#this show is about trauma and loss and responsibilities and found family

[highlynerdy]

"Bingyi once said the two most beautiful things in the world are a false alarm and a reunion after a long separation. I've been looking forward to the return of my old friend. Unfortunately......"

Fangs of Fortune / 大梦归离

[millers-girl]

all that matters

chapter 1 of willow & whiskey

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: two strangers are tasked with smuggling you and Ellie to the old state house – things don't go exactly as planned...

warnings/tags: age gap, adult language, blood and violence, mentions of loss/trauma

word count: 3.1k

series masterlist

You were seven years old when the world ended.

Thirteen when you lost your mom.

And now, at the ripe age of twenty-seven, you were dealing with the post-apocalyptic world the only way you knew how – by taking care of the one person whose sole survival depended on you.

Every moment of Ellie's life had been etched into your memory, from the day she was born. She was, decidedly, the most important thing in your life. She was why you kept going. Because at the end of the day, when she was born, you were all she had – and she was all you had.

And, sure, Marlene was around—whenever it was convenient for her—, but you were the one who took care of Ellie; you were her family. There was a weight in that responsibility, one that sometimes left you wondering if you were doing enough.

Life in the Boston QZ was tough. You'd traded as much as you could within the QZ. So, sometimes taking care of Ellie sneaking out to trade with nomads or other groups from other QZs nearby. 

You were lucky you had your "shining personality" in your arsenal – people often found it refreshing in the cold world you currently lived in. Seeing how warm and welcoming you were made you pleasant to trade with; made others want to trade with you.

More importantly, it reminded you that kindness still had value in this cold, new world.

Because you were gone so often, you had made the executive decision (much to Ellie's chagrin) that she'd be better off attending FEDRA school. It wasn't an ideal scenario but they could look after her when you weren't there; it was how you two survived.

And then, three weeks ago, everything changed.

You'd snuck Ellie out of school for a night at your apartment when she showed you the bite mark. She said it was four days old. You'd never heard of anyone surviving that long after being bitten.

Still, you had your theories. You were old enough to remember Ellie's birth. Remember her mother being bitten moments before giving birth. Remember how, with her dying breath, she begged you to promise to take care of Ellie. And, now that you were older, you thought maybe something about that could've been the cause of Ellie's supposed "immunity."

But there was only one way to prove it: this was a waiting game.

So, that'd what you did. For an entire week, you huddled with Ellie in the cramped safety of your apartment, watching over her. And, nothing happened. Hell, if anything, the broken skin at the site of the mark started to scab over and heal.

By the end of the week, when you'd run out of food, you took Ellie and followed the graffitied signs in the city straight to the Fireflies. To Marlene.

Standing before you, you found yourself more tired than angry as you said, "I've never asked you for anything." The words tasted bitter on your tongue. "And you've been great at delivering, but I need you to step up now. Ellie, show her your arm."

And so, you explained everything to Marlene. Not shockingly, the Firefly leader believed you immediately. Of course she did. The Fireflies were fanatics for a cure. That's how you knew it'd be smart to bring Ellie here, to place her at the center for their desperate hope. Because now that a supposed cure was staring her in the face, how could Marlene possibly deny you anything?

For good measure, she kept you and Ellie in a room for the next few days, just to confirm the theory. She saw it for herself, the skin healing more and more by the day. No behavioral or physical changes in Ellie. She really was immune.

By the end of the second week, Marlene told you about a Firefly base out west, in Colorado, where scientists were working on a cure. She'd gotten in contact with them, over the radio, and from the little information they received, they were sure a few vials of Ellie's blood would do the trick.

The confidence in her voice was contagious, even if a part of you trembled at the thought of the leap of faith. You and Ellie were about to step into unknown territory.

Waiting in a dim room for a group of Fireflies to escort you and Ellie out west, you barely had time to contemplate the quiet before the storm – until you heard shouting in the hall, followed by Ellie's distinct voice.

Instinct kicked in.

Muscles tensing, you quickly grabbed your gun and cocked it. Throwing open the door, you saw Ellie on the ground with a man towering over her, his back to you. Ellie tried to reach for her switchblade, but his boot nailed it to the ground. He stood tall and tense, his grip on his gun unyielding, the barrel pointed directly at her.

A surge of protective anger flooded you as you rushed out of the room and pressed your own gun to the back of his head. "Drop it," you commanded in a low, threatening tone. Your voice shocked even you but you were damned if someone was about to hurt Ellie.

In an instant, another figure—this time a woman—was hurling herself at you. The impact sent you crashing against the ground, your gun clattering a few feet away. Lying there, breath stolen by the blow, you stared up at the ceiling, exhaustion catching up to you.

As you sat up, rubbing your bruised side, you caught sight of Marlene calmly breaking up the fight. Her steady gaze met yours, informing you that the two strangers were not foes.

Would've been good to know before I attacked them, you thought.

You visibly relaxed your shoulders but scoffed, "What the fuck, lady? You just go around tackling people like this is a game of college football?" Even as you cursed, the full throb in your side remind you of your own vulnerability – you would most definitely be bruised tomorrow.

From a few yards away, Marlene conversed with the man, her tone pragmatic. "Look, Joel, we were gonna move Ellie out of the zone tonight. But we won't make it anywhere like this. Not for a while anyway. So now I'm thinking, you and Tess are gonna do it."

At the mention, your body instinctively moved between Ellie and the newcomers. Over your shoulder, Ellie declared, "I'm not going with him!"

Simultaneously, the man, Joel, scoffed, "The hell we are." His tone was curt.

"What happened to the plan?" You demanded, eyes locked with Marlene's. "You were going to take us." 

Marlene's hand dropped from her abdomen, and you could see blood seeping through her tank. She'd been hit.

"Shit, forget I asked," you muttered, the resignation in your voice mingling with a simmering frustration. You exhaled slowly, taking in your options. "You two planning on rugby-tackling anyone else to the ground? Or pointing your gun at the people you're supposed to be smuggling – "

"She attacked me first," Joel defended with a low growl.

"She's a kid," you shot back, before turning back to Marlene with a shake of your head. "This is really the best option?" 

Marlene silently nodded. 

The woman – Tess – spoke up, surprising you with how calm she sounded. "We'll take her. We'll take them." Joel's eyes flickered with disbelief. "We need the battery," she tried.

"We'll find another one," he responded coldly.

Marlene cut in. "Take them to the old State House and my team there will give you all of it. Not just the battery – a fueled-up truck, guns, supplies. I swear." 

A nudge from Tess and a defeated sigh from Joel sealed the deal. "Okay, here's the deal. We'll get them to your crew at the State House. But before we hand them over, your people give us everything that we want. If not, we kill her, there and then."

Marlene nodded once more. "Deal."

Your stomach twisted, a knot of anxiety forming within you. "Really? That fast?" you mused bitterly.

Marlene's tone softened, almost gently, as she said, "You two are all that matter. Ellie is all that matters." It was a reassurance you'd heard before, yet it never failed to convince you. "My team will not jeopardize that. I promise."

After a moment of weighted silence, you finally nodded. It wasn't like you had many options. Turning to Ellie, you said, "Go get your pack." Ellie looked up at you, disbelief etched on her face. "Now, Ellie." She stomped off into the room to do as you asked. Meanwhile, you grabbed your own, lost in thought of the worry that was likely to come from this arrangement.

You snatched Ellie's switchblade off the ground, handing it over to her when she came to stand beside you. 

"Are we seriously going to stroll out of here with two people we met five minutes ago? One who had a gun in my face and the other who attacked you?" she asked, her tone half-accusing, half-resistant.

Gently, you squeezed her shoulders. "It's just to the State House," you reassured her. "Then, we'll never have to see their faces again. And, in the meantime, keep your blade close. Don't let them try anything." 

Ellie nodded sharply, determination in her eyes that made you wish you could shield her even more fiercely from the world outside.

"Let's go," Tess instructed, leading the way.

As you followed behind Ellie, you couldn't help but glance back at Marlene. The older woman gave you a soft nod, a silent promise that somehow, everything would be okay. You weren't so sure.

As you made your way through back alleys and darkened corridors, you made sure to keep your body between Ellie and the strangers in front of you. Every step was measured, every glance filled with protective vigilance. Marlene may have trusted them, but that wasn't a luxury you could afford right now.

At Joel's apartment—a brief, safe haven before the next leg of your journey—you and Ellie walked in first, leaving Joel and Tess to exchange a few private words in the hall. When Joel finally entered and closed the door behind him, Ellie had already gone snooping.

She found an old, thick book titled Number 1 Music Hits, and was rifling through it to stave off boredom. A piece of paper slipped out, with some sort of cryptic code scrawled on it.

Bill/Frank 60 — NOTHING IN 70 — NEW STOCK 80 — X

Meanwhile, you sank into the large chair in the corner of the living room, pulling a worn book out of your pack.

As Joel set his pack beside the couch, Ellie broke the silence. "So, who's Bill and Frank?" Her voice was light and curious, cutting through the quiet.

You hummed softly, glancing up. "What's that, bub?" you asked, tone affectionate.

It took Joel by surprise. It'd been a long time since he last heard someone speak with such tenderness, let alone publicly.

Ellie shook her head. "I'm asking Joel. The radio's a smuggling code, right? 60s song, they don't have anything new. 70s, they got new stuff. What's 80s?"

Joel stood up from the couch, snatching the book out of Ellie's hands and tossing it on the table with a decisive thud. He then sprawled out on the couch, stretching across its length and closing his eyes.

Ellie frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Killin' time," he replied curtly.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" Ellie snapped back.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Joel responded, tossing an arm over his eyes to shield out the light.

You rolled your eyes, easing the tension with a suggestion and a warm smile. "Come here, trouble. I stole a board game from the Firefly camp for us to play. Might as well break it out."

As Ellie moved toward you, she muttered, "Your watch is broken," to Joel, who only ignored her and turned away to catch some shuteye.

While he slept, you and Ellie played a board game called Pandemic, a grimly appropriate choice that somehow lightened the mood. The sound of Joel mumbling in his sleep broke your quiet, light conversation a few times. Eventually, even Ellie settled down and rested her head in your lap as you leaned back against the old chair. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair, humming a lullaby your mother used to sing to you.

When the rain pounded on the window and the room darkened, Ellie's voice broke through the silence. "I'm scared to go past the wall," she confessed, her words barely audible.

"Why?" you gently asked, the worry in her tone striking a chord deep within you.

She shrugged, picking at the lint on her jacket sleeve. "Do you think Joel and Tess go out there a lot? Like, more than you? When do you think they last went out?"

From the couch came Joel's gruff reply, "Maybe a year." Both you and Ellie looked up to see him awake now, sitting up on the sofa. "What's it matter?" he added.

Ellie sat up as well. "But you know where to go? So we're gonna be okay?"

You noticed how Joel took in Ellie's nervous demeanor. "Yeah," he said, sounding surprisingly comforting. "We'll be fine."

Still, you squeezed Ellie's arm in reassurance. "And if we aren't, at least we're faster than them two. We'll just outrun them." Your words were meant to comfort—and they did, Ellie was giggling—but you only found a familiar knot forming in your stomach at the unknown ahead of you.

In truth, you usually traveled south of the QZ; trips east to the State House were rare and always fraught with uncertainty. It scared you not being sure about what to expect, but you wouldn't let Ellie see that. And, maybe something about the confident in Joel's voice made you believe him, too.

"So, what's the deal with you two anyway?" Joel asked when Ellie left to go to the bathroom, leaving you alone for a moment. "You some bigwig's daughters or somethin'?"

You shrugged lightly. "Something like that."

You returned to your spot in the large, comfy chair in the corner, flipping your book open again.

Joel glanced at the title. "What are you readin'?" he inquired.

"Just some book about hobbits and a ring," you answered nonchalantly, a small smile playing at your lips.

Joel rolled his eyes, unimpressed. You were sure that was as much of a reaction as you were going to get out of him, at least for now.

When Ellie returned, she squished beside you on the seat, and said to Joel, "Oh, by the way, the radio came on while you were sleeping."

Joel instantly sat up straighter. "What? What was the song?" he demanded.

Ellie shrugged, playing it cool while you struggled to suppress your grin. "He kept saying something like 'wake me up before you go-go'?"

Joel groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Shit."

Ellie's smile widened mischievously. "Gotcha." Joel immediately looked up at her. "80s means trouble. Code broken," she teased.

Before he could respond, Tess entered the apartment. "The spot under Lancaster looks good. You got jackets in your packs?" You nodded. "Okay, get them. It's time to go."

With you following right behind Ellie, Tess led the way into the underground tunnel system. When the four of you emerged above ground again, you found yourselves outside the QZ.

You managed to take the left edge around the buffer zone with relative ease, keeping Ellie close. That is, until you happened upon a FEDRA guard. It seemed that even though he knew Joel and Tess, he wasn't cutting them any slack this time.

"Turn around. Get on your fuckin' knees," he barked.

Joel tried to calm the situation. "Now, hold on — "

But the guard was relentless. "What'd I fuckin' tell you, man? Get on your knees!"

Tess groaned and stepped forward to try a different approach as the four of you sank to your knees. "Look, you let us do this run, and we'll split the cards with you."

The guard ignored her, his focus on compliance. "Hands on your head. Eyes forward."

From the corner of your eye, you watched the guard methodically place a virus detector against Tess's neck. "Really, man?" she muttered.

"Yup, we're doing this by the book."

"Jesus Christ."

You didn't have to look over at Ellie to notice how her demeanor completely changed then. You could feel her anxiety radiating. Even your heart was pounding faster with each passing second as you thought of what would happen when the guard got to scan Ellie. You had to think fast.

The moment he passed by you and made it to the youngest member of your group, you drew the knife you kept in your side pocket and forcefully thrust it into his thigh, dragging it sharply to create a wide, searing wound.

The guard staggered back, groaning loudly as he yanked the knife out. "Fuckin' bitch," he snarled, pulling his gun up to point it right at you. You shoved Ellie behind you and, to your surprise, found Joel's broad shoulders in front of you as he shielded your body from the raised gun.

"Hey, hey. Stop!" he tried to reason.

"Get out of the fuckin' way!" The guard demanded.

"We can fix this," Joel tried again, tone desperate yet resolute.

"Move."

Without hesitating, Joel lunged forward, knocking the guard down and climbing on top of him on the ground, beating him with his bare hands until blood seeped from his knuckles.

Meanwhile, Ellie was frantically tugging at your sleeve, her eyes wide as she pleaded with Tess. "Tell her I'm not sick! I'm not! I am not sick!" She cried, the fear in her voice pulling you out of the trance of watching Joel.

"Joel!" Tess called out, holding the virus detector up to him. The red screen glowed vibrantly against the dark of the night.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stepped sharply in front of Ellie, snatching your gun from where you'd dropped it. With shaking hands and a fierce determination, you pointed it toward Joel and Tess. Ellie stood behind you, hand clutching the back of your jacket.

"She's not sick," you insisted, voice unsteady despite the resolve in your chest.

Joel's gaze was fixed on the guard, as if he were in a trance, but Tess met your eyes, unconvinced.

"I'm not!" Ellie repeated, pulling up her sleeve to show Tess the healing bite. "Look! This is three weeks old! Nobody lasts more than a day. Does this look a day old to you?"

Tess reached out to grasp Ellie's forearm, inspecting the mark with precision. "When did it happen?" she asked, her voice tight.

"Is right now really the best time to talk about this?" You snapped, eyes darting around the area. "They're gonna catch us if we don't run!"

As if on queue, a siren wailed in the distance, the sound slicing through the heavy rain. "We gotta go – fucking now!"

Without a second thought, you tugged Ellie along, breaking Tess's grip on her arm, and darted towards the open city.

Behind you, Tess's voice chased, "Shit, she's right. Joel, we gotta move. Joel!"

Neither you nor Ellie dared to look back as you plunged into the biological contamination area – downtown Boston's chaotic heart.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Trigger Warnings: Verbal abuse, grief, and loss, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Redemption Arc, Mild Violence, Emotional Hurt, Disassociation, Suicidal Ideation, Depression.

A/N: Welcome back to this emotional rollercoaster, besties. We’ve got everything: cursed pregnancies, emotionally constipated men, and Sukuna trying to out-sass Megumi (spoiler: he succeeds), slow-burn tension finally snapping, emotionally broken men flirting with self-destruction, and a moment that might make you scream into your pillow (I’m not responsible for broken furniture). Warnings for angst, trauma, and me absolutely wrecking your heart while you laugh. If you’re here for a lobotomy, grab your scalpels—it’s about to get messy. Proceed with caution, tissues, and maybe a therapist on speed dial. Also, Megumi in this fic is maybe around mid-20s, and the reader is a few years older than him. He has mastered all his Shikigami's (yes, the 'with this treasure' one too) & is physically a Toji Hybrid. I have added links to show what he looks like. You are welcome. One Reader - Do you accept Cunt-structive Criticism? Me - No, I only accept Cash.

Previous Chapter 7 (alt ending 1.3) - Sapphire Echoes (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 8 (alt ending 1.4) - Fractured Tides

Japan

The news reached Gojo and Nanami through an anonymous tip—a voice crackling over the phone, sterile and detached.

“The fetuses didn’t survive,” the doctor confirmed. “The pregnancy... it was unlike anything ever thought possible. The details are in the report.”

Gojo’s hand trembled as he gripped the receiver, his knuckles blanching as the plastic creaked under the pressure. When the receiver finally snapped, shards scattering across the floor, he didn’t flinch. His vibrant arrogance—the trait that had once made him invincible—was gone, stripped away in an instant. His eyes, previously so full of light and mischief, stared blankly, reflecting nothing but the hollow void inside him.

Nanami stood nearby, his posture rigid, his knuckles white as he clenched the report. The paper crinkled audibly, but his grip didn’t loosen. His jaw was so tightly locked it seemed his teeth might shatter.

“How’s this possible?” He rasped, finally putting it down, his voice horse under the weight of his self-loathing.

Gojo didn’t respond. His silver tongue, always ready with a quip or a plan, was silent. The crushing tide of guilt drowned every thought before it could form.

The hospital report was worse than they could have imagined. The chimeric fetuses were described in clinical detail, every word a knife to the chest.

“Genetic abnormalities beyond comprehension,” it read. “The combination of heteropaternal superfecundation and double fertilization created anomalies incompatible with life.”

The accompanying images were worse than they had imagined.

The boy’s elongated limbs twisted unnaturally, his spine arching grotesquely, like a question mark formed from pain. The girl’s fused fingers curled inward, her malformed face locked in an expression that seemed almost accusing.

Their shared split-colored hair was a mockery—a cruel reminder of the selfish desires that had created them.

Nanami turned away, bile rising in his throat. “They never had a chance,” he whispered, his voice hollow and brittle.

Gojo slammed the folder shut, his chest heaving as if the act of breathing had become insurmountable. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t find a way to fix things.

They tried to reach you. Desperation bled into every call, every text, and every voicemail. Every call went unanswered. Every message was read and ignored.

“Please,” Gojo had whispered into the receiver one night, his voice breaking. “Just... just let us explain.”

Nanami heard him through the door but didn’t offer comfort. The weight of his guilt pressing him further into despair. His gaze was fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, as if it held the answers he sought.

The quiet became their enemy. In the stillness, the thoughts crept in, unbidden and relentless.

Nanami found himself walking along the Rainbow Bridge , which connected to Odaiba, late one night. The icy wind bit at his skin as he gazed out at the dark waters of Tokyo Bay. It was calm, inviting, a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind.

He imagined what it would feel like to let go—to sink into the cold embrace of the water. The thought brought a fleeting sense of relief.

Gojo had begun lingering at the Shinjuku-gyoemmae station, his sunglasses hiding the exhaustion etched into his face. He stood near the edge of the platform, the sound of approaching trains vibrating through his bones.

It would be quick, he thought. Easy.

At home, the pills in Nanami’s medicine cabinet whispered promises of peace. One bottle, one night, and it could all be over.

But neither of them acted.

Every time they came close, the thought of you stopped them. They couldn’t leave without seeing you again, without explaining, apologizing, begging for forgiveness.

But the shame at what they’d done to you, to the babies, kept them from coming to you in person. So they stuck to calling and texting, each unanswered attempt another nail in the coffin of their hope.

They lived in limbo, caught between the unbearable weight of their guilt and the faint, flickering hope that one day you might pick up the phone.

---

The moon cast a faint silver glow over the balcony, its edges softened by a thin mist that clung to the chilled air. You sat on the couch inside, barely illuminated by the warm, dim light of the apartment. A blanket draped over your shoulders, shielding you from the cold but not from the hollow ache in your chest.

Your eyes were glassy, unfocused, fixed on nothing as your fingers absently traced the edge of the blanket. The faint hum of the city below was a distant whisper, meaningless and detached from the void swallowing you whole.

The faint scuff of shoes against stone pulled at the edges of your awareness. A shadow moved across the street in front of your house. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t blink. Your mind was elsewhere in a memory.

His hair was jet black and damp, clinging to his forehead in unruly spikes, his jawline streaked with dirt and exhaustion. He wore a plain black shirt, torn and damp in places, and dark jeans that looked as though they’d seen weeks of wear. His piercing blue eyes were scanning the building before they landed on you.

He didn’t hesitate.

In one smooth motion, he climbed the window ledges on the floor below, then stepped up to the balcony railing and swung himself up, his movements eerily reminiscent of someone—fluid, predatory. He landed soundlessly on the edge, stepping inside with a casualness that belied the weight of his presence.

But this wasn’t the boy you’d known. This was a man carved from desperation and resolve, his presence filling the room with an intensity that felt both familiar and foreign. He looked older than you remembered—taller, broader. His hair was wild, falling in dark, uneven spikes over eyes that glinted like steel. He was dressed in plain clothes.

He frowned, stepping closer, his shadow falling over you. When you still didn’t react, he crossed the room in two strides, crouching down in front of you, his features softening with something close to pain. His hands hovered over your shoulder before finally nudging it.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice low and rough, carrying the weight of months spent in pursuit.

You didn’t respond.

His brows furrowed as he stepped closer. “Hey,” he tried again, softer this time.

Still, you didn’t move.

His roughened fingers reached for your cheeks, his touch hesitant, a mere brush against the skin. “It’s me.”

Nothing.

His throat tightened, frustration flickering across his face He tilted his head to catch your gaze. “I’m not going anywhere until you say something,” he muttered, his voice edged with exasperation.

When you still didn’t react, he reached out again, this time giving your shoulder a firmer nudge.

Your eyes flicked to him at last, but they didn’t really see him. You stared through him, your expression glassy, as if replaying a memory too distant to touch.

The silence stretched taut and heavy.

His hands curled into fists as he rose to his full height, frustration and worry flickering across his face. He glanced toward the balcony, then back at you. The thought of leaving you like this wasn’t an option.

Then, from behind you, a presence surged forward—dark, commanding, and lethal.

Sukuna.

He appeared as though conjured from the shadows themselves, his crimson eyes burning with a dangerous gleam. His shirt hung open at the collar, his tattoos stark against his pale skin, and his lips curled into a predatory smirk. His crimson eyes burned like embers, and his lips curled in a snarl as his gaze stayed locked onto the man, narrowing with instant suspicion.

“Who the hell are you?” Sukuna’s voice was low, his tone dripping with menace as he stepped forward, placing himself between you and the intruder.

The man’s expression hardened as his stance shifted, one foot sliding back as though preparing for an attack, his eyes meeting Sukuna’s with the unyielding force of a man who’d long since stopped flinching at power. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Careful, brat,” Sukuna growled, his head tilting, his grin widening in warning. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

The tension between them snapped taut, like a bowstring pulled to its limit. Sukuna took a step forward, his fingers twitching as though itching for a fight. The room seemed to darken as his cursed energy spiked, the air thick with its oppressive weight. But the man didn’t flinch. His hand flicked upward, and with a snap, shadows began to writhe at his feet.

“Neither do you,” the man said, his voice sharp. His hands twitched, and the faint shimmer of cursed energy began to gather around him.

“Hey…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking under the strain of its first use in days.

Neither man noticed.

Sukuna’s smirk widened as he cracked his knuckles, his cursed energy flaring brighter. “I don’t care who you are, but you’re about to regret—”

The floor beneath you trembled as the man’s hands moved in a familiar pattern, his fingers forming seals too quickly to follow.

The air shifted, a deep, guttural hum vibrating through the room. The shadow behind the man darkened, twisting and expanding.

“No!”

Your voice cut through the tension like a blade, startling after months of silence. Both men froze, their eyes snapping to you.

You stood, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as you moved to place yourself in front of the man, shielding him from Sukuna. “Please don’t. You both are not threats to me,” you spoke, your voice trembling with frustration.

You turned to the man, your voice rising. “I told you to stop doing that!”

“I thought he kidnapped you. I think that justifies it’s use.” The man muttered, pretending to be annoyed, but immediately moved to hold you.

Sukuna barked out a laugh. “Taken her? Kid, I’m the one keeping her safe from idiots like you.”

You awkwardly reciprocated.

Sukuna raised a brow, his gaze darting between you and the man. For a brief moment, his smirk softened, a flicker of something tender crossing his features as he watched you—you, alive and animated for the first time in months. That’s the most you’ve said in months —he thought to himself. He continued eyeing the spiky-haired man, wondering who he was and if he was a threat, but the way you were comfortable around him, Sukuna deduced he wasn’t connected to your idiotic husbands.

The man, however, frowned, his jaw tightening. “He—”

“Not a threat,” you said lowly. “Mahoraga isn’t for solving your problems with people who talk back.”

Sukuna folded his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe but watching Megumi like a hawk. “Kid’s got issues,” he muttered, his voice tinged with amusement.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back without thinking, letting go of Megumi and turning on Sukuna with a glare.

He blinked, then grinned, a warmth in his crimson eyes that made his smirk almost fond. “Fair point, princess.”

“You don’t look normal.”

“I’m fine,” you and Megumi both ignored Sukuna, though your voice cracked on the lie. But Sukuna didn’t correct you right now.

Megumi’s gaze kept searching your face for something—anything.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though no one in the room believed it.

"Princess, I need to leave.” Sukuna had said, glaring at his phone. “Will you be okay for a few days? I have arranged for Choso and Yuji to be here within a few hours.”

“I’ll be fine. Megumi is my best friend; he will keep me safe.” You reassured him, while Megumi looked at him smugly with his arms now folded, muscles flexing.

“Call me if you need anything or if there’s an issue.” Sukuna told you, contemplating how mad you would be if he broke Megumi’s jaw.

You nodded as he turned to leave, answering a call. “I’m on my way, woman. Stop irritating me!”

Your heart sank.

He was going to meet a woman?!

Were you in love with him?

But how long would he wait for you?

// Playlist

After telling Megumi everything, the house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the windchimes. He sat across from you on the couch, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly as if they were the only thing grounding him. His features were softened by the dim light, but the weight in his eyes made him look older than his years.

You sat opposite him, knees pulled to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. The blanket draped over your shoulders felt like a shield, though it did little to protect you from the storm inside.

For a long time, neither of you spoke.

“You were right,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Megumi’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“I was wrong,” you said, your gaze fixed on a crack in the marble on the floor. “About everything. About them. About leaving you behind.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, the guilt in his expression enough to cut. “You don’t have to say that.”

“But it’s true,” you said, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “You warned me. You told me what they were like, what would happen, and I didn’t listen. I was so convinced I could handle it on my own that I pushed you away.”

Megumi let out a shaky breath, his hands flexing as if trying to grasp the weight of his emotions. “And I shouldn’t have said what I did. At the airport, I—” He swallowed hard, his voice breaking under the strain. “I was angry. Hurt. But that doesn’t excuse it. I said awful things to you, and I’ve hated myself for it every single day since. I was a coward, too afraid to reach out to you when you needed me most.”

His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued, the pain evident in every word. “Then what happened at your HQ... They were live streaming it on the news, and I was terrified, praying you’d make it out alive. But when they said you weren’t there, my heart dropped. No one knew where you had gone. I felt so helpless, so lost. I’ve been searching for you ever since, haunted by the fear that I might never find you again.”

The words hung between you, raw and heavy.

“I think...” you started, your voice trembling. “I think we both thought we were doing the right thing. You wanted to protect me, and I wanted to prove I didn’t need it, too blinded by what I thought was love.”

Megumi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glinting. “I should’ve been there. When it all fell apart, when they—” His voice cracked, and he looked away. “I should’ve come sooner.”

“And I should’ve called you,” you said, your chest tightening. “But I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to see how far I’d fallen.”

His gaze snapped back to yours. “You don’t have to hide from me. Ever. You never did. Sure, I’d yell at you or even tell you I was right, but I’d never not help you.”

The words broke something inside you, and for the first time in months, the tears came. They fell silently at first, then harder, your shoulders shaking as the dam burst.

Megumi moved without hesitation, closing the distance between you and pulling you into his arms. His grip was strong, grounding, and you clung to him like a lifeline. “I should have stayed in touch with you even if I didn’t agree with the decision in case you ever needed me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so sorry, Megumi,” you whispered against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for not listening, for abandoning you, for never trying again, for not honoring your dad.”

“I’m so sorry for the... the babies.” He spoke low as if he were blaming himself.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you cried harder, clutching his shirt.

---

// Playlist

Japan

Gojo sat on the edge of the couch, his white shirt wrinkled and stained, hanging loose on his frame. His eyes rimmed red, their usual brilliance dulled. His hand clutched a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing as he tipped it back.

Across the room, Nanami stood by the kitchen sink, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He stared at his hands under the running water, scrubbing them long past clean, as if the act could erase the guilt embedded in his skin.

The silence between them was broken only by Gojo’s muttered curses as he took another swig.

“You should eat,” Nanami said finally, his voice hoarse.

Gojo snorted, the sound bitter. “Coming from the guy who hasn’t touched his plate in days.”

Nanami didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he shut off the water.

Gojo leaned back, his head resting against the couch, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Do you ever wonder,” he said, his voice slurring slightly, “if it would’ve been better if we’d never...” He trailed off, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Nanami turned slowly, his gaze hard and unyielding. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Gojo shot back, his voice rising. “Say what we’re both thinking? That we—”

“I said don’t,” Nanami snapped. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white.

Gojo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think not saying it changes anything? They’re gone, Kento. And it’s our fault.”

Nanami flinched, the words hitting him like a blow. He turned away, his shoulders stiff as he gripped the edge of the counter. “I know that,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “I know that every second of every day.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of their shared guilt pressing down on them.

//

Later that night, Gojo sat alone on the balcony, the cold biting at his skin. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling into the air like a ghost. He hadn’t smoked in years, but tonight it felt like the only thing keeping him grounded.

Nanami appeared in the doorway, a glass of scotch in hand. He didn’t say anything as he stepped outside, sitting on the opposite end of the balcony.

They didn’t look at each other, their gazes fixed on the city below.

Gojo’s sudden laugh was hollow, a broken sound that made Nanami’s chest tighten.

“I keep seeing them,” Gojo murmured, his hand tightening around the cigarette. “Every time I close my eyes. I see their faces. Their hair. Their... their little hands.” His voice cracked, and he fell silent, his shoulders trembling.

Nanami’s grip on his glass tightened, the faint clink of ice against glass the only sound he made.

“They didn’t even get a chance,” Gojo continued, his voice thick with emotion. “We robbed them of that.”

Nanami’s expression unreadable. “Every time I close my eyes, they’re there. And her. The way she looked at us... or didn’t. Like we weren’t even worth hating.”

Gojo turned to him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Then why are we still here, Kento? Why are we still—”

“Because we don’t deserve peace,” Nanami interrupted, his voice harsh. “Not yet. Not until we’ve done everything we can to make it right. Even if she never forgives us.”

Gojo stared at him, his chest heaving as he tried to process the words.

They sat in silence after that, the weight of their guilt hanging heavy between them. The city lights blurred into a haze, and the distant sounds of life carried on, oblivious to the two broken men on the balcony.

Neither of them moved, each lost in their own spiral, but for the first time in weeks, the silence between them felt less like a void and more like a shared burden. A small, flickering reminder that they weren’t entirely alone.

---

// Playlist

The days passed in a haze. Choso and Yuji were sunshines around Megumi’s age, who moved to the lower floor, but you didn’t have much energy to interact with new people. Sukuna called you every few hours.

Megumi stayed with you. He didn’t leave, didn’t push, just existed in your space like a quiet force of nature.

He cooked meals, both your favorites growing up, and sat with you while you ate, even if it was just a few bites. And when the nightmares came, he was there, his hand steady on your shoulder, until the panic subsided.

A few days later, Sukuna returned and obsered it all with narrowed eyes, his irritation barely concealed.

One evening, Megumi was trying to coax you into taking a walk. “Fresh air,” he said, standing by the door with his arms crossed. “It’ll do you good.”

“I’m fine here,” you muttered, sinking deeper into the couch.

“She doesn’t need to go anywhere,” Sukuna cut in from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “She’s safe here.”

Megumi turned, his eyes narrowing. “Safe doesn’t mean healthy. What would you know, old man? You probably can’t walk at your age with your arthritis.”

“I’m not old, brat. I will fight you!” Sukuna shot back, his tone mocking.

“With what? Your walking stick?!,” Megumi snapped, his voice rising.

You couldn’t help it—the sheer absurdity of their bickering—it pulled a laugh from your chest. It was small, tentative, but real.

Both men froze, their eyes snapping to you.

“Did she just—” Sukuna started, his eyes wide.

“She laughed,” Megumi confirmed, his tone somewhere between disbelief and triumph.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, the sound foreign even to you. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice muffled.

“Don’t be,” Sukuna said, his smirk returning as he leaned against the wall. “If I’d known it was this easy, I would’ve let him insult me sooner.”

“I’d do it for free,” Megumi said, looking at you, fingers twitching to pat himself on the back.

Sukuna’s grin widened. “Of course, it’s not like anyone would pay to watch you.” He fired back at Megumi, still looking at you.

You laughed again, the sound freer this time, and the tension in the room shifted.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest lightened.

After a beat, you calmed down and said, “I’d like to go back to work.”

Both nodded.

//

After that day, it became their unspoken mission to make you laugh as often as possible.

One afternoon, Sukuna conjured a miniature version of himself—barely six inches tall—who stomped across the coffee table, shouting, “Fear me, mortals!” in a voice far too high-pitched to be taken seriously.

Megumi, who was seated at the kitchen island, raised an eyebrow. “That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna shot back, gesturing dramatically toward Mini-Sukuna. “At least I’m creative.”

Without missing a beat, Megumi summoned a tiny shikigami—a shadowy cat with glowing eyes—that pounced on Mini-Sukuna and promptly sat on him.

Meanwhile, you sat at the dining table, trying (and failing) to hide your laughter behind a mug of tea.

//

Another day the apartment was quiet except for the sizzling sound coming from the kitchen. Sukuna stood near the couch, holding a plate of food that looked… edible, but only in the way emergency rations were. His expression screamed confidence, as if he’d just solved world hunger.

In reality he was just jealous that Megumi had overtaken cooking since arriving, and he wasn’t able to feed you.

On the other side of the kitchen island, Megumi was frying something in a pan with the kind of intensity usually reserved for life-or-death surgeries. His sleeves were rolled up.

“You’re going to eat this,” Sukuna declared, stabbing the air with his fork.

“Like hell she is,” Megumi shot back without looking up, flipping whatever he was cooking with the ease of someone who’d spent years perfecting it. “She deserves something decent. Not whatever cursed sludge you’re trying to pass off as food. I’m making her comfort food.”

“She hasn’t touched your so-called food in days. She’s barely eaten anything. Mine’s nutritional,” Sukuna growled, stepping closer to the island.

“It’s an insult to taste buds,” Megumi countered, grabbing a plate and dishing out his creation—a simple, golden-brown omelet.

From your spot on the couch, you sighed, leaning your head against your hand. You weren’t sure what was worse: the fact that they were arguing over who got to feed you or that they seemed genuinely ready to fight about it.

“Hey,” you said, your voice flat, “I’m right here. I can feed myself.”

Both men ignored you.

“She hasn’t eaten properly in days,” Sukuna said, his crimson eyes narrowing. “I’ve been keeping her alive.”

“Barely,” Megumi muttered, sliding the plate across the counter. “She used to like this when we were younger.”

“She’s not a kid anymore, brat,” Sukuna sneered, taking a bite of his own creation as if to prove its worth. “She needs real food.”

“And you think that is real food?” Megumi shot back, nodding toward Sukuna’s plate. “It looks like you scraped it off the floor of an incomplete domain.”

“It’s better than whatever bland crap you’re making,” Sukuna retorted, leaning closer.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Seriously, you two—”

“Stay out of this,” they both said in unison, their voices sharp enough to make you blink.

You were trying to hide a chuckle at how serious they both were about their cooking.

Megumi crossed his arms, smirking. “Look, she’s laughing at you.”

“Watch it, brat,” Sukuna growled, his energy crackling faintly.

“Oh, please,” Megumi said, rolling his eyes. “You’re just mad she liked my cooking better.”

“She hasn’t even tried your cooking,” Sukuna snapped, his grip tightening on the fork. “And she won’t, because it looks like a toddler made it.”

“Better than your attempt at weaponized nutrition,” Megumi shot back.

The bickering continued, insults flying back and forth with increasing absurdity. By the time Sukuna accused Megumi of “summoning Mahoraga to chop onions,” you were doubled over, tears streaming down your face as you laughed harder than you had in months.

//

Your employees had welcomed you back with open arms while you still chose to work remotely. But the lack of light in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

But instead of bombarding you with questions, they took matters into their own hands.

During a virtual meeting, your CTO appeared on camera dressed as a game character, complete with poorly made props and a monologue.

“Fear not, boss,” he declared, brandishing a foam sword. “I shall vanquish the deadlines!”

The entire team erupted into cheers, clapping as he pretended to fight off invisible enemies.

Another time, your marketing manager created a meme slideshow of your company’s latest release, complete with captions like, “When the servers crash but the players still think it’s part of the game.”

Even Sukuna got in on it, lurking just off-camera during a meeting to mutter sarcastic commentary loud enough for you to hear.

“Do they always sound this unhinged?” he asked during a particularly chaotic brainstorming session.

“Yes,” you replied, your lips twitching into a small smile.

During a virtual meeting, one of your lead designers appeared on camera wearing a cardboard replica of a game console, complete with buttons that actually lit up. “Presenting the latest in gaming technology!” he announced, spinning in his chair.

“Is that a fire hazard?” you asked, unable to stop the corner of your mouth from twitching.

“Probably,” he replied, grinning.

Your PR team wasn’t any better. They sent you a PowerPoint presentation titled, Why Our Boss Deserves to Laugh More , which included memes of your favorite characters, clips of game glitches they’d purposely caused, and an oddly heartfelt slide featuring a stick figure version of you labeled, The Coolest CEO Ever .

---

Megumi stayed for as long as he could and then had to return to take care of his mom and his company once you started to feel better.

The air buzzed with the familiar hum of distant conversations and the faint echo of footsteps on polished floors. Megumi stood by the entrance, his duffel bag at his feet, his shoulders tense despite the calm mask he wore.

“I’ll come back in a few days with Mom, okay?” he said, his voice softer than usual as he pulled you into a hug. His arms were strong, grounding, but there was a hesitance in the way he held you, like he wasn’t ready to let go. “She’s been worried sick since you stopped talking after leaving Japan. She asks about you every day.”

You nodded against his chest, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Tell her to video call me. I miss her.”

“I will,” he murmured, ruffling your hair in that infuriatingly fond way he knew you hated. “The moment I land.”

You stepped back, your eyes darting anywhere but his. “Take care of yourself, Megumi. And her. She doesn’t listen to anyone but you.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, his dark eyes flicking over you like he was cataloging every detail. “You should talk, hypocrite.”

Your snort was half-hearted, but it was enough for him.

This goodbye was nothing like the one all those years ago. Back then, his anger had burned through the distance between you, his words cutting deep enough to leave scars you both carried. Now, there was only understanding—an unspoken truce built on shared pain and quiet forgiveness.

Megumi’s gaze shifted to Sukuna, who stood a few feet away, arms crossed and clearly bored. With a tilt of his head, Megumi motioned him over.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “What now, brat?” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approached.

You watched them from a distance, your old DSLR— Megumi had brought back with him—in hand. The click of the shutter was oddly comforting, a rhythm that let you focus on something other than the ache in your chest. Yuji and Choso hovered nearby, pestering you with questions about aperture and lighting. You answered absently, your eyes never leaving the two figures standing just out of earshot—the most important men in your life. So important, your very essence was tangled with them, unlike the way it used to be with someone else.

//

“What do you want?” Sukuna muttered, his tone dripping with disinterest.

Megumi’s voice was steady; he was smiling, all friendly and unsuspecting. The way he smiled while threatening people—oddly reminiscent of Toji on an adult Megumi. “Keep her safe. Or I’ll gut you alive.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh, loud and sharp. “Bold, brat. But I’m not an idiot like them.” His grin widened, his crimson eyes gleaming. “I don’t take my eyes away from the destination for snowflakes.”

Megumi’s eyes narrowed, his posture shifting slightly, like he was ready for a fight. “She’s not a prize, Sukuna.”

“No,” Sukuna agreed, crossing his arms. “She’s everything. That’s why I won’t screw it up.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “But don’t tell me you’re in love with her, brat. You’re already pathetic enough.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened, his face a mask of calm, but the faintest flicker flashed in his eyes. Before he could respond, Yuji’s voice rang out from behind you.

“Stay in touch, Megumi!”

Megumi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Sukuna chuckled.

Yuji had stuck to Megumi like pollen ever since they’d met. Whenever he walked out of your floor to get anything, or even went to the balcony for air, Yuji would immediately pounce on him like an overbearing puppy, talking like they had always known each other.

“Your fan club’s waiting,” Sukuna teased, stepping back with a mocking wave.

Megumi shot him a cold look before turning on his heel, his suitcase rolling behind him. He paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder at you, still clicking away with your camera.

“I’m getting late,” he said, his voice louder now, directed at no one in particular. “See you around.”

And just like that, he was gone, his silhouette swallowed by the steady flow of travelers.

You lowered the camera, watching the space he’d left behind. Sukuna sauntered over, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Miss him already?” He drawled.

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched. “Shut up, Ryo.”

He chuckled, his gaze flicking to the camera in your hands. “Better get my good side next time. Wouldn’t want the brat to outshine me in your collection.”

You let yourself mock him. “He’s my best friend; of course he’ll shine.”

“Here I thought we were at least friends by now,” Sukuna shot back, his grin widening as he dragged you back to the car while also wrangling Choso and Yuji.

But nothing could have prepared you for the spectacle unfolding in front of you. Yuji stood precariously on a luggage cart, holding what looked like a security baton he must’ve stolen from somewhere.

“Onward, noble steed!” Yuji bellowed, jabbing the baton forward.

Choso, pushing the cart, sighed heavily. “Yuji, this is dumb. You’re going to fall, and I’m not paying for the damages.”

“You don’t pay for anything anyway!” Yuji shot back, wobbling as the cart veered dangerously close to a potted plant.

“Not my fault you’re the one with no sense of balance,” Choso deadpanned, shoving the cart harder.

“Balance is for losers!” Yuji yelled triumphantly—right before the cart hit a bump and sent him tumbling onto the floor with a loud thud.

You burst out laughing, clutching your camera as you tried to steady yourself. Sukuna groaned.

“Do these idiots have a death wish?” He muttered, glancing at you. “Why do I let them out in public?”

“They’re grown adults,” you replied between fits of laughter, wiping a tear from your eye. “Well... Technically. Have been for a few years.”

Yuji scrambled to his feet, rubbing his ass with an exaggerated pout. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Choso!”

“I was until you called me a steed,” Choso replied, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw you into that plant.”

“You’re just mad because I’m faster,” Yuji shot back, grabbing the cart again.

“Faster at what? Hitting the ground?” Choso said, raising an eyebrow.

Sukuna snorted, his crimson eyes narrowing as he gestured toward the two. “You know what? Let him break something. Maybe he’ll finally learn.”

“Doubt it,” you said, grinning.

Yuji, undeterred by his earlier failure, climbed back onto the cart. “Round two! Let’s go!”

Choso sighed again, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he grabbed the handle. “Fine. But if security catches us, I’m blaming you.”

“You always blame me!” Yuji whined, holding on tighter this time.

“Because it’s always your fault,” Choso replied, shoving the cart with a bit more force than necessary.

As the cart barreled down the terminal, narrowly missing several unsuspecting travelers, you and Sukuna watched in bemused silence.

“You should film this,” Sukuna said, his lips curling into a smirk. “Might go viral. ‘Local lesbian and his Itadorki.’”

You doubled over laughing while Yuji and Choso glared at Sukuna.

//

Later that evening, the chaos of the airport was a distant memory as you and Sukuna sat together on the couch. The quiet was comforting, the kind of stillness that didn’t feel heavy for once.

“Thank you,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Sukuna turned to you, his expression unreadable. “For what?”

“For… everything,” you said, your cheeks heating under his gaze.

He smirked, leaning back against the cushions. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. The weight on your chest lifted just a little, replaced by something warm and unfamiliar.

//

But the mornings still clawed at you like ghosts, dragging you into the suffocating reality of what you’d lost. The ache in your chest wasn’t a dull pain but a jagged wound, raw and unrelenting. But Sukuna was there, always.

Without fail, he brought you breakfast in bed, the tray heavy with whatever he decided you needed to eat that day. You’d protest, pushing the plate aside, focusing on pending work, and he’d glare, the kind of glare that made it clear he wouldn’t leave until you took at least a few bites.

When he walked with you in the park, his hand brushed your lower back, a gesture so casual yet grounding it left you disarmed. He didn’t say much, but his presence filled the empty spaces in ways words never could. Slowly, painfully, the walls you’d built began to crack, the light seeping through despite your efforts to hold it all together.

// Playlist

A couple of weeks later, one evening, the two of you sat on the balcony of your new home, the air heavy with the scent of cigarettes and rain-soaked concrete. You rested your chin on your knees, watching the city lights blur into a smear of orange and white.

“You’re not as awful as you pretend to be,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

Sukuna chuckled, the sound deep and rough. He lit a cigarette with practiced ease, the glow illuminating his features. “Don’t ruin my reputation, princess,” he drawled, exhaling smoke like a dragon.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest. It felt foreign, but it didn’t hurt. Not this time.

You reached for the cigarette, plucking it from his fingers. Taking a slow drag, you coughed, the burn familiar but unwelcome after years away. “You know,” you started, voice quieter now, “I never wanted kids. I even got a hysterectomy, but... I think their RCT might’ve worked on me.”

Sukuna leaned back, smirking as if the universe amused him. “Good thing I hate brats too,” he said, his tone laced with mockery but softened by something genuine. “But I’d be fine either way you lean. I care more about you than any kid.”

You tilted your head, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “So confident I’d end up with you, huh?”

He nodded, the movement slow and deliberate.

The words spilled from you before you could stop them. “But I’m sure. I don’t want any more kids. I’m done.”

His grin widened, sharp and wolfish. “Great. Then I’ll have you all to myself,” he said, plucking the cigarette from your hand and taking a drag as if the conversation hadn’t just carved open a vulnerable piece of you.

You watched him for a moment, the question heavy on your tongue before you gave in to it. “Why are you still here? I mean... you’re attractive, Sukuna. You could have anyone. Why’d you help me?”

He exhaled smoke slowly, his gaze cutting to yours. “You really want to know?”

You nodded, feeling the tension coil in the air between you.

“The first time I saw you was at that dingy grocery store near our building in Norway. You were glaring at a Norwegian label like you could burn it into understanding if you stared hard enough.” He smirked, the memory vivid in his mind. “Then some store employee came over, and you covered your belly like you’d fight him if he even looked at you wrong. You were scared—hell, I’ve seen fear before, plenty of it—but yours was different. The kind I’d seen in survivors—the kind that said you’ve been through hell and still haven’t given up. There was this stubbornness in your eyes, like you’d fight to your last breath even knowing you’d lose.”

His voice dipped lower, his eyes locking onto yours. “That’s when I knew I wanted to know you more. Then you walked past me like I didn’t exist. You didn’t even glance my way. I knew right then you weren’t a sorcerer. You were oblivious, but your fear begged me to protect you. Practically dared me.”

A laugh escaped you, soft but real. “Or maybe you just couldn’t handle a woman not noticing you,” you teased, though your gaze lingered on him, soft and awed, like he’d hung the stars just for you.

His grin sharpened, dangerous yet intoxicating. Without warning, he flicked the cigarette over the railing, his hand shooting out to grab your waist. You gasped as he pulled you flush against him, his heat burning through your defenses.

His lips crashed into yours, the kiss anything but gentle. It was raw, demanding, and devastatingly sensual, as if he was trying to claim every fractured piece of you. Your hands instinctively found his chest, but instead of pushing him away, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing you into a rhythm that left you breathless. Your head tilted back as his hand tangled in your hair, the other anchoring you to him. The world blurred around you, the city’s hum fading into nothingness.

When you finally broke apart, your chest heaved, your lips tingling from the intensity. His crimson eyes bore into yours, a smirk playing on his lips. “Still think I’m not worth noticing, princess?” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you smiled, leaning into him, the ache in your chest momentarily quieted by the storm he’d stirred in you.

---

Japan

// Playlist

The apartment was silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the faint hum of the refrigerator. It had been months since Gojo and Nanami had received the news, but the weight of it hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had grown heavier, pressing them into themselves, into the shadows of their shared space.

Gojo sat in the darkness of their penthouse, the glow of the city outside mocking him with its indifference. The blinds were drawn just enough for the neon lights to cast fractured shadows across the floor. His sunglasses sat abandoned on the table, forgotten. His eyes—once impossibly bright, reflecting the limitless sky—were bloodshot and hollow, the kind of emptiness that no amount of sleep could fix.

His phone buzzed on the table, a cruel reminder of the hundred unanswered messages he’d already sent. He stared at it for a moment, his hand twitching toward it before falling back to his lap.

He chuckled, the sound sharp and bitter. “Why bother?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his unkempt hair. The white strands fell limply, no longer carrying their usual defiance.

Across the penthouse in your old office, Nanami sat with the glass in his hand, the amber liquid inside untouched. He stared at it, his reflection distorted by the curve of the glass.

He thought of the twins. Their faces haunted him—not as they were in the sterile images of the report, but as they could have been. A boy with Gojo’s wild grin and his own steady gaze. A girl with your sharp wit and quiet strength.

He raised the glass to his lips but hesitated, the smell of alcohol turning his stomach. With a quiet curse, he set it down, the sound of glass on wood too loud in the silence.

//

The train station was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and stayed there. Gojo stood near the edge of the platform, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. The sound of the approaching train grew louder, the vibration humming through his feet.

He stepped closer, the yellow line glaring up at him like a warning.

Just one step.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration jolting him out of his thoughts. He pulled it out, the screen lighting up with another name that wasn’t yours.

Yuta.

He hesitated before answering, his voice cracking as he said, “What?”

“Sensei?” Yuta’s voice was hesitant, like he was trying to gauge how far Gojo had fallen. “I just... wanted to check on you. You’ve been... quiet. We heard you were suspended.”

Gojo let out a dry laugh, stepping back from the edge. “Quiet’s good, isn’t it?”

There was a long pause on the other end. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Maybe I’m not,” Gojo replied, ending the call before Yuta could say anything else.

The Rainbow Bridge stretched out before him, its lights reflected in the dark waters below. Nanami gripped the railing, the cold metal biting into his palms. The wind whipped through his hair, tugging at his jacket like it was trying to pull him over the edge.

He leaned forward, staring down at the waves.

He thought of you. Of your smile before everything went wrong. Of the way you used to laugh at his dry humor, your head tilted just slightly.

The phone in his pocket felt like a lead weight. He pulled it out, his thumb hovering over your name.

What could he even say?

The words felt heavy, impossible. Instead, he stared at the screen until it dimmed, the reflection of his hollow face staring back at him.

//

At home, Gojo stared at the bottle of pills on his nightstand, his hand hovering over the cap. His reflection in the nearby mirror caught his eye—he barely recognized the man staring back.

“You’re pathetic,” he muttered, the words slicing through the silence.

Nanami sat on the floor of his bathroom, his back against the wall. The report sat beside him, its pages wrinkled and stained with spilled whiskey.

“They never had a chance,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash.

Both men lived in the silence, haunted by memories of what could have been. The world moved on around them, but they were stuck, trapped in a purgatory of their own making.

The only thing keeping them tethered to this existence was the faint hope that, one day, you might pick up the phone. One day, you might let them explain. One day, you might forgive them.

But for now, they waited, drowning in the unbearable weight of their own guilt.

A/N: And that’s how we turn pain into comedy and back again. I know you’re emotionally damaged (same). Who do you think was the woman Sukuna went to meet? (Hint: It's not Urame, so use your critical thinking skills). Meanwhile, Gojo and Nanami are one bad day away from booking permanent balcony seats in purgatory. Next chapter, we might actually let Nanami catch a break—or not. What do you think? Should Gojo finally punch Sukuna for calling him a ‘failed Barbie’? But seriously, next chapter—more tension, more heartbreak; maybe someone actually admits how they feel and SUMT (don't expect too much; I'm not very good at it).

Next Chapter 9 (alt ending 1.5 Final Part) - The Shadows We Bury - (Tumblr/Ao3)

Also I have a seprate fluff series going on which can be read as part of this AU - Bubble Butt Problems - Nanami X Reader X Gojo - (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz

Taglist Open - If I missed to tag anyone, please remind me.

[stup1dsposts]

HAPPY MOTHER AU

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I decided to get this AU out of my head, so I made some headcanons... I hope you like them ;⁠-⁠)

Well... English is my native language, so please forgive me for any mistakes ✊😔

⚠️ TW: Unwanted Pregnancy, and Child Death

─────────── ⋆ ⋅°₊ • ୨୧ ‧₊° ⋅⋆ ──────────

• Yui's pregnancy came as a result of an accident, a moment of misplaced affection and exploitation. Shu had no interest in becoming a father, and Yui was initially overwhelmed by the idea of bringing a child into such a broken world.

• Despite the initial shock, she made a choice to carry the baby, believing it could give her a reason to live beyond the endless torment.

• The pregnancy was never celebrated. The Sakamaki brothers didn’t care. They mocked and ignored her every step of the way.

• Shu’s indifference was clear from the start. He barely acknowledged the pregnancy, treating Yui as if it were just another inconvenience.

• Ayato, as usual, expressed possessiveness, making claims like "If the kid’s mine, I’ll raise it my way." Yui couldn’t even get a moment of peace from him.

• Laito was more detached, mocking her condition by calling her "a breeder" and making jokes about the baby’s future.

• Subaru, though silent, was visibly affected by the news, but never expressed it. He avoided Yui more than ever, retreating into himself.

• Kanato, on the other hand, showed a rare moment of discomfort, questioning the existence of the baby as if it were a threat to his position in the family.

• Yui was determined to keep the child, even when the world around her was a constant reminder of her suffering. The pregnancy gave her a sliver of hope, something to live for amidst the chaos.

• There were nights when Yui would talk to her unborn child, promising it that she would protect it no matter the cost. She imagined a life where she could be a real mother—one who could show her child love and care, despite everything.

• She believed, deep down, that the baby would be different, that it could somehow escape the darkness of the Sakamaki mansion.

• When Adam was born, the brothers remained indifferent as ever. There was no celebration, no joy—just the same cold atmosphere that filled the mansion.

• Yui was alone in the delivery room, and the only sound that echoed through the space was Adam’s first cry. It was a sound Yui would cherish forever.

• Even though the mansion didn’t feel like a home, in that moment, Yui believed she had created something beautiful, something innocent.

• Adam was an unusually calm child, even in such a hostile environment. He rarely cried and seemed to seek comfort in Yui’s presence.

• His big, innocent eyes would follow her movements, and he would reach for her hand whenever she was near. Yui loved those moments, when she could feel his warmth and touch, even though her life remained harsh and unyielding.

• At times, Adam would try to reach for the other brothers, but none of them ever truly reciprocated the affection. He would eventually return to Yui, finding solace in her arms.

• Adam’s death was a horrific accident.

• One day, while exploring the mansion’s grounds, Adam wandered off and accidentally tripped down a flight of stairs. The fall was enough to cause severe trauma to his tiny body.

• Yui found him almost immediately, her heart shattering at the sight of her son’s limp body. She screamed, but Shu’s only response was a cold, detached glance.

• Ayato acted annoyed by the inconvenience, and Laito treated it as a mere spectacle. Subaru was lost in silent guilt, unable to process the devastation.

• Adam’s death was the breaking point for Yui, and her hope for a better future died with him.

• Yui’s grief was quiet but all-consuming. She couldn’t understand why the child she had fought so hard to protect had been taken away.

• She often found herself staring at his empty crib, unable to comprehend the loss. Shu showed no empathy, and the others didn’t seem to care.

• In the silence of the mansion, Yui carried her grief in solitude. Her only solace came in the form of dreams, where she saw Adam running through a field, laughing as if nothing had ever hurt him...

Thank you for reading this far (⁠⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠⁠)

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Epilogue

Joel makes good on his promise to date you, at least once.

Words: 4k

Warnings: Just a slutty lil farewell to our resident Jackson masseuse and her grumpy-arse maybe sorta boyfriend, smut, vaginal fingering, sexy times, stockings that are far too thin for early Spring. Minors DNI

A/N: Another thank you for your support of this little story that ended up being a bit bigger and more complex than I expected. I went there because of your encouragement. Thank you, always.

Part Eight | Series Masterlist

The season was turning, but there was still a chill of a nighttime. It had been six weeks since Joel returned to Jackson, the medical supplies he and the second expedition managing to find and defend ensuring a healthy and safe Jackson for at least another two winters. The whole energy of the place, the optimism, was back in the community, and you had thrived in it, started to bloom alongside the wildflowers dotting the pathways into town.

You’d spent the time working, teaching Ellie, occasionally hanging around Joel’s place while he convalesced, first in his bed, then on the new-ish couch Tommy had found and dragged in through the back door. It wasn’t leather like his old one, and the springs stuck out in the centre so that you had to be very careful where you sat, but it was better than the rocking chair, and it was enough for him to sit still in for at least a few weeks.

He kept promising that he was going to date you, at least once if you’d let him, and each time you’d fobbed him off, telling him he had to get better first, that he was no good to you limping, that you wanted him marginally less grumpy if he could manage it. You weren’t sure why you were stalling, other than that you felt you were toes to the edge of a precipice.

When you were little your little family of four had driven out to the Grand Canyon, and you’d stood on the edge of the red dirt and been totally overwhelmed by the size of it, of all the negative space, the absence. You’d found yourself, aged eight and a half, ready to cry and even now, thirty years later, you remembered the howling wind, the echo of it.

You thought about the beauty of it, now. Now that you had seen so much worse, so much more, you reminded yourself that people used to travel entire countries to see the Grand Canyon. In your mind’s eye you entered your memories and stood beside yourself, your child self, and took her hand. You pointed to the sky, drew her eyes up and away from the ground beneath. Felt her pulse race under your touch as you showed her that the magnitude of it was the beauty in it, was the point of it all.

You accepted Joel’s invitation for the next Friday night. Then you ran to Maria’s to find something to wear.

--

You were supposed to meet at 8, a respectable time after dinner so as not to feel like you needed to have a meal; a more casual time, a more intimate time, when you could drink and chat and only stay an hour if you found it wasn’t working. It was both an in and an out.

Except that you were late, your last client having not only stored muscle tension in his fascia but emotional tension as well, and as soon as you had pushed into the glute he had unleashed years of mourning, of loss, of fears. You had stopped, wrapped him in a towel and pulled him upright, stood back and let him shake with the force of it. It wasn’t new, that people would come with muscle aches and discover trauma aches instead, but you lost track of time trying to put him back together again, trying to assure him of his safety. Tommy was right; sometimes it doesn’t come out until you feel safe enough to let it.

But it meant by the time you were pulling your door open you were about forty minutes late. Your cheeks burned with the shame of it, your timekeeping one of your strengths in the before-times, in the times when you had no other responsibilities other than the hell of being 15.

Joel was coming up your path and you stopped, nearly dropping the jacket you were still trying to pull over your shoulders. You couldn’t read his expression in the dark but his eyes were on you, and he was coming up, fast.

‘Joel, I’m so sorry,’ you started, as he strode towards you and up your porch. ‘I got caught up with a client, I couldn’t leave until they were…’ his hands were on you then, gripping you to him, your jaw resting in his warm palm.

‘You OK?’ he asked you, his eyes searching yours.

‘I’m fine, of course I am,’ you said, flustered, under the intensity of his inspection. ‘I just couldn’t…he was so sad, Joel. I had to stay.’

He nods at this, his jaw ticking. You resisted the urge to reach up and sink your fingertips into the masseter. ‘Were you worried about me, Joel?’ you asked, and he narrowed his eyes at you, then, suddenly freezing up.

‘Thought you weren’t coming, or that you were…thought maybe something had happened,’ he said, and you felt yourself soften.

‘I’m fine. And I would never stand you up,’ you said, moving to hold him around his waist, to circle him in your arms, only able to reach halfway around him, broad as he was. He avoided your eyes, the worry etched deep into his brow.

You still hadn’t kissed him. All of the things he had done to you, the way he had pulled you apart under his hands, his mouth, spread around his cock, nothing so intimate as a kiss.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said again, low and velvet in your throat. ‘I really like you, Joel,’ you went on, and he finally met your gaze, again. The naked vulnerability in it making you pause. You wondered how many people had ever seen this side of him. You suspected he could count them on one paw.

‘It’s late,’ he said, and started to pull away from you. ‘Maybe we should try again some other time.’ To your dismay he had nearly turned his back to you, and without thinking you grabbed him around the middle and tried to turn him back.

‘Wait,’ you said, and he hissed then, his muscles seizing. You let go of him, horrified.

‘M’ok,’ he muttered, raising his hand to stop you from rushing toward him. ‘Just…still gettin’ there, is all.’

‘Come in, please,’ you said, not touching him, not moving towards him, hoping your voice would be enough to get him to stay. ‘It’s cold, I have a bottle of whiskey Tommy slipped me when you were in the hospital, I can…’

‘You needed whiskey, baby?’ he said, and he had that lopsided grin on his face again, and you wanted to lick it off him. ‘Were you worried about little ole me?’

Never mind, you wanted to slap it off.

‘Oh for fucks sake,’ you said, rolling your eyes and turning back to your door. ‘Don’t get all cute just because I got scared when you nearly died,’ you said, and you heard him chuckle. You entered your house and turned to him, one hand on the door. ‘In or out?’ you asked, and you knew that you were talking to the both of you, knew that he wasn’t the only one facing the indecision, knew that you palming the responsibility off onto him, that you would accept his decision even if it meant never talking to him again. He hesitated, but only for a moment.

--

He was back in your kitchen, on the same chair from a more recent before-time, from before he’d found a place for himself somewhere under your skin. You were both sipping your whiskey, listening to the crackling fire in the other room, letting the silence seep out and blanket you. He was still enormous, still took up nearly half the space, and you ceded all of it to him.

‘Ellie speaks the world of you,’ he said, after a while, and you knew that this was important to him, that first and foremost he was her dad, her keeper and her protector.

‘She’s a lovely kid,’ you said, and then corrected yourself. ‘Not a kid. She’d fucking kill me if she knew I said that.’

He chucked into his glass. ‘Won’t tell her,’ he promised.

‘How’s that healing?’ you asked, gesturing to his wrist. It wasn’t in a splint anymore but it was still tightly bandaged.

‘S’just weak, aches in the cold,’ he said, and you nodded. You reached out and pulled it towards you, lay it on the kitchen table between you. You slipped the bandage away, watched the blood rush back in and pink up the flesh underneath it.

‘You need to stretch it, keep it strong,’ you said. ‘Bones probably healed but now the muscles’ll be lazy.’

‘Yes, doctor,’ he said, and you glanced up at him, at the crinkles in his skin and the warmth in his eyes as he teased you.

‘I mean it,’ you said, pretending to be offended, using it as an excuse to slip your hands around his wrist, his forearm. You felt the chords of the muscles there, the sinew and the veins. You rubbed your thumbs in firm circles, like you had shown him to do on your knee, all those weeks ago. You blushed at the thought of it, at the echo of the pleasure he had wrung from you not ten paces away.

He grunted a little, shifted in his seat, and you pulled his arm up at a right angle, so that his elbow was resting on the table. ‘Here, do this,’ you said, and you slipped your fingers between his, rested your forearm against his, leant in a little to ease your combined weight onto the joint.

‘I’m going to try and push your hand backwards, you push back,’ you said.

‘We arm wrestlin’?’ he asked, smiling again.

‘We will if you don’t behave yourself,’ you shot back, and he grinned.

‘Tell me when,’ he said, and you nodded your head. He grimaced at the strain through the joint, but you felt it stretch, felt it working under the force you were applying to it.

‘That’s good,’ you said, without thinking, ‘doing real well.’ He sucked a shy little breath in through his teeth. You stopped pushing, looking up into his pink cheeks. You continued to hold his hand, your eyes fixed to his.

‘Say it again,’ he said, and your mouth went dry.

‘Doing real well, Joel,’ you said, and watched as he blinked slowly, drinking it in. ‘Doing so good.’

He pulled you then, by the arm, out of your chair and into his lap, his mouth finding your neck and suckling, hard, as you struggled for purchase on his thighs. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans, the pulse of it pushing into your cunt as you settled yourself down on him, your thin little stockings under Maria’s borrowed dress doing absolutely nothing to provide a barrier against his throbbing for you.

He gasped, looked up at you as you perched above him. His pupils, blown wide with want, mirroring the ache you felt between your legs and in your heart for him. He tasted like peppermint toothpaste and you wondered idly if he’d brushed his teeth before heading to the Bison, if he’d hoped this would be the end result of the night or if it was just habit. You smelt the leather of his worn jacket. You reached up and let his salt and pepper beard scratch at the skin on your fingertips.

‘So good to us, Joel,’ you said, and you heard the gentlest whimper catch in his throat. ‘Looking after the town. Keeping us safe.’

‘Want to keep you, baby,’ he whispered, his eyes dropping to examine your lips. ‘Keep you tucked up all warm and safe, keep you under my roof where I know you’re protected.’ You shivered, at the heat of it, at the sincerity in it. ‘Be the one to shield you. All sweet and soft in your little kitchen. Wanting me, waiting f’me.’ He finished, biting his bottom lip.

‘I want you,’ you said, simply, feeling his cock jump underneath you.

‘Yeah?’ he asked, and you nodded.

‘Been waiting,’ you bit out, realising for the first time that it was true.

‘M’sorry baby,’ he said, playfully goading you. ‘Where did ya want me?’ he whispered, tucking his head under your chin and licking a stripe up your neck, chewing idly on your earlobe. You shivered again, a shuddering little thing that also came with a whimper. You took his hand from your waist and dropped it to your pussy, pushed his fingers to cup you there, gasping when he ran a fingertip along your seam.

‘Everywhere,’ you whispered, and he grunted, shifting his weight. With one warm hand splayed across your shoulder blades he leant you back, his eyes running up and down your body, devouring you. He kept his hand on your cunt, idly running a finger up and down where you ached the most for him, and you worried for a moment that he would feel how wet he’d made you just with his gaze.  

His breath was warm across your cheeks when he exhaled. He took the hand from between your legs and cupped your breast, rolled the nipple through your dress, made you whimper.

‘Joel,’ you whispered, and you watched as his eyes lit up, as the sparks caught on kindling and turned into a forest fire, as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the strain. You wanted to run your tongue over his bottom lip, nip at it.

‘Sssh, baby, I know,’ he said, pulling you up off his lap to stand in front of him, your knees shaking. His arms bracketed your hips, gripping the table behind you, so you were surrounded by him. He remained seated, watching you from under heavy eyelids.

‘Take it off,’ he said, and you felt your pulse in your neck, thunderous.

‘Which?’ you asked.

‘Maria’s dress you don’t think I recognise, those silly little stockings that ain’t doing nothin’ to keep out the cold.’

He leant back on the chair again, kicked his legs out so that you were standing between his ankles now, leant his arm on the back of the chair and scratched at his beard. ‘Well, go on,’ he said, and you felt so exposed to him then, vulnerable in the heat of his stare.

‘Help me,’ you said, feigning not being able to get to the zipper, just for the excuse of turning away from him, from his eyes that were taking you apart atom by atom, from his hands resting on his thigh, from his thick fingers you wanted to slip into your mouth, let him push down on your tongue and suckle at him.

You felt his hands on your back, the zip coming down, the way he slipped the dress from you like he was unwrapping a present on Christmas morning. You leant over a little, trying to slip your stockings off and you heard him moan, felt his hands on you again, his warm paw on your lower back pushing you into a deeper bend, the other pulling on your hips to bring you closer to him, his hands gripping you, positioning you. You heard his sharp inhale when you slipped the stockings over your bottom, felt your cheeks blaze when he reached up and slipped your panties off along with them, bent over and completely exposed to him, wet and glistening in the light of the kitchen, the sound of your gasped little whimpers mixing with the ever-present whir of your forty-year-old fridge.

‘Oh, my girl,’ he said, and you wanted to launch yourself at him, seat yourself back on his lap and bury your head in his neck but he was running his hands up and down the back of your thighs, edging himself closer on the chair, pushing you forward so that your breasts rested on the kitchen table, your cheek flush to the cold wood.

He bent his head and placed a single kiss at the base of your spine and you worried your knees would buckle, worried you would collapse onto the kitchen tile. As you gasped he brought his hands up to cup your bottom, spreading your cheeks enough to slip a thumb into your cunt, probe the warmth and feel the wet collecting on his fingertip. You startled, trying to buck away, trying to buck towards him, circling your hips to capture him inside you, and you heard him chuckle, felt his lips dip lower to your tailbone as he twisted his hands, his thumb still inside as his fingers came around to cup and rub at your slit, your poor little aching clit caught between his fingertips.

‘Jesus,’ you cried, finding religion despite never having set foot in a church.

‘Want to keep you full of me,’ he muttered, sitting back down on the chair again and pulling you with him, spreading your legs over his so you were open wide, obscene and dripping in his lap, pulling your legs apart with his and whispering filth in your ear, cupping your breast with one hand and the other sliding into your heat.

‘Want to keep you here, my pretty girl all safe and warm in my arms, full of my cock and my fingers, crying out for me when I’m not there.’ You were gasping, your vision narrowing, barely able to concentrate on anything except for his words, for his fingers stretching you, his legs pulling you impossibly wide. ‘Won’t let nothin’ hurt ya, baby girl,’ he grit out, and you felt a sob rip through your throat, the pleasure he was drawing out of you mixing with the comfort, with the intoxicating allure of him protecting you, of him standing between you and so many terrors.

In your right mind you wouldn’t have believed him. Would have known there were things out there even the great Joel Miller couldn’t topple, that there were threats known and unknown, seen and unseen, things out there wanting to spill your blood, the blood of the people you cared the most for. But Joel was inside you, in your cunt and in your ear, and his words were chipping away at your resistance, sliding under the door long ago locked tight. You were far from your right mind. You surrendered to the seduction of it, of the intoxication of it, of the myth this man was peddling that you would buy again and again and again.

‘There she is,’ he said, as you came on his fingers, your cunt gripping him and your hips rolling, his face pressed hard into your neck as you twisted into the agony of it, your mouth open and gasping, your face turned to the Gods.

You felt his fingers underneath you, one hand wrapped tight around your torso to hold you steady as he released himself from his jeans, and you felt him then, pressed against the back of your thigh, the velvet heat of his length, the thundering throb of it. You had barely caught your breath, had yet to fully come back to yourself, before he was pushing himself into you, pulling you onto him, your neck caught in his teeth as he bit down on the nape, tried to stifle the groan blooming in his chest.

He felt bigger this way, the stretch even sharper despite his best attempts to prepare you, and your walls fluttered, fought to accept him. You shuddered, the sudden sting slamming you back into your body, and you gripped his hands to stop him, to pause. He stilled immediately, his breath hot and gasping.

‘Give me a minute,’ you gritted out, leaning back onto his shoulder and burying your nose in his jaw, panting, placing a placid little kiss to the salt and pepper patches there.

You felt him reach around you, his finger finding your clit and gently circling it, collecting your slick and pushing it over the nub to rid you of any friction. You groaned, arching your back against him, your hands digging into the meat of his thighs underneath you.

‘So beautiful like this,’ he whispered into your ear as you felt the pleasure overtake you, the throb in your cunt synchronised to your thundering pulse. ‘Can feel you gripping me,’ he went on. ‘Stuffed fulla me, baby.’

‘Stop,’ you gasped, the moment suddenly too intense, a fear gripping you then that if he kept talking you would give him anything; the shirt off your back, the blood in your veins. He chuckled, watching you struggle to take the pleasure he was pushing into you, through you.

It was wrong but you couldn’t figure out why, because it still felt so fucking good, and you wanted more but couldn’t figure out how it was possible, not sated by him seated fully inside you, not close enough to him as you pressed your body entirely against yours. You huffed, frustrated, standing before he could stop you and pivoting to face him, straddling him again in the chair and sinking yourself down on him in one swift motion, so that he gasped and then groaned when the heat of you enveloped him, joined you in a harsh cry when your clit met his hipbone and you settled there, shifted your hips to press into the nub.

‘S’better,’ you said, and you watched his lopsided grin emerge.

‘My girl miss seeing me?’ he asked, and you rolled your hips to shut him up, watched any semblance of cogent thought leave him when you gripped him there.

‘Say it again, Joel,’ you said, sliding your hips forward and back in a way that you knew wasn’t enough for him, but was making your clit throb when it grazed over his skin. He grunted, suddenly finding it hard to think clearly, and his brows saddled.

‘Keep you safe?’ he said, uncertain but meaning it anyway, and you shook your head.

‘Keep who safe?’ he asked.

‘You,’ he answered, still not following, and you planted your feet on the floor, raised yourself up just to bounce back down again.

‘Who am I, Joel?’ you asked, nearly breathless, and finally, finally he understood, his little huffed out laugh sending a thrill through you as he reached down between your bodies, felt where you were joined.

‘My girl,’ he said, finding your clit and edging his fingertips across it, sending fireworks up your spine. ‘My beautiful girl, so tight and wet, so needy for me, cryin’ out for me in her kitchen.’

You groaned, feeling him grip you around the middle with one arm, lifting you up and down on his cock, rocking into you and always, always, always watching your face, nibbling at your chin when you leant back to gasp for air.

You were going to come. It was too fast. You still had so many other things you wanted to say to him, wanted him with every atom of you, with every fibre, the neurons in your brain lighting up just for him. Wanting to live in the torrent of pleasure he brought out in you, wanted to twist and writhe in it. You felt, again, on the edge of tears, but not for wanting, this time. Not for the losses.

For the having. Of Jackson, of the wildflowers on the paths pushing past the cold. Of the little family you had eked out at the end of the world, of Ellie, of Tommy and Maria and Robin. Of this man under your body and on your kitchen chair, calling you his and promising to keep you safe. Of this man, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion and clinging to him, willingly readying yourself to cascade over it.

‘Want you right here, always,’ he grunted, and you keened, felt it then, that you were wanted, that you belonged.

You didn’t have the words for it, vowed in that moment that you would spend the rest of your life trying to find them. For right now you did the only thing you could think of, leaning over and gripping his jaw, angling his face to you as you landed your lips on him, kissed him as you felt a tear streak across your cheek and onto his skin, as you shuddered and felt your cunt milking him, as he spilled into you and you joined him, the ecstasy and the pleasure and the warmth of it. In your little house in Jackson, behind enormous walls, to hold you.

Taglist:

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@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

@pedropascalsbbg

[bcacstuff]

🚨 [This story contains major spoilers from the season seven finale of Outlander, “A Hundred Thousand Angels.”] 🚨

In seven seasons of Outlander, Claire (Caitríona Balfe) and Jamie Fraser (Sam Heughan) have endured enough trauma to last multiple lifetimes. While they have always found their way back to each other and the family they’ve created together across centuries, Claire and Jamie, now in middle age, are perhaps more aware than ever about what they stand to lose.

“Jamie is very much aware of his mortality. He’s talked about it multiple seasons, about his nine lives, and he’s right at the end of them,” Heughan tells The Hollywood Reporter in a joint interview with Balfe about the season seven ending. “He didn’t want to be involved in this [Revolutionary War], but his choice now is that he has to be involved to protect those he loves. I think [Jamie and Claire] are aware that they can’t exist without each other and they’d rather not. So what does that mean for the future? I think if one loses the other, then I don’t know if there’s much hope for them.”

Despite that bleak outlook, Claire and Jamie have reason to be hopeful heading into the eighth and final season of the fantasy historical drama. In the season seven finale, as Claire recovers from being shot again and undergoing a life-saving surgery at the hands of Denzell (Joey Phillips), she and Jamie discover that their first daughter Faith, who they believed died in childbirth, had actually survived and was the mother of their new ward Fanny Pocock (Florie Wilkinson) and her late sister Jane (Silvia Presente), who Jamie and his biological son William (Charles Vandervaart) were tragically unable to save from captivity just days earlier.

That shocking cliffhanger — which was not in Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander novels — sets up the final 10 episodes, which Balfe and Heughan have already finished filming. Given that the show has remained a constant in their lives for 11 years, the actors, who both became producers during the fifth season, admit they are still in the early stages of grieving that loss and figuring out how to fill that new void.

“I’m reading a lot, I’m writing a bit, I’m watching so many movies at the moment — all of these things that I just didn’t have time to do,” Balfe says. “I feel like as an actor, when you’re working, you’re on output mode all the time, and it’s so important to feed your soul as well. I want to take my time, wait and do things that really mean something to me.”

Below, the actors behind one of the most beloved TV couples of all time open up to THR about the evolution of their onscreen and offscreen relationships, how they chose to play the key moments from the latest chapter of Claire and Jamie’s love story — and the one genre they would love to collaborate on in the future.

***

Having played Claire and Jamie for over a decade, what new layers were you able to find in the playing of these characters in the seventh season?

SAM HEUGHAN Jamie’s gone from being this tempestuous, impetuous highland warrior with very little responsibility to becoming a laird, and now he’s responsible for not just his men in battle, but everyone on Fraser’s Ridge. He’s essentially a landlord or a clansman. But what I think is really interesting as well is that over the past couple of seasons — but this one in particular — Jamie realizes what he’s got to lose. I think now he realizes he can’t have a life without Claire; he knows that life isn’t worth living without her. I guess being more fragile is what’s interesting about him, which I think comes with old age as well. He’s not as hotheaded, he’s definitely more experienced, and with age comes perhaps more insight into mortality.

CAITRÍONA BALFE Seasons five and six were such a huge shift in who Claire was. Going through the attack and then the ether storyline, it wasn’t like [she became] two different people, but Claire’s whole structure and her coping mechanisms had to change. In season seven, it was this tentative rebuilding of who she was, which was really interesting because I feel like up until that point, there was a lot of compartmentalization — she would do things, but it was put away in a box and she wouldn’t really deal with it. In season seven, there was a maturity to her, but it came with this new layer of vulnerability, especially the beginning of the second part. I think it just made everything much more porous and much more fragile.

As you’ve played these characters from their earlier adult years into middle age, how have you found ways to deepen the palpable sense of intimacy and chemistry between them?

BALFE One of the things that Sam and I were very interested in working out and exploring was this difference in intimacy. People talk about the passion of Claire and Jamie, and that is always a through line, but it can’t feel like those first throes of lust. You want to find something that has more depth, more maturity and more nuance. So we didn’t want to be chasing something that we had done in season one; we didn’t want to be always trying to replicate that. We wanted to find new ways of doing it — and we did.

We had those conversations for most of the sex scenes, and we had chats with the writers about how to find those intimate moments when they’re in conversation and when we see them working out issues in their marriage. It was really important to us to develop that as the seasons went on because sometimes, there’s a call from the fans, and they want to see those sex scenes, and they want the passion. And we want to give you that, but we want to give it to you in a more honest way.

HEUGHAN I think you’re absolutely right. Over the years, they’ve both had to accept each other and their failings, and all these things that have happened either together or separately. And it can’t be like season one because XYZ has happened, so therefore, who’s this character? Who’s this person in front of you now? If anything, they’ve become more understanding of each other, and I think that comes with just playing these characters over time when they’ve been assaulted and lost and found each other again.

BALFE There was a vulnerability to them in the beginning because everything was so new and they didn’t know if they could trust each other. As we were in the mid-seasons, it felt like they had really come into their own — and there was a strength. In the later seasons, there was this new and very different vulnerability. With the precariousness of life that they were experiencing, there was this whole new set of fears and vulnerabilities that came up. That wasn’t something that I expected or imagined would happen, but it naturally happened that way.

Lord John Grey (David Berry), left. Starz

Caitríona, grief is already a tricky emotion to play, but you had the added challenge of having to make the audience believe, even if for a little bit, that Claire had really lost Jamie in episode 10. How did you want to play the different stages of her grief?

BALFE It was really tough, because I feel like there is that sense of, “Does anyone really believe that Jamie Fraser is dead?” But you have to go for it. I had just lost my dad, so the last thing I wanted to do was go into work and feel these feelings. It was not my favorite couple of weeks at work. I worked really hard with the writers to craft a bit of a journey, and there was that [line] that I held on to as well: “I would know [if he died]. I would feel it.” She feels betrayed by herself because she feels like it should feel differently. So there’s the anger and the disbelief that comes with what it feels like when you can’t even trust your own emotions.

And then, of course, the added implication of Lord John Grey [David Berry] was a curveball. (Laughs) David Berry was an amazing scene partner in those scenes. To do intimate scenes with somebody other than Sam — usually all my stuff is with him, so it was like an added unknown territory. But what was also good was we approached it in a very different way to how Sam and I approached things. Sam and I have this shorthand — it’s very organic, and we don’t have to plan out things as much — whereas David likes to [plan]. I’m glad he did because I was quite lost about how we were going to achieve it, but I think in the end it worked quite well.

Claire’s grief-stricken hook-up with John — during which they were both picturing Jamie — has to be one of the most shocking moments of the series. How did you justify Claire’s actions in that moment for yourself?

BALFE I suffer from a real need for things to be logical, which drives the writers crazy, because for me to be able to play it, I need to be able to understand the journey. I think in the final edit, things are quite cut up and it’s not as linear as how we played it. But I think it was great that David and I found a linear journey into it so we could understand that [moment], because it’s also two people who are drunk.

When you’re drunk, there isn’t always logic, but there has to be those moments of, how do you get from A to B? How do these two people who aren’t sexually attracted to each other, who don’t have a history together, go from being alone, drunk and in pain to then being together? So it was finding that shared pain, that shared anger. Lord John was almost needing this kind of consolation in the beginning, and then it’s just the anger and the passion — and it had to come out in some way. So that’s how it happened.

But I think that morning after scene — that gorgeous story that Lord John had and the insight into his life — is so much more intimate than the stuff before. The intimacy the next morning is where you really see these two people form this bond that isn’t sexual, but it’s a friendship and a deep understanding of each other, which I thought was quite beautiful.

In episode 12, Jamie makes his feelings about Claire and John’s entanglement clear in a long, heated sequence where Jamie and Claire are working through their own emotions in real time. How did you each approach that fight?

BALFE Well, Sam had COVID. Do you remember? (Laughs)

HEUGHAN Yeah! It was certainly very challenging. In some ways, it was [shot] like a play, but I think we shot one direction, then I came down with COVID. I think quite some time later we shot the rest of it, and we shot it in two sections because it moves all around the house. I suppose [that sequence shows] why this couple are still together. They manage to work through it, to hear each other and to communicate despite Jamie’s stubbornness, anger and jealousy.

BALFE But neither are wrong, really. This was a situation that is so unusual and unique, so it’s totally understandable why Jamie would be so upset and angry, but it’s also totally understandable why Claire would defend herself. I think what’s great is you get this tension of these two people who ultimately love each other so much, but they’re going to stand their ground. I think both Sam and I relish when we do get to do scenes like this. There’s certain days when you’re on a show and you’re just sitting at a table and somebody’s passing somebody coffee, and it doesn’t necessarily feel like the most rewarding acting day. But when you get big scenes like this, you really feel like you have to work hard, give it your all, and make it work.

Sam, do you think Jamie could ever bring himself to forgive John?

HEUGHAN I think what Jamie did [to John upon learning what happened] — is it justifiable? No, from [the viewers’] point of view. But for Jamie, probably. But what he did to him is horrific and certainly has broken their bond. John Grey comes back and does justify it, and I think we hope that they will become friends again, but I think it’d be a lot for them to get over. Jamie is going to have to admit his wrongdoing, and I think that’s probably the hardest thing for Jamie to do. It’s certainly put a rift in that relationship, and I’m sure for Claire and John Grey as well, it’s also a pretty weird situation. (Laughs)

In episode 15, Claire gets shot in the battlefield and Jamie desperately searches for any kind of way to save her. Sam, how did you want to play Jamie’s inner turmoil?

HEUGHAN Jamie has always been in control in situations, and I thought it was really interesting in the script that he loses it and he’s lashing out. I think the only other time where we’ve seen him like that is when he lost Murtaugh at the Battle of Alamance. I think that moment was close because Murtaugh was his godfather, a father figure to him, but this is even bigger. It’s like, “How do you react in that moment when your universe has just imploded?” I didn’t want to plan it; I just wanted to go for it and see what happens. I think what’s cool about the writing and the space I got in the performance was that he’s not Jamie. He’s out of control, and he’s pleading with everyone, with God. He knows he’s on the edge of losing his entire universe.

How did you react, then, to Jamie’s decision to write his notice of resignation using Claire’s blood on the back of one of his soldiers?

HEUGHAN Look, it’s a really hard one to get your head around. It’s a book moment, and even in discussing the practicality of that [moment], we were talking about “What is the way to write on this guy’s back?” and we realized it’s actually very difficult. But I think it’s just sheer desperation; it’s a moment where he’s completely at a loss. I think he can’t work out how to get his message through to these people, and he just goes for the nearest thing. It’s a really dark idea. It’s amazing that after eight seasons — well, seven at this point — that these characters still surprised us as actors, and there’s so many times we’ve had these book moments where I’m like, “Jamie wouldn’t do that. Jamie knows better.” And then, I’m like, “OK, let’s see what happens.” And actually, you get this really dramatic moment which is shocking, and I think that’s what makes Outlander perhaps still resonate.

Caitríona, on the flip side, what was it like for you to play the aftermath of Claire getting shot?

BALFE It was very funny because they were very concerned about how comfortable I would be lying down for that long, and I was like, “Guys, I’m going to be lying down. It’s going to be very comfortable!” But they made a prosthetic for my stomach so they could do the operation. Look, I’ve never been shot. You can watch things, but sometimes we joke about it, like, “Am I just playing my version of what I’ve seen other actors do in movies?” (Laughs.) But you have to trust the director and everything that’s going on in the scene and go with it. I’m not going to lie: I don’t mind playing sick and half-dying. (Laughs.) You get to let other people do all the hard work, and you just get to lie there and moan a bit. But the set was amazing. When you have all of those things around — and Sam was incredible in those scenes — it makes your job very easy.

After they’re unable to save Jane in the finale, William has a heated confrontation with Jamie about William’s late birth mother, and William ends the conversation with the line, “I will never call you father.” The hurt on Jamie’s face is obvious, but what is going through Jamie’s mind in that scene?

HEUGHAN Jamie’s never been able to be a father to William, and I think he’s always wanted to be — from a distance. Here’s a moment where Jamie doesn’t really know how to be a father. He’s been a father to other people. He’s got so many surrogate sons — from Fergus to a bunch of people that he’s brought into this extended family that he’s got — but with William, it’s a really tough one. I think it’s great because you can see Jamie and his son are very similar; they both have that fire in them. And without giving away spoilers, it’s definitely something that plays out a lot [going forward].

But it’s also interesting because he is John Grey’s son in a lot of ways. He’s been brought up by John Grey, and that adds another dimension to that trio’s relationship. Jamie has all this pride, hurt and longing that he could be [Jamie’s] father, and also jealousy that John has been his father but also thankful [at the same time]. Certainly, it’s going to be a tough one for [Jamie and William] to both overcome their pride.

Jamie Fraser (Sam Heughan) and his biological son William (Charles Vandervaart). Starz

In the final scene, Claire overhears Fanny singing “I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside,” a 19th-century song Claire sang to her and Jamie’s first daughter, Faith. After learning that Fanny and Jane’s mother was also named Faith, Claire now believes that Faith wasn’t actually stillborn and had somehow lived to have children of her own. How does that set up their journey in the final season?

HEUGHAN It’s a huge moment for them to find out that their daughter potentially lived, and now they have this grandchild in their life. It’s a great cliffhanger — one that I think book and non-book fans are going to be surprised by. I think it was beautifully done with the song. It’s interesting because even playing [Faith’s death] way back in season two, we played the truth of it; we had no idea ourselves. So it was a shock for us as actors reading it and learning about it, as it was for the characters. I think the thought process for Jamie is, “How is it possible?” The elation, the happiness that, actually, it could be possible. And then, who is this young girl in front of us right now?

BALFE I just love it when you are given a scene and you read it, and it’s like, “Ooh, that’s really good.” But in the playing of it, when the hairs on your arms are standing up, it’s pretty brilliant. Florrie is so amazing. Every time we have a scene with her, you’re just so blown away by how brilliant she is. It’s such an interesting cliffhanger because it just opens up this whole other world of questions, which leads us so brilliantly into the next season. I think for Claire, it’s like her heart stops, her heart breaks and her heart sings — all at the same time.

You’ve seen each other through just about everything in the 11 years that you’ve worked together. Looking back, how has your working relationship evolved over time, and what do you think has stayed the same?

HEUGHAN (Laughs) That’s a cool question!

BALFE Well, I think our childish sense of humor has stayed the same.

HEUGHAN I was going to say our humor, silliness. When we’re in the shit and it’s a tough day, or we’re in the dark and it’s cold, we’ve always had each other. I’m very fortunate to have spent so much time with such an amazing person and also managed to laugh a lot as well. But what’s changed, Cait?

BALFE I think when we first started, the job was our lives. We lived it, breathed it. Our schedules were so insane. We really didn’t do much of anything else. I think as we’ve gotten older, our lives have gotten so much busier and you have obviously a wealth of experience to fall back on with your character. So it’s not that we’re not as invested as much, but the show isn’t just the only thing going on. I think, in that way, maybe our approach to things is slightly different. Would you agree, Sam, or no?

HEUGHAN Yeah. It’s not sustainable to be all-consumed by something for that long, but in some ways, perhaps having a bit more space or a life outside of it, it also influences the work itself. We’ve just both grown over time, and I guess it’s depressing but also an amazing opportunity that we’ve got to live with these characters for so long.

What would it take, then, for the two of you to work together again? Maybe in a more modern story without wigs or period costumes?

BALFE I’d love to do a comedy with Sam.

HEUGHAN Yeah, that would be a lot of fun. And as you said, yeah, no wig. Well, actually —

BALFE The wigs would be alright. No corset for me.

HEUGHAN I’d wear a corset, so maybe there’s the comedy right there.

BALFE I’ll wear your wig. There you go!

***

All seven seasons of Outlander are now streaming on Starz.

[multifandumbmeg]

Subtle JJ things I noticed that keep me up at night:

1. The way they changed the styling of his clothes from season 1 to season 2. Season one he's already pretty ripped but he mostly wears these loose-fitting tshirts and cutoffs that make him look cute, lanky, and unthreatening. Season 2 he mostly wears tight-fitting tshirts that make him look CONSIDERABLY beefier and generally is seen wearing more layers- it's technically Fall but he covers up more than other characters do and it has the effect of him seeming more closed off and isolated than the others, which he is. Season three his style is somewhere in between, not super tight but not lanky and loose either, like he's found a better balance.

2. His drinking. Season 1 he's partying a lot with beer and frankly, high most of the time. Season 2 he starts carrying around the flask- presumably liquor, not beer- and drinking non-socially. Before school. At John B's "funeral". That night they're stranded with Kie and Pope on the way to Charleston. The others aren't drinking at all, nor does he offer them some, then he seemingly (to Kie) falls asleep with the open flask in hand... Like he's been drinking himself to sleep, and this has probably become a habit. This is clearly because he's depressed, and though I think John B's "death" is the catalyst, it's clearly not the only reason as it continues through season 2, for example the aforementioned Charleston trip. I think John B's death, going no-contact with his dad, living alone at the chateau, Pope and Kie's relationship, have all led him to feel extremely isolated and he's clearly coping with substances even worse than before. Not to mention he's free of his dad for the first time, completely after he leaves OBX, which means for the first time in his life he's probably processing his trauma, which is what tends to happen once you find yourself no longer in a continually traumatizing situation. That would also account for his moodiness and increasing dependence on substances. I think it's also interesting we see him smoking weed less, but drinking more heavily. I think they did this to show a marked change in his already concerning substance use from season 1 from "bad coping mechanism, gets him through the day in relatively good spirits" to genuinely concerning and potentially volatile, over-using a substance his biological was known to be addicted to. Note this abruptly ends at the end of season 2 with being stranded on the island with all the Pogues. There are zero substances on the island, but it's clear it's the happiest he's ever been. A lot goes down after they get off the island but he seems to minimally fall back into old patterns in season 3. Apart from hanging out and partying a socially acceptable amount with his friends, the only time I remember him using is when he's drinking beers alone at his house- when he gets home and everyone's reuniting with their families and when he's fighting with Kiara because of their moment. When he feels alone and scared. I'm curious to see his development in season 4.

3. His lack of fear/loss of fear in death. Bro, nobody talks about how differently he reacts to danger between seasons 1 and 2. All throughout season 1, JJ is an anxious wreck and his response to being threatened is always submission, fear, and an instinct to run. When there's guns on him he gets the fuck down. He puts his hands up. He looks visibly terrified. Multiple times you can see him VISIBLY shaking. When the thugs are attacking Miss Lana, he's trembling with his eyes closed and trying not to make a sound. He begs John B to leave while it's happening and after when he sees her reaction. Even when Barry tries to rob them, furious though he is, he follows Barry's demands and doesn't fight back until John B starts it and makes an opportunity. As Kiara so aptly puts it, "he has the survival instincts of a cockroach." He does! But everything changes when he tries to grab the money and run from his dad. Again, he doesn't want a fight. But he gets one, and he's finally tired of it. He's been beat up and threatened and stolen from one time too many, and the threat of death is no longer a more powerful motivator than his wants. So he attacks his dad back and puts him in his place. He once again puts his hands up when Barry and Rafe come for him at the Phantom, but he doesn't look as scared. John B's "death" may be the final nail in the coffin, because starting season 2? He's not scared anymore when he should be. Despite the fact that he appears to be having panic attacks and worse anxiety than ever, every gun that's pointed at him or fight that breaks out he just rolls with. One of the only times I can see his survival instincts crop up in season 2 is when Kiara yells "murderer" at Ward seconds after he straight up killed someone with a gun, which is a normal human reaction and may have had more to do with protecting his friends. He just seems numb to most of the danger. Then again, season 3, he almost seems to find a balance. He's still doing some reckless things, and no longer cowering in the face of enemies, but he also knows who the dangerous people are, and when to wheel and deal or turn away and come fight another day.

Anyway, I'm very curious to see how he evolves in season 4, now that he's establishing his own life, financially secure, on good terms with all his friends and (hopefully) in a committed relationship. Let me know if I missed any other interesting character changes patterns for JJ or any other characters from the show! I would love to read/hear what you noticed and your own in-depth character analysis. JJ's my favorite character and a super rich text, so I tend to hyperfocus on him. Also if you want to request me to make one of these on one of the other characters let me know! I would love to zero in on them and see what I missed on my next watch-through.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

D-O-N-E

feliz spring forward y'all!

What -- The day won't end and you're so done. D-o-n-e.

Who -- The series is slow-burning, canon-compliant Daryl x Reader with a focus on the found-family theme in the show. In this chapter, you're joined by all the Grimes, your big brother Shane, Glenn, Maggie, T-Dog, and Carol. Dale doesn't get a chance to speak with you.

When -- Following earlier events of the day in Trust Nelly's Instincts. It is now the late afternoon and evening of S02 episode "Secrets," after the pharmacy run. The chapter picks up in the aftermath of Lori taking and then vomiting certain pills...

Perspective -- 2nd person

Pronouns - none

TWs - mild language at the end, bad screenshots.

Masterlist to the rest of the Slowpoke Series :D

D-O-N-E

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

With Lori

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

You hadn’t understood why Maggie was so furious by the time the three of you returned from the pharmacy trip, other than to conclude it was a sort of trauma response.

And you’d been so grateful to Nelly the horse for possibly saving both Maggie’s life and your own, which is why you offered to take care of the horses when you three returned. The saddles you’d only be carrying for a limited time and your shoulder was doing great, so carrying them wasn’t a concern. Alone time was welcome, you could pray, cry, whatever, in solitude.

So, you missed when Maggie apparently yelled at Lori and threw some of the stuff from the pharmacy on the ground at her feet. Including the pills.

Right now, you’re with Lori next to the long, worn path that leads to and from all the different pastures and fields. It’s golden hour.

Thank God today is almost over.

“I don’t want to lose it.”

“That’s why you threw the pills up,” you soothe, rubbing your hand back and forth across her shoulders. “And you knew full well the ones you took weren’t the right ones. They don’t cause the lining to break down or cause contractions.”

At least, you think they don't? You need to read more, but you know this much: the ones Maggie brought were not the right type of pill for a pregnancy at this stage. Another saving grace today.

“When you’re as far along as you are, it shouldn’t hurt them or you. They've been implanted for weeks.”

Lori knows a lot about this stuff, far more than you to the extent that you're out of your depth. But right now she needs reminding that what she took shouldn’t effect anything this late — and obviously wouldn’t do anything when vomited out.

But because she’s no stranger to miscarriage, there’s far more baggage here.

“Honey. I took five times the dose of a pill that stops the brain from signalling ovulation. Did they even know what that might do?” she spits, angry at herself and scared. “Studies show high or repeat doses affect the strength of the uterine li…”

You shut your eyes, her words fading as you recall the shock of Maggie telling you what she and Glenn secretly brought back for Lori. Then, the relief of seeing all the empty boxes in her tent knowing that those were different.

What Lori just mentioned is something new to you, but still, the fact remains: “Pills don’t do much when you throw ’em up.”

She sits with her eyes closed, unmoving. Then, she curls in on herself and buries her face in her hands. “What if some of them still absorbed?”

“Lore, I found two things there, you say, not entertaining her question. “It’s, um, well, the first is the rhogam stuff. The other one, remember the stuff your new doc had prescribed for the losses?” You did a college paper on it, in fact.

Repeated miscarriages over the years. In two of her previous doctors’ own dismissive words, “At least we know you can get pregnant!”

The new doc she’d started seeing finally prescribed her a relatively uncommon treatment to help stop it from happening again, if she ever got pregnant again. It only happened once, and as expected for the first trial, she had another loss. Then, her and Rick's marital problems arose worse and openness to new members seemed to have been taken off the table.

“You found them?” Lori perks up and learning what you brought back. She thinks for a moment, then lets out a heavy sob. Her childhood accent slips out when she whimpers, “But it didn’t work. It didn’t work at all. Nothin' ever worked.”

“Which was expected for the first trial. Maybe this time…”

“I should be used to it, I should be. I-I am. But if it happens again, this time, it will be entirely my fault. And if anything,” Lori is shaking her head rapidly from side to side. “If anything happened to either of you on that trip, it would’ve been entirely my fault. And it almost did! You and Mag—”

“—We needed to go back anyway. They didn’t get the full list last time,” you interrupt. If you hadn’t, she’d have kept spinning down.

There’s movement in the pasture across the path.

Softly, you tell her, “Ricky's on his way.”

She groans as if in pain.

“Lore?”

“I was so afraid of hurting him. Now I’ve gone and done this.” Her face is accepting, solemn. Drained. You get the feeling that she’s readying herself for the worst.

“But he don’t know ab—”

“—You knew from the empty boxes I left torn when I ran to throw the pills up,” she hushes. “You think he missed them? Unless you meant that he doesn’t know about Shane.”

You don’t know what to say, and so go mute.

“And do you think this would be something to keep a secret from him?”

“…No,” you whisper back with shame at having implied it. “A-Are you gonna tell him about both?”

“I must. He deserves to know all of it, no lies, no secrets.”

Rick is almost at the dirt path.

“Honey,” Lori asks, touching your arm. “Please burn the boxes before Carl sees them?”

“Oh my gosh,” you blurt out. “I’ll go right quick! And d-do you want me to come back, for support, or?”

She shakes her head no but nearly begins to cry again.

Then, she switches to nodding her head for you to yes, please come back.

“I will.”

You stand. Walk toward Rick.

He’s had better days, too, by the look of him. “Y/N, is she…?”

“She loves you more than words and needs you right now.” You note the blue boxes in his hand. “She did ask me to burn those. May I?”

He gives them to you and quietly, quietly confirms to himself, “You knew.”

“Yes. I've known she's pregnant.” You won’t say any more and don't want to, because 'congratulations!' is not the thing to say at the moment. That'll be for another time.

This day won’t end. It really needs to end.

D-o-n-e.

As you take the longer route down the dirt path instead of cutting across the overgrown pastures, you stew over every bad detail of today and none of the good ones.

You really should start focusing on the good details but it’s so much easier to not. Why can it be so much easier to see the bad?

Carl thinking he had to steal and carry a gun.

Mr. Greene confronting you about the barn.

Learning that Glenn blabbed to Mr. Horvath about the walkers.

The hostility between Glenn, Maggie and yourself during the pharmacy run.

A dead man nearly ending Maggie and you.

The furious disappointment at witnessing your brother and Andrea interact after getting out of the car, observing in their behavior that they’d done something sexual.

The flush of horror at Maggie confessing to you about how the prescription she and Glenn were keeping secret was ‘abortion pills.’

How Shane is going to know soon, about the baby. Getting it into his head that they are Rick’s and not his will, um, well it shouldn’t be a problem given your raising, but…

In an act of surrender, you stare up at the sky, breathe out loudly, and mime dusting your hands off. You're done, you can't handle all this, and you shouldn't have to. D-o-n-e.

You feel you eyes moisten, your muscles tense, then get that post-cry rush of relaxation in your limbs.

Better things pop into your mind, like how Maggie understands about walkers now. And how you’re really, really glad Maggie got the wrong stuff at the drug store today. Lori is, too.

The sky is orange-gold by the time you reach the campsite. The fire is crackling, and Carol is away from the cookware, so there’s some privacy. Enough for you to discard the small boxes, at least.

“What did you just throw in the fire, Y/N?”

Scratch that, you didn’t notice Carl was here.

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

With Carl

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

Of everyone in camp, it was the one you were supposed to hide the stupid boxes from, shit.

“Secrets,” you sing-song.

“What kind of secrets?”

“The secret kind.” Which is unsatisfactory for him and you intoned it a bit rudely, so, you explain. “Pill boxes take up space. The blister packs were removed.” Which is not untruthful.

“I didn’t know they made pills for blisters.”

The innocence of the statement softens your hard lines. “The plastic thingies pills come in that you pop 'em out of are called blister packs.”

He peers at you. “Y/N, was someone mean to you? You don’t seem okay.”

“I’m not, little man,” you exhale. “A lot of unexpected things went wrong today.”

“Was that what Maggie was upset about? I heard her yelling.”

You had intended to go back to Lori straightaway, but the idea of sitting down wins. T-Dog’s camp chair feels so welcoming as you sink into it. “Yeah, we had a close call. Her especially.”

His response is to hug you. No better response, really.

“I, um,” you try to word it. “Uncle Shane doesn’t know yet. Let me be the one to tell him, okay?”

“Okay,” he promises. He hasn’t let go of the hug yet. You won’t be the one to do so.

A good few minutes pass before he relaxes his hold and sits next to you. You’d be of mind to stay here all night, but, the day’s not over yet and you’ve got jobs to do.

Maggie asked to speak later, she wants to talk things over. And you’ve always debriefed with Glenn after a run. It won’t be fun, because you’re fixing to drive home how the pill he’d intended to find leads to over 1/3 of the women who report taking it to require emergent medical treatment. He’d have needed to be responsible and have prepared for that possibility.

Oh, and Shane. The stupid, stupid boy. It was clear he’d wanted to say something to you after seeing your face when he and Andy got back, but that’s when you peaced-out, ran into Maggie, then ended up seeing the empty boxes in Lori’s tent.

“Your ma wasn’t feeling too well. I know your dad went and checked on her, but I promised I’d go back,” you explain to Carl, standing from the chair.

“Did she feel like she was gonna throw up again?”

“She did throw up again.”

“Aw, man. Should I bring her something to drink?”

“Have a drink ready for her when she comes back. A nice fluffy pillow, too, maybe switch out her pillowcase for a clean one?”

He nods and makes as if to go, but stops. Turns. “Y/N, I just wanted Mom to feel safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“This morning. Mom’s been so tired and feeling sick a lot because I know she’s super worried about something bad happening to me again. I took the gun thinking it would help." Carl looks at the dirt and toes at a very small pebble. "Like I could defend her, so she wouldn’t have to look after me all the time. And I figured I needed to take it first and prove…” he trails off and stares into space. “I didn’t mean to worry her worse and I didn’t realize what I did was stealing! And I know I upset her enough this morning when I figured the chicks’ mother had been eaten. Mom looked so worried—”

—While he goes on, you’ve already wrapped your arms around him again and smooched one too many kisses to his head.

How are you going to tell him that both you and Shane are leaving? You’d rather walk barefoot over broken glass than have to leave this kid.

After answering Carl that yes, herbal tea is a great idea for his mom, you make yourself get back to work despite how done you are with today.

When you start the trek back to where Lori and Rick were, the shadows have already grown taller. The sky begins its change from golden to pale as the sun lowers.

It stuns you when you’ve all the sudden arrived back to where Lori and Rick are, because you have no recollection of the walk there. That means you weren’t paying attention at all during the walk, which was risky. Well, what you mean is: it’s been so long since that has been a possibility, to ignore your surroundings, so it feels wrong.

They’re standing close together and saying nothing, but her hand is in his. You draw the conclusion that you aren’t needed anymore. It’s a good thing.

You wave once so she sees you, and turn around to go back to the house.

Time to see Maggie.

One step closer to being done.

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

With Maggie

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

“So. Pregnant.”

“Yup.”

“Is she still?” she snides.

“Yes. She retched up the pills almost immediately.” Your particular shade of nagginess has you consider bringing up how accounting for a 1 in 3 chance emergency would have been necessary if the pills were the real ones. Surely, she knows!

You’re so done. D-o-n-e. Simplicity will do just fine. “Wrong type of pill anyway, pregnancy shouldn’t be affected this far along.”

D-o-n-e.

“All those doses would do something. I hear taking too many can do it.” She is sitting uncharacteristically hunched over. And behaving differently, too. This brand of nastiness isn’t normal for the Maggie you’ve come to know.

Biting your tongue, you cannot neglect the fact that today was Maggie's first close call. She’s reeling from it and processing stuff.

Her call was so close that you’re still in disbelief as to how she kept that guy from biting her. As unpleasant as you may find her current mood, you have a sense of solidarity with her far greater than before.

In the end, all you do is shrug in response. “Pills don’t usually work when you vomit 'em.”

“I’m glad she had a change of heart and we went through all that for nothin’.”

Yup, still processing stuff.

You wouldn’t describe the way you respond as gentle, although it is. It’s more tired than anything. “We still needed to go on another pharmacy run.”

It’s odd: you aren’t seeing red, you aren’t licking your teeth, you aren’t even huffing.

If you had to describe it, you’d say that’s it’s as if your emotions have gone on power-saver, similar in that aspect to how a depressive episode can be. It crosses your mind that it’s likely a trauma thing due to this afternoon’s events. Maggie is presenting in one way, you another.

Eh, isn't everyone in some sort of permanent trauma cycle these days? Either way, somebody stick a fork in you; you’re done.

“Am I being a bitch, Y/N?”

You shrug again. “A little bit.”

“A lot bit,” she mutters. “I’m just so — it’s like I don’t know how I feel right now.”

“That can happen after a close call like we had. Was this your first one?”

“I don’t like the sound of ‘first one.’ It implies there’ll be more.”

“There likely will be.” Aren’t you a joy to be around. In your defense, you said it kindly.

There’s a knot in the wood on the porch floor that Maggie keeps running her thumb over. Softly, she shares, “Y/N? I told Glenn I loved him.”

????

That wasn’t on your bingo sheet.

If only the emotional thing was working normally — this is exciting news! Granted, it's also weird news given how pissed she’s been today and at Glenn specifically, but exciting nonetheless. Civilization ending has made everything a little weird, right?

“And I kissed him again.”

“Naturally.”

“How was it that you first described him?” Maggie next asks, still tracing her thumb along the knot in the wooden plank. “Something about a snowstorm?”

The corners of your mouth tug up in recollection. “‘A ray of sunshine in a snowstorm.’”

Maggie nods, her gaze serious but fixed on nothing. “He’s smart, and good, and strong. He’s a leader, but he’s humble.”

“Writing them vows already, Margaret?” you quietly tease.

Wait, is she crying?

“Y/N, I feel like I’ve been so blind, so clueless!” It’s good she’s crying it out. She’ll sleep better. “About the dead, about you all. Today, you and me nearly got bitten or killed! Bein’ that close to one, seeing how it wasn’t — oh, Y/N, they aren’t just sick.”

No resentment, no condemnation, just calm agreement. “They aren’t.”

“How could your people have sent him down the well, if they all know what they are, what they can do?”

The vivid memory kick-starts your emotions only enough that your nose twitches in anger, but the moment passes before you feel much. “I was spitting mad at them, too.”

“The thought of what could’ve happened, then or today…” Margaret trails off, so you look to see her shaking her head. “I don’t want my dad to kick your group out.”

Thank you, God. “Me, neither.”

She turns her body toward you and reaches for your hand. “Y/N, will you be there, when I try to talk to him?”

“I can.”

“Daddy likes you. I think you remind him of Beth and me.”

…Say what? “I wouldn’t go quite as far as that,” you tactfully counter with a polite smile.

“Trust me, he does. He’s talked about you to Patricia. Now, I know I asked for your trust about the barn, but—” Her breath hitches. “You kept that trust, I just realized. It was Glenn who told the older man in your group.”

“As Dale would say, ‘the boy has no guile.’” You mimic his accent and manner of speech fairly well! “That’s the highest praise comin’ from him.”

She breathes out heavily and leans back on her hands. You mirror it.

It was a solid debrief. You’d been worried, but you can rest easy on this aspect of today, at least.

Onto the next, you reckon.

Who will it be, Glenn or Shane? Or Dale. Or Rick, you can’t imagine him not wanting to ask you a question or two following this afternoon’s revelation.

The real question is where you’re gonna dig up the energy. You’re d-o-n-e.

Maybe now is when you decide to run away and hide in the Greene’s attic. Ha, or the barn loft, right? Ain’t nobody will look for you there.

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

With Shane

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

In the final minutes of the day's sunshine, your brother appears to have been waiting for you with your hoodie and the wrap for your arm. “Hey. You doing good?”

“Yeah. Tired, real tired.” You accept the hoodie and pull it on, leaving it unzipped.

“Can we talk about earlier right quick?”

The man is gonna have to specify. “When do you mean?” you check, shoving your hands into the pockets and making your way to a spot that looks private and comfortable enough.

“When Andrea and me got back.”

Ah. Right.

Under your breath, you mindlessly correct it to “Andrea and I,” for some reason.

Shane either finds it amusing or is being nice. “You know I love it when you’re a pain the ass, weirdo?”

“I am quite skilled at it.”

He’s smiling but it’s clear he wants to be serious for a minute.

“Alrighty, loser,” you tell him, feeling…nothing. Zen as a statue. “I’m sufficiently buttered up. What about when you and she got back?” The spot you two have chosen is acceptably private. The tree roots aren’t very comfortable, but you manage to find a position that cradles your legs.

Without words, Shane gestures with the wrap to signify he’s going to tie it back on.

“I know that you saw how we, that the way we were actin’, uh,” he struggles with what to say. He pulls the fabric around once, twice. “Dale ain’t talked to you today, right?” He finishes tying the ends of the support wrap. “That too tight?”

“It feels okay. And no, he ain’t talked to me. Why?” You already have an idea of what happened, so it’s silly to beat around the bush. “Did something happen between Andy and you?” you simplify for him.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

Hearing it confirmed doesn’t stop the intense disappointment. Even if Lori is pregnant from Rick, which of course she may be, there's still the question. And here Shane is, doing who-knows...

Your inner kettle heats up, but that’s as far as it gets. The stove is broken.

The thing that is sticking out to you, however, was the hesitation in his answer. There’s something he’s holding back. Another secret.

Not that you can judge, not with the two massive secrets you’re withholding from him.

“Dale was pissed about us making googly eyes,” your brother brushes off.

It’s fascinating to feel so passive. You have the oddest sensation as if you’re much, much older, while Shane is much, much younger. Even your tone is oddly mature and reflective. “Dale wouldn’t get mad at y’all making googly eyes, he’d be mad at y’all making babies.”

Shane just throws his hand up and looks away. A smug yet angry smile with a hint of shame. His hand rubs against his buzzcut several times. “It was a heat of the moment decision between two adults.”

Slight nausea comes upon you. 'Heat of the moment' decisions can have lifetime consequences even when there's no new life involved.

You put to him a question that’s been on your mind. “I want to check about them things you said to Lori in the hallway that night.” The night when he flirted with a married, horrified woman. The words, the intonations, every detail is seared into your memory. ‘The only thing I care about now in this world is Y/N, you and Carl. So I, apologize if I appear to be insensitive to the needs of others, but see, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the three of you safe.’

He becomes more defensive. “Of course the prude would bring that up. Y/N, you know I’m tryin’. What Andrea and I did today might should be a relief.”

A strange sense of foreboding curves around your throat. A slight twinge of fear.

Then, a stronger, stranger notion of pity. You really do feel so old right now, and that he is so, so young. You smile sadly, hoarse when you murmur, “Y-you can be a real stupid boy sometimes, Shaney.”

Curiously, you seeing him lick his teeth in anger just makes you swell with nostalgia. It’s a family trait.

“I’ve made far stupider decisions,” he states.

You lean against him, your brother’s arm tensing initially, but letting go somewhat as you settle. “Did you hear about the pharmacy run today?”

He must be confused at your unusual reactions and responses. After fully relaxing his body, he lightly musses your hair. “Tell me all about it, weirdo. Anythin’ fun?”

“There was a close call,” you begin. "Glenn saved the day."

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

With Glenn

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

Talking it out with Glenn is easy. Usually is; Glenn and you are pretty willing to admit wrongs and learn. And beginning by talking about the happy development with Maggie lead to good feelings all around. Even the part about the pills went smoothly.

“No more secrets between us, okay? I hate that I kept it from you.”

“But I get why you did.” You look at the stars and pull the hood strings tighter. It’s getting nippy. “As for your inability to handle a secret —”

“—Dude.”

You stick out your tongue to drive home that you were only joking. He seemed like he needed to laugh at himself. “For real, though, Shane asked me what the heck you sayin’ Mr. H was teaching you ‘to clean the spark plugs,’ meant. I had no idea what to say except I didn’t know nothing about mechanics.” You do wonder, “Do spark plugs get cleaned?”

“No, but I could literally feel the secret trying to jump out of my throat. ‘Cleaning spark plugs’ was the best I could make up on the spot.”

“No more secrets between us, within reason. I’ll go first.” You close your eyes. “I’m planning to leave with Shane in a week or two.”

There. It’s out.

Glenn was chewing a pretzel stick, but appears to have stopped mid-motion. “Dude — what?”

“We’ll scope out Fort Benning while, while y’all stay safe here.”

“Alone? When in the heck was this decided?”

“Only since we saw the barn, not long.”

He takes a moment. “But you’re coming back?”

Despite feeling at ease, you stutter, “I-I certainly intend to.”

“But what if you die?” he is blunt enough to put to you. “Y/N, after today, I mean — the worst almost happened here, of all places. No where else we’ve found is like this place and still one almost bit you and Maggie!”

“That’s most like why we were so unprepared. Glenn, I genuinely smelled the dead guy and wrote it off as rot in the walls. If Nelly weren’t going berserk…”

The two of you exhale in sync, loudly.

You lay down against the rock you're sitting on, staring at the stars, and remembering how you sat here with Daryl about a week and a half ago and attempted your first (and last) cigarette.

“Well, other than the barn, we barely see walkers anymore.” Glenn probably regrets just having tossed his pretzel stick onto the grass below.

“It’s wonderful here, ain’t it? Feels so like things used to be.”

“It is.”

“And things are fixing to improve when it comes to the barn, so that’s good,” you hope.

He sighs heavily again. “Yeah.”

The Milky Way is starting to become visible. “Do you regret tossin’ your pretzel just now?” you check.

“Yeah. I was mad and — yeah.”

“Do you have another in your pocket?”

“Why would I put pretzels in my pocket?”

“I got more pretzels in my pocket.”

“You what?”

For show, you take one out and pop it into your mouth like it’s a cigar. “I’ll offer you one, unless pocket pretzels are beneath you.”

“So beneath me that I threw mine literally on the grass down there,” he mutters, half-serious, half-joking.

You hand him one. He thanks you and promptly munches down.

“I don’t feel good about you going.”

“Me neither,” you speak plainly. Everything feels simple and inconsequential right now. “But it’s gotta be done.”

“Why?”

“Things will go better if Shane ain’t here while things are uncertain. And Fort Benning was the destination we had in mind anyway,” you quip as if this were a simple matter. You sort of sound like a therapist or a caseworker. “Best see if it’s an option or not.”

“Would it really be that bad if he found out about the barn?”

“I would not risk that. If it comes down to what he sees as protectin’ me or Carl, he will do what it takes even if it shreds his soul. You saw him at the CDC, man.”

His strong huff signals his frustration. “Daryl went crazy down there, too. Who’s gonna be here to stop him from taking matters into his own hands if you go?”

Hm, you hadn’t considered what Daryl’s reaction to the barn might entail. Perhaps because he’s not actually threatening to anyone here.

“You’d be the one who could tone him down,” Glenn goes on.

“Oh, yes?” you fill in with mild amusement.

“Oh yes.”

“I must remind you that Daryl can’t put up much of a fight right now.”

Done and zen as you may be, Glenn keeps pushing about you leaving. “Dale will be so upset. Even though I’m obviously his favorite,” he adds, probably to make things feel lighter.

“And we both know Andrea is his tip top favorite. So, his third favorite leaves awhile, no biggie. I’ll be back.” That’s when you remember. “Oh my. I forgot how Andy might come, I’m sorry.”

Glenn turns so upset that he begins to shout.

“What the hell, dude? This is —” He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands other than manhandle the pretzel stick. “What else have you been keeping secret like this, Y/N?”

He’s had a long day, too. This whole middle-school sharing circle you’ve got going may have been better left to another time when you both aren’t so thoroughly done that you’re overcooked. “Perhaps that’s enough for now?” you suggest.

“Oh my gosh, that means there is more!” He flops himself backward and lays the way you are, throwing his arms above his head.

How else would you respond than by chuckling like a wizened old hillbilly? You have to say, this is a sweet deal, having emotional reactions on standby instead of feeling them at full power.

It’s nice to find humor in stressful things, as if you’d lived through 2 wars and now sell wildflowers and shine on the roadside. “Not every secret is bad, sometimes just ain’t our business. I keep secrets because I’d want mine kept. I want to be trustworthy,” you point out with a small grin. “If you feel the urge to tell anyone about us leaving, Lori already knows. She’s safe to go to.”

“Thank you,” he groans. He’s quiet a few moments. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

The stars are coming out. More and more they’re able to be seen as the final hues of purple on the horizon deepen to black.

“Even though I suck at secrets?” Glenn checks.

“Yes. I trust you with my life just like you trust me with yours,” you remind him. The position you’re in is uncomfortable, so you adjust. “Besides, it seems you only got issues with secrets that have weight to ’em. Bad secrets. You’re an honest soul, where’s the fault there?”

“The fault is in not keeping my freaking mouth shut when things aren’t my business.”

“As if you ain’t talking to a hothead who can’t keep it shut, neither?” you lilt, still smiling to yourself, carefree and d-o-n-e. Ooh, that last part rhymes!

“That’s different.”

You nudge him. “Let’s trade, then. You can be the firebrand, I’ll be the lovable one.”

“So, I get that you’re, like, self conscious about everything you do,” he mumbles. “But really, you aren’t that big a hothead. And I think that you leaving will make things worse.”

It takes you moment. “Glenn.” You flip onto your side. It makes your shoulder pinch a little and the bruise on your sternum complain, but not too much. “Way to smack me upside the head with the kindest possible words you could.”

“Dude, I’m not okay with this,” he groans into his hands. “I don’t want you to leave, you’re literally my best friend. Like, even if you weren’t, you’re cool to have around. Even Maggie’s dad seems to like you.”

You have to giggle at that part. “You have Maggie’s declaration of love, I have her daddy’s begrudged acceptance as a new farmyard nuisance.” Mm, it feels good to laugh. “Glenn, are you by any chance tryin’ to butter me up, too?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not making this up. But, like, if guilting you into staying works, it works. Wait, who else was buttering you up?”

“Shane.”

Did he just tut? “What’d he do, now?” Glenn probably didn’t mean to sound so disgusted, either.

“He didn’t do nothing.”

“Except a few days ago when he did.”

If your emotional range were at a normal level, you’d have gotten huffy. But, seeing as you don’t have that, you don’t react at all.

Now, the incident with Shane about which Glenn is referring was very out of place. True, you’d been seeing someone you didn’t recognize in your brother more and more in his actions for months at that point. What he did almost felt like a long time coming, if you’re being perfectly frank. Yet, it was still not him. It was still very out of place. And since then, for the past couple days, Shane has been fully back.

“What you saw was not like him,” you emphasize. Doubts ripple your thoughts but you merely view them with consideration, not dread. Everything is as chill as can be right now to you.

“To be honest, I don’t care.” Glenn is somewhat less chill. “He blew up like that, end of story.”

“It was a lapse. Small, too.” How nice it is to remain tranquil like this. If the walkers busted down the barn doors, you’d merely sigh and calmly find a weapon.

“I’m gonna say it again. Things like that start small.”

You understand and appreciate his warning, truly. You’d be cautious of the same if you were in Glenn’s place. “Will you allow for mistakes and change in others?”

“Y/N, I’m just so — I don’t know what I’m even feeling about this right now, okay? But it’s bad, it’s not good, and I hate that you’re gonna go and this day has been insane!”

“Then let’s take a breather.” So zen, so immovable, so d-o-n-e… “Picture you got a teakettle what’s starting to whistle. What do you do?”

“Um, uh — turn off the heat and pour the water, I guess — why are you asking this?” he wonders, audibly confused and irritated.

“It’s a helpful image to cool your thoughts.”

“Yeah, so, the way you’ve been talking this whole conversation is like you’re Mr. Miyagi or like, Galadriel. Why do you sound like that?”

You crack up. “I dunno. I started to feel like this after what went on with Lori earlier. It’s like hearing underwater, but instead of sound, it’s emotions.”

“So…you mean your emotions aren’t working right? That seems…” He decides on a word. “Bad. Like, trauma stuff.”

“Whatever it is, it’s a break. I’ll take it. Today, I’m done.”

“It does sound kinda nice,” he admits. “Dude, I’m so done, too.”

“D-o-n-e.”

“D-o-n-e.”

If you aren’t mistaken, there’s an owl hooting nearby.

“You went through the wringer today, too, Glenn.” He may not have had the close call this time, but he saved you and Maggie from yours. Glenn gets it, he’s no stranger to being almost bitten. “Did it happen to you when they lowered you down that well? I think I remember you seemin’ off.”

“I remember having nightmares the whole night. And th—actually, yeah,” Glenn recalls. “I sort of felt super, like, light? Just, like, out-of-it.”

“And after the CDC,” you muse. “It was as if we was all diluted a bit.”

“Ugh.” Glenn runs his hands through his hair. “It took days until things felt okay again after that. Though, like,” he adjusts his position and rests his hands on his stomach. “The pop from the explosion messed up my balance a little, so that played a part. And the ringing in the ears wasn’t fun.”

“Mm.” What a hell of a day that had been. Dale still doesn’t have full hearing in one of his ears yet.

As you look at the stars beginning to come out, you think to yourself how, after that hell of a day, you distinctly remember having been filled with a deep, strong sense of clarity. Of purpose. It really helped temper the heartbreak.

“It makes sense to me that, after things like close calls,” you slowly describe, “things might can get put into perspective. Like a needed grace for gettin’ through times like that.”

“Yes, sensei.”

Tranquil as can be, you press thumbs to pointer fingers in a meditation pose and try to make your voice sound huskier and wiser. “You’re a buttface, young nutcracker.”

Glenn snorts so hard he basically does a sit-up.

That’s interesting, why is he laughing so hard? Is he that overtired?

Eventually, you hear him wheeze, “Grasshopper! It’s ‘young grasshopper!’”

Ah, that would do it. ‘Nutcracker’ did seem a mite irregular. Oops.

Well, it’s good that he’s entertained, he needed a good laugh.

“So the student becomes the master, my young padawan,” you might as well add.

“Padawan is Star Wars.”

“I know.” Smiling, you suggest, “Let’s call it a night?”

“Heck yeah, sensei, let’s call it a night.”

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

With the Grimes

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

As Glenn and you are walk back from the big rocks, Teddy and Carol appear to be making their way to them. You have an inkling it’s for a smoke break.

T-Dog doesn’t smoke much, but you’ve seen him doing so on occasion (and all but twice it’s been with Daryl). Carol you caught smoking just once. You hope Daryl didn’t get T-Dog back into it, but the fact that those two have become friends is a huge development which no one saw coming. If cigarettes played a part in him unlearning his racism, so be it, it’s a win.

Teddy, Carol, Rick, and Jimmy did their extended search today. You can only imagine how much Carol must need to debrief. Her grieving is being stretched and dangled before her. Hell, if she wants a cigarette, give the woman a cigarette.

“What are you spacing out about?”

Blinking out of your thoughts, you answer Carl. “Mrs. Peletier and Sophia.”

You’re at the campfire with all the Grimes. As tempting as sneaking off to some unfindable place like the barn loft is, you’d never get the smell of walkers out of your nose if you did, among other awful possibilities.

“If you start to have nightmares, you can wake me up, okay? I’ll keep my walkie on.” Carl taps a pocket on his cargoes which is housing the pink walkie-talkie that Sophia had used. “Want me to check whatever part it almost bit?”

You lean over to touch your forehead to his, then unzip your hoodie, tug your sleeve up, and show him your perfectly unscathed forearm. He does a thoughtful exam in the firelight, even scooting off to get his flashlight to aid in the inspection. You know there’s nothing there, but it’s also about his peace of mind.

Lori and Carl soon head to bed, leaving you and Rick.

"Glenn told me about the pharmacy, the walker."

"He probably minimized the part where he full-stop saved us both, Maggie and I. If someone find canned bacon again, he's earned at least half the can."

His eyes glisten. With the arm closest to you, he reaches to cup the back of your neck and tells you how relieved he is that nothing worse happened and that you're okay.

Then, he inclines his head and begins to say, “I wan—” but Shane comes and sits beside you, two spoons and the rest of the jar of peanut butter in hand. One spoon is for you, and he and Rick pick up the conversation.

You can’t help but think this is the calm before the storm.

But, perhaps things will go smoothly when Lori’s news becomes public knowledge. Perhaps it’ll make going away easier — going to scope out a new place as permanent and safe, like Shane hopes Fort Benning will be. After all, the Shane you know would want to do what’s in his power to help his best friend keep Lori safe.

“Shane, is that the salt shaker?” Carol asks. She’s back from wherever she and T-Dog went. Her eyes look wet and red.

T-Dog doesn’t look too cheerful himself, but cracks up nonetheless. “The pepper shaker. Y’all ain’t seen how those two do that?” That man’s grin could melt ice, you swear. “Y/N once had the audacity to claim it ‘elevates pb&j.’”

“Hell yeah it do.” Shane tips the shaker downward to sprinkle it into the remnants of the peanut butter jar.

With zero embarrassment, you agree, “It real yummy. Wanna try some before it’s gone?”

This snack is not that unusual, right?

…Right?

“Don’t risk it Carol. I once heard them two Walshes mention craving they mother’s pineapple casserole.That tells you a lot.”

Rick leaps in to defend it, albeit with humor. “Don’t go knocking ’til you’ve tried it.”

“Pineapple casserole wasn’t even at one church potluck, Teddy? Are you even from the south?” you tease, still zen as can be. ~Om~

Carol’s smile is small but not forced. “Did she make it with a Ritz crust?” she asks you kindly.

“Mama liked to use corn flakes.” You begin to twiddle with the wrap around your arm. “She'd do it up with seasonings.”

“And Dog, you would not believe how good it goes with ham and bacon,” Shane insists, scraping the sides of the jar to get as many dregs onto his spoon as he can.

T-Dog has only one thing to say: “At times like this, I find the blessing in the collapse of civilization.”

This presents to you as the perfect spot to call it a night for yourself. Seems like someone is D-O-N-E!

Beaming at the prospect of kicking this day goodbye (no, not ‘kissing.’ Kicking.), you bid those still around the fire goodnight, throw a peace sign to Andrea where she’s coming back from a walk, and then fully intend to go to your tent.

From your left, you hear someone step out of the RV.

“Kiddo, are you heading to bed?

You turn to answer Dale. “Yeah…”

…It seems you’re not d-o-n-e, judging by how Dale is looking at you. Is it serious what he wants to talk about? His expression indicates that he’s clearly concerned about something. Probably to do with the barn. Damn that barn.

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

With Dale

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

“Y/N, before you call it a night, can we talk a minute?” Shane calls before Dale says anything.

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

With Shane again

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

“Shane, I’m so done with today that I’m overcooked,” you grumble once you’re far enough away to feel comfortable doing so. “What’s up? I think Mr. H was about to ask me something before you whisked me off, now I feel impolite.”

“When Dale and I spoke, I said some things he might take the wrong way.”

So it was intentional, whisking you away before Dale had the chance. Oh, Shaney, what did you say?

“You know I love Rick.”

Curious thing to bring up. “He’s our brother.”

“I’d never hurt him.”

“And when you said what you said to Lori, it was a lapse. I know you.”

“Y/N, I love that man. He is my brother. Dale is under the impression that I — Y/N, I’m askin’ you to trust me on this.”

Everyone wants that today, it seems.

“Dale is under the impression that he saw me aim my gun at Rick.”

Through your absence of emotion shoots a cold chill up your spine. You walk a few paces without responding. “When does he think he saw that happen?”

“Must’ve been, uh,” he fumbles, agitated. “I’d say sometime when we was lookin’ for Sophia, I guess.”

He’s lying again.

You know him when he’s lying. This is one of those times. Like when he lied about Otis during the funeral. Why he lied was clear, he wanted to put the family at ease and give them peace. This time, he must be trying to do the same for you?

As if you were merely an observer with no stakes or heart in the game, you remain placid. “When was Dale with y’all? He was never with the two of you for a search.”

“Listen, I don’t know, maybe it was back at the quarry before any of that,” he cuts in. “All I know is he’s gonna try and use that.”

Shane talking too fast and bringing up that the incident may have been as as far back as the quarry means that it was indeed as far back as the quarry. Rick would have recently returned, he’d only been there two or three days before it was overrun…and Shane would still have been in love with Lori.

You think back and conclude it would have been the very small window of time when the Rick and Shane would have been scouting in the woods, after that solitary walker had wandered into the camp bounds. The kids came across it when it was eating the deer Daryl had hunted.

For clarification, you quote, “‘Use’ it?”

“He doesn’t trust me or like me, never really has. Wants me gone. Hell, he told me to go. You, on the other hand, he acts like you’re the apple of his eye.”

In another circumstance that didn’t involve your brother being disliked, it would warm you to hear that a man like Dale thinks of you paternally. Not this circumstance. “Even Mr. Horvath can be a downright idiot if he don’t see you how I do,” you say in earnest.

“Y/N, I —” In his way, Shane rubs his hand on his head back and forth against the peach fuzz he has left after buzzing his hair off. And he looks all around without picking a spot, both sure signs he’s riled in some way, grasping for an answer.

If you could feel much of anything, you’d be feeling…you aren’t sure. But something in you knows what’s coming. You know what he’s about to tell you and you wish it weren’t so.

He confesses it: “Y/N, I did aim at him. I held him there.”

The nausea sweeps back in. It’s not too strong, kudos to your current mental state for keeping things on power-saver. Another grace to get through this day that won’t end.

“He also thinks that when Otis and—”

“—Did you fire?” You want to nip in the bud whatever his survivor’s guilt is gonna claim about what happened that night with Otis. You’re done. So done. “At Ricky, did you fire?” you repeat.

Not expecting a follow-up question with such an obvious answer, he flounders. His eyes shine in what little moonlight there is. He won’t look at you directly.

“Well then,” you continue. “Seems you had a bad thought, fought it, and dismissed it. Basic Morality 101, you overcame the bad thought. And let me guess; he brought it up, you got defensive and said some stuff what sounded tough and scary.” Seriously, you’re fucking done. “We’re both leavin’ in a week or so, anyway, so after you apologize, Mr. H will have ample time to wise up and think better on you before we come back.”

Are you feeling anger again? Is this your emotions kicking back on?

And why ain’t your brother saying nothing?

“I’m tired, Shane. I-I'm done.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as if this whole revelation were some big tragedy.

Yes, you are starting to get angry again. Lord above, you’re done!

“For what? Doin’ the right thing?” D-O-N-E. “No harm, no foul, Shane. Screw Mr. H if he’s too stupid to understand that the struggle ain’t sinful, the consent is.”

You watch as he squeezes the bridge of his nose at the spot between his eyes.

No, you do not have the patience to wait for him to say anything in return.

“Walk back with me, please, unless you’re fixing to stay out here and get ticks all over.”

And, no, you do not wait for him to join, either. You take off and don’t care overmuch if he’s following. You need to have a little chat with Dale, so whatever remaining time is left until your feelings jump-start fully again, you’ll need.

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

With Dale Still with Shane

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

“—Y/N, don’t talk to him tonight. Wait on things.”

Oh, your brother has finally decided to use his words? “Can it.”

D. O. N. E.

“Come on now, kettle off the burner, kid,” he calls.

“I said can it!”

"I don't know why you're so upset, Y/N, but I d—"

"—It's been a long day." You have not broken pace in your storm toward the RV. "Almost fucking died, for one." And you can't tell Shane any more of it, minus the part he knows about the walker.

There are too many secrets and you don't know what to do other than demand to know why Dale hates Shane so much. Shane is your family, your heart!

“Y/N,” Shane next warns. “As much as I’d love to see you chew the old man out, you won’t like yourself if you do. You know that, you ain’t stupid.”

Those words break your pace. You slow. Turn.

Your throat tightens and you swallow.

Before, you’d felt as if you were the older one, much more older. Now, you’ve swapped. You feel helpless and small and stupid. The lack of strong emotions is somehow making it worse. “H-how am I gonna sleep if I don’t? Shane, I-I need to sleep, I need this day to be done. I'm done.”

“But you won’t sleep a wink if you go to him now, upset and angry. Wait 'til the morning.”

He’s right.

The thoughts race, race, race. Too many hidden things.

The baby. The barn. Shane giving you a bruise because he blew up. This new secret that he held a gun at his best friend, his brother.

What can you do with all this? You’re so fucking done!

God. Fucking take all this! I can't!, you inwardly shout, frustrated, angry, scared yet not able to feel much more than exhausted. Until you can't quite seem to breathe enough.

"Y/N, hey, shh. Whoa there, it's all good. Don't panic," you hear him saying.

His arms fold around you in an embrace that you don't resist one bit. You want him to be the one to somehow fix it all. He has been such a cause of fear and stress, so all you want is for him to fix it all and prove your fears false.

The way he releases the hug so he can apply firm pressure to your torso is something your mother used to do. A sensory calming trick.

It does the job. Soon, you've eased. Your breathing gets back to normal. The exhaustion returns as the panic fades. A feeling of wanting to hide your face. "I'm so tired, Shane. I want to be done."

You look at his creased brow, his set jaw. The hardness melting when he sees that you've calmed. It's Shane, not the stranger you'd been seeing in him.

How is it possible to love someone so completely despite them being the cornerstone of all your fears? Or, is that normal? Are you an idiot? Or are you just overtired...

“Let’s get those earbuds in, play you some music, alright?” Your big brother curls his arm around your shoulders and gently guides you back to the tents. "The day's done, so you're done," he soothes. “D-o-n-e.”

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

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[danwhobrowses]

I've kept myself contained and (mostly) quiet as I consumed all of Downfall - knowing that each part would alter my previous perspectives and assumptions - but man, there is so much to discuss. Finally it's time to talk about it!

Spoilers for all 3 Parts of Downfall below

The TLDR of this essay is that it was awesome and it has both unraveled so much context while enshrouding so much more lore in mystery. The long answer is long so stock up on cake - but not Brennan's cake, he's very protective of it - or something to keep the energy up.

Let's start at the beginning: Tengar. What a start that was! The destruction of Tengar really does reframe the Gods from the get-go. They were lights, they were refugees, they watched the destruction of their home and the loss of their family just as mortals would in life, war, and Calamity - but in a place where those things had only just come into being. It poses many questions too; were they what the Luxon scattered themselves into? Is Dunamis the remnants of Tengar? Was Predathos - assuming that the 'fruit' was Predathos - a purposeful creation or one that got out of hand? We knew of two gods that it ate but there was more (Unless Predathos is Edun? It's definitely a theory). The prologue shows how the Gods ended up being forced into shape, how their traumas limited their possibility as they careened towards proto-Exandria. There's a parallel to be made with the Lights' response to escaping Tengar's destruction and several PCs', especially Bells Hells who are able or attempting to rise above their pre-defined traumas and unhealthy coping mechanisms, development and growth - compared to the gods who found themselves stuck in place: doomed to play the role and domain they became shaped into. It also makes me wonder about the Founding, Creation, and the Schism itself; did the Primes start creation in order to keep an essence of home (all the divine trees planted across Exandria could be parallel to the Orchard)? What are each Betrayer's views on mortals? Asmodeus and Lolth clearly have disdain for them, but Asmodeus hurts mortals with a 'jealously kicking down your siblings' legos' vibe whereas Lolth likes to make mortals look as ugly as she already sees them. In cooldowns it was mentioned that had Melora been willing to walk away from Exandria she might've been a Betrayer, so I wonder if all Betrayers are simply mortal-hating or some are just willing to just leave mortals behind? I remain super curious over what the Primordials' side of the story is too; asking Rau'shan and Ka'mort should be considered eventually, given how they have knowledge and experience with sealing Predathos, but how did they see the events leading to the Schism; was there a deal that was broken? Did the Primordials hate mortals? Were they aware of Tengar before the Founding? Did they aid the gods in adjusting to their fixed forms and domains? And did they treat them like children like the gods treat mortals? What in history is lies and what in history is lecture?

Then of course there's the mission itself, which commits to its title in many areas; the Downfall of a civilization and culture within Aeor, the Downfall of (more) Wizard hubris with the Factorum, the Downfall of splinter factions trying to end the war by thinking they're doing what the gods want, and the Downfall of the Primes' infallible reputation as their armies and followers felt abandoned by them, no longer willing to accept the 'I am the parent, you are the child' justification. In the end only the Betrayers succeeded because the city falls and mortals died, but they don't succeed enough because they didn't get the Factorum - and the Primes still cared enough for mortals to try and save them - and thus the Calamity resumes, which I suppose is another Downfall: they were once family and wanted to be family again, but the truce wasn't real. The Betrayers were planning to use the Factorum to win the war (perhaps the two who didn't show had a change of heart?), they wanted to go where the Primes would not because, at that moment, winning and being right was more important than family.

The characters to nobody's surprise are all fantastic; Ashley's Trist (Saranrae) and Noshir's Emissary (Proxy of Erathis) had my heart in a winch for all three episodes, reminding me of it every so often with a big squeeze of emotions. Laura's Emhira (Matron of Ravens), Taliesin's Asha (Wildmother), Abubakar's SILAHA (Corellon) and Nick's Ayden (Dawnfather) all flourished as their characters too, alongside Brennan's variety of NPCs both as mortal gods and Aeorians. I loved Trist's boundless compassion and her constant struggle with having to do something cruel to many for the sake of saving the people she loved, as well as being forced to choose between her mortal family and her infinite ones, I loved how Asha was prickly and cutthroat as Nature can be in desolation but also not without her own regrets, longings and her gradual softening towards the Emissary, I loved how Ayden was an embodiment of the Dawnfather's purest hope and desire to protect people - contained in the body of a teenage boy, I loved how SILAHA loved Aeor's culture and people so much that he couldn't even be angry at the archmages using their gift to build a weapon that could destroy them, I loved that Emhira played cold and detached in an effort to bond with her siblings but found that her connection to them shone greater in the more human moments, and I loved the Emissary's innocence, how with so few words you had an earnest encapsulation of what he was thinking or feeling, and how in death the deep bass became a childlike lightness when meeting the Matron in her domain. The short arcs each of these characters undergo was amazing to see and the combat the more they became divine was insane - like seriously Trist hit 500 damage from a Guiding Bolt! And Ayden's Sunburst killed 3 Dragons and more AT THE SAME TIME! And btw throughout all 3 parts the dialogue has been outstanding, good grief! You could make a small book of all the amazing, thought-provoking, and downright emotional quotes packed in these three episodes. These are true tour de force players, guided by Brennan painting a gallery of scenes as if he was speaking at the Globe Theatre.

I like that the Factorum Malleus is pretty blatantly an allegory to a Nuclear Warhead. With the problem being that dropping a nuke will only beget the sobering conclusion that it can be done again, by others too - much like the Ritual of Seeding: once you make god bleed, everyone will try to cut them. The Factorum should not exist just as Nuclear Weapons should not exist, and that plays a part in the horror of seeing Cassida present it to Trist as if it was a gift to win the war rather than a tool to kill her family, just as Oppenheimer saw the bomb as a means to end all wars until he realised after that it was just a new escalation to warfare.

We also found room for important non-God NPCs, mainly the tragic success and failure of two Aeorian Archmages: Selena Erenves and Cassida Previn. Both display acts of humanity which end tragically; Cassida fell into faith to save her son and was given the chance to try and erase the knowledge of the Factorum so that people could survive, but her good intentions was prey to Asmodeus' cruelty and she was tortured and killed for information that, had he maintained the Arcadia guise, would've been handed over willingly, then on the other side there's Selena, who accepted death and consequences before attempting to activate the Factorum while also successfully spreading the knowledge of its construction to every wizard in Aeor, effectively forcing the Primes into having to destroy the city, only to be embraced by Corellon, forgiven, spared, and left to live with her actions. It's ironic that Cassida was punished for her humility while Selena was spared for her hubris, and the only real reason for their fate is which god they were stood before at that moment. The celestials Garathran and Acastriel were solid obstacles for Brennan to flex his dialogue of embitterment and demonstrate humanity in characters deemed otherworldly but not so much human, Garathran's suicide was very visceral even if them killing themselves in front of the Death Goddess was dumb, and Emhira and Ayden both using themselves to shield a blow from Acastriel was great symbolism to pay off their arc of bonding as siblings. They and the Archmages also acted as a harsh reality for the gods that their 'children' don't want to be coddled anymore, they've grown enough to want to understand, and have at least a voice on the table. On the lighter side of NPCs, Slitch was a lot of fun, I hope he managed to survive - maybe ascending with the Matron since Emhira did willingly relinquish her mortal form rather than it being destroyed in the crash - and still serves the Matron somehow, he's just a funny lil' guy. Brennan playing as children is always gonna be heartwrenching too, but the Everchildren Haylie and Topher were both sweet and also so brave; they have their mother's courage, as well as her divine spark.

For the mortal god NPCs Brennan rightfully didn't have Arcadia (Ioun), Zaharzht (Torog), Umleta (Lolth) or Tishar (Grummsh) outshine the main cast, often guiding the story along or cracking wise with them, but that could not be helped when it came to Milo Cowst. Brennan's Asmodeus is spectacular, absolutely untouchable, and when I say that I mean every time he does something I want to punch his smirking shit-eating face so hard that my hand appears on the other side of his head, because fuck that guy! The continual torment he does not just to mortals but to his own family is just some absolute peak villainy; he conspired with the celestials to entrap Ioun and was willing to sacrifice her, his own sister, to get what he wants. He as Arcadia tried to convince Trist to go after her family, telling her 'I love you' just as Imri did before heading into the fire, knowing KNOWING that he was luring her away from Cassida - one of the few followers she had left - to try and run away with the knowledge of the Factorum, and then donning Trist's husband's shape while he revelled in getting Cassida to allegedly renounce her before eviscerating her at his feet for Trist to find, all this while he had already sent his forces to murder all the refugees in Hawk's Hill - targeting Trist's mortal family especially while this all happens - I hate him so much. As a side note, it's interesting how Brennan and Matt establish two different Major God villains in the world: Brennan's Asmodeus and Matt's Tharizdun. It's not a bad thing to have two godly villains, I shudder to think what would happen if they worked together (at least before the inevitable power struggle), especially since their villainy is in two different departments: Asmodeus is a villain to beings while Tharizdun is more a villain to the Material Plane, you could also relate that to Predathos who uses both of their methods in their own way. Since Tharizdun doesn't get as much in-person appearances atm Brennan's Asmodeus does truly feel like the absolute villain of everything right now, but Matt does have way more time than Brennan does to get his godly villain across.

The three episodes each had a unique flavour to them; Part 1 was very much about establishing the dynamics and setting the scene: Aeor in its militarized dystopian state and the characters as mortal avatars of a pantheon of siblings and lovers, refugee lights of Tengar, in a truce. Part 2 however flaunted the positives, negatives, and defiance of mortality; the Ars Elysia was wild as it was beautiful, SILAHA's monologue with Emhira was engrossing, and the episode excelled in showing the weight of knowing how many innocent, faithful and/or good people there were, paired with the horror of knowing how many lost faith in the Gods there also was, and the lengths both the devout and the undevout would go because of the Calamity's toll on them. And then Part 3 ramps up the tragedy to like 15: the dystopia dystopes again, the destruction destroys, and the disaster disasts, and we reach the boiling point of conflict for an episode that was a mammoth SIX AND A HALF HOURS! The visual of the gods slowly being forced to break from their mortal shells to keep fighting their creations, and each other, to different ends showed the physical and mental toll the mission had done to them, Ayden rapidly aging the more his divinity courses through him and Trist continually trying to hold onto mortality if but for a single second longer, and reaching a point of no return: a choice between sacrificing, at that point, one unknown god to potentially find a way to spare the rest of Aeor - as they had desired to do - or save their entrapped sibling - having already lost so many to Predathos and the Matron having replaced another - but doom all of its people by not stopping Selena's Wish, which she believed would be a victory rather than a damning of her city. Heartbreak after heartbreak, sacrifice after sacrifice, and betrayal after betrayal, but even in the dark and desperation there was still a faint measure of hope; a mother seeking to erase the scrolls to save not just her son but all families in her home, Primes seeking only to destroy a weapon and as the city falls offering acts of compassion where they could, and a Slingshot firing a Sending Stone across the sea like a shooting star so that a mother could protect her children one last time. It is the fact that the hope still existed that makes it a tragedy: it could have been prevented, but because of the way mortals are, and because of the way the gods are, it couldn't end that way. By Part 2 I was intrigued by the fact that the idea of the Divine Gate had started to take shape this early, the Calamity after all would last another century, but it was a greater surprise learning that by the end of Part 3 Aeor wasn't the start of the conversation but the conversation, the last straw. Everything leading up to the Divergence was the Primes attempting to corral their siblings - and the Chained Oblivion - so they could lock themselves away from their second home forever, for the sake what they had built, which was chronologically the final layer to the tragedy. The theme that will complete the trinity of tragedies would be the theme of sacrifice. The Emissary was Erathis' sacrificial lamb, how biblical it was that she sent her 'son' knowing that he would die because she was unable to defy her laws nor bear to watch her lover come to harm, just as biblical is how Pelor sent the best and most hopeful qualities of himself to try and help people, Asha sacrificed her mortal form to embrace Zaharzht even when he hooked and clawed her form away, SILAHA sacrificed saving Aeor like he wanted in order to save Ioun, and then all the Primes resolve to sacrifice their presence in order to protect what was left of what they made. The theme of sacrifice will be compared with the weight of whether it was worth it, but it's not something you can say was justified either way, Downfall doesn't feel like it should be about sides; it was always a Trolley Problem, it is a current fey-absorbing, war-criming, land-sundering elf mage who is trying to make it about sides.

On that note, we must wonder how Bells Hells feel about watching all this. I did like many others think about their reactions throughout; did Imogen think of her mother when watching Trist and Cassida? Did Orym relate to Asha given how stretched thin and pining for Erathis she was? Did Ashton perhaps relate to Trist a little having also felt broken and powerless, kept going by the support of their family? I know we joke about Braius probably having to be silenced for cheering and hollering for Asmodeus but did he really agree with all that? And will Fearne now worry about seeing Asmodeus' true nature, which she should (call them lawyers Dorian!), given how she has unwittingly (and I maintain that it was not said to be a pact, Fearne clearly didn't know it was one and Nanna Mori, who is versed in pacts, called it an 'invitation to trade') bound her soul to him for Dominox's dusty wikipedia page - which is more a redirect to a 2-line section in 'List of Demons Unaccounted for Since the Calamity' - that yielded less info than a Speak with the Dead spell with an Aeorian corpse did. Outside of individual thoughts, I wonder if the Hells collectively related to other events the Gods underwent; the loss and lack of a home, tension caused by one of them thinking they knew better, the constant attack of their sense of morality by others? Ayden's character may invoke an interesting pause - since the Dawnfather has been pretty cold and unkind to the Hells, mainly Team Trauma, and Deanna lately - I wonder if they acknowledge or soften towards this new light (pun not intended but welcomed)? I know he didn't show and wasn't gonna but I also wonder if the Hells kept looking to see if FCG was there, if only to get another glimpse of their fallen friend, or if any of them managed to spot FRIDA - who while we know is canonically present wasn't explicitly mentioned either.

I must admit though I'm in the camp of 'what does this achieve for Ludinus?' because Matt said in the Cooldown that there was parts that proved him right but honestly I don't see it. History knows that the Gods united to drop Aeor, but if anything the footage makes most of the Gods more sympathetic, even to the god-adverse Hells. Showing how they have been just as messed up, traumatized and conflicted as they are as they tried to limit the loss but in the end get put in a crossroads where they choose their family, without discarding or disavowing their creations because of it, isn't gonna endear them to Ludinus' already ill-thought plan. Honestly the only Prime Deity that seemed overly brutal was the Stormlord and like, why would you even try to use Control Weather in a storm made by a Weather God? In interviews Taliesin has mentioned that Ashton has conflicted thoughts on the humanizing of the Gods, though again I don't think it's in the way Ludinus expects - I anticipate that it's more of an 'it was easier to hate them when they were all-powerful, all-arrogant entities that ignored our prayers' kinda thing, having sympathy for someone they had grown accustomed to disliking - so I wonder if other members of the Hells have conflicted feelings and whether it smooths over their aversion or whether their resolve remains the same. I'm not saying they will, but imagine if the Hells decide to be more open to allying more with some of the gods because of this? Seeking the temple in Aeor to converse with them and get on the same page. They all seem pretty respectful towards the Matron already, but perhaps some focus on Corellon - if only to see if he rebuilt the Ars Elysia elsewhere for a post-Ruidus rager XD - and Ioun would be an interesting route; the Knowing Mistress would have answers for those seeking history and information, and the Arch Heart could have answers in curious and divine magics. In addition, imagine if the Everlight gains more followers through the Hells? She helped revive Laudna through Pike so the Hells shouldn't really have any negative feelings towards her, honestly I just think she deserves more followers after seeing all of this. Plus if they could get some of that Divine Prowess (Vitality and Potency at the least) for the final fight we could be in for some blockbuster and creative damage feats! Again, I don't see it as likely, but it's a thought. We could also entertain learning more about the non-god characters that survived; did the blood of the Everchildren continue to this day - there are theories they're tied to the Clay family? What did Selena do post-Aeor? Is Cassida's body still in a protective shield? These are questions fans would want answered that isn't 'was the silver dragon's name Bolo?'.

One has to wonder too if this presentation framed as validation for the atrocities he's committed just shows how divorced from reality Deludinus is. Was the point that 'they're family so they'll choose to save each other over entire cities'? Because many mortals would do the same in their position, the Hells themselves have inferred at times that they would prioritize each other over everyone else. You know what's not a way to avoid that dilemma? Unleashing a god-eating entity the gods even at the height of their power are afraid of! Because of this, Ludinus is painted as someone blind to the fact that it's his machinations that are trying to push the world into an even worse and bloodier Calamity than what he endured as a child, with him weakening the measures put in place to avoid such a thing rather than preventing it. Also he is almost like the Primes in that the people he's allied with secretly seek to remove him from the equation, though I think he's just arrogant enough to believe he can handle them. On the topic of whether Ludinus is Hallis Previn - spared by the Matron after having been healed by the Everlight - I'm not sure, it is possible but I don't think he needs to be Hallis, in fact it would probably be more interesting if he wasn't - since you'd have to jump through a fair amount of hoops to even begin explaining his motives and mindset.

But now we have to ask a question: what do we do now? The mission was to take down Ludinus, and we could still achieve that given how it's 10v1; but Orym isn't in the best of shape health-wise, the Toothy Maw and Dominox fights did cause a lot of the group's slots to be used up and Ludinus only really used 2 spells (Gate and Counterspell) since being encountered, deluded he may be but weak he is not. Laudna's haunting will permanently track him anyway and if he shows this to the world it'll likely emit similar results we and the Hells are having; some faiths may be shaken sure but others may be more supportive of the Gods. Right now there's no real reason not to show this footage. I suppose we could kill him and show the footage anyway - I mean it doesn't need to be shown by him explicitly - before handing it to Vassalheim or the Cobalt Soul's archive, honestly I would live for it if the first thing Bells Hells did after seeing the footage was Orym or Ashton just calmly walking up to Ludinus and decking him in the face, but the encounter in Aeor does feel designed for either Ludinus or the group to escape rather than fight to the death. Between the two, it would favour more for the Hells to stay; Aeor still feels barely scraped for them and Essek, who hasn't given Ashton any tangible answers about Dunamancy that he couldn't have gotten from a book yet - plus wild magic is rife within Aeor heck a beacon could be here, won't have much reason to stick with the Hells if they leave. If they don't use Essek's 'emergency escape' measure he's hinted at there could be something devised to let the group linger here a bit more such as finding the temple, the Ars Elysia, or another special room simply to explore more of Aeor - freeing the Stasis bubbles may not be the smartest or merciful option right now, given that all wizards within know how to make the Factorum. In terms of Ludinus, it'd be good to kill him now from a mission standpoint because he's the head honcho and the Hells need a big, convincing W to kinda make up for Otohan (which was more Matt's fault for rolling so high), but if we eliminate too many Exandrian enemies like Ludinus, providing that Liliana won't 180 again with him gone...which is a possibility, the endgame battle can risk turning into a more ugly Exandria vs Ruidus conflict rather than Life vs Predathos. So perhaps Ludinus should simply escape this time and we'll save the next major enemy to kill for Zathuda or one of the Five Imperium leaders.

Overall, and this won't be the last time we'll have to say it because some people have short memories and impulsive reactions, this is a prime example towards why we need to let CR cook. Yes, C3 has been scattered a bit, but this plot is a worldwide threat, which means you must show that it affects the whole world: this is a convergence of storylines from all 3 campaigns AND spinoffs, everything has its place and while we can be irked about the timing of things what we get is still pretty awesome. Just like the CK intermission, Downfall was an incredibly intricate and well-performed piece of narrative important to the main plot which honestly, as much as I still miss the Hells, could've gone an episode longer. Where we go next becomes further interesting because we have a greater grasp on the lore and characters of the gods, and it opens the door for more lore - such as what Corellon's strand of hair he left behind is - and context to be discovered in later episodes in this and/or later campaigns.

[lady-embers]

I think a lot of people continuously overlook the GOOD Nesta did during the series and only focus on her "hateful attitude". Sometimes actions show more than words and Nesta is an action girly.

ACOTAR- She tried to protect Feyre in the market. She went after Feyre when Tamlin took her. She essentially told Feyre to go and save Tamlin and not to worry about them. She was ready to marry someone to help have one less mouth to feed for Feyre. She chopped wood for two days in a row.

Also, I think this quote is important from book 1 from Feyre about Nesta:

"I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn't stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory.... Who had shrouded the loss of our mother, then our downfall, in icy rage and bitterness, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she HAD cared - beneath it, she had cared, and perhaps, loved more fiercely than I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally."

ACOMAF - She wasn't in here much but both her and Elain opened their home to Feyre and the IC for the war purposes when they were taught their whole life to be scared/fear the fae and ended up turned against their will for their efforts which is incredibly traumatic.

ACOWAR - Nesta helped with the Queens and the High Lords. She helped Feyre and the whole Raven attack thingy. She participated in the war and almost died trying to save Cassian and then beheaded Hybern. She then helped tend to the wounded and dieing. She really had no time to sort through her own trauma during this time either since she was looking after comatose Elain and in a place where she didn't want to be.

ACOFAS - We see her drowning in her trauma. She can't even take baths (which Feyre had said in ACOWAR she'd help with as she never thought about how the Cauldron affected them). She is invited to party with rent money held over her head (despite the fact she had a job as human emissary during the war so where is the money promised to her from accepting that job from Rhysand?) While there, Feyre remarks how uncomfortable Nesta is but doesn't both to wonder why, and come to find out fire bothers her because it reminds her of her father's neck snapping RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER. Cassian runs after her and even though she wants to be alone she's hounded and is seen as the bad guy for not taking his gift. A gift he proceeds to throw away, like a child, into the water because she didn't take it...At this point she just wanted to be left alone and they kept hounding her and not respecting boundaries she was putting up.

ACOSF - She is still drowning..she is forced into the HOW (feyre said she'd be tied and thrown there essentially so it wasn't really a choice) where she has to walk down 10,000 steps (which she physically/mentally/emotionally could not do so she was essentially a prisoner since no help was offered by feyre and Amren own words and let's not forget those same steps were used as punishment for Rhysand and the bat boys)..she starts training though and finds her own found family in Gwyn and Emerie. She helps the IC multiple times with things in ACOSF to and even saves Rhysand, Feyre, and Nyx very lives. She even says sorry to Feyre and Feyre doesn't hold anything against Nesta, not even telling her about the babies wings because at least she told her. We also find out she tried to write letters to others to help during their poverty times and her boots weren't as new as Feyre made then out to be showing Feyre as an unreliable/biased narrator.

All in all, I wouldn't say Nesta is an absolutely terrible horrible nasty person that is beyond redemption or forgiveness.

She is a woman who has been traumatized from a very young age starting with her mother/grandmother to being turned fae to PTSD from war/her father and doesn't know how to cope so she lashes out (which is a VALID TRAUMATIC RESPONSE) to push others away because she HATES herself more than anyone else does. She knew lashing out was wrong but didn't have the tools/upbringing to know healthy responses. It's really not until Gwyn and Emerie came along and showed her UNCONDITIONAL LOVE that she began to change and learn better and new healthy coping mechanism to let go of the bad ones.

Now, I'm not saying her trauma response was good or acceptable or excusable, but I do think she deserves some grace and compassion given all she's been through herself. Trauma is not a comparison game after all and we all experience and cope differently. Just like these characters.

Artist is Crisol Crowling or crisolcrowling on IG!

[atoriv-art]

Heeyyy so sorry if this has been asked before buuuttttt.. What are ur thoughts on the sand siblings?

this made me realize i didnt include their rs in the chart i posted REST ASSURED I LOVE THEM. anyway hehehe :3

a lot of my takes on them are headcanon-based (like even more than the hyugas id say) But i assume thats what people r here for anyway. Sooooo

i really like the suna siblings bc their relationship pre-chunin exams is very, like… dysfunctional, but at the same time stable? temari and kankuro are obviously afraid of their brother, and gaara is deeply unhappy around them, but they've all clearly found a "safe" position to exist in yk?

my read on those positions is that temari actually feels more conflicted about gaara than you would think — she's the oldest and therefore the one most aware of how 'wrong' their family is — but she puts her and kankuro's safety first, therefore she resorts to appeasing gaara and generally staying out of his way. kankuro is more of a show-off and while he is afraid of gaara, it's in a more grounded way, if that makes sense? he taunts him like one might taunt an angry dog, he's afraid of him because of what he can do, vs temari who dreads being around him because she's aware of what gaara carries on his shoulders and Represents

i actually 👉👈 have a suna family-centered fic i've been slowly working on 👉👈 that ive been too shy to mention on main LMAO but since we are on topic here u go [link]. it's yashamaru-focused (my WIFE) but it brushes upon the entire family :3 it'll be slow to update since i've been busy with things but if u don't mind that. i mention it here since i use the extrapolations im mentioning here to write it….

aaaanyway. the kids' relationship with rasa isn't very defined (esp for kankuro and temari) but i interpret their situation as the classic… yk, father lost his soul after the mother died sort of thing. it's a bit cliche but it makes sense LOL while the only kid we know for sure rasa was cruel towards is gaara i don't find it a stretch to expand it towards the other two, even if it wasn't as extreme.

so, with that in mind: my personal interpretation is that temari — in addition to getting the usual heir responsibilities — got put into a caretaker role for kankuro, pushing her towards cynicism and self-preservation above all else (she's also the one most likely to remember their mom, and an early loss like that can push one into hyper-independence), while kankuro was left with a bit less pressure but as a tradeoff grew hungry for acknowledgement, eventually feeding into him becoming a bit of a bully as he gets older. i think he was the one with the most... "normal" relationship with their father, but i wouldn't necessarily say that's a good thing lol

gaara is in a unique position because he was not fully raised by rasa, and his relationship with him is a lot more shallow and extreme as a result. instead gaara ended up being built into who he is almost exclusively through yashamaru's kindness and subsequent betrayal — and this is only accentuated imo by the fact that gaara does not (iirc?) at any point willingly bring up yashamaru. he badmouths his father and blames him for who he is, but the formative moments of gaara's childhood that we see are of him with his uncle. isn't that interesting? to me it reads like that's still a wound so deep he can't even bear to acknowledge it; rasa treats him like a monster so gaara is free to spit poison back at him in return, but gaara did wholeheartedly believe his uncle loved him at a point, and the idea that he did not was so world-shattering that he can't even bring himself to acknowledge his existence

all that being said, gaara as we meet him in the exams treats his siblings like strangers and i can't fully blame him for that; while the compounded traumas of 1. losing their mother and 2. the shift in rasa's disposition, cannot be understated, i think what truly "broke" the siblings' dynamic is the way gaara was likely forced into kankuro and temari's lives after yashamaru died. while they'd certainly met before, there's a world of difference between knowing you have a distant, troubled younger brother vs having that brother violently placed into your home in his most vulnerable state after another familial loss.

(yashamaru's rs with his other niblings is never really touched upon but i do think about it often. he was so close to their mom i doubt they had no relationship at all! but that's. you know. what the fic i mentioned is for.)

it inherently puts the kids into an adversarial position, especially with how rasa doesn't try to argue for gaara's humanity. so gaara, freshly traumatized and distrusting, is met with siblings who are terrified of him and a father who he knows wants him dead. to make things worse, yashamaru (my king.) made sure to crush whatever goodwill gaara still had towards the world before he died, so there's no part of him willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. no one has any interest in fixing this situation so this is the dynamic they settle into.

yet! they are still family and there are certainly glimpses of that. one of my favorite moments is temari looking out for gaara for, in our pov, the first time

it's really simple but it always gets an emotion out of me, it's why i think their relationship bothered her the most… one of my biggest gripes with the suna siblings is honestly that we just don't get a lot of them after a point! i would have loved to see them getting closer after gaara takes the first step in closing the distance.

kazekage retrieval arc is easily one of my favorite arcs in naruto it's soooo sweet to see kankuro and temari fighting so so hard for their baby :( i really like the quiet moments where you can tell there's still a lot of guilt over how things were, i wish we got to sit with it a little more because part of the reason i like their bond so much is because of those moments of doubt, you know? i think it's far more powerful for gaara to wonder if he's been fully forgiven, for temari to grapple with the guilt of not having been a good sister to him, than for them to easily slip into a healthy and stable dynamic as a trio.

how do they feel about their father? their mother? how do they feel about their uncle? they are three different people with similar but not identical experiences with all of them, and it makes you wonder how they might navigate unpacking all of that while not jeopardizing their fledgling bond. for example i'm personally a huge fan of gaara coming to view his uncle in an imperfect but ultimately empathetic light, while his siblings see little reason to extend him so much grace.

their personalities in shippuden make a lot of sense to me taking their upbringings into account too; kankuro and temari are predominantly rasa's children, and therefore have rougher edges and are way more averse to earnest displays of affection. gaara meanwhile had yashamaru's influence in his formative years; he knows how to articulate his emotions and acknowledges the importance of sincerity and kindness. i dunno if this was intentional but i think it's a neat detail!

soo much of the suna family follows this pattern of love breeding resentment (rasa's love towards karura breeding resentment against gaara, yashamaru's love towards karura breeding resentment against gaara and rasa, gaara's love towards his uncle being twisted into hatred against the world, the siblings' love for each other being corrupted then saved) it's sooo. chef's kiss. again my only complaint is that we don't see more of them. literally who cares about konoha i want to be in suna forever

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Ep 26 Commentary

Alrightyy I've mustered up what's left of my brain for a belated ep 26 commentary post. IRL responsibilities are getting a bit away from me so I wasn't able to spend as much time on this as usual; apologies if the haste shows through! Consider this more reaction than meta.

As always, spoilers under the cut:

A carry-over comment, but I really do appreciate the Li Lun/ZYC scene in ep 25 for how it solidified ZYC's resolve and reminded him of where his heart is, what he believes in, what he chooses to defend. Such a load-bearing and pivotal conversation for both characters in opposite directions of development. It also makes ZYC's return to the Bureau triumphant in a way, despite all the preceding trauma, despair, and hopelessness. WX embraces him in relief that he's safe and in comfort for what they've all just been through, and for us, it's doubly meaningful as a sort of homecoming after a confrontation that only we have witnessed. It's also interesting, the cutaway as they hug, the things we have been made privy to and the things that are kept private from us.

Ouuughh the lines voiced over as ZYZ and ZYC meet eyes for the first time since all that transpired in Tianxiang Pavilion. It gives such a deep sense of wordless understanding and intimacy. I'm reminded of when the show did that for Ranyi and Miss Qi's final lines.

As I mentioned previously, a lot of subtext became text in this episode, which was quite exciting (and also extremely adorable the way ZYC was like "I think I've said too much" /// afterwards). I didn't expect ZYC to convey his understanding of ZYZ to him so soon, but that really goes back to something I love about ZYC: that he doesn't really waste time expressing something once he's come to an emotional conclusion. Maybe there's something to be said there about how he knows, after the loss of his family, how important it is to say the words when you have them to the people in front of you while they're still here.

If ZYC's words and his tears offered to a catatonic ZYZ in ep 23 were an expression of star-crossed and conflicted love, this parallel scene is just an utterly unrestrained confession, the stars be damned.

Also, tbh I never found ZYC's reactions to ZYZ to be unfounded or unreasonable, even when misguided in the beginning (and necessarily so, given the narrative and premise) or at times harsh (which I also found much-needed for ZYZ to hear, and delivered with obvious sympathetic anguish). He was clearly reflecting and actively revising his own preconceived notions this entire time, feeling for ZYZ the whole way through, and I do think he's demonstrated realistically and impressively the full extent of empathy perhaps as far as it can possibly stretch without personally experiencing ZYZ's life himself and while still living and feeling for his own. But to see ZYC so ready to address his previous flaws, to admit them and correct them, to go beyond them and to reach out so plainly for ZYZ in front of him now that he has that personal experience—the relationship between them has transcended the initial set-up of two opposing characters meeting in the middle. The show has gone that extra step and made their perspectives one. And given that I didn't personally find that step to be narratively necessary, so to say, (as in, even without it there's not truly a narrative obstacle because I already believed ZYC loves ZYZ despite everything and we've already seen the lengths he'll go to not to kill ZYZ), it feels like a choice in every definition of the word. Like a development motivated by love all the way down.

WX gets the least traumatic cloak-draping scenes out of the three of them, thank god.

Oh shit I forgot about fixing the Wilderness I'm so glad they didn't lmao.

Ahhh the crossroads moment at a literal (kind of) crossroads right before entering the Bingyi Clan's forbidden area. ZYC suddenly wanting to go alone or back out, stuck weighing the danger to everyone's lives, who they can and can't save depending on his choices. It makes me think of what happens when we let intense love in and it comes with intense fear, makes us freeze up. Suddenly, the stakes are in sharp relief, and the courage to move forward isn't so simple anymore.

"修好了，你也別死" ("Once it's fixed, don't die either.") Head in hands. ZYC's voice here, his expression, that desperation. Yeah I think this episode was so draining because of how all pretense is being stripped away and all that's left is ZYC's profound love for everyone, so raw and vulnerable that it hurts to watch, especially knowing he won't have it easy trying to keep everyone alive.

Kind of love how freely ZYC cries and says the vulnerable things in front of all his loved ones. Like. That's truly his family, his people, his heart.

ZYZ please. Imagine ZYC's grief without you. Please just stay.

Yay 12 seconds of angst-free bickering right before (as someone else called it) the trolley problem

Ok so, I'm not sure how common this interpretation/reading of the following scene is, but it's been rattling around in my head for a while now so I'm just gonna include it here. If y'all disagree, pls disregard! Basically, when ZYC first turned to PSJ and thanked her, I was terrified for a moment that he would ask her to stay. Because on one hand, ZYC would never, but on the other hand, imo there's a lot of (I think deliberate) ambiguity baked into the scene. In ZYC turning to PSJ right after we're told "one of your friends or all three of them," in him starting the series of goodbyes with the character he has the least onscreen development with, in the finality of what he says to her but also the lack of clarity on just who this is final for, in PSJ's expression and WX's reaction, in the dramatic turning away at the end. Like, until he turns away from her, I think there's room for interpretation on what he's decided to do, and as someone who's grown quite surprisingly invested in the ZYC-PSJ dynamic, I'm kind of morbidly interested in this reading of events.

What might be going through PSJ's head at ZYC's words, if at this moment she hasn't yet realized his self-sacrificial intent? Does she think she's going to be asked to stay? Does she assess the situation, conclude that she's the person ZYC is least close to and perhaps the one least able to contribute in whatever comes next as the only human here, and begin resigning herself to this outcome? Are the tears in her eyes the sole indication of her conflicted unwillingness to die here that makes it through because as he's talking, she's evaluated that this is the best possible scenario for them all (esp for WX) and will commit herself to his decision even if it also breaks her heart to be chosen this way?

I may be taking this and running a bit far with it, but I just think the ambiguity of this one brief moment can create such angsty implications between the lines (as if we needed more angst...) and despite their scarce onscreen interactions, I'm kind of a sucker for the "extremely noble (to the point of tragedy) knight choosing to acknowledge and follow and dedicate their silent loyalty to a leader they deeply respect" dynamic, even if it is understated with all the other relationships going on in this show. Given how reticent PSJ is, it makes a meaningful impact on me every time she displays concern for ZYC, so you know it crushed me to watch her desperately and irrationally (the most pragmatic of them all!) try to shoot at him with her arrows while knowing there's no way it'd work. The way she was the first to act, the sound of nothing but the ice and the stretch of the bowstring. I really do love their platonic bond much more than I expected to.

Oof. The freezing. I don't want to sound like a broken record but I loved TJR's acting here because I think it's so easy for this scene to look awkward as he's stuck facing forward and pretending to freeze haha. His microexpressions as he realizes ZYZ is behind him, as he tries to chase him away with his words, as he's probably burning from the inside out with all that ice. That last tear as his gaze turns hollow. A+

I also love ZYZ's lines about not believing he can't overcome ZYC's powers like yeah this is a newborn demon with no inner core and ice powers that he taught him lmao

Okay, that's a wrap for my thoughts on this ep! I was originally going to include ep 27 reactions here too, but seeing as this is getting a little long, maybe I'll roll 27 into my thoughts on ep 28? We shall see!

[greenerteacups]

Jkr as a writer anon, sorry for the follow up!

I so agree with you! One of the things that I found kind of… not smooth in this transition, is that she wanted the characters to behave in a certain way which would serve the plot and would be very “we knew all along that Harry is a messiah and was supposed to die” while never giving them space for reaction.

Snape is shocked at the revelation that Harry was “brought up like a pig for slaughter”, and he does… nothing. Characters have no time to react to that, too, they have no time to get angry and upset. Hermione and Ron are not even allowed to contemplate that their best friend, a very precious and loved friend, was brought up so that he could sacrifice himself, and that in aligning themselves with him they also became in the eyes of Dumbledore fair targets. An orphan, a sixth Weasley boy and a muggleborn walk into a bar, and no one cares.

I always felt like Sirius was not supposed to die this early. There are empty spaces where his character should have been in later books (regulus mystery feels like something very glaring, no one reacts to that, there is no emotional pay off - that’s what I mean).

And at the end she just slaps Harry calling his kid after Snape and Dumbledore, to shut the plot hole completely. Idk. Feels very… authoritarian to me

So it's really interesting you say that!! Because — and you may know this, so sorry if I'm rehashing — Sirius was only one of several names on the shortlist for the Big Death at the end of Book 5. Miscellaneously it's been said in fandom spaces that Arthur was the "original sacrifice" for OOTP, but to be honest, I can't find any primary sources for that, and I think it's one of these fandom urban legends that people have been shopping around without sources for so long they're accepted. The best I can do is this Leaky Cauldron interview from 2007, where the interviewer asks her "what would have changed if you killed Arthur in Book 5?" Which is not the same thing as her saying that she was going to! But then again, since it's an excerpt, it might have been in response to a remark she made earlier about him being the original. Here's the quote:

I think they would have been very different and it’s part of the reason why I chose my mind (sic) … By turning Ron into half of Harry, in other words by turning Ron into someone who had suffered the loss of a parent, I was going to remove the Weasleys as a refuge for Harry and I was going to necessarily remove a lot of Ron’s humor. That’s part of the reason why I didn’t kill Arthru (sic). I wanted to keep Ron in tact …

Take that as you will. I (a sicko freak) personally love the idea of turning Ron into "half of Harry," conceptually — not necessarily by killing Arthur or Molly but like, the idea of Ron/Harry as foils to each other that are so deeply entwined with each other's lives that they become shadows of each other thematically and plot-wise. Ron yearns to be like Harry and Harry yearns to be like Ron, right? So they both get what they want, and Ron suffers a tragedy, and Harry realizes the terror of having a family to protect. And they trauma-bond over it as they increasingly become the only people who understand each other. Etc. They're destiny, they're chosen soulmates, they're fated to find each other, that's not always a good thing, etc. You know what I'm like.

Incidentally, this is the same interview where we get the infamous "full circle" quote explaining why she killed Lupin and Tonks:

The only other reason I didn’t kill Arthur was that I wanted to come full circle. We started with an orphan, someone who lost their parents because of the war. ANd so I wanted to show it again … Even though you don’t see Teddy, I wanted to express in the epilogue, that he gets an even better godfather than Harry had, because Sirius had ihs (sic) faults, I think we must admit. He was a risky guy to have a s a godfather. Because Teddy gets someone who really has been there, and Harry becomes a really great father figure for Teddy as well as his own children.

So both times, it seems like Arthur's death is contemplated, but he's spared because of what the Weasleys mean to Harry, and the effect it would have on Ron. Which. I've already talked about my thoughts on the Epilogue and Teddy Lupin, so I won't go off about it here. Worth noting, however, that Sirius dies because Book 5 (and this I agree with) wants an "anchoring death," or something to shift the books another step into the dark tone of a war. Book 4 ends with the death of a child; Book 5 ends with death of a parent, an adult. Book 5 is also substantially about disillusionment with the adults around you, and learning to navigate a world of complex, flawed grown-ups who all have substantially more power than you do. So there's a reading where Sirius — someone who's never really "grown up" — dying drives home the lesson of putting childish things aside and seeing people for what they are, etc. Thematically, I'm not mad at it. I am mad at the fact that plot-wise, it bricks up our easiest window into the world of the Blacks, so any first-hand account we could get of Regulus or Narcissa or Bellatrix's upbringing vanishes with him. Tonks and Andromeda theoretically could fill that void, but we never meet Andromeda, and Tonks dies after spending the whole of Book 7 off-page, so we never get that chance to learn what their lives were like. But hey! Can't do everything, I guess.

[illusianation]

Well. Helloooo! It’s been approximately 184 years since I posted any kind of meta on this site, let alone a TWD-related meta. But here we are, in the year 2024, no less. Nothing like The Book of Carol and Melissa’s return to bring some of us back. Unfortunately, it’s been a mixed bag, and current spoilers point to some really disturbing info about our beloved characters, specifically Daryl. The following is from a recent Twitter post made regarding Daryl’s character and thought it would be cool to post here, too.

CW: Daryl - relationships + trauma

There are so many feelings about the spoilers re: Daryl/Isabelle, and this post isn’t meant to invalidate any of them or defend the storytelling choices or retcon. Umm, no. Not at all. That’s a whole other post and many others have written extensively on the issues of show-running, creative consistency, and marketing of The Book of Carol. It’s not even about shipping, really. On the contrary, this post is to share some thoughts about Daryl as he is now, viewed a bit thru a trauma lens.

Before I start, I feel it’s important to note that I am an LCSW, or Licensed Clinial Social Worker, in the US.

A big part of viewing what’s going on with Daryl’s character is to start by posing some important questions: Where is Daryl emotionally? What’s going on in is his headspace? Is he clinging to what’s there in France because he feels utterly alone and resigned to his fate? What if Daryl is actually able to open himself up to Laurent and Isabelle in part because of his relationship with Carol and not in spite of it? What if he’s capable of connection & love with others precisely because his OG found-family showed him what it can look like in so many ways? Hear me out. It is a powerful thing to consider, especially given that Carol, Judith, and his family undeniably shaped Daryl, offering him his first real sense of belonging and trust. Now it appears totally lost to him - a devastating, compounded, and total loss. And he is NOT OKAY.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t OOC for him to connect with others the way he has and/or regress. As we know, trauma survivors like Daryl, especially those with histories of domestic violence, complex trauma, childhood abuse, and neglect, often find themselves in cyclical patterns of vulnerability. It does make sense that Daryl, even after growing in his relationships with Carol and the fam, might still be susceptible to getting involved in dysfunctional relationship dynamics (cough *Leah* cough) His need to care for others, while being a strength, also exposes him to people who might exploit that—whether intentionally or not. He is, in a sense, truly acting out of character.

In Daryl's current emotional state he’s completely unmoored (by a literal ocean of impossible distance no less) from his foundation of emotional safety, and has appeared to regress to the point of being unrecognizable to some. The idea that Daryl's protective nature and discomfort with intimacy coexists with an ability to be exploited by others, speaks volumes to the complexity of trauma responses and his arrested development. Daryl can embody fierce loyalty and affection, yet be caught in cycles of seeking out or gravitating toward what’s familiar, even if that familiarity is rooted in pain or dysfunction. There are not a lot of options for relational safety in the ZA. Isabelle, Leah, and even Rick, all in their own ways, represent that tug of codependency and trauma-bonding for Daryl. Not to mention, when there are children connected, his protective instinct becomes exponential.

Daryl’s current isolation, insecurity, and uncertainty about the depth of Carol’s love and his OG found-family provides a pretty valid underpinning for why he might be more open to a connection with Isabelle and Laurent, and even actively choose it when given the opportunity to go home. It’s not the arc that makes the truest sense for Daryl, but it is still very true to life in the way trauma can regress personal growth, even temporarily.

At the same time, it’s 100% understandable that this shift feels like a betrayal to Daryl’s character, as it undermines the progress he’s made and relationship choices he’s made in the past. The narrative may fall really short of pushing Daryl forward, instead choosing to revert to old tropes that fail to capture the nuance of his journey. By ignoring the potential for deeper, more layered storytelling, the show risks alienating viewers who’ve been invested in Daryl’s growth over the years. It already has, and I see y’all out there. 🫶🏼

Ultimately, it’s the tension between authenticity in trauma responses and narrative sense and progression that leaves the audience, Daryl, and most likely Carol, completely unsatisfied. IRL, growth is non-linear but in fiction, especially after so much buildup (and let’s face it MISDIRECTION) it’s not unfair to expect a clearer arc forward, versus regression into old patterns.

Hopefully, the progression will materialize in resolution which will in turn, lead inevitably to - truly actualized, authentic, and absolute love in all ways for Daryl with the safest, most accepting person person in his life, Carol. After all, Spain is still out there.

Part 2 Coming Soon: Carol and Survivors’ Guilt

[a-d-nox]

Hi. May I ask you about something that is very common to a majority of people. I don't know if you have it but it is about MALADAPTIVE DAYDREAMING!!!

I spend the majority of time daily, and cannot be productive. Is it useful, is it a tool, a blessing but feels more like e curse which direct you way in massive self-deception and depression rather than directing you towards what you need to do, your goals ect.

I'd love to know your opinion about it.

💋

brain matters: maladaptive daydreaming

as previously mentioned, i was a forensic psych major before i was an english major and before graduating with my b.a. of literature. for 3 years i studied psychology. i do not have a psychology degree, so that does not make me qualified to diagnose anyone or anything... but i do know a bit about psychology and i continue to read research and articles regarding psychology.

so gladly i will give my opinion though i am not a professional.

what is maladaptive daydreaming?

maladaptive daydreaming is often found in those seeking an escape or who seek coping mechanism from trauma, abuse, anxiety, depression, adhd, etc. its a form of daydreaming that may involve long periods of structured fantasy that can interfere with work, school, and/or other life functions/tasks.

is it common?

it is not an officially recognized diagnosis but has comorbidity as i listed above. the few studies/articles i have read, state that it is not common in the general population - only about 2-6% of individuals experience it. depending on the scope of the study group it varies. out of the 7.9 billion individuals on earth only about 158 million experience maladaptive daydreaming. the study i found on pubmed (could only get the preview see below) states 2.2 million in america alone including those with a formal diagnosis that i listed above.

what are the symptoms?

highly vivid/immersive daydreams: these are abnormally long daydreams that are hard to escape / shake. making it hard for you to focus on any given task.

inability to complete daily tasks.

sleep disruption / insomnia: your mind is on but not at the same time throughout the day making it hard to maintain a healthy circadian rhythm.

being triggering into daydreams by external forces such as tv shows, movies, books, etc.

repetitive motion/activity while daydreaming

potential benefits

creativity and problem-solving skills: it can foster creativity, as it allows the mind to explore ideas and scenarios freely. writers, artists, and inventors use their imagination in this way to develop new concepts (but it is safe to say that not all creatives experience maladaptive daydreaming nor is it a requirement for all creatives / skilled problem solvers).

emotional regulation: provides a form of escapism, helping individuals cope with stress or emotional difficulties by temporarily shifting their focus away from real-life challenges.

goal visualization: a strong way to visualize their future or rehearse real-life scenarios, which can improve their ability to achieve goals or prepare for social interactions (lots of therapist teach clients with anxiety "visualization" as a coping mechanism so they can mentally prepare for what could be experienced; they generally guide the visualization to the best possible outcome).

drawbacks

time loss and disconnection from family/friends: the time spent lost in a fantasy often takes away from real-life activities, relationships, and responsibilities. which can lead to procrastination or missed opportunities.

emotional detachment: becominh emotionally invested in their fantasy worlds, making real-life experiences seem dull or less satisfying by comparison. this could cause worsen feelings of loneliness or depression.

interference with mental health: can exacerbate or mask underlying mental health issues like anxiety, depression, trauma, etc., as people use it as a form of avoidance rather than addressing their challenges head-on.

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[nerdyenby]

Seasons one and early two are Lloyd being a kid and getting to be a brat sometimes.

Late season two through season seven are Lloyd being forced to grow up too quick and not allowing himself to process literally anything, devoting his entire being to becoming who destiny told him to be.

Seasons eight through ten are Lloyd having literally having all of his trauma shoved back in his face but worse. Not to mention his dead dad isn’t dead anymore, isn’t his dad anymore, and is trying to kill him, whilst 83% of his support system is presumed dead. Also the girl who emotionally abused him dies for realsies.

Seasons eleven through fifteen are Lloyd trying to figure out how to address all the shit he’s been through without letting it consume him. It’s him leaning on his friends, allowing himself to confide in others and finally acknowledging how much that stuff fucked him up. It’s him accepting that the world can be cruel and it’s him choosing to believe that people can still be good. It’s him learning to trust again, and it’s him allowing himself to feel his hurt while still finding a way to live in spite of it.

Crystallized is Lloyd giving up. Everything he has he loses, everyone he loves leaves — by choice or otherwise. Just like Kai, he internalizes this loss by rationalizing that he wasn’t good enough to save them. He walks away. He tries to live a normal life for a bit. It isn’t enough. He can’t not do anything. He can’t leave the family he’s found, the family that found him. No matter how much it hurts to lose them, he will never stop fighting to find them again. Even if he has to face everything he hates and fears about himself, even if he has to confront the man that was once his father, even if he has to willingly step into what he fears most — letting his anger and hurt consume him, becoming just another perpetuator of violence and loss — he will never stop fighting to protect those he loves. He can’t cross that line. He could if he wanted to, but he can’t and he never will, but loss of any kind is not something Lloyd is willing to take sitting down.

And then in the Merge, Lloyd loses everyone all over again. He’s entirely and undeniably alone for the first time in years, but why does it feel so familiar? He’s mourned so many loved ones so many times, but why does this feel so different? But he’s not alone, not entirely. The others could still be out there, and there are still people to be saved. Loss is an old friend of his, but she never sticks around. In spite of it all, Lloyd keeps living. He keeps fighting and he keeps loving. He stays isolated in the monastery, but the doors stay open. He’s learned to keep his heart open, even when heavy with loss. He continues to look for his family and he continues help people where he can. He remembers how lost he has been, how lost he once was, with nowhere and no one to call home, and he will never give up until no one is ever that alone ever again. Lloyd has lost so much, but he’s learned to never stop letting people in. Arin and Sora remind him so much of himself — two kids left to fend for themselves, no family to be found but each other, unnoticed by the world at large until their potentials show themselves — and there was never a world in which Lloyd didn’t take them in with open arms.

Was written in response to this post by @alizibtheterrible but it quickly got out of hand and I didn’t want to hijack their post lol