#there's grief and loss and working to remember them and those stuck in the past and those trying to forget to feel better | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

a-yellow-van · 1 year ago

Text

Wish You Were Here | Part 3

You and Joel get stuck in a blizzard during patrol. It leads to something unexpected.

Series masterlist

Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, some smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, protective joel, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC : 8.9 k

Warnings for part 3 : Minors DNI! swearing, drinking, mentions of trauma and PTSD, mild violence, explicit sexual content (masturbation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough-ish sex, praise kink, pet names, limited aftercare), more hurt than comfort I'm sorry

Writing this one hurt a lil. But I'm happy with it. So please enjoy.

It’s been half an hour. Thirty minutes of riding side by side in complete silence, interrupted only by the sounds of Old Beardy and Willow’s hooves rhythmically crunching in the snow. It seems like an eternity. The tension is so intense it’s almost palpable. Your presence, a blur in Joel’s peripheral vision, is putting him on such an edge that, at any given moment now, he could turn around and gallop back to Jackson, or start saying things he’d better keep to himself, or get you off your horse and take you by the waist and…

No. Nope. Stop it.

His grip on the reins tightens and he bites his inner cheek until the stab of pain rips his mind off that absurd train of thought. He stares straight ahead at the deserted highway, the stretch of the 191 carved in a broad valley. The landscape is lost in a sea of white, the concrete below invisible, crashed cars resembling large animals sleeping in a snowy den. Joel’s face is numb from the cold, rugged skin humid, a few wild strands of hair on his forehead pearling with ice. The brim of his insulated cap isn’t enough to shield his eyes from the stinging wind, but still, he stares, almost unblinking. His neck itches with the urge to turn and glance at you; he has been actively fighting it ever since leaving. He has to remain collected, he has to concentrate on the job. That sentence is playing on loop in his head like a mantra, so much so that the words are getting jumbled, barely making sense anymore.

He doesn’t understand why it’s been so difficult to just move on from what happened. Not one day during those two weeks has passed without his thoughts drifting back to that brief intimacy he shared with you, without wondering what you’re doing, how you’re doing. And he loathes it. Hates being confused, hates not having control, hates that you’re having such an effect on him. So, before he drives himself crazy, he decides to start counting the cars until the both of you reach the first checkpoint on the Hoback route. Joel has calculated about five miles since Jackson, only around three to go until the job gets more active. There are two cars on the right, their shapes stuck together in a permanent collision, and one on the left. Joel can make it.

Small, repetitive rituals like this always helped him focus; back when he was working construction, a lifetime ago, he’d recite stupid ad jingles to himself, trying to remember as many as he could and associate them with the correct brand. There was a famous one that Sarah used to sing just to annoy him, delighted when it worked without fail every time. He’d be reading the newspaper in the morning, or watching a game, or driving her to school, and she’d pipe up out of nowhere. And then it’d be stuck in Joel’s head for days. Some annoying rap about credit reports. How did it go again? F-R-E-E, that spells free…something something dot com, baby. Sarah’s mischievous giggles, after he begged her to stop, echo around his mind. Less than a year back, it would have sent him down to a dark, sunken place with slippery walls nearly impossible to climb out of. Not anymore, after Ellie. The memory’s still stained with grief, but it doesn’t feel so crushing to carry. He’s accepted it as part of him. Joel tries to recall the rest of the lyrics to that damned song; he thinks Ellie might get a kick out of it. She’s always so eager to learn about even the most meaningless things that existed before the outbreak.

It does the trick to distract him from you. It works so well, in fact, that he nearly misses the turn to the checkpoint. He pulls on Old Beardy’s reins suddenly, steering him in the right direction. The horse neighs in protest.

So much for concentrating.

You’ve certainly noticed the mishap, but you don’t comment on it, much to his relief.

Get a fucking grip.

Joel begins down the side path to an abandoned gas station, the tension rising. Maybe, if one of you were to point out the obvious, it would make this whole situation a bit less miserable. But Joel isn’t going to be the one to do it. It would come out all wrong, anyway.

The place is small, a few pumps decaying under a canopy that’s barely holding on to four crumbling steel rods. The convenience store isn’t in better shape, its windows shattered, the signboard crashed by the entry. You take initiative and move towards the back of the building; Joel takes it as a cue for him to check out the front. The advantage of being an experienced patroller is that you can do your job without much communication; at least there’s that. He jumps off Old Beardy and walks up to the building, unworried but readying his weapon nonetheless. If there were infected around, he’d have spotted them already. Just as he thought, the interior is empty, what’s left of it is covered in a thin film of dirty snow. Just for good measure, he checks the storage and the restrooms in the back. Still nothing. He jogs back to his horse just as you turn a corner, you and Willow coming back into view, calm, unperturbed.

You don’t wait for him to leave. He scrambles to mount Old Beardy, and you’re already back on the highway. It sustains Joel’s growing irritation; he almost yells out for you to slow down. Sure, ignoring each other is one thing, but being unsafe and disrespecting patrol rules is another. So, as a punishment, Joel spurs Old Beardy into a run and catches up before overtaking you, almost knocking you off Willow. He hears you gasp out in surprise. You try to swerve to the right, but he blocks the move. He wants to make you crack. Because he can’t be the one to do so first. You try the same move, to the left this time, and again, Joel is faster. He takes things a step further and lets out a dry, arrogant scoff.

That’s it. You’re about to rip into him. But only the whistling of the wind responds; you keep stubbornly quiet. You don’t even give the man a glance when he finally lets you pass and get back on his side, your expression set in stone.

Damn it. You’re good.

Joel doesn’t attempt anything else, deciding it’s wasted energy. You both continue on the road, status quo, for another hour. You stop at a few other checkpoints around the highway : an old RV park, a fire station…Warm, sheltered places that would draw in people, or things, at this time of year. But there’s no sign of life anywhere. By this point, Joel would usually have had to take out at least a stray runner. It’s almost unsettling. Like the calm before a storm. That little seed of concern plants itself inside his mind, heightening his senses. You must feel it too, because you guide your horse closer to his, and he notices your right hand leaving the reins to rest on the rifle hanging from your shoulder.

Sombre clouds are accumulating in the sky, hanging low, menacing. The wind increases as you both reach the highway exit to the small village of Hoback, carrying sharp snowflakes that cut Joel’s exposed cheeks. The path is narrow, flanked by tall conifers that grow denser, their branches drooping down from the weight of the snow. You’re forced to get behind the man, your gaze on his back piercing, nervous, uncomfortable. The both of you still don’t talk, but the atmosphere has shifted, the unspoken conflict momentarily forgotten.

Joel moves forward cautiously on trot, alert, scanning his surroundings. The first cluster of residences comes into view, simple log cabins settled at the foot of a hill a couple yards away. From the distance, nothing looks out of place. He signals for you to follow him, and you patrol up and down the short street, hastily inspecting the houses on both sides. They’re frozen in a dead silence, immobile, ravaged by years of negligence and harsh elements. Instead of being reassuring, the absence of movement only causes Joel’s foreboding feeling to develop. Something is very off here. The both of you repeat the process through the village, falling into calculated, practised gestures. And, while patrollers have the habit of checking some key places for supplies to bring back to Jackson, this time, your pair instinctively works as fast as possible, not entering a single house. There’s an unwritten agreement to get the hell out of here as soon as you can.

You’ve cleared out most of the village and, at last, you reach Snake River, the sounds of its turbulent waters mixed with the wind is tumultuous. There’s a bridge ahead, just large enough for a car. Its wooden structure is unstable, some slats have fallen, the rest are icy and split in places. This next part has to be done on foot; the horses would collapse through the bridge and drown if they even took one step on it. Once you cross the river, you’ll need to walk a couple miles to the outskirts of the village, finishing off the route at an old golf course. The clubhouse is a great lookout to the area; it holds the patrol logbook. Joel halts Old Beardy before the river, and you stop next to him. The animal shakes his head, freeing his mane from the layer of snow. Joel hesitates, not quite ready to leave the protection and speed horseback offers. He’s debating if an acute gut feeling is reason enough to turn back and leave patrol unfinished.

That short moment of doubt is precious. Because a second later, nature seems to fall completely silent around you. As though a predator is roaming nearby. Sudden, horrible snarls erupt from the woods stretching to your right. The ground trembles beneath fast, uneven footsteps. A lot of them. Too many. Time stops as Joel looks in your eyes for the first time in hours. They’re full of fear.

And then a runner stumbles onto the trail about three hundred feet behind, twitching, its mangled head snapping in your direction. Followed by another. And another. It jolts the man right into action.

“COME ON!” He urges you, spurring Old Beardy to a gallop.

There’s no way to go, but forward. Joel barrels around the bridge and down the slope, reaching the riverbank. You don’t leave his side, thighs clenched around Willow’s flanks, arms straining with the reins. And as your horses hooves hit the ice, the horde has crossed the distance, pouring down the embankment. There’s at least twenty. Some of them fall into the water, the current seizing them immediately. But it’s not enough to stop them. Joel’s heart is hammering out of his chest, his body rocking with the movement as Old Beardy pushes on, fueled by the danger. Joel lets go of the reins, expert fingers grasping his rifle. He swiftly points it at the first runner that lunges at his left, and lodges a bullet in its brain. The next one steps on the corpse, ready to attack. It meets the same fate. The gunshots coming from your side clearly indicate that you’re handling yourself. Before long, Joel has emptied the chamber, not one bullet wasted.

“RELOADING!” He shouts.

You cover him, taking out an infected, mere inches before his claws dig into Joel’s ankle. He doesn’t have time to thank you, however, pulling the trigger the second he readies the rifle again. You both maintain the rhythm up for what seems to be hours, the horses snorting through the effort, runners dropping like flies. Joel has lost all sensation; he doesn’t feel his lungs burning or his muscles pulling; the adrenaline has completely taken over. He keeps riding. Shooting. Reloading. And…Yes, there.

Only two of the fuckers left.

One on your side, one on his. He fires. Perfect shot. He thinks the two of you might make it out unscathed.

But then, something happens. Your weapon is pointed at your own runner, about to shoot. But you hesitate. Joel watches as the creature strikes. Willow panics. She rears up. And you are thrown to the ground.

——————————

That runner.

It looks so much like her.

Your body hits the riverbank, head bouncing on a rock, wind knocked out of you. A sharp pain erupts in your skull, high-pitched ringing explodes in your ears, stars appear in your vision. In a fraction of a second, the creature is straddling you. You weakly push an elbow against its chest, keeping its jaws from locking around your neck. It twitches, screams, clacks its teeth.

And you just…accept it. Twenty-one years of surviving, and this is how it ends.

You close your eyes.

And you’re back in the forest. That day. You’re running, faster than you’ve ever done in your life, branches grabbing at you, slicing your skin, like they want to prevent your escape. You glance over your shoulder. She’s gaining on you. Her eyes have turned a milky white, her clothes are ripped, her skin bloodied. But she still looks so much like herself. She still sounds like herself. Your baby sister. Her discorded weeps fill you with a gutting terror. You can almost make out the repeated word. Your name. Tears fall down wildly as you dart between trees, your breathing erratic, throat on fire.

“PLEASE! ANI! STOP!” you howl. But she’s gone. She can’t understand. So she chases, and you run.

Until your foot catches on a large root, sending you tumbling through the underbrush. Your gun clatters away from you. You lay there, stunned, dirt in your eyes, your nose, your mouth, ankle bent at the wrong angle.

She pins you to the ground, broken nails digging in the skin of your arms. You flail around, kick at her, trying to free yourself from her impossibly strong grip.

“STOP IT! ANI! STOP!” you cry out again, voice raspy, hollow, desperate.

Your right hand pats around blindly for the weapon, your left is pushed against her forehead, forcing her mouth away from your exposed shoulder. Your heart is beating so fast it seems like it’s stopped. Maybe it has. Maybe you’ve died, and this is just a flash of your last moments as you drift into peaceful, eternal rest. Or maybe it’s a horrible nightmare, and you’re about to wake up, a hand laced in your sister’s soft hair, light snores escaping her lips. She always looks so innocent when she sleeps, like all worries have washed off her, like she’s been sent back to a happy childhood in her dreams.

Your fingers brush against cold metal. You close them around the handle.

Bang.

The shot echoes, in the past and in the present.

You’re still alive.

The runner’s corpse slumps down against you, coating you with gore, a foul smell making you gag. You’re paralyzed, trembling, chest rising and falling erratically, gasping for air. You look up at the angry grey skies, the snow plummeting down, catching in your eyelashes. Everything stands still for an instant.

It all comes rushing back as the dead infected is ripped off your chest, discarded to the side like a rag doll. You sense a presence crouching down next to you, and Joel obscures your view.

He calls out your last name, loud, snapping you back to reality. You focus on his face; it’s flushed, expression tight with stress, eyes darting, searching for yours.

“Hey! Are you okay?” he yells.

Joel takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into a sitting position, the sudden movement making you dizzy. You stare back at him, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, unable to answer. Stunned.

“HEY! Did it bite you?” he continues, shaking you.

You move your head side to side in response, causing it to throb in pain. You wince, raising a hand to your occiput. Your glove comes back crimson. Joel’s eyes fall to the blood, and he mutters a curse. He reaches into his coat pocket to take out a rag, balling it up and pressing it to the back of your skull.

“Keep that there for me. Can you do that?” He speaks in a low, steady tone, but there’s an edge to it you pick up on. You nod and execute yourself. Willow comes over and nudges you with her nose; her way of apologising. You pat her with your free hand, reassuring. It was your fault.

Joel runs back to Old Beardy, the poor beast trembling from the fright. He takes something out of his pack’s front pocket and brings it back : a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. He twists the cap off with his teeth and kneels behind you, taking the rag and pouring some of the liquid on it. He rubs it on your wound, eliciting a shriek.

Holy shit that hurts.

Joel inspects the injury, parting your hair to expose it, the rough fabric of his gloves like sandpaper on your scalp.

“Cut isn’t deep. But you’re gonna get a mean bump.” Joel explains, applying more pressure. He stops the bleeding, aided by the cold, and wraps the rag around your head, securing it with a tight knot. “We gotta keep moving. Can you stand up?”

This version of Joel, assertive, protective even, catches you off guard. It’s such a stark contrast from his attitude earlier in the day. It nearly makes you forget how close to death you just came.

“Uh, I-I think so-” you reply, regaining your voice, before attempting to push yourself off the ground and falling back down. Your head spins.

Joel offers you his hand, which you take to pull yourself up slowly, your whole body protesting. Bile rises up to your oesophagus. You lean over, breathing through your mouth.

“Shit. I think you have a concussion,” you hear Joel say, from far away.

And, then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the storm picks up. The snow gets so dense you can barely see five feet in front of you. The man takes the lead, urgently guiding you towards Old Beardy. He helps you mount, taking you by the waist, and you don’t even think to resist. There’s no way you can ride by yourself in this condition. Joel gets on and takes the reins while you hold on to him, chest pressed against his back. He whistles for Willow over the wind. She follows right behind.

Joel leads his horse out of the riverbank and into the surrounding woods, visibility getting even poorer. You’re blinded by snow, breathing it in, wheezing. You put all trust in Joel’s sense of orientation, praying that somehow, he gets you back onto the road. He presses forward, a hand raised in front of his face to protect it.

What a stupid fucking way to go out. Lost in a blizzard. With Joel Miller. At least the town would have something to talk about.

But then, miraculously, the trees begin to thin out; ahead, you can make out the faint outline of a trail.

He did it.

You squeeze Joel’s torso tighter, as if to thank him. Old Beardy perseveres, pushing one leg in front of the other. Your head is getting heavier, the concussion pulling you towards a dreamless sleep.

“Hold on. We’re almost there.” Joel affirms. You’re not sure who it’s destined for : himself, you, or the horses. Maybe all four. But it’s all you need to let go, and you pass out, head slumping on Joel’s shoulder.

——————————

You wake up to the sound of snow pelting against glass. Your skull feels like it’s being drilled into with a jackhammer. You pry your eyelids open and try to get your bearings, vision foggy, as though you opened your eyes in a chlorine pool. You find that you’ve been laid out on a frayed, deformed couch, springs digging into your back, a quilt smelling of mothballs thrown over you. Your winter attire has been taken off. You push yourself up on your elbows and look around the room. It seems to be the small living area of a cabin; there’s a rustic coffee table where both packs lay next to the bloody rag that acted as your bandage. To your left is a large, frosted-over bay window; the outside is an infinite, oppressing white. Two sets of jackets and ski pants hang from antler-shaped hooks next to the front door, a puddle forming underneath. A stone hearth takes up the wall in front of you, fire crackling inside. And, to your right, a plaid armchair. Joel is sitting in it, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs, watching you intently with knitted brows. His expression is hard, severe, unfriendly; he’s back to his normal self. You hold his gaze, your sight slowly getting clearer.

“Uh. Hey,” you speak hoarsely, throat dry. It makes you cough, which prompts Joel to get up and rummage through your pack to retrieve your canteen. He tosses it to you carelessly, and you fail to catch it. It lands on your lap with a thump. Joel plops back into the armchair, huffing. He is very transparently upset with you.

Great.

You take a long gulp of water and wipe your mouth with the back of your sleeve, the day replaying in your mind like on a movie theatre screen, pausing on your near-death experience. And you’re baffled, ashamed of your own actions. You can’t believe Joel had to step in and save your sorry ass, like you’re some kind of damsel in distress.

Fucking rookie mistake. And now you have a goddamn concussion.

You massage your temples and suppress a groan. “How long was I out?” you ask instead.

“About an hour.” Joel answers, tone glacial, deprived of any sympathy.

“Did you try calling Jackson?” You nod over at the small radio sitting on the ground by the window.

“Couldn’t get a signal,” Joel answers, gruff, as if it’s an obvious fact.

You roll your eyes. You know he’s right, but still, you stand up despite sore muscles, and go over to the device, cranking it a few times before trying the channel knob. You’re met with static. Joel mumbles something under his breath; it doesn’t sound pleasant, or polite. You put the radio back down and return to the couch, avoiding eye contact with the older man.

You glance at your watch. It’s right after 3PM, and the blizzard hasn’t let up. You’re going to be stuck here a while. You rest your head on the arm of the sofa, staring at the beamed ceiling, lost in reflexion. About how genuinely worried Joel seemed when you got hurt, how he jumped right in to take care of you. It makes you seethe. He tucked you in so you’d stay warm. He even changed your socks; the wet pair is drying by the fireplace. How dare he? You shift on the cushions, stiff, ill at ease. And Joel chooses that moment to break the silence.

“What the hell was that back there?” He questions, his tone accusatory.

You tense up. The blame you’re putting on yourself is more than enough. He doesn’t need to twist the knife. You ignore him, your jaw clenching.

“Hey. I’m talkin’ to ya,” he nags.

It makes your blood boil, and you sit up to glare at him. “Won’t happen again,” you grumble.

“Yeah? You sure about that?” He continues, harsh.

You take a deep breath. “Look, I-”

He interrupts you. “You don’t freeze up like that. Ever. You understand me?”

“Oh, wow. I had no idea!” You strike back, not missing a beat. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Miller,” You spit out.

Joel lets out a chilling chuckle. “Oh, you’re welcome, by the way!” He barks, “You know. For keepin’ you alive an’ all.”

You spring to your feet, heat shooting to your head, exacerbating the migraine. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help,” you utter.

Joel gets up too, towering over you, hands balled up into fists. “Right. Next time I'll just let you get infected. That what you want?”

“I told you. There won’t be a next time!” You shout, holding yourself back from punching him in the gut, or kneeing him where it would hurt most, or pulling him down to the couch and pushing your lips to his neck and letting him-

No. Nope. Not again, not here, not now.

You desperately need some air. You move towards the front door, but Joel strides up to you and blocks the way, arms crossed.

“You ain’t going anywhere,” he warns.

“Let. Me. Out.” You command. Your head is so painful you think it might explode.

Joel chuckles again. “You got a death wish or somethin’? Settle down, girl.” He talks down to you as if you were a child, smug, condescending; but that word makes your heart skip a beat.

You try to make a pass for the handle, but he grabs your wrist and shoves it backwards effortlessly. You’re seeing red. So you opt for the next best thing; you spin around abruptly and storm off to the other side of the cabin, into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

“Oh yeah. You do that. Real mature.” Joel yells out.

You hear the creak of the floor under his steps and the rustling of fabric as he sits back down. You take your frustrations out on the shower curtain, displacing thousands of dust particles, before biting down on your hand to muffle a scream. When you’re done, you climb into the bathtub and curl up against the lime-scaled cold porcelain, forehead on your knees. The space is dark, stuffy, suffocating. You wonder how you’ll be able to make it through the storm without ripping Joel’s head off. Or doing something exactly opposed to it. How easily that man is able to just get to you is incomprehensible. Enraging. And, worst of all, despite how reluctant you are to admit it…

Arousing.

It must be the concussion dysregulating you completely. But the feeling grows, and you extend both legs to squeeze your thighs together, trying to release the pressure building between them. It’s no use. There’s only one thing that would satisfy it, and he’s right outside the door. Without your control, your right hand moves to the waistband of your jeans, undoes the button and goes down, past the elastic of your underwear…Fingers reach down to your entrance, already slick, and glide back up to the hardened nub, the touch sending a rush of pleasure through your body. You rub clumsy circles around, slow at first, mind filling with Joel, his calloused hand there instead of yours, stretching you out, whispering filthy things in your ear. You increase the speed, biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning, cheeks flushed, the pressure becoming almost unbearable. You push two fingers inside, curling them to stimulate that sensitive spot, bucking into your own palm to deepen the sensation. In a matter of seconds, you’re unravelling, free hand gripping the side of the tub, your walls clamping down on the other, come seeping in the fabric below. Your lips part and you can’t help a low squeal from escaping them. You immediately clap your left hand over your mouth, heart racing.

Fuck.

Did he hear?

You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. The reality of what you just did comes crashing down. It only worked to heighten your desire. And your anger. You button your pants back up and step out of the bathtub, wiping your hand on a scratchy towel you find in the linen closet along with a colony of spiders.

You’ve been in here for too long. You have to go back out. It would raise suspicion if you didn’t.

——————————

Joel is oblivious, too busy sulking over the events of the day as he tends to the fire, flames illuminating his face in a flickering glow.

That was too fucking close.

The image of you, frozen up under the runner, keeps snaking its way into his thoughts. It infuriates him. How you just gave up, like your life was worthless, like you deserved what came to you. And yet, the sentiment is so familiar it makes his chest ache in a burst of empathy. He can sense the burden in you, the intense trauma you endured. Most people have, in this unforgiving world, but you…There’s something more. It was the look in your eyes when you saw that infected, as if it reminded you of something so vivid it stole you away for an instant. He knows because it’s happened to him. It still does, sometimes, although less frequently. They’re these moments of sheer panic, where he’s choking, the world blurring around him. He has to count things he can see, or touch, or hear…He feels so miserably weak after it’s passed, as if he’s just a small, scared old man. Maybe it reveals his true nature.

And he’s so angry at you for making him care. Because for some reason, he does. Ever since that night at the tavern. Maybe even before. How scared he got when he thought you might be done for is direct proof of it.

He can’t afford to have another person to protect.

A quiet cough brings him back to the present. He peers over his shoulder. You’re standing behind him, seemingly troubled by something; you fiddle with the hem of your sweater, gaze glued to the ground.

He turns back to the hearth, sighing, and forces out an irritated “You good?” The thing is, he actually is concerned with the answer.

“Fine.” You reply, your tone not an ounce more affable than his.

That is as far as the conversation goes. Joel eventually gets tired of rotating the same log with the fire poker, pretending the action is crucial to keep the flames alive. He goes back to the armchair, glancing at you. You’ve reclined on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, mindlessly chewing on a piece of dried meat. He decides to imitate you, because he needs something to do with his hands. So he digs in his bag for the sandwich he’d packed; it’s mushed, tasteless. You both eat in thick, loaded silence.

The sunlight is starting to decline, and the storm rages on, casting the room in an eerie shadow, the cold seeping in through every tiny crack in the cabin’s foundation. Joel shivers despite himself, shoving both hands under his armpits in an attempt to preserve his body heat.

A second later, you’re out of your seat. Joel watches as you climb up the spiral staircase that leads to the loft bedroom. You shuffle around the space, partially concealed by the railing, and come stomping back down, carrying a crumpled blanket. You hold it out to him at arm’s length. Joel cocks a brow; the sudden kind gesture leaves him completely confused. You jiggle the blanket under his nose, impatient. He decides to take it, and drapes it around his shoulders, the relief immediate.

“Uh. Thanks,” he mumbles.

You give a shrug in response, dismissive, wrapping yourself in the quilt and retreating to the sofa.

What the hell?

An hour ago, you were fiercely arguing with him. Now this. The flip-flopping is giving him whiplash.

Time passes, excruciatingly slow, nor Joel or you daring to say another word. The sun fully sets; the darkness outside is opaque, as if the little cabin is drowning alone in an abyss. There’s no way around it, you’ll both have to spend the night here. Around half past 5PM, Joel can’t stew in the tension anymore, so he goes to check on Old Beardy and Willow, confined to the veranda at the back of the house. They’re cramped, but otherwise fine. Joel risks a short trip to the yard to fill an old, warped bucket with snow for the horses to drink. As he shines the beam of his flashlight around, he notes that the blizzard has weakened slightly. This mess might be over in the morning. Just a few hours. He can last until then. It’s not like he has any other choice.

He feeds the animals with a pile of straw forgotten in a corner of the veranda, behind some gardening tools. At the start of the outbreak, he couldn’t help but imagine who inhabited the places he used as shelters, what their daily lives looked like, if they were still alive. Sometimes, he’d come across evidence of the contrary. It used to disturb him, he’d feel like an intruder, but he’d quickly grown desensitised. Cordyceps didn’t spare anyone. It made suffering the new normal. It’s useless to dwell on what was or wonder what could have been. So, he doesn’t pay more attention to the objects scattered around the space as Willow eats from his hand.

Once he comes back inside the cabin, he finds you exploring the kitchenette that’s crammed underneath the loft. You’ve opened the cupboards, revealing stacks of chipped, dusty dishes. You’re going through a drawer, a few utensils clinking inside. You haven’t noticed Joel, too focused on your search for something of value. He observes quietly as you move on to the second drawer, when he decides to make his presence known. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Don’t bother, I already checked while you were sleepin’.”

His words only make you search harder, meticulously inspecting the contents of the drawer, bent over, your back turned to him.

Goddamn it. You’re exasperating.

And yet, his eyes are drawn to a specific part of your anatomy, the curves made obvious by your position, your jeans hugging them so well he could just-

“Or do whatever the fuck you want,” he mutters, the hostility compensating for the sudden surge of lust.

He plants himself in the armchair, once again, the noises of your continued investigation grating, setting his nerves on fire. After a few minutes, they stop. And you come walking back to the living area with a subtle, conceited smirk on your lips, and a bottle of very nice, before-the-apocalypse whisky clutched in your right hand.

“Didn’t check well enough, Miller,” you say, failing to hide your satisfaction.

“Where was it?” He asks, upset at himself for missing the item.

“Back of the sink cabinet,” you answer smugly. “Quality stuff,” you add, reading the label. You’re absolutely right, but Joel isn’t going to recognise it.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky,” he grumbles. You don’t waste time and unseal the bottle before raising it to your mouth.

“Don’t think that’s smart,” Joel cautions, making you pause mid-air. “Y’know. Concussion,” he continues, his tone more unpleasant than he anticipated.

You don’t listen to his advice, staring at him tauntingly as you sip. He’s quickly learning that you thrive in defiance. And this audacity you possess, it’s…Attractive. Joel inexplicably likes that you’re provoking him. Your expression remains neutral as you swallow, even when Joel knows for a fact it must sting like hell. You offer the bottle to him.

It’s been a long time since he’s had liquor that didn’t have an aftertaste of battery acid, and the sight makes him crave a good drink. It’d certainly make the night pass by faster. He knows it’s a terrible idea, considering where getting drunk with you led him last time, but it’s so damn tempting…

He takes the whisky from you.

——————————

You’ve made a considerable dent in the liquor. It’s dulling the pain in your head, reducing it to a distant ache. You’re sitting cross-legged in front of the hearth, and Joel has joined you on the ground, close enough to pass the bottle back and forth without having to stand up. His back is resting on the bottom panel of the couch, legs spread out casually. The fire, as well as the whisky, is enveloping you in a calming warmth, eating away at your inhibitions; you’ve taken your sweater off as a result, stripped down to a tight thermal shirt. There’s silence again between you and Joel, but this time, it doesn’t make you want to claw out of your own skin. It’s strikingly comfortable. And you find yourself wanting the man to come closer, longing for contact, connection. You haven’t forgotten your little adventure in the bathroom; in fact, the liquor is feeding those feelings, and they’ve risen to a nearly overwhelming level.

You take another sip, and, during the exchange, Joel’s fingers graze yours, sending your heart in a frenzy and a burst of flustered heat to your face. You jerk your hand away.

Idiot.

You play it off by brushing it through your hair. Joel’s mouth twitches upwards before he drinks.

“What?” You ask, defensive.

“Nothin’.” Joel passes the bottle back to you with a faint air of amusement. You decide it’s a good time to stop, and you set it down on the floor.

“Done already? I was expecting more from ya,” he teases.

You hate how well it’s efficient in riling you up. “Like you said. Concussion,” you retort, pointing at the site of injury.

“Hm. So now it's a good enough excuse,” he presses on, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Yup,” you answer simply.

“Really? That’s all you got?” His smirk is more assured now.

You give a drawn-out sigh in response, studying the fire like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Damn. I was startin’ to like the snark,” he says. It seems like the liquor has taken a toll on the man’s reservations, too.

“Don’t wanna waste my breath on you,” you reply, unable to resist the banter.

Joel chuckles. “Ah. There she is.”

You had forgotten how lovely Joel’s laugh is. How natural it feels to talk to him like this. Funny how booze seems to have that impact on the both of you. And, after a tortuous day of being at each other’s throats, you welcome the change of mood. “Did I just hear you say you like me?” You turn to gaze at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Nah. Must be your concussion.” He answers, deadpan, unfazed.

You can’t hold back a smile as you reply. “Hm. Sure, Miller.”

He pauses and appears to consider something, chewing on his bottom lip. “Uh. Joel,” he finally lets out, voice deeper, more serious. “Just- call me Joel.”

You’re taken aback by that sudden request.

His first name. It feels informal, intimate even, as though you’ve moved past the status of coworkers, into murky, foreign territory. You know you should refuse. You’ve dropped too many of your principles with this man already.

“Alright. Joel.” You gulp. “Uh, same goes for you.”

He gives a short nod, and mirrors your sentence, only with your name instead.

It’s significant. This moment. It feels like the two of you have reached a point of no return. Like from here on out, things can’t just go back to the way they were.

“Man, this isn’t how I was planning to spend the night,” you revert to humour to diffuse the returning tension.

“Yeah?” Joel follows your lead. “Got somethin’ you’d rather be doin’?”

“Pretty much anything else,” you quip. “I was gonna work on this painting I’m late on.” You’re not sure why you’re opening up about that aspect of your life, but it’s the direction the whisky has picked. It’s futile enough. Still safe.

“Oh. Right. Painting,” he says. “I knew you did that.”

He does?

“Didn’t you do one of Tommy and Maria?” He continues. “For their wedding?”

The man truly is full of surprises. And to think you were convinced he was completely indifferent to you, at least before today.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that was me,” you reply after a few seconds.

“It’s good work. You managed to make Tommy look half-decent. That’s talent right there,” he jokes.

“Yeah. Thanks. I tried.” You chuckle, and your stomach flutters at the compliment. You’d shoot those butterflies one by one with a tiny gun if you could. “What about you? What’d you have on the schedule?”

“Hm,” he answers, “not much either. Was gonna ask Ellie to join me for dinner. And get rejected again.”

“I don’t blame her,” you comment, a teasing grin forming. “What teenager wants to hang out with a grumpy old guy?”

“Hey. Rude.” Joel feigns offence. “I can be fun,” he adds.

“Won’t believe it until I see it,” you push further.

“Okay then. Just you wait.” He glances around the room for inspiration, until he is hit by a stroke of genius.

“Truth or dare?”

You snort. “Are you twelve?”

“Truth or dare?” Joel repeats, voice raising in pitch.

You shake your head in disbelief.

Joel fucking Miller.

“Fine. Truth,” you capitulate.

Joel smirks. “Okay. Uh,” he concentrates, “What’s your favourite colour?”

You take a second to process the words that just came out of his mouth. And then burst out laughing.

“Come on,” Joel protests, a grin brightening his eyes, deepening the wrinkles around them. “What’s wrong with that question?”

It makes you double down in laughter. You wheeze, trying to catch your breath, and Joel joins in with a few low chuckles. The stoic mask has vanished. Why does he look so sweet?

“That-that- was the best you could come up with?” you get out between deep inhales.

Joel doesn’t back down. “You gonna answer it or what?”

“Okay, okay. Uh-”

You realise you haven’t thought about that tiny aspect of yourself in about two decades. Cordyceps has had that strange effect of destroying souls, personalities, the little things that used to make one human. By infecting some, and coercing others into survival. You’re not sure which fate is worse.

“It’s yellow,” you finally reply. Yellow like the sunshine. That was your sister’s nickname. And you were Moonbeam. Opposites who completed each other. And now there’s only one left, lonely, broken.

Joel nods. “Fitting.”

“Hm?”

“Your tattoo.” He gestures at your exposed collarbone, where a sun made up of a multitude of ink dots is etched into your skin. Joel is scarily on point; that was for her, too.

“Yeah.” You don’t linger on the topic. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Joel replies instantly.

You’re not prepared. “Uh- I dare you to-” Your mind is sluggish, moving in slow-motion as you try to come up with something. “I dare you to sit next to me.” It comes out without your control.

Shit.

“Easy,” Joel brags. He pushes himself off the ground with a grunt and takes five steps before settling back down so close that your legs are touching. He doesn’t acknowledge it, eyes on the fire ahead, and neither do you. But it sends a chill up your spine and your thoughts to a dangerous place. You determine you’ve taken a long enough break from the whisky and take a swig of the liquid courage. Joel does too.

“Your turn,” he reminds you.

“Truth.” You still have enough wits left to be worried of what he’d make you do as a dare.

“Takin’ the coward’s way out?” He teases.

You drink again, ignoring the remark.

“Alright. Uh, tell me about- your first time,” he says, glancing over at you with a sly smile.

That’s a huge jump from the innocence of his first question. You shoot him an unimpressed look. “You’re gonna have to be more precise.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Now start talkin’,” he playfully orders.

You sigh. “I was seventeen. With a friend I had in the QZ. Nothing special to it.” Your teenage years aren’t a period you like to reminisce about; you had to grow up much too fast.

Joel stays quiet for a moment, and bumps your knee with his, in a movement that could be passed as accidental, or as an attempt at comfort. You’re not certain which is the truth. “D’you love him?” He asks, his tone genuine, devoid of mockery.

“Her,” you correct. “And…I don’t know. It was years ago. Doesn’t matter.” It’s a lie. You remember it like it was yesterday. And you did.

Joel’s expression is one of surprise, and embarrassment. He turns a shade of red deeper than he was the second before, the temperature having nothing to do with it. “Oh. Uh. I- Sorry, uh, didn’t mean to assume- That’s- Good for you- I-”

You’re very entertained by his reaction. People usually fall into one of two categories when you tell them; awkward ally or plain bigot. You’re glad it’s the first one. You cut him off before he digs the hole deeper. “It’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up. Your turn.”

He seems rather grateful for the change of subject. “Uh. Right. Truth,” he replies, regaining his composure.

You give him a taste of his own medicine. “Same question.”

Joel is unbothered, and tells the story nonchalantly. “Okay. It was my date at senior prom. Back of my car in the school parking lot.”

It makes you laugh. “Wow. How very original. I gotta know what kinda car it was.”

“My dad’s busted old Wrangler. I put that car through a lot of shit.” he replies, chuckling.

“I could have guessed that.”

For a second, you and Joel look at each other, smiling. He almost appears timid. And for a second, the horrors of the world retreat into the shadows that birthed them. For a second, everything is alright. You could stay here forever.

——————————

Joel could, too. He wishes time could stop here. Because he’s confident that the night will inevitably end in something he’ll regret. No way around it. It’s taking an enormous effort already to keep himself from reaching over and closing the distance between your lips and his. The booze isn’t helping. You’re not either, with that radiant smile that’s melting his hard shell little by little, and your eyes that keep wandering around his face, his chest, and lower too, though you try to be discreet. He’s doing the same, and he’s certain you’re aware of it. Now, it’s a matter of who will succumb to the temptation first.

You speak up again. “One last thing, Joel. Did you get the girl?” The question is lighthearted, but the memories it brings back certainly aren’t.

He sighs. “Yeah. I did.” Sarah’s mother. They’d been high school sweethearts. Young. Dumb. A tale as old as time. “Got married. Had a kid. The whole nine yards. Then she wasn’t ready to be a parent. And, well-” He trails off, the words slipping out, motivated by the liquor. He’d never have confessed such a thing in a different context. Especially not to you. And just like that, he’s ruined the mood.

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, before your expression softens, as you realise what must have happened to said child. Pity? Compassion? Joel can’t be sure. “Oh. Uhm. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know-”

“‘S’okay. It’s, uh, it’s been a while. And I got Ellie now,” he reassures, slurring the words slightly.

“What-what was their name?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sarah,” he answers after a pause. He’s only recently started being able to talk about her out loud without breaking down. He doesn’t know if that still applies when he’s inebriated. And he’s not willing to test it out. He drowns the sentiment in more whisky, before giving you the bottle.

“Uhm. That’s pretty.” You take a swig and hesitate. “I, uh, I- know what it’s like. To- to lose someone like that,” you say, softly. The pain the words cause you as they escape is evident. Joel believes you.

And then something happens. Your right hand leaves your lap, moves to the side and comes to rest on his.

His gaze travels from your hand, up to your face. It’s full of doubt, eyes wide, as though you’ve just made a horrible mistake.

It’s all it takes for the floodgates to open.

——————————

Joel grabs your forearm and pulls you into his lap. His mouth collapses on yours. You don’t protest, accepting the kiss immediately, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, knees on both sides of his thighs.

A rugged hand goes to the small of your back, pressing your chest to his, while the other slides up to the back of your head, carefully tilting it to deepen the kiss. Tongues collide, hungry, eager. He sucks on yours, stifling a moan.

You’ve been pent up so long you’re soaking already. He breaks away from the kiss to trail his lips across your jaw, before going down your neck, biting and swirling his tongue on your pulse point, not mindful of the mark he’s undoubtedly going to leave. He earns a gasp, your fingers interlocking with his hair, holding him in place. You grind against his growing bulge to try and alleviate the fervent pressure rising at your core. He thrusts his hips up to meet yours, the friction sending sparks of electricity to your hazy mind. A hand wanders to your breast, fingers groping the soft flesh, flicking the nipple raised through your shirt. But you need more. Need him inside of you. Now.

And you tell him so, voice quivering with desire. “Please,” you add in a whimper.

It isn’t long before your clothes are ripped off, his lips refusing to break apart from yours for more than a few seconds. He lays you down right there on the floor, bare, trembling, aching for his touch. He sits back on his heels and admires you for a moment, eyes darkened, intense, reflecting the flames as if they are blazing behind his pupils. You watch, mesmerised, as he undresses in the dim, dancing light of the fire, casting him in an aura that’s almost ominous. He stands up to take off his underwear, cock springing free and hitting his lower stomach.

The sight makes your mouth water. God, he’s big.

He climbs on top of you, your legs encircling his torso, granting him access to your entrance. And he pushes into you. Hard. You’re so wet his cock slides in without resistance, filling you completely, nearly hitting your cervix, the jab of pain delicious. The act isn’t kind, or tender; and it’s exactly what you want. For him to use you, to ruin you. And he does. He fucks you senseless, each stroke bringing you closer to oblivion, to forgetting who you are. The sounds he’s letting out are outright sinful, grunts laced with dirty sentences that could make you finish on the spot. But you’re holding on. Until he lifts you up by the waist, angling himself to hit that bundle of nerves over and over again, making you cry out in ecstasy, clawing at his back. You’re almost there, your walls pulsate around him, driving him deeper inside.

“Think you should come for me, darlin’,” he hums into your ear, nibbling on the lobe.

You obey.

The orgasm ripples with such force it blinds you. You can’t even scream. You’re gone. Not a person anymore, but a being of pure pleasure. Joel coaxes you through it with a few more thrusts, erratic, uneven, as he reaches his own release. He pulls out of you at the last second, painting your belly with spurts of the thick, warm substance. Your entire body spasms before going limp.

All the fight has been drained out of you. You’re reduced to a panting, throbbing mess on the floor, arousal pooling out of you, coating your inner thighs.

“Did so good for me,” Joel praises, hands cupping your face, left thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “So fuckin’ good,” he repeats.

You stay still, eyes closed, brain shutting down your functions one by one. As you’re about to drift off, you feel strong arms carrying you to the loft, carefully placing you on the bed, cleaning you off with a soft cloth. He climbs in and embraces you, limbs tangled with yours, and you nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck. His fingers gently brush the hair from your face to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“Sleep tight, darlin’,” he whispers.

It’s so vulnerable it makes your heart ache.

Because you know this’ll all be gone tomorrow, along with the alcohol evaporating from your system.

——————————

You’re right.

The sky is clear by the next morning, harsh sunlight brutally waking you. You’re alone in the bed, shivering, sore, his scent all over your skin. You get dressed, head pounding, filled with excruciating remorse.

Joel is waiting for you by the front door. Glacial. Austere. Haunting. The person that you went to bed with a few hours ago has been torn to shreds. As though he never even existed. Maybe he was a product of your imagination.

And, once you’re outside, standing side by side on the horses, ready for the return trip, Joel utters a sentence that reverberates in your head all the way to Jackson, its echo deafening as you ride in silence.

“What we did. It meant nothing. Understand?”

You keep the tears in until you’re back home.

To read on AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #tlou part 2 #send help #fic: wish you were here

123 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 1 year ago

Text

“If i am with you” — gojo satoru.

This is what he’d like life to always be like, he told himself. This is why he went out there and did his thing. Why he bothered with trying to change everything from within, why he was gathering allies for his vision. This was his hope. This was what he wanted, what everyone deserved. He was glad. To have a place that was his. A place to be Satoru. Not the strongest. Not Gojo Satoru. He just wanted to be who he was in these four walls. The father, the husband, the friend, the hugger, the joker, the cook, the man of the house. This is what he wanted. This is who he is.

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, mention of pregnancy, depiction of the aftermath of birth, depiction of parenthood, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: if i am with you from the jujutsu kaisen s2 soundtrack

NOTE: i was supposed to publish this yesterday but i got distracted by the s2 of house of the dragon and crying about rhaenyra and jace and luke. i love them so muchhhhhh. but to comfort myself, i thought about what we would satoru do on father's day. and i thought about this. happy father's day, satoru!!! and to all your fathers and father figures, happy belated father's day!!! i love you!!! <3

addendum: i also started a ko-fi. im still deciding what should be there, but this is not going to be by tier, because its not fair i dont offer something in return. so until then, im just announcing and telling you that i only have one ko-fi~

masterlist

u s and t h e m

YOU DON’T THINK YOU EVER HAD TROUBLE GIVING GIFTS. For all occasions, you seemed to be the best at it. Everyone of your colleagues would say you knew them too well when they opened their presents. But you were stumped this time around. You don’t remember any time in your life where you ever failed at knowing what to give someone for father’s day.

Your father always liked what you gave him, especially ones you worked hard to make. You still remember when your father passed, you found all the father’s day cards and trinkets you’ve made him over the years. He especially loved the mewtwo one you gave him, during his last father’s day. That one he kept on his Jujutsu uniform when he passed.

But this time around, you think you really do not know what to give a first time father for his special day. Father’s Day was coming up, and you wanted it to be special. It was Satoru's first Father's Day as Satoshi's father, and you wanted to make sure it was memorable. Being a father was Satoru’s favorite thing about himself. And you wanted it to be great.

You shifted things over and over for the past month. You had pinterest boards of cute little arts and crafts. You had special sweet dishes he wanted to try. You had those little ads about the best gifts to give fathers on their special day. But nothing really was peaking your interest. They’re good but they’re not great. And your husband deserved great, nothing less.

You wanted to give him the very best, because he gives you everything. He was there the moment Satoshi was born, he was there the moment you and him took guardianship of Megumi and Tsumiki. He was always doing what he could, from always doing everything when he was around to making sure he spends time with the kids when he had time off, most especially on family Sunday.

But as days passed — there was nothing that stuck as being the great thing that one could give to the best father you know. You pouted as you slapped the top of your head lightly. You’ve dug through everything and anything in your brain for days and days and here you were, panicking as two days remained before that special day. You had to come up with something before he got home. As you pondered over what to do, your thoughts were interrupted by Megumi.

“Hey, can you help me with something?” he asked, holding a piece of paper.

You blinked at Megumi and nodded. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I’m trying to draw a family tree for school….”

“Uh huh….”

“But……. I don’t know much about my mom….or my dad.” He reveals to you, face echoing a scarlet fluster. “And I don’t….really know much about the Zenin clan.”

Your heart ached for him. Megumi didn’t know your Toji nii–sama, his own father, nor did he know much about his mother. You wondered sometimes how you were robbed of your father at such a young age, but you look at Megumi and Tsumiki and you wonder how it was for them. Because you at least remembered your beloved father. And they did not have that luxury.

Megumi has had a hard time trying to remember the past. And you can’t blame him or Tsumiki. His mother passed away soon after he was born. Megumi was three when Toji nii–sama left them with that woman he remarried. And only a year or two later, she too disappeared. The world was stacked against the two of them.

You sighed, crossing your arms. You don’t even think it would be good to talk about the family you had grown up with either. The only ones truly worth liking are Mai and Maki. The rest were not worth noting.

After all, the Zenin clan’s history was complicated and often painful. None truly needed to know more than those words. You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. The memories of Toji nii–sama were bittersweet, filled with both love and sorrow too. And that’s not something you were ready to talk about.

Before you could decide, Tsumiki walked in with a small smile. “Gen–san! Do we have any paint? I need it for a project.”

You and Megumi blink before you returned her smile and went to search the drawers. “You need help with the project,’miki?”

“No, thank you, Gen–san.” She grins at you waving her hands. “You don’t need to, I can do it!”

“You sure?”

“One hundred present.”

You handed her a small box of paints. “Here you go, ‘miki.”

She smiled brightly. “Thanks!” She hurried off, leaving you alone with Megumi again.

You took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the memory lane. You slowly started explaining some of the Zenin family history to Megumi, being careful not to overwhelm him with too many details. The one thing you didn’t want to do was to cause him some trouble with all of this. He’s still a kid. He would be fine with trying to know this when he’s a bit older.

“The Zenin family is one of the three great sorcerer families. Your father, Toji, was... unique among them. He’s my father’s cousin, so that makes me his first cousin, once removed. But he was like a brother to me.”

“First cousin once removed? What does that mean?”

“It means we’re one generation away in relation.” You pointed it out to him on the paper. “Because he and my dad were born from siblings, they are cousins. I am his first cousin.”

He narrowed his eyes, as though trying to understand. “Then what does that make me, you and ‘miki?”

“First cousins twice removed, for me to you.” You tell him, pointing again on the paper. “But since your dads are brothers, you guys are first cousins. But there’s two generations between me and both of you.”

“And then what’s Maki-san and Mai-san to you, me and ‘miki?”

“Maki and Mai are your second aunt, they’re born from your second grand uncle.” You say to him, trying to focus to not forget details. “Maki and Mai are my…..first cousins once removed, like your dad. ‘miki and you are their second nephew and niece.”

“Since your father was their cousin?”

“Yeah, That’s right, that’s right.”

Megumi listened intently, absorbing the information. You could see him trying to piece together the fragmented bits of his past. As he started drawing his family tree, you guided him, filling in names and relationships where you could. You talked about Toji nii-sama and his wife, but only briefly. You think it would be best if he asks you about it one day. You don’t want to push much on him. The Zenin family tree was already a lot to deal with.

“Is that all you need from me, ‘gumi?” You asked him as he started to finish up his work and he nodded at you.

“Thank you for taking the time to help me, Gen-san.” You grinned at him, rubbing his head as he pouted. “You didn’t have to rub my head like that. What if I grow bald?”

“Then we’ll figure out if Shoko can use the reverse curse technique on your hair!”

As you finished helping Megumi clean up the papers, your thoughts drifted back to Father’s Day. You still had time to plan something special for Satoru, seeing as he would probably come back tomorrow. Seeing Megumi’s determination and curiosity reminded you of the importance of perseverance. You’ll get that great present for him—

“Yahoo~”

You felt your eye twitch for some reason. Your husband, Gojo Satoru waved as he removed his bandages and took his dark rimmed glasses and wore them. He grinned at everyone from the genkan. You didn’t know he’d be back this soon. As soon as he stepped away from the genkan with his house slippers, he was greeted by the sight of Satoshi crawling towards him, his little face lighting up with a big smile. Satoshi had long abandoned his little blocks—his interest now was greeting his beloved father. Satoru picked him up, lifting him high into the air, making Satoshi giggle with delight.

“Hey there, little guy!” Satoru cooed, nuzzling his son with a loving gaze.

You emerged from the kitchen, surprised to see him. “You’re home early!”

“Yeah, it was not that hard to defeat the cursed spirit this time around.” He says as you walked over to him and kissed his cheek. “So I’m here.”

“Well I’m glad you’re here, safe and sound.”

“Me too!” He cheered as he tickled your son, who laughed. “Oh, it’s good to be home with family~”

“Oh, you remember about ‘miki’s performance tomorrow, right?”

Satoru grinned. “Of course I remember! One of the reasons I even came home early. Wouldn’t miss singing ‘miki sing her heart out~”

Just then, Tsumiki came rushing in. “Satoru-san! You’re home!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Satoru crouched down to hug her properly with his free arm, with a smile. “Of course I am! I wouldn’t miss your performance for anything.”

Tsumiki beamed with excitement, her eyes sparkling. “I’m so happy you’re here! I can’t wait for you to see me sing tomorrow.”

After a moment, Satoru stood up and spotted Megumi in the corner of the room, looking stressed. “Hey, Megumi,” he greeted, concern evident in his voice. “Everything okay?”

You stepped in, explaining, “He’s still having a hard time digesting how we’re related. He asked for help in the family tree project for school. It’s been a bit overwhelming.”

“Oh? You mean the Zenin family tree?” He snickered back at you. “It’s a whole mess of a knot, isn’t it, ‘gumi?”

You lightly hit his arm. “Hey, its just as bad as the Gojo–Mikoto family tree!”

“It’s not my fault our ancestors liked each other.” You gasped at him.

“Satoru, not in front of the kids!”

“I mean….you and I are related too—”

“La la la, we shouldn’t be talking anymore–”

“You guys are so loud.” Megumi frowns as he crosses his arms on his chest.

Satoru walked over to Megumi and ruffled his hair gently. “Don’t worry, Megumi. You don’t have to worry. You finally got out of the family knot—”

“You’re insufferable, Satoru!”

“Hey, it’s not wrong if it's true!”

“Oh, I think the food's done!”

“This is going to be a long night.”

YOU STILL DIDN’T HAVE ANY IDEAS FOR YOUR PRESENT. You wished you could hit your head on the wall, to try and get an answer. But it would hurt and you would start crying even more. So you opted to suffer in silence. Satoru wanted to be early, because he feared he’ll miss the performance.

So, you all head to the school together. Gojo Satoshi happily giggled as he was nestled in the baby carrier strapped to Satoru's chest, gurgling with delight at the new surroundings. At least your baby was the cutest boy in the world. He’s so beautiful in your husband’s arms.

As you walk, your mind races with. You still didn’t know what to give Satoru for Father’s Day, despite texting Shoko, Nanami, and even his wife for ideas. Nothing seemed quite right. Shoko suggested making a cake for Satoru but you do that all the time already. Nanami and his wife suggested making mochi but your husband buys that all the time already too.

You could feel a heaviness in you. What do you think is worthy to give as a gift to the best father in the whole world? You still didn’t know and that frustrates you. When have you ever been this stumped over a present?

“Are you okay?” Satoru asks, noticing your distraction.

You force a smile. “I’m fine, just a bit nervous. It’s my first time attending a much bigger school function like this. Well…for the kids.”

He gives you a reassuring smile and squeezes your hand. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll not mind that you’re nervous.”

“Maybe you’re right…..” You let out a gruntled sigh.

“I’m always right, darling~”

“Uh, uh, don’t push it.”

As you arrive in the auditorium, you find your seats among the other parents. The school’s auditorium buzzed with excitement, people were whispering and talking with one another. Many parents took time off to cheer for their kids too, you think.

Satoru whispered to Satoshi, about how he should cheer for Tsumiki when she comes out. You smiled at them as you look at the stage. You don’t know when Tsumiki was going to be up. But there’s quite a few teams in her grade, after all.

Each team that came sung a song that they made themselves. It was quite impressive, seeing young kids just being so lively and artistic. Jujutsu High didn’t really have much of these things, and even then, you and Satoru really didn’t attend any schooling outside your own clan’s comforts until you were of age to attend Jujutsu High.

So both of you were going to enjoy this, enjoying watching these kids have better joys than you ever had. Satoru was quite excited, clapping along and soon followed by your son who was also giggling and clapping along with his father.

Then when it finally came time, you immediately spot Tsumiki as she giggles nervously. She comes out with her team. Tsumiki shyly sent a wave, which made her pigtails bounce slightly. She was happy to see that you were both there. Your husband waved back, enthusiastically. You smiled as you waved too. But then Satoru immediately cheers, his voice booming with pride.

“That’s my kid!” Satoru shouts proudly, his eye glasses nearly falling off. Everyone was looking at you all. “You guys, isn’t she pretty?”

“Satoru, sit down!”

“But ‘miki looks cool! I wanna hype her up!”

“But she’s about to perform!”

The music starts and the auditorium turns dark. The lighting starts on cue and Tsumiki is the first to sing. You were in awe as she started mixing that with dancing too. Satoru immediately pulled his phone out and started recording with excited giggles. But it was quick to notice how he started to shift.

When he suddenly goes quiet, eyes wide with surprise. On the back of Tsumiki’s shirt, in those bright glittery bold letters, is written, "Gojo Tsumiki." Satoru glances around, noticing that all the other kids have their last names printed on their shirts too.

Tsumiki stops at the side as attention goes to another member of her group. Tsumiki waves at Satoru, her smile brilliantly radiant. Overcome with emotion, Gojo Satoru turns his head and buries his face in Satoshi’s tiny shoulder. Satoshi lets out a sound as though asking his dad if he was alright. You sighed, patting his shoulder.

You lean in, whispering, “Are you crying?”

His voice muffled, he replies, “No, I’m not.”

After the performance, Fushiguro Tsumiki runs over to greet you both, her face glowing with happiness to have spotted you. They won the top spot today, when Satoru was the loudest for. She was waving her medal as she rushed over to you both. You take Satoshi from Satoru, freeing him to hug Tsumiki tightly.

“You were amazing out there, kid.” Satoru says, his voice thick with pride. “I’m so proud of you.”

Tsumiki smiles up at him. “Thank you, Satoru-san!”

“You didn’t have to do that, you know! I was surprised, you wore my name on your back.”

“But I wanted to.” She beams at your husband shyly. “I can’t legally change my name, but I wanted everyone to see your name on my shirt, Satoru-san. After all, you’re the dad I have.”

Satoru starts to thank her, but his words become a jumble of emotions. Warm tears stream down his face, and you realize Tsumiki too started crying and wiping her tears. You let out a small sigh and smiled at them. You quickly pull out a tissue wrap and gently wipe Satoru and Tsumiki’s cheeks.

“Thank you for this, ‘miki.” he finally manages to say. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

She beams, her eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m glad you liked it, Satoru-san.”

“I’m going to go and hang up that shirt in a frame, okay? I’m gonna put it in my office!”

Tsumiki grinned. “I’ll be happy every time I see it there!”

“Me too!” Your husband cried with joy.

“Gugah!” Gojo Satoshi joined in.

“Yeah, what he said!”

SATOSHI WAS FALLING ASLEEP. Satoru cooed as he cradled him back and forth, humming to your little son as he was trying to get him to sleep. Satoshi was getting cranky by the end of the picture taken for the group and when you noticed, Satoru refused to hand your little son to you. He said that he was making much of what time he had your little dawn. If he had to fall asleep, it would be in his arms. You didn’t have the heart to deny your husband, because you could see the love in his eyes shining through. And so you let him do as he pleased as you and Tsumiki sat down on the bench together.

As the program concluded, Tsumiki’s class was told that the rest of the day was to be dismissed. Since it would be time to prepare for the first term exams next month, they thought a day break is not going to be too bad. Coincidentally, it was also already nearly time to pick up Megumi. So, you decided to wait outside his classroom until his class was over.

You were mulling over what would be a good dinner today, so you were trying to remember what you had in your fridge. Tsumiki had some suggestions and you took them in mind, but she was having cravings for something hot. And you kept thinking a spicy hot pot was going to be good. But a good question would be if your husband could take the spice. He really isn’t one to tolerate things he didn’t like. And every time you ate something spicy together, he seemed to not be as bothered.

It wasn't long before the bell rang in the school and you could see Megumi emerging, looking flustered. His hands were tightly pressed against his backpack straps. You quickly stood up, to take his school bag from him, but he pouts and tells you off softly. You nodded at him and ruffled up his hair tenderly with a small smile.

Satoru was quick to ask, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Megumi replied swiftly, and sensing his reluctance to talk, no one pressed further.

Tsumiki sang as she opened the door into the house. Satoshi was found asleep in the carrier while you started to tell the kids to go get some rest before they showered. You went to the fridge immediately while your husband settled your little dawn down. Satoru emerged from the nursery and smiled at you when he immediately suggested hotpot, a cozy meal perfect for the occasion, and since Tsumiki was craving something spicy, you could just add some togarashi on her bowl.

As you and Satoru were talking in the kitchen about how grateful you were for the kids and what you guys should do tomorrow since it was still an off day, you felt Megumi approaching you. You looked at him as he pulled at your shirt. He lowered his gaze, his cheeks round and red. He opens his mouth but he doesn’t say anything. Satoru watches as he mouths towards you, asking what's going on. But you shook your head, not knowing what to say. Megumi gathered up his courage and then slowly placed a placard from his hands to yours. You could tell he was a bit hesitant to even hand it to you.

“I didn’t think it was right to submit in a Zenin family tree.” Megumi began, his voice steady but quiet. “I barely know them.”

You and Satoru looked at the placard together. It was simple, but it was colorful enough that you could call it lively. You could tell Megumi did it, it was his style. He likes beauty in simplicity. The tree was big enough to encompass all the information that he knew about each and everyone on the tree. Just as much, tender pictures that were neatly placed.

On it, Megumi had written that you were his mom and Satoru was his dad. Tsumiki was listed as his elder sister, and Satoshi as his younger brother. The simplicity and honesty of it touched your heart deeply. On the top, he wrote, ‘my family’ in that neat lettering that you had grown so fond of.

“I had to discuss my family tree and talk about my family,” Megumi explained bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m not gonna talk about strangers.”

You and Satoru looked at one another, eyes glossy with striking tears that were threatening to fall. When did you both deserve such beautiful happiness? What could you have both possibly done that made you both worthy of the love these kids have given you? You smiled at Megumi, looking at the placard again.

Satoru’s eyes softened as he pulled Megumi into a hug, ruffling his hair with a laugh. “I’m so proud of you, Megumi. You’re right, family is about who’s there for you.”

Megumi mumbled, “Stop hugging me so tightly.” but there was no real resistance in his voice.

Satoru chuckled, “I just want to hug my son.”

“‘am not your son—”

“Too late, the placard says it. We’re adopting you!”

“We should have this framed.” You say as you gently touch the placard with a grin. “I’m putting it in the living room.”

“Please don’t do it.”

“Oh wifey, that’s a great idea!”

“It’s really not.”

“Not valid to your dad, son!”

IT WAS AN ENJOYABLE TIME AFTER THAT. Your beloved little dawn Gojo Satoshi woke up just as dinner was finishing, and the whole family came back out and sat on the table all together to enjoy a lovely meal. The atmosphere was warm and filled with laughter and it was how it should always be. The meal was delicious. Tsumiki was right about the spice. It tasted good on yosenabe. As you predicted, Satoru didn’t like the spice and opted for some soy sauce. Megumi was satisfied with the taste without any condiments.

Dinner together was never quiet. Satoru made many jokes today, almost half of which are dad jokes. Megumi felt bashful about them, but you knew that he liked them. Satoshi and Tsumiki giggled at each and every one of Satoru’s little quips. You laughed too, until it hurt your cheeks to do so. If there was anyone who could be the light in the home, the one who makes life ever so beautiful, it would be your husband.

As you ate your mushrooms over the dashi, as Megumi drank his cup of orange juice, as Tsumiki grabbed a bite of her little pudding, Satoru couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and contentment. He had never imagined having a family this warm and loving, but here it was, a reality that he cherished deeply.

After dinner, the kids played for a long while. Satoshi had the most fun, trying to force himself to stand up. Megumi was making sure that he was not gonna fall, Tsumiki was excited to see Satoshi walk towards them. But the excitement also died down and everyone went to watch a movie. Tonight was Satoru’s pick and he chose Monsters vs. Aliens. He enjoyed it quite a lot, as much as the kids did. Satoshi had a blast copying the facial expressions of Insectosaurus which cracked Satoru up for hours.

But now the older kids had gone and went to bed, and Satoshi was playing with his puzzle pieces just behind the couch. The rest of the night was you and Satoru both staying up to tidy up the house. It was already midnight by the time you finished. Both of you lunged together on the couch, exhausted. Satoshi, now disinterested with the puzzle, went and played with his squishy toys.

You looked at the clock and then to your husband Satoru and, with a hint of regret in your voice, said, “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything for Father’s Day.”

Satoru looked at you and snickered. He shook his head and pulled you into a gentle embrace. “You don’t need to apologize, darling. You’ve given me everything I could ever want for Father’s Day. You made all of this possible.”

“But I just….I wanted to give you something great.”

He looked into your eyes, his expression filled with love and gratitude. “You already have given me something great. You gave me a home, warmth, and the loveliest family. It’s everything, darling. It’s more than anyone could ask for in this life.”

“I love you, my love. More than you know.”

Cerulean eyes met your lilac. “I love you too, darling. More than life itself.”

You hit his hand lightly. “You keep one upping me.”

He laughs. “I have to make sure you know I’m the one who loves you the most.”

“I already do.”

“And I’ll tell you everyday.”

“I should hope so.”

“Until we’re old and wrinkled.”

You laugh. “Is that going to be your case, handsome?”

“I reckon I’ll always be handsome.”

You sigh at him lovingly. “You always will be.”

Satoru kissed your cheek. “Thank you for being the light of my home. I wouldn’t be the father I am without you by my side.”

“And I wouldn’t be the mother I am without you.”

“If I am with you, it will be happiness.” He whispers under his breath. “If I am with you, I’m going to be alive.”

“You make me fall in love with you over and over.”

He grins at you. “That’s the point. For all of our lives and even beyond that, darling.”

You hugged him tighter, feeling the strength and sincerity of his words. In that quiet, tender moment, you realized that the best gifts are often not material but the love and support we give each other every day. As you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace and fulfillment.

You had your family all together.

With all its warmth and love, this was it.

This was truly the greatest gift of all.

As long as you were with him, it was alright.

Life would be the best there ever was.

epilogue

You were preparing to get to bed, but Satoshi was being rowdy, and the morning sun was already beginning to peek through the windows. Satoru, seeing how tired you were, gently told you, “Go to bed. I’ll meet you there once Satoshi’s asleep.”

Grateful for his understanding, you nodded and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. The warm water helped soothe your tired muscles, and you felt more relaxed as you got ready for bed.

Meanwhile, Satoru was cradling Satoshi, rocking him gently in his arms. Satoshi, still full of energy, reached for his papa’s face, his tiny fingers patting Satoru’s cheeks. He giggled, his eyes bright and mischievous.

Satoru smiled down at him, murmuring softly, “Come on, little guy, it’s time to sleep.”

Satoshi started babbling, his sounds turning into something more distinct. Suddenly, he said, “Dada.”

Both you and Satoru’s eyes went wide in surprise and delight. You had just stepped out of the bathroom when you heard it. A smile broke across your face, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Did he just say...?” you began, looking at Satoru.

“Yeah, he did,” Satoru replied, his cerulean eyes shining with pride and happiness. “Satoshi said his first word!”

You walked over to them, and Satoru pulled you into the embrace, Satoshi nestled between you both. “His first word on Father’s Day,” Satoru whispered, emotion thick in his voice. “It’s perfect.”

You kissed Satoshi’s forehead and then Satoru’s cheek, feeling a profound sense of joy. “Happy Father’s Day, Satoru. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

As the morning sun continued to rise, you finally crawled into bed, feeling the comforting presence of Satoru beside you. Satoshi was peacefully asleep in his crib, the excitement of the early morning finally wearing him out.

You turned to Satoru, who was lying on his side, his eyes still glowing with the joy of Satoshi’s first word. “You know,” you said softly, “I couldn’t have planned a better Father’s Day gift than this.”

Satoru smiled, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. “I don’t think anything could top that. Hearing him say ‘Dada’ for the first time… it’s just perfect.”

You both lay there for a moment, soaking in the tranquility of the morning and the profound happiness that filled the room. “I’ve been thinking about how to show you how much you mean to us,” you confessed, “but seeing you with the kids, seeing how much they love you, that’s what really matters.”

Satoru pulled you closer, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ve given me everything I could ever want. This family, our home, the love we share… It's more than I ever imagined. Thank you for making it all possible.”

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “We did it together, Satoru. We built this life together.”

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering as if to imprint the moment in his memory. “And we’ll keep building it, one day at a time.”

The peaceful silence stretched on, and slowly, exhaustion began to claim you. As you drifted off to sleep, you felt a deep sense of contentment and love. The morning had brought an unexpected gift, one that underscored the beauty of the family you had created.

Satoru held you close, his thoughts echoing yours. He watched as you fell asleep, his heart full of gratitude and love. For him, this Father’s Day was not just about a celebration—it was a reminder of the journey you had taken together, the hardships you had overcome, and the beautiful life you had built.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, filling the room with a warm glow, Satoru finally closed his eyes, ready to join you in sleep. The house was quiet, filled with the peaceful breaths of a family deeply connected by love and the promise of many more joyful moments to come.

94 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 1 year ago

Text

Survivor Blues

DEAD WOOD: JOEL'S POV

A/N: After far too long, this one is back in action! I have missed writing this story so darn much and it feels great to be back with these characters. This interlude has been living in my wip folder for a damn year, and I am really exciting to finally be sharing it. It takes place immediately following the events of Part Five, and it marks the first time that we get to see things through Joel's eyes in this universe. (It also alludes to some things that I haven't expanded on within this story yet, but that I am so SO excited to.)

Series Masterlist

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: language, mention of character death, loss, grief, trauma, brief description of injury, Ellie is a snarky teenager, PLOT SPOILERS FOR TLOU, feel free to message me if you have questions (it's actually a lot more hopeful than the title makes it sound)

Summary: Home from the supply run, Joel contemplates how far he's come since arriving in Jackson... and hopes that it will be the same for you. Tommy and Ellie - of course - have thoughts and opinions on things, too.

By the time Joel got home after a quick stop at the clinic, it was past seven, the house - and Ellie’s garage - both standing dark and empty against the beginnings of night.

She must be out with friends. Good.

It had taken a few years, but he was finally in a place where her absence didn’t immediately put him on edge. When they first settled into the house on Rancher Street, Joel would insist that Ellie stay at Tommy and Maria’s anytime he was gone overnight. Even the walls and the close knit community couldn’t fully satisfy that need to know that she was safe then. But now a note stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet telling him where she’d gone was more than sufficient.

Which was exactly what he found when he entered the kitchen. Plucking the piece of paper from the fridge door and leaning against the counter, he read the girl’s hastily scrawled words.

Joel,

Not sure when you’re getting back but I might not be here when you do. Staying with some friends tonight and tomorrow. I’ll be home on Tuesday. Movie night - don’t forget!

-Ellie

He chuckled to himself and shook his head. Like I’d ever forget movie night, kiddo.

Getting that back - that time with her where they could just be a family, laughing together and watching some movie that was made fifteen years before she was born, that time that both of them desperately craved where they could put down all the things they carried and all the things they’d gone through even if only for 120 minutes at a time - that was a gift he would never take for granted. Her eventual forgiveness and understanding, once he’d finally explained his reasoning for the choices he made, was everything to Joel. And it was still fresh. The two of them were still awkwardly trying to find their way back to the kind of relationship they had before the lie came to light. But it was a chance that Joel never imagined he’d get, and it wasn’t one he would ever squander.

He raised his hand to stick Ellie’s note back on the refrigerator door for now, but paused before using the same faded orange Longhorns magnet that she had used to secure it. Instead, he dug into his back pocket and pulled out a new one. Turning it over in his palm, Joel glanced down at the yellow letters spelling out Wyoming and remembered the look on your face when he handed you one identical to it that morning.

It wasn’t really a smile, more like the framework of one, a hint of what it would look like fully fleshed out. It was different from the ones he’d seen you wear while working in the bakery or waving to someone on the street. Those were pleasantries that you were refamiliarizing yourself with. This one touched your eyes, softening them for a few seconds. It made Joel wonder what he unearthed with that small gesture - what part of your former life he’d been able to reach and awaken, at least partially. He didn’t bother with wondering what it meant that he’d taken an identical magnet for himself.

With a sigh, he used the gas station souvenir to tack up Ellie’s note where he’d found it. Keeping his injured arm down at his side, he reached to open the cupboard next to the fridge and pulled down a glass and the bottle he kept there. He let out a grunt as he twisted the cap off, needing to use both hands to do so and being punished for the miniscule movement with a throb of discomfort through his bicep. Shit, that hurts.

Though your work had held up just fine all the way back to Jackson, the wound had still garnered a hiss and a wince from the nurse on duty at the clinic. Using a cloth and clear grain alcohol, she’d carefully cleaned between and around the stitches, telling him that he was lucky he had someone with him who knew what they were doing, because the cut was deep and without closing it properly, he would have lost a lot more blood than he did. Slathering the area with an antiseptic cream, she re-wrapped his arm and sent him on his way, recommending that he not get the stitches wet for a good two days.

Gonna have to stick my arm outta the shower I guess. First thing’s first, though.

But before he could finish making himself a drink, he was interrupted by the call of his name. “Joel?” Tommy’s voice joined the stomp of his boots as he climbed the porch stairs and let himself through the front door. “Hey, Joel? Where-”

I shoulda known he’d be over.

Holly, the nurse at the clinic, was close friends with Maria. There was no way that she didn’t radio over to let Maria know that she’d just taken care of her brother-in-law. And that meant that Tommy knew, too.

“Kitchen,” Joel answered, cutting his brother’s question short and reaching into the cupboard for a second glass. Setting it on the counter, he opened the freezer and scooped a few ice cubes into his palm before dividing them between the two tumblers. They clinked against the cut glass but fell silent as Joel poured a few fingers of whiskey in each, turning around in time to see Tommy appear in the doorway. “Hey, little brother.”

Tommy’s eyes were alert as he gave Joel the once over, his heightened focus settling on the bandage on his arm. “Shit, you alright? Holly said-”

“M’fine, Tommy.” He picked up one of the glasses and handed it over, the younger man accepting it with visible relief. “Just a cut. Fell into some broken glass.”

Tommy raised one eyebrow. “You fell, huh?”

Joel rolled his eyes with a gruff groan. “Couple’a infected caught us by surprise at the eye doctor. Nothin’ we couldn’t handle.” He leaned back against the counter and lifted his glass to his lips, taking a swig.

“Jesus.” Tommy took a drink, too, bending forward to rest his elbows on the island in the center of the kitchen. He set his glass down but kept his fingers around it, forehead furrowing as he spoke your name in the form of a question. “She’s alright, too? Holly didn’t say anything about-”

Joel shook his head. “She’s fine, Tommy. Didn’t even have to stop at the clinic, so Holly didn’t see her.” He took another small drink, letting the rich amber liquid coat his tongue before swallowing. “She went straight back to her place from the stables.”

“Good.” Tommy nodded and blew out a breath, the last of the worry leaving his expression. “That’s good.” He cleared his throat and swirled the contents of his glass, watching the ice slide around the sides. “And uh… she did alright?” His eyes came back up then. “I mean, dealin’ with the infected and all?”

Joel recalled the way you snapped immediately into action, shifting seamlessly from defense to attack, muscle memory taking over and guiding your blade exactly where it needed to go without hesitation.

Alright’s an understatement.

You’d had a moment of panic in the aftermath, but though Joel was certain that was what Tommy was asking about with the addition of “and all”, he decided not to consider it in his response. Your explanation was solid. No harm had been done, and he didn’t think it warranted mentioning. Nor did the fact that he had only been knocked through the glass display case because he’d glanced in your direction first to make sure you didn’t need help.

We’re both fine. No point in worryin’ him over nothin’. She’s no more of a liability on a run than I am. She just… she needs time. Like we all did.

“Yeah,” he answered, brows pinched together as he took another drink. He shrugged his bandaged arm out in front of him. “She even patched me up once we were in the clear.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Well, shit.” The tiniest twitch of his mustache gave away a hidden smirk, and he used the hand holding his glass to point at Joel. “You mean you actually let someone take care of you?”

Joel rolled his eyes again. “Shut it, Tommy.”

That got a laugh out of him, the younger man setting his glass on the island to lift both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just messin’ with you, big brother.” He smiled, a smaller chuckle slipping through it as his hands dropped to the counter. “Really, though.” He nodded. “I’m glad you’re both okay.”

“Yeah.” Your near-smile flashed in Joel’s memory again as his eyes shifted to the magnet on the refrigerator. “Me too.” The kitchen fell silent for a handful of seconds, both men finishing their drinks before Joel spoke again. “Hey, do… do you remember that time you gave me a hand takin’ down the old oak tree in the yard?”

Tommy blinked, clearly surprised by the question, but didn’t ask why Joel had brought it up. Instead, he tilted his head, brow furrowed as he sorted through his memories. The moment he dug the right one from its hiding spot, his expression changed. The creases in his forehead smoothed out and gave way to curved lines around his mouth as he broke into a smile.

“Yeah.” He let out a huff of laughter, hanging his head and letting it shake from side to side before lifting it again. When he did he was still smiling, though there was a bittersweet shadow behind it. I know. You miss her too. “I remember us catchin’ hell for it.”

We sure did. Joel tipped the bottle to fill both glasses with a half measure, then screwed the cap back on and put the bottle back in the cabinet it came from.

The tree in question had been Sarah’s favorite. A swing hung from one of its branches, and Joel had tacked scraps of wood into the trunk that she used as footholds to scamper up so she could sit in the Y-shaped split in the center. And though she was only seven at the time, she had put up quite a fight when it came to taking it down. Joel could still picture the determined scowl on her face as she sat against the trunk. She had her scrawny arms crossed over her chest as she informed her father and her uncle that she wouldn’t let them kill her tree. What she didn’t know was that the tree was diseased, and that if left alone, not only would it become a safety hazard, but it ran the risk of infecting other nearby trees.

He matched Tommy’s smile. “That girl all but tied herself to that damn trunk.” Joel always had the suspicion that if she had the time and an accomplice to help her with the knots, she would have. “She could be persistent, huh?”

Tommy hummed. “Wonder where she got that from. What is it they say about apples again?” He laughed, but then curiosity got the better of him. “What…” He coughed to clear his throat. “What made you think’a that?”

I’m gettin’ to it. “You remember how I had to prove to her that the tree was sick? Took my pocket knife and scratched the bark so she could see it was already dyin’ underneath?” She had gasped when the scratch test revealed a grayish, ashy underlayer, her eyes going wide and her bottom lip quivering, tears threatening to spill as her outrage instantly turned to fear for the other trees in the yard. “I had to scrape ‘em all, show her the rest of ‘em were still green and alive, even though they all looked the same on the outside.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed and he swallowed. “Yeah… Where you goin’ with this, Joel?”

“I been thinkin’ about how it’s like that for people, too. It was like that for me. It was like that for me for a long time, Tommy.” Tilting the glass in his hand, he watched the amber liquid collect in the corner of it, shining gold through the cut crystal where the overhead light struck. “Scratch test came up gray for years. Thought I’d never really feel anything again… Thought I was done.”

Straightening the glass, he let its contents slosh back to cover the bottom before bringing it to his lips and taking a sip. Honey and malt slid over his tongue, a subtle layer of smoke and spice following as he swallowed. Back in Boston, drinking wasn’t something he did for enjoyment or relaxation. It wasn’t for savoring or even tasting, really. Then he drank to forget. To sleep. To turn it all off. Here in Jackson though, he could share a drink with his brother and remember.

Remember what life tasted and looked and felt like. Remember his daughter. Remember who he was beneath all the dead wood around his heart.

“Yeah.” Tommy’s eyes were on his own glass, a frown pulling at his mouth and etching creases between his eyebrows again. “I know.” He cleared his throat and took a long swig, finishing his drink with a wince that cracked into a fool’s gold grin - one that Joel knew was covering feelings of guilt and empathy and other things Tommy still felt compelled to atone for even though Joel had tried his best to lay those things to rest in the years since their reunion. We were no good to each other like that, little brother. We would have just broken each other. I don’t blame you for leavin’. Not anymore. Tommy reached over, grin still stretched across his face but growing more genuine as he clapped Joel on the shoulder of his good arm. “But you ain’t done, you old fucker. Not yet.”

That was thanks almost entirely to Ellie and they both knew it. The girl was determined, borderline relentless, same as Sarah had been with the tree. She had been the one to keep scratching, keep digging, keep checking for the hint of green under all that twisted, lifeless gray. And when she found it, all the things that he thought had disappeared started coming out of their dormancy.

Things like jokes and laughter. Memories. The capacity to care deeply for others again. Things like movie nights. The things that made surviving the worst worthwhile.

It was also thanks in part to Jackson - and to Tommy and Maria for welcoming him and Ellie into their lives. Some days it terrified him, allowing himself to have so much to lose again. There were still times he worried that he had peeled back too many of those hardened layers. That he’d let his guard down too much, exposed his heart to happiness for too long and that it would all be lost to blight. But even on those days he knew what Tommy had just said to be true - that he wasn’t done yet.

And neither is she.

Joel spoke your name then, nodding solemnly. “I think it’s been like that for her for a long time, too.”

Tommy sighed. “Yeah.” He finished his drink and walked over to set the empty glass in the sink. “I got that impression, too.” Turning around, he tilted his head to one side. “You said she was alright on the trip though. Somethin’ happen?”

Joel took a breath in through his nose, letting it back out slowly. “Just…” He tapped his pointer finger absently against the glass he still held. “I think I saw that in her. The green underneath. I think… bein’ here is… it’s helpin’ her.” Even if she’s got a long way to go. “It’s… she’s still in there.”

You were. And Joel realized, for the first time since meeting Tess all those years ago in Boston, that he wanted to know that person - the person who showed him the hint of a genuine smile, the person who carefully and gently patched him up, the person who shared a coveted instant coffee packet with him to pass the time and stay warm on a chilly night. And that scares the hell outta me.

“Well that’s-” Tommy’s smile had nothing but warmth behind it that time. “That’s real good to hear.” He stepped away from the counter and towards the kitchen door then, bringing his hands together. “Well, I’ll get outta here so you can get yourself cleaned up and all. Just had to make sure you were good after we heard from Holly.”

Joel nodded, following him out into the living room. “Yeah. How’d you put it? Thanks for still givin’ a shit about me?” He heard his brother snort out a laugh before turning around to face him again.

“Yeah, exactly.” He paused then, the joking smile falling away to reveal something more serious yet still full of relief and warmth. When he spoke again his words were quiet, but they made a big impact. “It’s real good to hear you talk about Sarah again, too.”

With that, he left, and Joel was left to respond to the empty room. “Yeah. It is.”

– – –

Twenty minutes later he was drying off from the shower when he heard the sound of the back door opening, followed by the call of his name.

“Joel? You home?” Ellie’s voice was muffled by the closed door and the towel that he was dragging over his hair.

Ellie? Thought she was stayin’ out tonight?

He called back. “Yeah. Gimme five minutes, I’ll be right down.”

Moving from the bathroom into his bedroom, Joel pulled clean clothes and underwear from his dresser - a pair of thick navy blue sweatpants along with a dark gray t- shirt and a pair of wool socks. Easing the shirt carefully over his wrapped bicep, he sighed, knowing that as soon as Ellie saw it she would react. She hated seeing him injured, as anyone would hate to see someone they cared about get hurt. But Joel knew that in her case, it was more than that. In her case, it reminded her of those dark days in Colorado, when she did all she could to keep him alive and still wasn’t sure he would make it through the night.

It won’t always be like that, though. ‘Least I hope not. For her sake.

The thought of covering it up with a loose fitting flannel or long sleeved shirt didn’t even occur to him, though. After coming clean about everything that happened in Salt Lake City with the Fireflies and the doctor they were working with, Joel made a solemn vow to himself that he’d never withhold the truth from her again. Even when it might hurt. Especially when it might hurt. Because he knew that nothing he’d done in that hospital had hurt her more than the lie he told her on the outskirts of Jackson.

And I’ll never do that to her again.

As he made his way down the stairs, he heard her moving around in the kitchen, the sound of plates being set on the counter meeting his ears. “I’m making sandwiches,” she yelled when the fourth step from the bottom creaked under his weight. “You want one?”

“Sure, kiddo.” What happened to stayin’ with your friends? Everything alright?” He wasn’t trying to distract her by keeping her talking before she saw his arm, but Joel wanted her to hear it in his voice that he was okay.

She groaned. “Kat and Dina are having some kind of stupid drama and I didn’t wanna get sucked into it so I decided to come home. You know, they’re both important to me but sometimes they can just - Fuck! Joel! What the?”

He’d walked into the kitchen at the same time that she looked up from the slices of bread that she was piling with leftover chicken, the sight of him making her stop what she was doing and scramble around the island to stand in front of him.

“Hey, hey, it’s…” He held up both hands, only wincing a little at the pull of his stitches when he lifted his arm. “I’m fine, Ellie. Just a cut.”

“Well …” Her eyes were wide but she tore them from the bandage to look up at him. “Well, what happened? I thought it was supposed to be an easy run?”

“It was. But you know as well as I do that easy runs can turn, yeah?” He reached forward, placing his hand on her shoulder and tilting his head to the side. “Hey. I’m okay, kiddo.” Giving her a light squeeze, he waited for her to nod and accept what he was saying, and then he shot a glance at the half-finished sandwiches. “C’mon, I’m starvin’. Let’s eat and I’ll fill you in.”

Just like he did the night that he and Tommy brought you into town, Joel sat down and told her everything that happened at the optometrist’s office - how the pair of infected had seemingly come from nowhere and were suddenly on the two of you, how the one that lunged at him managed to knock him backwards and through a glass case, how you had made sure that the wound was cleaned and tended to as best as you could. And though she had been concerned and rattled at the beginning of his story, Ellie was wearing something close to a smirk as he finished.

“Oh.” She bit off a mouthful of her sandwich, raising her eyebrows as she chewed and speaking again before she swallowed. “So you like… really trust this chick, huh?”

Joel clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. Her too? First Tommy and now- “That’s your comment? Not ‘Well I’m glad you had someone there to help you, Joel’?”

Ellie rolled her eyes right back. “Yeah, yeah that too. But I mean…” She gave a casual, one-shouldered shrug. “First you let her take care of you, then you decide to both sleep at the same time instead of taking shifts?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. “You never do that unless it’s me or Tommy.” Something dawned on her then, and she turned mid-chew toward the sink, gesturing towards it with the hand that still held what was left of her sandwich. “Wait. Is that why there’s two glasses in there? Did she come over when you got back to town?”

“What? No. Ellie…” He sighed, and shook his head. “No. There’s two glasses in the sink because Tommy was here earlier, not-”

“Well you should invite her over for dinner then. As a thank you-” She emphasized her intention to silence his protest. “- for sewing you up, you know?”

Joel took a bite of his food, chewing it slowly to buy himself more time before answering. The idea of having you in his home, sharing a meal, talking and laughing - he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t like it. But I don’t know if she…

He thought back to his own first few months in Jackson and how skittish he was every time someone would try to include him in anything that wasn’t directly related to security or survival. It all still seemed so impractical. Cookouts and movie nights and holidays while the world outside the walls continued to crumble? And then there was the guilt. That grating, shredding near-constant feeling that he shouldn’t be there - shouldn’t be safe, shouldn’t be happy or comfortable or even alive - not when Tess didn’t get to be there too. Not when Sarah never had a chance to. You hadn’t said much about the things you’d been through or the people you’d lost, other than that you’d recently lost your nephew. But Joel knew from experience that while those devastating wounds never fully healed, they did become less raw when they were given some time.

I’d like it. But I don’t know if she’s ready for somethin’ like that. He swallowed and brought a hand up to wipe his mouth. Yet.

“Maybe when the weather’s nicer an’ we can cook outside.” He got up from the table and took his plate with him, setting it in the sink next to the two glasses.

The scrape of chair legs on the floor told him that Ellie had gotten up, too, the girl appearing at his elbow to stack her plate atop his. “What does the weather have to do with-” He shot her a look then and she rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine. But we’re circling back to this in June.”

Joel leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Speakin’ of circling back, you said somethin’ about your friends fightin’? You wanna talk about that?” He lifted one eyebrow as she shot him a look of her own.

“I do not.”

Joel snorted a laugh. “Alright, then. Just try not to go breakin’ too many hearts, yeah? You don’t-”

Without missing a beat, Ellie grabbed the dish towel that was hanging on the oven handle, balling it up and throwing it at his face. “Shut up.” She was laughing too, though, bending down to pick up the towel after Joel had batted it away. “So stupid.” Straightening back up with an exaggerated sigh, she whipped the towel onto the countertop. “On that note, I’m gonna get outta here.” She glanced at his arm, mouth dipping into a quick frown that was gone by the time she looked back up at his face. “I’m glad you’re home, Joel. Have a good night.”

He smiled, chest warming as he did. “G’night, kiddo. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that she turned and was nearly out the door when something caught her eye and she stopped in front of the refrigerator. “Hey, you got a new magnet.” She pointed at the note she’d left him, now stuck up with the square-ish shape of Wyoming. “I used the cowhead one but this one’s-” She looked over her shoulder, a smirk beginning to grow. “You brought home a souvenir from your trip, huh? So you could remember it? Any reason for that?”

Joel narrowed his eyes at her, but all it did was pull a laugh out of her. “Good night, Ellie.” She laughed all the way down the back porch steps but Joel didn’t mind. She ain’t wrong.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know! You can also fill out the form on my masterlist!

Tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @amb11 @mindidjarin @jk7789 @tentacruels @cannedsoupsucks @harriedandharassed @marauderskeeper @joelmillerscoffee @woodlandmouth @swtaura @grfields @valkblue @stealyourblorbos @sleepylunarwolf @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @mumma-moonchild @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @Noisynightmarepoetry

#survivor blues interlude #survivor blues #tlou fic #joel miller #pedrostories #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #tlou joel #tlou ellie #ellie williams #tommy miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou #pedro pascal character #survivor blues: joel pov #survivor blues: dead wood

47 notes · View notes

the-era-of-shadow · 1 year ago

Text

Supernova Trigger

Written by Ash Rose

Summary:

In the month following G.U.N’s raiding of the Space Colony ARK, Black Doom has been completely consumed by grief from the situation. But one day, as he is reminiscing as always, memories of another strange happening on the ARK come back to them, and inspire him to get out of their room for once and do something productive. Well... if you call fighting the god of the suns, stars and time with the intent of killing him productive.

THIS STORY CONTAINS: Major character death*, mentions of death, mentions of death of a child, swearing, violence, religious themes, themes of parental abuse and neglect, mild misogyny, implied transphobia, unwilling/reluctant child abandonment

Author's Note: Woah, surprise story?? Yeah so this started out as the original epilogue for Devil's Eyes, but then I got the idea for the epilogue that you see in the final version of Devil's Eyes - and thus this became it's own story! And I think it's better for it, honestly. This is quite connected to DE but the tone is a bit different, I'd say! Also this one isn't from Kimera's POV so. Yeah.

One month ago, a terrible tragedy occurred.

It was all so sudden, especially through the eyes of someone who had not been there - though hopelessly wishes in hindsight that he had been.

But there was nothing that could be done now. Gerald and Maria were both gone forever and Shadow’s location was unknown - being vigorously searched for by a team of highly skilled Black Arms soldiers. There was nothing that Black Doom could do other than mourn the loss, which he certainly did.

As much as a part of them despised himself for it, Doom had been rendered completely unable to do his usual duties by the grief that struck him when they heard the news. How could he not be? Shadow and Maria were like his own children to them, and while he never got the chance to say it to him, Doom had become quite in love with Gerald by the time of his unfortunate fate.

So while his wife Widow and Widow’s girlfriend Sendrir took care of Doom’s usual duties, Doom had been stuck in his bedroom practically rotting away in bed the past month, all the while existing in the human disguise of “Dominic Barnett” that he had been in on the Space Colony ARK, feeling too strongly connected to it as one of the few things that they had left of the ARK and of the Robotniks to change out it into his true form.

Another one of the few things Doom had remaining of Gerald's memory was his journal, which had been recovered during the still ongoing search for Shadow. On occasion, Doom would read through it a bit, but would usually end up overwhelming themself with grief after a little while of reading. Despite this, on this day, Doom once again grabbed the journal from his nightstand and opened it up.

But this time, Doom stopped for a moment and looked back at his nightstand, and noticed another book that had seemingly been underneath Gerald's journal without Doom noticing it - until now.

Putting Gerald's journal aside, Doom picked up the book and began to flip through it as he usually would with Gerald's journal - and as he did, a flood of memories came back to them.

This book, too, was someone's journal. Specifically, it was the journal of Kimera Chanté, who had been working as Gerald's primary assistant aboard the ARK under the name of “Doctor Clark Clements'', until one day mysteriously disappearing in a flash of blinding light just after Doom had uncovered his true identity. But those weren't the details about Kimera that Doom immediately thought of as they looked through his journal. Rather, he remembered the fact that Kimera was the long lost older brother of Widow, and that Doom was just about to have the two be reunited before Kimera's sudden disappearance. The memory made Doom feel utterly terrible, becoming angry with himself for not at least telling Widow about Kimera despite his unexpected absence. Sure, he was busy with checking up on Shadow's post-creation development and caring for both Shadow and Maria while Gerald was busy with other things, but that was still no excuse. The fact that they had forgotten about the whole thing as well was no excuse - not in Doom's eyes, anyway.

But before Doom spiraled into even more self hatred, there was a knock at his door that snapped them out of it.

“Doomie, are you feeling hungry…? Sen made some food for you if you are…!” Widow's voice spoke lovingly from the other side of the door. Doom opened the door and took the plate of food from Widow’s hands.

“I am, actually… And I would like you to come in and eat with me, if that is alright…!” Doom responded.

“Oh, of course that is alright!” Widow exclaimed, clearly excited to have some time with her beloved husband.

As the two of them entered the room and began to eat, Doom pulled out Kimera's journal again and began to tell Widow about how they had met him and everything that had transpired between the two, including the somewhat embarrassing-to-recount fact that Kimera had fallen in love with Doom just as Widow had thousands of years ago, and that Doom had eventually come to reciprocate Kimera’s feelings, having even made out with him shortly before he disappeared. Rather understandably, Widow became very emotional over the revelation that her older brother who it hadn't seen since she was a child and had presumed to be dead and gone was still out there, but not just out there, but searching for her, nonetheless! She also took enjoyment in the fact that she and Kimera had such similar tastes in lovers - such good taste in lovers - as Widow herself put it, which made Doom blush. But after a few minutes, panic seemed to set into Widow.

“Wait, does that mean… That Kimera died during the ARK raid as well??” She questioned with the utmost concern.

“Thankfully, no…” Doom answered. “The final entry in his journal is from last year - a day before he had disappeared…”

“Disappeared…?” Widow echoed with confusion.

“I was just about to bring him to the Comet and have you two reunite… But suddenly, he was encapsulated within a bright light, and once the light had settled, he had completely disappeared…” As Doom had been explaining what had happened to Kimera, Widow began to flip through her brother's journal on her own, and it came across an entry that could give the two of them the answers that they seeked.

“Doomie, look!” Widow said while pointing to the entry, to which Doom listened and looked at the entry as well. “Kimera wrote in this entry that he believed that the other gods were looking for him!”

“It would seem that they did not approve of him trying to reunite with you…” Doom added as they read through the entry.

“Do you think that the ‘bright light' you saw might have been them rapturing Kimera back to the Pantheon's Plane, since he had gotten so close to reaching his goal??” Widow speculated.

“... That does sound very possible.” Doom replied, standing up off of his bed and finally shedding his disguise form, which they could tell delighted Widow to see. “I suppose then that means we should put an end to what I began eons ago…” He then remarked as he prepared themself to go out.

“What do you mean?” Widow wondered, following closely behind Doom’s every move.

“We are going to retrieve Kimera from the Pantheon's Plane and give those insolent gods their just desserts for their deplorable treatment of him!” Doom revealed, very determined to achieve that goal, which excited Widow.

“I think you have a specific punishment for them in mind, don't you? ~” Widow inquired.

“Yes, I do. As I had killed Moonshine eons ago, I will now have Solaris face the exact same fate!” Doom explained.

“LET'S DO IT!!” Widow cheered, summoning her beloved sword, the Heartbreaker, before she and Doom left his room.

“Oh shit, hey! Doom N’ Gloom is outta his room!!” Sendrir remarked as Doom and Widow’s path graced her gaze.

“Hello Sendrir… Thank you for the food.” Doom greeted her.

“Of course!” Sendrir replied.

“Sen, could you keep control of the Comet for a bit?” Widow then asked her, piquing Sendrir’s curiosity.

“I mean, sure thing, but how come? You two goin’ somewhere?” Sendrir asked. “Wait, did y'all find Shadow??”

“Unfortunately, no.” Doom answered before going on to relay the events of the past couple of minutes.

“NO WAY!!! I WANNA COME SEE YOU GUYS KILL SOLARIS!!!” Sendrir shouted excitedly, catching both Doom and Widow off guard. “PLEEEASSEE?? I NEVER GOT TO SEE DOOM KILL MOONSHINE!!”

“Sen, none of us did-!” Widow tried to interject.

“WELL THAT INCLUDES ME!! AND I WANNA SEE A GOD DIE!!!” Sendrir pleaded.

“Sen, I know you do, but-”

“Prepare yourself then, we will be departing from the Comet in ten.” Doom told Sendrir.

“Wait, what?! If Sen’s coming with us, then who'll keep the Comet running smoothly while we're gone??” Widow questioned Doom.

“Black Death and the other four Black Arms leaders?” Doom answered her, hoping that Widow wouldn't bring up her petty feud with Death. Thankfully, it did not, and instead simply sighed in defeat.

—

Once the three of them had made it to the Pantheon's Plane, Doom was very quick to remind Widow and Sendrir to only speak to him through the hivemind as to not alert any of the gods that were still living in there of their presence - which at this point was most likely only Solaris and Light Gaia.

The fact that most of the gods had left the Pantheon's Plane long ago made the place look rather abandoned and run-down, which was a rather bittersweet sight for Doom. On one hand, Doom saw it as symbolic of the consequences the gods have had to face thus far for how they have tried and still try to warp the universe into something completely unlike itself, and for how they had treated Doom in the past. But on the other hand, it made him wish that the other gods would just understand Doom’s viewpoint and come to realize the importance of chaos energy and of entropy in general, and that they could perhaps work together as they once had. Part of him still wished that they could be a stable pantheon together - but the rest of them knew that such a thing would never happen, and that he simply had to keep fighting against the other gods for the universe's salvation.

“This place is a lot more… sciencey than I had imagined it being…!” Widow said through the hivemind with fascination, looking at the various monitors overlooking the universe and the control panels attached to them.

“I know right…? I guess ol’ Kim had a point with the whole ‘religion and science complement each other’ thing!” Sendrir remarked, also through the hivemind.

“Indeed. It is only very recently that mortals are starting to catch up to the technological intricacy of us gods…” Doom commented.

“Well, except for us.” Widow added.

“Don't be silly, Widow! We're not mortals! We're Black Arms!!” Sendrir reminded her, causing Widow to lightly snicker - though it did try to make the laugh as quiet as possible.

“Ah… just as I had thought.” Doom spoke again in the hivemind after a minute or two of silence.

“Hmm?” Both Widow and Sendrir hummed in curiosity as to what Doom was referring to.

“Even after all this time, they have left my old chambers untouched - aside from cleaning up the shards of the original Chaos Emeralds it seems…” Doom explained. “It makes for the perfect hiding spot…”

“Oh, are we gonna camp in there until ol’ Solly comes by and we ambush him?” Sendrir inquired with a suggestion.

“You two will be waiting in there while I go confront Solaris myself so that neither of you are forced out of the Pantheon's Plane without me. I will summon you two when the time comes for your assistance.” Doom clarified his plans.

“Lame…” Sendrir groaned.

“Sen, please…” Widow lightly scolded her for her attitude, which made Sendrir roll her eyes, but accept the criticism and move on.

“I will guarantee that you two get to participate, do not fret.” Doom assured the two of them before teleporting them away to his chambers.

Just as Doom predicted, the sound of the warping alerted Solaris to their presence within the Plane, and caused him to appear before him.

“Just what are you doing here again, you devil??” Solaris sneered at Doom, Doom trying to ignore how it hurt a part of them to have him refuse to even acknowledge their name.

“You already know, I know you do.” Doom responded plainly. “Where is he?”

“I am not going to tell you that.” Solaris answered. “Don't you have enough play-things at your disposal already, devil?”

“Play-things…? Is that what you think the Black Arms are to me?? Play-things???” Doom responded as he made the first attack in a burst of fury. It caused a light scratch on Solaris’ body, but not much more than that.

“Always resorting to violence, hmm? How predictably barbaric of you…” Solaris sneered once more, making it clear just how much he looked down upon Doom, who he saw as nothing but a bratty child that needed to be put in their place. As much as that view of him hurt, Doom did see a silver lining in it.

“Do I see you preparing to punish me, ‘father’?” Doom remarked. He knew that Solaris nor Moonshine, or even Light Gaia for that matter, saw themselves as guardians or parent figures to Doom, but he also knew that calling out in some way the parental-like behavior that Solaris was displaying would rile him up enough to fight.

“Do NOT call me that, you devil! I am not your father and I know you are well aware of that! We created you to serve a singular purpose - a purpose you FAILED. You are nothing more than that.” Solaris lashed out, both verbally and physically, knocking Doom back with a Solar Flare attack that officially kicked off their battle.

Immediately, Doom got back up and returned the favor to Solaris by performing a Chaos Blast, fueled by the pain and anger that had come from Solaris’ words, despite how much Doom had expected them. Even though the blast had been quite forceful, Doom barely had any time to recover before being hit with another attack from Solaris; a barrage of Sun Beams. Once again, Doom countered with a very similar attack, that being a couple dozen Chaos Spears.

For every attack that Solaris had to give, Doom had an attack that was very similar to it in nature to counter with. Even when Solaris decided to utilize his wings and try to get an aerial advantage, Doom caught up to him quite quickly with the combined efforts of his abilities to teleport and to levitate. On the surface, the two of them seemed to be rather evenly matched, but Doom knew that his stamina was quickly growing thin - even if he made an effort to not show it physically. It wouldn’t be very long until he would run out of energy to keep up the fight, and that became even more certain once Solaris decided to summon the one thing Doom did not have his own equivalent of - a staff that resembled a hand of a clock. At least, Doom didn’t have one on his own.

“I have had enough of this nonsense.” Solaris bellowed. “Leave, or die where you stand. The choice is yours, devil.”

“Heh… Who said the fight was over? ~” Doom asked cheekily.

“You have never changed, have you? Always so stubborn, always so selfish, always so disobedient.” Solaris scoffed. “So be it then. Tonight, you will finally pay the price for all that you have done - for all of the lives you have ended. Especially Madam Moonshine’s.”

While Solaris stood there, ready to strike Doom with his staff, they let out a light chuckle, knowing that despite what Solaris thought, his time had not yet come.

“My darlings of disaster, Black Widow and Rojo Sendrir, I summon you to the battlefield!”

“LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOO!!” Sendrir shouted in absolute excitement as both she and Widow swung at Solaris with their respective weapons - Sendrir’s being a pair of meat cleavers while Widow’s, of course, was The Heartbreaker. The battle cry from Sendrir had given Solaris some signal to dodge the ambush, managing to make it out with only a cut on his cheek, but by the time he recuperated himself, Doom was already back up and aiming another dozen Chaos Spears at him, which he again just barely dodged.

“Bringing mortals into a battle of gods like this?? You really are a madman, aren’t you??” Solaris yelled with disgust.

“Us? Mortals? Don’t be ridiculous. We haven’t been mortals in eons.” Widow stated as it took another swing at Solaris with her sword, seemingly having taken note of her exchange with Sendrir from earlier.

“Well if you are not mortals, then just what in the great wide universe do you think you are??” Solaris questioned, blocking Widow’s attack with his staff.

“We’re Black Arms, motherfucker!!” Sendrir answered him, going in for another ambush from behind which Solaris fended off the same way he had with Widow, the swift movement of his staff turning around knocking Widow backwards ever so slightly.

“How delusional…” Solaris scoffed.

“Delusional? How so?” Doom inquired as he summoned a barrage of meteorites aiming towards Solaris.

“To think that mortals could possibly ever harness the same level of power and influence of the gods is simply foolish! Plain and simple!” Solaris argued, successfully blocking each and every one of the meteorites with his staff as he spoke - though not without his staff sustaining some damage along the way.

“Is that really the truth? Or does that doctrine simply stem from the fact that you gods view mortals as ‘lesser’ than you?” Widow wondered, using the discussion as an opportunity to show off a new attack that it had been working on - slashing her sword from afar, creating ripples of the swing out of chaos energy that charged at Solaris.

“Of course it is the truth! A lady like you should know better than to dabble in things you know not of.” Solaris chastised Widow, refusing to take her words into consideration as he blocked the ripples.

“Oh, now you gods acknowledge me as a woman! I see how it is!” Widow remarked bitterly as she attacked Solaris again in the same way as before. Just as before, Solaris blocked the attack with his staff, but by this point, a rather noticeable dent in the staff was starting to form - something that Doom, Widow and Sendrir noticed, but Solaris did not.

“I see a weak spot! ~” Sendrir chimed through the hivemind in a sing-song tone.

“I do suppose that means the end of this fight is close upon us then, yes?” Widow assumed.

“Let us give him a ‘worthy’ end as a deity so stuck in his sinful ways. ~” Doom instructed.

“Yes sir!” Both Widow and Sendrir responded in unison, excitedly charging towards Solaris with bloodlust shining in their eyes.

“Can’t even fight the battle you began, you devil??” Solaris hollered at Doom as he fended the two women off.

“Oh no, I can. I just promised them that they would get to participate too. ~” Doom answered, shooting a Chaos Spear at Solaris’ back while he was distracted with Widow and Sendrir, hitting it without issue and knocking him to the ground, his staff hitting the ground in just the right way to snap it in half, which frightened Solaris slightly - according to the momentary look of fear that showed on his face before being covered up again by his usual ‘above it all’ facade.

“Oooo! ~ What’s this? ~” Sendrir exclaimed as Solaris went to grab the two halves of the staff, grabbing them herself before he could with the two free hands she had attached to the arms she had sprouting from her waist while she swung at Solaris with her main two hands, keeping him from being able to grab the staff pieces from her. “Oh, nevermind. It’s just trash.” Sendrir then added flatly, burning the pieces to ash with a bit of chaos energy flames that she summoned from those same two lower hands. “Kinda like you, ain’t it?”

“How dare you, you insufferable wench!?” Solaris reacted, his eyes now alight with flames of fury as he launched himself at Sendrir. “Do you have ANY idea of just how valuable that staff was-?!”

“Nope! Not a single clue!” Sendrir replied as she dodged out of the way, leaving Solaris open to be struck at by Widow and her sword. The unspoken plan between the three Black Arms leaders had originally been to have Widow’s attack damage Solaris somewhat and stun him, allowing Doom to go in with the final strike, but it seemed that the three of them had collectively underestimated Widow’s strength, as when her blade made contact with Solaris, it sliced right through his entire body rather than just scratching him. The three of them watched as the two halves of his body dissipated into nothingness, one half fading with a flurry of flames while the other half poofed into a thick cloud of dark smoke, left completely stunned by the battle’s sudden ending.

“Did… Did I just kill Solaris??” Widow eventually spoke, unable to even believe the words that came out of her mouth.

“If you did, that’s fucking hot.” Sendrir remarked. “Pun intended.”

“As… Much as I cannot help but to agree with Sen… I am not sure if you did.” Doom responded, blushing slightly.

“Eh?? Then what the hell was what we saw happen to him if it wasn’t him dying??” Sendrir questioned.

“I am… Not sure. For all I know, I could be incorrect, and he really could be dead. But by all known laws of our universe, it should only be possible to kill a god if you yourself are a god. And while Widow herself is not a mortal being, she is not quite a goddess either.” Doom explained.

“Well, Chaos knows no laws, doesn't it?” Sendrir replied.

“Hmph. You are correct.” Doom remarked with a smirk.

“Either way, I think we should shift our focus now to looking for Kimera.” Widow interjected, reminding her two lovers of the other part of their mission.

“Right!” Both Sendrir and Doom said in unison.

—

With Solaris gone, the Pantheon’s Plane had truly become abandoned, with no sign of Light Gaia, nor anyone else, in sight. Not even Kimera, much to the Black Arms leaders’ collective chagrin.

“Did you see any sign of him within my chambers?” Doom asked Widow and Sendrir.

“No, unfortunately.” Widow answered.

“KIMERA??? YOU HERE???” Sendrir shouted out, receiving no response.

The three of them at first chalked it up to him being in a different wing of the Plane, or perhaps hiding from them in fear that this was some sort of trick by the gods. But eventually, the three of them had scaled the entirety of the Pantheon’s Plane, having checked every possible nook and crevice and corner that it had. And yet, Kimera was nowhere to be found.

“Where could he be…?” Widow asked herself, very clearly sounding upset.

“Hey, cheer up Wid… It has been over a year since he got yoinked back here from the ARK, if what you and Doom told me is true. He’s probably already back out there looking for you again, for all we know.” Sendrir told her, placing her upper left hand on Widow’s shoulder.

“I agree with Sen. I am sure once we run into him again, he will be very happy to know that we went all this way to try to find him.” Doom added, placing his hand on Widow’s other shoulder.

“Yeah… I guess you two are right.” Widow sighed. “Besides… Maybe next time we run into him, he won’t have to worry about getting dragged back here, since we defeated Solaris and all.”

“That’s the spirit!!” Sendrir exclaimed.

“Lord Doom! I have important information to share, if you have the time!” Black Death suddenly radioed in through the hivemind, catching Doom and Sendrir’s attention while Widow simply groaned in annoyance.

“What is it?” Doom inquired.

“Ah- Well, I have good news, and I have… bad news.” Death said vaguely.

“Either way, get on with it.” Widow responded coldly.

“We have located Shadow.” Death revealed, causing all three of the Black Arms leaders in the Pantheon’s Plane to perk up with joy.

“Excellent! Where are they??” Doom asked excitedly.

“That’s the thing, s-sire! It’s currently being held in a highly guarded G.U.N facility! I tried to have the troop of Black Arms soldiers we had searching for Shadow raid the facility, and every single one of them were gunned down and killed!” Death answered, the slightest bit of fear slipping through his voice as he spoke. Doom couldn’t help but to be horrified by the news, and he could tell that Sendrir and Widow felt the same. As much as he wanted to have Shadow back, and to continue being there for it as a father, Doom could not possibly justify so much potential loss at this time with how they and by extension the rest of the Black Arms were just starting to fully recover from the shock of the ARK massacre.

“... Tell the Black Arms stationed on the Aerth Temple to keep an eye on the facility from afar for any updates on the situation… For everyone else on the Black Comet… Redirect to other matters for the time being…” Doom told Death with an extremely heavy heart, especially since he knew that the Black Comet was very soon going to become too far away from Aerth to have frequent contact with the planet, and that the time that it would become close enough for such again wouldn’t be for another fifty years.

“Understood.” Death said.

“Well that sucks.” Sendrir remarked. “Wanna go out to eat at an Aerth restaurant while we still can to take our mind off of all that?”

Doom nodded silently.

“I like that idea. Let’s not let the low points of today bring us down… We’ve done a lot of good.” Widow said, pulling Doom into an embrace. “You finally got out of your room and did something other than grieve, and we as a team killed, or at least defeated, a very powerful god!”

“Exactly! So let's celebrate that!” Sendrir commanded.

“Yes… Let us do such…” Doom echoed. “I am sure that is what Kimera and Shadow would want us to do…”

#the era of shadow #the era of shadow: origins #teos #sonic au #black arms #writing tag #mod aik

4 notes · View notes

workscounselingcenter · 1 month ago

Text

What Is EMDR, and Can It Actually Help You Heal?

Let’s talk about a therapy buzzword you might’ve heard floating around lately: EMDR. It stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing- which, yeah, sounds a little sci-fi at first. I promise it’s not.

If you’ve ever felt stuck in a memory, reaction, or pattern that just won’t let go no matter how much you talk about it, EMDR might be something worth exploring.

So… What Is EMDR, Really?

EMDR is a trauma-focused therapy that helps people reprocess painful memories so they don’t keep getting “stuck” in the nervous system. It’s based on the idea that when something overwhelming happens (think: a car accident, a breakup that wrecked you, childhood trauma, emotional neglect), your brain might not process it properly in the moment. Instead of filing the memory away like a regular past event, it gets frozen in your body and mind, along with all the emotions, body sensations, and beliefs that came with it.

That’s why sometimes, years later, a totally normal situation can send you spiraling. Your brain’s like, This is just like that one time you weren’t safe… and boom—you’re back in the past, even if it’s just for a second.

EMDR helps unfreeze those memories and file them away where they belong: in the past.

What Does It Actually Look Like in Therapy?

First off, EMDR isn’t just sitting in a chair telling your therapist about your trauma while they nod. It’s structured, it’s paced, and it’s surprisingly body-aware.

Here’s the basic flow:

You and your therapist pick a target—a memory, feeling, belief, or moment that still holds a charge.

You identify what it makes you believe about yourself (like “I’m not safe,” “I’m not good enough,” or “It’s my fault”).

Then comes bilateral stimulation—which just means activating both sides of your brain. This might look like following your therapist’s fingers with your eyes, tapping your hands alternately, or listening to sounds that ping back and forth between your ears.

While that’s happening, your brain does the rest. You process the memory in a way that often leads to new insights, decreased emotional intensity, and a stronger sense of safety or self-worth.

It sounds simple, and it is. But it can also feel powerful, intense, and deeply freeing.

Who Is EMDR For?

You don’t need a “capital T” trauma to benefit from EMDR. It can help with:

PTSD and complex trauma

Anxiety and panic

Grief and loss

Attachment wounds

Negative self-beliefs (like “I’m a failure” or “I’m not lovable”)

Phobias or fears

Medical trauma or chronic illness

Relationship patterns that feel stuck or confusing

Basically, if there’s a moment (or a series of them) that your body still reacts to like it’s happening right now, EMDR might be able to help you unhook from that.

Okay, But How Does It Work?

We don’t know every single detail of the “why,” but the most common theory is that EMDR mimics what happens during REM sleep—when your brain processes the events of the day. That eye movement seems to help the brain move the memory from “raw and reactive” to “processed and integrated.”

It’s like your mind finally gets the chance to go, Ohhh. That happened. It’s over now. I’m safe. And your body believes it, too.

Look, therapy is not one-size-fits-all. EMDR isn’t magic—but for a lot of people, it feels kind of magical. It gives you a way to work with your body and brain, not just talk about your pain.

If you’re feeling stuck, if talk therapy has helped but hasn’t gone deep enough, or if you just have a sense that something old is still running the show—EMDR might be worth exploring.

And as always: healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means remembering differently—without the panic, without the shame, without the weight.

You deserve that. – Raven

If you're interested in any of our services, feel free toget in touch with us.

#EMDR #EMDR Therapy #Mental Health

0 notes

dmarket360 · 3 months ago

Text

Book About Reflection on Life by Mavis Beneby Walton Helping You Reflect & Reconnect

Life gets busy. It's simple to lose sight of the bigger picture when you're busy with work, relationships, daily tasks, and everything else. But once in a while, a message comes along that makes us stop and think. It tells us to slow, refocus, and realign. That's exactly what you will find in "What I Need to Know Before I Die," the book about reflection on life by Mavis Beneby Walton. This book makes you think about what's important in life. In this article, we offer you an insight into this highly captivating and knowledgeable guide. So, join us here to learn more about how it can guide you through life.

A Mother’s Letter That Became Everyone’s Guide

What began as a very personal letter to her daughters turned into a message for everyone. Mavis Beneby Walton didn't keep her own sufferings and experiences to herself. Instead, she shared them with everyone. Anyone with a copy of the book about reflection on life can listen in on this intimate conversation about the most important things in life. It's a lesson that sometimes the most powerful messages in life come from one person being open and honest.

Grappling with Grief and Finding Purpose

The honest talk about loss in the book about reflection on life is one of the most moving things about it. After losing two brothers in a short amount of time and seeing how the pandemic hurt family and friends, Mavis put her pain into something valuable. Her story shows us that even when we're sad, we can still find value in our lives. We can find hope and heal after a loss because of her.

Big Questions, We All Ask

'Why are we here?' 'Why are we doing this?' 'After this, where do we go?' The book about reflection on life doesn't avoid these ancient questions. It instead asks readers to openly wrestle with them, including faith and spirituality in the conversation. No matter where you are on your journey, it makes you want to be curious and look into these things for yourself. Surely, these questions are what will really lead you to self-discovery.

The Power of Faith in Uncertain Times

The book about reflection on life can help you feel better and understand things better, whether you are religious or just curious about spiritual things. Mavis writes honestly about how her relationship with God helped her stay stable during rough times. The things she writes about make people want to strengthen their own relationship with something bigger than themselves. Amidst all the noise in the world, her faith-based view is like a calm breath.

Second Chances and Honest Regret

We all have those "if only.." moments. The book about reflection on life tells readers that grief is a normal part of life and not something to be afraid of. Mavis prompts us to accept our past and look for second chances while we still can by directing us to reflect. Always remember that it's never too late to change, grow, or start over. And it’s for everyone, whether you are stuck in the many rounds of failure or want to realign your path toward growth.

Written Words that Speak to the Soul

One great thing about the written word is that it lasts. In the book about reflection on life, the words sound like they were written just for you. It's real, honest, and full of gentle knowledge that stays with you long after you finish reading it. The book "What I Need to Know Before I Die" talks to your heart as well as your mind. And this is what makes this book so special.

Living with Intention Before the Afterlife

If you want to live a meaningful life, the book about reflection on life is more than just a spiritual guide. Before the final chapter of our lives starts, we need to do what we were meant to do here on Earth. And that is to take care of our responsibilities with love and care. We should reflect on how we're living right now. And think about whether we're really in the present moment because of her message. Thus leading us to live a fulfilling life.

Final Thoughts

"What I Need to Know Before I Die" by Mavis Beneby Walton isn't quite a guide to life, but it's pretty close. Rarely does a book stay with you after you finish reading it. The book about reflection on life does that for you, seeing you through life's highs and lows with hope and warmth. Mavis's words can help you remember what's important, whether you're sad, looking for something, or just need some quiet time to reflect. You will want to keep this book close, read it often, and give it to the people you care about. So, are you ready to embark on this empowering journey?

0 notes

preemptivejustice · 6 days ago

Text

Harrow didn’t respond immediately, allowing the man to talk himself out. He only stood there, for now, hands relaxed at his sides and shoulders still level; it was fascinating how the air had changed. Something between them was denser, somehow. There was no fear, no threat - there was mourning. There was grief. There was loss.

Still, the words hadn’t been loud. There was no raised voice, no posturing. It was the same. But the imagery of the words was different - vivid enough to turn his stomach, to brush against the edges of memories that he had worked hard not to touch. Ones that he never allowed himself to touch - he would have wondered if this path of speaking had been intentional, if he wasn’t aware of Kane’s apparent fate.

He didn’t soften.

“Yes,” Arthur answered, when the silence had drawn itself just a bit too taut. “I have.” His voice didn’t change. If anything, it was even colder; thinner, flatter, almost just surgical.

“I’ve seen people burning alive. I’ve heard them screaming, begging for water, for god, for anyone. I’ve watched someone try to dig their way out of a collapsed building, with nothing but their fingernails. A friend of mine carried his daughter half a mile, because he thought he could find help. He couldn’t. I was pinned under concrete for half a day, listening to people die.”

His hand flexed again, barely noticeable. It was just enough to make his sleeve shift, near the cuff - he wanted his cane back.

“I was in my twenties. I had a home. I had someone who waited for me, every evening. I had a future - and I watched it vanish, in under an hour. So don’t talk to me about memory. Memory is what we’re stuck with - not just you. I don’t care about your memory. I don’t care about your body. I care about the thing that was gifted those things.”

He wasn’t angry - although that might have been kinder. I recognize that you are in pain, and it makes me pained, too. It was a human connection to search for. It was one that Arthur would have given, had he still been in his earlier twenties - but he wasn’t. Kane’s grief was a riddle to be solved, rather than a wound to be treated. No amount of anything could ever fix what the past held - it was best, in Dr. Harrow’s mind, to ignore pain.

“Don’t mistake feeling for suffering,” he continued. “Don’t mistake retention for understanding. You remember him burning. I remember them burning, too. So what? What do you want me to say? That your pain is valid? That it matters?”

His gaze was strong, his expression neutral. Challenging, fighting, protesting. Hoping. “You weren’t born. You were built. You think that means you were cheated? That you had no choice? That the pain was given to you unfairly? Do you think people are given a choice?”

He stepped forward as well, deliberate rather than aggressive, closing the space as well. “Kane is dead. Lena is alone - and you’re still trying to decide if your pain is valid. Are you trying to tell me that it is? That that hurt belongs to you? Or are you just panicked, because I might think you are a failure?”

The question wasn’t rhetorical. “Do you think you’re allowed to feel this way? Do you think you’ve earned it?”

"...Have you watched a man setting himself on fire before?"

Silence, once again, after that one sentence has been spoken out into the silence in a rather sudden disruption of what had been before; No part of Kane had moved, even when the other had begun to talk, to put that handkerchief on his knee, to rise to a stand.

The circle is complete, Kane, not-Kane, it, finished the puzzle. Did not finish it, because there's only form, only coherence - no picture, no reward. Just a mere existence, nothing that would ever come out of it, nor is it supposed to make one feel like they've accomplished something there.

Perhaps Kane did accomplish something, though - he created something vertical out of what was meant to remain horizontal. If it was ever meant to be horizontal to begin with. Perhaps it isn't. Perhaps it never was. ---But now it is and it is not at the same time.

Lips part once again, another few drops of blood spilling free from where it's still collecting beneath his hurt tongue - Kane does not use the tissue, nor does he even look at it, his rainbow-eyes remaining focused on that circle that just sits there, sits and sits and sits and nothing ever happens, not until he decides to do something with it.

Keep it, dismantle it, destroy it.

Nostrils flare as a breath is being taken, another tear falls; Kane's expression has since turned from something broken and hurt to something hard and almost devastating in nature as he finally, as sudden as his spoken words were, lifts his chin - and looks up at Dr. Harrow, the one who has choosen to get up and away from the floor.

Oh-so-blank and yet so firm at the same time, as if those shimmering eyes are about to drill themselves right into that human's chest to pluck that heart straight out of his rib cage.

"I don't think you did." A quiet statement, not leaving any room for anyone to say otherwise. If there were one to tell that Harrow did, Kane wouldn't believe them.

"A phosphor granade burns and burns and burns - until nothing is left, every particle gone. Taking away oxygen will cause the flame to cease, but as soon as oxygen returns, so does the flame. ---A man setting himself on fire with one of those will die, will burn, and even if he were to beg for someone to make it stop - there's basically no chance for one to help, to prevent those flames from consuming what's given to them."

None of what Kane says sounds dangerous in any way, more like a statement - but a dire one it is, one without hope, a hard reality where there's no coming back from. A pause is allowed, one in which another breath is being taken before Kane, not-Kane, it... moves as well.

He stands, gets up on his feet in a swift motion. Those bright eyes never leave the other as he does, never gaze away, remain focused on that face, that expression, the hurtful things that have been said mere moments ago. Kane knows that Dr. Harrow is pushing him - yet he still feels punished, tortured, sliced open, despite him not having done anything to even give that man a reason to treat him this way.

Arms by his sides, stance neutral, back straight. Blood now trailing along a chin to drip onto a white shirt instead of a hand, of a knee. The tissue has fallen at some point, lies on the floor, ignored - and Kane makes no move to pick it up. He won't pick it up.

"Have you ever cut open another man's body, watching intestines slither and squirm like snakes would? Have you ever taken a look at your own fingerprints and watched them move? ---I don't think you did any of that either. I don't think you know what that's like." ... "Neither do I. And yet I do. I remember. I remember every slice of that knife, and I remember every movement of that colon against a naked hand that pulled it out to get a better look."

A step forward, closer to Dr. Harrow. The circle is avoided, spared from getting knocked over, even though Kane does not even look at where he's going. He just seems to know where to put his foot so as to make sure his creation wouldn't be damaged... yet.

"---I remember the smell of blood, of burning flesh. I remember his face when he burned, remember his expression, remember his feelings; I remember his fear and I remember his agony."

Another step closer to the one who's been pushing and prodding for the fun of it, to find out what Kane is truly made of. That expression remains blank, yet firm, despite another tear falling from an eye that shimmers in the cold light of the lamp above; It falls, collides with the floor, to be ignored as well.

And Kane, not-Kane, it, stares - stares, stares, stares, drills colorful eyes into the ones in front of him, unyielding, unwavering, heavy-lidded, tired and so, so sad. Oh so sad and oh so hurt. So, so hurt and so, so devastated. Exhausted.

"What am I showing you now, Doctor?" The first time for Kane to call him that, and he pronounces that word in a very precise, almost exaggerated way - deliberately so. "Am I mimicking you? Do you think you're looking at me in the same way as I'm looking at you now? ...Why would you? You weren't there, after all. You didn't see any of it. You didn't witness a life deciding to end itself. You're not existing with both your own and the other person's memory at the very same time. You didn't come to existence and were then asked to function."

During the whole of this, Kane's voice remains even, does not increase in volume, does not turn aggressive. But there is an edge to it, a little undefined, but as intense as that stare is - and he swallows, inhales with a soft shudder, brows knitting ever so gently as a few more seconds of silence pass, followed by more wetness that collects along the waterline of his eyes, the shimmer within eyes basically sparkling at this point. Beautiful and yet so sad. Still so sad. Always so sad.

"...But I did. I existed, and I had to function. I had to find her. It was his last wish, made of so much pain and sorrow." That voice finally breaks, turns quieter, more soft as those eyes blink a few times - spilling the moisture, accompanied by a subtle shake of a head.

"And all I was given is this---" A gesture at his body. "---A body. Memories." A gesture at his head. "Feelings. Many, many feelings. I don't know what to do with them, but I'm trying to learn. ---And yet, when I do, I'm being called a failure. A program. A protocol. Were you called one, as a child? When you mimicked your parents behavior, laughed when they laughed, cried when they cried... did they call you a failure? Did they think of you as a constructed code? ---If they did, then I feel sorry for you. I truly do. Because it hurts - it hurts so much. I understand how much it hurts."

A nod. Lips pressed into a tight line. A lick of bloody lips. A pregnant pause.

"...Because I'm speaking from experience."

#\\ in my defense I told you he's more of a bad guy than he might appear --#\\ esp when he's not working for a board and instead is government owned #\\ I cri #offdxty #𓁹 || What Remains Repeats \\ Private Verse [ Dr. Harrow ]

109 notes · View notes

moxfirefly · 3 years ago

Note

I can’t remember if I dreamt asking this or not. If it’s a double ask from me, I am so sorry!

How would the turtles handle grief? Doesn’t have to be about their s/o. Could be loss of family or friends (not necessarily deaths bc you can grieve the loss of relationships too)

I’m intrigued by this, let’s give it a shot.

TW: for the big sad

🍕Mikey🛹

Mikey has and always be the most susceptible to sadness but he’s the best at hiding it. I wanna say the whole empath thing because boy does few everything ten times sometimes.

Losing anybody wether physically or due to breaking up (relationship or friendship) sucks for him so much. And it goes for the rest of them but I feel that Mikey would grieve the memories each place or item might hold and for the first few months would actively avoid those places or items. He wouldn’t throw them away, nah he’d keep that shit even if it hurts cause later on he can come back to them and cherish what once was.

He’ll get withdrawn the first few weeks, very out of his usual character but he really tries to mask it but if it’s really hard he can’t help it.

Time heals all wounds type of mentality.

He doesn’t mind talking it over with somebody, getting a different pov but that has to come much later.

Main issue is to watch that his depression doesn’t get the best of him. A depressed Mikey is gut wrenching.

👾Donnie💻

Ignore ignore ignore

He knows it’s not the best method and it goes against his logical ways but somewhat similar to Mikey, the big sad hits Donnie hard too.

Drowns himself in his work type of mentality.

Out of sight out of mind.

It does get overwhelming which leads to anxiety attacks and some hard fucking nights.

Grief manifest physically a lot in Don. It’s in the tired bag under his eyes and how he slouches due to exhaustion.

When he knows he has to handle it and face the issue he does strive to analyze and allow himself to go through the stages of grief in whatever way or shape it decides to show up.

More often than not one of the best people to help is Raph. Raph doesn’t solve the problem if anything he just gives Donnie the space to vent or scream or cry. He does what any big brother would after all.

Donnie’s eating habits aren’t good in general but they do get worse when he’s in his head over the loss of a relationship.

⚔️Leo⚔️

Thick skinned but that heart of his takes the blown. He doesn’t initially look affected but man inside he’s a storm and a half.

He wants to be mature, be the big man and have all that water off his back mentality but Leo runs the grief in his souls all night.

Sleep is affected, appetite is affected, training is affected.

He’s prone to mistakes and that along is such a no no for him so he tries to pretend he’s ok and over it faster than anybody but it’s not the case.

It’s visible in how often hell get lost in thought.

The Shoulda Coulda Woulda type.

He knows he can’t fix what’s already broken beyond repair but he really tries. Way past it’s expiration date.

He hates how easily all of this makes him cry when he’s alone.

But he feels that it helps. He’ll also seek out Splinter. He’s always look toward his father whenever he’s dealing with things.

🥊Raph👹

Oh boy does this one handle shit in not the best ways. Raph really gets stuck on two stages of grief, anger and depression.

Boy will work his way through it by hitting the bag or the weights.

Grief shows up physically with this one. He’s more sore, he’s stiff, he’s achey.

He’s not a talker really, getting shit out of him is like pulling teeth.

The everything boils out type.

When that boiling point hits it really hits and it all pours out. It’s not the best and it probably happens when least expected.

One of the few people that can get to him, pull stuff out is Casey. They become quite close and he’s an outside pov, doesn’t feel like he’ll judge him hard for how he handles stuff.

He is the quickest to bounce back though. Maybe because he stays angry and it’s easier sometimes to stay angry to navigate grief.

#tmnt bayverse #ask #akumugan #tmnt Leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt Michelangelo #tmnt Donatello #requested headcanons

100 notes · View notes

svchengss · 4 years ago

Text

two halves | l.mh

PAIRING. mark lee x reader

GENRE. fluff, heavy angst

WARNINGS. major character death, grief

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

SUMMARY. right after his death, mark watches how you cope with the loss

A/N. i saw this one tiktok and it kinda inspired me to write this

// just to let you guys know, reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !! thank you for reading :D

white walls, white room.

mark scrunched his face, his eyelashes slowly fluttering open, the dark brown iris adjusting the size of the pupils due to the brightness of the walls reflected upon it. a soft groan vibrating from his throat, he assessed his surroundings where nobody or nothing else is present. he looked down to inspect his clothing, hoping that it would give him any clue of this room or space he’s in - an all white outfit. this scene looks exactly like the one in the movies where the characters realize they are dead. except this time, he really is.

THE REALIZATION.

the muffled sounds of cries and sobs rang through his eardrums, triggering a reflex to wake up from the state that he thought was a slumber. he is lying on the hospital bed with the light blue clothing piece, faint light illuminating the space where people are huddled up around him. he waved his right hand in the air to let them - who he later remembered as his family members and friends, know that his eyes are already open. nobody moved even the slightest, the atmosphere being very much dead, scent of medicine intoxicating his mind.

then he saw someone who he holds very dear to his heart - you, enter the hospital room, dropping onto her knees as soon as she saw his state of condition. in an instant, he shot up from his lying position and ran over towards the crying you, shoulders shaking and all. bringing his hands to hold you in his embrace, not even a glance spared by you brought a hundred and one questions to him. why didn’t anybody acknowledge him when he woke up? why can’t you feel his touch?

“mark lee. time of death, 10:23 pm,” the tall doctor with glasses rested on the bridge of his nose announced before leaving the room, holding the clipboard close to his chest. mark gauged the monitor screen next to the bed, the line indicating his heartbeat is no longer showing spikes going up and down - instead becoming a flat line, deafening beep present with it. then he sees himself still laying on the white sheets, eyes still closed and no signs of breathing evident. a surge of panic rushed through his veins.

this can’t be real.

mark rushed into the bathroom, a surprised gasp leaving his lips. his body is semi-transparent, the shape of the toilet bowl can be seen through his left shoulder. his body shakes with terror, slapping himself in the cheeks multiple times just to make sure that this whole fiasco is just a nightmare.

oh my god. no, this is real.

mark stood in the back of the crowd, witnessing the funeral of someone and that someone being him. of course, he’s never expected to get the sight of his own service. his mother is standing beside you, her hands rubbing circles onto your back in an attempt to calm your mourning state. you’re still looking ever so pretty, a black chiffon dress on your body with white pearl necklace on your collarbones and your wavy black hair hanging down your shoulders. not that anybody else would notice, it’s someone’s death after all.

“stay strong, y/n. he will always be in our hearts,” the same rhythm of sentence in tones full of pity being directed towards you. mark’s sister enveloped you into a warm hug despite the chilly atmosphere, whispering comforting words into your ears before getting into the family’s car. you’re not going back home, not yet when you still feel reluctant to let him go.

“why did you leave me?” the only coherent words from your hoarse voice can be heard. mark, who is crouching next to you, is holding his tears back. instead, he sends a sorrowful smile - not that you can see him anyway. is there any way to let you know of his presence?

“goodbye, love. i’ll see you tomorrow. i promise,” you dusted the back of your dress from any dirt or debris, leaving a rose on his tombstone. the thing is, he doesn’t want to part from you. and that’s why his figure is seated beside you in the cab. he grazed his thumb on your knuckles, making you feel tingles rushing through. you pushed the slight thought away, you must be tired to be feeling things.

you slowly opened the door to your apartment, you and mark’s to be exact. the whole house is making those memories make their presence in the back of your head again. the kitchen where you two baked cookies for christmas last year. the bedroom where you snuggled upon his chest, not wanting to start your day just yet. the piano where he sang those cheesy songs for you. the living room where you slow danced at 3 in the morning. his favourite mug resting on the countertop, probably will not be used again. this whole situation is too overwhelming for you. you feel weak.

with each day passing by, you didn’t even miss one without a visit to his resting lot. you would tell him stories of how your day went or something that you read which would made him ponder. the words carved on it are already etched onto your brain.

mark lee. a son, a brother and a loving partner.

the clock hanging on the grey wall has it’s arms stretched out to display the time - two in the morning. you can’t sleep just yet, not having any for the past few days even. dark circles are appearing around your eyes, not yet recovered from the puffiness from all the crying. mark’s heart aches everytime he takes upon your state. he feels very guilty, not that death was his choice after all. it’s simply fate, a cycle of life, a destiny that every single creature on this planet will end up with.

you’ve taken the whole month off work, still feeling ever so helpless. in fact, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve stepped out of the apartment, the night before his passing perhaps? you’ve completely shut yourself out from any interactions - deactivating your social media, not accepting any calls. you just need time to heal.

as if you’re being controlled by some type of mastermind, you shoot up on the balls of your feet, pulling away from the couch. those images of you slow dancing with mark, hands in each other’s holds, your chin rested in the crook of his neck and being ever so engrossed in love are coming back more often now. you trudged to the vinyls arranged neatly on the shelf, picking one before placing it on the turntable - frank sinatra, one of his all time favourites.

holding your hands up at about his usual height, you start twirling around. you can almost see the outline of his smile, his features right in front of you. except, he is. he’s been observing your moves the whole night. mirroring your current position, as if you can really see him, it’s a miracle for him. overjoyed actually, he doesn’t realize the salty tears streaming down his cheekbones and so are yours.

“thank you for coming, dear. it’s a pleasure seeing you in what, weeks?” a laugh escaped the woman’s lips. you reciprocated her hug before stepping into the living room. it’s been a long time since you’ve been here, was it in january? mrs. lee had invited you over for a simple dinner, checking up on how you’ve been. you can see that the family is still struggling over his passing, the way his sister’s eyes are not twinkling as usual makes it hard to cover up the lie.

“you see, this was on his high school graduation day. he was very happy that day, doing all sorts of dances and stuff. finally escaping from hell as he said,” she giggled. she’s been displaying all sorts of memoirs to you, photo albums and photographs scattered on the wooden floor. to be honest, you’ve never seen these before. all smiles mark lee, easy to notice among the crowd. not that he’s changed, he’s still that boy now. mark just sat on the couch - his favourite spot, observing the throwback session going on. if he’s still here, his sister for sure is going to tease the hell out of him.

“he told us so much about you, you know? as if everything reminds him of you, that boy is lovestruck. really,” that sudden confession made your tongue dry, unable to find a perfect response. you were really that special to him.

“drive safe honey, you can come over whenever you want. you know you’re always welcome here, right?” mrs. lee handed you the small box filled with some things you’re going to keep. she kissed both of your cheeks, mr. lee standing behind her giving you a small wave. a small smile crept up onto your face before igniting the engine, turning your wheels out of the housing area.

the netflix show is playing on the television, the faint voices of the characters playing in the background. you’re sitting on the floor, flipping through the photo journal you two decorated throughout your one year of relationship. you can see his little scribbles and doodles, often a little dinosaur symbolising your always grumpy personality.

in one photo, a golden birthday hat is nicely placed on your head with him kissing your right cheek. you remember clearly, a surprise party for you last year. in the following ones, they are mostly candid shots - you blowing out the candles while he looks at you full of love, him eating a portion of your dish while you pout your lips. you would say it was the night of your life, spending it with the guy who stole your heart.

the next page of the journal is a shot of mark taking a photo of you in the park. you suppose it was taken by donghyuck? that one picture of you was stuck as his lock screen wallpaper for a while, you remembered getting so embarrassed over it. mark would give you the same excuse every time you questioned him about it, implying that the sight of you would light up his whole day. cheesy really, but that was what remained as memories of the past, tied neatly in your heart.

the rain trickling against your window eventually made you doze off to wonderland, creating the perfect chance for mark to browse through the journal in your hands. carefully lifting it from yours so that you won’t be stirred from your sleep, he settled down in the space beside your sleeping figure. slowly turning the pages, he smiled fondly at each photo holding a thousand moments that can’t be recreated ever again. some of them would make him giggle. he kneeled down slightly to place a soft kiss on your forehead, making you squirm a little due to the faint touch.

“give him a chance. i’m not saying that you should forget mark but it’s been months, you should live up a little,” yerim’s voice sounding concerned from the other end of the line. perhaps she’s right but you just need more time. but how much longer? you’re afraid you yourself have no specific answer for that enquiry.

you’ve been feeling better by now, welcoming people back into your life and carrying out the same daily routine of yours. going to work, buying groceries, going to the drive-thru and whatnot. of course, the void is still obvious - coming back home to an empty atmosphere instead of him waiting for you on the couch, sometimes dozing off, no more weekend cafe runs. but at least you’re trying your best. you bid your goodbyes before tapping the red button, ending the call. plopping the device onto the mattress, you stared at the white ceiling, deep in your own thoughts.

you should give him a chance. live up a little.

yes, you should.

getting hold of the phone and immediately opening the messages app, you searched for jungwoo’s number. he’s been trying to take you out for dinner for a while now. you still remember his exact words, whenever you’re ready he’s always there, waiting for you. you’re not really sure about that particular question but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try, right?

typing in the words ‘okay, sure’ is already a pressure for you but you still proceeded to press the send button. glancing at the clock showing the time, the notification ping redirected your focus onto the screen.

jungwoo: cool, is tomorrow night okay with you? i’ll drive, of course :)

tomorrow night. okay, tomorrow night.

an elegant red gown is wrapping your curves perfectly, a thin necklace with the seashell charm around your neck while your lips is decorated with the dark red tone, highlighting your poise appearance. hearing the doorbell ring, you tidied up the dresser as your eyes landed onto the picture frame holding a photo of you and mark. a sad feeling crept into your heart but you pushed it away, opening the door to reveal jungwoo in a black and white tuxedo.

you would say that the dinner went well, none of his questions or chatters crossing any borderline. he’s just so polite, even you are amused. feeling comfortable with his presence, the small gap in between is eventually closing down since you’ve learned so much about each other during the other few dates. one night completely changed it for you, him offering you a dance at some event he’s bringing you with.

you observed that his moves are slightly similar to mark’s - not completely of course, mark’s is very unique and very…mark-ish. for the first time ever in the recent turn of events, you flashed a genuine smile. one that is not just for show, one that only comes out when you’re truly elated, one that you only manage to give to certain. mark just observed the scene from a distance, admiring how you’ve managed to find the spark of happiness you once lost.

alas, mark saw his other half become full again with another, her eyes twinkling with the same joy but this time, it’s not him in the reflection.

154 notes · View notes

maxdibert · 7 months ago

Text

I love this contribution, especially with the theoretical references, but also because I completely agree. Seeing things beyond black and white is a trait that develops as you gain more life experience. That’s why there’s such a drastic change between the end of high school (when you’re 18) and the end of university (around 22 or 23). Not much time has passed, but leaving behind a sheltered, childish environment to experience all sorts of things in just 4 or 5 years makes your perspective change dramatically. And let’s not even talk about what happens once you cross the threshold of 25, when people start getting stable jobs, moving out, having serious or not-so-serious relationships... Experience is fundamental to shaping your worldview and also for judging certain things. Adolescence is still a stage of physical and cognitive transformation, where ethical and moral frameworks are still being formed and are heavily influenced by a very childlike, binary perspective.

I remember that when I read the last book as a teenager, I specifically thought Severus had wasted his life on someone who didn’t even love him. I wasn’t particularly a huge fan of his character back then—I liked him a lot, but I wasn’t a hardcore defender. Still, I do remember thinking since the fifth book that Lily was kind of a jerk for almost laughing at him during SWM. So, I remember thinking at around 15 or so: What an idiot for being so broken up over someone like that. And it’s funny to think about now because I realize that at that age, I had no concept of loss. I hadn’t even lost any of my grandparents yet. Now, at 28, I’ve lost a lot of people and even witnessed some die. I understand loss; I’ve felt it, I’ve seen its consequences, and I’ve seen what poorly handled grief can do to people. So now I understand why he did what he did. As a teenager, I couldn’t, because everything seemed so simple to me: You haven’t spoken to this person in years, and they didn’t even accept your apology? You should just move on. But as an adult, you’ve experienced things that give you much more perspective, and it’s precisely those things that broaden your worldview and make you better at understanding the actions of others.

I get the feeling that these die-hard Marauders defenders are just kids who see Severus as that teacher they dislike or who was mean to them, and they can’t see beyond that because, ultimately, the world of school is all they know. There’s nothing beyond classes, homework, and tests, and they’re unable to put themselves in the shoes of an adult carrying countless traumas, a mountain of responsibilities, and, on top of it all, stuck in a job they don’t like, dealing with kids they can’t stand, who also make things as difficult as possible. Those of us who work, who’ve had to endure crappy jobs, who’ve stayed late in the office, paid bills, counted down to the end of the month to stretch our budget, and made dinner at 11 PM after a terrible day—we understand this much better. Because we know that being an adult sucks, that you have tons of responsibilities you hate, and that working in a job you don’t like is psychologically exhausting. And then you think about Severus, who isn’t just a teacher, but also a double agent, dealing with unimaginable pressure while also teaching, which he hates, managing kids and teenagers (who, once you’re past your teens, seem absolutely insufferable unless you genuinely have a passion for teaching—because seriously, no adult can stand you, kids, and you won’t stand teenagers when you grow up, and that’s the circle of life), who are also a massive pain because they’re always, always getting into trouble. Trouble that he has to sort out because his boss, Dumbledore, has appointed him the official babysitter of these reckless brats. You end up feeling a lot of compassion for him. Because he’s an underpaid adult with a crappy job, loads of mental issues, and, on top of it all, has to deal with a trio of know-it-all kids who won’t take no for an answer and always have to do the opposite of what they’re told. And that opposite constantly puts their lives at risk. And honestly, I’d be at my wit’s end too. I mean, you really have to reach a certain age to appreciate the restraint it must’ve taken for that man to limit himself to snide comments in class and not just tell them all to fuck off.

But you need a few years for that to sink in.

And I’ve gone off on a tangent, but hey, don’t hold it against me lol.

I’d bet half my monthly salary that 9 out of 10 Snaters who are also huge fans of the Marauders aren’t even 21 years old. And yes, age is essential to understanding certain things.

#imagine having to deal with harry #hey harry you can't put your life in danger #an he literally starts to risk his damn life #and he did the same for seven fucking years #and you're always trying to keep him alive #and you also have another work #like doing classes and exams #and also keep an eye on the other students #and also being a double agent #and they are expecting you tu be nice?#i mean...#wow #pro snape #pro severus snape #severus snape defense #severus snape

107 notes · View notes

nukacoola · 4 years ago

Text

Companions React to Sole Visiting Their Dead Spouse Part 1/2

Ada:

Today Sole had informed Ada that they wanted to visit the vault they had come from. Ada had heard a bit about vaults from Jackson but she had yet to visit one herself. When they began to descend on the elevator that led to the vault, Ada noticed Sole’s mood start to shift. She recognized the emotion in Sole’s face to be sadness, greif. Ada knew of this emotion from what she had experienced with Jackson and her fellow robot’s deaths. She began to suspect that Sole was visiting the death site of someone who she was close to. They continued to walk

through the vault until they arrived at the entrance of a short hall. The hall seemed to house a number of large machines. Ada’s internal thermometer told her that it was quite cold so she assumed the machines were the source of the unusual temperature. Sole’s mood seemed to worsen as they led Ada down the hall. Ada noticed as they walked that frozen human corpses were held in each of the pod-like machines. When they stopped before one of the pods towards the end of the hall it became clear to Ada that Sole had a relationship with the deceased human they had stopped at. Sole looked up at the deceased human and their eyes began to water. Ada remembered back to her own experiences with death and grief. She felt she had to help Sole as Sole had helped her.

“I understand how you feel, Ma’am/Sir. If there is anything I can do to aid you please let me know.” Sole smiled sadly and turned slightly.

“Thank you, Ada. I appreciate you being here for me.” Sole then turned back to face the dead human. They shed a few tears before they approached a control panel that presumably controlled the machine the dead human was in. They pulled a lever and the Ada heard a hiss of the pod depressurising. The door to the pod slowly opened as Sole approached the human. They seemed to be taking a ring off of the hand of the human. They held the cold metal to their lips and whispered something Ada could not hear before slipping the ring in their pocket.

“Alright, we can go now.” They addressed Ada as they moved to close the door of the pod. “Thank you.” They repeated.

“You are welcome, Ma’am/Sir.” Ada responded. Ada and Sole then left the vault together. Ada knew that there was no way she could repay Sole for how they helped her, but she would still continue to try.

Cait:

“Why do we have ta go to this stupid ice box again?” Cait complained, rubbing her bare arms.

“It’s not my fault you refused to wear a coat.” Sole joked but Cait noticed their voice had a twinge of sadness in it. Cait had been confused when Sole asked her to come to Vault 111 with them. They’d been traveling together for ages and Sole didn’t really ask Cait if she wanted to go places, they just went. The location of today was weird as well. Usually they had a purpose for the places they went. Some lazy settlers couldn’t get off their arse’s to fight off a few ghouls or they were gettin’ a handful a’ caps to go fight a bunch a’ muties. Today’s trip to Vault 111 was weird and out of the blue. Cait didn’t like it but it seemed important to Sole so she agreed. Together they walked further into the vault and the further they walked the colder it got. They eventually reached a wide hall full of weird human sized containers. Cait noticed the ice that slicked the floor and the frost that stuck to the windows of the weird containers as they passed the first one she peered in the window. The dead body of a frozen woman in a vault suit was inside. She had seen a fair amount of bad shit in her day and this whole vault definitely made the cut. Sole had stopped in front of an ice coffin close to the end of the hall when Cait realized. Sole had told her about their dead spouse a while back and they’d also mentioned how they’re from a vault. This was that vault. That body they were now cryin’ in front of was their spouse. Seeing Sole like that did not feel good. Not good at all. She needed to reassure them, she hated it when they were upset.

“I know this must be difficult for you.” She stepped forwards, “I… I’m here if you need to talk.” Sole turned to her and smiled. They reached out their hand to take Cait’s.

“Thank you, Cait. You’re a great friend.” They squeezed Cait’s hand. Cait squeezed back and watched Sole as hot tears continued to roll down their cheeks. She hoped that one day they could be more than friends. Maybe then Cait could wipe those tears away an’ kiss away the burns of grief they had left behind. For now, though, this is all she needed.

Codsworth:

It had been a hard week for Sole and Codsworth. The initial reunion of the two had been nothing but joyful. The family had been reunited against all odds! But of course it wasn’t the whole family. The absence of Sole’s better half and young Shaun left a gaping hole in both Sole’s real and Codsworth’s metaphorical hearts. The shock of their partner’s murder and Shaun’s kidnapping had worn off for Sole and in it’s wake, it left them cripplingly depressed. The past three days Sole had barely been able to get out of bed. They just listened to their partner’s holotape on repeat while cradling young Shaun’s favorite rattle in their arms’. Codsworth had been doing his best to care for them, bringing them food and water and making sure to check up on them every hour or so, but he was becoming worried. He was just preparing lunch for Sole when he was surprised by their figure standing at the entrance to the kitchen. Codsworth greeted them excitedly. Sole awkwardly hugged his large metal body and thanked him for all the meals he had prepared and all the patience he had shown. They explained how when they had left the vault, they were in such shock that they never got to say a real goodbye to their partner. Codsworth listened patiently and happily agreed when they asked him to accompany them back to the vault to say a real goodbye.

They entered the cold concrete bunker which Codsworth had previously waited and hoped to see stir for over 210 years. Sole led him through the halls and the two eventually arrived at some machinery which Sole identified as the cryogenic freezing pods. They approached the end of the hall and Sole moved to one of the many control panels next two one of the many pods. After puzzling over the panel they tried pulling a red lever. The large door of the cryo pod hissed as it slowly opened to reveal their spouse. Standing next to Codsworth in front of their partner, they grabbed and held the grasper fixed on one of his three arms. Even with one his beloved family members standing dead right before him, Codsworth still couldn’t believe it.

“Oh dear, is that…” he trailed off, “Mum/Sir, I’m… I’m so sorry.” Codsworth tried to keep his heartbroken voice steady as Sole began to softly sob next to him. He wished more than anything he could hug them, but since he could not, this almost hand holding would have to do. They stood there, mourning together for about two hours before Sole was ready to go. They were still very torn up. But it seemed as if a large weight had been lifted from their chest. Before they closed their partner’s pod, Sole went up to them and removed their wedding ring.

“I’ll find who did this, and I’ll get Shaun back. I promise” they said to their spouse.

“Indeed Mum/Sir. We’ll stop at nothing to get young Shaun back!” Sole smiled at Codsworth and together the two set off to find Sole’s baby.

Curie:

After everything Sole had done to help Curie, there wasn’t even a second thought on whether or not she would go with them to the vault they had come from. She would help Sole with anything, no matter what. When she had first booted up in vault 81 she was very excited to dedicate herself to the scientific endeavors of Vault-Tec. When her fellow scientist informed her of how they would be growing hundreds of pathogens in mole rats and testing these pathogens on unsuspecting humans, she felt bad. As bad as a Ms.Nanny model robot could at least. She eventually grew attached to the mole rats they were infecting. She was especially fond of sweet little Clyde. When one day Clyde escaped his cage, Curie did not have time to warn the scientists she had worked with. Despite her friend’s deaths, Curie took solace in the fact that the morally gray work of Vault-Tec’s could not continue. Despite the conductors of the experiment's deaths, Curie continued her work. 200 years later, she had been finished with the cure for a long while. She was pretty much stuck in this small area of the vault waiting to be told she could leave. Thankfully, Sole came along and her prayers were answered! They released her and told her about a young boy who was infected. She was able to help the one human who had the misfortune of being infected by the molerat disease with her life’s work, the cure. After that, Sole had welcomed Curie to continue her scientific studies alongside them. When Sole eventually helped Curie become alive, however, was when Curie truly understood how much she loved Sole. She would go to the ends of the earth for them so accompanying them to a vault was, as Sole might say, no big deal.

On the walk to the vault Sole told an inquisitive Curie about the experiment 111 had performed. They also told Curie how losing their spouse and child happened while they were still trapped in their cryogenic pod. They told Curie that they were visiting the body of their deceased spouse. It wasn’t too long of a walk before they reached the familiar facility. Sole led Curie through the cool halls of the vault and down a short hall to their spouse’s body. They took a deep breath and stepped up to the control panel adjacent to the cryo pod. After fiddling with the controls the pod appeared to depressurize and open. Curie’s heart ached for Sole. She knew how loss felt and of all the human emotions she was now able to feel, she liked that one the least.

Sole began to cry at seeing their deceased partner again. Curie had an urge to cry too. It was such an awful feeling. As much as she wanted to though, she knew she couldn’t give in to it. She had to stay strong for her dearest friend who must be struggling a lot more than she is right now. She stepped closer to her partner and gently laid a hand on their upper back.

“I wish I knew how to make zis better. It iz not a phyzical injury that I can heal.” Curie was silent for a moment, thinking of what to say next, “However I know it still hurts terribly. I am here for you always.” Sole slumped and began to cry harder which made Curie very worried. Maybe she had said the wrong thing! Did she make it worse? But right when she was going to apologize and excuse herself Sole turned around and hugged her tightly. She hugged back and allowed Sole to cry on her shoulder.

“Thank you Curie, you’re the best.” They sniffled out. Curie smiled as a few stray tears fell down her face. She was so glad she was able to help her friend as they have helped her so many times before.

Danse:

Danse hadn’t known what to expect when his fellow soldier had requested they make a stop at Vault 111 during their recon mission to the far reaches of the commonwealth. He of course knew that Sole was from this vault. They had told him so upon their first meeting. He remembered being surprised that Sole had admitted to being a Vault Dweller, though he now understood they probably had no idea of the stigma surrounding Vault Dwellers as they had only been above ground for a short time. Nonetheless, when he granted permission for his subordinate to lead him to the vault he assumed they wanted to go back for something they had not taken when they had first left. He never suspected to walk into a graveyard of frozen corpses. Of course he knew the basics of what had occurred here. Sole had told him a bit about their spouse and the cruel experiment unknowingly performed on them both. Even knowing this, experiencing the criminal loss of life Vault-Tec had caused first hand was rather sickening. He could only imagine what Sole was going through.

Danse soon found that he did not have to imagine. Sole had led him down an isle of frozen bodies before stopping in front one. He noticed their hands were shaking as they reached for the control panel standing next to the pod they had stopped at. They pulled a red lever and the contraption hissed as the door began to open. Danse could see a frozen body held within the metal pod. Sole’s whole body was shaking now. From his place off to the side of them he could see tears rolling down their cheeks. This must be their spouse. Danse was at a loss. He wanted to help them but he knew there was no way he could do anything that would get them over such an incredible loss. Even so, he needed to do something. His power armor hissed as it depressurized. He stepped out of it and approached Sole.

“Take as long as you need, Soldier.” He placed a hand on their shoulder briefly before turning away to give them space. As he began to leave, Sole grabbed his hand. He turned to them, surprised. He only got to see the tears streaming down Sole’s red, blotchy cheeks for a moment before they roughly pulled him towards them for a hug. Shocked, he stiffened. It was only when they started to softly sob into his chest that he refocused and hugged them back. They stayed that way for a long time. Danse couldn’t help but think back to Scribe Haylen. The situation was nearly the same and yet he didn’t have the same ache in his chest when he had held the scribe. Eventually Sole’s sobs turned to sniffles and sniffles to silence. Their hold on him loosed and Danse took this as his queue to release them. Their face was still puffy and red but as he looked down at them while they smiled up at him he couldn’t help but think how beautiful they looked.

“Thank you.” They breathed. Danse simply nodded. Sole turned away from him to right themselves and he used this opportunity to get back into his power armor. Sole closed up the cryogenics pod and they left the vault without another word shared. Danse hoped he had helped them. Even if it was only in a small way.

Deacon:

When Sole asked Deacon to accompany them on a visit to Vault 111, he of course accepted. This is not to say that he was excited. Far from it. He would never admit it to them, but he had done a lot of research on Vault 111 far before he had met Sole. He had taken a particular interest in this vault after hearing a rumor of Institute activity near it. After trying and failing to get into it, he went to Vault-Tec headquarters in hopes of finding some more info on this particular experiment. He had been able to guess the vault had some type of human-cryogenic-preservation thing going on due to terminals he’d read there and books he’d read elsewhere. After Sole had left the vault, the interior door was open and Deacon was able to explore further. One cryo pod being open while the rest were full of corpses painted a pretty clear picture. The internal terminals allowed Deacon to discover that there was once an infant “housed” there. The infant belonged to the vaultie he saw leave and the only corpse who’s cause of death was a bullet to the head. It was pretty clear to him what had happened. What he didn’t know was what the Institute needed with an infant.

Due to his research, Deacon obviously knew exactly what happened in that Vault. He also knew how much it had taken from Sole specifically and he had a pretty good idea of why they wanted to go back. His suspicions were confirmed when they led him down a familiar hall of cryo pods. They stopped close to the end of the short hallway to stand in front of the dead person Deacon had first seen almost a year ago. He looked to Sole, they were staring at the body and shivering. He couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the murder. He settled on both. He tried not to remember just how much he understood their pain, but of course he couldn’t forget. His chest tightened as he saw tears beginning to leak from their eyes. They shakily reached for the control panel next to the coffin and pulled the red lever to open it. Their face began to contort into an expression Deacon knew very well. Their tears were flowing freely now and he felt he had to do something, anything to try to help them. He approached them and placed a hand on their shoulder, effectively wrapping his arm around them. They stood there for about a minute, Sole sniffling from time to time, before Sole turned into him and wrapped their arms around him. Deacon didn’t think about how it could be dangerous when he hugged them back, he just did. He held Sole in that cold, empty room for a long time. Even after Sole had stopped crying, they stood there.

“Thanks Dee.” Sole whispered before finally letting go of Deacon. They looked up at him, smiling and though he didn’t know why he felt his stomach flip, he provided a small smile back. Sole closed the pod and together the pair left Vault 111, hopefully, for the last time.

Dogmeat:

When Dogmeat woke up that morning it was just another day with his wonderful friend. Throughout the day however, Dogmeat began to worry. He felt his friend start to become sad. This made him sad too. He loved his friend! He wanted his friend to be happy! He stuck close to their side especially when they entered a very cold big place which seemed to make his friend even more sad. He and his friend walked further into the cold place until they decided to stop. His friend sat down on the cold floor so Dogmeat did too. He saw that his friend had begun to cry. He whimpered and rested his head in his friend’s lap. For a while they sat, Dogmeat’s friend slowly stroking Dogmeat’s fur and eventually, they stopped crying. Dogmeat sat up and blinked at his friend. His friend gave him a sad smile, he gave them a big slobbery kiss. His friend laughed and so he gave them another kiss. His friend kissed his forehead before standing. Together, they walked out of the cold place. Dogmeat was happy, and he felt his friend was too.

Gage: Gage was never into the touchy feely stuff but he had to admit he had a soft spot for the Overboss. They’re badass as hell and take no shit but they also knew how to be compassionate when they needed to be. It was something Gage had never been able to do well and something he respected in his boss. There was something off about them the day they asked Gage to accompany them to Vault 111 in the Commonwealth. They seemed more timid, like they were worried about his response. He’d already told them he’d follow them to the ends of the earth and he meant it so of course he said yes. The trip was long and the boss seemed to get quieter and more down the closer they got to the vault. This was worrying to Gage. Like he said, he wasn’t good at the touchy feely stuff. He wasn’t gonna know how to deal with it if the Boss needed someone to comfort them from whatever was making them sad.

They finally reached the vault and Sole instructed him to stand on the gear shaped platform while they ran over to a small building nearby. After about 30 seconds lights around the platform started to flash. There was the sound of a blaring alarm paired with a rumbling of the ground beneath him. He was about to get the hell off of the thing but Sole ran over to wait on the platform next to him. If it was safe in Sole’s eyes, Gage supposed he would trust it. After a few seconds the platform started to lower with a loud screech of metal on metal. Despite the bad feeling that was growing exponentially inside of him he followed the Overboss’ example. When the vault elevator brought them down to solid ground again, Sole led the way through a cold metal complex to a bunch of weird machinery that really just looked like a bunch of fancy coffins. Looking through the small glass windows on the weird pods proved that that’s exactly what they were. Sole’s footsteps were heavy and slow as they led Gage down the icey corridor. There was something very personal about this place to them. He would soon find out what it was as they stopped in front of on of the coffins. Sole fidgeted with their hands for a moment before they reached to the control panel next to the pod and opened it. There was a hiss of depressurization when the door opened to reveal a body. Someone they’d obviously known and been close to. The Boss’ posture slumped and they started… crying. They were crying… Dammit, Gage had no idea how to deal with this. He had to do something to let them know he cared though, because he did. He stepped closer to Sole reaching his hand out to them before recoiling it. Oh god. Alright just say something, anything.

“Hey, uh, Boss, I just want you to know- well I get it. And I’m real sorry.” They huffed a laugh through tears. Fuck did he do it wrong?? But before he could worry too much they turned to him with a sad smile.

“Thank you Gage, really, thank you.” He nodded stiffly, not knowing how else to react. They stood there in silence for a while before Sole closed the pod and stepped back, wiping their tears away. Gage looked away put of respect until they cleared their throat. “Ready to get out of this shithole?” They smiled at him.

“Hell yeah, you lead the way, Boss.” -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So I saw a video of the Companion’s comments upon bringing them back to Vault 111 and opening your spouses pod and I wanted to write a little thing. :) The bold sentences are real in game dialogue but not every character has some. This is part 1 of 2 so if your favorite isn’t in this one don’t worry.

124 notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 4 years ago

Note

Hello again! Can I have prompt 46 with Ash? Tnx

Recently I told my friend that I had a lot of requests about him and she laughed about it. She doesn't really like him, but she gives him credit since he looks good.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, extreme paranoia, isolation, desperation, mentions of kidnapping,overprotectiveness, mentions of self-harm, Stockholm syndrome

Prompt 46: "Can I...can I kiss you?"

It was nothing less than a miracle that someone like you existed, someone who was cleansed from all the sins of this world and the corruption of humans. You were radiating with everything Ash had wanted for this world, a world that he wanted to give to you. It was the minimum from what she should and would do for you, it was his duty as your very own guardian angel. A role he was utterly dedicated too, devoted to his very own angel who forgave him his sins every time.

It was true, you had forgiven him his crimes already a long time ago as everything around you had started to fade away and you had lost count of how long exactly you had been stuck in here. Somewhere around one and a half years would be your expectation, looking on how the seasons had changed through the large and closed windows which symbolized your loss of freedom. But you didn't mind anymore.

You only needed and wanted Ash, your guardian angel.

There was clear tension in his body, you could feel how he stiffened up under your embrace. He had never really received that sort of affection before from anyone nor would he have ever wanted it from all those worthless lives walking around freely. You were the only person he actually wanted any sort of touches from. That was how pure you were, even causing someone like him craving something and falling victim to his own desires. And it was his own fault for being so weak-minded. He didn't deserve you yet letting you perish outside would be an even greater sin. He had to keep you safe.

"My Queen...what are you doing?"

Being able to keep his composure was important in front of you, though he remembered to have failed multiple times in the past already. Severe punishment was the only thing he could think of to atone for his failures for not being good enough, for proving himself to be so incredibly useless. Even now he could feel some unhealed wounds aching a bit, but you didn't have to know about his weakness and incompetence.

You blinked slightly confused up at him when he asked you such an obvious question, but it soon turned into slight giggling that instantly plunged Ash's heart into painfully warm emotions and forced his eyes to get wet. It had taken a while until you had been able to look so happy after he had quickly rescued you from all the evil waiting to devour you. The distress he had felt back then could never be put in words and no burns, knifes and broken bones had been able to make up for what you had been suffering under. Even now it remained as a anxiety deeply stuck in his heart. But looking at you now, smiling at him and not staring with wide eyes filled with fear at him, was worth much more than his whole life could ever repay you.

"I’m hugging you. It’s just that you always look so worried and stressed over my safety and never appear to take a rest. Just now you did as well so I thought this might help you a bit. A strong hug can be more worth than thousand words after all. That’s what my mother told me at least when I was younger.”, you replied softly, pressing your face deeper into his chest with a content look on your face.

There was nothing Ash could think of for a few moments, instead he seared the scene in front of him deep into his brain, how you were currently buried into his chest, looking so happy and peaceful. So stunning and precious.

Tears were quick to escape his eyes only seconds later, his insides stirring up with warmth that stung him and yet baked him with something he hadn’t felt in so long. Comfort and peace.

This was exactly why he had to protect you with his very own life, no one was allowed to snuff out the light you carried inside of you and that was able to even share it’s warmth with him. You possessed too much kindness to understand, but normal humans only destroyed what they touched, ruining it with their greed.

He wouldn’t let them do the same to you.

He would kill everyone who would even do as much as getting too close.

He just had to guarantee that you would live.

But first of all he had to calm himself down or otherwise he might worry you even more than he seemed to have done already. The tears were quickly wiped away with his sleeves before Ash was able to look at you again, still feeling like he wanted to continue crying. His heart felt like it might burst at any moment.

“You have so much warmth and love inside of you that I don’t think I deserve any of it. You shouldn’t even be concerned about me, I merely do what I have to do as your guardian. If you were to fall victim to this damned place, I would perish as well. What use is an angel who can’t even protect their chosen one?”

Pain was twisting his voice and face a bit when he dared to imagine how a world without you would be, a world filled with grief and darkness for him. Letting his guard down would be a fatal mistake, he had seen the worst of this world and the humans and he knew that it would happen again. That was why he had to be like this for you were his heart beating outside his chest. If something were to ever happen to you...

The angel hadn't even noticed that he had already started crying again, fist tightened and body shaking whilst getting lost in fears of losing the one good and bright thing this world had still left.

"But for me you're more than just a guardian angel. You're my angel and I want you to feel happy as well. I want you to feel loved as well. You do so much for me, but I feel like I only cause you stress and uneasiness. Shouldn't you be happy because of me?", you asked him in slight protest, feeling sadness whilst seeing the man you had come to love like this again because of you. You had never seen him truly relaxed nor had you ever been able to show him your feelings. He wouldn't let you, not thinking that he deserved you.

His reaction was instant, suddenly falling on his knees upon hearing from what you had said that he had disappointed you yet again, the visible look of your sorrow only stabbing his fear deeper into his very soul.

"I-I am so sorry! I didn't know that you felt this way only because I was so selfish to only think about myself like this! I don't deserve your forgiveness and accept any sort of-"

When he felt the soft sensation of your hands cupping his stained cheeks, he abruptly stopped his rambling, trying to not choke on his own breath that had gotten irregular.

"You don't have to apologize to me. I don't want to hear you saying such things about yourself. Don't you understand? I am unhappy whenever you are like this, seeing yourself as so worthless and not deserving of my love. That's what hurts me so much. You're rejecting my feelings. I love you, Ash. And I want to know if you do too. Because if you do, please stop talking like this and behave so distantly."

Your voice conveyed every bit emotion that was going on inside of you in that moment, something that Ash noticed with widened eyes as well.

Silence was cut short by him when he realized that you wanted something crucial from him which he would gladly give you. He had never considered that you would ever consider his love as something you wanted, consider him as someone you loved. When had been the last time someone had been truly kind to him and loved him? He couldn't remember anymore.

"Of course I do. You should never doubt my feelings for you. I love you more than you could ever imagine. It's impossible to function without you.", he managed to reply with a shaking voice as he grabbed both of your hands in his own.

"Then why are you acting like this? Everyone deserves someone who loves them. Without love it's a very painful life, isn't it? That's why I am hurting as well. Let me love you and I promise that you'll be able to feel peace as well.", you muttered slightly embarrassed out, leaning your head down so your forehead could rest against his own.

Slight sobs were starting to catch up to Ash as he was staring in pure awe at you.

"Thank you. I'll be better and make sure that I won't cause you sadness anymore.", he pressed out, tightening his grip on your hands only the slightest bit so he wouldn't hurt you.

"I'm glad to hear that.", you replied with a sincere smile on your face, joy stirring your heart up just by seeing that for the first time since he had abducted you, Ash was looking relieved and less tense. He just looked extremely grateful.

"May I ask you for a favor then?", you requested with a certain idea in mind.

"I'll do anything for you.", Ash replied, sounding very emotional.

"I want to do something for you for once since you normally do anything for me."

Hesitation and clear dislike instantly shadowed his face, the thought of him asking something from you going against Ash's belief in all the wrong ways. You shouldn't have to do him favors.

"It doesn't have to be something difficult. It can be a really simple thing. Just...something that I can do for you this once. Please.", you begged slightly, seeing the angel already struggling. You knew how he felt about such things, he hated letting you do something for him and he had never done it before either. Ash saw it only upon himself to serve you which was another thing that sometimes made you feel guilty. You wanted to do more for him as well.

"Can I...can I kiss you?"

Maybe that had been more a slip of his tongue, but he had been slightly panicking since hadn't want to sadden you again nor had he wanted you to do physical work for him. It was supposed to be the other way around.

So when he had stared for a moment at your face, eyes locked on your lips, he had considered somewhere deep in his mind possibilities which he had been fantasizing about a few times before, but hadn't thought that they would actually have a change of happening.

In his opinion they were still sinful, it would take a while for him to get used to the idea that you wanted to receive physical affection and love from him. The first impulse when he realized what he had said was instantly apologizing, only to be interrupted before he could even start saying anything.

You had already leaned down to fulfill him his wish before he could take it back again.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere ash #yandere ash landers

132 notes · View notes

dp-marvel94 · 4 years ago

Text

Dan Redemption with a twist

So I'm still geeking out over my ask that @stillebesat answered a few days ago, the one where about an upcoming fic. I've been playing around with a really similar idea, with a redeemed Dan fusing with a clone of Danny, for months now.

Here's my idea:

First of all, my preferred version of Dan is basically Danny but evil. He less fused with Plasmius and more consumed his powers so Dan doesn't have any of Vlad's memories. Next, I'm a big fan of the idea that Dan deeply regrets killing his human half and is, for lack of a better word, haunted by the action. It was the first death of his reign of terror, his final chance to turn back from the dark path he was on and...it was his suicide.

Now, Dan doesn't realize any of this for what feels like centuries. He's trapped in the Fenton thermos in Clockwork's lair, alone with only his thoughts. And the knowledge starts creeping in, all that he'd lost, all that he'd done. He realizes that he misses his friends and family and to his surprise, he hopes his younger self saved them. But then he realized that he tried to kill them. And the guilt starts creeping in. The regret follows and he remembers all the rest of his crimes. He doesn't have enough humanity, enough emotional capacity to be wrecked but he's no longer a rage fueled destructive monster.

Then to Dan's shook, Clockwork releases him without a word. The master of time dumps him in the new timeline, maybe a few months after the events of TUE. To his dim relief, Dan finds that his friends and family are all still alive. He watches them for a while, trying to process where he is and what happened. But then he runs into Danny. And things don't go well. It's a rocky start. Danny does not trust Dan at all. He doesn't trust that the older ghost has no intention of hurting his loved ones. Danny is ready and willing to fight and recapture him. The younger's opinion doesn't change until Dan saves him and Jazz during a ghost attack. The two ghosts, at Jazz's insistence, come to an uneasy impasse. Danny will leave Dan alone if the older ghost leaves him and his family alone. Dan isn't really happy about this arrangement but it's better than being trapped in the thermos again and he does have no intention of hurting his younger counterpart or his loved ones.

So Dan concedes. He stays out of Danny's way. He watches. He catches glimpses of his former friends and family from a distance. And it hurts. Dan feels out of place, disconnected. This isn't his time, isn't his place. He's stuck on the outside looking in... and this timeline already has a Danny, one who didn't make the aggresous mistakes he did. And those mistakes... the guilt's still there but like all other emotions, it's dim and distant. That's how it's been since his death, with every emotion but rage. But still, Dan does not like being on the outside looking in. He needs to do something else with himself, find some place he can belong.

Then Dan remembers Vlad. He had gone to the older half ghost after losing everything. And... Vlad had tried to help him. Separating the then halfa at his request had been a horrible idea but Vlad had been trying. Vlad did care about him. And.... the man must be so lonely now. Lonely like Dan himself is.

It's something of a wim but Dan goes to the older halfa. And at first, it's a surprise to Vlad and then seemingly a dream come true. Here in front of him is a version of Daniel who wants to stay by his side willingly. This Dan is more powerful and experienced than his younger counterpart, though not as experienced as Vlad. The young man is willing to be taught and all he seemingly wants is companionship. Yes, it would be a dream come true except...

Dan will not tolerate any of Vlad's shit. He will not be used to hurt anyone ever again. He will not take part in any of Vlad's schemes against the Fentons. It's a high price to pay but the older man backs off. Vlad is content to not be alone and have a chance to convince Dan to work with him.

So Dan stays with Vlad. With the older man busy with work, Dan has free reign of the mansion for most of the day. In some ways, it's nice. Away from Amity Park, there's no temptation to check on his former loved ones. His longing for a life he can no longer have is diminished. Vlad's mansion provides ample distraction, in the library, the game room, the gardens. But... the days are long and often lonely and the nights... they're even worse. The large building, empty and quiet, it's too much like a time Dan wishes he could forget. The memories are stronger now. After the fiery explosion...weeks of weeping in his room. Somber diners with Vlad where he couldn't force himself to eat. Waking up from another nightmare.

Without his humanity, the grief isn't as soul wrenching as it should be. But it's ever present, the memories on repeat. And there is little to break them up. As a ghost, Dan cannot sleep. He cannot eat. He can't truly feel the sun on his face or the comforting chill of the water on the pool. All physical sensations are dimmed.

And Dan starts to realize, it's excruciating. He feels incomplete, like there's a gapping whole in his chest. The memories of his own death, seen from the outside, return. His own icy blue eyes wide with fear and pain. Red blood spattered on his face. It's horrifying. Or it should be. If Dan could muster up more than the dimmest shadow of the emotion. But he can't, because the part of him that could died 10 years ago. And... this is wrong. He is wrong.

He should have died completely as himself, as Danny Fenton. He shouldn't have watched his death from the outside by his own hands. He shouldn't be this half being that couldn't even be bothered to die properly.

Dan stews, a forgotten anger growing as he longs for something he'd once wanted rid of. His human self, his Fenton, his humanity... he wants it. He wants to be truly, completely himself again. He wants to be whole enough to fade, to move on.

But that is the problem with ghosts, especially one like him. They do not change. They do not move on. As much as Dan acts like he is older, like he is different, he is not. He's the same angry, broken teen that he was ten years ago. And he will never be anything else.

Dan rages, trashing Vlad's training room. Soon enough, his anger is spent and the young man comes back to his senses. Dan huffs in frustration and annoyance at himself. He'd rather enjoyed Vlad's training room and now the man himself will likely be cross with him. Dan does his best to put the room back in order and find something else to do.

But the pain, regret, and longing linger. At some level, Dan thinks he's being ridiculous. All his former loved ones are alive. Dan isn't alone. He has Vlad and the ability to determine his own future. This world wasn't ravaged by his hand. His mistakes have been erased. He should be free. Except...

No, his mistakes are not all erased. His own death returns to his mind over and over. He shouldn't think about, he shouldn't dwell on it but...

One day, Dan goes down to Vlad's secret lab. He knows he shouldn't. This is such a breach of Vlad's trust but... this is were it happened. The young man stares at the metal table. If he was capable of feelings cold, he would shiver. There, where he was pulled out of his body. That wall, he cornered his human half there, the boy cowering in fear. There, that control panel was spattered with his own blood.

Dan wishes he could cry but he's not human enough for that. He's not human at all. But he wishes he was.

Startled by the thought, the full ghost turns away. He shouldn't wish for things he can't have but... no. Dan's eyes flicker around the room, looking for small differences from his memories. Some of the equipment is laid out differently. There are different samples on the shelf and... that door wasn't there before.

Dan walks through and finds... metal and glass chambers in different degrees of construction. A few are filled with ectoplasm and there in the back... if Dan had a heart, it would stop. There in a clear pod with a breathing mask over his face is...Danny Fenton. No, that's not right. This isn't... this isn't his timeline. And his younger counterpart is in Amity Park so....

Dan frantically searches Vlad's computer, his notes for answers. Clones. Vlad had been trying to clone his younger half ghost counterpart. In the tube... clone 3. Fully human. Suffered mental decline from 2 weeks gestation and eventually brain death a month later. Body kept alive by machines since... the week Dan arrived.

Dan wishes he could feel shock. He wishes he could feel relief. From the data, this was the first attempt that even resembled something human. The others were by all measures animals, in no way sentient. And it appears Vlad hasn't continued working since Dan came to live with him. But still...

Dan confronts Vlad, asking about the experiments, about the clone kept on life support.

"I could not bear to pull the plug." Vlad answers, surprisingly sober. "I'd hoped his condition would improve." There is a far away look in his eyes, a longing. "I tried everything I could think of to stop the degradation but..." The older half ghost shook his head. "I'm continuing to monitor 3's status." There was a pain in Vlad voice. "I fear he won't live to see the outside of his chamber."

Vlad was in denial, Dan thinkd. This clone is gone, like his own human half. The heart still beats, the lungs still breath but...

He shock his head. "Before you approach me, I consider...if I could create a viable, ghostly clone and coax the spirit to hybridize with the body..."

The idea was ridiculous and he should be disgusted, hearing all Vlad had done, what he had planned but...

"That is all in the past now." Vlad finished sadly.

All in the past like the loss of his own human half. He shouldn't wish for things that he couldn't have but...

"I'm a viable ghost..." Dan could barely believe the words coming out his mouth. "Not a clone but... I am without a human side."

Vlad is staring at him like he has another head, something which Dan was sure he did not currently have. "Daniel...are you suggesting... what I think you are suggesting?"

Was he? It was ridiculous, impossible. He could not replace his human side by... possessing an animated corpse.

"No. I am not." Dan denied. "Forget I said anything."

Vlad gave a nod, dropping the conversation. But Dan did not forget. This idea... it was wrong. It was impossible. He couldn't be made a half ghost again. But...

The temptation. If anyone could get it to work, it would be Vlad. And if it did...the ghost floats to what had been his bedroom and laid down. If it worked, he could sleep. He could eat. He could go out in public with human. It would necessarily be a replacement for what he'd lost but...

No... this was wrong. This was basically a clone of himself whose body he wanted to steal. But... was it really? This was an empty body, no mind, no soul. It was mad science but... Dan was already the product of mad science.

And if it worked, not as an overshadowing but a hybrization... he could truly age, he could grow passed what happened. And he could feel more than the pale shadows he could now.

The next day, Dan asks Vlad for what he wants.

"Are you sure?" The man asked. "This could have unknown consequences on your body or your mind. You could even destabilize."

That gave Dan pause. This might not work. He might end up in unknown pain or even fade but... "this is worth the risk."

The pair work together, planning and experimenting. They give the body transfusions of Dan's ectoplasm. The younger ghost practices envisioning himself as a halfa again. He prepares himself.

"I will need to reduce you down to your core." Vlafd says solemnly.

Dan places his existence in Vlad's hands. After blowing off seemingly endless amounts of energy in a desolate portion of the Ghost Zone, the older halfa repeatedly shocks him with the Plasmius Maximus. Dan's body pops out of existence, leaving his core exposed.

As just a core, there is no sensation. No input. No output. It's terrifyingly like being in the thermos again. Dan knows he is being moved. Vlad is doing something to him but... there is nothing and too much at the same time.

Dan can not process. He is cradled. There is something beside him, something around him reaching out. Something is changing. He is changing. It is too much. Dan loses consciousness for the first time in ten years. It is not sleep. There is no dream. He can think one moment, separated from the world. And the next...

He is under water. Something is beeping. He feels light but heavy. Cold but warm. His center is fluttering, something straining and pounding. An emotion. Something that might be panic or fear suddenly rises in him, crashing over him as a wave. An equally panicked voice comes from in front of him. Then there's a sting in his neck. Sting? Pain? Pain, it's been so long since he felt pain. And... his neck? He has a neck again. Dan blacks out again.

The young man comes to again. There is still something beeping near his head. He's not under water now but laying on something soft. Soft and warm. Warm....Dan can feel that. His breath hitches. Breath... he feels lungs move on his chest. And...he feel heavy and warm. Something... something happened. He can't remember what...

Dan's eyes flutter open, falling on... Vlad.

The man's eyes met his, relief flashing across them. "Daniel." He sighs. "How do you feel?"

"Feel?" Dan crocks. Is that... is that his voice? "What...what happened?" The ghost (?) thinks he might know. "Did it work?" He whispered.

Dan's voice... his voice is high, like when he was a younger teen. It should feel strange but...

"Take a look." Vlad says, offering him a mirror.

Dan reaches forward with a shaking hand. His hand... it's not gloved, neither is it blue. It's.... he stares. It's a pale peach color like... his hands are smaller and thinner....

"Daniel." Vlad interrupts. "It's alright." He holds the mirror up and...

Dan meets blue eyes. His own blue eyes. Eyes he never thought he'd see again except on someone else. His eyes water as he reaches towards the mirror. "It worked."

His new heart is aching, a thousand emotions hitting him. Joy, happiness, relief, grief, guilt, regret. All of them are bigger, nearer, more real and soul-aching than it's been in years. He should be upset. He looks and sounds like a kid again. But... "I'm alive."

He is alive. And it is a joy. A gift. A promise. He will not waste this second chance.

The newly remade halfa is crying and...it's never felt so good.

#danny phantom #dan phantom #vlad plasmius #i know Dan's grossly ooc here but i do not care.#my post #my ficlet

124 notes · View notes

hobidreams · 5 years ago

Text

november 1868.

but you’ve always been his, haven’t you?

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst words: 2.8k contains: historical au, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship dynamics (but era-appropriate; you know how it goes), explicit sexual content, longing.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble eight. start from the beginning?

If there is one inevitability in life, it is that time goes on.

You, like everyone else under King Yoongi’s reign, simply do your best to survive with your head intact. With the ground now mostly frozen over with ice, you have no reason to visit the gardens, and honestly, it becomes less of a loss by the day. You have your hands full with work; the worsening winter always means a higher possibility of catching an illness for the court ladies, and so you are left with little time to think of the king. Willful ignorance is a powerful defense mechanism when even the mere mention of him brings a frown to your lips and a lingering pressure in your chest.

But it is impossible not to think of him today, on the 11th of November. What would have been Queen Jeonghui’s birthday, but is instead a day of mourning.

All official business has more or less halted for the day. The entire palace is somber, the occupants moving through familiar routines feeling numb from more than just the cold. You are among their number, having finished all the work that could distract you while the sun set. Now, you wander in the pitch dark, through the open corridor towards your quarters with heaviness in every step.

You miss her laugh. The queen had always treated you like one of her own, asking after your interests, new discoveries, and health even while her own dwindled. You miss hearing the stories of her surprisingly rambunctious life before she came to court. You miss the brightness in her voice when she spoke of the hopes she had for the future of the kingdom, and for her precious Yoongi. You blink away a tear as your journey comes to its end.

In your small but private room, you begin to undo the straps of your hanbok with the relieving sense that this day is almost over. Stripped to your undergarments, you’re eager to crawl beneath the warm blankets and let blissful sleep take you into tomorrow as soon as your eyes shut.

Except sleep is not easily persuaded to come tonight, as you soon learn.

Even when you force your body to stay still as long as possible, even when you try to block out all thought and simply imagine blankness before you, you remain no closer to dreams, forcibly stuck in this bleak reality. That’s when your exhausted mind begins to wander to places most dangerous, even though you already vowed to stay far, far away.

You wonder whether the king is alone in his grief tonight. Has he eaten properly, or has he completely shut himself away? Does he even have enough heart left to mourn from all you’ve witnessed these past months?

(This last thought is what makes you ache the most, despite yourself.)

Then a quiet voice mutters your name from outside.

You blink and look up, uncertain whether it was just the wind. Who would it be at this late hour anyway? Who would be so bold as to call your name and not your title? But then the sound comes again, louder this time with some impatience in the syllables, and you realize exactly whose voice it must be.

Scrambling to your feet with the chill of losing the blanket sweeping over you, you have a split second to decide between keeping him waiting and having a proper appearance. You land somewhere in the middle, pulling on a loose, long jeogori that was once your mother’s before throwing the door wide open before you can think it through.

Damn all the odds.

It really is him.

In the moonlight, his hair seems almost ethereal with the way most of it cascades loosely around his shoulders. It’s fine, pale gold, spilling across the crimson dye of the royal robes that have been left slacker than is normally allowed in public company. There’s still a hardness in those midnight eyes, a set obstinacy in lips twisted down for a scowl that seems all too inherent to him now.

“Jeonha,” you exhale, more breath than sound.

How are you meant to receive him after all that has happened?

Wordlessly, he moves forward. You flatten yourself against the wall to allow him entry into your tiny home, your world without question, just like you always have. His sleeves brush past you as he walks and the incredibly subtle scent of plum blossoms begins to swirl around the air, so familiar it brings a hot sting to your eyes in an instant.

“Is that—”

“Shut the door.” His voice is biting, forcing you to drop the question.

You have little choice in the matter. When you turn back to face him, this room feels about three times smaller with the imposing aura that emanates from him. He has never felt more like a king to you than now, staring at you down his nose like he holds your life in his palm. At this distance, you fear he can hear the palpitations of your treacherous heart.

“Um.” You involuntarily wrap your hands around your stomach, trying to calm the jitters. “…How may I help you, jeonha?”

His lips curl in a smirk, but there is no real humor in it. “You must know the only thing a man and woman can do alone at night?”

Surprise is so blatant on your face that it amuses him; the smirk grows wider but remains empty still.

“You— You wish to do that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you or did you not say to come if I had anything I required?”

He remembered. He knew it was you. A part of you thaws, just an inch.

“Still— Must… Must it be tonight?” Of all nights.

“It has to be.”

You swallow, dry. All you know of the act are the medical descriptions and consequences of such copulation as written out in your studied texts. To think of such a thing occurring in real life— to even consider it with the king! It was beyond your wildest thoughts, even when you used to let your childhood fantasies soar. But even more ludicrous than that, for him to consider being with you, a mere uinyeo when all the ministers routinely brought their high-born daughters to court in hopes of tempting him… “W-What of the court ladies, the ones waiting to be made concubine…?”

At your last word, he scowls like a bolt of lightning, gone before you can confirm that it was there at all. “I see.” He shifts, as if already prepared to leave. “I should have gone to them first.”

Your stomach drops.

The prospect of a random woman wrapping herself around him in seduction, holding him closer than he’s ever been to you… You wince. The mere thought of how he might fit against her, leave a part of himself inside her body, strikes envy deep into your mind. Especially when you consider all that could follow such an intimate act.

You know it’s not your place to be so concerned; it never has been, but damn it. Here he is in front of you, and not them. That has to mean something.

“No!” You blurt out, and watch his face darken with satisfaction. That in itself makes you fiercely aware of how much he has changed but still, you say, “no. Don’t… don’t go.”

In a stroke of boldness, you slip the jacket from your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good girl.”

It all happens so quickly.

Grasping your arm, he brings you to him with one strong tug. Invades your space with his heat. You’ve never been this physically close before but you are given no time to savor it. Your eyes search his for a hapless second before he forces his gaze away with a light whip of his hair. For a second, you think like he might kiss you, but that particular touch never comes.

“Bed.” The air around the word makes it sound like he’s rushing as he pulls you both towards the mussed bedspread, but of course it’s not that. It’s almost laughable, the thought that he would want so badly to claim you as his. It’s more likely that he wants any warm body beneath him, and you happened to be the most convenient.

As he pushes you to the floor, as he begins to strip you of your undergarments, your mind struggles to set aside your worries and the rest of the world with it to focus on the feeling of his unobstructed fingers on the skin he reveals with each passing second. For a moment, it works. For a moment, all you know is the heat of his desire as he throws aside most of your coverings, then discards his own as if they were nothing more than cleaning rags. Staring at his bare body for the first time, you take in all the lean muscle that make up his chest, the paleness of his skin that brings to mind the word delicate. It’s at complete odds with the ugliness that’s surrounded him for so long and really, you don’t know what to believe anymore as he rakes his eyes over you too.

You’re shivering. Keenly aware of your nakedness, made even more stark when your king practically fixes you to the floor with his presence alone. He must know this is all new to you, that he’s the only one able to put you in this position even after everything he’s done. But will that afford you the tenderness you so crave? Your pulse thunders in your ears as you await the answer.

“Turn over. On your hands and knees.”

Your breath hitches.

He doesn’t even want to look at your face.

You choke back the emotion that yearns to spill over, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly how he affects you when he doesn’t allow you the same luxury. You’re stronger than this, even though your fears have just been confirmed. That this, his broad hand harshly squeezing your ass, is the only reason he broke through the thick wall of silence between you. That he treats you just like any other woman, not one he’s known all his life.

What does it say about you that you’re still willing to give him everything?

His other hand trails down your back as if lightly scratching an invisible character there. Then, when he reaches for your sokgot, the last bit of cloth left to you, it truly hits you that there will be no going back from this. Not after he physically carves himself into your memory. It makes you unthinkingly tense up; in turn, the hands against you stutter to a pause.

The silence feels thick, smothering. Then—

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

You say it before you can decide whether it’s the truth or merely what you wish would be the truth.

“Hm.”

He leaves you wondering if that was the answer he wanted and resumes, undoing the ties, pulling away the layer that wants to cling to the slight wetness between your thighs. Evidently not one for wasting time, and why would he linger when he just wants an easy release anyway, he runs the tip of his thumb down your slit before pushing eagerly into your heat. The lewd moan that you emit is a noise you’ve never made before, and it makes your face burn with shyness.

You’ve touched yourself like this perhaps three times ever, more out of medical curiosity than anything. You didn’t quite see a point in it when it just left you feeling lonely once the high faded. But under your king’s control, it feels maddeningly new. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s going to do next, like when he suddenly pushes in a second finger and you feel the spike of pain work its way through your limbs before giving way to the next wave of pressure. It’s just almost too much to take, his insistent kneading against your dripping walls.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight. Just for me? Only take my fingers like this?” He feeds you another finger when you nod, huffing a smirk at your whine. The unfamiliar words are as harsh as his hands. You’ve never heard him like this, so rough and cocksure, practically an utter stranger. But a stranger could never bring out such overwhelming emotions in your chest, your poor, confined heart.

Your legs are soon shaking with the strain of holding up your weight when pleasure and pain war so intensely in your body; but you don’t dare collapse in surrender, even though this has always been a losing battle. Not even when he rears back, replacing his cream-slick hand with what you think is the blunt head of his cock. He whets it along your folds and it feels so much thicker, intimidating like the rest of him. But you want it. You realize then just how much you want it, even if this is all you’ll have of him when it’s over.

He leans over you, hot breath whisking across your back, a palm on your hip. “I’m your first.” It sounds like a boast. “No one else.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No one else.”

And he takes his first stroke.

Hisses when he feels you squeeze around him, and you wonder if this is his first time too. Then you have to force yourself to stop thinking about that altogether, afraid that the real answer might hurt more than this: the ache of being spread apart with every brutal, solid inch, filled too quickly by a man who doesn’t seem like he could take things slow even if he wanted to. He keeps shoving forward, biting down every surfacing grunt as his nails dig into your waist and it hurts. It hurts so much but you grit your teeth, refusing to back down because you need him to know that you can take this. Even when your mouth feels drier with every yelp, every moan, you tell yourself it’ll be easier the next time he wants to have his way with you. Right now, that seems better than not feeling him at all.

“This cunt,” he finally growls when he bottoms out, for once sounding so unbridled that goosebumps speed down your weakening arms. But you find yourself liking the sound, craving it even as he pauses to catch his breath.

The first few thrusts are slightly awkward. Just his hips bumping against your ass as he tries to find his footing. It doesn’t take long until he picks up a rhythm. Starts to slam into you, jolting you forward. Soreness starts to grow exponentially with a foreign feeling you think might just be pleasure spreading throughout all of you. You concentrate on that in lieu of your knees forced repeatedly against the hardness of the wooden floor, the bedding too thin to provide any real comfort.

“Jeonha,” you gasp on a particularly deep thrust, and he seems to like that. Strokes faster in response (or perhaps reward). You don’t even register that you’re half-smiling when he does, having learned something about him that is privy to only the two of you.

On top of that, he can’t seem to stop touching you. It goes beyond the way he fucks into you, more into how he can’t stop exploring the expanse of your back with his nails or with his mouth, sucking stinging marks into your body. It’s as if he needs to have as much skin contact with you as he will allow himself, needs to feel your warmth just as much as you crave his. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, but you try again with a hoarse, “jeonha.” He gives it to you harder, rousing, stoking that dangerous tension.

You don’t even notice his mouth beside your ear until— “Mine.”

He claims you, and something inside you melts. Not a particularly powerful feeling but a sea change nonetheless, a weak peak that ripples out, thrums through you both. He allows you to submit to the sensation for a few scarce seconds before he tears himself away, leaving you to pulse around nothing, whimpering from the emptiness. You barely recognize the sound of skin on skin friction but suddenly, heat splatters across your back, white painting itself over your skin as he gives one, elongated exhale and it’s over.

The king backs up, shifts away. Lets any lingering warmth between you dissipate into the ice air of winter, but this time he holds your gaze with a certain firmness, as if trying to pluck out the slivers of truth in your expression. In his eyes, the thin scar ever carved down the right, you find only more depths. Fathomless, endless depths – dark and painful still.

#ficswithluv #bts smut #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #min yoongi #bts angst #historical au #daechwita #rain writes #moonlit throne #... how do you feel about him now?

2K notes · View notes