.” She pauses, sucking in a deep breath, then exhaling it before saying, “I saw a huge bruise on her side. It was fucking massive. It looked fresh, too.”

His blood begins to boil. “You ask her ‘bout it?”

“Of course I did. When I asked her what happened, she told me that she fell. But I didn’t believe her. When I asked her if Luke did it—”

“She admitted he did.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Ellie’s face falls. “Well no, not exactly. But Luke did it, I know he fucking did it, Joel. He’s hurting her. It’s why she won’t leave him. She’s too fucking scared of him.”

Joel looks up, his lips pressed into a tight line.

His eyes meet Luke’s from across the room.

The man gives him a small, curt nod and takes your hand in his, pulling you towards where Martha and Lisa are sitting with a group of friends, among them, Tommy and Maria.

“Joel?” Ellie says his name, nervously.

“I’ll handle it, Ellie.”

“But—”

He cuts her off.

“I said I’ll fuckin’ handle it.”

Despite knowing that Joel needed to rest, the part of you that was incredibly selfish just couldn’t wait to see him—to be with him, to hold him in your arms and kiss him. Especially after such a long, gloomy and sorrowful evening.

When midnight rolls around, you find him already waiting behind the barn. Normally, it was you who would always arrive first, so when you see Joel standing there by the paddock fence, you can’t help but feel a little surprised.

“You beat me here,” you remark with a small laugh as you approach him.

“Yeah. I did.”

Excited to see him, you don’t even catch the tone of his voice at first.

Serious.

Upset.

You beam at him and say, “Hi, honey. I missed you.” Smiling, you lift an arm to throw it around Joel’s neck in a careful hug, but he catches your wrist in his hand and stops you, the creases in his brows deepening.

“Show me.” 

Your smile slowly falters. “What?”

“Show me,” he repeats, stiffly.

“What are you talking about?” Puzzled, you pull your wrist out of his grasp and step back. 

He’d never spoken to you like that. He’d never looked at you like that before, either. Angrily.

“Joel, what’s going on?”

“Ellie told me ‘bout the bruise.”

Your blood runs frigid in your veins. “What?”

“Earlier at the repast. She told me ‘bout the bruise she saw on your side today.”

“It’s nothing, Joel—” 

“Show. Me.” Joel bites the words out through gritted teeth.

You stare at him for a moment, then sigh.

With little choice in the matter, you lift the hem of your shirt.

“Here,” you say bitterly, turning your body. “Is this what you want to see?”

His stomach churns violently.

Ellie hadn’t been exaggerating about the size of it.

The painful mark starts at your hip, and it goes up the entire length of the side of your torso until it feathers out beneath your bustline.

“I fell.” Your voice is flat, emotionless. Because you don’t know how else to react now that he knows the truth.

You don’t know what to do or what to say. 

So, you turn the dial back to numb.

“The kid didn’t believe that bullshit lie and I fuckin’ don’t believe it either. We both fuckin’ know Luke did this to you.”

He almost expects you to deny it, but when you don’t, it’s all the confirmation he needs. He starts off towards the residential side of town, prepared to yank Luke out of bed and rip him to fucking shreds.

“Joel, where the hell are you going?” you huff as you start following behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“M’gonna fuckin’ kill him,” Joel seethes. He lifts a hand and starts clawing at the strap of his sling to take it off. “For puttin’ his fuckin’ hands on you—”

You grab his arm. “Joel, please! Don’t!”

Refusing to stop, he drags you along behind him.

“Joel, stop! Please, can you just wait for one fucking minute?”

Digging your heels into the dirt, you yank at his arm, and plead for him to listen to you.

“Joel, just give me the chance to explain!”

Finally, he comes to a halt and whirls around, his nostrils flaring. With furiousness in his dark eyes, he faces you.

“You promised me! You fuckin’ promised me you’d come to me if he did somethin’ to you—” Realizing he’s shouting at you, Joel stops. Seeing your bottom lip quiver, he softens ever so slightly. He knows you’re not the person to take his anger out on. No, that person is fast asleep in his bed. “How long? How long has he been doin’ this to you? And don’t you lie to me.”

“Two years,” you admit in a whisper.

Joel’s face pales. 

Swallowing dryly, you shake your head. “Joel, he’s the only doctor in this town. There’s so much pressure that he carries on his back. He’s responsible for all of the people in this community,” you begin to explain. “It’s a lot to handle for one person, he’s always stressed—”

“And so beating you is the way he fuckin’ unwinds after a long day of work?” Joel, for the life of him, can’t fucking believe you’re attempting to defend Luke.

“He just loses his temper sometimes. It gets the best of him and then I’ll say something or so something to piss him off even more—”

Joel catches your hand in his. “Baby, fuckin’ stop that right now. Stop fuckin’ makin’ excuses for him. He’s fuckin’ hurtin’ you, and if something ain’t done, there’s a good chance he’s gonna wind up killin’ you.”

“I have everything under control, Joel.”

“No, you fuckin’ don’t. He’s fuckin’ hittin’ you.” Joel’s voice breaks as he speaks. “He’s hurtin’ you.”

“I can fix it,” you say, though you sound more helpless than anything else. “I just need time, but I can fix this, Joel.”

“No, peach. You can’t fix it. But I can—all you gotta do is let me.”

You look down at your shoes, feeling tears glaze over your eyes. “No. Jackson needs him, Joel.”

“But what ‘bout you?”

“I’m just one person,” you whisper. “You have to look at the bigger picture here. I’m just one fucking person.”

“One fuckin’ person who means everythin’ to me,” he says, squeezing your hand. “If you won’t let me handle him, then we go to Tommy and Maria—”

“If he gets locked up or thrown out, we won’t have a doctor, Joel. Don’t you fucking understand that?”

Joel’s beginning to lose his patience.

He knows you’re only trying to look out for the rest of the community, but at what fucking cost?

Your own life, possibly?

Maybe it’s selfish, but he doesn’t care about everybody else. He cares about you.

Dropping your hand, he steps back, shaking his head. “I ain’t gonna let him keep on hurtin’ you. I’m gonna put a stop to it.”

“Joel, you’re just going to make things fucking worse! I will handle it—I will fix it. I don’t need your help. I don’t need you stepping in trying to play the hero. It’s all under control, okay?”

“Like hell it fuckin’ is. First thing tomorrow, I’m gonna pay Luke a visit at the clinic. Have a little talk with him, man to man, or whatever he fuck he is—”

Your stomach sinks at the mere thought of it. “No! Don’t you fucking dare,” you warn him. “Don’t you even think about it, Joel.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do? Stand around with my fuckin’ hands behind my back and just let him keep on hurtin’ you? Ain’t gonna fuckin’ happen.” Realizing your stance on the matter is firm, Joel comes to his own decision. “Listen, sweet girl. If you ain’t gonna give me permission, then I’m just gonna have to ask for your forgiveness.”

You glare at him and left your chin. “Well, I won’t give it to you.”

He stares at you, completely taken aback by your sudden coldness.

“If you do anything to hurt him, or tell Tommy and Maria about this, I will never forgive you,” you threaten, a warm tear slipping down the side of your face as you prepare to shatter both his heart and yours. “I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke. And maybe it’s for the best if you just fucking stay away from me too.”

Before Joel can even think about uttering another word, you turn around and walk away.

You break down as soon as you make it home.

Sinking down onto the porch, you pull the collar of your shirt over your mouth and nose in an effort to muffle the sounds of your sobbing. That look of hurt on Joel’s face and in his eyes when you’d told him to stay away from you, it would be burned into your memory forever. It would haunt you for the rest of your damn life.

It wasn’t what you wanted.

This wasn’t what you wanted.

But there is no other choice.

There never has been another choice for you. 

The sound of gravel road crunching underneath a pair of old, tattered red low top sneakers fills the silent night air, prompting you to look up.

“Do you hate me?” Ellie questions you softly.

The remorseful expression on her face sends another sharp, stabbing pain through your chest.

“Oh, Ellie. Of course I don’t hate you.” You pat the empty spot beside you on the porch. “Come here.”

Ellie walks over and sits down beside you, pulling her knees up to her chest.

You wrap an arm around her, reassuring her, “I could never hate you, Ellie. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I know I swore to you I would keep my fucking mouth shut, but I had to tell Joel about Luke. I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry.” She sniffs, dabbing at her eyes as they fill with frustrated tears.

“It’s okay. I would have done the same thing if I were you.”

“Really? You would have?”

You nod, wiping at your face with your opposite hand. “Absolutely.”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel less like a big pile of dog shit, aren’t you?”

“Mostly no, but partially yes,” you joke dryly in an effort to cheer her up.

Ellie flashes you a small, watery smile. “I’ll fucking take it.”

She leans her head against your shoulder and for a while, the two of you sit there in melancholy silence.

“What’s going to happen with you and Joel?” Ellie finally asks, her voice small.

“I don’t know, Ellie,” you admit quietly. “I really don’t know.”

[commander-krios]

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same as I do, then I’ll leave you alone.” for revan and canderous? :D

I... I finished it?? OMG I did it! I hope this was worth the wait, I'm so sorry this took so long. Warnings for graphic violence and descriptions of death/corpses.

Read on AO3

“We need to talk.”

Closing her eyes, Yuehai breathed in through her nose, trying her hardest not to give in to the anger that swelled in her chest. The coarse red dirt of Korriban stained her feet, dirtied her robes, burned her skin as she knelt to retrieve the stone urn half buried. “This isn’t the time or place.”

Gravel crunched beneath Canderous’ boots as he stepped closer, his shadow dwarfing her as she pried the urn from the ground. The HK droid had walked off to patrol a few minutes before, leaving the two of them in the heated silence. The Mandalorian hadn’t said a word during most of their trek through the tombs or the caves, but now, when they were so close to getting off this dreadful rock, he had to open his mouth.

“Revan-”

With a hiss, she glared up at him, furious at the use of a name that died with her past. “Don’t call me that.”

Those grey eyes she swore didn’t haunt her dreams slanted in her direction. The unforgiving sun left his skin burned as he stood there, but not once did he complain of the pain. Stubborn to the end. Something they had in common, at least.

One of many things, her mind taunted, dark whispers fading as his gaze brought her back to the conversation. It was a strange thing, to feel desire for a man that she might’ve killed in another life. To think that one look into his eyes kept her from falling to the dark again.

“Revan is a part of who you are, even if you’re ashamed of it.”

“You think I’m ashamed of who I am? Who I was?” She stood, shaking some of the dirt out of those hideous black robes the Academy gave their students. “You know nothing about me.”

“That’s a lie.” Canderous crossed his arms over his chest, not backing down even as her fingers flexed, tempted to strangle him where he stood. “We are the same. Even you can’t deny that.”

No, she couldn’t. 

And that was part of the problem when it came to this thing between her and Canderous. They were warriors, scarred by blade and hands stained with blood, capable of both terrible destruction and great deeds. Their lives were built on war, sustained by death, only to fall at the height of their power.

Whenever she looked at him, she saw the past. 

Canderous stepped closer, the space between them thinning to nothing. The sweet pungent scent of sweat mixed with the rusty smell of dirt, turned red by years of blood seeping into the ground. When he reached out with a steady hand to brush his fingers over her dark hair, she dropped her gaze to a scar on his neck, jagged, white, and she wondered, not for the first time, where he’d gotten it. His rough fingers brushed her cheek and she couldn’t stop the immediate reaction to his touch, closing her eyes and leaning into his hand, wanting to feel more of his strength.

“Look me in the eyes.” He commanded, refusing to back down when she did without argument, his eyes like molten metal, no light in their depths, only darkness. “Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t feel the pull that’s between us. Tell me to leave you alone and I will.”

That was just it. She couldn’t do any of those things. Because no matter how much she wanted to deny this old bastard the satisfaction of being correct in at least one thing since he joined her crew, Yuehai knew she’d never speak those words. Because they were lies. 

And Revan was many things, but a liar, she was not.

The telltale feel of the dark side washed over her suddenly, skin prickling uncomfortably, the hair on her arms rising before three Dark Jedi appeared in the distance over Canderous’s shoulder. They strolled casually down the hill to where they’d been secreted away, red lightsabers glowing bright even against the bloody sands of Korriban.

“I almost feel guilty for interrupting such a lovely moment.” Heavy sarcasm laced every word, not a trace of sincerity in the voice that spoke from beneath the dark hood.

Not that she’d expected any.

Yuehai couldn’t see their faces, but she could see the pale skin and black veins that were common in dark side corruption. She sighed, stepping around Canderous at the same time he turned, her sabers in her hands without hesitation. “More of you? Didn't you have enough of getting your asses kicked on Tatooine and the Leviathan?”

One of them hissed at her, spitting curses before stepping forward, as if he could strike fear in the heart of the woman who had destroyed the Mandalorians and destroyed the Jedi. “You are nothing without your Jedi, traitor. With her battle meditation, the Republic will lie before our feet, nothing more than burned rubble and broken bodies.”

She eyed the Sith’s form, making a mental note of how he favored his left leg: an old injury or perhaps he was tortured as punishment for a failure. The cause did not matter when she could benefit from the weakness. “Your master is the traitor and I will see him kneeling at my feet before I end his life.”

A crimson lightsaber slashed through the air, a wide arcing swing that was full of rage and little control. Yuehai lifted her hand in a single fluid motion, the blue lightsaber in her left hand blocking the first swing while the one in her right, one that glowed with an amethyst crystal, found its home in the Sith’s chest. With a downward thrust, she cleaved him in two, leaving a smoking mass of flesh where a person had stood a moment before.

The Sith that had spoken howled in fury, stepping forward with a raised hand, electricity crackling at his fingertips. Blocking with one of her sabers would only work a few times before the lightning overpowered her, but she didn’t need much time to close the distance.

If she was truly Darth Revan, she doubted any of these Sith had the power to kill her. They were nothing more than ants to crush beneath her boot.

Canderous opened fire, his repeater leaving multiple smoking holes in the Sith furthest away. The scent of burning flesh assaulted her nose only briefly before Yuehai used her connection on the force to leap into the air, lightsabers posed to strike. The Sith got his saber up in time to block the attack, but she didn’t let up, slashing and pushing the Sith back until he was practically pressed against a outcropping of stone, nowhere left to go. 

The electricity built to a maelstrom beneath his skin. Shadowy whispers of imminent danger tickled at the back of her mind but she ignored the warnings, striking out with her right saber. It met the Sith’s in a shower of red and purple sparks, the blades hissing as they made contact. She pushed as hard as she could towards his left side, the weight of her form pressing against him, her muscles straining beneath thick, itchy robes. The Sith tried to pivot the sudden movement, but his weakened leg almost buckled under their combined weight.

She saw the terror flash in his gaze when he looked at her, blue eyes turned hazy, yellow, a mark of the Sith. There was no doubt that he’d killed innocents, done evil in a galaxy that had suffered enough. Here, in the sandy wasteland of Korriban, under the shade of tombs of greater Sith, this man would die and Yuehai felt not a fraction of pity for him.

He hesitated to release his hold on the lightning with her body so close. If he did so, he’d be caught in the crossfire, frying him as well as himself. As he fought against being overpowered, Yuehai spun her second lightsaber, severing his hand from the rest of his body.

He screamed as the stump smoked, blood sizzling as the wound cauterized, and Yuehai stepped out of the way so Canderous had the perfect shot. It was over within seconds, the Sith all dead at her feet, her breath coming in puffs, her lungs burning from the exertion. When she turned to face the Mandalorian again, her hair fell into her eyes, obscuring his image slightly. 

Nothing could hide the flash of his eyes as he watched her across the battlefield. After a moment, the tension eased, and he slung the repeater across his shoulder before crossing the distance between them with purposeful strides.

“Don’t-” She warned him, lightsabers still hanging at her sides, the heat felt through her clothing even with the brutal Korriban sun beating down on her. She didn’t know if she intended to use her weapons or not, but all thought fled her mind when he pressed her against the stone at her back.

He was pigheaded, impossible, irritating, and one of the most stubborn bastards she’d ever met and yet, when he slipped his strong hands around her waist, his hot mouth against her own, she knew that she was lost. The kiss was hasty, intense, leaving every part of her burning, the desire for more lingering when he pulled back.

“You are the greatest warrior I have fought against, Revan.” He told her with a conviction that almost had her heart singing in her chest. Yuehai knew what the feeling was even if she couldn’t remember ever feeling it before. It terrified her. “And the greatest warrior I have ever fought beside. I will continue fighting at your side until you have no more use for me.”

With a groan, she shut off her lightsabers, clipping them to her belt once more. Damn him. “Stubborn bastard. This misplaced devotion of yours is going to get you killed one day.”

The smallest of grins crossed his lips, fleeting, brief, disappearing as quickly as it’d appeared. So quick it was that she thought she might’ve imagined it. “Dying in battle, with or against you, would be an honor.”

It almost sounded like he was teasing her.

“Will it be such an honor when I suffocate you in your sleep?” Squinting up at him, she tried to keep the frustration out of her voice, but she saw the quirk of his eyebrow at her words.

The whir of machinery broke the silence that fell, the familiar sight of HK-47 returning from his patrol. At the sight of the bodies scattered around them, the assassin droid pivoted towards her almost offended. “Statement: Master! You killed meatbags without me. Query: How could you?”

Yuehai bit her lip, trying not to laugh at how human he almost sounded and instead, tucked her hand into Canderous’, enjoying the rough calloused skin against her own. They still needed to find the Star Map, but they were so close, Bastila’s rescue nearly at hand. Then… maybe then the future might actually be a possibility.

[riftdancing]

“By the gales, do my eyes deceive me or did the rat just drag in the Caracal?” A hushed voice whispered through opposite cell bars. Bated breath caught in the highlander woman’s chest as her rosy tanned cheeks pressed against the cool metal bars straining to get a better look at the ex-soldier who had been deposited roughly upon unforgiving metal floors like a sack of popotoes. Vaniro’s body was weak and her limbs limp, save for the slow fetal curl inwards as she willed herself to persist through the pain with an outward groan. “You look like shit, Nabel.” The cat hadn’t even so much as glanced in the Highlander’s direction as she spat some of her own blood across the cold steel floor. A greeting between sky pirates was a greeting nonetheless, no matter how sour. A cheeky laugh belonging to the playful highlander woman echoed in her direction from the cell next to her. “Aw, thanks puddin’. You’re as radiant as ever. They give you that shiner as a welcoming gift?” “Piss off.” Vaniro growled as the soldier turned prisoner pushed herself to her feet. She swayed uneasily as she began to find her footing. “Ooo, she’s eloquent too. Did they teach you that in finishing school, Love?” Nabel heckled her, genuinely happy to see a familiar face in such an unpleasant circumstance. Perhaps one she could consider an ally too. Gently, the woman brushed a brown curl out of her easy golden eyes. “It's good to see you.” The roughed up feline rolled one shoulder, giving the woman no more than a grunt in response as her shoulder gave a sickening crack of protest. “Have you been here long, Nabel?” The sentiment was not returned. “Long enough to watch them drag your sorry ass in, Vaniro.” Fight fire with fire, they say. “You can call me Gabby, you know.” “Tch.” Social interaction was already wearing on the introverted feline and the click of her tongue was enough to signal the end of conversation. Vaniro fell quiet as she collected herself, smoothed out her unkempt uniform, and turned that piercing gaze upon the cell which now contained her. There wasn’t a lot to it, not that it surprised her. Garlemald had a way about simplicities, in that the cell was just barely complex enough to sustain life and nothing more. An uncomfortable cot against the back wall, a shitter in the corner, and what might be a sink on the back side of it. Beyond that? Nothing.

“Man the last time I saw you I was watching the back end of the Elemental high tailing it over Skatay Range.” Gabby mused whimsically, reminiscing about Blink’s past as the soldier in question began looking for any weakness to her cage. “Successful run too.” Vaniro’s words came faintly, distracted, as she rattled cell bars seeing if there was any give. There wasn’t. In the cell next to her Gabby kicked her boots up against the wall getting settled upon her own uncomfortable cot as she indulged in the past. “Legendary I’ve heard.” “Tall tales.” Vaniro was quick to put the rumor to rest. “The gales that high should have ripped her to shreds, but I hear you got her out in one piece…” Vaniro froze, her body tensing as she ground pearly fangs against one another due to the unpleasant memory. “With weeks worth of repairs to boot.” It was her fault. The ship had barely made it over the ridge. But they had made it out. “Won’t you take a compliment, Captain?” Nabel purred with mirth. “I’m not your Captain.” Vaniro quipped heartlessly. “Nooo, of course not. You’re a soldier now aren’t ya? Joined up with the Empire, big ‘n bad. Really showed us.” A pause as Nabel’s playful nature decayed into disgust, causing her petite brow to twitch. Or was it disappointment? It was hard for Vaniro to discern. It brought the determined woman to a full stop. “If I’m an Imperial soldier then why the fuck would I be in here with you?” Heterochromic eyes locked onto the Highlander finally as Blink awaited her answer callously. “…Yeah, so what’d you do to piss ‘em off?” Gabby chuckled curiously. Silence filled the stale air between them for a moment before a small smirk cracked at the corner of Vaniro’s upturning lips. “Defected.” “Your luck run out then?” “If I blame everything on luck, I’ll never change anything.” “That’s some shit luck then, Mate.” Vaniro's ears pinned before she took a pointed step towards the bars which separated both the women. “You want out of here or not?” “Does a caged bird yearn to fly?” the Highlander ruminated. “Then get your ass up off that cot ‘n come help me.” Gabby immediately leapt to her feet. “Yes, Captain!” “I’m not your Captain.”

[serenexdreams]

FRAGILE | YAN! ZHONGLI X READER

ZHONGLI KNEW just how fragile mortal lives were; so, to see you, a unique and free existence, constantly tossing your life into the hands of fate, infuriated him to no end. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

--

SOFT, UNBLEMISHED HANDS gently plastered a cooling herbal paste over the gash on the side of your ribs, crimson bleed eventually ceasing to flow from the wound. You let out a relaxed sigh, lulling your head back as relief coursed through your veins.

"Thank you, Qiqi...I had no clue there would be so many Abyss Mages wandering that ruin I just discovered--thank goodness the rewards were worth it, though!" You airily exclaimed, shifting your weight. Reaching out an arm, you gently patted tufts of the little girl's soft, pastel purple hair.

"Qiqi thinks...that Y/N needs to be careful," Qiqi replied, in a soft, monotone voice. She finished the treatment, before tightening the thick fabric bandages wrapped around your waist. "Doctor...Baizhu and Qiqi will be leaving the city today...for small village." She added. A wave of fondness washed over you, as a gentle smile curled on her lips.

"I will, don’t worry--and do you mean Qingce Village?" You questioned, carefully getting to your feet. A sharp thrum of pain shot through your ribs, as you gritted your teeth in discomfort.

"Ah, yea...sorry, Qiqi...forgot." Taking out her signature beige notebook from the pocket of her petite indigo dress, she slowly noted the information down. "Bye bye."

Bidding the little girl goodbye, you aimlessly hopped down the stairs of Bubu Pharmacy, gritting your teeth as you did so. Memories of the sharp, paralyzing pain that had shocked the side of your ribs flashed through your head. A shiver ran up your spine, as you shook the thought aside.

Perhaps you should take an easier commission for now. You certainly would have enough mora to sustain you for months; after all, you had successfully retrieved the artifacts from the ruins the guild had sent you to investigate. The forgotten Gladiator’s Helmet of the past lay in your hands, alongside the matching lavish goblet. Both held high historic value; and you were sure that a collector would be willing to dish out an appropriate price.

As one of the top adventurers in the Liyue branch of the Adventurer’s Guild, you were practically fearless; the world was basically your home, and the rush of adrenaline you received from completing a spine-chilling commission never failed to excite you. Whispers of your endeavours reached the ears of even the Tianqquan—who occasionally would request for you to bring her exotic herbs from a dangerous, faraway climate, or scout unmarked territory. You were the best of the best, and the newer adventurers revered and respected you; merchants would clamour at your doorstep for a chance to make a purchase of some of your rare inventory.

But there was one person who seemed to be displeased, no matter what.

“Miss Y/N. I’ve heard that you got injured—are you quite alright?” A smooth, baritone voice cut through the air, as you swivelled your head back to look at the stoic, almost-cold face of the familiar funeral consultant of Wangshang Funeral Parlor

“Ah, Mister Zhongli! How are you doing? How is Director Hu Tao?” You deliberately avoided his question, flashing him a cheeky, close-eyed grin. “And it's just Y/N, no need for the formalities. Is business well? Perhaps you came to me for some more inventory?”

Displeasure flashed momentarily through his eyes, sharpening with fury as he examined the gash on the side of your ribs. “…Please, do answer my question.” His abnormally dark tone threw you off guard, as you blinked in surprise.

“This? Oh, it’s nothing—I’ll be fine in a couple…minutes?” You brushed past the funeral consultant, beckoning for him to follow. “Come and walk with me. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to you!” Airily chatting away, you began to rapidly recount your latest adventure into the abandoned ruins of the Guilli Plains.

Zhongli listened to you avidly ramble with a hidden fondness, momentarily forgetting about his former anger at the sight of your injury. He could listen to you talk for hours, and it would never bore him. He had all the time in the world to spend with you; yet you seemed to be constantly trying to shorten it. It was as if every time he saw you, you seemed to don a fresh bruise or scrape.

"...which surprised me, because I didn't detect any traces of elemental energy. I should have expected that though, it's always been hard for me to detect Geo energy--my elemental sight isn't well trained."

The mysterious funeral consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor sighed, displeasure oozing from his demeanour. How odd. It was unlike Zhongli to be so bothered by trivial matters; mortals were fragile beings, constantly fluttering about, trying to make the most of their short lives.

But you went to the extreme—willing to even sacrifice a limb in the name of a ‘new discovery.’ He had lived through countless calamities, slew thousands of monsters, and explored vast lands. It wasn't that easy; the mortal restrictions placed upon your body proved that.

A sparkling, crimson red glass ball hung from your wrist, dangling enticingly from its bronze cage. A mark of your impulsive spirit and burning determination. Zhongli silently fumed. The Pyro Archon had beat him to the punch--he would give anything in the world for your vision to be dyed amber. Geo represented stability and loyalty; individuals who preserved through tough times with their rock-hard determination.

Zhongli knew you held all those characteristics--but it was your straightforward, risky personality that triumphed above them all. You reminded him of a phoenix; burning a path of flames, and constantly rising from its own ashes.

You were a brave expression, toughing out the pain as you winced, pausing your passionate ramble about your recent endeavour. "Ack--I hate to admit it, but I may be out of commission for a while...this injury is a true pain." Zhongli felt an odd sense of relief, as he protectively towered over your figure, eyes glued to your shorter frame. "...Mr. Zhongli?"

"It's just Zhongli to you." He affectionately remarked, drawing closer to you, pleased as he watched your cheeks burn a scarlet red--the colour of your vision. Well, there was no time to waste.

Amber orbs glistened with a hidden obsession, meticulously pouring over your every action. Zhongli watched as your gaze flitted towards a nearby Grilled Tiger Fish stand; where the delectable scent of fresh, sizzling seafood wafted from. He bitterly frowned, resisting the urge to pinch his nose. Until suddenly, an idea appeared in his mind.

For months, Zhongli had resisted the urge--the insistent voice, reasoning with him to coddle you from the dangers of the world.

You were too trusting. Too caring. Too naive, unaware of the dangers of this world. You needed to

"Y/N--would you care for some tea, perhaps? I can brew you a pot utilising a rare herb that is fabled to have healing properties." Zhongli's gaze was frosty, skimming over your every move. Mortals had always been easy to read. The way your muscles stiffened ever so slightly, eyes brightening with interest as you perked up.

"Healing properties, you say? That sounds quite interesting, but are you sure that isn't just a superstition?"

An unhinged, daunting obsession danced beneath his thinly veiled mask of elegance. "Certainly. Try it for yourself."

Within minutes, he had led you to the parlor. You remained naïve; unaware of the fact that the sky had flushed a dark, solid navy blue. And the soft click of a lock. Or the fact that nobody else was present; it was just Zhongli, and you.

But it wasn't like he was going to do anything to you, no?

The thought rang through your head, as you absentmindedly took a sip of the strange concoction, carefully breaking down the flavor profile. "it tastes...odd. I don't think my customers would..."

Your vision blurred. Figure slumping over, as the teacup slipped out of your weak grasp, shattering to pieces. Towering over you, Zhongli gently cradled your unconscious form in his arms.

For the first time in thousands of years, he was at peace.

[cl-01-kestis]

No Escape from Reality - Crosshair x Female Jedi!Reader | Prologue

Summary: some time has passed since the events on Tipoca City, you take up a job as a bounty hunter and live a fairly quiet life. Many favour your skill and hire you consistently, but you find yourself dabbling with the Empire once more.

Warnings: extensive plot, so much story building, no Crosshair, angst, smoking, SEASON 2 SPOILERS!!

(This is a direct sequel to caught in a landslide, if you haven’t read that first I highly recommend you do!)

WE’RE BACK BABY!!

You were so tired.

Exhaustion couldn’t even cover what you were feeling, not by a long shot. Every waking hour, you were working, gathering up handsome amounts of credits and whatever form of currency your clients offered.

You recently finished a job on Mon Calamari, the payment covering a whole month of food shopping. You knew you were in no position to complain, but it didn’t hurt to admit you were overworked and thinned out from labour.

A bounty hunter was the last job you ever thought you’d be doing. As a Jedi, you were taught that bounty hunters were untrustworthy, foul people that only cared about money. You weren’t untrustworthy, and you certainly weren’t foul, but you absolutely only cared about money. There was nothing more important to get by, and without it, you’d be rotting on the streets or dead. It was a gruesome, gritty profession, typically involving the bounties you were commanded to kill. Most of the time, you brought back the bounties alive and unspoiled for the clients to deal with, it felt better on your conscience. But there were times you had to take that life yourself, whether it be shooting them between their eyebrows, or strangling them to death. You were ordered to kill them however the client pleased.

It brought shame to your beliefs.

You prayed every time you killed someone, finding yourself in your apartment - which was paid for by your regular clients - and asking the maker for forgiveness. You held onto the kyber crystal that continued to stay on your neck for countless months, hoping to feel ease as you remembered the man who gave it to you. His face was nothing but a memory now, a blurry picture of who you once remembered so clearly. You were even starting to forget what his voice sounded like, the way it used to call your name through the long forgotten halls of Tipoca city.

You tried working extra hours to get him off your mind, battling tired and painful visions of the past and the trauma you faced. The money came crashing in, the reward was always bittersweet, but sometimes it truly got your mind off him.

You rarely spent your expenses on luxury, unless it was new and upgraded uniform and weapons, which you had to save up for. Many bounty hunters flashed their cash by buying designer clothes or lavish mansions and apartments, but you kept your wealth a secret. Only your clients knew your net worth, and they weren’t going to spill it so loosely.

You adorned a heavy scar on your forehead from the injury you sustained months prior, all by banging your head on that cold floor in the medbay. It was still dark, cutting through your temple and just grazing your eyebrow. To others, it looked like a battle scar, but you would never tell them you got it from your clumsiness. That’s why you wore a helmet most of the time, so people wouldn’t ask.

With a quiet sigh, you took a step outside your apartment block and leaned against the wall, taking out a cigarette and placing it between your lips. It was one of the few habits that helped, it made your mind airy and less troublesome.

As you lit the tip of the cigarette, you began a slow stroll through the small town you stayed in for the time being, a peaceful location on the planet of Naboo. It was near the countryside, very far from the city.

It was early evening, around 6pm, the sun was just setting and a few people were leaving from work. The wind was choppy, sweeping through the streets and causing a few people to clutch their coats tighter to their bodies. You put your hands in your pockets, leaving your cigarette dangling between your lips as you walked towards the main plaza of the town. There was a luxurious water fountain in the centre, a thick circular pathway surrounding it and branching off to different streets.

One of those streets lead to a bar, full of families, friends, and workers who’ve just gotten off. You contemplated joining, continuing to take short puffs of your cigarette as you walked up to the building.

A few familiar faces spotted you from a distance, fellow bounty hunters who, like you, liked to keep a low profile. One of them waved to you, beckoning you over to join them on the bench they were seated at. You smiled and waved back, shouting a friendly greeting to them before shuffling into the end seat of the bench.

“How goes your night?” One of the hunters asked, named Dalia, she was dressed in a heavy fur coat and a woolly hat. All of them were dressed out of their uniform, wrapped up for the cold night ahead and blending in with the locals.

“It’s been fairly calm, no work for me today” You tipped your cigarette in the ashtray in the middle of the wooden table. Dalia asked for a lighter as she took out a cigarillo from her satchel, placing it between her cherry red lips as you gave her your lighter. She sparked it and took a few sucks of the filter before handing it back to you, exhaling upwards into the cold winters air.

“I got some news for you; about the Empire if you care to listen. Its about the clones, I know you’ve been curious about them” Dalia’s voice lowered and she made sure no one else was listening in, giving you a subtle look of secrecy which enticed you to lean in closer.

“What’s it going to cost me?” You ask, narrowing your eyes. Dalia waved you off, chuckling to herself.

“I’ve known you long enough now, any info is free of charge now” She smiled, taking a long draw from her cigarillo.

“Alright then, let me hear it” You spoke quietly.

“More and more civvies are applying each day and replacing the clones. They’ve introduced a new regime with the clones’ chips, enhancing them 4 times their normal power, they’re getting more aggressive and merciless” Dalia revealed, flicking some ash into the tray in the middle of the table. Your face was blank, your heart hammering in your chest as you registered her heavy words.

All you could think about was Cross. You wondered if he was even alive, what happened to him after the Empire found him on Kamino? These thoughts plagued your mind for the past few months and you’ve gotten no rest from them, Dalia’s new information doesn’t help. You’ve seen him with his enhanced chip before, you couldn’t imagine him or other clones with any more intensity.

“And what about Clone Force 99? Any information on them?” You raise a brow.

“Unfortunately not, but some of my contacts say they’ve gone off the radar, they’re impossible to track now a days” Dalia scoffed, clearing her throat due to the build up of nicotine in her throat.

You nodded your head, unable to make a verbal answer. Deep down, you still worried about the rogue clone squad and their younger sister. You decided to cut off all contact with them after they saved you from Kamino, not because you didn’t want to speak to them but because you were a Jedi. If they were ever caught by the Empire, and had your con link, it would lead them straight to you.

Your alter ego, Amia Luveno, was dead in the Empire’s eyes. You could no longer use that name, as useful as it was, but you went under a code name now. But being dead in the Empire’s eyes had its endless advantages. You couldn’t exactly flaunt your face around anywhere you desired, your face was still known on imperial databases, but in times like this, bounty hunters knew your face but not in the same way the Empire did. To hunters, you were just like them.

“What do you say we grab a drink? You look tense” Dalia gesture you to stand up, you couldn’t help but follow to appease her. You tried to block out the worry in your mind about the clones as much you could.

You hoped the drinks would work.

-

A week had passed since that night on Naboo, you found yourself on Canto Bight working for a snooty billionaire with too many enemies in need of a body guard. You opted to wear your helmet, wanting to keep your identity undercover in case any imperials were in attendance at the casinos. And you were completely right. Where there’s money, there’s the Empire.

The man you were working for was an Imperial fascist, a senator with too much money and not enough common sense. He was a little intimidated by you when you first met him to discuss payment and the points of escape if someone were to plan an ambush, but he came around and handed you the first half of your payment before the job even started.

Now you were standing with a rifle strapped to your chest, eyes sharp through the cold, black visor of your helmet. Aristocrats swarmed the area, different silks and linen gowns grazing the floor. The women eyed you fearfully, the men threateningly. You didn’t move so much as a finger during the time you stood beside the Senator as he gambled away whatever credits he had in his pocket, taking a swig of his dark golden whisky as he shouted words of intimidation to his opponents.

You imagined a few people were expecting you to intervene with his brash behaviour, but you weren’t paid to do that. You were paid to protect him and his stupid money.

He spitefully ignored the winner once he lost, walking back to you with a scornful scowl.

“Looks like there won’t be any additional payments for you tonight”.

“I wasn’t expecting it, Sir” You scoffed, adjusting the grip on your rifle as he turned to another section of the casino. You silently followed him as he strutted over to, what appeared to be, an Imperial officer with disheveled hair and rosy cheeks. The officer was obviously drunk, oblivious to his surroundings as he had his arm around an unfortunate lady who was only looking for his money.

“General Viraldi! Are you winning?” Your client asked with an upbeat tone, mirroring the attitude he adorned moments ago.

“As always, Governor,” Viraldi slurred. “Say, who’s that with you?” The officer sent you a wary glance, gesturing to you with a drink in his hand.

“Oh her? She’s my bodyguard for the night, just ignore her” Your client waved you off, but you didn’t react much to the way he spoke about you.

“You need a bodyguard? Who’s trying to kill you now?” Viraldi cackled loudly, puffing his chest out as he heard the woman on his arm giggle.

“I hired her because I know those rotten rebel scum are plotting to ambush me” Your client wasn’t too far off the truth, you secretly hoped it would become reality sometime soon.

“Hired? So she’s a bounty hunter?” The drunken officer squinted his eyes at your threatening rifle and emotionless black visor. He couldn’t even tell if you were a woman or something else under there, but he knew you meant strict business.

“Yes, I am” You answered for yourself, tired of your clients jabs at you. Officer Viraldi hummed pleasingly and took a few wary steps in your direction.

“In that case, I’ve been looking for a bounty hunter recently for a most confidential job, but it’s not ideal to discuss it with you here”

“Well, you can always slip me a request in my inbox, it’s always open” You tilted your head and leaned on one leg, your stance relaxing.

“Hmm, yes, that would be much better, how can I get in touch with you?” Viraldi removed his arm from his lady, who scowled daggers at you but you didn’t care, taking his com device that he offered you. You punched in your business com number and your email, handing it back to him before he thanked you graciously. This man seemed to have way more manners than your client, who was already making himself familiar with another bottle of expensive champagne.

You reminded yourself not to panic, realising you were settling yourself into the path of the empire once more after giving that Imperial officer your details, but it was just a job. You were a bounty hunter, you were made to do this.

“Thank you for your time, my dear, I’ll send you over the details later” His pet name made you roll your eyes, but you bowed your head nonetheless and went on your separate ways.

The rest of the evening went well, there was only a few threatening drunkards who tired intimidating you and your client, but they were swiftly taken care of outside with your stun gun. Your client dismissed you after leaving on his cruiser, thankfully you brought your own ship so you left when you pleased.

The other half of your generous payment came through before you came home, checking your bank account on your datapad as you shouldered your way through your front door after unlocking it. You chucked your datapad on your couch before walking upstairs to get changed, finally free of your helmet and catsuit. You changed into your pyjamas and brushed your hair, opening your fridge since you hadn’t eaten since the night before.

Your datapad flashed bright with a new notification, drawing your attention as you grabbed a protein bar from your fridge and walked over hap hazard-ly. You picked it up, peeking at the heading of the email casually until you realised it was from the Imperial officer from Canto Bight earlier tonight. You clicked the email, opening it up to see a lengthy paragraph followed by the officers signature.

You started to read it, unpacking the protein bar and taking a bite out of it as your eyes skimmed the aurebesh text on your screen.

‘Agent Dobrova,

First of all I would like to thank you for offering me your details, I highly appreciate your cooperation. Recently, there has been an influx of rogue clones throughout the Imperial army, but a few Commanders and Captains have been on the run much to our distaste. I would like you to track down one trooper in particular, his recent defiance of the Empire has caused a blow to our plans and we want him hunted down and executed. His clone number is CC-2224, I will send you further details if you agree to this bounty, please let me know within the next week,

Thank you for your time, Officer Viraldi”

You stared at the datapad blankly for a few minutes, reading the clone number over and over as you realised who it was. There was no way you could say no to this bounty, because the empire would plant a target on your back for defiance and you would be hunted once more. But your gut churned with guilt, your mouth tasting sour as you rubbed tears from your eyes and abandoned your protein bar on your couch.

Of all the things, you’d been hired to hunt an awol clone, but not just any clone.

Commander Cody himself.

[bookinit02]

HI HELLO GOOD EVENING

I'm dead tired bc I got barely any sleep last night + braindead because I've spent the past several hours binging through your Stranger Things Byler retelling and I'm a bit out of words, HOWEVER. It finally clicked in my head that you have a tumblr and I, also having a tumblr, can use said tumblr to throw my appreciation upon you in a more direct manner.

On that note... the retelling is AMAZING and I love it so very very much!!! (I've also been leaving a whole stream of comments on the fic itself, so a lot of my feelings have already been described in detail there XD). It makes me feel so very many emotions, both good AND bad, and for a fic to trigger THAT MUCH of an emotional reaction in me is really an achievement. It's so beautifully sad and tender and joyous and realistic, and all the more painful for it—and all the more beautiful IN that pain. I haven't actually been a big active part of the Stranger Things Fandom (TM) for several years, but I still often return to Byler fics, sort of like a comfort blanket in story form—and yours are some of the BEST (I think it was also you that wrote one of my favorite ever painting scene fix-its; I'll have to go back and re-read that as well!!)

I started reading season 4 last night (which is in part to blame for my lack of sleep) and finished up the rest of it today. I'm so extremely excited for season 5 and to see what you've done with it—I already started reading the script for episode one and it looks amazing (god, I bet that Mike having a panic attack/Vecna episode hurts WAY more in prose)!!! I can't decide between reading all the script first, then reading the fic; or reading the script episodes and then reading the according fic chapters; or just barreling on ahead in the fic and coming back to the script if it strikes my fancy later (which is, if I'm being honest, the most likely outcome). All will have to wait til tomorrow, however, as I have dinner and a warm bed to get to. All the love to you and your fic!!

(Love how I said "I'm so braindead I've run out of words" and then proceeded to give evidence to the EXACT OPPOSITE claim. I'm really a bit like Mike lmao, even if I'm struggling to actually describe my specific emotions or feelings about something, I can run my mouth about any old thing for ages XD)

hi hello good morning!!! i have been watching ur comments come in with so much joy and happiness—hopefully i get time to respond to all of them within the next few days! i hope that you have gotten so much rest and that you are all refreshed for the next day🫂💗

thank you so much for all your kind words, in this ask and otherwise! the rewrite is really a labor of love that has been sustaining me for over a year now, and it is always so impressive and awe-worthy to me when new people discover it and start from the very beginning. that is SO much to read!! several novels worth!

as for the script, read it in whatever order you would like! my recommended order was originally to read the script first, then the fic chapters—but i know that some people want to experience the plot twists and developments as they happen, so really any way you decide to read it is completely fine! the byler scenes are all the same (with a bit extra in the fic), it’s really just the other characters and plot lines that are expanded.

thank you for “running your mouth,” as you’ve called it—but i prefer to think that we’re just chatting🥳 i really love interacting with people through both comments and asks, so feel free to do both (and to talk as long as you’d like)! i am super grateful and honored that you’ve chosen to read my story, and i hope that you enjoy what i have so far of season 5!!💗🫂

[soleilnomoon]

hi i would like to order a honey lemon drop with frozen yogurt for nanami. and ftm he/him pronouns if possible

so sorry for the long, long, long wait omg 😭 so ty for being patient💛, but i finished and i really like how it turned out (i hope u do too 😊) anyway i think this is my first nanami fic, so naturally i love that you wanted angst

1.9k words, ftm reader (he/him), sfw (surprise surprise), 18+ mdni, angst city all dayyy, no real warnings except that reader is a little bit of a coward (but i, too, would be unable to confess to nanami ok i understand), feat. one bed trope, forced proximity, nanami being capt. of the delulu squad (as usual), i think that's it! maybe.

“how can i not love you violently when / all i have ever known is / violence in the name of love?” — fatima aamer bilal

on a rainy thursday night, you find yourself in a second-rate motel room with one nanami kento. the situation you’ve found yourself in is less than ideal, but it’s too late to travel back home now — the distance alone puts both of you at risk, especially since you sustained an injury on your mission.

you wince as you canvas the room — a habit you’ve yet to break since childhood — and when you find that it’s safe enough, you relax a bit. but even with a soft exhale, you find yourself holding onto your side with your hand, a strained expression etched carelessly onto your soft features. you tell yourself that it’s not a big deal, that you can take whatever pain comes your way. it works to distract you quite a bit, until you remember that you’re not occupying this space alone.

nanami kento thinks you’re an idiot — possibly a bigger one than gojo satoru, although that’s debatable depending on the time of day. his reasoning is simple. only an idiot would leave themselves wide open during a fight; only an idiot would push their superior out of harm’s way without any regard for their own life; and only an idiot would wave off an injury like that and pretend that they’re fine when they’re clearly not.

but, most importantly, only an idiot with a heart much too pure for this line of work, would consider the life of someone like him worth saving.

nanami clenches his jaw for what feels like the hundredth time that day, his nerves frayed despite the nonchalance he insists on presenting to you. the room is tinier than he expected, but he doesn’t have the option of being picky right now. he shrugs off his jacket and neatly drapes it on the back of a nearby chair before running a hand down his face.

you groan a little louder than you mean to as you try to find a comfortable position while sitting on the bed, which only furthers his frustration with you.

when nanami caught you just as you fell over, he thought he’d lost another partner — although, is partner the right word in his instance? he’s not so sure now. the thought of you losing your life when you have so much more to live for, forces a different kind of fear to settle heavily in his stomach.

humans — both sorcerers and non-sorcerers — are fragile, much more prone to crumbling under the strength of supernatural entities. nanami’s wondered for a while if this line of work is suitable for someone like you. someone who, despite him telling you to save yourself first, has a blatant disregard for their own well-being, even in the face of danger.

it's absolutely infuriating to him. he was being careless, which is wholly unlike him. maybe it’s because his focus shifted slightly, where he watched you a little more closely than he should have — to ensure your safety, of course — and by the time he realized, you’d already taken the hit for him.

foolish. very, very foolish.

you watch nanami carefully, biting down on your bottom lip, wondering if he’s going to lecture you to death over your actions. he was silent during the car ride and hasn’t said much since you arrived at the motel — so you’re nervous, and why wouldn’t you be? you’re sure he doesn’t hate you, but sometimes you wonder; you always mess up in front of him, and no matter what you do you can’t seem to keep it together.

if only you could channel some courage to tell him that it’s alright, that you didn’t mind getting hurt, that you just wanted to make sure he was okay. you know that he’s much more adept at fighting, his own physical prowess out ranks yours significantly, but he’s always given you credit for your determination and insistence on trying over and over again. you assume that his silence is his attempt at keeping his anger at bay — and you’re partially right, it is.

but not for the reasons you think.

nanami hasn’t gotten the hang of properly expressing himself, because you also make him nervous — and it annoys him greatly. he recognizes it as some sort of affection for you on his part, but since he’s so good at denying himself — of the things he really wants, of anything that might bring him a sliver of happiness — it took months for him to piece together his feelings.

maybe it’s because your own feelings for him overwhelm you constantly; they make it difficult for you to keep eye contact for longer than a few seconds, makes it damn near impossible for you to be near him without feeling like you’re out of your element. you don’t entertain those outlandish daydreams anymore — the intimate ones, where he sees you as something more than a colleague — but from time to time, the compulsion hits you.

you happen to glance down at your shirt and realize you’re bleeding through it, so you unbutton it without thinking, careful to not agitate your wound. nanami’s frown deepens; he reminds himself to never be that careless again. and although he sighs that signature sigh of his, he grabs the first aid kit and walks over to the bed.

“let me clean that,” he says quietly, placing the supplies on the bed next to you before rolling up his sleeves.

the sight of his forearms is enough to send you into cardiac arrest. thankfully, you somehow manage to survive the ordeal — although your heart feels like it’s beating faster than it should, you’re surprised nanami doesn’t hear it.

swallowing hard, you try and stop him. “n-no, that’s fine. i don’t need your help.” you continue rambling and stumbling over your words, face burning from embarrassment. he grabs a chair and sits in front of you, barely paying attention to your protests. your voice is comforting — dulcet tones, soft and unsure, but very much you; it helps to take the tension away from him, and he suddenly starts to feel himself relax a bit.

when you impulsively grab his wrist to stop him, he fixes you with a stern look, effectively snuffing out any rebelliousness on your end.

it’s not that he thinks you’re incapable of cleaning it yourself, it’s that he knows you’re still in pain, and it will be more efficient if he does it himself. his excuse is that he’s gotten quite good at patching himself up over the years, and he somehow rationalizes that it makes the most sense for him to be the one to help you with this.

you let go of his wrist and try not to move, instead finding yourself watching nanami up close. heat beat slowing, yet somehow still a thunderous sound in your ears, you try to remain calm despite his close proximity. a heat radiates off your body — one he certainly feels but ignores for the sake of his own sanity. acting on emotions, on physical impulses, on outlandish dreams — those are things nanami simply cannot do.

or, rather, that he shouldn’t do.

nanami is classically handsome, with sharp features, an elegant nose, and long, fair lashes. you think you’re being inconspicuous as you watch him, committing his face to memory, so that you can think back on this exact moment later and anguish over unsaid words and actions you were too cowardly to take. you’re not exactly as subtle as you think you are, so nanami catches you fairly quickly. not that you realize any of that, you’re still trying to piece together your courage as nanami’s fingers graze your skin softly.

he moves with precision, albeit much slower than he normally does; he’s not sure if it’s an inherent selfishness on his part, but this is the only form of intimacy he’ll allow himself to have with you — as he knows the likelihood of you both living a full, enriching life is slim. still, he cleans your wound much faster than you’d like, the tips of his lithe fingers lingering dangerously close as he runs them along the bandage.

that touch alone causes you to sit up straight, breathe in sharply through your nose and grit your teeth together; it’s an attempt at grounding yourself, despite the goosebumps that crop up along your arms. still, you feel… full, somehow — and hopeful. your heart also feels too big for your chest now, almost as if there’s some sort of possibility of this being something more than a daydream.

nanami goes to wash his hands, although he looks over his shoulder at you to tell you, in that low, gravelly voice of his, that you can take the bed while he takes the armchair.

“that’s ridiculous,” you blurt out without warning, “we can share the bed, it’s not that small.”

there are so many reasons why he should not get in that bed with you, but none of them come to mind now; he wants to protest, though, very badly — but there you are, looking so fragile and seemingly angelic, that he acquiesces right away. you try not to let nerves get the best of you, as you didn’t think nanami would really agree to the demand. and by the time you both settle on the bed, nanami does his best to keep a respectful distance from you.

on a whim, because the lights are off, the rain soothes you in a way that easily invites fatigue to claim you right away, you shift closer to him. nanami stiffens immediately, not understanding why you keep insisting on trying his patience like that but relaxes eventually. he won’t admit it, but he likes that you’re completely vulnerable with him.

your eyelids grow heavy, making it impossible to stay awake, and you start mumbling as you drift off to sleep. holding his breath and keeping still, nanami strains his ears to hear you — almost like he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll miss out on something very important.

the courage you’ve been desperately seeking comes unexpectedly, and of course it would happen while you’re delirious with exhaustion. you talk sometimes in your sleep; normally, no one is around to hear it, but tonight, nanami will be subjected to the one confession you thought you’d never be brave enough to say out loud.

you say, “i’m a little bit in love with you,” so quietly that nanami thinks he imagined it. he closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath, telling his mind to settle, before looking at you again. your words will haunt him for eternity, mostly because you didn’t mean to say them to him — not now, anyway — and he understands that.

but—

what is he supposed to do now that he knows? it complicates things even more for him, and as someone who hates unnecessary complications, he now has to reconsider his approach with you. still, he doesn’t get off the bed, doesn’t move away from you; instead, nanami traces the shape of your lips with his finger — slowly and with purpose. he doesn’t know what compels him to do that, except that he just wanted to. when your lips part, he pulls his hand back, nerves barely keeping together. he closes his eyes again and prays that sleep finds him soon; at this rate, he’ll end up telling you how he feels too, and he can’t possibly have that happen. not now, not ever.

[papayajuan2019]

painfully patient anon: theres a boy who says i love you with his eyes only, and hes far far away, and i dont know when he'll return, or if we will be able to finish the magic we started. im trusting in his eyes and divine timing. i doubt not when im in his presence. but with the miles - my trust in my memory weakens.

well this is certainly above my ability to answer for you. so please ingest this with a sturdy insoluble grain of salt. i am not wise for this i feel. but i can try

i would say to wait to the point you can tolerate it. but you'll have to get reassurance he's waiting too. but you know better than anybody else when the patience becomes more of a pain than a tolerance. and when the feelings of wanting his gaze back stop becoming sustainable. you know this, even when you think you dont. tolerance should feel like it has a sustainable purpose in the end. you cant let the waiting turn into mostly hurt. should you have to let go, it's totally fine to hurt so much over it, to have wanted it to work out. doesnt mean your memory was faulty, or what you felt wasnt trustworthy. it's just that life happens. and it's tempting to put it all into what his eyes have said, to want the moment of love from his eyes to be the moment worth trusting above other trusts. the painful thing is that trust can be totally pure and infinite in a moment, but because of life, it cant be the thing to hold on to. not if it stops you from finding new infinite trusts, new gazes of love (not even necessarily romantic). im sorry it's difficult for you right now. wish i could be more helpful. it's okay to wait. it's okay to let trust evolve too, to mourn one version of it in order to find another. wait as long it feels right. move on if doesnt feel the same. it's okay if that happens. doesnt mean failure happened, just life.

[mightnotfeelrealbutitsok]

I FINISHED ROBIN HOOD YESTERDAY

(the birthday of RA, may I note)

After 34 days, or thereabouts. That makes me seem like a casual, non-fixated media-consumer, but actually that's my disciplined strategy of ensuring my fixation can sustain me for a long period of time.

Now it's time to reflect on season 3 and do some episode-by-episode reviews.

Total Eclipse - What was going on. It was different. Everything felt different. Robin had had a haircut and Guy had had a hair growth, which was actually debilitating to his vision. Also the Sheriff had eye shadow and shaved that bit of hair that everyone liked. Guy made a fool of himself by not killing Robin but entered his emo phase.

Cause and Effect - Kate began her campaign to make everyone cringe at the construction of female characters. Unfortunately she would never get over the death of that pathetic brother. Really random Irish guys. Goodbye Gisborne.

Lost in Translation - yes, Wikipedia, you're very right to note Gisborne is absent. I was almost losing hope for the series. The Bible in English, that's crazy. Was this when they dug up a skeleton?

Sins of the Father - I don't know why everyone acted like they knew Rufus. Allan and Kate definitely could have developed a relationship from here, but no, Robin's the only charmy smarmy man allowed. Snivelling accountant was killed. A little three-way conflict and little laddy escaped the shadow of his father.

Let the Games Commence - Gisborne returned with a boosted ego, styled hair, a pet lion, and things looked up. He has a sister? Now you're pushing it, writers. I did find her attractive here but, you know, that changed. A nice circus theme going on and that ginger kid tried his best.

Do You Love Me? - Now things really looked up. Prince John is a gem. He set that random wedding on fire. Gisborne and the Sheriff were pitted against each other, ouch. Did I hallucinate or did the Sheriff claim to be like his father as Guy 'killed' him? The awkward dinners, amazing. The failure at kingly healing, oh yes.

Too Hot to Handle - Prince John carried it again. Robin and Isabella really shouldn't have been a thing so it was good when Guy went after them. After treading water and undressing Isabella snapped and turned bad and we had a quarreling quadrangle: Robin, Isabella, Gisborne, Prince John.

The King Is Dead, Long Live the King - a kind of uninteresting episode, but Guy escaped Isabella, began his redemption arc, Robin faced off with his old mentor.

A Dangerous Deal - Guy and Meg, my heart, incredibly adorable, Meg was literally the best female character and she deserved more time, Guy had a character reversal, flash feminism I guess and husband-killing.

Bad Blood - the most weird weirdest episode to exist, we learnt a lot of too convenient and too overlooked facts about Robin and Guy's family history, had to watch loads of new characters take all the action, where Robin's dad happened to spring from who knows, but I overlooked the massive stretches for the sake of seeing Robin and Guy ride off into the sunset

The Enemy of My Enemy - I really wish Robin and Guy could have developed as a pair like this for longer, Archer was somewhat a prick, but I'm nevertheless fond of the strange brother trio.

Something Worth Fighting For Part 1 - Showdown time. Honestly, Kate and Robin's romance was a no-go. But sure. Turning gang members out, almost suffocating Much, Guy and Robin in the tunnels, Allan's painful death, there was some good drama.

Something Worth Fighting For Part 2 - I was so glad to have the Sheriff back. Having it back how it used to be, the final fight being against the original, key villain. Guy not a villain, a solid gang member. But then it was die die time. That tunnel scene was cruel. Guy and Robin as friends: I don't care if it's unbelievable, it makes me happy. Robin took on the nice little 'I'll be the hero and sacrifice myself so everyone else can prosper' trope. When Marian stepped out of the trees I was a goner.

[welovethecloudboytoomuch]

DFO Week Day 6: “Good. Use your aggressive feelings boy. Let the hate flow through you!”

Deku didn’t realize it was this… easy.

Over the past year he’s been fighting against villains that have gotten progressively stronger and stronger.

In the process, he’s forgotten his own strength it seems.

He flies over the battlefield and picks apart villains one by one. Throwing them away to his compatriots after they are knocked out or dazed

He feels, strong.

The call comes through rushed, “I need help over here!” It’s Uraraka, “I think it’s-“ she says before being cut off by her own scream.

Deku rushes towards the area, wind flying through his hair as he catches two more villains with blackwhip on his way over.

Then he sees it.

Dark black skin contrasts against the pink mush of an exposed brain.

A Nomu!

 And not just any Nomu, he recognises this one. Sharp yellowed teeth and a bird-like face are attached awkwardly to a giant muscled body. This is the one from the USJ.

It screeches as it holds onto the cord of one of Uraraka’s wrist wires as it whips her back and forth along the ground.

In that Instant, he sees All Might, his hero, struggling in the creatures’ hold with blood leaking down from his injured side.

He remembers Aizawa, alone and exhausted on the ground with blood dripping from his head as his bones twisted and broke like popsicle sticks, staring down Tomura with bloody eyes to protect his students.

He remembers the fear of his classmates as they all fought for their lives in the USJ.

Izuku sees red.

He charges at the monster. He uses blackwhip to wrap around the cord and stop it from controlling the movement of the wire. Uraraka finally gets back on her feet and is able to throw the support item off of her.

The Nomu whips around to see who stopped him from playing with his toy. It’s focus centres on Midoriya as he lets out another cry.

Midoryia, doesn’t pay it any mind as he gets low on the ground near the monster before delivering a devastating kick, flinging it high up into the air.

Izuku’s cheeks grow red with exertion as he recalls what he knows from the USJ.

Super Strength, Shock Adsorption, and Regeneration.

It took All Might 300 hits to finish him off, but he was using over 100%, and I can’t even do 75% sustainability.

So, I guess I’ll just have to hit him as many times as it takes while keeping him in the air!

He uses blackwhip again to bind the monster in mid-air as he rushes back and forth, using his kicks to propel him each time so he can attack.

It’s exhausting, but it’s worth it, if he can keep this monster up off the ground and defeat him here he will be able to protect his friends.

Hopefully one of the other heroes sees him too, because this is going to take a long time and all of his energy to accomplish.

Sweat flies off of Izuku as he moves back and forth, chipping away at the Nomu’s power with every hit. Izuku pants with the effort as it seems up here, he can’t get enough air in his lungs fast enough to keep up.

“Stop holding back,” a quiet voice whispers in his head. It’s too far off to know who says it and Izuku is too focused on his own task, but he hear hears it nonetheless.

“You’re stronger than this,” the voice continues. “Remember how it hurt them, your friends. Use your anger.” The voice fades in and out of his ears as if the speaker is moving around him as he says it. He can’t afford to look, can’t afford to turn his head away from pummelling the Nomu into submission.

But it’s right, he can see that his attacks aren’t affecting it as much as they were in the beginning.

He won’t be able to forgive himself if he doesn’t defeat this thing now, so he listens to the voice. He once again remembers the pain on his mentors’ faces, and the fear and screams of his friends.

His kicks hit harder, and the Nomu cries out in pain as Izuku hears something audibly crack.

The voice perks up, again this time more forceful and commanding, “Good. Use your aggressive feelings boy. Let the hate flow through you!”

Angry tears stain his face as he moves through the air. The Nomu seems tired, but it’s not dead yet.

Somewhere, far far below him Deku thinks he hears someone calling out to him, bu he’s too far gone to care.

It’s with one final move that he reels back, turns the Nomu towards him, and with a cry, punches straight through it.

---

Check out all the days here!

[freezethebeez]

Every so often, when Tubbo groans about doctor visits and makes jokes about life insurance and gets up early to go running because “genetic predisposition to dilated cardiomyopathy” runs in his family, Ranboo remembers that he’s going to have to watch his husband wither and die. That he is watching his husband wither and die day by day helps him pick out glasses as his eyes start to falter far too early and brushing off any discussion or mention of funerary services when his mother brings it up lays awake in their bed and worries over all the accidents and incidental problems that are inevitably going to rob their loved ones away from them while Ranboo sleeps.

Human death has always seemed unclean to him, as cruel as that sounds. Vampires gain a sort of ageless air to their bodies after they finish growing; the humans who see him and his mother in public call him her father, brother, and son in equal frequency to one another. When they die of old age, it is quick, clean, and only ever due to one thing. Their organ that mimics a heart loses its ability to pump liquid through their cold bodies, for whatever reason. Then, without new, nutrient-rich blood, their cells begin to dry up and cease function. The nerves go first, and consciousness goes after. There is no pain, and the body ends up as a bunch of dust and bone within a few hours.

It is an incredibly kind end for creatures that can only sustain themselves off some form of violence.

Human bodies never have the sense to give up gracefully. From what Ranboo’s gotten from Tubbo, Tommy, and his google searches with horrifying results, humans are powered by a veritable Rube Goldberg machine of liquid and weird fleshy bits. It’ll lose a brain function or vital organ and keep fruitlessly pumping blood and sending signals up to the brain until the whole system ends up drained and warped and dead.

-

When dawn is about to break, when his husband is going to work and Ranboo is going to bed; he catches Tubbo’s hand and presses a mask into it. Not the cloth kind, the good kind with filters.

“Take this? It’s flu season and all, right? Plus, there’s like gas fumes and dust from the machinery where you work. Be safe.”

Tubbo takes the mask and pockets it with a sigh before reaching up to cup his hand around the back of Ranboo’s neck, guiding them down into a hug.

“Love you too,” he says.

And then he is gone, off to world of such light and pace and vibrance that Ranboo could never hope to reach it.  -

anyway pain on the other side of love on the coin that is life amiright? A life without loss is a life without passion or meaning. This has to be worth it.

Hope u enjoy my “Ranboo grapples with the reality of death and loss in love” minific!

I LOVE YOUR MINIFIC OMG

yes, this is absolutely perfect. everything about it. you've essentially written the epilogue for me lol

(also "It is an incredibly kind end for creatures that can only sustain themselves off some form of violence" actually hits so hard. that line is amazing.)

[river-ocean]

happy 2023 y’all!!! this will be (by far) my longest post yet on tumblr and it’s a personal one so that’s fun.

@leclerctops and @duquesademiel tagged me to share 3 things i’m proud of from 2022, and i’m going to start off 2023 with positivity and affirmations and share some things ✨

my intention for 2022 was to find my voice. a broad goal, of course, but i think that these things all play into that in different ways.

1. creativity - i found my way back to some of my favorite creative outlets this year, and i am really happy with the way it feels. not all of the projects are things i would share with the world, but i have found more confidence in doing so along the way. i’ve always struggled with the concept of finishing art and seeing it as something that is worthy of being shared with others, but i’m getting more confident in sharing WIPs as well. i’ve been writing, sketching, and painting more this year than i have in YEARS, and my intention for 2023 is to share more of it. not because art needs to be shared to be worth doing, but because i am constantly inspired by all of the art that i see here and because i think it’s a special way of sharing what is going on in my brain 🌹

2. setting boundaries - this was a big one for me, and something that has been a source of a lot of pain for my whole life. accepting that i am a person who deserves to exist entirely for myself and not simply to please others felt selfish, and like i was failing to fulfill some purpose that i owed to others. it took a LOT of therapy and introspection and self-help content and surrounding myself with supportive people who showed me that i mattered to them even (and especially when) i was living for myself, but i am happy with the circles of people i am keeping and the knowledge that i have intrinsic value by being me.

3. i have a business! - i started pet sitting as a side gig back in undergrad and have been able to turn it into a full-time thing this year. it was really hard for me to make the decision to step away from public health but i admitted to myself that i needed a break after speed running from kindergarten straight through to a fellowship with no gap years (which like, i don’t recommend to ANYONE). starting a pet sitting business wasn’t intentional, and i do still want to dive back into public health once i move abroad, but i am really proud of myself for building up a roster of clients and creating something that i can sustain myself with in the meantime.

i am so proud of all of you. consider yourself tagged if you see this and haven’t done this little recap yet ❤️

[servitudeofsadness]

My mind is lunacy; I have to SHATTER & SECLUDE my thoughts, but tonight I will SPEAK.

I learnt my name spells out “graveyard” in my father-tongue

and the macabre weeping angels in the cemetery entices me so;

pray never to see or be seen

I should, I should, I should finish my books. Why do I spend so long on one page, my mind wanders.

I am confused about the word that feels intimately familiar. Latin originated.

dead. I want to be buried like the language that lives dead.

Singing devil’s advocate. I will come back with the sole purpose to haunt.

i have 15 books gathered in mahogany wood dust stacked from

emma to the virgin suicides on my bedside floor.

I won’t finish my books

unless, i need someone to read them to me,

brushing my hair, nulling me to sleep. Please, give me this.

i am so devoid of love.

The naivety people expect of me in girlhood stings me, stains me.

i lie, endearingly. (i’ve been fed the lie from strangers, uncles,

teachers with the palm of their hands that lying will have me

burnt to an ashy crisp).

(i promise you, i lie to not cause pain, i lie to

disguise dread as dreams. i lie to myself first and always).

Watch my nails never stay manicured: they’re my compulsory deterrent to panic that undo me to

harsh tears, split flesh, red stained teeth.

Biting till they’ve gone chipped and stale in my mouth.

Swallowing rotten dirt.

purple eye bags always litter my face, a reminder of not having slept enough last night.

I love them,

scholaresque, writer in the dark, midnights, neardead; Why cover it up?

Screw my sleep schedule, my mind creates, creases, caresses silly poems

only at night.

am i a good writer? a good poet? a good person who feels and thinks and have deluded dreams of making that a career? is a career in writing ever so worth it? i write because i like it, not for fame or money; but it is not sustainable to do so. i want to be great or nothing. a teacher’s one note praise is not an indicator of talent. and my talent hasn’t grasped the world of geniuses living past me. mary shelley wrote frankenstein at nineteen and if i don’t finish my stories in 4 years, i will have my life in utter un-extra-ordinaire like wannabe writers writing to Delusion. i want to speak like mothers who spill blood, fathers who spout slurs, and brothers who seals fear. and i will offer my sanity, my soul, and myself to make it so.

what is coquette? don’t ask. never ask.

do you ever ponder what the end of humanity would feel like? the act of heart-staking on a grand scale as shards of rocks crumble and reddish ashes cloud the god-touched skies. Will anything matter? Anything at all? we are set to die once we hear our newborn-cry. life is a play-thing we have tried to curate some sort of meaning in. And one day, 8 billion years forth, everything will perish. there is no future generation; there is no legacy; there is no heaven, no hell, no purgatory. there is no ground to stand on because no one will come out of it alive. the sun will implode and the life that flows in our veins, blood fresh, kindness, art, music, poetry, all of which makes us so intricately human — will die. ‘

Sleepless nights pass by me to tell me i am sacrificing sanity for my poetry.

pomegranates. gorging mouthfuls of saccharine and choking seeds of athanasia. Persephone ate for satiation and gutted herself with an entrapment, a contract of eternal damnation. pomegranates are always to be eaten cautiously.

big three: leo sun, leo rising, scorpio moon.

once i overcome my need for academic validation, the obsessive compulsion to count calories, my fear of intimacy, disordered eating, chronically onlineness, my 4th reading slump of the week, procrastination, replaying the same lana, taylor, and mitski songs over and over to cleanse the void of my skin, the urge to say kms for the the 24th time in a day, using tumblr journaling as a coping mechanism, reliving escapist fantasies i’ve dugged up from my childhood journals and my destructive tendencies in pursuit of being a writer, I will finally be so much more than content with myself.

[caterpillarblues]

In another life, I would have just loved doing life with you.

September 13, 2022

Let me tell you a story about how God answered my prayer in the best, most beautiful, and possible way.

Let’s go back to the start.

I started this blog-diary a year ago just as a source of outlet after I got my very first heartbreak. This heartbreak is an answered prayer, but not the best nor the most comfortable. It gave me a lot of scars and opened wounds I didn’t know existed. Long story short, this heartbreak made me question my worth and even the desires of my heart--the way I want to be treated, the kind of person I would want to spend my life with, or even the simplest of wishing for a time together.

For months, I have been doubting and even unknowingly forming this callus in my heart. But I kept on praying. The Lord sustains, anyway. He gives and takes away.

After some time, He started giving me the puzzle pieces, one at a time, that will form the bigger picture for my prayer.

If you remember the entry where I posted about purchasing a cassette player where the seller asked me out on a virtual movie date, then that’s the first puzzle piece.

We really hit it off well--too well actually, I love him.

Each moment I spend with him feels like I am this main character in a romance book I used to just gush about. I could not even believe that my reality is a reality because it all feels like just an imagination.

He would remember these small details about me and give me little presents that resemble these details. He would hold me like a fragile porcelain doll but he also knows how strong I am. He would eat ice cream under the moon as it slightly showers. He would look at me from afar. He would initiate and make time for me, not because I asked him to but because he really wants to. He would rather walk with me than ride a PUV because he wants to spend extra minutes talking about life. He would always ALWAYS ask me how I am doing. He would ask me questions to actually learn about me. He would not question my weird quirks and preferences because he knows it is me and he appreciates it. He would find my loud burps adorable. He would say “hi” in the most random moments. He would talk to his friends about me and how proud he is of me. He would say the right words whenever I need a good pat on the back. He would hold me close while slow dancing to a disney song. He would sit in the most comfortable and warmest silence with me. He would notice when my lips quiver in the slightest of ways and he would give the tightest and warmest hugs. He would look straight into my eyes even though I would look away. He is my long-lost prince charming.

All these small moments really feel like small sparkling glitters. Each time giving me a puzzle piece for the picture. But each piece is so much different from the other, they don’t seem to belong to one picture together. However, I continue on trusting the Lord.

One night came, I felt very conflicted bout my faith. I cannot feel the spiritual growth and the friction, on trying to merge my life with a person who does not believe that God is necessary, is getting more and more evident. I reached out to him and turns out, he is already feeling the same way. He actually knows what it is going to be about, he��s just waiting for me to be comfortable.

We are on the same page. He knows that he will not change his mind about his spirituality, I won’t either.

It must be the most unbelievable and painful moment I have ever felt since I met him. It started dawning on me that we cannot work this out. We can never work this out in this state. It is an impasse.

We’ve decided to finish it all off before we start the toxicity of pushing things that would just end up scarring us both. We’ve decided to end things before it even started, for the sake of the friendship that we could still pick up from where we will be leaving off.

It’s probably sounding so sudden for you and I agree, it’s really all so sudden. What comes easy goes easy. But I guess there’s nothing easy about finding your prince charming and having to leave him because another kingdom is calling for you.

Indeed he is a prince charming, but not for me and my kingdom.

And that’s the final piece in the puzzle. It all made sense upon the realization that he is a prince charming, but not mine. God used him as a proof that prince charmings still exist, I do not have to harden my heart just to shield myself from any pain. It is still possible to wish for a fairytale in this world.

He is the most beautiful, tragic, and magical answered prayer.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

To him, if ever you find yourself reading here:

I would just like to thank you, the biggest thank you, for treating me the way you know I would want and need to be treated. You don’t know how much healing and peace you have given my heart. Thank you for being you in the most magical way. You will always be the first person to actually make me feel like I am sitting on cloud 9 with pixie dusts all over me. Thank you for being the first person to make me feel like an actual princess. I hope you know how much you have helped me in healing my wounds. Thank you for loving me the way you did.

You’re the best one yet.

[kanamidos]

piece for a secret santa i hosted recently!! just some cuties with some lovely friends 💕🐟