#the years of my life when i was the least physically sick were spend being abused and being fucking exhausted to hell and back

[magnoliamyrrh]

.

[pedrospatch]

to hell and back l two

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, reader has a flashback, mentions of slavers, implied threat of assault, guns, reader gets groped, reader has a panic attack, a lot of angst, trauma. soft Joel, protective Joel, and i even threw in some domestic Joel because just imagine that old man making you a nice lil late night snack. 🥹 i think i got most of the major warnings out of the way, i’m sorry if i missed anything!

Word Count: 8.7k

Smoke was coming off my jacket

and you didn’t seem to mind

I left a long trail of ashes and

you said, I like your style

California l Spring, 2023

Your hand trembled slightly as you gripped your pistol and aimed it at his chest.

You’d never pointed your gun at another human being before. At least not one that was still alive.

“Hey now, it’s alright. You can trust us.”

Anxiously, you glimpsed from the man who had just spoken to the woman who stood beside him.

Surely the two had to be related. Both possessed the same fiery red hair, a face full of freckles, and vivid green eyes. They stood before you with their weapons lowered in an attempt to show you that they weren’t a threat to your safety. 

The man, who had to be in his mid to late thirties, moved to step forward, but halted in his tracks when he caught sight of the way your finger had twitched over the trigger. “My name is Mark,” he said, carefully gesturing to himself with his free hand. In his opposite hand, he clutched his rifle, an assault style weapon that made your gun look like a fucking toy in comparison. Still, it was you who had the upper hand, at least for now. “This here is my sister. Her name is Jessa.” He paused and when you said nothing, he asked, “Can you tell us your name?”

Chewing your bottom lip, you shook your head at him in response. 

You didn’t trust them.

Not quite yet.

Jessa, who was younger and looked to be closer to your own age, offered you a kind smile. “That’s alright. You don’t have to tell us your name until you feel comfortable.” She took a look around at the small, makeshift camp that you had made for yourself. “Are you all by yourself, sweets?”

You quickly wracked your brain. 

“No,” You fibbed. “I’m with my father. He should be back any minute now. He’s armed and he does not take all too kindly to strangers, so you’d best be on your way before he sees you.” You added in a steadier tone, “He won’t even think twice. He’ll just kill you on the spot, so you better leave right now. Or else.”

Amused, Mark let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, come on now, dollface. You don’t have to lie to us,” he stated, shaking his head. “Let’s try this again and let’s be honest this time, alright? How long have you been alone?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed harshly. 

Fuck.

He had seen right through the bullshit threat. 

“For about three or four days now,” You admitted, your shoulders sagging in defeat. “I was with my father and my sister. The three of us were on our way up north. We were trying to get to Seattle to the quarantine zone, but then they were—”

You suddenly stopped.

It felt like someone had driven their fist right into your gut, knocking all the wind out of your lungs and hindering your ability to speak.

You couldn’t even say it out loud.

Gruesome images of them being torn apart limb from limb flashed through your mind. Bile slowly started climbing its way up your throat and your stomach churned violently.

You were going to be sick.

“Are they both dead?” Mark questioned you.

You nodded, whispering shakily, “Yes.”

Jessa frowned. “I’m so sorry for your loss, honey. If it’s any consolation, me and Mark know exactly how it feels. We lost our entire family about three years ago. It’s the hardest thing we’ve ever been through.” Swinging back her own rifle behind her, she approached you and reached out, placing her hand over yours—the one that was still clutching your weapon. She didn’t even so much as flinch at the way the barrel was now pointed at her, how it was just an inch or two away from her chest. It didn’t seem to faze her that all it would take was you bringing your index finger down a bit harder on the trigger and she would be dead. “We know you must be fucking terrified, but it’s okay. You can trust us. We’re good, honest people and we just want to help you. But we can’t do that if you try and kill us, now can we?”

Slowly, Jessa guided you to lower your gun. She then looked over her shoulder, exchanging a look with her brother, as if asking him to back her up.

“Yeah. She’s right. We just want to help you,” he repeated after her. “We aren’t going to hurt you. If we wanted to, we probably would have by now, don’t you think so?”

You let out a tiny breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding and loosened your iron grip on your pistol.

He did make a fair point.

Now that your gun was pointed at the ground, he could have easily killed you. And yet, he’d made no move to blow your fucking head off. 

Maybe they really were good people.

But what if they weren’t?

What if it was just a trap?

You didn’t know what to fucking think.

All you knew was that you were so helplessly lost now that your family was gone.

You were afraid.

Alone.

Jessa turned back to you. “Listen, we’re part of a settlement,” she informed you. “It’s not all too far from here, maybe six or seven miles tops. We’ve got a really big group of people and we’re always looking to bring in anyone in need. Come with us, sweets. There’s plenty of food, water, and we can you into some fresh, clean clothes too. How does that sound?” 

You momentarily hesitated, still unsure whether or not you could trust the two strangers. 

How did it sound?

It sounded too fucking good to be true.

“It’s a safe place,” Mark assured you from behind her. He could see the reluctance written all over your face. 

“It’s as safe as safe can be,” Jessa promised. She touched your arm and flashed you another smile, one that was more kind than the first—one that was so comforting it made you feel like you could actually trust her. “So? What do you say? Will you come back with us? Will you let us help you?”

You nervously bit the inside of your cheek.

Scared, starving, and exhausted, their offer for a safe haven was much too tempting to decline.

Besides, how long could you possibly survive out here all on your own?

“Alright,” You finally agreed after a moment. “I’ll come with you.”

“There’s just one condition,” Mark stated, falling into step beside his sister in front of you. “We’re going to need you to hand over your weapon.”

“What?” You stared at him. “Why?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s protocol,” he said, waving a hand dismissively at you. “It’s purely for safety reasons. Anyone who comes into our group must surrender their weapons. We want to be sure that we’re bringing in someone who isn’t going to be a threat to our people. We have children, so we just want to be cautious, you know?”

“I guess that does makes sense,” You admitted. 

“You’ll get it back,” Jessa reassured you. “Once you speak to the council and they determine you aren’t a threat, you’ll get your gun back. Okay?”

Left with very little choice, you agreed. “Okay.”

Mark held out his hand for the weapon.

Slowly, you placed your pistol in his open palm.

“Perfect.” Jessa chirped. “Now grab your things and let’s get going. If we hurry up, we can make it back before nightfall.”

Nodding, you turned around to grab your pack. 

The second you turned your back, the barrel of the same gun you’d just handed to Mark poked you between your shoulder blades and you froze, your blood running cold in your veins.

“Hands up, bitch,” Jessa commanded. Her warm and friendly tone had vanished. “And turn around towards me slowly. Now.”

Terrified, you did as you were told and you lifted both of your hands, turning around on the heel of your sneaker to face her.

Her expression, much like her tone, was frigid.

Hostile.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say when I say it.” She held up her rifle, aiming it at you. “And if you don’t, you fucking die. Do you understand?”

“Please,” You choked out. “Don’t—”

“Do you fucking understand?” Jessa repeated in a hiss, her finger hovering over the trigger. When she was met with a small, meek nod, she turned to look at her brother. “Cuff her.”

Mark smirked. He tucked your gun away into the waistband of his jeans and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pair of rusted handcuffs. He walked around and stood behind you, instructing, “Hands behind your back.” Once he had both of your wrists in one hand, he used the other to slip on the cuffs, tightening them so hard that the old oxidized steel dug painfully into your skin. “She’s a pretty one,” he murmured. As soon as he made certain the cuffs were securely fastened, he put a hand on your ass, groping it roughly. “Oh, you’re going to be popular with the guys, dollface. Kind of makes me want to break you in, right here and right now—give me a few minutes with her, Jess.”

Completely paralyzed with fear, all you could do was stand there in silence as his hands continued to roam your lower body, feeling you up through your jeans. He squeezed at your inner thigh, then brushed up over your zipper.

“Mark! That’s not what she’s for, you idiot,” Jessa reminded him, rolling her eyes. “Now quit fucking around and let’s start heading back to camp.”

She whirled around and started leading the way.

Mark grinned and pressed his mouth to your ear as he whispered in cruel reassurance, “Don’t you worry, now. I’ll get my chance with you—we’re all going to our chance with you.”

He grabbed you by your upper arm and roughly shoved you forward, leading you to what would inevitably be hell on earth.

Joel leans against the tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes are fixed intently on you, carefully observing you from where he stands, more so out of concern rather than curiosity. Something isn’t right.

It’s late in the afternoon and the two of you had been about halfway into the six hour trek down south to Jackson when Joel offered to stop for a while, just long enough for the both of you to rest and take a quick breather, find a second wind before finishing the journey—but as he continues watching you, Joel starts to realize that perhaps stopping had done you much more harm than it’s done you good. 

Just a few feet away from where he’s standing and keeping a watchful eye on you, you sit perched on top of a small, flat boulder hugging your knees up to your chest with both hands wrapped tightly around the grip of your pistol. 

You’re in a trance like state, staring straight off into the distance at nothing in particular. Your face is completely blank. Emotionless. It appears that while all the lights are on, nobody is fucking home. 

Squinting against the sunlight, Joel takes a closer look at you. He sees it so clearly, the faraway look in your eyes. 

You are gone. You’ve checked out and completely disconnected from reality. 

He would go as far as saying you’ve disconnected from this fucking planet.

You’re sinking, slowly drowning in some kind of thought or perhaps it was a memory—whatever it is that’s currently preoccupying your mind, it sure as hell isn’t anything good. He has no fucking clue how he’d managed to clock it so easily, so quickly, but Joel had sensed something was wrong the instant you’d drifted off. 

The deeper you go and the further you lose yourself, the harder your hands clutch at your grin, the thin delicate skin on your knuckles stretching taught over the bones. It’s not until Joel notices the way your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly as your breaths quicken, the way you start struggling for air, that he knows it’s time for him to intervene before you worsen and suffocate under the weight of whatever it is that’s sitting so heavily on you. 

Pushing himself away from the tree, Joel begins to approach you, taking extra care so as not to spook you into turning your pistol on him and pulling the trigger in a moment of panic. He lifts both of his hands and holds them out in front of him. Cautiously, Joel makes his way over towards where you’re sitting on the boulder, his footsteps slow and careful. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, keeping his tone firm, but somehow still gentle as he tries to garner your attention. When you don’t even acknowledge him or his presence, he tries again, speaking a little bit louder. “Hey. S’okay. S’alright. Everythin’ is alright—come on back now.” Joel draws closer and closer to you, taking tiny step after tiny step on the steel toes of his worn, black leather boots. “S’alright, darlin’. I need you to come back to me now, okay? You ain’t where you think you are. You’re alright—”

The sound of a twig snapping underneath his boot startles you. Jumping to your feet, you aim your gun at him with shaking hands and wild, terrified eyes. 

Even as your finger trembles over the trigger, Joel remains calm. “Hey, c’mon. Take it easy. S’okay. You’re alright. Look, it’s me. It’s just me and I ain’t gonna do anythin’ to hurt you,” he swears. He shows you his empty hands, hoping that you would be able to snap out of it and realize that he isn’t a threat. That you aren’t in any kind of danger. But as you hold your weapon, chest heaving as you panic, Joel knows it doesn’t matter that his hands are empty. It doesn’t make a fucking difference. He knows it isn’t him who is standing in front of you.

It’s someone else. Whoever you were seeing standing there in his place, it’s someone who had done god knows what to you. Joel has a gut wrenching hunch it had something to do with the marks he’d seen around your wrists back at the cabin. The mere thought of it is enough to send an unpleasant chill up and down the length of his spine. 

Joel speaks again. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He feels the sudden urge to reach out for you, but knowing it would be unwelcome, he resists it. All he can do is try and use his words to bring you back to the present. Back to him. “Breathe. You’re safe. I need you to breathe, can you do that for me? Do you think you can breathe for me, darlin’?”

Somehow, his voice penetrates its way in through the thickness of the white fog that you’d been lost in. You had been stumbling around helplessly in it, desperately searching for a way through. Joel’s heavy, deep Southern drawl permeates the memory, causing the haunting images from that fateful day when your life had taken a sharp turn for the worst to dissolve into nothing. 

“Just breathe. Nice and slow. Inhale through your nose, then out through your mouth. Easy does it.” Joel controls his own breathing, slowing it down to demonstrate. He inhales deeply through his nose and exhales slowly through his mouth. 

You stare at him with wide eyes as you fight to get the rise and fall of your chest to match his. How the hell do you know what to do? 

Joel can practically hear your question ringing in your mind amidst the chaos. “My kid, she gets these awful nightmares sometimes. Wakes up in a panic thinkin’ she’s somewhere else, somewhere she ain’t safe. So my brother’s wife, Maria, well she was kind enough to show me what to do whenever it happens. She taught me a couple different breathin’ techniques that help soothe Ellie and calm her down. Told me it helps if I do them with her,” he explains to you. He can tell that you’re now coming out of the worst of it and that you’re finally starting to get some oxygen back into your lungs. He lowers his hands. Your pistol is still aimed at him, but Joel trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t pull the trigger and blow his fucking head off. “C’mon, breathe. There we go. That’s it. Easy does it, now. In through your nose and out through your mouth, that’s it. That’s a good girl.” 

It takes you a good minute or two, but your breaths fall into sync with his own and before you know it, the two of you are breathing together in harmony. 

Oh. You’re not in California.

The man standing before you doesn’t have red hair and green eyes. He doesn’t have that twisted smirk on his face. He isn’t putting his hands on you. He’s not hurting you. He’s helping you. 

Swallowing dryly, you lower your weapon. Your gaze meets Joel’s and somehow you find the courage to look him in his eyes for the very first time. Even though you had turned your gun on him, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it all. He isn’t upset or angry. The look of worry on his face has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you could have easily killed him just now. It’s as if he’d known for certain that you wouldn’t pull the trigger.

“There we go,” Joel says after another minute passes by. “You see? You’re alright. You’re safe.”

There’s comfort in his words, in his deep brown eyes.

Fuck, there’s comfort in him. 

Still. Your mind refuses to allow you to accept it.

At least, not completely. 

Averting your gaze, you shuffle your weight from one foot to the other and then back again. 

Joel clears his throat lightly. “It’s gettin’ real late,” he murmurs. “We should get a move on. We’ve still got a bit of a way to go and we really don’t wanna get ourselves caught out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere after dark for too long, y’know?”

You give him a small nod and start to gather up your belongings. You pick up your canteen, which is now almost completely empty after you’d shared your water with him during the first leg of the hike, and shove it into one of the side pockets of your back.

“S’kinda cold,” Joel states. “And it’ll only get colder as nightfall approaches. You, uh—you warm enough in that little denim jacket?”

You shrugged a shoulder at him, not thinking anything much of the question. I’m fine. 

However, as if on cue, a chilly breeze blows its way through Wyoming’s plains, causing you to shiver.

Joel quickly shrugs out of his brown jacket. “You mind if I—?”

You toss him a confused glance. 

Do I mind if you what? 

Joel steps towards you and lifts his arms as if he’s going to put them around you. Flinching, every muscle in your entire body goes rigid and he halts. “S’alright. I’m just gonna give you my jacket, that’s all,” he assures you, his arms frozen midair. He patiently waits for a small nod of approval. Once he has it, he drapes his jacket over your shoulders and then takes several steps back, giving you your space. “Should keep you from freezin’ your ass off out here.”

As he turns around and walks over to where he had set his rifle down, you stand there somewhat stupefied over what he’d just done. Something so simple, and yet you can’t seem to wrap your fucking brain around it. 

Willing yourself to move, you carefully slide both of your arms into the sleeves of his jacket, wrapping it around your body. The scent of him, a mixture of earthy sandalwood and whatever soap he uses to wash his clothes, fills your senses and a strange, but pleasant warmth radiates throughout your chest, gradually spreading itself to the rest of your body from head to toe. 

Ignoring the feeling, you pick up your backpack along with your bow and quiver of arrows, slinging everything over your shoulders. 

Joel slings the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and turns back to you. “Ready to get goin’?”

Pistol in hand, you gesture for him to go ahead and walk in front of you, much like he’d done for the first half of the trip.

He lets out a small sigh. “Alright, I get it. Still don’t fully trust me. Well, we’ll keep workin’ on that, then.”

A couple of hours had gone by. The slanting rays of the setting sun give a warm orange tinge to the skies as late evening begins settling itself in. 

“Y’wanna know somethin’?” Joel asks, breaking the silence between you.

You look up at the back of his head, your eyes fixing themselves on his mop of thick, unkempt salt and pepper waves. Occasionally, as you’d been slowly trudging along behind Joel, you stole glimpses of the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck and brushed against the collar of his henley.

Despite the lack of a response, Joel continues to talk. “Earlier at the cabin, just when I was startin’ to come back around, I heard a woman singin’ to me. At least, it sure seemed like she was singin’ to me. It was a real pretty song too.” He glances over his shoulder at you with curiosity. “Was that you?”

You blink at him, keeping a straight face. 

“Hm, no I s’ppose it wasn’t you,” he answers his own question. He turns his attention back to the path ahead of him. “I reckon that it must have just been some sorta dream I had while I was out cold. But it sounded so vivid, y’ know? It sounded so fuckin’ real. And the strangest part of it all is that I don’t know how it’s even possible for me to dream of a voice like that,” he muses aloud. 

Oh? Unable to help yourself, you move yourself from behind Joel and fall into step beside him. Now it’s you that’s riddled with curiosity. What do you mean by that? 

Joel glances down at you. He grips the leather strap of his rifle and shrugs his shoulders. “Well, to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a voice quite like that in my whole entire life,” he tells you. He shrugs once more, his arm brushing against yours by accident. Joel half expected you to deck him for it, but much to his surprise, it doesn’t seem like his touch had bothered you. “It was too fuckin’ gorgeous. So beautiful that part of me wonders if it was someone or somethin’ out of this world.” He pauses and peered at you, detecting a slight glimmer of light in your eyes. “Felt like I had a real life angel singin’ to me.”

You feel the corners of your lips threatening to turn upwards into a smile. Turning your face away from him, it takes everything you had in you to force them back down. 

“Well look at that. You’re walkin’ right next to me,” Joel observes after a minute, raising an eyebrow. 

Your head whips back around.

“Must mean that I’m doin’ somethin’ right, huh darlin’?”

You snort and roll your eyes.

I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking.

Still, you remain at his side. 

The rest of the trek is silent.

Night had just fallen by the time that you and Joel finally made it to Jackson. The moment that you set your sights on the massive wooden gate out in the distance, your heart begins to pound, slamming against your ribcage.

The closer the both of you draw to the barrier, the easier it is for you to see the men and women who are standing on a platform on top of the gate, heavily armed as they keep watch—their lights illuminate the perimeter of the settlement and light up the velvet purple sky. 

You stop dead in your tracks. Oh fuck that.

Joel shakes his head. “S’alright. Don’t be scared.”

There’s six people standing on top of that gate armed with fucking assault rifles. And you don’t expect me to be scared? Are you for real?

“Look, things might be a little tense at first when the patrolmen see us,” he admits, raking a hand through his hair. “None of them have any idea that I’m still alive, but as soon as they see that it’s me, they’re gonna stand down. All I need is for you to stay calm and follow my lead, alright?” He nods at the pistol in your hand. “M’also gonna need for you to put your gun away and out of sight.”

You glare at him, your eyes flashing angrily in the darkness.

You said I could have my weapons on me. 

Joel holds up his hand. “I promise that I ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you, alright? I swear it on my fuckin’ life,” he vows. “You have my word. No one’s gonna hurt you. I won’t let them. Just stay calm and do as I say. Please,” he adds, a hint of desperation lacing his tone. “Y’think you can do that for me?”

Your mind is screaming, begging you to run and run fast. Instead, you find yourself reluctantly tucking your gun into the waistband of your jeans, concealing it just like Joel had asked you to do. 

“Stay behind me,” he instructs, shoving his own rifle behind him. He begins leading the way towards the gate and beckons for you to follow close. 

The second the two of you step out from the darkness and into the light, the sound of firearms cocking breaks through the silence of the night. 

“Stop right there!” A woman’s voice shouts. “Freeze! Or we’ll fucking shoot!”

“Melissa, it’s me!” Joel calls out, holding up his hands. “It’s Joel!”

“What?”

He huffs and yells again, “It’s Joel!”

“Wait a goddamn minute, everyone fucking stand down!” Melissa loudly barks the order at the five other patrol men and women who are standing on either side of her with their firearms aimed and at the ready. “Joel? Joel Miller, is that really you?” She leans her body forward over the gate and squints at him, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Well butter my fucking ass and call me a goddamn biscuit, the man is fucking alive! Quick, open up the gates! Somebody go and get Tommy! Let’s go, fucking move it people!”

Joel drops his hands, sighing in relief.

You, on the other hand, are scared shitless and wonder if it’s too late to make a run for it. 

“Remember,” he says, looking back at you. “Calm. Okay?”

You force a small, tight nod of your head. 

Okay. 

The gate’s doors pull apart and he leads you up to them and through to the other side where you and Joel are met with a frantic crowd of at least two dozen people—the obnoxious, overlapping chatter coupled with the blatant stares you’re receiving cause an overwhelming feeling of anxiousness to wash over you in a massive wave that, if you allow it, is going to drown you right there on the spot. Refusing to make eye contact with anybody, you fix your gaze on Joel, keeping it focused on the broadness of his back as more and more people circle around the both of you, caging you in with nowhere to run. 

“Joel!” Melissa elbows her way through the large crowd, rushing up to him. She grabs him by the arms, giving him a quick once over. “Holy shit! We thought you were fucking dead! I can’t fucking believe it!”

“Where’s Tommy?” Joel asks her.

“At home with Maria. Lisa went to pull him out of bed—where the hell have you been, Joel? It’s been three fucking days!”

Joel purses his lips together tightly. He can feel you inching yourself forward, trying to stand as close to him as possible as more people join the scene. The toes of your boots touch the heels of his, your chest lightly brushing against his back. While Joel doesn’t blame the people of the town for being curious, he isn’t all too fond of the way they’re staring at you—the gestures and the finger pointing, the mutters and the whispers. He doesn’t have to see you to know it’s making you uncomfortable, and his priority is to get you out of there and somewhere where you would feel safe. “Listen, it’s a real long story that I ain’t got time for right this minute. I need Tommy—”

“Miller!”

A loud, booming voice comes from behind Melissa.

It belongs to a tall, bulky blond haired man—his mere presence is intimidating, proven by how it had taken absolutely nothing for the crowd to part and make room for him to pass through. Smirking, he saunters up to Joel and remarks, “I thought you were a fucking goner.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing. 

The tension between the two men could be sliced with a fucking machete.

His blue eyes flit over Joel’s shoulder to you. “Well, well, well. Who is this sweet little lady?”

You step even closer to Joel, pressing yourself against his backside and taking a fistful of his shirt.

“None of your fuckin’ business, that’s who.”

Keith’s smirk widens. “Actually, as head of safety and security for this community, it fucking is my business,” he reminds him. “She infected?”

Joel raises his eyebrows. “Does she look fuckin’ infected to you?”

“You know the commune’s rules, Miller.” Without tearing his eyes away from you, Keith calls over his shoulder, “Bring out one of the hounds! Now!”

Behind him, Joel hears a small gasp.

Hounds?

Joel whirls around. “Hey, s’alright,” he says quickly before you can start to panic. “We have dogs that have been trained to sniff out the cordyceps infection. S’just gonna smell you, that’s all.”

The crowd backs away as a woman with cropped hair brings out a large black dog on a chain leash attached to a brown leather harness. Once it catches sight of you, the unfamiliar newcomer, the animal begins to bark and growl, thrashing around as it tries to lunge towards you. The dog tugs and pulls at his leash so violently that he nearly knocks his handler over. The woman unclips the leash and sets the dog free—it approaches you, snarling and baring its teeth. 

You start to back away, but Joel stops you.

“Relax,” he mutters to you under his breath. He moves to stand beside you and holds out his hand, offering it in an attempt to comfort you and ease the fear. He hadn’t expected you to accept it, so when you place your hand in his and lace your fingers with his own, he’s taken by complete surprise. 

You squeeze his rough, calloused fingers as the dog comes closer towards you. Nervously, you hold your other hand out to it, prompting it to snap at you, its teeth snapping together. Somehow, you muster enough courage to hold your hand steady and the animal growls, but then gives it a sniff. When it doesn’t detect what it’s searching for, the dog happily wags his tail and gives your hand a friendly lick before running back over to its handler who puts the animal back on the leash. 

You breathe out in relief. 

“There,” Joel snaps at Keith. “You satisfied?”

Keith clicks his tongue. “Almost,” he drawls. He walks over to you, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “What’s your name, dollface?”

Your stomach drops at the nickname. Looking down at the dirt, you don’t reply.

“Aw, she’s shy! Well isn’t that just adorable.” Keith lets out a raspy laugh, causing a couple of the onlookers to laugh along with him. “What’s the matter, sweetie pie? Hm? Cat got your tongue?”

Joel drops your hand, his nostrils flaring. “Back off asshole or else—”

Ignoring him, the blond patrolman eyes the weapon hanging on your shoulder. “That’s a really nice bow you’ve got there,” Keith states, cutting off Joel’s threat. “But we do have rules here. Newcomers have to surrender their weapons so they can be stored away securely. We don’t know you and until we can know for sure you won’t be a threat to the people of this town, you’re going to have to surrender that bow along with all other weapons you’re carrying.” Keith lowers his voice as he adds, “And I would advise you not to try and hide anything because I’m going to be the one to pat you down—and I’ll be thorough. I don’t take all too kindly to liars, so keep that in mind.”

“You just threaten her in front of me?” Trying his hardest not to cause a scene with so many people watching the three of you, Joel keeps his voice low and quiet—but the sharp, dangerous edge to his tone can’t be missed. 

“Of course I didn’t,” Keith responds, innocently. “All I was doing was letting her know how we work around here in Jackson. We’ve been operating the town the same way for years now for a good reason. The rules we set in place apply to any and all newcomers, regardless of who they came here with.” He holds out his hands to you. “Surrender all of your weapons to me. Now.”

Shaking your head, you take a step back. This was not what you’d agreed to. This wasn’t the promise that Joel had made you back at the cabin. 

Joel glares at him. “She ain’t surrenderin’ a goddamn thing—”

It’s too late.

Keith steps towards you and goes for the bow. As his hand shoots out to take it from your shoulder, you quickly turn your body and swiftly dodge it. He feels his face burn with red hot anger as several onlookers gasp at your act of rebelliousness. Furious, Keith reaches for you again and grabs you, taking the upper part of your arm in a harsh grip that makes you squeak out in pain. 

You lift your opposite arm and swing a curled fist up towards his face, but he catches your wrist in his other hand before it can connect with his jawline. 

Joel!

You try to say his name, but you fucking can’t. 

Your mouth opens and nothing comes out. For as hard you push and try to force it, you can’t find your voice. Instead, all that falls from your lips is a pathetic, strangled little cry. You yank and pull, struggling as you try to tear yourself out of Keith’s grasp. 

Livid, Joel nearly goes fucking blind with rage. He snatches Keith by the collar of his leather jacket, ripping him away from you. Though he’s still sore as from the fall off of his horse three days ago, he uses every ounce of strength he has left in him to throw him down into the dirt at the feet of a fellow patrolman named Wyatt. “Don’t. Fuckin’. Touch. Her.” He barely manages to bite out the words through gritted teeth. “Ever.”

Wyatt helps him up to his feet. “You alright, man?”

“Get the fuck off me!” Keith snarls, pushing him away. His chest is heaving and his face turns a deep shade of red. Whether it’s because he’s embarrassed or if it’s because he’s angry, no one can quite tell the difference. One thing is for damn sure, he isn’t used to someone going against his authority and everyone watching holds their breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do next. After all, the man going against him happened to be their leader’s brother in law. “What the fuck is your goddamn problem, Miller? It’s protocol—”

“Not today it ain’t.”

Keith approaches him, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. He stands so close that the two of them are chest to chest, ready to tear each other to shreds. “Do you think just because your fucking brother is second in command, you can just do as you please? Is that it?” He questions, bitterly. “It doesn’t fucking work like that. We have rules set in place for a reason, Joel. We are going to do this by the fucking book whether your little girlfriend here likes it or not, got it?”

Stepping around him, he starts towards you but Joel is quick to block his path. He stands in front of you and squares his shoulders.

He speaks, his voice dangerously low. “You listen and you listen good. If you even so much as think about layin’ another fuckin’ finger on her, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of tonight pickin’ up your teeth off the ground. You understand me?”

“That a threat?”

“It ain’t a threat. It’s a fuckin’ promise.”

Keith pulls his arm back and he’s about ready to take a swing when he’s stopped by the sound of Tommy Miller’s frantic voice. 

“Joel! Where is he—where the fuck is Joel?”

The much younger, raven haired man approaches the scene, shrugging a blue denim jacket over his cotton white t-shirt. The instant that he spots Joel, he runs up to him and throws his arms around his shoulders. “Fuckin’ Christ, I thought I fuckin’ lost you out there! What the hell happened?”

“Where’s Ellie?” Joel demands. “She okay?”

“She’s fast asleep at my place with Maria and the baby. She’s been with us this entire time.”

Joel’s shoulders sag in relief.

Tommy looks around, frowning. “What’s going on? What’s everyone doin’ out here?” He then sees you and raises his eyebrows at his older brother. “Joel? Who’s that?”

“Look, I’ll explain everything, can we just—can we talk in private?”

Although he’s confused, Tommy nods. 

“Of course. C’mon, let’s go back to my place.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Tommy states as soon as Joel had finished recounting the story—well, what he could remember, anyway. It wasn’t much.

You’re sitting beside Joel across the table from Tommy and Maria in the kitchen of their home. All three of them speak in quiet, hushed voices so as not to wake Ellie and Samuel, Tommy and Maria’s infant son. Maria had offered to go upstairs to pull Ellie out of bed so that she and Joel could reunite, but when Tommy mentioned tonight had been the first night since Joel had gone missing three days ago that she had finally managed to fall asleep, everyone agreed it would be best to wait until the morning. 

“So, she saved your life,” Tommy concludes. His brown eyes, even darker than those of his older brother, flicker over to you once again. You sit there in complete silence, staring at the top of the wooden table, refusing to meet his gaze—or that of his wife. 

Joel nods. “She did, Tommy. I don’t fuckin’ know how, but what I do know is that if it wasn’t for her, then I wouldn’t be sittin’ here at this table right now.”

You shuffle uncomfortably in your chair. Though the couple had been kind to you, it didn’t make it any easier when they stared at you like you had a second head. 

“She saved your life and you don’t even know her name?” Tommy’s in complete disbelief.

“No. She doesn’t talk.”

Maria hums. “I have an idea. Let me find her a notepad or something to write on,” she suggests after a minute. She stands up, wrapping her cotton blue robe around herself, concealing her pajamas as she walks over to the kitchen counter. It takes her a bit of digging around, but in one of her junk drawers, she finds a pen and a small notepad. She makes her way back over to the table and sets the items down in front of you. “Can you write down your name for us?”

You don’t move a single muscle.

“It’s okay, honey. Just write down your name—”

“Best we don’t push her too much,” Joel warns her, holding out his hand to stop her from coming too close into your space.

You glance up at him, your lips parting slightly.

“Don’t worry,” he tells you. “You ain’t gotta tell us anythin’ until you’re good and ready. Alright?”

Tommy clears his throat. “Joel? Can me and you have a quick word in private please?”

Your heart skips an anxious beat.

No, wait! Please don’t leave me.

Less than eight hours ago, you’d been wary of this man, unable to fully trust him. Now, just the mere thought of him leaving your side puts you on edge.

“S’fine, we’re just gonna be out in the hallway,” he assures you. “It’ll only be for a minute or two.”

Realizing you didn’t want to be left alone with her, Maria jabs a thumb over her shoulder towards the gas powered stove. “I’m going to make myself a hot cup of chamomile tea. I can boil water for an extra mug if you’d like some?” she offers, warmly.

You’d turned down food and water already, much too afraid to accept anything from her. However, a warm drink did sound tempting and truth be told, Maria did seem like a nice woman. She’s Joel’s family—maybe it wouldn’t hurt to at the very least try and trust her too. 

Finally, you nod your head.

“Great,” Maria smiles, looking pleased. “I think it’ll do you some good. Chamomile is very soothing. It helps me relax—something that’s hard to do when you have a fussy six month old,” she kids as she whirls around and goes about preparing the tea. 

After making certain that you’ll be fine without him, Joel follows Tommy out into the hallway. 

“Joel, what were you thinkin’ bringing her here?”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Tommy sighs. “We need to be careful about who we bring into Jackson—”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now? You worried about this girl bein’ a threat?” Joel stares at him in complete shock. “You serious, Tommy?”

“For all we know, she could be a threat. She didn’t want to give up her weapons, Joel! She even took a swing at Keith!” He hisses. “And she did it in front of a fuckin’ crowd!”

“He put his fuckin’ hands on her—”

“She didn’t cooperate, Joel. You know damn good and well what happens when someone isn’t willin’ to cooperate with the rules. It leads to nothin’ but trouble and you know it as well as I do,” Tommy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Her first impression here wasn’t a good one. And to make matters a whole lot worse, we don’t know anythin’ about her. It’s a risk takin’ her into the community.”

Joel can’t even believe what he’s hearing. 

“So you’d rather I just left her out there alone?”

“Look Joel, we don’t know what she’s capable of,” Tommy reminds him, quietly. “If she’s managed to survive out there all on her own for this fuckin’ long, then who the hell knows what she’s done or what kind of blood is on her hands—you might be thinkin’ that she’s some helpless little victim, but maybe she’s not. Hell, we’ll never know because the girl can’t fuckin’ talk. Or maybe she just won’t talk. Either way, we’re runnin’ a huge risk by takin’ her in without knowin’ who the hell she is or where she came from.”

Joel glares at him. “Listen here, whether she can’t talk or just won’t talk, that doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he says. He pauses briefly, long enough to take a peek back into the kitchen where you’re still sitting at the table. After she’d finished making the tea, Maria took the two steaming mugs and sat down in the chair beside you. She’s now trying almost desperately to get you to write down your name on the notepad. He immediately notices the way that you’d started wringing your hands together anxiously in your lap and he knows you’re debating in your mind whether or not you should reveal your identity to the stranger. He turns back to his brother with a frown. “She ain’t a helpless victim. She’s a survivor. She saved my fuckin’ life out there, Tommy. If it weren’t for her, I would be dead right now.”

“And where is she gonna stay?”

“With me and Ellie, of course.”

Tommy almost laughs. “Wait. You’re gonna be in charge of her? Someone who won’t fuckin’ talk to you? Whose name you don’t even know? Are you serious?”

Joel doesn’t even think twice about it. “Yeah.”

“Look Joel, I know you can be kind of a fuckin’ dumbass, but you can’t possibly be this goddamn dumb, big brother. Think ‘bout it—”

“I already have thought about it. She’s stayin’ with me.” Joel shrugs. “I know it ain’t gonna be easy, but maybe I can get her to trust me enough to talk to me.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “You really think she can talk and she’s just choosin’ not to?”

“I think she wants to talk, but she can’t. She’s too scared right now. But if I can get her to really trust me—”

“That girl ain’t gonna fuckin’ trust you, Joel.”

“She trusted me enough to come to Jackson,” he says, fiercely. “That has to mean somethin’, I just know it does.”

Tommy exhales a long and heavy sigh. He already knew just how fucking stubborn his brother could be. There’s no changing Joel’s mind once it was made up. 

Maria steps out into the hallway. “No luck,” she tells them, shaking her head lightly. “I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s been through. If she’s too terrified to even give us her name—”

“It must’ve been somethin’ real bad,” Joel finishes for her. He places his hands on his hips. “I think I might have some idea of what happened to her.”

“What do you mean?” she asks. 

Joel lowers his voice as he briefly tells Tommy and Maria about the scars he’d seen around your wrist. “Like she’s been in handcuffs or somethin’,” he murmurs. “Think it could’ve been FEDRA?”

“Possibly.” Maria thinks it over for a moment. “There’s also a good possibility that she’s been a prisoner in a slave camp.”

Slavers.

Joel’s stomach churns at the thought of it. He’d heard about those kinds of groups, about the cruel and inhumane things they did to their prisoners. 

He fucking hoped that wasn’t it. But something in his gut told him not to be so goddamn naive. 

“Listen, we feel for the girl, Joel. We do,” Tommy admits. “And we’re willin’ to give her some time to adjust, same as we did with you and with Ellie—same as we do with all newcomers. But regardless of what she’s been through, she’s still gonna need to pull her weight around here, just like the rest of us. She’s expected to take on work duty just like everybody else. It’ll be hard findin’ the right job for her if she’s not gonna talk to anyone so the sooner you can get her to break her silence, the better it’ll be,” he advises. He points a finger at his brother. “From this point on, she’s your responsibility.”

“I can handle it, Tommy.”

“For your sake, I really hope you can.”

“Good to know you’ve got faith in me,” Joel makes the sarcastic comment under his breath, but he’s certain Tommy had heard it. “It’s gettin’ pretty late now. She’s exhausted and so am I. M’gonna take her back to my place and get her settled in for the night.”

“What ‘bout Ellie?”

“Best she just stays here with you two tonight. As soon as she’s up in the mornin’, you can bring her on over to mine if that’s alright with you and Maria?”

Tommy nods. “You got it, brother.”

“Besides, I figure it’ll give me a bit of extra time to think of how I’m gonna explain everythin’ to her.” Joel suddenly realizes that he hadn’t given much thought about how he was going to tell Ellie about you—how he was going to explain your condition to her and how you’d be sharing a roof with them from this point on. 

Tommy chuckles. “Yeah, good luck with that one.”

Rolling his eyes, Joel roughly shoves past him and back into the kitchen. 

You hadn’t drank the tea Maria had made you, but you’d wrapped your hands around the ceramic red mug to warm them up. 

“C’mon,” he beckons to you with his hand. “Let’s go. M’gonna take you home now.”

Home. 

The word rinds oddly in your ears.

You stand up from the table.

“Wait.” Maria picks up the notepad and pen, handing them over to you. “Here. Take these with you. Just in case you decide you want to use them.”

Joel pushes through the front door, switching on the lights in the foyer of his home before stepping aside to let you in. He watches as you stand there at the door looking rather apprehensive. “It’s okay, darlin’. S’just me and you here tonight.”

Carefully, you step over the threshold. When was the last time you’d even set foot in an actual house? One with running water and electricity?

You couldn’t remember.

Joel shuts the front door behind you and locks it. “Let’s go upstairs.” He gestures for you to follow him up the cherrywood staircase. “It’s pretty late, so I’ll show you the rest of the house tomorrow in the mornin’,” he promises you over his shoulder. At the top of the staircase, Joel switches on more lights that illuminate a short hallway. He points to a door at the end of it, stating, “That one there at the end, that’s mine. This one here is Ellie’s. We also have a third spare, it’s right across from her.” He nods with his head towards the door of the bedroom he’d been referring to. “Go on. Open it up and check it out for yourself.”

You want me to open the door?

Seeing your expression, Joel chuckles. “Go on. It’s alright. There’s nothin’ bad in there. I promise.”

You momentarily hesitate. Fingers trembling, you reach out and grasp the brass door knob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. You peek inside and flip the light switch next to the door frame.

You gasp. Holy shit, is this fucking real?

The spare bedroom is fully furnished with light oakwood furniture—a dresser up against one wall, a desk nestled in the corner, and two nightstands on either side of the most comfortable, full sized bed that you’d ever seen. The décor is minimal, but whoever had occupied the space before had a clear adoration for simple, warm, earthy tones. You nearly smile at the shades of mud brown, forest green, and autumn orange. Setting your things down on the hardwood floor, you make your way over to the bed and sit down, planting your hands firmly on either side of you. You relish in the softness of the cream colored duvet comforter. 

“I’m guessin’ you like it.” Joel can’t help but grin a little. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go see if I can get you one of my shirts or somethin’ that you can sleep in. Make yourself comfortable.” He spins around on the heel of his boot, disappearing into the hallway. 

Unable to resist, you lay back onto the bed. Your body sinks into it, melting right into the mattress. It feels like a fucking cloud. 

Joel reappears in the room just seconds later. “I can see you took what I said about makin’ yourself comfortable quite literally.” His voice causes you to shoot back up into a sitting position. Joel stands there at the door holding a long sleeved, navy and white flannel shirt in one hand—in the other, he’d been holding a gray hooded sweatshirt and from his arm swings a brown canvas tote bag. “Not too sure what you would prefer to sleep in. I figured you might want somethin’ on the warmer side. Here’s a couple options to choose from. I’ve also got t-shirts if you’d rather sleep in one of those.”

Standing up from the bed, you walk over to him and he holds out the articles of clothing for you to see better. It’s his flannel you gravitate to the most. Taking it from him, you run your fingers over the fabric.

“I can throw your clothes in the washing machine for you first thing tomorrow so they’ll be clean by the time you wake up,” he adds.

You breath out shakily.

A fucking washing machine.

“Overwhelming, ain’t it?”Joel drapes the hooded sweatshirt over a nearby chair, deciding to leave it for you as well. “Trust me, I get it. I felt the same when I first got here with Ellie. It took a lot of time for the both of us to adjust to this new way of life after being out there for so long,” he confesses to you. “The important thing is to take it one step at a time, darlin’. And somethin’ is tellin’ me the next step for you is probably takin’ a nice hot shower?”

Your mouth falls open. A hot shower? Hot?

“You’ll have to share a bathroom with Ellie.” Joel leads you out of the bedroom and to another door adjacent to yours. He shows you the bathroom, telling you which knob in the shower was for hot water and which one was for cold water. “You can use Ellie’s shampoo, m’sure she won’t mind. I’d offer you some of my own, but I don’t think you’ll wanna walk around smellin’ like sandalwood and spice.” Joel hands you the canvas bag he’d had draped over his arm. “Here. Should be pretty much everythin’ you’re gonna need. There’s a bar of soap, a couple clean washcloths, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. There’s also a razor.” He pauses. “It’s a men’s razor, one of mine I’ve never used, but I reckon it does the job just the same as a woman’s razor.”

Amused, you quirk an eyebrow at him. What the hell are you trying to say? That I need to shave?

“Not that you have to use it,” he adds quickly, his cheeks burning bright red at what you thought he had been insinuating. He shifts awkwardly from boot to boot. “I tossed it in there just in case you’d want to, but you ain’t gotta use it, that’s not what I meant at all—”

Deciding you don’t want to see him squirm, you lift a hand up to stop him and shake your head.

Truth be told, you actually couldn’t fucking wait to shave your legs.

Calm down, cowboy. It’s all good.

Realizing he hadn’t offended you, Joel relaxes. “I’ll let you get to your shower. You take as long as you want, but just try and leave some hot water for me since I’m next,” he chuckles. “As soon as we both get all cleaned up, we can meet downstairs in the kitchen for a quick bite to eat before bed. Deal?”

Deal.

He’s about to leave you to it when you stop him, grabbing his arm. Wait a second, Joel.

Joel’s eyes meet yours. “Yeah?”

Thank you.

Your gratitude might have been silent, but it was there and he knew it. 

Feeling brave, Joel reaches up and places his hand over yours for a moment, his thumb brushing against the softness of your skin. “No need to thank me, sweetheart.” 

Letting his hand drop away from yours, Joel then turns and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him to give you your privacy. 

Once you have the hot water running, you kick off your boots and start to peel off your clothes, tossing them into a pile on the floor near the door. Completely naked, you turn your back towards the oval shaped mirror hanging over the bathroom sink, unwilling to take a look at the scars on your body—painful reminders of the cruel punishments you’d endured during your time in captivity. 

You grab the toiletries from the tote bag Joel had given you and set them on the side of the tub. Pulling the yellow floral curtain aside, you step into the shower and position yourself directly underneath the scalding hot water, letting it burn your skin to give you an entirely different kind of pain to think about, even if it was just for a minute until your body adjusted to the temperature of the water and it no longer hurt. 

You begin washing yourself, trying your hardest to keep from crumbling. But you couldn’t. Lump in your throat and a tightness in your chest, tears brim your eyes, ready to fall. 

You’re willing to let them. 

Two years. For almost two fucking years, you had been suppressing your emotions. You’d been in a constant survival mode, there had been no time to feel anything. And now here you were, standing in a fucking shower with all the freedom in the world to just let it all out. 

Silent sobs wrack your body, bringing you down onto your knees. 

Joel’s shower had been a quick one.

You hadn’t left him very much hot water—but he couldn’t even be mad about it.

He pulls on a pair of light gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. He haphazardly dries off his hair and makes his way downstairs, knowing you would be heading down there any minute now to meet him like you’d agreed. Without much time to make a proper meal for you to eat, Joel goes about the dimly lit kitchen and prepares a couple of cold turkey sandwiches. He’d just plated them and set them on the table when the soft padding of bare feet on the hardwood floor prompts him to look up. 

His breath catches in his throat. You stand there in the doorway wearing nothing but his flannel shirt. The hem of it falls to the middle of your thighs, and it takes everything in him not to think about the fact that you weren’t wearing anything under his shirt. His fucking shirt.

Clearing his throat lightly, he makes sure not to let his gaze wander where it’s not supposed to. “I bet you feel a lot better, don’t you?”

You sigh softly. Oh, you have no fucking idea.

Noticing you’re holding your hands behind your back, Joel shoots you a puzzled look. “What’cha got there?”

You bring your arms forward. Clutched in your hands is the notepad and pen that Maria had given you.

Although he takes it as a sign that you are willing to communicate with him, Joel knows better than to get too far ahead of himself. He’d wait until you were ready to make the first move and he’d follow your lead. “I made you a sandwich to eat,” he tells you, pulling out a chair at the table. “C’mon, come have a seat.”

After you sit down, Joel goes over to the sink and fills two glasses of water, one for you and one for himself. Setting them down on the table, he finally takes a seat across from you—that’s when he notices the redness in your eyes. You’d been crying. Even though he wants to ask you if you’re alright, Joel decides against it for the time being and the two of you eat in comfortable, tranquil silence.

“I can make you another one if you’re still hungry,” Joel offers when you polish off the last couple bites of your sandwich. 

Shaking your head, you place your hands on your belly signaling that you’re full. You’re not, though. You’d eagerly scarf another three of them down if you could, but you were a lot more exhausted than you were hungry and you couldn’t wait to crawl into that bed upstairs and get some sleep.. 

Joel studies you. “You okay, darlin’?”

You shrug. This has just been a lot to process.

“I know it’s gonna be tough for you. It’s like I told you earlier, it’s gonna take some time to adjust to your new life here in Jackson. But I need you to know you ain’t alone anymore. I’m gonna be here to look out for you. And trust me, I know you don’t really need me to.” Joel pauses and shoots you a crooked little grin. “Hell, you took a swing at Keith. You’ve got bigger fuckin’ balls than half of the men in this town. Includin’ myself.”

You let out a huff of amusement from your nose and the corners of your mouth tug into a small smile—you don’t try to force it down. 

Joel blurts the words before he can even think to stop himself. “You’ve got a real nice smile, y’know.”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you move your empty plate off to the side and grab your pen and notepad. You swiftly scribble something onto the blank page, then slide it across the table to Joel. 

He picks it up, an odd sensation fluttering inside his chest when he realizes what you had done.

You’d written down your name for him.

He says it out loud, and then looks up at you.

“That’s a real beautiful name.” Sincerity drips from his tone, going hand in hand with his compliment.

Cheeks burning, you glance down at your hands, which you’d begun wringing together on top of the table. It was out of nervousness, but this kind was different. You couldn’t quite explain it. 

“I know it’s gonna take a whole lot more than a hot shower and a sandwich to get you to trust me. But I swear that I’m gonna do whatever I can to show you that you ain’t got anythin’ to be afraid of. Not with me around. Okay?”

Okay. 

You open your mouth, trying to repeat the word back to him. 

Joel’s eyes widen slightly. You wanted to talk to him—you were actually trying to talk to him. But it was a clear struggle. Something wasn’t letting you find your voice. 

Clamping your mouth shut, you sigh and sink back into your chair. I’m sorry. I can’t.

“It’s okay,” he says, softly. “We’re gonna take this one step at a time. Together.”

[cherryblossomchronicles]

The revelation of Seok-Ryu's past was a gut-wrenching blow.

Going from the high of deciding to spend the rest of your life with your partner to realizing you might not even have the time for that must have been devastating for her. But then choosing to not tell your best friend about it, your family? It would have totally crushed her to go through all of that alone and put a strong front for them.

“It’s okay Seok-Ryu, it’s not a big deal.

I’ll get better. I’ll tell them after I get better.

It’s not a big deal, its nothing.”

As an elder daughter, Seok-Ryu had internalized the societal expectation that she should be the pillar of strength for her family. This pressure to always be "okay" had become so ingrained in her that she felt compelled to hide her struggles. Her reassurances to herself that "it's not a big deal" were a desperate attempt to maintain a facade of normalcy.

This is such a consistent thing with elder daughters in a family. We must have it all planned, we must be able to solve everything, survive anything that we prefer to tell anyone about our problems when we have already solved them. This habit becomes so ingrained in us that we stop telling people even about the things that we should.

“I’m going to worry about a recurrence next year and the year after that.

Even if I remain in complete remission for five years, I won’t be completely free.

I’ll always be near death’s door. I am going to feel a little anxious and sad.

That’s how my life’s going to be.”

This is the life of a cancer survivor. Even if you’ve risen triumphant from the battle, war is not yet done – rather your entire life is now a war. You can’t rest it easy. Stress, anxiety and fear will constantly dog your steps and make a home in your routine. This is what Seok-Ryu’s reality look like with her mental health taking a steep nosedive due to her physical health. She had to let go of so many aspects of her life to deal with her new reality. All this while she was also dealing with her slowly crumbling relationship with Hyeon-Jun.

When she could finally let go of that threads tying her back to the toxic part of her life and decided to come home, she realized there is another battle that she must face – lying to everyone she loves day-in and day-out. And she did, pretended that everything is fine, that things didn’t work out for her, that she had burnout – that she came back due to workplace harassment. Everything was acceptable but the truth. That little nugget was something that no one could know about. For all the problems, scorns and disappointment that she had to face and go through, the reality of the hellscape her life turned to was known only to her and she was happy in that escape. Even if she had to pretend, make herself sick, avoid the situations and deny herself the things she wants, if she could believe that everything is back to normal for few moments – all of it would be worth it.

“That’s why I don’t need love anymore.

The stomach I have left can barely handle digesting my dream.”

In all this, one thing that made me immensely sad was her decision that she and her situation is the problem. What happened with Hyeon-Jun made her think that no relationship would be able to survive the stress that comes as a complimentary gift of being with her. And she? She swore off it. Everything is acceptable in her books, everything, but ruining her friendship with Choisseung.

She knows he likes her, she also remembered that she liked him first, in their past but she would rather be selfish and keep Seung-Hyo in her life as her friend. At least with it comes a guarantee that even if he gets angry, mad or furious with her, it’s all temporary. That their friendship is made of sterner stuff to crumble under this pressure. She can’t say the same about relationship and repeating the slow death of a relationship like the way she experienced is the last thing she wants to do. Especially when the person in question is someone, she holds very dear.

Having decided upon the truth about being with her, she went ahead to turn him down as gently as she could, crushing any hope while also trying to preserve as much of their friendship as she could.

Seok-Ryu wants. She wants to be happy. She wants to not have to worry. She wants to cook for a living. She wants to see her parents happy. She wants to see Seung-Hyo successful. But more than that – she wants to keep seeing that smile on his face and she knows being with her is the fastest way to lose it.

[furiousgoldfish]

How do you continue to function when you're so burnout for decades long it paralyzed you from working properly? Ngl my life is a whole mess after 10 years trying to survive from my abuser. and I still don't know how to get back on my feet again without having a mental breakdown several times a week and feeling suicidal on top of it

and I'm too ashamed to talk about it to people, i did talk, they were understanding at first, but that doesn't stay long. You can only cry and whine once, after that, you're burdening them with your loads.

They'd say you continue fighting no matter what still and I do, fight still everyday in my life even if it's getting up from bed. But what I can't do is going to work, I just can't, it doesn’t help that i experience abuse too from the place i work at, had to quit abruptly at one occasion after the boss got physical with me

In this survival state, I mostly earned money from freelance job (and obviously it's not enough)

Everyone I'm close to is very frustrated with me because I didn't seem to be healed even though it's been this long. What I learned from it is that not to bring up my pain ever again and have to pretend I'm doing fine because that's what my family and friends can tolerate. That kind of isolation kills me, as if they didn't consider that i want to be healed too. no one else wants to survive my trauma more than me. I just don't know how and I can't see how it's possible.

Yeah I relate to this! It is very scary to be expected to be able to work and live independently while you're barely holding it together, unable to get up from bed.

I can only share my experience of this, and maybe it's not that helpful, but I want you to know that it can get better, and that people are wrong for expecting you to suddenly be okay after the experience of torturous abuse.

When I escaped, I had enough money from freelancing saved up so I could just rest for a few years (it was stressful, being scared the money would run out), but I was able to indulge fully in resting and not getting up when I didn't want to. I spent years just laying in bed and trying to work trough the trauma and get the feelings of pain and terror out, and it worked to some extent, I started feeling a little less tired after three years!

I started working very infrequently, odd little jobs, helping neighbours for a bit of money, helping the disabled people or cleaning when I could, and it would just be a few hours of work, and I'd be completely drained after that. But again, giving myself plenty of space and time to rest helped me a lot, and then later working on my osdd also helped me restore some of the energy.

I can work only 2-3 days a week now, for a few hours, and it's enough to survive in poverty, if I don't buy anything, so this is what I do. I'm lucky that I'm able to share my bills and rent with roommates and make my own food, and that I'm so used to poverty it doesn't specifically bother me. I still get sad sometimes that I can't have an actual real job and live more safely, but I'm alive, I'm not tormented, and I spend a lot of time resting, and just tell people 'I'm sick' if they ask questions.

I think freelancing, doing a few hours of work infrequently or just slowly letting yourself recover until you can do something for a bit worked great for me, but I also understand it's not something that will work for anyone. If you're stuck not being able to save up, or work enough that you could pay even a part of your rent, that feels debilitating and scary, it doesn't let you plan for the future, it doesn't feel like you can even complain to people as they're unwilling to listen. I am so sorry for what you're going trough, it's legitimately a bad situation, and it's only natural for you to struggle like this after so much abuse. I believe you need to have as much rest as you need and if one day you get a little better, you might be able to figure it out, and if not, I hope at least people take you more seriously and understand that this is real pain, real fear of losing a future over abuse.

[iloveschiaparelli]

Finding out from my mom that I spoke full sentences at 10 months old and then adding that to all my other memories of being young just feels like a punch to the gut

When I first self dxd autism I knew that my experiences from age 10 up were consistent with autism diagnostic criteria but I only had a very vague understanding of how my early childhood was affected. Like I knew that I behaved the same way but I didn't have any specific examples and at first my mom didn't believe me either, so she wasn't much help. I honestly believed that I must not have presented autism in an obvious way, since it was missed in my childhood.

But since then I've realized/learned several things:

I was speaking in full sentences at 10 months old. Typically that isn't supposed to happen until age 3 or 4.

I spoke incessantly. All the time. To the point where my mom still jokes that they had to "train me to stop talking" (what exactly that entailed I have no idea???)

Throughout my life including early childhood people have asked me to slow down when talking or remarked on how fast I spoke

In my childhood and pretty much through out my life pre-depresion, people would remark on how good my memory was. Especially in my early childhood (4-8 years old) I would get comments like this ALL THE TIME, I just remembered literally everything?

I taught myself to read at age 4. Because I wanted to read the same storybook over and over again for a period of over a week at least, and my caregivers were sick of reading it to me and started saying no when I asked. So I said "fine, I'll just read it to myself." I was reading at a 3rd grade level at least. by the time i was 5. When I was 5 or 6, I read The Secret Garden, unabridged. I remember this because I was really into tinkerbell at the time, it had just come out. TSG was my mom's copy of the book from her childhood and I had to confess to her that I had fallen asleep while reading and the paperback cover had fallen off in my bed.

Despite making my way through the book pretty quickly, I did not understand a lick of the meaning. I just took down the sequence of events.

I often sat down and arranged stones or blocks or my dollhouse elements by category, size, or color. I would also spend times trying to make sure the chains on the swinger were perfectly aligned.

I watched Finding Nemo maybe 30 times when I was 1-3 years old. Like I would beg my parents to start it over again immediately after it finished. At the time my parents owned a wall projector instead of a TV, so big picture. I suspect now that I was seeking out a visual stim because I still find that movie delightful.

Also forgot to mention, we lived in Japan when I was 1-2.5 and I started learning Japanese?? I don't remember it but according to my parents I was already using some Japanese words by the time we returned to the US. And I had learned to use chopsticks.

Dinosaur. Arms.

Picky eating that was explicitly known to be a texture issue. Nobody thought to analyze this further.

When I was 6 or so I was exposed to plush blankets for the first time. It became my dream to own one. I bought my first one when I was 19 and now I own like 10 of them because plush is one of my favorite textures in the world. But girls I would literally sit in bed and dream about owning a plush blanket. For years. Every time I went to summer camp and someone brought one for themselves I would stare at it, forlorn. Yearning.

I would read the science homeschool books excessively. I went into 5th grade Earth Science already knowing everything that we were being taught, because I had pored over geology and physical science books since I was 5. Probably about 5 years old is when I was able to explain how volcanoes worked and the layers of the earth. Also the water cycle.

These science books also included my dad's 100 year complete collection of national geographic magazines. At 2 years old I was able to explain the star life cycle and how black holes formed. As well as what would happen if you fell into one.

Once I gained access to the internet at 14 my knowledge of the cosmos expanded explosively. I became able to thoroughly explain multiverse theory, multiple theories for the origin of the universe, a good deal of the geological history of Mars, Mars's atmospheric composition, and could fully explain how solar flares worked, how Earth's magnetic field protected us, and how Mars magnetic field had disappeared taking the atmosphere with it. I was failing biology.

Transfered schools twice and a year later had to start biology over again, this time aced it. DNA replication was simple as pie.

SUCKED at math. Always.

Sucked at socialization.

Hyperfixated on the Maze Runner movies to the point where I had the 2nd one memorized and would read the credits for fun. Got so into the BTS that 5 years later I went to film school.

LOUD music was my faborite coping mechanism. Just about destroyed my hearing because I would, on a nightly basis, play heavydirtysoul on loop through the Brookstone ear buds I had gotten for Christmas at Max volume until I felt calm enough to sleep. Would also squirm with the music which i now know to be an uninformed attempt at stimming.

Just... how did I NOT get screened for autism as a kid? I was literally a textbook case for what likely would have been diagnosed as aspergers at the time.

My parents were somewhat neglectful at that time because of a lot of reasons, but I don't really fault them for it. Sometimes I forget that they even were but then I remember things like this.

Asked my mom about it yesterday "how did you not think me speaking full sentences at 10 months was weird?!!" And her response was "we didn't know!"

They didn't know my dad was autistic.

They didn't know that hitting your milestones 2-3 years early is NOT normal and likely a sign of a disorder.

They didn't know that repetitive behavior and obsessive organizing is not normal.

If they had known...... my childhood would have been so different. I wouldn't have nearly flunked out of college. I wouldn't have grown to hate myself because of my social skills. I wouldn't have had countless episodes of feeling like I was going to explode out of my skin but shoving it down and chewing on my cheek just to get through the social situation. So much would have been different.

This is why it's so important to spread general awareness of autism symptoms and behaviors. Real and varied examples, not just solely sdtereotypes and nonverbal autistic alone. And not just autism either but pretty much any disorder.

Or at least an awareness about what child development is SUPPOSED to look like, so that parents can flag when things aren't normal.

[derrydyyke]

Letters.

tw; drug/alcohol abuse, suicidal ideation/attempt.

Monday, March 6th, 2017

Eddie,

I don't really know what to say here. My therapist (Ben & Bev finally got me to go. I don't really think it's working.) told me to try journaling, and I really did try but nothing came out. Imagine that, huh? Me, with absolutely nothing to say. So he told me to maybe try writing to a specific person. Like letters, I guess. That it might make it easier to come up with things to say. And I guess that part does make sense, I mean there are about a million things I wish I could say to you. Mostly just that I really fuckin miss you, man. He told me to write whenever I felt like drinking, or using. I told him that I don't think he understands that I'd be selling novels like Bill does if I wrote every single time I feel like that. So we agreed to at least try it on the extra hard nights. And today was six months since... Well, you know. I don't think I can say it yet. I feel sick when I try to talk about it. That's another thing we're working on. Um. Anyways, I guess I just wanna say that I miss you. I wish we had more time together. That fucking clown stole thirty years we all could've had with each other and then as soon as we found each other again it had to take you away from me for good. It's not fucking fair. Fuck this. Therapy and journaling is bullshit. It's not the same, It's not like I can actually talk to you. Now I'm just writing AND drinking. Shit. It's midnight already. At least that awful fucking day is over. Hey, Happy Birthday to me. Who thought I'd see 41? Not me, that's for sure. Especially after these past few months. Fuck Paul, dude, what am I even paying this guy for? I'm wrapping this up. There's a bottle of vikes and a bottle of Makers Mark calling my name. Goodnight, Eds. I can't fuckin' tell you enough how badly I wish you were here. You'd smack the shit out of me, maybe knock some sense into me. I know you would. You're the only one that could.

Thursday, March 23rd, 2017

Eds,

I read (some of) my last letter to you to Paul. Out loud. It was super uncomfortable and I hated it just like everything else about therapy. He said it was a good start (didn't know I was being graded???) but that I stopped and gave up as soon as I started to talk about what happened and like. My feelings and stuff. He wants me to "delve deeper" into some of that. I guess. I don't know. Who talks like that? I don't know how any of that is supposed to help. I spend 90% of my time trying not to feel those things and he just wants me to make casual small talk with my dead friend about it. Where do you think he got his degree? WebMD? Because I'm 100% sure that this letter alone will fuel my next bender. Let's see. I have.. a lot of feelings about everything that happened. And not a fucking clue on how to talk about a single one of them. I guess I'm still pretty angry at our friends, but if I say that then I'm somehow the asshole so I just don't. I'm sad, obviously. I mean you.. died. Jesus. I just realized I said it earlier too. That you're dead. That doesn't feel like progress, I think I'm gonna be fucking sick.

I'm back. Good thing I'm not really sending these to you. You'd be pretty upset about the vomit stains on the paper. You'd probably burn this. Anyways. Yeah, I guess you could say I'm a little fucked up over watching you get shish-kabobbed right on top of me. I only see it every time I close my eyes. And I always wake up half expecting to be right there again. Like. Like part of me never moved from that spot. I've walked around feeling kinda hollow my entire life. And when I saw you in the restaurant, it was the first time in so long that I felt whole again. And you were gone again so fuckin' fast. And now it's like. I have never felt more empty and alone in my entire life. Like it physically hurts somewhere in my chest when I think about you but at the same time I'm so afraid I'll forget you again. I don't want to forget you this time. No matter how badly it hurts to remember. I won't. Never again. I think I have to stop for now, I can't even see what I'm writing anymore. On the bright side, I'm so emotionally exhausted I don't even need to get high to go to sleep tonight. Goodnight, Eddie. I miss you. And I love you. Like really fucking love you. I've never told anyone that. But I guess that's for another letter. Night.

Wednesday, April 12th, 2017

Eddie,

I'm writing you from the hospital because our "friends" are a bunch of fucking assholes and so are these doctors. Ben found me asleep on my bathroom floor and called 911 (I know it sounds bad but I swear I just partied too hard, I would've been fuckin' fine with some water and a pop-tart.) The hospital wanted to admit me involuntarily, but apparently Bill called my parents and I mean how am I supposed to argue with my mom while she's crying because Ben opened his stupid mouth and said my lips were blue when he found me? It's all a bunch of dramatic bullshit and I just wanna go home and instead I'm stuck in here until the psychiatrist with the douchey haircut says I'm not a threat to myself. I haven't even spoken to my parents in the longest time. I didn't want them here. I don't want anyone here. The look on my mom's face when I told her I'd only stay if they left will probably stay with me forever. But hey, I'm not the one who dragged them all the way out here. Bill is such a dick.

Saturday, July 15th, 2017

Hey, Eds.

Sorry, I know it's been a while. I'm a little bit fucked up right now. Shit has been not so great. Rehab was fucking miserable, and a waste of time and money (as you can tell). A lot has happened these past few months. I completely bombed a couple of shows. I don't even remember the second one. But I saw the video. Pretty sure everyone has. It was pretty bad. That's okay though. I'm starting over. I fired my manager, Steve. He's a good guy, and when I fired him we'd been in the middle of an argument, but I guess he was trying to be helpful? I don't know. Everyone is on my ass about the drinking like I'm 16 or something. I'm an adult. That's not the point, it wasn't the reason I fired him. I fired him because I finally realized why I liked him so much. He reminds me of you. Like. So much, Eds, I can't believe I didn't notice sooner. I was searching for you even when I couldn't remember who you were anymore. I know I said it in my letter a few months ago, But I never really got to tell you so now all I can do is try. I love you, Eddie. I love you. I'm in love with you. And I don't know if you would've thought that's weird, or gross, or if you would've even ever spoke to me again if you'd known. But I still wish I told you. You deserved love that wasn't also manipulation or control or abuse. And I have so much love for you, always have and always will. And I was too much of a pussy to tell you. If I'm being honest, I still am. I don't think I'll ever come out. If you were alive, I probably wouldn't tell you even now. But I wish that I would. I wish I had. I don't think you ever would've looked at me that way but it's nice to imagine sometimes. The life we could've had. Maybe one of these nights I'll dream about that and not about what actually happened. Goodnight, Eddie, my love.

Wednesday, September 6th, 2017

Eddie,

It's been a year. Today marks one year since we lost you. This has easily been the worst year of my entire fucking life. I wish we would've just left. I wish we didn't listen when Bill and Mike came back and spewed all of that bullshit about a ritual that didn't fucking work anyways. You died anyways. And I'd give up the rest of my life for ten good years with you even with the "horrible death" that Bev saw. I don't care. I'd take it. I'd take anything over this. I'm so fucking lost, Eds. I don't know if I said this in my last letter, I stopped going to therapy. I fuckin' hated it. I hated therapy. And I'm still writing in this stupid little notebook to someone who will never even read it just because I am that lonely and pathetic. I'm all alone and I fucking miss you so god damn much. I miss you so much. I don't talk to any of our friends anymore. I think they're sick of me, and I don't blame them. Bev said she didn't want me around when the baby comes. Not like this. But I don't think there's another version of me in there anymore. I think this is all that's left.

My mom died. She died last week and the last time I spoke to her was in the hospital back in April, when her and my dad flew across the country to come be here for me and I told them to fucking leave or I would refuse treatment. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what to do. I wish you were here. All this time I've wished that I had more time to know you all grown up but now? Now I'm glad that at least you don't have to know me. I'm a horrible fucking person. All of our friends think so, and my mom died wondering where she went wrong. I hope you thought I was cool for those couple of days, even if you were wrong.

"Hello, This is Beverly Marsh. Thank you for calling. I sincerely apologize for missing your call..."

"Hello, you've reached Ben Hanscom at Hanscom Architecture. I'm unable to come to the phone right now..."

"Hi, you've reached Mike Hanlon. Leave a message..."

"Hey, this is Bill Denbrough. Thanks for reaching out. I'm busy at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and message, I'll return your call."

"Bill, H-Hey, It's uh. It's Richie. Call me back, man."

"Hey, this is Bill Denbrough. Thanks for reaching out. I'm busy at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and message, I'll return your call."

"Bill? It's Richie again. Call me back when you get this. Please. I know it's been a while and things have been.. Just call me."

"Hey, this is Bill Denbrough. Thanks for reaching out. I'm busy at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and message, I'll return your call."

"Bill, It's Richie. I'm suh-sorry. I'm so sorry. Please pick up, man. Please call me back, I really need you."

"Hey, this is Bill Denbrough. Thanks for reaching out. I'm busy at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and message, I'll return your call."

"Come on, I'll do anything. I'll do anything, Bill, just please p-pick up the fuckin' phone. Please. One more chance. Please I can't do this anymore. I can't live like this anymore. I can't do it. I ruined everything, and I'm all alone and I'm fuckin' scared, man, Can you just--"

"Hey, this is Bill Denbrough. Thanks for reaching out. I'm busy at the--"

"Fuck!"

Friday, January 12th, 2018

Eddie,

You would be so fuckin' mad at me right now. Like for a lot of things but especially for this. I just want to say that I'm sorry. When you died, For a whole day before I left Derry I told myself that I wouldn't let you saving my life go to waste. That I would live my life to the fullest because you couldn't anymore. That I owed it to you. And at the time I really meant it. I really wanted to honor you. Like I said, that lasted about a day. Life without you in it when I couldn't remember you was pretty miserable. Life without you in it now that I remember, now that I know you existed and that you're gone now, it's fucking unbearable. I've become unbearable. I can't stand it here, I can't stand myself, none of the people I love can stand me anymore. I'm never going to move past this and I've fought everyone who tried to help me move past it tooth and nail. I'm not going to get better and that's on me. I just don't have it in me. And everyone who tries to help me just gets hurt because I'm a fucking prick. So.. I think I should probably just do the world a favor and wrap things up here. I think it would be best. I hate the world and the world hates me back (at least we have that in common.) Nobody really knows what comes next. But if there is a heaven and a hell, I'm afraid I might not see you. So I guess this is goodbye, again. I love you, Eddie. I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry. I wanted to get it right. I don't think I ever stood a chance if I'm being totally honest. I've never really felt like I belonged here anyways. Not in a long time. I was scared earlier. Called Bill, and Bev, and Ben, and Mike a bunch of times. They don't answer anymore, and I guess I understand. I do. I do understand. I wouldn't want me around anymore either. But anyways, I'm not afraid anymore. I actually feel kind of relieved that it's over, or about to be. No more nightmares, or withdrawals, or making my friends or my parents cry. It'll finally all be over. And when I drift off, I'll think of you, Eds. I'm always thinking of you. I love you. I'm sorry. Goodnight.

"Bottoms up." Richie sighed. Not bothering with a glass this time as he tipped the bottle of bourbon back and practically chugged it, chasing a few Vicodin. He spent the next few minutes crushing the pills against the coffee table in the hotel room into dust and snorting them. Occasionally stopping for another swig from his bottle. Once he was all out of Vicodin, and half way done with the bourbon, He stood up.

"Woah..." He stumbled, Catching himself on the dresser. He felt everything coming back up, but he swallowed it again. Shaking his head stubbornly.

"No. No, It's time. I'm fucking-- I'm doing this. Don't fuck this up." He said to nobody in particular, voice slurring. Taking a few shaky breaths and stabilizing himself. He turned on some music to try and distract from the ringing in his ears, drinking some more. He drank until the room was spinning, and then he kept going. Hardly making it across the room to get to the balcony, knocking things over on his way. His hands were shaking so hard, lighting a cigarette took more than one try, but he managed. Staring at the midnight sky and rocking back and forth where he sat on the balcony, letting the numbness overtake him. Originally, when he'd stood back up, it was to try and head back inside. Maybe draw a bath, or curl up and drift off to an eternal sleep in the king size bed. Instead, He used the railing of the balcony to pull himself to his feet, stared at the sky for another minute, wiped his tears and climbed right over. And then he let go.

There was a loud, gut wrenching, sickening crack. And Richie awoke with a start, gasping. Jolting awake in the hammock across from Eddie, limbs flailing as he tried to catch himself before realizing he wasn't.. falling? Not only was he not falling, He wasn't in California and he was suddenly years younger than he'd been a moment ago. What. The fuck?

"Richie. Hey. Are you okay?" Richie's eyes went wide as he turned his head towards the voice that couldn't possibly belong to,

"Stanley.." He breathed, disbelief, breath starting to pick up. Eyes immediately shifting to the boy pressed snugly into the hammock with him.

"Eds.." His voice cracked, breathing faster, tears spilling over before he could even feel them coming. Hardly noticing the way every pair of eyes in the clubhouse was on him, full of concern.

"Woah, R-Richie, Hey. W-What's--"

"I'm sorry, guys. I'm so fucking sorry. God, I'm so sorry for everything, for all of it, I--" He cried so hard it was difficult to understand him.

"What are you t-talking about?" Bill asked, genuinely baffled and extremely worried.

"Yeah, Rich, What's going on?" Bev asked softly, hand going to rest on his shoulder. He jumped the second it made contact.

"Don't-- Don't touch me, please, don't touch me. I'm sorry. I'm-- Jesus fuck, I can't--"

"Richie, breathe.." Stan soothed.

"I'm not supposed to be here.."

"What?"

"I thought I was gonna die." Richie sobbed.

The others looked at each other in concern and what was slowly becoming panic. Not sure what prompted this or how to help. Seeing Richie cry was pretty rare. But this was.. It was more than his occasional sniffly, watery eyes, wobbly pouted lip and abrasive attempts to deflect. This was a breakdown like they'd never seen before, Especially not from him. He was crying so hard, he was literally gasping for air as Stan tried to soothe him and help him breathe. The other thing that didn't sit right with a single one of them was how the most physically affectionate of the group of them had suddenly reacted to physical contact like it'd burned him. Nobody knew what to do.

Least of all Richie. Was this some kind of sick joke?

Or was it a second chance?

[miruxxunn]

Speaking of favorite ocs...

I've shown you my top three already and these were ocs that have been my favorites for a long time now but recently i've been kind of obsessed with these two:

(From left to right), This is Malachi and Nila! These two are the characters i can't stop talking about for some time now lol

Small introduction:

Nila is the god of dreams, she is able to put someone to sleep and manipulate their dreams. She's unable to see very during the day, but sees better than anybody else at night. Nila also has "healing" powers but they work kind of like a painkiller.

Malachi is a boy in a small village. He is very very sick and weak and that's why it was forbidden for him to leave his hut.

LOREEEEE!!!!!!!:

Their story begins a long time ago, when Nila was still a child. She didn't like how the people from the nearest village treated her. Everyone idolized and worshiped her, even though she hadn't really done anything that amazing.

Nila stopped going to the village for a while, but one day she went there again, but this time at night, when everyone was asleep. Then she met a boy who didn't sleep like the rest of the people. He looked at the night sky, which was very clear that night. Nila sat down next to him and curiously asked him why he wasn't sleeping since he looked really tired and sick. Malachi then explained that this was his only chance to go outside and at least look at the sky. Due to his illness, he was too weak to perform any physical activity without risking his life, but he did not want to spend his entire life in one place. He wanted to explore the world, do something memorable, and maybe start a family one day, but he would probably never do any of those things. Malachi also added that he envied her for being a god who could do anything she wanted and was adored by everyone. She had already done everything Malachi had ever wanted in his life.

Nila replied that she didn't want any of that. she would like to be nobody important and stay in one comfortable place all the time. But she understood him. They both understood each other, although their points of view were completely different.

They decided to become friends and help each other. Malachi helped Nila do something about the people who treated her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable and that instead of being their "almighty god", she would rather be the caretaker of everyone. Nila, on the other hand, helped Malachi in such a way that he would enjoy life while he could, rather than sitting at home and just counting the days and hours until his death. she took him with her wherever she could, she introduced him to everyone because he wanted to be known, wherever Malachi wanted to be, Nila took him there. both of them turned their lives from the most miserable as possible to so good that they both wanted to live.

Sadly Malachi's illness got so bad he eventually passed away at a still young age (around 16-17). Before he died, Malachi asked Nila to never stop smiling because it made everyone else smile too. She did so… and Malachi died happy.

After his death, she started spending more time with people and helping them as much as she could. She wants to make their dreams come true, just as she wanted to make Malachi's dreams come true. And most importantly, Malachi was never forgotten after all these years

because Nila still remembers him.

[disabled-diva]

OCD and being physically disabled

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, better known as OCD, has plagued my life for as long as I can remember. I never thought much of it because everyone would just say I was an “overthinker,” that's that. I could never stop thinking; my brain was in overdrive at every waking moment. Because of my childhood, I focus on “being a good person.” In my mind, because I had a disability, I had to make up for it in my personality. I was such a people pleaser in a specific way. I would go above and beyond to ensure my friends had everything they needed, even if it would negatively impact my life. I cared so much about what my loved ones thought of me. I started doing makeup at around 16, leading to a nasty, beautiful pipeline. I became hyper focused on whether I looked good, if I smelled, if my walking was too weird, or if my outfit complimented my body well. I would take several hours to get ready and go to Target with my friends because I needed to feel like I was one of them. Doing my makeup almost felt like a mask I could wear. It felt like the only way to humanize myself in a crowd of people who do not see me as human. I would constantly ask them for reassurance, ensuring I had their approval. Everything about my physical appearance had to be perfect, from how soft my skin was to whether there was a wrinkle on my top. I could not leave the house until I felt I looked perfect. When I was learning the basics of makeup, I would spend multiple hours every day for months on end just practicing my eyeliner and eyebrows. I had to perfect it to my liking (even if I wasn't going anywhere), or I would have the most insane outburst. I could not be interrupted in this process because their presence made me feel like they ruined my makeup entirely.

Regarding my health, if I had a medical issue, I would immediately fixate on how it would affect me for the rest of my life. Since my disability is degenerative, I convince myself that my random nausea is going to make me throw up so much that I will become dehydrated and die. I have a mild case of my disorder. Fortunately, my body typically reacts well to illnesses, but that does not stop me from spiraling. I convince myself that everything happening to me is my fault, and I must find a way to fix it. Typically, there is no fix, and I reassure myself I am on my deathbed. In the back of my head, I think I am trying to find a cure for my disability, even though I know there isn't one.

My walking is a big contender for my OCD as well. Because of my disability, I walk side-to-side, almost like waddling. In public spaces, people stare at me without regard for my feelings. I know I am only a stranger to them, but the least an abled body person can do is respect me. I have been fixated on my walking because of this for as long as I can remember. For the first twenty years of my life, it made me physically sick to my stomach to watch myself walk. If I were around people I wanted to impress, I would try to hide my impairment as much as possible. I hated how, most of the time, people’s first impression of me was my walking. That drove me up the wall my whole teenage life. I didn’t start actively dating until I was around 18 because of how much my walking would eat me alive. I honestly had convinced myself that it was the only thing that mattered about me. Every time I met someone new I obsessed about what they think of my walking. 

Not until recently did I discover this was all part of my OCD. I did not know there was a term to describe my feelings. No longer was I labeled with having “intense anxiety,” but I had a diagnosis of my problems. Therapy and psychiatric medications have assisted me tremendously. I now know how to properly self-soothe and realize when I am having another obsession or compulsion. Beforehand, it felt like the thoughts would never end, and I am delighted and fortunate to have received this help.

[joelletwo]

(sets a timer) the exorcist postcanon lore i can remember off the top of my head

well the precanon is they were teenmarried in an impulsive haha jk unless 'lets run away from our restrictive homes' moment they immediately chickened out of post-signing the license. and then immediately the various inciting incident cracks in their teenage tenuously extended-grace-bc-theyre-lonely-w/o-peers ability to cooperate that happen as they become adults (seiji dad death-now new heir of the clan-eye attack, and whatever shuuichi's doing to get away that makes him go insane and become a celebrity in three years) makes them more or less lose contact and ignore the elephant in the room until canon. though seiji (and nanase) do poke fun about it sometimes and any time natoris like fucking hell i cannot let the paparazzi find out im legally married itll be a whole Thing can you please sign the divorce papers hes like hahaha what a funny joke shuuichi-san /_^ [mails them back folded into origami]

[various natsume-fueled char development we've disturbingly stayed kind of sort of on track for in recent arcs] -> matoba reconsiders his whole life and the fact that as an adult hes in total control of it and he kind of completely hates it. he wants a less black and white relationship w youkai he's forlornly looking thru the window at natsume and all his sick ass youkai friends. he gives up his eye to eye-eater to settle the matoba debt and (at least temporarily) quits his job and leaves the community and lives a life as just some weird-ass guy whos suddenly free to have hobbies (just picking up and trying whatever) and go to therapy and physically recover.

[per my fics] nanase uses this to get her favorite matoba child back into the picture and help them reconcile as seiji passes the clan back to [matoba sister. i have not reconsidered with shinobu i cant handle it kjsf] and they uncover some of the misunderstandings that drove them apart as kids

[also per my fics. NOW DEBUNKED I GUESS] when natori hears that matoba quit his job he seethes in anger bc FUCK he was gonna do that!!!!! now he cant!!!! but its an opening for them to reconnect and similarly patch up some misunderstandings or figure out where, now changed by time, they fit together differently and less conflictingly than before. natori has also been gently prodded by natsume into therapy and lots of outdoor hobbies where he can Find Inner Peace

i really still adore the idea of. matoba gets settled in his lonesome. um he adopts a youkai-seeing kid thats varyingly important i love her to pieces i cant get into that. read my fics look at our art. but matoba's got his own thing going on hes broadening his horizons in his new life. natori's happy to dip in and out but hes got ten million lives hes busy hes all over the place. they get back together but like. only strictly Share A Life in the typical sense like. in passing. irregularly. always keep in contact but theyre not like. moving in together. for a long time at least.

natori does lose his leg in a freak accident at random one day and he DOES keep the lizard afterwards. really important to me. he grows to love this guy. disabi/_^y 4 disabi🦎y

broad strokes. funny specifics:

matoba gets into doll restoration and has lots of pickling jars w body parts all over his place. natori spends lots of time in the woods lookin' at bugs as he gets fond of the gecko and learns more about geckos and then learns more about little guys in general. hes perfectly positioned to like. anthropology out the symbiotic relationships he discovers between insects and youkai. he writes an pseudonymous guidebook about this thats nichely successful and taken as whimsical fantasy

meanwhile sasada has never given up the goat on trying to prove youkai exist even tho her whole friend group wont admit it. i forget the details but she gets into the book and gets really into bugs to see if she can reverse-engineer the youkai side of the relationship without being able to see it. at some point meets natori thru natsume in just-some-guy capacity and finds out they both like bugs and they bond over that without her knowing hes the author. comedy of errors time ^_^

[rantsofamadam]

Vent Post- Second Spinal Surgery.

For background context before I get into the main topics I want to talk about-

I recently had Spinal Fusion surgery for scoliosis in October. (Where they insert metal rods, screws and graft bones into my spine)

Up until yesterday everything was going smoothly. X-rays looked great, I have been recovering phenomenally, everything was smooth and looking perfect. Until yesterday, my second post-op appointment after surgery.

It’s been weeks since my surgery, and I got updated X-rays. Only to find out- the fusion failed in two places. Two of the screws came loose from the rod. Which is such an anomaly, and the first time my surgeon has ever had this happen to one of his patients.

And it will require another surgery. Another fucking surgery.

Where they will have to open my entire- now healed- wound/scar again, take out the entire bar, take out and replace the two screws that came loose, re-insert it, and stitch me up again. I will spend at least a day in the hospital and it will be a 3 hour surgery.

I just got out of, finished and was healing so well from this one. I was finally letting my wound heal and not ripping it apart. I was just getting used to moving on from surgery, getting used to my new life and body-

And now I have to start over.

And it’s- very disheartening. I feel like I am being overdramatic in my reaction about this, but it is hard, if I’m being honest. Really hard.

I had months to prep for this original surgery, I was doing physical therapy and mentally preparing myself. I know this surgery won’t be nearly as invasive or painful- but- the entire ordeal of anesthesia, pain, medication, nurses and doctors seeing and touching my body, more hospital and doctor visits,

My heart sunk, I felt like I couldn’t breathe when he told me I would have to go through this again. It’s just surgery, I got through it incredibly well- and I have to muster all of that again. With much less preparation time.

At face value it is traumatic. Physically, mentally and emotionally. It is. Right? I don’t know.

I keep brushing it off like it’s not a big deal, but it is. It is a big deal and I feel sick to my stomach with nerves this time.

I braced for death so hard the first time, going through every possible scenario in my head, and the fact my situation is already an anomaly? I- what if this time I become paralyzed? Or don’t wake up?

I could disassociate through the majority of it, not think about it, and now I barely even remember anything at the hospital or the few days at home (also because of the meds but I genuinely intentionally tried to zone out and not think about it- its easier to not be present in moments like that)

Now I just- have to do it again.

I was so excited I survived spinal surgery, I got it, I was healing so well, I was so determined at the time, so glad I got it over with. And here we go again. A second spinal surgery. A second. God damn. Spinal surgery.

I don’t feel as if I have any right to complain. Some people have it so much worse, incredibly worse, spending all the time in the hospital. I don’t have a right to say ‘I’m sick of hospitals’ (although- my dad does have cancer currently and that’s a whole other story with hospitals and the medical system) when so many others have it worse. But then again that’s- how all of life is. Elon Musk is probably complaining he didn’t get the right million dollar statue by the pool that he wanted like-

I think- it’s ok to say, especially in my situation right now- yknow- this sucks. This fucking sucks.

I did such a good job of stifling all my emotions the first time around and would talk logistically about it more than I ever said how I was feeling.

But this?

I teared up when my surgeon said I’d need a correction. And I cried in the car on the way home. Maybe that’s stupid.

It’s just surgery, I’m being overdramatic, this won’t even be as drastic of a change as it was the first time. Just god I thought we were done.

This entire year has been a FUCK ton. I was PRAYING 2024 would go out on a boring note for once and let me actually start my life again. But no. 2024 has been the year of change for me.

A sum up for me of what 2024 has been- My surgery was spontaneously moved from June to October because the hospital got hacked, I became stage manager at my high school and developed a passion, (as in this is what I want to make my major and career) I decided to take a gap year with the moved date of my surgery (so no college for me yet), I turned 18, I graduated high school, I entered poetry and art competitions and placed in both, I broke up with my partner of over a year, every social dynamic changed and flipped on its head completely with the people I knew over the summer, said goodbye to my closest and longest friends as they went to college and goodbye to the group and people I have come accustomed and so close to, went through SEVERAL pre-ops and physical therapy appointments, met, fell in love with, and started dating my current boyfriend, SO much family drama and dynamics, saw a lot of family we don’t usually, found out my dad was diagnosed with cancer, and I had fucking spinal fusion surgery. (one of the most painful and invasive surgeries, period.)

So, yknow. Not a big deal. At all. (This year has been one of the biggest and most eventful years of my life so far, and I haven’t processed nearly any of it to the extent I need to in order to feel present, here and healthy)

I thought with it being December, I was in the clear. Cause cmon, very end of the year what else could possibly happen?

Bam. Another surgery. Sudden/emergency surgery because I’m an anomaly and so fucking lucky to have had this happen to me- after everything, after moving on, letting myself actually heal, walking, beginning on getting my license, an official job, college- nope. All on hold again. Again. Again. Fucking again.

The worst part is- I feel like it’s my fault. I was SO determined to stand and walk as much and as fast as I could after surgery, I was doing all I could on my own, walking, standing, rolling over, trying when I could to pick things off the ground- pushing myself to sit through events or go places even if it hurt. My therapist told me to take better care of myself for myself’s sake. But all I cared about was proving I was strong and could do this- and getting back to ‘normal’ as fast as possible. Not having to think about the surgery, essentially ignoring it, and moving on so fast. Everyone was extremely impressed. My therapist wanted me to slow down, listen to my body and actually take resting time to heal. I didn’t really listen.

And now there are two screws loose, my surgeon has no idea how this could have happened, I’m the first patient of his who’s ever had this happen to me. But typically these surgeries are on kids younger than 18, and/or athletes and restless kids who are much more active than I am. I blame myself for ruining it, definitely. My friends tell me it wasn’t my fault, the first thing my surgeon said when he broke this news to me was- it isn’t my fault. But it’s so hard to believe that when it’s my body, this surgeons a professional, clearly I fucked up.

And now my fucking up doesn’t just affect me- it affects my story, the surgeons and doctors work, my parents, costs- ugh. My recklessness and carelessness for myself and my recovery led to this- fuck.

My therapist said ‘this is your SPINE. If you rush this, it could be really harmful in the long term. YOUR spine.’ I have an appointment with her tomorrow. I am dreading telling her this news. I feel like I failed her.

But the entire point is- I failed myself. yes other people are and will be affected but IM the one who has to go through it again. I fucked up- and it’s hurting myself. And I would say ‘I can handle it, it’s really not a big deal, I just feel worse for everyone around me.’ And yes I can handle it- I hate it. I really hate it.

I also have a skin picking condition where I compulsively pick at my surgery scar. It’s gotten better in the last few weeks, it’s generally healed, but

I don’t know I feel like I’m being overdramatic but God- I rarely talk about or show emotions like this, genuinely letting myself cry or be fucking angry about something pertaining to me like this. But man I’m just tired and can’t- handle this right now.

I know I will. I know I’ll be able to and I’ll handle this as well as I ever possibly could.

I already did this, how hard could a second surgery be, right? Yeah. Fuck. I called my boyfriend crying when I got home, he’s- the biggest cheerleader.

He’s going to try to be there again but his work is pretty serious and might not let him take the time off. Augh. Fuck.

I’ll be ok. Just the main thing on my mind recently. I have an official date for this second surgery now- December 27th. After Christmas. And I have a Pre-Op tomorrow already.

Another surgery. Next. Week. Fuck.

[withinkandquill]

Muse Information: Anya

Attributes:

Enneagram: 8w9 - The Challenger / The Bear

MBTI: ENFJ- The Giver

Love Language: Physical Touch

Verses:

The Stars Are Different When You’re Free. Canon - 5 years old. Her whole life Anya has existed as little more than another helpless lab rat in the eyes of her father. From the moment of her birth, she was confined to one of the small rooms in which Aris Calwyn keeps his human experiments - children whose DNA he alters in the hopes of successfully creating an army of superpowered supersoldiers. Only her mother remains with her to care for her until she turns three and her mother is turned unwitting victim when Thalia - her father's most trusted scientist and an experiment herself - puts the gun in Anya's hand and forces her to pull the trigger. Now, at five years old, she has used her powers and clever mind to escape the laboratory and venture out into the world for the very first time.

I Walked Every Step On This Stone. Canon - 14 years old. When Anya was five, she escaped. She found a family. She found a home. And then, it was all taken away from her again. For nine years, Anya thought of that home, hoped they were safe, hoped they were alive. For nine years, she held on tightly to the knowledge that happiness and love were real. So, when she gets the opportunity to escape again, she takes it and she does not look back.

Bruised & Battlescarred. Canon - 21 years old. In this verse, Anya only escapes once - when she was five - and never gets the opportunity again. After another 16 years of captivity, experimentation, murder, abuse, and torture, she has come to believe there is no way out for her. She embraces her role as her father's prized attack dog and learns to find enjoyment in the pain - or at least convinces herself, however feeble that belief is, that she does. But she never forget the feeling of freedom, of belonging, of being loved. And part of her still longs to fight for it.

Home Is Where The Heart Is. Foster/Adopted AU. For five years, Anya is subjected to abuse and neglect at her father's hand despite her mother's best attempts at protecting her. When her father kills her mother in a fit of temper, the authorities get involved and Anya finds herself placed in a new home.

With You, I Am Home. Lunar Chronicles AU - 5 years old. Anya is a human experiment, kept her entire life in a steel cage. They gave her powerful abilities and made her dangerous, but they were not prepared for her to escape at five years old, they certainly weren’t prepared for her to elude them this long, and they definitely would not be looking for her at the old farmhouse she’ll soon begin to think of as home.

My One Perfect Dream. Lunar Chronicles AU - 14 years old. Nine years after Myha and Emrys remove Anya from the Benoit farms, she returns to their doorstep one rainy night and suddenly, the Kesleys are thrust into the dangers of her world once more, only this time, Anya finds there are two more lives on the line.

What You Made Me. Rebels AU. Anya is a mercenary for hire, commissioned by Madison’s ( @mmerrakki ) grandfather to hunt her down after she takes her sisters and abandons her post as a soldier to save her brother’s friend.

The Cause of Our Sickness Is. Hannibal AU. Following a series of child abductions, the FBI eventually tracks down Dr. Aris Calwyn, a brilliant scientist who has dedicated his life to the creation of higher beings capable of becoming weapons to defend or destroy. They rescue the children who are still living and recover the remains of many more, but they also discover a child who was not missing, because she never existed in the first place. Fourteen-year-old Anya Calwyn, his only daughter and greatest masterpiece. For the next several years, she spends her life in protective custody learning how to be a girl instead of a weapon, how to create instead of kill, and how to trust. But fate quickly brings her to Dr. Hannibal Lecter and eventually, she learns that the monster her father created may not be so early tamed.

Like Calls To Like. Grishaverse AU. When Anya Calwyn begins to show signs of her Inferni nature, her father - an otkazat'sya man by the name of Aris Calwyn - decides to create his own Grisha weapon, hiding her away and training her in combat and, to the best of his abilities, the small science. Her mother, of course, protests this and threatens to take the matter to the Little Palace herself to save her child from a life of solitude, at least. In retaliation, Camilla Calwyn becomes Aris's first victim of his new little weapon. When she is thirteen, her father begins to send her on "missions" and by fourteen, she is discovered and taken back to the Little Palace to begin proper training.

Wild Heart, Wild Magic. Dungeons & Dragons AU. In this verse, Anya is the only daughter of artificer Aris Calwyn and his wife, Camilla, an artificer in her own right. Despite Aris’ ambitious nature, they were a happy couple until their infant daughter began to display signs of inherent magic that neither had been gifted. Seeking to make use of her gift, Aris locked Camilla and Anya away where he began to fashion his infant daughter into a weapon of his own making. He kept Camilla until her usefulness had ceased and then, despite still harboring some fond feelings for his wife, he did what he thought was necessary- he forced Anya to kill her. Since then, Anya has known no love and no freedom, her every move dictated by her father’s whims.

I Didn't Ask To Be Made. MCU AU. Anya Calwyn is the only child of renowned HYDRA geneticist Aris Calwyn, a man who has dedicated his study to creating a human weapon. Inspired by the work done with Steve Rogers and James Barnes, he begins attempting to craft something even better than them. All the strength with none of the free will. A perfectly compliant human weapon. But experiments done on adults consistently fail. Brainwashing can only go so far - as the Winter Soldier proves. So, what can be better than brainwashing? His wife’s announcement of pregnancy gives him the idea - the pliability of infants. His first subject: his own daughter.

Playlists:

Notes:

Anya’s birthday is August 3rd, which makes her a Leo and a fire sign.

Anya most intense fears are abandonment, confinement, and dying. She will do just about anything to avoid one or all of these happening, including sacrificing other people if it comes down to it.

Anya has a major sweet tooth and likes to snack on fruity candies. She also likes chocolate and sour candies as well.

In her two older verses, and any AUs stemming from them, Anya is trained in several combat styles including her abilities, hand-to-hand, and with guns and/or knives. She’s good for her age, accurate and methodical when her emotions aren’t in play, but she can also be impulsive when angered and her small stature gives her a disadvantage against older and bigger opponents.

Anya’s sense of right and wrong varies with her verses but for the most part, it is determined by her influences. In her youngest verses, she’s the most pliable and may grow to be a morally sound teenager and adult, though she’ll still struggle with impulsivity and anger. Those are just natural parts of her. In her older verses, though, she has an underdeveloped sense of self and morality that is based primarily on the people she is most attached to and what they approve of and disapprove of. If your muse bestows upon her social acceptable morals, she’ll be more likely to to act on those but if your muse is more morally gray or corrupt, she’ll likely act similarly in order to please them so they do not leave her. She feels very little to no guilt about her actions unless that person disapproves of them.

[symphonic-scream]

I've got more P5 as P3 in honour of P3R and the fact that I'm learning more about P3 than what I gathered from PQ so sjdbdj

World Akira wakes up some nights to these angry blonde children who tell him the world is ending but he's special?? Also someone about the moon but they're fighting and yelling and he's tired

(at the end of the post there will be a tldr with all the arcana listed lmao)

I've changed my mind on something. Akane Hasegawa isn't Justice, she's Hanged Man. Wondering why her dad doesn't spend time with her and shit. Why he isn't trying harder to avenge her mom

That leaves an open spot on the team. A young character, who fights, and maybe is good with a gun? My new idea is SEES member Shinya Oda. I think this would work better than Akane in any sense

I haven't chosen a distinct role for Hifumi yet. Maybe Fortune? Instead of Art Club it's Board Games club and it's chess and shogi?

Now let's talk more about our SEES members

Member 0, the Empress Arcana, Makoto Niijima. She's been able to summon her persona since the big accident, the one that put her guardian, her older sister, into a coma. Makoto visits Sae at the hospital a lot, and she's lived in the Iwatodai dorms ever since. She was alone there for a long time, until members 1 and 2 joined her, when they all started middle school

Makoto appears put together to the younger members. She's got her sick ass motorcycle persona, and guides them through Tartarus at the start. Under her help even Ryuji does okay on his exams

But, it's mostly a ruse. She's trying to live "normally" to ensure she has a future but, part of her believes there won't be a future. She's stubborn in her escapism, and it's what led to a falling out between her and member 2. She's still a scared little girl deep down. Luckily, she's got a bond stronger than blood with member 1, though they don't show it around their Juniors. They remain focused on the fight, and seek the other for comfort and physical distraction afterwards

Member 1, the Star Arcana, Haru Okumura. She lost her mother young, due to her father's high status, in some, incident she doesn't talk about much. Even Makoto barely knows about it, and they're as close as can be, soul mates practically. Haru was involved, was there, and her father doesn't talk to or visit her much since she's come to the dorms

Haru needs to be strong, so those around her are safe. When first starting out, Makoto and member 2 had to take hits for her, and she'd cry after, while learning to tend their wounds from Sojiro or Takuto. Now, she's turned that old fear into a drive to slash and hack through every shadow, so her "family" is always safe

When she breaks her rib during that April Full Moon, she's so pissed she's sidelined. She spends the downtime picking through colleges with Makoto, softly talking about their next year. Haru does it for Makoto's sake. When she's high on pain meds in the hospital, she texts Member 2 for the first time in two years. They start meeting up, and Haru tries to convince 2 to come back

Member 2, the Moon Arcana, Ken Amada. He used to smile more, the girls say. Before. He's always been a quiet soul, Sojiro claims. He was the realist, the mature one of the three, always focused on the truth; the world will end, and only they can stop it

That's what his fight with Makoto was about. The middle of their second year, after they've been friends for 6 or so years, he punches her. His grades were low, he was skipping school to train, and she accused him of throwing away his life for the cause. He thinks planning for the future is stupid, when they might not have one. He didn't mean to hit her. She didn't mean to give him that ultimatum.

Ken misses the girls so much. He's got no one else but them. When he comes back, he's putting on a lighter attitude. Joking around with Makoto and Haru, after agreeing with Haru to at least pick a college with them. They're closer to being kids during that time then they ever were, now that the burden is shared a little. But Ken, he still knows there's little chance in their dreams coming true

Okay I went a little too off on them the rest will be shorter

Member 3, the World Arcana, Akira Kurusu. He's the fucking protagonist??

Member 4, the Lovers Arcana, Ann Takamaki.

Member 5, the Temperance Arcana, Yusuke Kitagawa.

Member 6, the Magician Arcana, Ryuji Sakamoto.

Member 7, the High Priestess Arcana, Futaba Sakura.

Member 8, the Aeon Arcana, Goro Akechi.

Member 9, the Strength Arcana, Morgana.

Member 10, the Justice Arcana, Shinya Oda.

I won't list the SEES arcana again but here's some others that aren't shown here!

Kasumi Yoshizawa, aka Maya, is the Hermit

Sumire Yoshizawa is the Chariot

Hifumi Togo is the Fortune

Caroline and Justice are Death

Devil is the same.

Yuuki Mishima is the Emperor

Munehisa Iwai is the Tower

Uh. The Sun. Maybe, Tae Takemi? I haven't done this social link ever in P3 so I'll iron it out later on

Shiho is around, she appears in a lot of the Chariot and Lovers ranks, as well as Emperor

Anyways. I do have more but most is on the senior trio I apologize

[issuesdolly]

VERY sad recent personal experience- need to vent

hey folks.... I had to vent to the empty Tumblr space about a very upsetting/confusing recent experience. I have a TikTok where I make JD/Korn related content as well as vids of myself about my life and some comedy stuff of me.

Well, few months ago, a guy found my videos and followed me and seemed to care deeply about the health advocacy videos I put up regarding my terminal + chronic pain illness. He invited me to speak with him and after seeing him on vid + in person, he looked VERY VERY SIMILAR to Jonathan Davis in his 30s... as well as being a huge JD/Korn fan. So yeah him 36 me 33.... living nearby each other. He could even do some good JD vocal immitations when we'd be singing along to the songs together and stuff lol. So.... y'all can imagine how that made me feel lol.

He told me for months he thought I'm beautiful... that he likes me and wanted to get into a relationship. I was pretty much blown away. I was like "seriously????" cuz... it felt like a dream or something haha. I explain over and over again about my failing health and educated him on all that is wrong with me.. testing him....and he was still supportive saying he accepts that that's where it's at for me and still wants to be with me. When I'd had worse flairups he said lovely things like "I wish I could take your pain away," and I would say stuff like "you do... as much as anyone can." Which was true. I was falling for him for sure.

We started spending more time together and he started talking about wanting to hook up. Obviously, I wanted that more than ANYTHING IN THE WORLD HAHA. But... I got scared saying "you are extremely attractive to me but I'm afraid to just hook up.... I'd like to get to know you better first??" because believe it or not... as pervy as I am in my writing, I'm VERY careful in my real life where my physical safety/men are concerned. And where my heart is concerned.

BECAUSE this guy was SO good looking I had to think "I wonder how many women/people he's trying this with????" Him being single and wanting to spend his life with a dying lady seemed too good to be true. He also spends a lot of time out with friends and going to concerts and clubs while I'm bedridden so I had to wonder what he's really up to when I'm not around. Basically I was being appropriately skeptical. And also didn't want to get heartbroken if he saw the vulnerability of my situation knowing I'm very sick/depressed and he reminds me of JD.

I admitted I'm VERY attracted to him and definitely want to fuck him lol.... but want to be careful and spend more time with him before getting into that.

Obviously after I wasn't moving "fast" enough... the JD- lookalike guy has kinda stopped responding to my messages or caring as much. He went from bombarding me with conversation to ghosting for days. Which obviously means he never cared about my health problems + life in the first place. I've been pretty devastated...Since obviously my fondest hope before death would be to meet someone awesome who REMINDS me of Jonathan or the things I like about Jonathan (or at least appreciates his music).. Feeling STUPID and pretty heartbroken. I was with one man for 10 years and that relationship ended this February but what has transpired now has actually cut me deeper than the end of my 10-year relationship.

Also this JD look alike guy has been the ODDEST experience of my life too BTW.

NOT even kidding that dude:

-came out of nowhere.. messaged me

-pursued ME not the other way around

- looked JUST like Jonathan besides dreads but he has long black hair, thick rim black glasses, same height/build/facial hair and how he had it cut. I even asked friends and family showing them pics like "AM I NUTS OR DOES HE LOOK LIKE JONATHAN????" and they were like "he could be a fucking impersonator of early 2000s JD . WTF no you're not nuts"

And yeah this dude spent months acting like he cared about me saying stuff like "I'm always here for you... you can always reach out to me...." "Anyone who loved you would never leave you due to poor health and I accept your health problems and still REALLY like you and want to be with you" or "I'm grateful you're in the world don't give up." FML.

[daddyd0nt]

Imagine a mentally ill person falling through on a commitment and instead of asking whats taking so long you start a decade-long hate parade where you commit literal sex crimes giving away a sex workers paid content, make fun of a rape/saying the victim deserved it, making accusations of stealing off baby graves just to rile yourselves up, and then spend 50 pages calling a girl with an ED fat and making fun of her weight/body/textbook BPD symptoms. Like do yall also go laugh at cancer patients like "lol you suck for being in bed, look at all those symptoms, so much milk, omg her hair is falling out from chemo lmfao" like what makes it okay to do to a mental illness but not a physical one? Do you know the rate of suicide for people with BPD? It has a higher mortality rate than some cancers and the only treatment offered is DBT which is white Buddhism with medspeak trying to tell you the things that are ruining your life arent valid to be angry over. Is it fun to try to bully a young girl into the grave because she fell through on some art commissions a decade ago during a bad mental health episode? Should somebody's entire life be over because they were irresponsible at 19? I was a MONSTER at 19 I did a lot worse than get too sick to fill a few commissions. 19 year olds are shitheads who don't understand consequences because their brain has not finished developing. I see her and think "there but for the grace of god go I" if my DOC had happened to be H instead of Speed/club drugs. Im not any better than her just because I chose different drugs.

Also it is INCREDIBLY dangerous to discharge somebody from the hospital who has been on pain meds for months with no taper especially when that person is a former addict who doesnt want to relapse into using street drugs. Doctors get funding to deny people opiates (at least in NY) even when they need them. Especially for tapering, that not only puts somebody at a horrible risk of relapse but also for a risk of OD since their system cant handle that much street drugs anymore. Putting somebody on opiates for 2 months and then cutting them off with no tapering is literally life threatening if they decide the pain is bad enough to resort back to street drugs. The fact that shes a former addict makes it MORE dangerous that they didn't send her home with a tapering dose because she likely still has access to a supply. But again pain patients are casualties of the drug war because drs are more afraid of somebody being high than being in pain when it should be the other way around. IGAF if 90% of the people are abusing it as long as it means that the 10% who actually need it get treatment. They didn't deny her a taper dose due to her drug history, they denied it to get more funding by prescribing less opioids and used her history as an excuse. Is that only funny to you when it leaves the "right" people in pain?

Yall should be ashamed of yourselves, didn't your mothers raise you better than this?

[lyraeon]

at 20 I thought I was faking my depression and was "bad at life" and lazy like my family said. I still earnestly believed I was entirely straight and everyone knew girls are just nicer to look at. I still had a ton of ingrained racism and other bigotry from my Bush-worshipping family. My main dream of being an astronaut had been smashed by my anxiety and health problems, so I was trying to study Japanese because like every other weeb I thought I'd fit in better over there (lol), but I'd already flunked out of one college and been forced to quit another to get a second job. I was overdrawn constantly and often buying gas station gift cards at the grocery store so I'd only take one overdraft fee. I was dating someone horribly controlling who eventually earned the title "evil ex", dialed up my eating disorder, and traumatized me out of writing for 2+ years. I had several roommates because we all considered having the funds to go to anime conventions more important than personal space (and because back then we already thought $600/month was expensive). I spent any other free time half asleep at a friend's house cuz there I could play games and watch Intent videos. Half my meals came free from work, the rest were hacked together from stuff that worked out to $1/serving or so. The power or internet got turned off at least twice a year from non-payment.

at 25 I thought I was too depressed to deserve burdening others with my presence or existence. that I was a burden and purposeful downer and nothing would ever get better. I was still dealing with a ton of internalized transphobia, racism, and other bigotry that I had been taught was Just The Truth and still occasionally fall into. I was massively straight edge against weed and anything else (threatened to call cops on close friends) while also being a half bottle of vodka a day alcoholic just to get my brain to shut up enough to let me write or sleep. I didn't know how to have fun without alcohol, if at all. I had lost my ability to draw when I severely injured my wrist while i had no insurance. I tried going back to school, first for architecture then teaching, and flunked/dropped out of both. I was losing jobs every 6~8 months from being chronically late and being sick constantly. I manged to lose one on my birthday and wound up having to make some other tough choices because of it. I had only just reached the point where being overdrawn was a rare thing and I wasn't buying single gallons of gas with tip money. food was still often just ramen but I no longer had days where I didn't know if I'd get to eat, though I was often dependent on my then-bf. I had multiple teeth rotting and couldn't afford any treatment besides getting them pulled, and often not until they'd become infected.

by 30 I was finally on antidepressants and in therapy. I was on the road to physical therapy for shoulder and wrist injuries that had happened years earlier. I was pretty happy in my relationship. I held down one job for almost 3 years straight after getting medicated, then turned around and flunked/dropped out of college for the 5th time (Physics this time) because I was too anxious to take public transit reliably and STILL couldn't do homework anywhere but in class, so most projects never got done. I'd stopped being able to write (and am still running from the possibility my meds Took That from me because it doesn't come back if I stop them). Food had become a different struggle - I no longer had time, physical health, or executive function to cook reliably so I was spending too much on take out and causing wild fluctuations in my weight. I was hiding my eating disorder from my partner and my friends. I had begrudgingly un-estranged myself from my family to support younger cousins as they came out as queer. I had developed a healthier relationship with alcohol. I had accepted that, outside of addiction, drugs are a bodily autonomy thing and stopped being an ass to people about them. I had finally learned some damn etiquette around things like not accidentally outing people. I started streaming and making videos - stuff I had dreamed of since first watching Dead Fantasy and Red vs Blue and Weeblstuff in high school but had thought impossible after I lost the ability to draw.

I'm currently 35. This year I am living on my own for the first time (aside from 5 failed months at 18). I got divorced - a complicated, regretful process that was ultimately for the best but I could and should have handled better (and sooner). I've been in physical therapy long enough that I'm able to use chopsticks properly again and am thinking of trying to relearn drawing. It's also meant I can do the dishes and wash my hair on my own again, most days, so I'm relearning how to cook consistently. I'm reading (listening to) books again. I'm on year 8 of antidepressants and currently working with my doctor to fine tune what I'm on (and finally have a system to take them consistently). I've been diagnosed with ADHD and figured out I might also be autistic, and a lot of things in my life make way more sense when viewed through that context. I have appointments to get evaluated for ADHD meds, autism, shoulder surgery/other "PT isn't enough" treatments, teeth implants, and new glasses. my clothes have been put away 3 of the last 5 times I did laundry and I've learned that if I only own one dishwasher worth of dishes, the sink can't pile up. I've fully embraced that I'm polyamorous, pansexual, and demiromantic, and that I can be cis while also being "gender agnostic" - none of it really matters or processes to me, but I get that it does to others so I respect it. I'm seeing someone who makes me feel like I can do anything, is inspiringly ambitious themself, and is equally polyam, meaning I might also be asking out a cute girl soon and don't know where board game nights with the nice throuple I met might go. I'm having to do odd jobs and accept help from my dad to make ends meet, but I'm arguably a full time content creator now - something I literally didn't even let myself dream about when I was younger because it felt impossible, but which is fully worth the complications and budget crunching because it's so accommodating to my disabilities and uses so many of my talents. I'm still depressed, but I have hope that ADHD treatment will help cut through the remainder. Most days I just have hope, period. And more days than not, I'm genuinely happy for at least a while.

You'll find yourself.

It might take a while. There will be detours, mistakes, pain, tough choices, and a lot of hard work. But there will also be unexpected joys and more possibilities than you ever imagined.

Someday, you'll find yourself.

And when you do, it will be worth the wait, I promise.

[doesntseeyourbeauty]

personal post about my ex so if you’re triggered by toxic relationships/emotional abuse/physical abuse/suicide, please don’t feel like you have to read anything below

I’m so just fucking fed up with him and this whole situation. Long story short, we moved in together in 2020 and he was just rude and disrespectful to my family and friends and isolated me from them to control me and keep me from running away (I was heavily abused as a child and tend to stay in bad situations because I’m terrified to leave) along with refusing to work and help me make my bills. I had to work full time in retail while doing my masters to make ends meet on top of relying on government assistance. Last year after my masters graduation, I found out that he had been cheating on me with someone that he met online and I ended our engagement, but allowed him to stay in the apartment because I felt guilty kicking him out and was suicidal at the time so I didn’t trust myself to be alone.

Well in the year that proceeded, he refused to get a job and all of the bills fell into my lap and became my responsibility on top of working full time at a job that refused to provide benefits (including sick time - if I got sick I had to take the day off with no pay) and payed well below the average for those in the field and with my educational background.

we were on the verge of being evicted because I wasn’t able to pay rent, buy groceries, or even feed my pets on top of him “needing” weed and his nicotine to function properly. Without them, he was incredibly abusive and would guilt me into buying them when we had nothing. I took out loans to make ends meet and it still wasn’t enough.

So I moved out of the apartment, payed off the rent I owed, and officially ended everything because I was tired of the abuse and feeling like I was worth nothing (mind you this happened the week of my eras tour show so I was exhausted and drained from that on top of all of that) to move in with my older brother who has let me live with him since so I can get back on my feet.

Thankfully I’ve repayed all of the loans I took out thanks to my new job which pays well and has benefits, and because I don’t have to spend at least $150 a week on his weed and nicotine (it used to be alcohol but I made him stop). It’s been five months since this all happened and he’s still bothering me to this day, to the point I’m debating changing my phone number so he and his family leave me alone.

I went to a few concerts recently and his aunt told him I was “cheating” on him - even though I ended things in July and was under the impression that he was moving on with his life - and he has been non stop messaging me since.

He even messaged me on discord on Christmas threatening to kill himself because I was “toying with him” and “leading him on”. I ignored his texts and went on and didn’t even check discord until today (the conversation was muted) because I flew to DC yesterday to visit my best friend for the first time in a year. I woke up to text coco and he had sent me over 100 messages calling me a whore, a liar, and then was telling me how much he loves me, how I’m “his ideal girl”, and that he wasn’t useless, amongst other things.

I know I can just block him, but it’s always been difficult for me to do something like that as I was taught by my grandmother and mom to love my abusers and to forgive them for what they’ve done - but my mom was also heavily abused by my dad and her family so it’s unintentional. I’m just so frustrated about the whole situation and I just want him to leave me alone but he just won’t.

My family and friends have been so incredibly supportive of me and doing everything in their power to keep me safe from him and I’m so grateful. I’m also so glad I’m in DC with my best friend because I feel safer than I have in quite a while (he knows where my family lives but doesn’t know where I live exactly). I haven’t felt this scared since I was stalked in college by someone who refused to take no as an answer and I got a restraining order and still felt unsafe.

I’m just lost and feeling like I can’t escape the guilt that I’m feeling, because I know that if he does commit suicide, his family will blame me for it. He’s always been this way and I just can’t do it anymore. I just want him to leave me alone.

I’m really sorry for the long rant and for talking about such sensitive topics, but I really needed to get it off my chest. It’s been lingering in my mind for so long and has been weighing heavily on me. He made me cry on Christmas and has made me feel like this is all my fault even though he put us both in the situation we were in.

If you read this, I’m doing okay physically and mentally and I’m in a safe place. I just needed to vent and get this off my chest, it’s been so hard for me to try and move past it….