#they have no memories of their human life

[confusedlamp]

Sitting here with fond memories of pumpkin carving with my parents and my dad taking us trick or treating like ?????? My childhood wasn't perfect by any stretch, but my family is integral to why I love the holiday.

I am convinced most of these "[Benign trait] means you're screwed up" is one person's introspection leading them to believe that their negative experiences/ anxieties/ fears have contributed to having that trait, and then they conclude that everyone with that trait has the same negative expereinces/ anxieties/ fears. In this case, one person maybe doesn't have a great relationship with their family, so doesn't like family oriented holidays like Christmas, but enjoys Halloween, which, especially as a young adult, is oriented more around friends ( plus safe scares and freedom in presentation, which may also appeal to them). But then ignored that maybe their shitty childhood experiences wasn't the whole (or even main) reason they prefer halloween and that plenty of people have a variety of reasons to liking it. (I have also seen this occur on tumblr plenty- don't think tiktok is alone here).

That said, I try and keep in mind: it is their first time being human. It is also my first time being human, as it is anyone's. None of us have another life we've lived to compare to.

How many of us do have traits we thought were the norm and it turned out were unusual? A classic example is someone who's late diagnosed with adhd learning that most people don't have that much of a struggle staying organized or starting simple tasks. Or, for a non "disorder" example, a trans person realizing that most people don't constantly wish to be another gender.

Idk if there is a perfect solution to combatting this other than trying to look at reputable sources (which can be difficult to evaluate for everyone and aren't always accessible), talking to an actual therapist (who are fallible and not an option for everyone), and asking other people you personally know (which does necessitate vulnerability and who may not be representative).

I am calling for a total and complete ban on tiktok pop psychology until we can figure out what the hell is going on

[itgetsbetterproject]

On Trans Day of Remembrance, we honor the memory of those lost to anti-trans violence. We also asked our It Gets Better community what trans youth should remember, right here and right now. Here's what they said:

🏳️‍⚧️ "For my trans daughters and for every other trans person out there, You are perfect, perfectly perfect right now, in this messy moment, in this happy moment, in whatever moment comes next. You are loved by people you haven't even met yet. Do not get caught up in the hurt when there is so much joy to be found, do not let the noise hold you back, you are meant for greatness. For some greatness means waking up and having breakfast, going for a walk, doodling or thinking happy thoughts and that all in itself is great. Please believe me you are not alone." -lisasevajian

🏳️‍⚧️ "70 million people voted to protect your rights. You are valued. You are loved. Do not give up." -thethestralsociety

🏳️‍⚧️ "We have always been here, and we're not going anywhere anytime soon." -beansonofficial

🏳️‍⚧️ "You're seen. You're human. You are loved. You are not alone. Do not give up hope. You deserve all the best things in life and you should get to live them without fear, hate, guilt, harm, or silence." - destiny_d_melton

🏳️‍⚧️ "You are not alone even when it might feel that way. Things are hard and it can be so scary. But know that there are people who truly care who are fighting for you." -heatherand2girls

🏳️‍⚧️ "It gets better. Don’t give up. Gather the people you trust and support each other. You are a gift, you have a gift. Shine your light proudly and brightly. But know that you don’t need to. You are not responsible to change others perceptions or beliefs. You are loved, needed, and necessary." -michaeljohncreative

🏳️‍⚧️ "I love you so much and I will never cast you aside. You are NOT expendable." -fitnessvalkyrie

🏳️‍⚧️ "There is community out there for you always. Don't ever give up, we are here fighting with you." -transaffirmidaho

🏳️‍⚧️ "You only legally have to live with your bio family until you are 18, and then you can go make your own family. Also, high school only lasts 4 years. You can get through it!! It will be okay." -lisathecatdude

🏳️‍⚧️ "Keep going! As trans youth, we need to grow to be elders and to keep sharing our stories and to keep going!" -archer.39

🏳️‍⚧️ "Even in red states, you can find support and allies. We do care. Also, if you’re overwhelmed, it’s okay to focus on the community you feel safe with and take a mental break from advocating." - katseye325

🏳️‍⚧️ "We need you alive! You are our future. I made it to 29. You can be 29. My therapist is almost 60. You can be 60. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are our rights! You are seen, valued, heard, and loved." -Mr. Trans Indiana

🏳️‍⚧️ "Half this country still voted to support your rights! There are some loud voices spreading hate, but there’s so much more love out there. You have so much worth and value just being who you are. We’ll get through this and things will get better." -lady_hades_xiii

🏳️‍⚧️ "It will be worth it. All your struggle, all your pain. You’re going to get through this. It’s gonna be okay." -madd.0xx_

🏳️‍⚧️ "You are already role models to your peers, and to all the trans youth that come after you. You are the generation that will change the world, you already are the change the world needs…and your trans-aunty will always be here to support you, as my trans role models did for me. We are a family; dynamic, diverse, and inclusive: welcome to the family." -mxashleys

Read more and add your own here.

[muletia]

guys,,, let me cook......obsessed!orion

what if optimus’ infatuation with you bypasses his memory loss? he may not remember your name or what you look like, or even that you exist, but he feels that something is wrong—that his spark is so... empty as if it’s searching for something, or someone, to fill it. he feels that someone is missing from his life, that he longs for someone, but he has no idea who. combined with the disorientation and panic caused by suddenly finding himself in an entirely unfamiliar place, it creates a true cocktail of terror.

in this au, the autobots take in optimus with amnesia, not the decepticons. ratchet tries to explain who he is, why he’s there, and what their mission is, but orion can’t bring himself to believe it. what’s more, he keeps looking around the base, closely observing every member of his team, as if he’s searching for someone specific. then he meets fowler and the kids, and he’s instantly fascinated by them. they seem very... familiar to him, as if he’s encountered members of their species before. and when someone mentions that the autobots have another human ally, orion is overjoyed. he desperately wants to meet them, so ratchet calls you.

orion can’t understand why you are so important to him, but you complete his spark. he feels the need to be around you 24/7. while optimus might have restrained himself in his fixation, orion doesn’t. he follows you around like a puppy, refusing to leave your side even for a second. and when you tell him that you’ll have to leave him because you need to go to work? oh god, you’ve never seen such a terrified and panicked being in your life. he’s absolutely desperate to go to work with you or at least drive you there, and explaining to him that it’s not a good idea, that he must remain hidden, and that you can’t spend the whole day in the base is incredibly, incredibly difficult.

i can totally imagine a situation where a lovesick orion is so unbearable at the base that ratchet ends up begging you to take time off work until they find a way to retrieve his memory.

i need to write a longer fic about this...

[toothlespoggers]

U don’t understand. He’s a Nindroid. He has a soul. He has ice powers. He’s TRAUMATISED. He does not value his own life. He is borderline suicidal. He is SOFT. And he loves people too much. But OUgh he’s actually a little fucked up even tho he’s calm and calculated Caus he toucheda forbidden stick and it made voices in his head and then he was like a genocidal murderer for like 60 years and he had no memory of anything and then he was dragged out of that situation and nobody even asked if he was ok and he never questioned that because he’s lived his whole life with the expectation that he’s fine and he’s got everything under control and he doesn’t even know what mental health awareness is because no one ever talked to him about it because no one ever asked if he was okay, not physically but mentally. Because even if people cared no one ever thought he was not okay, and so Zane never thought he was not okay so he’s lived his life for probably a hundred years or so by now, always moving forward and never addressing his problems or traumas or demons, which is DESTROYING HIM, from the inside out. He has absolutely NO SELF WORTH. His entire existence is based around his role as a ninja, he has been trained from when he was a “teenager” that his worth is based around his ability to preform, that the most important thing is to save lives and the world and stuff. Which it is but like he’s never been allowed to do anything else and on the rare occasions he and his friends relax they immediately get scolded and told to keep fighting. He’s never had a sick day. He literally sacrificed himself to save the world. He rebuilt himself, and immediately the next opportunity he gets, he sacrifices himself again, and he tries to do that over and over and over again because that’s his job he states that he is expendable! He says that multiple times. He always volunteers to take the hits because his view on his humanity his person hood is so WARPED, that he believes he has less value than a human. That he is a TOOL. To be used by those around him because people sure, they’ve treated him with kindness on many levels but it’s kind of shallow when they never care enough to prevent him from getting hurt, they use him, he almost dies, they fix him and then put him back into the line of fire. His entire worldview is based on fighting.

The only person. Who has ever asked if he is okay and treated him like a human being. Is a STUPID GOSH I LOVE HIM BUT JES SO DUMB. FROG MAN and Zane is SO NOT USED TO IT that he has to repeatedly inform. This man. That he is in fact. A robot. Because he expects that to change the way people interact with him. He’s a machine, he doesn’t need a break, he’s built to serve a purpose. But frog man, does not listen.

Frog man is kind, frog man is good.

FROHICKY TRIES TO PLEASE ZANE SO MUCH THAT HE GIVES ZANE A FROHICKY PLUSHIE. SO THAT ZANE CAN VENT HIS FRUSTRATIONS AT THE PLUSHIE. SO THAT HE WILL FEEL BETTER. AND ZANE SAYS “I do not experience heightened emotions.” see see this this proves one of my points urghhhguugh FROFFS BARKS GROWLS HE DOES. WE ALL KNOW HE DOES, ANY NINJAGO FAN WITH EYES CAN SEE THAT ZANE EXPERIENCES HEIGHTENED EMOTIONS. HE JUST KEEPS FUCKING LYING TO HIMSELF AND OTHERS BECAUSE HES GOT THIS ROBOT MINDSET EVER SINCE SEASON 3 HES JUST BEEN ENTIRELY CONSUMED BY THE IDEA THAT HE ISNT HUMAN AND SO HE HAS TO BE DEFINED BY THAT IDEA. He has so many inconsistencies all relating to this weird brain he has this weird weird robot brain it’s SO INTERESTING. I WILL BE GATHERING INFORMATION AND I WILL BE MAKING A FULLY RESEARCHED FULLY COHERENT RANT ABOUT ZANE IN THE FUTURE. BUT RIGHT NOW I HAVE OTHER STUFF TODO BUT URGHH THIS CHARACTER MY BRAIN IS TINGLING SO MUCH URGHH

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Fading with the Leaves: 1/2

‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎Ellie Williams x Fem! Reader‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

݁ ˖ ◜WARNING: Sensitive content. Mentions of grief, PTSD, violence, etc.

݁ ˖ ◜Word count: 4k

݁ ˖ ◜Description: After Ellie loses Joel, everything changes. Her touch fades from your body, replaced with a bitter shell of who once loved you. There is no promise that she will ever return, and you have to learn to give up, though that's easier said than done.

You followed her everywhere she went like blood trailing behind a body, and somehow also like a blessing that's inevitable to humanity, a much needed saving.

You would someday save her.

Ellie constantly felt the flatbacks hit. All of the moments she once took for granted with Joel and now all of those memories felt as if they were for nothing; she was once factually content with her life. The loss and the trauma that she had faced before Joel came into her life became nothing but a scab when she moved to Jackson.

From top to bottom, Ellie was a smart girl. She knew how to kill, how to survive, and how to get herself out of dangerous situations in creative ways. She was raised into violence and grew into a complicated adult. One thing they don't tell you about living in a hellish world like hers is that the flustered, awkward feelings that arise from a sweet face aren't something any knife or round of ammo can prevent.

You were always in her vicinity and at first, she felt as if she were crazy. This beautiful, sweet girl wanted to talk to her? She just couldn't believe it. As time went on, you'd naturally grow on her like the prettiest species of vines that she didn't think to ignore, unlike the verdure that sprouted on the abandoned bricks of the old world.

The blush in your cheeks, those soft smiles passed around town like your own personal calling card, and the scent of cheap strawberry lotion following you like a cloud only haunted her mind. She felt all of this before Joe's death happened. Unfortunately, she knew how much she loved you much before that, and it would be like an everlasting fear that even if she pushed you to the other side of the world, the salty taste of your skin would be engraved into her mind and it made her sick to her stomach in a way that made bile sound appetizing.

Two happy years of having you, or so she thought.

You had been dating for two long years, and it wasn't like some perfect relationship anyone could say was flawless. Ellie only found that to make you more lovely to her poor heart. She couldn't comprehend how someone could have flaws and her own body indulge in those like she was ravaged from thirst and needed you in every way, shape, and form. She needed your sensitivity, your lack of common sense in pressuring situations, and your clinginess. And somehow, your response to the behavior only put her obsession into a magnifying glass.

Ellie's constant flashbacks will never just be of Joel, as bad as those are. No, it's a mix of yearning and grief.

She'll remember the way your lips parted late into the night when she'd place her warm fingertip to your bottom lip, pressing down and sliding the flesh against your tongue in a way that made her belly clench with an undeniable need to take every bit of your soul away and keep it for herself. Even now, mentally separated from you in her current state of life, she would never get tired of you. You were far too vast, like an ocean and she could not bear to be handed a life jacket.

Being so in love can be such a beautiful blessing. Before Joel, she often returned home from her hunting trips to your presence and while days were undeniably tough, you were always a soothing balm that coated her soul twice-over.

Being in love can also make you want to tear apart the world brick by brick, branch by branch.

Ellie couldn't afford to love after Joel died. She swore it off. There was no immediate shut-down in which she broke up with you and isolated herself. It was more like a slow withdrawal from the life she once felt even an ounce of comfort from. She stopped eating your home-made meals and opted to a beer to tide her. Slowly, it became the stronger liquids. Nights that used to be spent well-rested curled up against you turned into late-night hunting trips that she came back from and collapsed onto the cold couch, regardless of you waiting for her in bed.

Ellie knew her behavior was unfair, and you deserved the fucking world, if not a loving partner. But she couldn't be that for you. You were just so beautiful and sweet, she hated imagining you in place of Joel or beside him, a grave complete with fast-fading flowers and that name she loved to say engraved into the stone. Imagining you bitten was even worse. She wanted to keep you all to herself, lock you inside the home just to know you'll always live. But when she was paranoid with thoughts of illness. There was no key to unlocking the doors of death as it hit all mortals. There was only acceptance, and that was a feeling unplaced in her life after such wretched, unfair acts had caused her to lose the one person who willingly raised her into a semi-okay human being.

There was no proper apology she could give you for the snappy words. There was no hug that followed, and no softness in her gaze when her feelings would implode onto you, coating your sensitive feelings with her own pain; Ellie began to hate herself, and yet the cycle was never going to end, it seemed.

-

You always loved Ellie with every ounce of heart you had, which was a lot. You weren't the angel she made you out to be. You only wanted to feel loved when you took a chance into giving her your heart.

But by God, you fell face-first into the heap of mess named Ellie.

She haunted you just as you did her; her auburn locks that so messily beautiful, even the inevitable loose strands were like pieces of perfection carved into one singular person. Her face was molded by emotions you always struggled to read and yet fantasized about her informing you of, and her skin was tainted with freckles that ate away at the apples of her cheeks. By any means was she flawless, either. Enough said of the endless list that made you fall for her so strongly.

Living with her was once a treasure you thought was too good to be true, like some conditions came with it. It wasn't until after everything happened that the reality of the harsh world hit you and refused to make Ellie see how much you wanted to be there for her.

Most people would believe comforting someone in a time of loss would be the right thing to do. You felt this natural instinct watching the light fade from Ellie's face the day after Joel's soul left the Earth. You'd never wanted to save her so badly from her own obsession with intense loss, yet she didn't even give you the chance to. Stuck was the love that you wanted to feel her release onto you, like a key voluntarily jammed in a lock. You watched her destructive behaviors and your tears were nightly shed. You wanted to feel her love again, and to be reminded that she still had those obsessive needs entailing your presence, but the reassurance never came. The nights got longer and the bed, cold.

-

The cold winter breeze blew over the Wyoming farm. Grass was mainly dead, frigid flakes of snow beginning to coat the ground. The sheep were all cozy in the barn that you herded them into. These past few months, you had a habit of doing most of the work around the farm and the house. It was a necessary habit, because Ellie wasn't in any condition to do the work; she was either drunk, asleep, silent, or out hunting. However, even the contributions made in the form of game were lacking. Most days, it was small rabbits or squirrels. You could tell she was beating herself up over that too, behind the lack-luster eyes.

Your hands reached over for the pie dough, weaving through threads of the material. Your hands always seemed to twitch slightly these days, but it was usually cold in the house, making for a reasonable explanation. More than anything, you wanted to pretend all was well.

Baking was always something you loved to do when things got tough. Before you even knew Ellie, you'd spend your time frosting cupcakes or shoveling a tray of brownie batter into the oven. Now, you were just reminded of how many times Ellie had come into the kitchen to steal one of your creations and kiss your cheek. You longed for the way it was so easy with her at one point in your lives.

Still, you placed the pie into the oven and waited. You waited with the silence, pacing around restlessly. Ellie was in the bedroom, probably buried under the blankets, but not asleep. You wanted to give her something to come out for.

30 minutes later, the timer went off. No sign of Ellie. You sighed and with mitts, took the apple lie out. It had the scent of cinnamon tainting it, an aroma that used to be Ellie's favorite. Still, you didn't want to give up. You carefully placed the pie onto the counter and slowly headed for the bedroom, opening the door as quietly as possible.

"Ellie?" You called out, making sure to be gentle with your tone. Anything could set her off, and even a frown was something you wanted to avoid.

Ellie muttered out a soft respond, mostly incomprehensible.

You sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "I made your favorite pie. You want a slice?"

"Don't feel like getting up," she mumbled.

You frowned slightly at that, but something in you wanted to still push. Gently push. "You can have a slice in bed, I'll bring you-"

You were cut off.

"Just go, okay? I don't want the damn pie."

Followed by a soft sigh from underneath the blankets, and a bit of shuffling.

"I'm sorry..just go, please. Put the leftovers in the fridge or whatever."

Your heart sank a bit, and you hated getting snapped at. Still, you loved her. Sometimes, you endured some fucked up things for love.

You closed the door behind you.

-

Winter season was one of your least favorites of the seasonal climates. Summer was much nicer, you thought. Beautiful rays of sunshine that painted the grass with greenery. Hours spent in the creek a mile from the farmhouse turned into your eyes flickering down into the icy surface, thoughts muddled with Ellie. You hoped she would break soon.

Today, you woke up and went on with your usual morning routine. You made breakfast, and you made sure to leave leftovers in the fridge for Ellie, even though she had already left for another hunt, without a word, of course. You spent the first quarter of the day doing chores and enduring the cold to take care of the livestock. Once done, you felt restless. You wanted to do something, but you didn't know what. Life felt so boring these days, and you wanted to break away from the routine you and Ellie found yourselves in. So you decided to do something special in hopes she'd appreciate you.

-

When Ellie came home from her hunting trip, she opened the door and was floored.

The kitchen table had centralized candles, warm soft glow emitting and adding light to the rather dim room. It was a heat that used to exist between the two of you and lingered like a smoke filling a car, a car Ellie intended to escape from. There was a new cloth laid out, and on top of it were two glasses of red wine and two plates of spaghetti, truly one of Ellie's favorite meals, or was one of her favorites. However, she lastly noticed you standing beside it all with a nervous but hopeful upturn in your lips.

You looked fucking gorgeous.

Ellie always admired your style, even back in Jackson. It was clear that you sometimes wandered off during patrol in search of some pieces to bring back to your closet. She used to find it extremely endearing, teasing you over some claw clip in your hair or a new skirt you found in an abandoned home's master bedroom.

Now, standing in front of her, your hair was up and loose strands fell like a stream from a waterfall, all chaotic and natural but there was much intent behind it. Your lips were an exaggerated rosy pink, and they were slight parted like two delicate, plush petals. They looked like the petals of a pretty tulip picked straight from a meadow, only being the most perfect flower of all. If she had seen you months ago, she would've had the cosmetic substance coating your lips smudged over your pretty face. Now, she could only brush past it as her eyes flickered down to the satin dress hugging your body in ways she'd only seen when you were naked.

"I'm not doing this with you," She stated, trying to sound monotonous but ultimately failing, "I can't do this tonight."

"Ellie, sit down. Just eat with me, please." You gestured to the chairs, vulnerability still written all over your pretty face and signed on your trembling lips.

"I'm not hungry."

"You know that's not true. You skipped breakfast this morning and probably lunch." You knew you were pushing it, but you were at your limit with the way things were going. You knew she was struggling, that no dinner could heal her, but you still wanted to at least make a start.

That's when she doubled down.

"Because I'm not fucking hungry. I'm going to watch tv now." She walked right past the table and when you reached out to grab her, your grip a bit too clingy. She turned around, and the irritation that used to be subtle boiled over.

It used to be subtle, at least. There were always recent moments in which her agitated moods doubled into more, something that bordered the anger that she contained towards Joel's killers. Now, she can't help it; it leaks out through her voice, the tone that you've now grown to hate. You wonder how much you can stand, but she'll be sure to show you.

Her hands gripped at the kitchen table, pushing it away and sending the glasses of wine to be shattered into glass shards spread all over the tiled floor; a quite accurate representation of what seemed to be happening inside of you at the moment. The plates hit the ground as well, and there was a mess that joined the red liquid staining the floor you mopped hours ago.

Everything was a fucking mess.

You stared at her in silence. Ellie stared back, but not meeting your eyes. She wasn't making a move to leave you alone in the kitchen, though, as if she wanted to see your reaction. She wanted to see if you'd given up on her so she wouldn't have to worry about you leaving her like Joel did.

"Why'd you do that?" You spoke, and you sounded so hurt, so done. It sent a pain through Ellie's chest; she had never witnessed such hopelessness from you.

Always so sweet and carefree, as if you were oblivious to the world around you, to all of the death and violence that followed human kind. Ellie used to need that behavior from you because you would provide her with a beacon of light that she wasn't able to be herself. However, now, that beacon felt ever-blinding. She felt the need to drop the lantern that was your hope onto the floor, even if it shattered her in the process.

Silence followed.

You didn't question her again. You simply grabbed a kitchen towel, knees falling to the floor as you began to rub at the spilled wine. It wasn't like how you had cleaned earlier, not like it was something you focused on to forget Ellie's negligence. Now, it was like you were on the midst of reaching your lowest point in life. Fuck, now that made Ellie feel really, really guilty.

Tears were patching up your vision, making it hard to see. Streams of salty moisture was now visible on your cheeks, hands shaking as you frantically tried to gather up pieces of glass without a thought to what it'd feel like to hurt yourself with a shard brushing up against your skin.

Ellie tried to reason that she should scurry off upstairs to leave you alone without a second thought, but her mouth was speaking before she could process what she was saying.

"I know it's not your fault. It's all mine." She sounded, for the first time, like she cared.

You gazed up at her through tear-clouded eyes. You should've probably kicked her out for the night, told her to go back to Jackson and crash on Jesse's couch. Something deep within you, something foolish and perhaps even blind, stopped you.

"Just..head to bed, okay? Go to bed, and I'll get this all cleaned up." You mumbled quietly, and the lack of hope or effort to appease her didn't go unnoticed by Ellie. She could tell you were about to really be done with her.

This would be the first night she would be sleeping in your shared bed. She probably would've protested, but all the fight contained within her to push you away was released. Ellie only nodded and her footsteps faded as she left the kitchen.

Cleaning vigorously only helped distract you from the racing in your chest just a bit.

You used to believe that Ellie was confidently obsessed with you. Her heart used to seem so yearning for you and her hands, those needy hands would always seek you out. Now, you felt as one-sided as this had started. Nothing could completely wipe away the pain of feeling unwanted, no amount of scrubbing away the wine or sweeping up glass. Nothing could ever be the same, you were starting to believe.

The kitchen floor was shiny now, but you felt like a train-wreck inside. You longed for life to feel easier, even with the struggles you were forced to endure. It's much harder to face those alone, and it's especially hard when the person you're losing is slipping away on their own and not by the grim reaper's grasp. Your hands grasped at the table for support as you lifted yourself up off of the ground after scrubbing away the mess completely, and you slowly entered the bedroom.

Ellie wasn't buried underneath the blankets. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and you could tell she was waiting for you to be done cleaning. You felt uneasy in your stomach, and all you wanted was for her to finally speak. But she was silent until the words that made your face pale left her chapped lips.

"I have to leave."

"...what?" You wanted to put up a fight. You wished you had it in you to scream and yell at her, to beg and plead for her to stay, but she'd completely drained your once rose-tinted cheeks of power. She held a grasp over you and intended to squeeze.

She finally looked at you. "I have to kill them, and then maybe I can come back to you and be who you need me to be."

She was truly demented now, you thought to yourself. Your fingers were twitching, fidgeting with the end of your sleeve. She had the audacity to speak again.

"I can get revenge and maybe then, I can-"

"Just go. I'm done pretending like I want this. I feel like I'm living with a damn ghost, Ellie." You couldn't take it anymore: the one-sided fights, the one-sided feelings, the constant distance and sleepless nights. At this point, you weren't sure if you wanted her to return. She looked surprised that you had agreed so easily, though, and it left her feeling even worse because Ellie could tell that you just simply gave up.

"Alright, then. I promise I'll be back. I promise I still love you. I'm so sorry." She stood up slowly and her hands cupped your face. You made no move to lean into her touch or to push her away, only silently appreciate her warmth, even though your mind was telling you she probably wouldn't be coming back.

She leaned in, her warm breath on your cheek, and pressed two plush lips to it. You let out a breath of your own and closed your eyes. Footsteps rang in your head louder than her boots realistically were.

When your eyes opened, she was gone.

_

Spring followed suit of the bitter winter.

The trees that were once devoid of life sprouted new potential, and the creek stream flowed ever-the-same. Little white flowers with their pure petals sprouted in your yard, and the sheep seemed to be more content with the grassy utopia grown throughout the yard now that the cold was behind it.

Overall, the atmosphere was lighter and swept clean of a hopeless, frigid ache. It had been approximately four months since Ellie left.

The first and second month was the hardest. You wondered how someone could just leave the person they claim to love the hardest in their life. You thought that the pain would be never-ending, but you were always changing, just like the seasons. Just not in chronological order, only through cycles that couldn't end.

Even after four months, sometimes you thought of her. You wondered if she was gone from the Earth, her body left to be feasted upon by infected or if she was on some dirty floor with a bullet in her head. You wouldn't be surprised; the girl had too much bravado, and she'd be sure to get herself killed that way. She couldn't suck it up, even to the one behind the gun. Still, the ache in your chest was lightening.

You felt guilty to think that you were moving on. She could actually come back, and she'd be needing you more than anything. She could walk through that wooden door at any minute and grovel over the months she hurt you.

You were starting to wonder if you could bear to take her back. The chores were easier than ever, though, now that you didn't feel the tense grief looming in the air. The house was empty, and you were completely alone, and somehow not as lonely as you could imagine.

However, late at night, you would dwell on what Ellie would do if she were here, and if the grief she carried would've been passed like it should've been. You could somehow feel the way her breath would tickle your neck and she'd trace her chapped but soft lips over your skin like she was tending to more than just some girl. Like you were her goddess, and that was how things once were. You could still smell her everywhere in your bed, the scent of sweat mixed in with Earth. It always lingered and the memories of her ghost touches seemed to hit you like a flash bang.

Those nights grew less and less frequent, however.

_

Summer nights were spent in the old house you inhabited in Jackson.

The farmhouse was much too spacious for one person, so after much consideration, you returned to the settlement.

You were welcomed with warm, open arms. You desperately missed your friend, Dina, and how she matched your spirits. You spent the summer going to parties and bonfires, staying over at Dina's house and smoking the occasional weed. Your once quiet lifestyle turned into what it once was, maybe even better. Nights became filled with the sound of your crackled laughter, and Dina sporting up some joke that Jesse would roll his eyes at watching you topple over, clutching at your stomach as if it were the peak of comedy.

Your house felt warm and filled with new emotions; it was like the once pale, neutral undertones were painted over with a layer of bright, fresh paint. Still, the cracks in the walls of your soul would remain at times.

Always did the freckled face, the auburn tufts of hair, and the wide eyes follow you, though. After a while, it all seemed to fade away, like a bath bomb in water. You pulled the drain out and you believed that you closed the chapter on Ellie's presence in your life.

It was then, on a late July day, that she returned.

[helenanell]

Shattering Still || Joel Miller

'I had been so ready to die, but Joel Miller stopped me.'

Joel Miller x OFC - (Although can be reader as there's no name or physical description, just an age: 40)

WC: 11K

Warnings: ANGST! Smut MDNI. Interrupted suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, grief, loss of a child. (I'm so serious this is SAD) Joel is angry but well-meaning. Not quite enemies to lovers, but they have no idea what to make of each other.

AN: I never thought I'd write for Joel, but I've been obsessed with and inspired by @almostfoxglove - specifically 'Lock the Gate' which is amazing!

Read on AO3

:✮:·

Blood bloomed upon the snow.

One after the other, crimson drops fell to the ground. And fell and fell. The gash on my forehead had scabbed over the day before, but the tumble I'd taken down that slope an hour or so ago had ripped it right off. I could have stopped, wiped the blood from the side of my face and fashioned some kind of bandage. But there’d be no point.

My path stopped here.

The small clearing in the woods I’d stumbled into was beautiful in its barrenness. As good a place as any, I supposed. 

My bruised and battered body screamed when I pressed my back against the nearest tree and dropped inelegantly to the earth. The snow cushioned the impact, but it began to seep into my jeans; dozens of frost-tipped pins pricking at my skin.

I sat there for a moment, transfixed by the indifferent incandescence of winter: so lethal yet so enrapturing. The snow that covered everything from the ground to the tree branches was a smothering weight and yet it glinted in the sun like diamond dust. 

Blood from my head wound rolled down and got caught in my eyelashes. I blinked to get rid of it, but it only served to bathe that eye with a tinge of crimson. With an irritated huff I pulled off my glove and used it to wipe at my face. It was messy and sure to be smearing it about my skin, but in minutes that wouldn’t matter. I pulled the glove away and looked at it: stained red, some of it transferred onto my palm, but my eyes snagged on the dried, darkened blood beneath my fingernails that wasn’t mine.

It’s easy to tell yourself that killing in the interest of self-preservation is permissible. Or, at least, that it should not burden you: the snuffing out of a life. I’d always liked the idea of that: snuffing out. To extinguish a flame. It felt fitting when applied to people, seeing as we're all just stardust; detritus from a dead thing that burned in the sky. 

We wink out just like stars. What human beings had used to navigate upon land and sea for millenia, were just dead things. We found our way thanks to bodies burning in the darkness.

I’d left behind enough bodies to form whole new constellations. There wasn’t one of them that I regretted.

I’d had someone to protect. Someone worth saving. And I had. Over and over again I had saved that little boy. But none of that had accumulated into some lasting cosmic protection, or formed armour over his skin. None of it had stopped him from dying. 

I’d saved him, until I hadn’t. Until I’d watched him die. Let him die.

He’d always been small for his age, but his hands had felt smaller still in my own bloodstained ones, his unblemished skin swallowed up by the crimson smeared on me.

My nephew had been born into grief. He’d been placed, red-faced and squalling, into my arms instead of my sister’s. In the moment, I hadn’t been able to look at him, a led-weight in my arms, screaming for breath as my sister drifted away. 

Too much blood. 

I’d known it, but I'd still stood there, my sister’s baby in my arms as I screamed at someone- everyone to save her. I’d screamed at the fucking world.

Someone must have taken him from my arms then. I don’t remember it happening, only that my memories then skip like a scratched record to me kneeling at my sister’s side and squeezing her hand. She’d been so exhausted that her head hadn't so much as turned to me, rather it had lolled to the side. Her gaze had been distant and untethered as though she couldn’t see exactly where I was, only knew I was there because of her hand in mine. 

“You have to protect him.” She’d begged, her voice hoarse, tears trailing down her face. “He’s yours- your family. Promise me.” 

I’m no longer sure if I said it back before her eyes drifted closed. I used to be ardent in the belief that I had, but over the years I started to think maybe her eyes had already been shut when I’d finally said it. Maybe I’d still been kneeling by her side, her hand cooling on my own and the sun set behind me when I let out a sob and said: ‘I promise.’ 

I had named him. Sophie had told me that she wouldn't feel right to give him one without having met him first. She'd wanted it to suit him. So, I'd looked at him and done my best. Fred, after our grandfather, because I hoped he’d be just as kind as him. I hoped that I was capable of raising him to be kind.

I’d raised him to die. 

 Perhaps it was my punishment to outlive them. To live long enough that I started to forget. Already my sister’s face had started to blur, the tides of time wearing down her features. Like waves against a rock face.

Everything is always crumbling to pieces. Life is a perpetually disintegrating thing. 

It was time for me to disintegrate, to let death wash over me like a wave over a sand castle. When it receded, the thousands of pieces of me would be dragged back into the deep, with no evidence left on the shore that I had existed at all. 

I could have just laid down in the snow and shut my eyes, let the cold subsume me, purify me in a wash of white. Drift off in a snow drift. It even sounded nice. 

Just like falling asleep. Isn’t that how hypothermia was meant to end. Peacefully?

As tempting as it was, I knew that I couldn't do that. I didn’t deserve an end so… quiet . Not when all those I'd loved had died in such pain and so afraid. The people I had known who were the least deserving of suffering. 

The least I could do for them was pull the trigger on myself. 

With my body now quaking with the cold, assailed by the dampness soaked into my clothes, I pulled the gun out of the waistband of my jeans. I let out a breath, watched it appear and then disappear in the air before me. Like human lives: blink and you’ll miss them.

I pressed the barrel to my temple, the metal so cold it was a biting kiss. 

I shut my eyes. My finger fell upon the trigger. 

Snap! A branch broke close by.

It’s funny how even when humans are ready to die, our bodies can still react to imminent danger. Fight. Flight. Freeze. I’d always favoured the first. 

My eyes flew open, the gun fell from my temple as I swung it out and pointed it at the figure that had emerged through the trees. No- figures . There were two of them.

Two men moved towards me, similar in aspect but with markedly different expressions. 

The one that stepped through the trees first, dressed in a thick tan coat had his gloved hands closed around a rifle that was pointed right at me. He had dark, distrusting eyes that were narrowed into a scowl. His hair was snow-dusted and shot-through with grey.

“Put it down.” He snapped, voice forceful but calm. Texan, if I had to guess. He nodded at the gun in my hand as if I couldn’t have put two and two together. 

I didn’t obey him, at least not right away. I watched him watching me and thought about letting him put a bullet between my eyes.

It could be my coward’s way out. If I kept the gun in my hand for even a few seconds more, he would fire his. I could see the promise of it in his eyes. He could finish the job for me. But Sophie and Fred deserved more. I couldn’t be a coward for their sake. I had to be the one to end myself, not a stranger. 

I uncurled my rapidly freezing fingers and dropped the gun. The impact sent up a small dusting of snow.

The man grunted disapprovingly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Throw it out of reach.”

“I’d rather not.” My voice was hoarse from dehydration and my throat was still shredded from all of the screaming I'd done when Fred…

I was going to need the gun once the two men had left and I really didn’t want to have to get up again. I wasn’t really sure I could. 

The man was having none of it. His face tightened with anger.

“Wasn’t a request.” He snarled. “Now do it.”

I couldn't help the scoff that bubbled up. He had just come across me about to shoot myself, the precaution felt unnecessary. Then again, being distrusting had probably allowed him to live long enough to get the grey in his hair.

At last, the other man stepped forward. He was younger, his hair still mostly dark, but there was a kinship in their features. His deep brown eyes looked me over, not unkindly, before settling on his companion.

“Joel.” He said pointedly. I didn’t need to know him to discern what he left unsaid. 

It’s not us that she’s a danger to.  

Then, his eyes slid over to the object clasped in the other hand. Pressed against my chest was Fred’s teddy bear, it’s fur matted with blood. I’d been carrying it for my entire journey and ice crystals had formed upon it. The teddy was the only thing I’d brought with me besides the gun: I had no need for anything else l where I was going. 

Joel’s gaze followed the other man’s and for a moment, he went utterly still. Only for a moment though, because it wasn’t long before his eyes snapped back to my own and he repeated his order:

“Throw the gun out of reach.”

With an exhausted sigh I did as I was told. The moment the thump of the gun landed, the other man moved forward and pushed down the barrel of Joel’s gun so it pointed at the ground.

“Sorry about my brother.” He said, shooting the brooding man a reproachful look before looking to me. His smile was tentative. “I’m Tommy and this is Joel.

I nodded stiffly, not in the mood for greetings. I just wanted them gone. And yet, when I spoke it wasn’t to tell them to fuck off and let me die.

“You’re from Jackson.” I said. 

It wasn’t a hard leap, we couldn’t be more than an hour outside of it.

“That a question?” Joel spat. 

I didn’t acknowledge the walking stormcloud and instead kept my attention on his brother. It wasn’t that I was deluded enough to think he was in any way kinder, the way he stood told me enough: just as willing to shoot me if I looked at them the wrong way. 

“Yes, we are.” Tommy confirmed. His brother’s head whipped around, but he was unbothered by the glare he received. 

“We were heading there.” I uttered mournfully. 

We . I must have been more delirious than I realised. 

Thankfully, neither of the men pressed me on my blunder. I suppose the way they had found me and the blood-stained bear in my hand made the absence at my side clear enough. 

“We’re on our way back.” Tommy said. “You could come with us.”

“Tommy!” Joel closed the gap between himself and his brother, grabbing his arm and jostling him.  

Honestly, I was also a little startled. It took the exchange of a couple of sentences for him to extend such an offer? 

Tommy shrugged off Joel’s grip. “That’s not your decision to make big brother.” 

“Tommy, look at her! With all the shit she’s covered in, she could be bit and we wouldn’t see it. You want to drag an infected into Jackson?”

“Not infected.” I sniped back, not really knowing why I bothered. 

Something about his contempt stoked the dying fire within me. There was no need to be a bastard about the woman you’d just stopped from blowing her brains out. 

Joel’s eyes returned to me, sharpened with a new edge. “If you’re not bit, then why were you–”

His speech stopped abruptly, his mouth clamped shut before the rest of his sentence could tumble out. I could make an educated guess at what it would have been: Why were you about to kill yourself?’ 

“That’s hardly the only reason for it.” I grumbled, answering his incomplete query. “Now, seeing as you made me get rid of it, I'd appreciate it if you could pass me my gun before you go.”

Whatever wary confusion had possessed Joel to even start to enquire about my motives disappeared and his scowl returned. 

“Get it yourself.”  He barked. His hand shot out and he grabbed his brother’s arm again, tugging him back. “Tommy, time to go.” 

With that Joel turned away, already marching through the trees. I entertained the thought that if he found anything in his path, instead of going around he’d just walk straight through it. He seemed the type: stubborn to a fault. Stubborn to the point of pain.

Tommy, as if repelled from his brother like a magnet, moved in the opposite direction and right towards me. His heavy boots crunched on the snow. As he came to a stop, he slung his rifle over his shoulder.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly trying to find the right words. “Look- whatever you were about to do…I know that ‘aint any of my business.”

“Tommy!” Wherever Joel was, his brother’s body blocked my view, but I could feel the glare passing through his brother and into me like a laser beam.

Tommy ignored him and moved closer, then dropped to a knee in front of me.

“Our lives are all we’ve got a right to anymore, so yours is to do with what you will. But, that’s not a decision to be made lightly and you look like you’ve been through it. How about you come back with us, stay for the night, have a hot meal at least?”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. He had no reason to offer me this, to try and coax me to Jackson at all. At least, no good reason. No one made altruistic offers, not anymore. 

Then again, I could guess that this man had taken his fair share of lives. Maybe he’d changed, or was changing and thought that stopping a stranger from dying would do a little to balance his scales. 

I could understand that urge. I’d thought Fred could redeem me. Make me nurturing when I’d never had the inclination. Kids will do that to you. Make you want to be better than you had ever considered possible. 

I’d tried my best. I really had. But I’d never escaped the feeling of being a poor substitute for my sister; my care and compassion so pitiful compared to what she could give. I’d never had a deep well in that regard. 

 I suppose I wouldn’t have known until Fred was older if he’d truly felt loved by me. Sure, he’d told me he did, but he was a little boy and I was all he had.

It had been a selfish, self-indulgent fear of mine that he’d grow up, meet other people, perhaps see other families and realise how poorly I measured up; that he’d been deprived by me. How desperately I wanted to return to those anxieties that had felt so crippling at the time. Fear meant he was alive. 

Now there was just…nothing. I served no purpose. There was no point to anything at all.

But I also had no fight left to give and I had a feeling that despite what he said, Tommy wasn’t going to let me refuse him so easily. I also doubted that he’d retrieve my gun for me: passing me the weapon that I would use to end it all might feel too much like culpability for a man who seemed to have a conscience. 

So, I gave in. I granted a stay of my own execution and nodded. 

Tommy smiled warmly as he stood up. “Come on, we got our horses tied up nearby. You can ride with me.” He leant down and offered me a hand, easily hauling me to my feet. 

Weak and exhausted, I staggered to the side, but Tommy’s hold stopped me from falling. The wind blew, drying the blood that had slowed to a trickle on the side of my face.

“Woah, easy.” He said, looping one hand through my arm to anchor me to him. “You good?”

“Fine.” My breathlessness betrayed me. 

“We gotta worry about anyone coming after you? Your blood’ll be like a trail of breadcrumbs in the snow.” Tommy guided me to turn around and we walked towards the treeline. Joel was waiting there, his gun still gripped tightly as he watched his brother and I advance.

“No one’s following me.” I assured him, fighting against the images that flashed behind my eyes. Bullets fired in my mind and then ricocheted off the inside of my skull.

“You sound very sure.” Joel said flatly as Tommy led me past him, he fell into step behind us. It was like having a dog snapping at my heels.

I bristled at the hostility in his voice, it was a challenge that I usually would never have been able to resist but there was no point in fighting him. 

“They’re dead.” I answered bluntly. 

I’d killed every last one of them. 

Their blood had mingled with Freddie’s on my hands. It had felt like a desecration but it hadn’t stopped me. 

Both brother’s made no further comment. When Tommy told his brother to fetch my gun, I was surprised that he complied without verbalising any objection. Although he didn’t give it back to me, just tucked it into the back of his jeans.

We remained silent after that, right up until we reached their horses. I joined Tommy on his, his, his brother striking out in front and brooding on his own mount. 

When the wall’s of Jackson came into view I failed to fight back tears. I’d been so close to getting Fred to safety. 

So close. 

:✮:·

Once I had the two jagged edges of the gash on my forehead pressed together between my fingers, I gritted my teeth and pushed the needle through. The skin was already livid and raw, but a fresh drop of blood beaded there thanks to the pressure I was exerting. As I made the first stitch, I caught the sympathetic wince of the woman behind me in the mirror’s reflection. 

“Not good with needles?” I asked, already back to sealing myself shut. It was another pointless endeavour, like glueing a shattered teacup back together while knowing that I was only going to drop it again, but acquiescing to it had seemed to appease Tommy. He’d also assured me that his wife wouldn’t hear of it being left unattended.

That had proved true enough when Maria had arrived at Jackson’s infirmary. Tommy had sent someone to pass along word of the stray he’d brought home.

 Maria had looked me over with guarded concern, assuring me that I was welcome, while making it very clear that stepping out of line would be met with swift consequences. I admired her sternness: it was so clearly rooted in the desire to preserve the remarkable place that had been built.

I wasn’t entirely convinced that I hadn’t passed out in the snow back and was just imagining all of it. 

Jackson felt like a dream that only my dying mind would have the luxury of conjuring up. I’d walked through the streets with Tommy and seen…normalcy. A sort of mundanity that had become a fanciful thing in my mind. 

“Not good at watching someone stitch themself up, I guess.” Maria answered. She shifted so that she was leaning back against the wall, one hand cradling her belly. She couldn't have been far off her due date. 

“I’ve never had anyone to do it for me.” I admitted, piercing my skin again. 

I’d had to fight them to be able to tend to myself. Maria had insisted they had someone who knew what they were doing, but I couldn’t stand the idea of it: a stranger leaning over me, breathing on me for an extended period of time. Too close. Too prolonged. Just the thought made my gut twist. 

It was best that I did it myself. 

“It’s hard to accept help, at first. But you’ll adjust.” Maria’s tone was soft yet knowing. 

I focused intently on the movements of the needle, forcing down a scoff at her words.

“Trusting people to have good intentions is asking for trouble.” 

Maria nodded. “Out there, sure. But there are good people here. Families just trying to make it through.” 

My grief was as volatile and shifting as the sea and I found myself biting back a nasty retort about it being pretty damn easy for the people here to make it through, safe behind high walls with their children, while somewhere else another mother lost hers. 

The people of Jackson weren’t surviving, they were living . That was a luxury. And while it was a beautiful thing, practically incomprehensible given the state of the world, it shone too brightly for me to stand. I found it blinding. I wanted to throw dirt on it, smear it with filth to cover the shine. 

When you’ve lived so long by crawling through the dirt, the sight of cleanliness is disconcerting. Almost uncanny.

As I came to the last stitch, my open wound now a raised edge, puckered and tied together with thread, I let myself meet Maria’s eye through the mirror. 

“Look, I do appreciate the welcome, but there’s no need to go to any trouble.”

Maria waved my words away. “We’ve got enough empty houses to go around.”

Houses. 

Not a room in an abandoned building where i’d have to barricade the door, or a tent that never felt remotely safe enough to get any sleep in. Or out in the open, beneath the stars. 

Wherever Fred and I had found ourselves, I had never slept. I always ended up just watching him, his little chest rising and falling beneath his sleeping bag. 

Oblivious to my wandering mind, Maria continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we do have a process. The council–democratically elected–would want to talk to you if you decided to stay with us. You got any skills?”

“Define skills.” I said, as I tied off the thread and reached for the scissors that gleamed in the metal tray by my hand. 

“Hunting. Shooting. Would be nice to have another person with a green thumb.” 

put down the scissors and turned to face Maria. I leant back against the table, crossing my arms over my chest. It had long been my instinct to take a defensive stance. 

“I can hunt.” I told her. “I can make traps and snares and I’m good with a gun.” I didn’t know why I was entertaining Maria’s inquiries, but acting as if I was someone intent on surviving seemed like it would lead to less resistance. 

The last thing I wanted to do was solicit questions about what had happened to me. To Fred. Questions about why her husband and brother-in-law had found me alone in the woods, clutching a bloody teddy bear and readying to shoot myself. Tommy must have told her. 

Before he had excused himself, husband and wife had ducked out into the hallway to talk and while Maria hadn’t treated me like a broken thing once she’d returned, there was something in her eyes that amounted to understanding.  

“How good with a gun?” Maria asked, appraising me inquisitively.

“Very good.” I admitted matter-of-factly. “Our dad was a marine. Taught us to shoot long before the world went to shit.”

“Us?” Maria pressed tentatively.

Shit. 

A decade after my sister died and I still thought in terms of ‘us’ and ‘we’. Ours.  

“My sister.” I offered, hoping my bluntness would crush the topic of conversation before it could grow. Thankfully, it did.

We fell into a brief silence that bordered on comfort before Maria pushed off the wall.

 I tensed instinctively at the movement, my hand itching to reach for the gun that Joel hadn’t returned. I’d need to ask Tommy about that. 

Maria woman clearly noted my reaction, but carried on as normal.

“So…” She began with a smile. “Have I convinced you to stay? For the night, at least?”

“That’s what your silence was: you convincing me?”

“With some people, words hurt more than they hinder.” Maria said simply. “It has to be up to you. So?”

“Okay.” I said slowly. “One night.”

Maria had started moving towards the door before I'd finished my sentence. “Great! Let’s get you home. I’ll find you some clean clothes too.”

As Maria walked out, beckoning me to follow, I released a long sigh. I didn’t like the sound of that: your home. It had the distinct whiff of someone who wasn’t done trying to convince me, in silence or otherwise. 

If only the Miller brother’s had arrived in the clearing just ten seconds later. I’d already be far from there, far from myself and all that I had done. And all that I had failed to do.

:✮:·

Something about the house I was given broke through my numbness to inject a dose of sadness. It was small. Just one floor. But it held vestiges of the life that had been lived so long ago.

 Lines were etched into the wooden door frame that led into the kitchen, marking the growth of ‘Katie’ . She’d reached the height of my belly button before any chance of a normal future had been snatched away from her. Maybe she was alive somewhere, now an adult taller than me, but hope was just self-deception. It made reality more bearable.

Then there were the cupboards that were full of mug’s, many of them chipped. One had ‘ World’s Best Mom!’ stamped across it. 

Everything was covered in dust that had gathered since the last occupants had fled, only to be kicked up by my footsteps. It felt a bit like disturbing a tomb. Except there were no bodies, just an absence. But that’s what death was: an absence in the existence of those left behind.

Maria had showed me to the house and then promptly left me to my solitude. 

I attempted to settle down in the bed, curling up with the patchwork blanket I'd been given, but the softness of it was unpleasant.

 I’d gone too long moving from place to place with Fred and when there had been a bed–and there was usually only one–I had let him take it and slept on the floor, or in a chair. Sometimes, I sat with my back against the door all night. 

Then there had been all of the camping we had done. It had felt strange calling it that, as if it had been a recreational activity rather than a necessity, but framing it that way had made it seem more like an adventure for my nephew.

All of which was to say, I lasted a pitiful amount of time in the bed before I was gathering up the blanket and the pillow and traipsing into the living room at the front of the house and settling down on the floorboards between the couch and the coffee table. 

There were bay windows that looked out onto the street, but there were no curtains or blinds to close for any semblance of privacy. No matter, it meant I could see the stars. 

I laid down, bathed in a moonbeam that streamed inside, but made no attempt to shut my eyes. I just stayed there and stared up at the damp stain on the ceiling. Once clouds crossed the moon and the room darkened, the stain became a pool of blood in my eyes, spreading and spreading and spreading.

:✮:·

Tommy had returned my gun to me on the morning of my first day in Jackson. And yet, three sunrises later, I was still alive and kicking. Well, not kicking, but I was breathing.

I hadn’t had a change of heart where the wastefulness of my life was concerned, I just…hadn’t ended it yet. I was just so fucking tired. Part of me had died back in that clearing I think, even though Joel and Tommy had stopped me pulling the trigger.

There were so many more kids in Jackson than I’d thought there’d be. I don’t know why it surprised me, but seeing all the chubby cheeks and gapped tooth smiles was salt in a gaping wound.

 I couldn’t help but imagine Fred and his head of blonde curls amongst the little flock. I’d called him duckling for a long time, because when ruffled, his hair had looked like the fluffy down of a little bird.

He’d have been so happy in Jackson. Nervous, at first, because he had never grown up with kids his own age, but he’d have shaken the worry off in no time, buoyed by the prospect of friends.

We’d been so fucking close. So close to a type of happiness I’d thought died with the old world. Part of me hadn’t even believed that a place like Jackson could exist. A community where actual kindness could be found, polished to a shine; a point of pride instead of something people let gather dust in a dark corner of their mind. 

It had been a dream. A wish that I'd made for the both of us, one that I’d repeated with every step that we had taken forward. 

But it did it exist. 

Just being there hurt . 

And if there was one thing that was intrinsic to humans no matter what state civilization was in, it was that we’d hurt and be hurt. And pain led us to seeking out ways to numb it. It’s how we’d ended up with alcohol. 

The Tipsy Bison was almost too close to the bar’s I had spent my early twenties in. All dark wood and dark walls, sticky booths and shitty lighting. 

The back wall behind the bar was an explosion of discordant memorabilia, all fighting to catch your eye first: a shooting trophy, a tiny American flag, a clock with what looked like a submarine on it, a little anchor. Everywhere you looked something new. 

With a heady buzz building behind my eyes, I looked up at the mirrors behind the bar, partially obscured by the empty bottles that cluttered up the shelf beneath it. There were fairy lights strung up on the ceiling and in the reflection, my blurred vision made them bleed into one pulsing, glowing mass. 

I groaned and dropped my forehead down onto the bar, enjoying how cool the varnished wood felt. My stitched head wound stung at the impact, but I found a perverse thrill in it.

 I thought if I stayed utterly still and tried my best to block out the noises of the other patrons, the headache might begin to abate. Then I would move, stumble back to the house I'd been given. 

I thought my plan might just work, until someone gracelessly dragged out the empty stool beside me. It scraped against the floorboards and I felt the vibrations in my brain. I groaned as I sluggishly lifted my head to find the culprit. 

The scar at Joel’s temple was the first thing my eyes fell upon. It was almost illuminated in the bar’s inconsistent lighting. His posture was rigid, making him seem somehow even more solid, like he weighed himself down to the extent that movement was a chore. A hulking immovable object. 

“Quit it.” Joel groused. He didn’t so much as glance at me out of the corner of his eye, his attention reserved for the barman who’d already poured him a whisky.

I sat up a little straighter, narrowing my eyes at him. “What?”

“Quit fuckin’ staring.” He snapped in answer, still not deigning to meet my eye.

“Wasn’t staring.” I spat back. 

“What would you call it, then?”

“Observing.”

Oh, and Joel really didn’t like that: the notion that I had been watching him actively. As if taking him in visually, learning even a little about him from it, was a kind of theft, a terrible, offensive transgression. He gripped his glass tighter, making the tips of his fingers turn white. He angled his head in my direction, not quite looking at me, but close enough.

“Nothing to observe.” He muttered resentfully.

It had been over a decade since I'd let myself get so drunk and it brought out an instinct to antagonise that I’d forgotten I possessed. I smiled nastily and leant a little closer to him. 

“Are you under the impression that you’re invisible?”

“No.” He shot back. “Sure would be nice though.”

“Oh?”

“This conversation wouldn’t be happening.”

“You started it.”

Joel slammed his glass down into the bartop, some of the dark liquid spilled over onto his hand. “What are you, fuckin’ five years old?”

I didn’t answer. My heavy head became too much to bear so I dropped it back down into my folded arms. The energy the alcohol had given me was already spent.

As I expected, the silence suited Joel just fine and minutes passed without another peep. I started to entertain the thought that he’d never try to engage with me ever again but then…

“Do you not need to eat?”

I looked to look at him but didn’t lift my head up off my arms. “Feeling talkative now?” 

Joel had gone back to looking at anywhere but me. He grunted in displeasure at my mockery but carried on. “Been five days, haven’t seen you in the mess hall once.” 

Instead of answering him, I forced myself to sit up and called out to the bartender, pointing at my empty glass. But, when he approached, Joel’s hand reached out, enfolded the top of my glass and dragged it out of the man’s reach. And his generous pour. 

“About time this one was cut off, Seth.”

I scowled and clumsily reached forward to snatch back the glass, but Joel just swept it up and away from me. 

“You were happy to leave me to shoot myself in the woods, but you’ll stop me from drinking?” I seethed. I thought I had whispered, but the few heads that turned in our direction told me otherwise. 

Joel tensed so severely I thought the glass might shatter in his grip. But after a second or two, he set down the empty vessel and retrieved his own drink and lifted it to his lips. He kept set his eyes forward and took an obnoxiously loud sip.

“Fine. Fucking asshole.” I mumbled as I slid off and snatched my coat off the back of the stool.

“What was that?” Joel asked sharply. 

Emboldened by the alcohol and infuriated by him, I sidled right up beside him and leant onto the bar. My other hand fell on his arm and he actually flinched . 

“I said, you’re a fucking asshole.” Before Joel could muster up much of a reaction, I pushed off the bar and sent a consternated Seth a weak smile. “Night.” 

I lurched out into the street and had to steady myself against the wall, sucking in icy breaths that scratched their way down my throat like glass shards. Painful, but it helped me come back to myself enough to put one foot in front of the other and head for my house. 

Shit. 

My house. 

It should have been ours: Mine and Fred’s. Our home.

 Never just mine.

:✮:·

It turned out that getting blind drunk didn’t just impair your vision, but also created such a fog in your mind that you forgot a lot of things. In my case, what I failed to remember as I staggered up the cracked stone path towards the house, was Maria’s warning that the wooden steps of the porch had rotted. 

I was not exactly light of step at the best of times, but in my inebriated state, my footfalls may well have been able to crack concrete. So, when I stomped up onto the porch, my right foot went clean through the top step. 

My stomach dropped and bile rose as I lurched forward. I was just barely able to catch myself and avoid breaking my nose against the wooden planks. My palms were abraded against the unforgiving surface, my skin riddled with splinters in an instant. I could feel something digging into my ankle and suspected that if I wasn’t so numbed by the alcohol, that I’d be experiencing at least a little pain.

“Fuck.” I grunted as I dragged myself up, pulling my ankle free of the hole. Once most of my body was on stable ground, I flopped down onto my back. 

I shut my eyes and willed the world to stop spinning. The wind blew, drawing my attention to the exposed skin between my pant leg and my boot, upon which I could feel the trickle of blood. 

Out in the open air with the stars glittering above, although obscured from my sight, I found myself beginning to feel oddly soothed. It was more of a familiar sleeping arrangement than the bed in the house that I’d rejected. 

Which was probably why my eyes drifted shut. 

:✮:·

A sharp kick against my leg woke me up. 

My eyes fluttered open, only to find a dark mass standing over me. After a few more blinks, the nebulous shape began to shift into something more recognisable. Wide chest and broad shoulders, atop which sat a distinctly displeased face. 

I couldn’t actually see his expression all that well, but it wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make once I realised that it was Joel. 

Now sleep-addled as well as drunk, I was unwilling to be the first to break the silence. He must have realised this, because he spoke first. It sounded like he was under significant duress:

“Your steps have rotted.”  

“Thanks for the heads up.” I slurred. 

Joel gave no answer, but dropped down onto a knee beside my prone body, emitting a small grunt when the bone cracked. 

“Feeling your age?” I asked, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Shut up.” 

I was, quite frankly, far too drunk, exhausted and frozen stiff to find to rouse myself to tell Joel to fuck off. The frigid night air had frozen my reservoir of rage. For now. 

Despite that, when I felt cold fingers push up the bottom of my pant leg to expose my sticky blood to the night air, I kicked out at his hand. When the sole of my heavy boot made contact with Joel’s hand, he pulled it back with a hiss. “Go away.” I ground out, focusing on the way the now exposed scratches on my ankle stung. 

Boots scuffed against wood as Joel rose to his feet, face contorted with displeasure. Before I could let out the sigh of relief at his anticipated departure, he kicked the side of my leg again.

“Can’t stay out here. Get up.”

“I’ll get up when you're gone.”

“No. You’ll pass out and freeze to death.”

“Just fucking let me, then! I’m nothing to you.” I hurled back at him, wincing at the resultant pain in my head. 

Daughter, sister, aunt. Through every stage of my life, I had understood myself and my purpose through those titles. But now…I wasn’t anything to anyone. Just nothing .

The silence was drawn out just long enough, I thought he might have left and I was just so delirious I hadn’t heard his footsteps. But the next thing I knew a hand curled around my arm and I was hauled to my feet. 

I wanted to curse him, to spit and claw at him, to turn my pain against someone other than myself and draw blood. Before Fred had died that’s what I would have done. But whatever the husk of who I was had left within it, it wasn’t the quickness to violence. 

So, I let Joel drag me like a dog on a leash. He was rough. His fingers dug into my arm and he let me stumble over my own feet. He threw open the front door and stormed in, moving far too quickly for my drunken body to coordinate with. As we crossed over the threshold into the house, I tripped and would have ended up on the ground again if he hadn't pulled me to his side. He smelled of whisky and woodsmoke.

We moved down the hall at a jarring pace. It felt as though I was a piece of obsolete equipment that he was hauling around, and therefore he was uncaring about jostling me to the point that a screw or two came loose.

Thankfully, the little house didn’t give us much ground to cover before he was shoving me into the sitting room. When he came to an abrupt stop, I presumed that he was taking in the sight of my blanket and pillow on the floor, but when his hold on my arm eased up, I followed his gaze to the coffee table.

My gun sat atop the dusty surface and right next to it was Fred’s teddy bear, still stained even though I'd lost count of the number of times I'd scrubbed it. No industrial-strength stain remover at the end of the world.

I heard a short, sharp intake of breath and braced  myself for a cutting remark, but instead he returned to his man-handling. Joel grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me onto the couch. He then bent down, took hold of my calves and lifted them up, forcing me to twist around so that I was lying flat. When he pulled off my boots, I hissed at his unforgiving hold on my bleeding ankle. 

He made no apology, just dropped my boot to the ground and proceeded to yank off the other one. 

I laid still and stared up at the ceiling, silently begging that he’d leave without uttering another word. He stood at the end of the couch, watching me like I was a rat caught in a trap. His brown eyes were black in the darkness of the room.

“You got a bed. No good reason to be sleeping on the ground.”

Exhaustion had me back in its grip, so all I could manage as my eyes closed was a mumbled: “What would be a good reason?”

A disgruntled huff. “Don’t be a smartass.”

A heavy weight was tossed over me. I clawed at the fabric, pulling it down until my face was freed and sucked in a breath as if I'd actually been at risk of suffocating. He’d thrown the blanket over me.

My eyes darted around but only caught a glimpse of Joel’s back as he was stepping back into the hall. His footsteps receded and then there was the unnecessarily harsh opening and closing of the front door. 

Had I been less intoxicated, the entire interaction would have likely been confounding, but in the state I was in I just sank down into the couch cushions and shut my eyes and thanks to the alcohol, fell right to sleep.

My wakeup call was the sun that speared through the window and landed in my eyes. It split my throbbing head in half like a block of wood. My mouth was like sandpaper and something throbbed angrily behind my eyes. A hangover at forty was a different beast altogether.

I’m not sure how long I stayed inert and wallowed in my self-inflicted sickness, but eventually I did find it in myself to sit up, I swung my legs off the couch and edged forward and as I did so, my eyes fell onto the coffee table.

Fred’s teddy bear was right where i’d left it, but my gun was missing.

:✮:·

Thanks to the tour Maria had given me, during which she’d pointed out her and Tommy’s home as well as ‘Joel and Ellie’s across the way’, tracking down the thief didn’t take long. 

My knuckles rapped viciously against his door, exacerbating the symptoms of my hangover and my anger all at once. 

Just as I started to contemplate kicking it in, the front door swung inward and Joel filled the gap. It was obscenely early and yet he was already dressed in jeans, another plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled half-way up his forearms. I knew I was a ghastly sight and his displeasure was evident, but I gave him no chance to express that verbally.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth when you’re at my goddamn door.” He bit back.

“Give it back.” I held out my hand, matching his hateful stare.

Joel didn’t try to deny it, he didn’t even blink before he turned around and stomped down his hallway. I waited at the threshold, unwilling to enter his space.

Joel returned with the gun already held out, but when I reached for it, he pulled it back and left my fingers to clutch at the air.  

“Don’t be a fucking child.” When I lunged for the gun that now hung in the hand at his side, he enclosed his other one around my wrist. 

“You plannin’ on using it?” His voice was strained, as if pressure was being exerted on his neck.

“No.” I sneered sarcastically. “I just think it makes a nice table decoration.”

Joel’s hold tightened and the pads of his fingers pressed into my pulse point. The touch lingered long enough that it felt like he was tracking my heartbeat, but he soon let go. 

He did let me take back the gun then, but when I put my back to him he asked:

“Why bother?” 

“What?” I wouldn’t turn back to speak to him. I didn’t know what expression he’d end up finding on my face.

Wooden floorboards creaked beneath him as he shifted in place. “Killing yourself here or out there- it makes no difference. Why come with us when Tommy asked? Just means someone has to clean up after you.”

I wanted to see it. I thought. It came to me only then, having not really considered it before that moment. I wanted to see the place that could have become home if both Fred and I had made it.  

I shook my head and continued on. 

Joel’s voice stopped me again. I hated that it stopped me. Why didn’t I just keep walking?

“If you were sure, you would’ve done it already. You wouldn’t have walked with your head streamin’ blood for as long as you did before sitting down by that tree.”

I looked back at him over my shoulder. “I’m not dragging it out because I want to live, Joel. I just haven’t decided what the actual punishment is: life or death.” 

 “Punishment for what?” 

“He died.” I didn’t offer Joel more than that and left him standing in his doorway.

:✮:·

In the two weeks that I had been in Jackson, I’d spent more time on the floor of my living room than anywhere else. My body protested in its stiffness, almost threatening to atrophy, but I could conjure no will to stop it. 

I had no will to do anything at all. 

So, it was night and I was yet again, flat against the floorboards, staring up at the stain on the ceiling. 

I hadn’t shut the door properly on my way in, something which was signalled to me by the noise coming from the hallway. The wind blustered through the gap, taking every opportunity to rush inside and whisper to me. 

The door would hit against the jamb and then creak open. Shut. Then open again. 

I had realised almost as soon as I’d laid down, but found myself unable to get up again to close it. So the cold invaded, a pervasive chill that had settled over everything, pricking the skin on my arms on the way down to my bones, attempting to freeze them too. 

It didn’t help that I’d just dropped down on top of the blanket instead of crawling under it, leaving myself protected by only sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt.

The noise of the door didn’t bother me. It had a sort of soothing rhythm. Open, shut. Open, shut. The wind whispered through a wooden mouthpiece. 

Just out of curiosity, I'd put my fingers against my wrist: the noise was almost in time with my heartbeat. 

Outside, the dark clouds which had spent all day swelling to an ominous, bruised bloat had finally burst. Rain lashed against the windows as though it endeavoured to break the glass. 

With my fingers still on my wrist, I felt my pulse jump as my front door slammed shut. I waited, but it didn’t creak open again. The wind’s whisper had been quieted. 

I don’t quite know how I didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. I must have been more out of it than I’d thought.  

“Catchin’ your death from the cold is slower than a bullet.”

I wasn’t startled by the sound of Joel’s voice. I wasn’t angry or even confused. It was more of a disquiet, that the noise of the wind and the door that I had used to ground me for the last hour or so had stopped so abruptly. 

The feel of my pulse became an unwelcome sensation. I pulled my fingers away from my wrist.

I didn’t sit up. Couldn’t yet. It felt like there was a physical weight on my chest: grief sitting there, spiteful and malignant but unseen. Maybe I’d spent so long on the floor I’d fused to it.

Joel moved closer and that time, I heard his footsteps. 

“You left your door open.” He said.

 He’d stopped right by my feet. I could feel the scuffed soles of his boots brush against my socks. There was something about his presence that prompted a slight buzzing behind my eyes.

“I noticed.” I answered. 

“Where’s the gun?”

I didn’t baulk at the question, or feel a familiar flare of irritation, I simply reached back, my hand questing beneath the pillow where it wrapped around the grip. I pulled the weapon free and held it up.

“Why is it under your pillow?” 

If I had known Joel better- or just known him at all, I might have been able to tell what exactly the tone of his voice signified. 

“I want it close, in case of intruders.” I said glibly.

 I lifted my head just enough to make out the shape of Joel, a dark, unmoving mass and shifted my hold so the barrel was directed at him. 

“Don’t point that fucking thing at me!” He snarled, his boots knocking against my feet as he lurched forward. “Put it down. Now.”

I was thrown into the memory of the day we’d met in that clearing, when he’d barked the same order with a rifle pointed at my head.

I let my arm drop and the gun clattered onto the floorboards.

He might have mumbled something under his breath then, but I couldn’t make it out. The buzzing was intensifying.

Joel moved forward and soon his large form filled the gap between my body and the couch. He crouched down, his knee brushing against my thigh. He picked up the gun and tossed it onto the couch.

“Still sleeping on the floor.”

My head rolled to the side and I found his eyes in the dark. Outside, the wind howled, the rain like stones thrown against the windows. 

 “I don’t really sleep.” I told him. “Doesn’t matter where I am.”

“You don’t sleep.” He repeated my words in a tone that I was far too untethered to pin an emotion to. If there was any emotion in it all. 

“Why are you here?” I asked, if only to fill the silence. 

I missed the sound of the wind through the gap in the door, considered asking him to go back and open it again but then thought better of it.

“I was passin’ by.” He said.

I chose that moment to force myself to sit up. Being around another person coerced me into some kind of self-awareness and I realised I was in a vulnerable position: him looming over me. 

Once I was upright, the details of Joel came into focus. He was soaked from the rain. His tan coat darkened by patches of moisture. A grey-flecked curl fell over his forehead. I was much closer to him when upright. Close enough that I felt the warmth coming off him, flooding the freezing room. 

My skin began to prickle.

“Why were you passing?” 

“Hmm?” Joel hummed, Then, still kneeling he shifted closer to me. The knuckles of the hand thar he used to hold himself up, ran along the outside of my leg.

“It’s late.” I said thickly. “Why were you wandering about in the rain?”

Joel huffed as his eyes dropped to the ground. Perhaps he’d only just realised he was touching me and decided to take a look. He didn’t move his hand away. “You about to give me a lecture?” He asked.

I shook my head. “No. Tell me.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Is all he offered. 

“You’re dripping onto my floors.” I said, drawing attention to the tell-tale noise that had been poking holes in the silence between our speech. 

Joel’s thick brows rose, as if he was affronted. “Oh, they’re your floors? Thought you weren’t sticking around.” 

The double meaning swelled in the air between us, taking up space. It stole our breath. 

Was that what I’d been doing in Jackson the past two weeks? Just sticking around ?  

Yes, I realised. It was exactly what I’d been doing.

I loitered in the land of the living when I knew full well that I didn’t belong anymore.

“My floors, for now.” 

The hand against my leg lifted and then passed across my torso coming to settle on my side. With me now partially caged in, Joel leaned closer, which left our faces only a hands breadth apart. 

The cold from his damp coat felt like it was seeping into me. 

“For now.” Joel repeatedly tersely. His jaw tensed.

“Yes.”

Then his eyes flicked to the coffee table- to Fred’s blood-stained teddy bear. 

“Your kid?” He asked upon a strained whisper. 

Yes. No. My child and yet not. 

My nephew. My reason for living. Mine.

Almost of its own will, my hand shot out and grabbed the collar of Joel’s coat. I held him so tightly I thought my knuckle bones might split my skin. The action inadvertently tugged him closer. His breath fanned out across my face.

“Don’t.” I warned him.

“Don’t what?” His voice had turned brittle, as if something within him was breaking. Perhaps it was his resolve.

“I can’t—” I spluttered out. “I'm not talking about that.” 

About him.

Fred was still a part of me. Talking about him after his loss felt like surrendering further pieces of him; tearing of strips of my own skin, a slow flaying of flesh. 

“Okay.” 

“Don’t try to know me.” 

Wanting to escape Joel’s unrelenting gaze, I stared at a bead of water that had fallen from his hair and rolled down his temple. I still had hold of his coat, the damp fabric bunched up between my freezing fingers.

“Who said that’s what I was doing?” Joel challenged, sounding almost insolent.

I made myself meet his eyes again. “Why are you here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He repeated, a stubborn set to his jaw. “Was walking.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Your door was open.”

“You could have shut it and kept on going.”

“Should’ve.” He admitted gruffly.

My shoulders sagged and I shook my head, trying to dislodge his unwavering gaze. It didn’t work

 “I don’t want to talk, Joel.” I told him tiredly.

“Don’t have to talk.”

We watched each other closely. Carefully.

“Okay.” I uttered. 

My breathing faltered as Joel’s calloused hand curled around my wrist and tugged, encouraging me to release my hold on him. I did immediately. Then, his other hand landed on my back and he began to guide me down. It wasn’t gentle, but the force didn't feel like an imposition. 

When the back of my head hit the pillow, he clambered over me. One knee rested on the ground beside my hip, while the other nudged my legs open. 

Joel sat back on his knees, his dark pupils trained on me as he unzipped his coat. I watched as he shucked it off and then tossed it onto the couch, right on top of my gun. Then he began to unbutton the cuffs of his plaid shirt. 

A sensation that I thought had been lost to me long ago returned; something deep within me coiling tight at the sight of him rolling his sleeves up his toned forearms.

Then he crowded over me. His hands planted themselves on either side of my head. Joel held himself there, our chests brushed against each other, no longer enough space between us for them to swell with full breaths.

 There was something suffocating about having him so near. Perhaps that’s why I welcomed it when he pressed even closer. 

It felt almost as if Joel tried to cover my body completely with his and absorb me into him. He ran his hand down the side of my face, thumb grazing my cheek before he tucked my hair behind my ear. Then he pressed his lips there to whisper:

“If you want me gone, say it.” 

“If I don’t?” I asked breathlessly. 

Joel’s breath was hot against the side of my face and it faltered ever so slightly before he spoke again. 

“Got something that might help you sleep.” 

We stayed like that as his statement dissipated in the air like smoke. Even when it went, the scent lingered: heady and overwhelming. 

I lifted my hand tentatively and let it fall on the back of Joel’s neck when he didn’t flinch from it. I don’t know I’d expected him to. I ran my hand up and my fingers collected drops of water until they curled into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

In answer, Joel ran his lips down the shell of my ear and then nipped the lobe with his teeth. My eyes fluttered shut at the slight sting. 

Joel was solid, tangible enough that he grounded me. He was something that wasn’t going to slip through my fingers. And yet he was utterly detached from me, after this, he would drift away untethered. 

I knew whatever happened between us would be fleeting; melt away with the sunrise like frost. I wanted it that way. 

My hands fell away from the back of Joel’s neck as he pulled back. Not far, just enough so that he could grab the band of my sweatpants and tug them down, my underwear going with them. He reached the curve of my ass and lifted my hips so that he could pull the clothing free. 

I shivered at the rush of the freezing air of my exposed flesh, but Joel was already crawling back on top of me, his warmth returning. I stared up at him as he took two of his own fingers into his mouth. He pulled them free and they glistened with his own spit. Moistness gathered between my thighs accompanied by an agonising throb. 

Joel pressed his chest to mine, my hardened nipples pressing through my t-shirt and into his. 

When his fingers ran through my folds, my head fell back. He wasted no time, pressing firmly on the way down before he pushed them inside of me. He held them there, no doubt feeling me pulsing around him. 

His mouth fell against my neck, not kissing, but holding me flesh between his teeth as he began to pump his fingers. The movement was almost languid, his digits rippling inside of me. 

My breath stuttered and my hands lifted, falling on either side of his neck just for something to hold onto. 

Joel’s mouth closed into an almost kiss against my pulse point and the little hum he let out vibrated through me. 

The tightness deep within me intensified, but just as I began to grow close, he pulled his fingers out of me, leaving an ache in his wake. 

But then there was the clink of his belt buckle and his hands fumbled to pull it free. I moved to help him, my fingers brushing against his own that were slick with me. 

He submitted to my help and his hands returned to either side of my head as I pulled the belt free of the loops and let it drop to the ground. I went to work on the fly of his jeans, now desperate and panting, but he would not abide my help in that endeavour. 

He murmured disapproval and took hand into his and held it above my head. He did the same with the other one and cuffed both of my wrists together with just one of his hands. With the other he popped the button of his jeans and the undoing of the fly soon followed. 

His fingers ran through the sensitive flesh between my legs and gathered up some of the slickness there. He kept his eyes on my face as he took himself in the same hand and spread my arousal over his hardness. 

My t-shirt had been shucked up to reveal my belly. His eyes flicked to the ugly scar just above my pelvis only briefly. 

When Joel lined himself up at my entrance, I let my eyes flutter closed. It had been so long, but I didn't care. I wanted him inside me, to feel him moving. To feel pleasure. Anything to keep the numbness at bay. 

Joel pressed himself inside me with a hard thrust. A low groan came from his throat and the hand holding my wrists tightened.

 Our hips aligned. And then he began to move, rolling into me, the force of the movements pushed me along the floor, rumpling the blanket beneath me. 

When I lifted my feet and wrapped them around his hips, intent on driving him into me even harder, Joel groaned in pleasure. His head dropped low again and his lips skimmed over my temple, then brushed over the still healing gash on my forehead.  

Pressure built within me as he pounded relentlessly. The sound of our fevered joining and ragged breathing blocked out everything else, even the wind and rain beyond the house. In that moment it didn't really feel like there was a beyond. Just him.

When I murmured his name, Joel released my wrists. My hands immediately ran up his neck and over the sides of his face. Right when I brushed past the scar on his temple, he pressed his lips against the wound on my forehead. 

He thrust into me with such a bruising force that my pleasure burst, my release rolling through me in a violent shudder. I dug my nails into Joel’s hair and his thrusts became sloppier, slowing until he was just grinding his hips against mine. 

His hands mirrored my own and he cradled my head, his forehead pressed to mine as he came inside of me. 

We stayed like that, our sticky skin pressed close, until our breathing calmed. 

Joel pulled out of me and then sat back on his haunches. I felt him looking at me so I shut my eyes again. 

I don’t remember much after that before I drifted off.

:✮:·

When I woke up, I was alone. There was an ache between my legs, but it wasn’t painful. I was fully-clothed and tucked beneath the blanket. Almost warm.

But, while I was glad that Joel was nowhere to be found–it had felt like an unspoken agreement between us–something else was missing. 

My gun was gone. Again. 

Bastard. 

[warningsine]

Listen, I don't hate him either. In fact, during some of my male Shepard playthroughs, I saved him, because I enjoyed their flirting in ME3. But boy, is he a generic noodle.

I don't care which one of the two players save. That's their prerogative.

But. But.

Unfortunately, this "Ashley sucks" trend isn't TikTok specific.

Male fanboys on Reddit and people of all genders on here have been viciously hating on her since the games came out.

She's far from my favorite character in the trilogy, but the fandom's sexist treatment of her has made me turn the chair and defend her more than once over the years.

Unsurprisingly enough, there's an overlap between individuals who still call Ashley "the space racist" and those who hate Miranda (due to her being a "Cerberus bitch," never mind that she flips TIM off, never mind that she tries to bring the organization down herself) and slutshame her.

As if it's the character's fault she was designed for the male fans thus that stupid catsuit (also see: Seven of Nine on "Voyager," Jeri Ryan couldn't breathe in that shit) and those equally stupid shots of her ass. Remember when the fanboys threw a fit because those shots were removed from the "Legendary Edition"?

By the way, the creators quite literally told Yvonne Strahovski (a natural blonde that dyes her hair) that Miranda was gonna have black hair, because she was "supposed to be a femme fatale."

(Never mind that the character is more than a caricature; that she's amongst the most sensitive and insecure ME characters when you let Shepard know her.)

And they, of course, ignored that as gorgeous as the actress is, she doesn't have balloon breasts and ass.

But back to Ashley.

"She's xenophobic."

She does make some rather unfortunate comments, it has to be said, but people throw things out of proportion, because Ashley dares to be outspoken; a female character that doesn't suck Shepard's dick/vagina and challenges them. (She's one of the few squadmates that does this in all of the games, which I personally find refreshing. The blind hero worship makes me roll my eyes at times.)

When renegade Shepard says to an Hanar, "Because you're a big stupid jellyfish!" then everyone laughs. That's not xenophobic, that's badass and true.

When Wrex and Mordin (the fandom faves, my faves) say very, very xenophobic shit, then that's fine and dandy.

When Garrus, the ex cop, does it? The same.

Oh, the double standards of it all.

People love taking Ashley's lines out of context and/or before she gets her own character development.

"That bitch shot Wrex on Virmire."

Meanwhile, that's 100% on the player. Is it the character's fault that you didn't do Wrex's side mission and don't have enough paragon/renegade points to make him stand down?

In that case, Ashley does her job, i.e., protecting her Commander from an enraged Krogan with a gun, when Shepard doesn't pull the trigger themselves.

Also, notice how ME1 Ashley is one of the few characters--if not the only one other than Shepard, I'll have to refresh my memory--that doesn't dehumanize Wrex; she calls him by his name instead of "the Krogan."

"That bitch trash talks Shepard on Horizon."

Oh, you mean when she expresses her doubts about the human terrorist organization (that she righteously hates) bringing back a dead Shepard back to life? When Miranda herself tells Shepard that she wanted to use a chip to control them?

Wow, how evil of Ash to question why her cyborg of a Commander all of a sudden aligns with the cartoonishly evil organization that uses refugees to create Reaper abominations (third game).

Kaidan does the exact same thing on Horizon btw. His call out comes off as milder because he has a different personality.

The way I have to make sure I don’t get on Mass Effect tiktok because they ALWAYS end up hating on Ashley is so annoying. I swear people played the og Mass Effect once, killed Ashley during that play through and just never thought about her again besides miss remembering her comments.

How many times do I have to say it people. ‘I can’t tell the Aliens from the animals’ is triggered by being around Keepers. In universe there is a on going conversation about what the hell the keepers even are so while her comment is in poor taste she isn’t talking about any sentient being.

The ‘Bear Vs Dog’ monologue is a metaphor where humans are the dogs and the person is the Council. Her point is that the council would throw humans under the bus in a heartbeat and Oh, come ME3 she is completely right.

If you bring her along to the conversation with the  terra firma guy she makes it extremely clear that she doesn’t like them in anyway, even before she gets character development. She the hates her grandfather being used by them and strongly opposes them uses his history to promote their racist messages.

ALL the teammates in the og Mass Effect said dumb shit. Garrus in particular makes some shity comments. Because a group of random wildly different characters that start off distrusting each other but grow to love one another like family is a huge part of all the games.

But oh, Ashley is a woman so she gets to die while the boring soft boy gets to live.

[signedaiko]

Can I request MTMTE Megatron x platonic bot reader, where they reunite on earth and make peace with each other? Reader was kinda like his adopted kid before the war and looked up to him when he started the Decepticons. However, when he became the warlord and started harming other worlds, reader disagreed with him and became an Autobot. After the war, reader remained on earth because they grew to love it as their home, and now Megatron and reader talk about their past regrets and make peace. Reader is more glad that the Megatron they once knew came back, and even share things going on with their life (Like living their dreamed profession or having a conjux)

Megatron & Reader [MTMTE]

In which you long since cut contact with your mentor Megatron, and many millions of years later he finds you.

Reader is: Gender Neutral | Cybertronian | Autobot.

Since your days in the mines, you'd known Megatron

A well-spoken, albeit a bit antisocial, miner

Him and Terminus took you in, where they taught you about the Decepticon movement, something you began to help rally for

But humble beginnings are only beginnings, and as the story goes, Megatron lost his touch

Someone who had been treating you with kindness eventually turned his back to you, and the last time he'd seen you, your Decepticon badge had been replaced with the red of an Autobot logo

It had been many years since then. Megatron hadn't uttered your name to a single con in hopes you might be alive, and every once in a while he would see glimpses of you in battles

But that was many, many years ago

Now, you were a whisper in his mind, someone he was sure had likely passed on in the four million years of war, especially since he hadn't heard it in so long

Since his joining of the Lost Light crew, you'd come up in his memories far more frequently

He wanted to ask if anyone knew you or what happened to you, but he was afraid of what he might find out

Until he overheard a conversation Perceptor and Brainstorm were having, in which he heard your name come up

Perceptor, when asked, is quick with providing proof it's you and tells him all about your new life on Earth

He's able to get a direct comm link to you through Perceptor, who promises not to say anything to you and leave it at that

It takes him days upon days of deep thought and contemplation on whether you'll answer him, what he'll say, if you'll be able to move on from what he's done, if you're okay

The first call, it takes a while for you to reply, but when you do, you sound uncertain

"Megatron? Is that you?"

It starts slow; he tells you that he's an Autobot now and how he got your comm; he does most of the talking while you take everything in

But by call three or four, you're sharing how you'd ended up on Earth helping humans with Cybertronian attacks and cleanup, how you'd made friends with a group of humans, and how you were mentoring some of those humans now

You sounded happy and healthy

Truly, what more could he ask for?

Calls become a weekly basis where he checks on you and learns about Earth, and it saves him a lot of sparkache after all the agonizing thoughts he's had over the years about you having died to the cons

Now you're safe, and he'll be okay

Author's Note - What a cute prompt! I had so many ideas for this the moment I read it, so thank you for the request!

I did alter it because in MTMTE he never gets to Earth so I hope this makes do!

[chaoskull]

Alexandre Cabanel - The Evening Angel

Death to Clemency

Sanguinius x Gn!Reader

Summary: Sanguinius imprudently believes his desires can be surpressed, contemplating his sorrowful failure of the attempt, you arrive, as it was destined.

Dropping this quick thing here for you guys!

Sanguinius wanted to be seen as one that the people could pour their soul and heart out to, he devoted himself to be a welcoming listener to the voice of the population.

Blood dried on the primarchs face, he stayed perched on the top of a column, as a statue would, unmoving, the view was irrelevant to him as much as the wind, he reflected on the action that had brought him to this isolated place.

He had succumbed to the urge to drink blood by a frivolous mistake. Covered by it he felt pathetic, there was glory in his doing, no battle had been won.

It wasn't of a human, it was of an animal he'd taken the life out of, although it truly almost felt the same. He wanted to trick himself, but he knew there was no illusion that could alleviate his desire, it did not help to calm himself.

No one knew of it, only his sons could, even so, he swore to not tell them of this incident. He was needed to be left alone, for how long he was unsure, but what was definitive is that no one was there to console his tormented mind.

He had left the crowded meeting table to seek loneliness after the strong smell had captured him, a serf had fallen holding the weapon of an astartes, their blood pressured his mind into shambles.

A lamb was near the fortress walls, the herd was not far, he did not know if it would ease his compulsion, yet he advanced.

He wondered if one would notice its disappearance as he tore into its flesh in an almost unconscious act. He felt as a beast, the man once inside him was possessed by a ravenous primitive predator.

It did nothing to mitigate his urge, the breeze now solidifies his own misjudgement in crimson, as he had invisioned.

He knew of your coming, it was seen by him in the form of a premonition and kept in his memory. At your steps, sounding on the marble floors, he didn't move, he panicked, your reaction was severely important to him.

He covered himself with his wings, the once symbol of greatness becoming an easy way to hide his shameful predicament.

You have seen him by now, there is no way you couldn't, he was twice your size, his immense wings were impossible to be ignored. The steps were not heard anymore, you had to be watching him contorting himself.

“My lord, my apologizes if I've interrupted you” He hears the light rustle of your clothes as you bowed to take a leave. Ashamed to fully view your figure, he peeked through the feathers to take a small sight of you.

"Wait" He pleaded, as he sees you turn away, making you return to where you were standing just a second ago.

He was doomed, he's seen you in his dreams, your face as delightful as it was then, but now you were present in his reality, he wished to know your thoughts of what he's become now, the bloodthirsty creature he was, his once white robes were stained red in his chest just as his jaw.

“What brings you here?” He asks, in a calming tone, masking his true desperation. He notices his hands were also painted the same maroon, curling further into himself.

Your head was curved downwards, in a sign of respect, maybe hesitancy. He wanted to see you, but to ask I'd be a pious action, as he hides himself to not be seen as well.

“I was… looking for a quiet place, my lord” You answer, in embarrassment, he thinks, that was what it seemed, at least to him.

He ponders what could have made you, from this nervously obedient servant, to the one he sees caressing his hair and feathers. As you lay on his bed, and he has you in his arms as nightfall takes the sunlight into the moon's reflection of it.

He tentatively unwraps himself from wings, the curtain of white feathers revealing the disaster that had happened moments before your arrival.

The expression in your face as saw him was enough to tell your perception of him, your first encounter with the primarch, and Sanguinius felt weak and disheveled.

You believed him to be a murderer, a unruly creature that had taken the life of a innocent, he knew of the destruction some of his brothers were capable of doing, he did not want to be them, he wanted you to love him as he did you.

You were terrified, petrified, you couldn't escape, he quickly envelopes you in his wings, his hands were firmly planted on your back, his sharp nails made cuts as he was trying to stop you from leaving, begging for forgiveness.

“What I've done is not what you believe have happened, please forgive me, I didn't not wish to be seen as well” He cries, his blood soaked hands inking your face the same color as his.

The clear tears that run from eyes to his merge forming crismon drops that fall to his neck, trying to explain himself, Sanguinius felt clueless wishing for your clemency.

“I have done a terrible mistake, you shouldn't have to see me as this” He has visions of your future, one you were to be the one to consoled, and not out of fear of him, you did not judge him by his erratic behavior that seemed one of an animal.

Now you started to understand his predicament, he felt lone and scared just as you, in the short minute you had gained clarity of his emotional turmoil, you spoke up, ignoring the formal distance between the two.

“There is nothing to fear, Sanguinius” You say, in an attempt to relieve his sorrowful expression, perhaps to save your life or his, you did not know.

He is unsure as to why you'd say that, as if you could read his every thought. Your hands wipe part of the blood as you rid him of his tears.

How can one bring such compassion to the man he was, for a brief moment the man was stripped of honor, all left was a sentiment of ludicity, it had been years since one address him in such warm light.

Perhaps he was right of the visions of his future, you were to be by his side, he was to tame his urge for the sweetily sickening taste of blood and keep you to himself.

He did not care for the mess he was to make any longer, he leaned into your face to capture your lips in a kiss, the tenderness of his lips in your was of outmost devotion.

He is wished he had met properly, he will apologize for this encounter, he was to show you of the man he truly was.

Although, the smell of your sweet blood dripping from your back started to take ahold of him, as close as you two were.

Didn't want to ruin it by rushing one clear ending, so it's open for your interpretations!

[tossawary]

The two world building directions that appeal to me off the top of my head for a TF fusion (note: not a crossover):

Firstly, a "no magical supernatural elements, just the SPN characters in a fully TF universe" setup, where the Angels are loosely the equivalent of the Autobots and the Demons are loosely the equivalent of the Decepticons. (This would be one of those continuities where the characters soon figure out that while the Decepticons absolutely suck, the Autobots are faaaaar from the perfect "good guys".)

John and Mary Winchester's house was attacked by a Decepticon looking for the Allspark (or some other MacGuffin), which killed Mary, and sent John down a "aliens are real and the government is hiding them from us" (unfortunately correct belief) path which ruined Dean and Sam's childhood.

Sam was a baby and has zero memory of this, and so bailed on the "tinfoil hat conspiracist" lifestyle to go to university, while Dean has some memories of giant robots but he's never been able to decide whether they're real or not. John has stumbled on some alien tech shit that seems kind of legit, Dean has helped him with some illegal shit, but mostly Dean tries to keep his head down working as a mechanic under Bobby Singer.

Everything goes to shit when some Decepticons show up looking for the Allspark again, tearing apart Dean's workplace, and he has to go on the run. Autobot Castiel (with those brilliant blue eyes) shows up to fight back. Cue plot (and romance?) from there.

There is absolutely some scene where, even though Castiel has just saved Dean's life, Dean will not shut the fuck up about how it's embarrassing for him to be see in this tan-colored, office-worker-mobile. Until a pissed-off Castiel pitches Dean's ass out of the car onto the side of the road, so he can drive off to scan a sufficiently "sexy" vehicle, even though it doesn't blend in as well.

Secondly, there's a "as initially close to SPN canon as possible, the Angels just have transforming robots for vessels" setup. Which is a Crack AU, yeah, but could also be a Crack Treated Seriously AU.

After the first war between Angels, some Angel named Primus or Quintesson gets the bright idea to develop inorganic vessels for Angels using a combination of magic and advanced technology. Archangel Michael is so emotionally hungover and metaphysically exhausted from locking his brother in a cage in a pit in hell that he signs off on it. Fine, just go do it in space somewhere where the Humans won't see.

Alternatively, this project is the last thing that Archangel Gabriel greenlights before fucking off out of heaven.

Primus goes off and builds a space station that ultimately becomes the planet Cybertron, with a bunch of other Angels, borrowing some genius Humans from heaven for help sometimes. For some people, their heaven is also the Angels' sci-fi-esque, techno-magic giant mech R&D department; it's a very efficient system like that. Some of those Humans have a great fucking time, honestly.

This project is unexpectedly popular because 1) a lot of Angels generally agree that all physical forms are kind of disgusting, but the organic ones are extra gross, so these robot ones are better. 2) Humans are very weak. 30ft-tall transforming robots are actually much more capable and efficient when crushing Demons. 3) A lot of Angels actually feel bad for the Humans when taking Human vessels, so this sidesteps that issue for the Human lovers. 4) Robot vessels will also, hopefully, stop the Humanfuckers among them from making more Nephilim and shit like that.

Some of the Angels are like, "The Lord didn't say anything about giant robot vessels during the apocalypse???" But Michael has come around to the idea more and more over the years. He kind of likes the idea of curbstomping hell this way. Fuck those guys. If they want a real apocalyptic battle, they should step up their game.

Dean gets brought back from hell sooner, but it still takes Castiel a while to show up on Earth to meet him, because he took some damage and had to bring a new vessel all the way from Cybertron. And Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, shows up as a 30ft-tall transforming robot that can have magic laser guns for hands and runs on Angel grace. What the fuck. (Who can also transform into a copy of the Impala to "blend in". What the FUCK.)

Meanwhile, the Demons, who had previously been gloating over the fact that THEY had been developing new horrors (Croatoan virus, etc.) for the apocalypse while distant heaven remained seemingly complacent, are fucking reeling over the fact that their foes have apparently turned themselves into an army of extra divine Optimus Primes. "What the FUCK," says the yellow-eyed Demon, with a 10ft-long magic gun pointed at his squishy face.

That Angel called Primus time-travelled to the future, watched Evangelion, and was like, "Damn, this shit fucks." Which is going to be a problem for the Winchester brothers later, possibly, when Angels who hate humanity are throwing their weight around, but for right now, it's hell's problem.

Thirdly...

If you wanted to make this second AU into an actual crossover rather than a fusion AU, you could have it so the Angels were essentially the Quintessons (they even have matching multiple heads) and the robot vessels actually gained sentience / sapience. The Cybertronians had an uprising against their creators, which led to a more autonomous society, which unfortunately still had all of the shitty biases and functionist politics left over from their creators, which ultimately led to the Autobot and Decepticon war. TF continuity can be more or less intact: Optimus Prime and the other Cybertronians are just also the descendants of new inorganic species of partially angelic robots that rebelled against heaven.

Michael is STILL mad at the original Primus Angel about this catastrophic fuck-up. (And also Gabriel if Gabriel was the one who signed off on the project.) Lucifer is sooooo going to laugh at him for this later.

Thinking about "Transformers" AUs for non-TF fandoms again, specifically Human/Cybertronian pairings, and realized that the setup of "ancient, superpowered, non-human being fallen from the heavens and fighting an ancient, inescapable war between two factions concerning freedom and control" and "mechanic who wouldn't be opposed to fucking their car" almost perfectly fits Castiel and Dean Winchester from "Supernatural".

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 92 (Conrad's First Love)

cw: Conrad getting pretty spicy 🌶️🌶️🌶️ and not with Heather; references to human and drug trafficking (not depicted).

Follows the events of this post.

As she passed him to put away her gloves, a stunning redhead at Pappy Murphy's Boxing Gym caught Conrad's eye. Though he'd been deep in another bout of anger and self-pity over the death of his mother years earlier, he stopped his workout. Every inch of his being compelled him to talk to her.

She turned with a smile before he could stammer a single word. "Hi, handsome. Did you want a better look?"

He nervously introduced himself and she told him her name. "Ximena." The word floated from her lips like a song. He was instantly smitten.

"Ximena, could I buy you a drink?"

They spent the day in a local pub. He told her everything about his mother's death and his distance from his father in the years since. She listened, but she had a lot less to say about herself. "I live here with my brother. I'm a student, and I'm the only caretaker he has. Our parents aren't around anymore, and it's been just Rafa and me for years."

He could hear an accent when she spoke, and most people in Britechester weren't locals, so he made an assumption. "How long since you moved from Selvadorada?"

Surprised by his guess, she turned defensive. "I don't talk about Selva."

He liked her too much to press and push her away, so they spent the rest of the day flirting and discussing their interests until Ximena invited him back to her place. "You make me laugh, Conrad Gordon. My brother's still at school and I want to get to know you better without all this noise. I hate the music they play in here."

Once Conrad followed her out of the bar and back to the small home she shared with her kid brother, Rafa, he started following her everywhere.

He lost his virginity to her a week after they met. That night, she told him why she left Selvadorada.

"I was going to die or they were going to kill me. I wouldn't let them sell me to anyone anymore, so I made a plan and left with my brother in the middle of the night to come here."

She showed him the scars left by the cartel, and a resolve to keep her safe coloured his already steadfast affection. He let her cut his hair when she said she wanted to show him how freeing it felt to change his look. "It's nice not to recognize the person in the mirror, sometimes," she said.

She told him she was a student, often meeting him at Larry's Lagoon to study but usually distracting him into other activities. One afternoon, she introduced him to an old friend, Jimmy Stefano. "Can you help him out around campus? You're in the same major."

Something about Jimmy Stefano rubbed Conrad the wrong way, but he assumed it was jealousy. Despite this, he would already do anything for Ximena and agreed to take Jimmy under his wing.

He called his father to say he planned to stay at school for Spring Break. "Sorry, I know I said I'd come home to see you."

Stephen Gordon laughed him off, but masked slight disappointment. He had no idea whether his son was flourishing or floundering at college, unsure how he'd been coping so far from home. "Don't worry, son. I'm just glad you sound happy. You're making me and your mother proud."

He skipped classes to spend time with Ximena, but made no mention of this to his father, of course. He spent time with Rafa when Ximena said she had late-night classes, taking him to the park to play pirate captain versus sea monster, and talking endlessly with him about video games.

Rafa wanted to become a pirate captain in Sulani or a game tester in San Myshuno. He had almost no memory of life in Selva before his sister left, but he knew it was "the bad place." He liked spending time with Conrad because he said his sister was too strict. "She just loves you," Conrad assured him. "Parents have to set rules, and she can't just be your sister. She has to care for you like a parent, too."

He realized then how important it was to be a model for Rafa, who needed guidance as much as anyone his age. Conrad had always had his father, but who did Rafa have besides Ximena?

Conrad discovered how she paid for an entire house for her and her brother by accident, stumbling on an argument between her and Jimmy Stefano near the campus fountain. "The deal was thirty pounds for three grand."

"They said if I didn't have five grand they'd only give me fifteen. They had guns, Ximena."

"They all have guns! Knives, too. Get your own and figure out how to use it. Watcher, please, don't screw this deal up for me, Jimmy."

"Who has guns?"

"The cartel," said Jimmy, so nonchalant, yet it still hit Conrad like a missile. His stomach turned as he read Ximena's expression. Every lie she'd told him unravelled with a look.

"Are you really a student here, Ximena?"

"No. They're my customers."

He'd had his suspicions, but he'd always told himself he was wrong. Ximena was supposed to be perfect. Hoping against hope, he still tried to play the fool. "What do you mean?"

She dragged him back home to tell him the truth - how she'd bargained with the cartel to escape a life of servitude to the men who ran product all over Simlandia. She refused to serve them, but her way out was to join them instead.

Conrad was angry, but he couldn't stay mad at her for long. As they lay in bed that night, she asked, "Are you going to break up with me because of what I do?"

"Not a chance. I love you."

"I love you, too." She smiled, resting her head on his chest as he ran a hand through her newly blonde hair. "You look nice without glasses, Conrad."

"You already gave me a haircut, Xime. You don't like glasses?"

"Conrad, you're very sexy. But you hide it and it's silly."

"If you're going to give me a makeover, what should I get you?"

"Are you asking me?"

"Ximena, I want to give you everything you could ever want."

She blushed. "I want you, Conrad. But since I already have you, maybe...jewelry? Like a ring."

"You don't wear any rings."

"Because none are special enough, Conrad."

He smiled. "Alright, that's one idea. But say I wanted to surprise you, what else did you want?"

"You could join me running product for the cartel. Our lives would be made, and we'd always be together."

"I don't want to run product for the cartel, Ximena. But I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be there for you. Rafa, too."

"Right, but what if I go? Rafa loves you, Conrad, almost as much as me. But what if the cartel moved me somewhere else? Would you come with me? Maybe you could be, like, my security. No running, just keeping me safe. Always with me and Rafa."

He'd do anything to protect her, but he didn't answer her that day, refocusing on his studies until he returned to San Myshuno at the end of the semester.

He'd missed his father more than he expected, and they went for walks in warm sunshine by the Spice Market. They talked about school, and Conrad talked about Ximena - leaving out details of her career and focusing instead on her relationship with her brother. Conrad rarely asked his father about work, but Stephen hinted he was inching closer to retirement. "Chester's daughter Nancy is ready to take over the company, but Chester's not quite ready to retire. I think she's plotting a coup, but you didn't hear that from me."

"What happens to you if she pushes out her own father?"

"Hopefully, a retirement package. Chester may not be ready, but I think I am."

On one of their walks, they passed a jewelry store, and Conrad made a beeline for the ring counter. A confident salesman smiled as the Gordon men walked inside. "Welcome. What are we shopping for today?"

"I'm just looking," Conrad said. "What rings do you have?"

The salesman beamed. "Are we thinking of an engagement?"

Stephen eyed his son carefully, but Conrad shook his head. "Not right now. Just like, for an accessory."

"I don't know, son. A ring says you're ready for forever."

Conrad took his father's words to heart, considering what forever with Ximena might look like. He wanted to be with her, but he wasn't ready for a ring. He left that day with a nice bracelet for her, instead.

"Even leaving with a bracelet as nice as that one...she must mean something. I'd love to meet her."

Conrad nodded. "She might be able to visit this summer, if she's not too busy with work," he said.

Stephen smiled and the Gordon men continued their walk, strengthening the bond nearly severed by grief before Conrad returned to Britechester for another semester. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOT FUN FACT: Conrad got crab lice from Ximena when they slept together for the first time, which is gross but also fitting I guess. And yet I didn't make it canon because it didn't quite fit the vibe. Plus, he wasn't supposed to find out that early on that Ximena was problematic.

WCIF Poses Used? Various from packs Old Souls Love Differently by @simmireen (when Ximena is blonde), Our First Time by @eclypt0sims (redhead), The Kiss by @simmerberlin (black hair) and Nights Like These by @sakurasims-world (also redhead).

WCIF Jewelry Store? Jewelry Store by Guinifere on the Sims 4 Gallery. Very elegant interior and comes with crafting tables, a vault, charging stations - very nice lot! Needs dressing up with completed jewelry on the counters and in displays to look really spectacular (and I of course went the lazy route), but I wouldn't if I was playing a retail career, and this is a great lot for someone who wants to be a jeweler!

[mimipuppet]

Paul 23 makes me so insane like wdym this normal man is actually a clone he killed the og, bro probably hated the og cause paul 23 desired that dream, that life that the original never seemed to appreciate. he got to go to work, clock in and out, go to beanie’s, hang out with coworkers, he had gotten the opportunity to do anything he liked with no scientist stoping him saying it’s within his nature to follow their orders. what did he ever do to deserve that life? be born as a human biologically by two parents? be alive for 31 years? so what, there’s no difference between being made with technology and normally and paul 23 has 31 years of memories so technically you could say he’s been a live for 31 years. really, what’s the different between him and the original?

is it want? paul 23 desires something, to the point he’d murder whoever threatens that whether it’s the original or ted, he’d do anything. it’s a want that the original never had because the original has always had the normal life, has always had it since the day he was born that paul 23 never had and was never destined for it, his purpose only to be unpaid labor to some secret mining facility on the moon. CCPR had chosen the man the one guy that just bends to whatever they do, never questioning what his work is and just doing it, the most non-threatening average person there is in their company yet it severely backfires on them because when the man you clone is defined by his average life he finds comfort in and wants it to be normal forever is removed from that whilst having memories of it, he’s gonna gain desire that turns into obsession, obsession that kills.

at the end of the day though, broski is just a man who loves his wife, doesn’t like musicals, and can’t live without cheese while having murdered some people in the past but honestly who hasn’t?

[muletia]

Optimus should go more mad with longing more often. For MY entertainment.

You write great btw! Good for you!

thank you <333 i love making characters suffer from love

cw: implied stalking

word count: 406

Optimus drove past your house today. He set out on a routine patrol through Jasper, searching for alarming signs of Decepticon activity, but for some reason, his wheels carried him along a route too familiar to him. Humans would call this phenomenon muscle memory, an ability allowing them to perform actions unconsciously if repeated often enough. He did it out of a burning longing.

He knew the coordinates of your house by heart, having been in the area hundreds of times. At first, it was only for patrols, then for drop-offs, and once, for a visit when he had to recharge on your driveway due to unusually high Decepticon activity in the vicinity. And though he was glad you had a roof over your head—such a beautifully arranged one, too—a part of him detested this place. This was where your partings occurred, where he was forced to leave you to fend for yourself, exposed to danger. His paranoia screamed that the Decepticons could strike at any moment, that the second he took his optics off you, they would abduct you. They would take you, wrench you from his servos, and he would be powerless to stop it. They would destroy the primary reason he continued his miserable existence at all.

He knows he shouldn’t slow down as he nears the familiar building. He knows it’s unethical, another boundary he is crossing. But he must be sure you’re safe, that you’re still part of his life. It’s been so long since you were at the base (a week), so much time without messages, contact, certainty. Optimus wants to see you, to finally reassure himself that everything is fine. That you’re alive and haven’t forgotten him because he has thought of you constantly. A relentless stream of questions and uncertainties, but also warm memories, keeping him from descending into madness.

He wonders when the patrol stopped being a duty and started becoming personal. Did he pass your house by coincidence, or did he deliberately take this route, hoping to see you?

Ultimately, it all boils down to him being a naïve fool. Perhaps even a lunatic, spinning endless imaginary scenarios of moments you’ll never share. He drafts plans in his processor that will never come to fruition. And despite the constant disappointment, failures, and relentless fracturing of his spark, he still expects different outcomes, clinging desperately to a sliver of hope that this time, something—anything—will go his way.

[dearmyloveleys]

"Zhao Yuanzhou once told me that he often stared into space alone by the sea in the Wilderness. Because the sea never cared about his sadness and loneliness. The sea has a lot to worry about. Because, everyday, ten thousand waves are born from its embrace. And everyday, ten thousand lives fall into it and their souls sink into the deep sleep. I didn't understand it then, but after he left, I understood that bone-deep sadness. It was the base colour of his soul, like a broken song, vast, distant, and desolate."

- Zhuo Yichen, Ep 35 (Extra)

I’m not sure if this is has been raised by the fandom in the early days when the series started airing, but I find it so… it’s not foreshadowing, it’s just… (melancholic) now that we have the full view of everything. Zhao Yuanzhou’s name in Chinese characters are 赵远舟. 远 (yuan) — far away, 舟 (zhou) — boat. I recall there was an episode where he, ZYC and WX were making fun of each other’s names. Though, in that scene, they only mention his birth name, Zhu Yan, which funnily enough, the Yan (厌) does indeed stand for ‘annoying’ as the other two speculate. Yet it also stands for loathing, or be fed up with something. His birth name represents the slow grudge and despair he bears for his birth Demonic nature, the things out of his control. His human name doesn't fare any better. In fact, it is rather tragic.

Yuan Zhou — a far away boat, never docking on the shores of tranquility. It's a gifted human name from a person he cares about, yet, the humanity that this represents is innately unreachable. Gifts never have permanence in his life after all. He is always physically on the shore, looking out at the ocean of the Wilderness. He looks out to this yuan zhou, this metaphorical boat beyond his grasp, floating on this ocean of intertwining dreams and nightmares. The ocean is his ironic safe haven, as he finds that it "never cared for his sadness or loneliness". But his mind is simultaneously also the boat itself, drifting endlessly in sadness and loneliness. He looks out into the ocean where ten thousand waves are born and ten thousand lives are taken, each scenario representing the endless birth and death of his hopes and despair. He looks out at the ocean and sees himself in its waves.

As humans, regardless of culture, our names stand for our hopes and wishes. Names have power, in fiction and mythology, they are often a character’s prophecy. His human name reflects the human side of him that is unreachable and desolate, adrift at sea never settling on the shore - this human nature that is in sight but never attainable. On the other end, his Demon birth name reflects who he is and what he loathes, but it also comes with fond memories. To be a human or a demon? To which he says, "Be whatever you want to become". The tragic truth is, deep down, he cares for both his identities. He doesn’t want to solely become either. It wounds him that the two sides of him, the demon and the human can never truly reconcile. His nature eternally jostles with what he nurtures. Neither of his names comes with meanings of comfort — his prophecy is one of endless contradiction and encompasses his pain that is thoroughly evoked through the series. The base colour of his soul, like a broken song, vast, distant, and desolate.

Though there is hope, as the story reiterates. As far as mythological prophecies go, fate will bite you in the ass if you avoid it. ZYZ doesn’t avoid these prophecies. Instead, when a human and a demon shows him that both sides can be loved, he fulfils both identities of himself. His self-fulfilling prophecy that he expects from all his inner grief and turmoil, comes true, but not in the way fate expects. But fate cannot condemn him any longer. He still has met his dictated end, hasn't he? He hasn't tempted it in any way or form. Light shines through, and I believe the Heavens are chuckling away in a corner of their world. They let him go to be whatever he wants to be, and he becomes the guiding love that he has always wanted.

[twistiraki]

Hello, I see that requests are open? I just wanna say I really liked your "The Human Queen" fanfic between the reader and Malleus. Do you mind if I request a fanfic where Queen Maleficia explains to Malleus that another reason why she doesn't approve of his relationship with a human is because while fairies are strictly loyal and faithful to their partners, humans tend to cheat and be unfaithful? do you mind if she recounts an experience in her life when she was in love with a human man, only for him to cast her aside for a human woman?

I'm Alive!! Life decided to hurl everything at me work, existential crises, moving. But then I saw this message. Boom. Heartstrings tugged. My chest got all tight in that “I’m alive” kind of way. Suddenly, I needed to write, to share. Malleus deserve the world!! Thank you for the ask!

The Human Queen Part 2

Part 1

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗ TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ Pairing Malleus x F!Reader Warnings None ‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

Malleus stood alone in the gardens of Briar Valley, the night air cool and still. His gaze was fixed on the statue of Y/n, lovingly crafted with his own hands after her passing. It had been several years now, and yet, the hollow ache of her absence had never left him. Her likeness was so perfect, her face frozen in youthful beauty, as she had been during their happiest days together. Though she was gone, Malleus could still hear her laughter echo in his memories, still feel the warmth of her presence that no amount of time could erase.

The stone figure of Y/n smiled softly, and Malleus traced a finger along its cold surface, wishing he could feel the warmth of her touch one more time. 

"I miss you," Malleus whispered to the statue, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the gardens. "Every day."

As he stood in his quiet reverie, he sensed a familiar presence approaching from behind him. It was his grandmother, Queen Maleficia, her aura unmistakable. Malleus instinctively straightened, preparing for the words he had long expected to hear. He imagined she would once again remind him of the consequences of his choice, that his love for a human had led to this unbearable loneliness.

He didn’t turn to face her. Instead, he spoke first, his voice low, carrying the weight of the years that had passed since Y/n's death.

“Grandmother, I know what you are going to say,” Malleus began, his gaze still fixed on the statue. “You warned me, and now here I am… alone. But I would rather have spent those fleeting years with Y/n, loving her, than to have spent a thousand years with someone I didn’t love.” Queen Maleficia rarely visited the garden where the statue of Y/n stood, and when she did, it was usually brief, and she would say little. Malleus assumed she would chastise him, perhaps for being too sentimental, or remind him of his duties as a king. He sighed, bracing for her sharp words.

But instead, her voice was soft, almost gentle. "You miss her, don’t you, my grandson?"

Malleus tensed, unsure how to respond. His grandmother was a stern ruler, known for her sharp wisdom and unyielding nature. He had never expected her to address his feelings, let alone acknowledge them. Slowly, he turned to face her.

Her face, usually composed and regal, seemed softened by time and the weight of something far deeper than Malleus had ever seen in her. What truly shocked him, however, was the glint of water in her ancient, powerful eyes.

"Grandmother?" he asked, bewildered.

Maleficia stared at the statue of Y/n, her hands clasped before her. "I must admit something to you, Malleus," she began, her voice steady but laced with a sorrow Malleus had never heard from her before. "When you first told me of your love for Y/n, I did not approve. It was not just because she was a human, though that played its part."

Malleus lowered his head. "I know. You always said I should marry someone of our kind, someone who could live as long as I do, so I wouldn't face... this."

Maleficia nodded but continued, "Yes, it is true. The lifespan of humans is but a fleeting moment compared to ours. I thought that by denying you this union, I would save you from this pain you are feeling now." She paused, her voice faltering slightly. "But there was another reason... one I have kept buried for many, many years."

Malleus looked at her, confused. "Another reason?"

"You may think I never understood your love for Y/n," she began, her eyes still lingering on the statue, "but once… long ago, I felt something very similar."

Malleus turned to look at her, his surprise evident. His grandmother rarely spoke of her past, and she had never mentioned any love of her own.

"It was beautiful," she continued, her voice soft, as if recalling a dream from long ago. "I fell so hard for him. He was human, yes, but none of that mattered then. I had never been so happy in my life. The love we shared was deep, real, and I believed it was unbreakable."

Her expression softened for a brief moment, as if those memories still carried warmth despite the pain that followed. She looked at Malleus, her dark eyes revealing a vulnerability he had never seen before.

"I trusted him completely," she said, her voice lowering. "I gave him my heart. I loved him with everything I had, and in return, I thought he loved me just as fiercely. For a time, he did. We were so close, so deeply entwined, that I thought nothing could ever come between us."

Malleus watched her, stunned by the quiet pain in her voice. This was a side of his grandmother he had never known—a woman who had once loved with the same intensity he had felt for Y/n.

"But then," Maleficia continued, her tone darkening, "he betrayed me."

Her fingers tightened around the small ring she had been absently twirling. "He took something from me. Something so dear to me that it shattered my very soul when he left." She paused, and her voice became bitter. "He cast me aside for a human woman, Malleus. After everything we shared, he chose her."

Malleus could hear the raw emotion in her words, the hurt that had never quite healed. The betrayal his grandmother had experienced was a deep wound, one that still bled, even after centuries. He couldn’t fathom the pain she had endured—how much it must have hurt to be discarded so cruelly by someone she had loved so deeply.

"I was mad," she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. "So broken, so full of hatred. The pain consumed me, and all I could think of was revenge. I wanted to make him suffer, to take back what he had stolen from me. I was blinded by rage, Malleus. I almost made the gravest mistake of my life."

She fell silent for a moment, her expression shadowed by the weight of those memories. Malleus felt a knot tighten in his chest, his heart aching for the pain his grandmother had suffered.

"But," she said softly, "in the depths of that despair, something else found me. Another kind of love. A different kind of love that healed what was broken."

Malleus furrowed his brow, unsure of where she was going. Queen Maleficia gently touched the ring she wore around her neck, its pink and blue gemstone gleaming in the dimming light.

"It wasn’t the same kind of love as the one I had with him," she continued, her voice lighter, warmer. "But it was just as precious. It gave me strength and reminded me of my worth. It was a love that came from something... someone more important than he ever could be."

She turned to Malleus then, her eyes softening as she reached out and placed a hand on his cheek. "That love," she said quietly, "is the same love I feel for you."

Malleus’s breath hitched. He had never heard his grandmother speak like this, with such tenderness. For so long, he had only seen her as a stern ruler, someone driven by duty, someone who had little time for sentiment. But now, he saw that there had always been more beneath her cold exterior.

With surprising gentleness, Queen Maleficia leaned forward and kissed his forehead. The gesture, simple as it was, carried a warmth and comfort.

"I didn’t want you to suffer the way I did," she whispered as she pulled away. "I feared that Y/n might hurt you, that she might betray you as I was betrayed. But... she didn’t. She loved you until the end, and for that, I owe her my gratitude."

Malleus felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t expected this. He had thought she would forever see his love for Y/n as a mistake, but now, for the first time, he realized she had been trying to protect him from her own pain.

"Grandmother..." he began, his voice thick with emotion.

She raised a hand to silence him. "You made your choice, Malleus. And I see now that it was the right one, for both you and for our people. Y/n was a remarkable woman. And while she may be gone, her memory will always remain in this kingdom... and in our heart."

She gave him one last long look, then gently took his arm. "Come, my dear. It’s growing late. Let’s go inside."

Malleus hesitated for a moment, casting one last glance at the statue of Y/n, her image bathed in the soft glow of twilight. His heart ached, but there was a quiet sense of peace that came with knowing that Y/n’s love had not only changed him, but had, in its own way, healed something in his grandmother as well.

He nodded, letting his grandmother guide him back inside the castle, the memory of Y/n still burning brightly in his heart, just as she would remain, forever, as his one true queen. Even in death, she was his and always would be. The fae only loved once, after all—and his love for her would endure through the ages, just as hers had for him.

“The fae only loved once, With a heart fierce and true, A bond that the ages could never undo.

Though lifetimes may pass, and the stars may fade, The fae’s single love will never evade.

For the fae only loved once, with a passion so deep, That even in death, their promise they keep.”

Masterlist

[tsartistry]

So there is a character in Niobe Fic that I have not really mentioned at all, and I don't think any of you care, but I care and I wanna talk about Elmer. I think he's neat. I will be honest upfront, this is me indulging in one of my favorite friendship tropes:

Small Precocious Child and the Big Beefy Bodyguards who will protect them at all costs.

More than anything, Niobe needs to make sure no demigods get anywhere near Lester, so she hires monsters as security around her home/business. After all, monsters can smell demigods from miles away. She pays them handsomely, and includes very delicious and filling meals as part of their compensation so they won't be compelled to wander away and hunt for food.

Periodically throughout the Riordanverse we get glimpses of the monsters having an entire underground society (Monster Donut, the serpent on the train in TON, etc.) It seems like the majority of them want nothing to do with Demigod Bullshit and just want to live normal lives. So I think Niobe had no shortage of Monster Applicants wanting a Normal(ish) Job that pays Actual Wages instead of whatever Kronos was paying them (if he was paying them at all.)

Elmer is a Manticore that Niobe hired to be Lester's personal bodyguard. He has one job: If he smells any demigods, get Lester out of there.

Of course, Elmer has no means of sniffing out any other kinds of special children. So when Lester starts hanging out with Carter and Sadie, Elmer is just like "Well, the kid does look pretty lonely. He should have some normal human friends. As a treat."

Lester, being a mortal who doesn't remember anything about Greco-Roman myths being real, doesn't see Elmer for what he is. Which makes things very awkward for Sadie, who can see his true form almost immediately.

But Elmer seems pretty fond of Lester, and pretty chill in general so... maybe he's not dangerous? But there's definitely something WEIRD about Lester's life that she wants to figure out.

(and for those just joining us, Lester has a service dog because the process Niobe used to erase his memories gave him literal brain damage, so now he has a seizure alert dog)