#what is an old soul like me doing in a world like this

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone. 

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure. 

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response. 

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back. 

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either. 

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back. 

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay. 

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead. 

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly. 

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub. 

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone. 

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed. 

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams. 

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.  

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other. 

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. 

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’. 

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s… 

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing. 

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt. 

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says. 

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him. 

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.” 

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is. 

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup. 

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly. 

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life. 

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away. 

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time. 

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change. 

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce. 

“Congratulations,” Joel says. 

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book. 

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done. 

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat. 

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him. 

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder. 

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book. 

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint. 

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him. 

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you. 

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time. 

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen. 

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces. 

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions. 

“How old are you?” 

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you. 

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to. 

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one. 

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask. 

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you. 

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house. 

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke. 

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties. 

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him. 

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too. 

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head. 

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You pull away briefly and catch your breath. 

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own. 

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context. 

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him. 

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come. 

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile. 

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand. 

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard. 

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up. 

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride. 

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.  

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts. 

His eyes go wide. 

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

[juulle987]

Marked in Fire

* . °•★|•°∵🔥 ∵°•|☆•° . * Eris x y/n

summary: You were never meant to see his scars. But when you do, will he let you in, or will the ghosts of his past keep you both in the dark?

TW: Scars. Mentions of nudity.

note: English is not my first language, so if there are any mistakes - I’m really sorry.

🦊🧡

The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar, steam curling from within, carrying the scent of cedar and something faintly spiced—Eris. She hesitated, hand hovering over the worn brass handle, intending only to grab the book she had left on the windowsill earlier. She didn’t know he was in there.

Didn’t know what she was about to see.

She pushed the door open without a thought, stepping inside just as Eris turned, towel slung low on his hips, water dripping from the ends of his damp auburn hair. His back was to her, and for a moment, she only registered the broad expanse of him, the defined lines of his muscles, the way the candlelight flickered over his golden skin.

Then she saw the scars.

A jagged collection of them, cutting deep across his back, some old and silvery, others newer, raw and cruel against the smoothness of his skin. They crisscrossed like a story carved into flesh, a history of pain etched into the man she—

The world around her blurred. Her blood turned to fire.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Eris stiffened, sensing her presence, his hands tightening against the edge of the sink. He didn’t turn, didn’t speak. Perhaps he was waiting for her reaction—the pity, the whispered apologies, the gentle, careful words that so many had likely given him before.

Her chest tightened, not with sorrow, not with the urge to weep, but with something far more violent. Rage. A fury so deep, so all-consuming, it clawed through her ribs, a wildfire threatening to consume her from the inside out.

Who had done this to him?

Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. She felt the heat building beneath her skin, as if her very soul had ignited. And then—then she felt it.

A band of fire, shimmering gold and auburn, wrapping around her heart. A tether, unbreakable, undeniable.

Mate.

The realisation came as swiftly as the fire itself, as undeniable as the air she breathed. Eris was hers. Not just in the quiet moments they shared, not just in the glances and touches that had always lingered a second too long—but in something deeper, something written into her very soul.

A growl built in her throat, low and dangerous, as her nails dug into her palms. Whoever had done this to him, whoever had left these scars—they would burn for it.

The word whispered through her, settling into the marrow of her bones, as if it had always been there, waiting for her to see it. To feel it.

Eris turned then, muscles tensing, his eyes widening in alarm. “You shouldn’t be—” His voice caught as he saw the way she looked at him.

Not with pity. Never with pity.

But with a fury so sharp it could slice through steel.

“You are mine,” she said, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them. Her voice was steady, but there was fire in it, a promise, a vow. “And whoever did this to you—I will burn them to the ground.”

Eris sucked in a breath, his golden eyes darkening, unreadable. But she saw the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for her but didn’t dare.

He must have seen it—the fire in her, the fury, the raw, unrelenting need to destroy anyone who had dared to hurt him. And for the first time, he looked at her not with the careful restraint he so often wore, but with something closer to wonder.

“You’re angry,” he murmured, almost as if he hadn’t expected it.

She stepped forward, her voice low, shaking with the force of her emotions. “Tell me who did this to you.”

Eris let out a breath, something like a sad, knowing smile curving his lips. He reached out then, fingers grazing her wrist, grounding her, pulling her back from the fire that threatened to consume her entirely.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly.

She let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “It matters to me.”

Silence stretched between them, thick, heavy. Then, slowly, carefully, she stepped forward. She lifted a trembling hand, not to touch the scars, but to cup his face, her thumb grazing his cheekbone.

He closed his eyes at the contact, exhaling a breath as if she had undone something inside him.

His thumb brushed over her skin, and for a moment, they simply stood there, the golden glow of their bond pulsing between them. He didn’t push her away. He didn’t deny what had formed between them in that instant.

Instead, he whispered her name, as if he had known—as if he had always known.

She had never meant to see his scars. But now that she had, now that she had felt the truth of what he was to her, there was no turning back.

He was hers.

And the Mother help whoever had hurt him—because she would make them pay in blood.

[antialiasis]

On having a kid

So I'm pregnant.

(Some lengthy personal rambling below about my various complicated feelings on this.)

Pregnancy as a concept is kind of nightmarish for me, and has been for most of my life - some grotesque, alien thing growing inside my body, changing it against my control; the horrid complications it can involve; absolutely everything about childbirth. For a long time I absolutely clung to the knowledge we have safe and legal abortions because without it I would've just been terrified of any faint possibility of pregnancy. Honestly, I'm still terrified for anyone who is theoretically able to get pregnant and couldn't get an abortion if they wanted one.

But. At the same time, I also wanted to have children. I've always found babies pretty offputting, but I love kids, once they've started to come together into a person. I love little human beings coming into their own discovering the world, the things they say and think, the stories they tell. I have stronger memories of being a child than most, and I love that kid. I love the kids I know. I love making kids happy, hearing what they have to say and what they're interested in, playing along with their ideas, giving them the cutest stuffed animals I can find. All in all, I did always want, in theory, one day, to share my life with a little human being of my own. But, for the longest time, it was just a firm not now, don't even want to start thinking about it now or any time soon, just sometime off in the hypothetical far future.

We had had some minimal talks about it, of course - that we did both want to do it at some point, that it was a firm But Not Now for me, some potential milestones in terms of financial stability when we could start thinking about it more. Ultimately we did not really want to get into adoption unless we had to; Iceland is not exactly teeming with orphaned or unwanted children, and adopting from abroad was a whole other type of expensive, years-long ordeal with uncertain results. As unpleasant as I found the thought of pregnancy, I had basically intellectually accepted that I could endure it, there sometime in that far-off future but-not-now-or-anytime-soon-I-don't-want-to-think-about-this.

Of course, this did come with the awareness that if it was going to happen it was on a bit of a biological timer, and I couldn't quite just put off thinking about it forever. So it was always a slowly growing, uncomfortable shadow looming there in the back of my mind, prodding at that mental barrier. At some point, in my late twenties, I realized I had organically come to a point where, if I were to somehow accidentally get pregnant, I would brace myself and keep it. But the thought of actually, deliberately going off birth control was still pure dread.

Thirty-five was sort of the loose deadline in my mind. That was an official age cutoff for various kinds of potentially increased risk, and I really, really did not want to get into that territory either. Thirty came and went. The thought was still dreadful. Slowly, creakingly, with a grim resolve, I worked to desensitize myself to the idea a bit. My mom told me, at some point, that a friend of hers had always been waiting for the moment some magic mothering instinct would emerge to make her want to do it; then she'd turned thirty-five and realized it never would, so she just braced herself and did it anyway. I felt that story in my soul. I was never going to want to get pregnant, ever. But I was going to do it anyway, somehow, on willpower, as a trial to be endured - like volunteering to get infected with a nasty illness - so that eventually I could have that little human being made of us.

By thirty-four we'd come to a mutual conclusion that the way it'd play out was at some point I'd just finish a box of the pill and then not get more, and then we'd see what happens. Even then, I bought more boxes: we were busy. In September last year, at thirty-four and a half years old, I finally did tell Shadey I'd finish this box and stop. I had a couple more menstrual cycles, slightly irregular which I gathered is normal after you stop taking the pill. On, I think, December 14th, I started my period only three weeks after the last, and it only lasted a couple of days, but I figured that might be part of that slight irregularity. Around or after Christmas I noticed I was weirdly hungry these days despite all the heavy food at all the Christmas parties; on New Year's Eve I started to feel a bit off and lethargic; at the beginning of the new year, I was ill and alternated between being nauseous and hungry in some kind of weird, unusually urgent way that had me eating a little more than normal despite the limited appetite. I think I had some flu symptoms or such, but when those went away, the nausea didn't. At some point here I started having suspicions. I looked up the symptoms and found that what I'd initially taken to be an unusually light period in December was actually a perfect match for an implantation bleeding. I did a pregnancy test that turned out positive.

That was a lot of weird emotions immediately. I had thought I was prepared, after all that buildup, but then wasn't really prepared for it to be already happening. The pregnancy test was on a Friday evening, and that weekend was awful - that Sunday was the only time that the nausea actually got to the point of vomiting, and I remember lying in bed and just not wanting to be doing this anymore. On Monday I was feeling a little better and could finally call the free midwife helpline that was only available on weekdays, and the midwife I talked to was very helpful and gave some good advice and scheduled some appointments.

The nausea went away eventually - I think it sort of fizzled out by week ten or eleven. That makes me very lucky; I was expecting to have to endure it for months. I had some lethargy lingering a bit longer, but for the past month or so I've been feeling basically fine, apart from that funny urgent hunger. (I generally don't eat that much and experience hunger in a fairly abstract and low-key way that sort of exists at the edge of my attention but just doesn't seem super important; pregnant hunger is not exactly hungrier, just somehow more important, more insistently prodding that no I should stop what I'm doing and get food, now. I imagine this is many people's default - I've certainly gathered it's Shadey's default.) All in all, physically, it's been much, much less bad than I was ready for it to be, at least so far.

Psychologically, socially, it's still a bit of a trial. I told some friends, at the start, that in my ideal fantasy world, the way this would play out would be that nobody notices a thing, then one day a child appears, and then nobody questions it or asks where it came from; it just is. People congratulating me on it feels desperately strange and awkward. I will still smile and nod; obviously it's just standard social niceties from people who want to express that they care about me and are happy to hear about presumed happy developments in my life, and I will recite the standard social niceties too when I hear it from someone else, in order to express the same. But as far as I'm concerned, this is not an achievement; it's not finally reaching some goal; it's a grim personal choice to undertake an unpleasant but necessary means to an end, and I'm not better, happier, more fulfilled than if I had chosen differently, as it irritatingly feels like the congratulations imply.

Recently people have started excitedly asking if I'm showing yet, and the question kind of makes me want to crawl into a hole and not be seen in public until it's over. I don't want witnesses to this slow body horror transformation that I will, once again, endure as a grotesque means to an end. The thought of being visibly pregnant in public is kind of mortifying. It feels weird and bad telling people, like some kind of bid for attention and congratulations when I don't actually want either; but it would feel even weirder to have people just look at my body one day and see it. Writing this is, I suppose, a way to rip off that band-aid.

I guess essentially the main thing is that, to me, being pregnant feels inescapably embarrassing, humiliating, like somehow giving in to every relative who ever uncomfortably prodded me about it, to every asinine social pressure and gender role that ever decreed that this is what women are for, what marriages are for, what people are supposed to want out of life, the expected Next Step in a relationship. As if it represents some resigned decision to go be a normie, to go with the flow and accept that this is what people are supposed to do with their lives and I had to fall in line eventually, too; represents somehow betraying the cause and aligning with them, after a lifetime of talking about how I don't like babies and pregnancy is horrific actually.

So I have this weird, defensive, stubborn urge within me to attach disclaimers whenever anyone learns I'm pregnant: no, I'm not doing this for any of you, I'm doing this on my own terms; I still don't like babies, I still think pregnancy is pretty horrific. All those pressures and prods ever did was make it feel more distasteful and make me want it less. Every time anyone implied that I was supposed to be having children by now to be a Proper Adult, it sparked a flash of resentment, a biting shard of the Pingu well, now I am not doing it meme. I could have chosen differently, and I will fight you if you think that would have been a lesser choice. My many child-free friends who have no intention of ever having kids are the most valid people in the world. I expect I will envy them sometimes.

But ultimately, I do want to have a kid. I want to love them, and listen to them, and show them the world, and experience the world again through their eyes. I think I will be a good parent and can give a kid the kind of life and love and emotional support they deserve. And I think, on my own terms, that ultimately I would regret it if I never did. That's a personal choice, and it is not a choice anyone else ought to make unless they're dead certain that they do want it and can do it.

So what does this mean for my life? Obviously, children make a lot of demands on your time. But ultimately, talking to friends on Discord, working on my website or fanfiction or writing analytical Tumblr posts is just what I do to relax, where other people might do something like watching TV, and that's what I expect I'll still be doing when the kid's asleep or Shadey or the grandparents are watching them. It will certainly eat up a bunch of my time, but I will not be disappearing. And I still plan to make time for things like visiting internet friends now and then, which is very high-priority Butterfree enrichment. (Shadey is a teacher, which means he conveniently has lots of free time during the summer.)

Above all, I will not have some kind of personality transplant and stop being a giant nerd passionate about Pokémon and stories and websites. I'll just be a nerd with a kid. I don't know how much you'd be likely to hear about the kid from here; maybe I'll post something funny they say, I guess (if it translates at all), or musings on parenthood.

But probably I'll mostly just keep doing the same kind of stuff I usually do. If you regularly forget I even have a kid, I'll consider that a success.

[roullette4]

Do you have puzzleshipping aus you created?

[ Terrible english and poor explanation. Sorry Anon you have to deal with this.]

I certainly have a Puzzleship focused AU. It took place within the season 0 with a little tweak here and there, I also took away most of the millennium items and kept only the puzzle in this universe to keep it simple with a specific reason.

This is a soul bound or perhaps it could be considered as a contract soul, with Yami's being bound to Yugi as his shadow.

Before the contract is established, Yami is bound to the puzzle. His existence is tied to it so if it's destroy he would be lock inside of it like a prison. The sensation is horrible and unpleasant for him if it ever happens.

Until the contract is fully formed, he plays a penalty game (his extra step of killing) to keep his physical form to be able to interact with the living world. He doesn't need to be around Yugi or the puzzle 24/7 but there's a limit to the distance he could go for, its not fun if there's no consequences for him too.

So, once the contract is finally established, Yami doesn't need to keep playing his games (but he keeps doing it anyway). He would be bound to Yugi and as his shadow, so what belongs to Yugi is also belong to him. Example: his soul.

In the early stage of their relationship. Yugi was oblivious to Yami's presence for weeks, without realizing he was being followed or watched by Yami like some creepy stalker (he isn't, he is just 'observing' or that's what Yami considers).

It took yugi approximately 3 weeks to finally realised Yami presence and it was also by an accidental circumstances. The kid has more issues to deal with other than a pissed off spirit.

Yami also stayed hidden, so he is also at fault for thinking— more like assume Yugi understands the terms in completing the puzzle. His puzzle.

"Whoever dares to complete my puzzle shall be bestowed with power from the deepest abyss of all realms. In return, I shall remain in your service—until every essence of your life is drained and mine to consumed."

Yet yugi himself only see the puzzle as a game. A challenge to be completed, he never wanted power he just wanted to challenge himself and when Yami found out about this.

He was enraged, a god like him? Being considered as a mere game for a 16 year old boy? How insulting. Only a few people could solved his and this boy solved it without knowing the consequences? Ridiculous.

Okay enough talk with this, let's talk about their unhealthy dynamic. Yes, there's nothing healthy about this and I will state it from the beginning.

My Puzzleshipping dynamic in this AU would be a push and pull. Their relationship is co-dependent, fully for each other's benefits:

• Yami need Yugi to survive.

• Yugi need Yami to feel that adrenaline rush, the thrill. (He is sort of a freak here)

if you consider Yugi is OOC in this then yes, I'm forging my own Yugi for my own AU. Some things need to be changed.

Also Im giving my friend full credit for giving me the idea of naming this AU "pendant"

Dependant. A pendant, something that holds onto someone's picture and essence so tightly. To forever keep that memory close to their heart.

The person is so dear you cannot move on, you try to keep them close only to end up dying because of them.

Being killed by the same thing you cherish the most, it's like a noose ready to be used.

Thank you for reading, if you have any questions. Just put them in my inbox and I will answer with these two!

[thevoidscreams]

Hi, I really like your work and I would like to request one W40k work😚

You are a cosmic entity who loves to travel and at some point you met big E in his younger days. You two had a beautiful friendship (this was before big E became Emperor so I think he would be more innocent and fun,... and knows how to love someone) and you two vowed to see each other again in the near future, but what smol E didn't know was that time meant nothing to you, After a short nap 30 thousand years have passed, you meet big E again but now he has become someone you don't recognize anymore, someone taller, colder and more possessive. One more thing you don't know is that this time he has no intention of letting you go.

This gives me yandere vibes. Of a sort.

Day 22 Year 2:

Warnings: Abduction, used for breeding, Warp sex, dub/non con, being forced to have a body

You get to be the progenitor of the primarchs in this one!

Word count:1574

You gave a big stretch, dreams flittering away as she awoke. It was a good nap. Memories came back in dreamy colored fragments. A friend closer than any others drifted through your thoughts. You should go visit him. Slipping through the tides of the warp things looked different, the power of the four had grown since you were last awake. Hopefully that wouldn't bode too terribly for the little humans you'd grown so fond of. You picked out the singular star of light in the distance. You'd recognize him anywhere, his soul was so bright. Wondering what stories he'd have for you over your time away, surely your best friend would be just as delighted to see you as you would be him.

The trip took days in real world time, but it would be worth it. As soon as you reached the edge of the system where his planet was located, something very odd happened.

Golden threads lashed out from the ball of shining aura. Thrashing did no good, even in your ethereal form you only became more entangled by the threads of power, dragged closer like a fish in the tentacles of a man o'war jelly.

It didn't feel like the friend you had met so long ago, but it was him, his aura was stronger, more powerful in ways never expected.

"It is you. After all this time." His voice rang in your ethereal body as his own presence rose to meet you in the warp. "It has not been that long my old friend." "Thirty thousand years is more time than most can even fathom. Yet you have returned to me now, of all times." "I came to see you, I have been asleep for some time and wished to reconnect with you old friend."

The grip tightened pulling your body of light closer to his. "It has been many millennia since I last heard your voice, my light. I have much to do, that must be done, and now that you have returned, my plans can come to fruition." You looked into the eye's of the perpetual being who had caught you. He was not warm the way he was before. His form had hardened with the time he'd spent learning to control it, and in all the horrors he had committed. "I do not understand." "You will. But I require your aid." His energy reached out to stroke you, caressing your own formless body, pressing it into shapes that were orderly in their structure. It mirrored his own in a way, the form he had in the physical plane.

"Why this form?" Your vast, ancient collection of knowledge did not prepare you for what he had in store. "It will make it easier to conceptualize what is to occur." The fine yet terribly powerful threads pulled tighter, keeping the form as he wished it to be. "It is for the good of my kind that I do this. You must understand." You tried, you wished to help your oldest friend. He held you as he drew you back to the place he had come from. His energy surged around you, then, into you. Your body convulsed against the intrusion. His power co-mingled with yours. Something was happening that you had not ever experienced. There was no pain, yet it was a terribly odd sensation, to have his power and form press into places that you had not known before. It went off for a time, this strange dance as you might have described it. He seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, imparting you with a fragment of his power. When he left the fragment stayed behind. The fine net remained. Holding you as the fragment grew into something more. From your place, anchored in the immaterium you could glimpse into the mortal's world, their place of rigid structure. They were busy making some things, many things. His hands returned once more, days later he plucked the grown fragment of your combined essences. You felt emptier without it. But then he came back, and you did that strange dance again, this time it felt better, as if your understanding of what he expected had shaped the activity to some degree. He left you with another fragment. "What are these? The things that grow in me?" His hands held you, and you felt the brush of his energy against the place that looked like his mouth. "They are sons. Our sons." He breathed and left you again, with the small fragment and more questions. This cycle continued for many of the Terran months. Until he had plucked twenty of the fragments. "That is all I will need now." "Will you send me away then?" You asked, a sense of melancholy about you. You could not understand why, but your body, ethereal and eternal felt.. used. For the first time in so many millions of years you had experienced a new sensation, but you wished you had not.

"No, I lost you once, I will not do so again." He held you close in the golden cage he'd woven around you. Then there was a terrible sensation, a wrenching tearing feeling. Yet no matter how you cried and thrashed, your efforts were for nothing. He dragged you from the warp, and your world went cold and dark.

Everything was wrong, you shifted, trying to feel the energies around you but there were none. "She is waking." A new voice rasped, it was wrong, why did it sound so set in space? "She is." She? What did they mean, she? Wasn't that a human word to describe some humans but not others? You were not human.

Finally your form seemed to understand what it was that it needed to do to see again. The world was solid, rigid and unmoving. "What have you done?" The words came from a mouth, from chords in the throat, it was all wrong. You were all wrong. "I have brought you home to me. This is where you will reside now." Your eyes saw him, saw him for what he wished to be. Not for what he truly was. "What have you done to me?" You croaked, this body felt new.

"You will be what I need of. I am sorry for the pain this will cause." He touched you, and you felt his hand, his flesh on your own. You shot away, not out of pain, but discomfort at the localized sensation. "No, I am not human! I am not human! I am not human!"

This body burned in the eyes, there was a pulsing in the chest, blood flowed through restricted pathways. You needed to get out, to escape. Your hands tore at themselves, at flesh and meat, you needed to destroy the cage.

Hands stopped you, holding you with impossible strength. "Be still now and hear me." His voice filled you. "You are what you are now, as I have decided it to be so. This is the form I require you to be." Firm hands grasped your hands. "Come, you will learn to live in this form."

"Please, I do not want to." The burning turned to cool streaks down the face of the body. Wetness fell from your eyes and down to the cold solid floor. He shushed you. "You will learn to accept it."

For over a month you were kept on watch, the emperor, as he was known in this age, had his giant golden guardians see to you. See to it that you were not harming yourself. When he would come and see you it was to gauge how the body was adjusting and how you were adjusting. "This body is a prison." You had wept. Learning the word for emotions and actions.

"Give it time." He ordered, leaving you alone again. Feeling dead yet alive.

A month after that, and of frequent visits he came to your chambers one night, sending away the guards. "I have need of you once more." "What is it you require? More fragments?" "No. Just you."

His body draped over yours, it was like the strange dance he'd done with you before, you thought. But it was not the same for flesh as it was spirit.

He pressed into you and there was horrible pain, such that you cried out. "Hush now, it will pass." When it did, you were relieved. Then he moved again and it was like the pain, but more intense and you did not want it to stop. He rolled into you over and over, lips pressed to lips, body to body until it felt as if your whole world imploded. You screamed but it was not out of pain. His lips caressed your skin, he had left something inside you again, but it was not energy. It was physical matter, human matter.

He took you to the place he had called the baths and washed you. You wondered if this would be your whole existence now. You turned to him, wanting to call him by his name, but you could not, not without censure. "When may I return to my true self?" You asked him as he laid you down on the bed once more, washed and clothed. "This is your form now." He insisted, body curling around yours. "Why?" Tears slid forth again. "Because I lost you once, and I will not ever again."

[transgenderer]

I do not like the "New Testament", that should be plain; I find it almost disturbing that my taste in regard to this most highly esteemed and overestimated work should be so singular (I have the taste of two millennia against me): but there it is! "Here I stand, I cannot do otherwise". I have the courage of my bad taste. The Old Testament—that is something else again: all honor to the Old Testament! I find in it great human beings, a heroic landscape, and some of the very rarest quality in the world, the incomparable naivete of the strong hear; what is more, I find a people. In the new one, on the other hand, I find nothing but petty sectarianism, mere rococo of the soul, mere involutions, nooks, queer things, the air of the conventicle, not to forget an occasional whiff of bucolic mawkishness that belongs to the epoch (and to the Roman province) and is not so much Jewish as Hellenist. Humility and self-importance cheek-by-jowl; a garrulousness of feeling that almost stupefies; impassioned vehemence, not passion; embarrassing gesticulation; it is plain that there is no trace of good breeding. How can one make such a fuss about one's little lapses as these pious little men do! Who gives a damn? Certainly not God. Finally, they even want "the crown of eternal life", these little provincial people; but for what? to what purpose? Presumption can go no further. An "immortal" peter: who could stand him? Their ambition is laughable: people of that sort regurgitating their most private affairs, their stupefies, sorrows, and petty worries, as if the Heart of Being were obliges to concern itself with them; they never grow tired of involving God himself in even the pettiest troubles they have gotten themselves into. And the appalling taste of this perpetual familiarity with God! This Jewish and not merely Jewish obtrusiveness of pawing and nuzzling God!

On the Genealogy of Morals, Kaufmann translation

[sirxaibs]

rody soul x reader

｡𖦹°‧ You Matter To Me ｡𖦹°‧

it a the middle it the night kill a me but i’m tired but the brain rot is too strong. When i see him i think howl and calsifer

masterlist

Rody means the world to you, The world has a way of taking advantage

“Come on, slowpokes!” you called over your shoulder, already halfway up a stack of crates that led to your usual rooftop hideout above the bakery.

The streets of Otheon were always full of life, bustling markets, kids darting between stalls, the occasional shouts of vendors selling fresh bread or trinkets. But for you, Rody, and his siblings, the real adventure was never in the busy streets. It was in the quieter places, the hidden nooks and rooftops where no one bothered you.

“I’m trying!” Rody huffed, carrying Roro on his back while Lala clung to his arm. “Unlike you, I’ve got two little germs to deal with!”

Lala pouted. “I’m not a germ!”

“You kinda are,” Roro mumbled sleepily against Rody’s shoulder.

You laughed, hopping back down to help. “Alright, Lala, your ride’s here.” You crouched down, and without hesitation, she scrambled onto your back. “Hold on tight!”

Rody blinked at you, a little surprised, then turned his head away, hoping you wouldn’t notice the faint blush creeping onto his face. Pino, on the other hand, chirped way too much for it to go unnoticed. The little pink bird flitted around excitedly, landing on your shoulder and nuzzling into your cheek

As soon as she wrapped her arms around your neck, you effortlessly climbed back up, Lala giggling the whole way. When you reached the rooftop, you set her down, and she plopped onto the ground dramatically. “Made it!”

Rody finally got up after you, carefully setting Roro down before collapsing onto his back. “You have way too much energy,” he muttered, glancing at you.

You smirked. “you’re just getting old.”

“I’m old?” He scoffed, sitting up. “Excuse me? Who was the one struggling to carry Lala just now?”

“you were the one that was struggling with both—”

Pino, who had been fluttering around your head this whole time, landed on your shoulder and nuzzled against your cheek. You grinned and reached up to gently scratch her head. “What’s up with your little bird today? She’s been extra clingy.”

Rody stiffened. “Uh—no reason! She just, uh—likes you!”

Pino chirped a little too enthusiastically at that.

“she’s so cute and affectionate,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “If you ever want her off your hands i’ll gladly take her”

Rody quickly turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. “AHH! nooo. nope. no. nooooo. she’ll just stick with me”

You raised an eyebrow at him but let it go. If there was one thing about Rody, it was that he was always a little mysterious when it came to certain things.

Roro tugged at your sleeve, looking up at you with big eyes. “Can you tell us a story? The one about the hero who tricks the bad guys!”

“Again?” You grinned. “You guys never get tired of that one.”

“It’s the best one!” Lala said, scooting closer. “But this time, make Rody do the voices!”

Rody groaned. “Why me?”

“Because you’re good at it!”

You smirked, nudging him. “Yeah, come on, partner. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Rody sighed dramatically, but when Lala and Roro gave him matching puppy-dog eyes, he caved. “Fine.”

As you spun your tale, Rody, despite his earlier complaints, got really into the voices. Lala and Roro giggled at his exaggerated villain impressions, and even you had to bite back laughter at his over the top dramatic gasps. By the end of the story, Lala was leaning sleepily against your arm. “You’re gonna be a real hero someday,” she mumbled.

You ruffled her hair, grinning. “Maybe. But for now, I think Rody’s the real hero, he takes care of you guys all the time., you both better appreciate him” by the end you’ve adjusted to squishing her cheeks

Rody sputtered, caught off guard, and Pino chirped in agreement. “Whaaa No, I mean, I just do what I have to.”

His siblings nodded enthusiastically, and Lala giggled. “Then you can be the sidekick!”

“Hey!” you pouted, crossing your arms. “I think I should be the main hero here!”

Roro laughed. “No way! Rody’s way cooler!” Rody looked away, scratching the back of his head, clearly embarrassed but also secretly pleased. You just smirked at him, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

“Guess that makes us partners, huh?” you said, offering your pinky to him.

For a second, Rody just stared at your outstretched hand, his heartbeat stuttering. Then, swallowing down whatever goofy feelings he had, he looped his pinky around yours, locking it in place.

“Yeah,” he said, softer this time. “Partners.” Pino chirped, flitting excitedly around you again.

“See? Even your bird agrees.” You shot him a teasing grin before offering your pinky. “Well i mean Ill say you’re my hero at least”

Rody just stared for a second, his heart skipping a beat. Then, swallowing down whatever weird feeling was creeping up on him, he linked his pinky with yours.

“You’re too much,” he said quietly.

Pino chirped again, landing between your hands.

You sighed dramatically. “Seriously, what’s with her today?”

Rody groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know, okay? Just—drop it!”

Lala giggled, Roro snickered, and you? You just awkwardly smiled. You had no idea what was really going on. And Rody really hoped you wouldn’t figure it out anytime soon.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The warm glow of the Otheon sunset stretched across the rooftops as you made your way back home, the scent of freshly baked bread still clinging to your clothes. The afternoon had been perfect laughing with Rody, telling stories to Roro and Lala, and soaking in the feeling of belonging. But that feeling always faded when the night came.

The streets were quieter now, shadows stretching long against the buildings. You kept your head down, slipping through alleys with the ease of someone who had grown up in them. A habit. A necessity. Because the truth was, you couldn’t afford to be seen anymore.

Not after they found you.

It started a few weeks ago an offer, one you couldn’t refuse. The commission had their eyes on you for a while, watching, waiting. Not a hero in the traditional sense, but something else. Someone who could move unseen, get things done where others couldn’t.

They told you the country needed people like you. That you could make a real difference. after everything you’d been through, everything you’d done to survive, wasn’t that what you wanted?

Still, it didn’t feel real until you stepped inside the headquarters for the first time. Unlike the crowded streets of Otheon, the commission building was sleek, clinical. People moved with purpose, their faces unreadable. You weren’t sure what you expected maybe more warmth, more reassurance. But the moment you signed that contract, any illusions of comfort vanished.

“Your work will be in the shadows,” your handler had told you, sliding a file across the table. “We’re not looking for another flashy hero. We need efficiency. Discretion.”

You hesitated for only a moment before flipping the file open. That night, as you lay in your small apartment, staring at the ceiling, you thought about Rody and his siblings. About Lala’s certainty that you’d be a hero one day. About Rody’s quiet admiration when he thought you weren’t looking.

Would they understand this choice? Would they forgive you for walking a path that pulled you further away from them?

You exhaled sharply, sitting up. There was no room for hesitation. This was the only way forward. They didn’t need to know.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The trailer smelled like coffee and something faintly sweet, probably the remnants of breakfast from earlier that morning. The small kitchen was as cramped as ever, with barely enough space for one person, let alone two. Yet, somehow, you and Rody had both ended up here, navigating the tight space like an old dance neither of you had forgotten.

You reached for the sugar at the same time he did, your hands brushing. “Sorry—”

“My bad—”

You both pulled back, only for you to move toward the sink as he turned in the same direction. Your hip bumped against his, making him stagger slightly. “Seriously?” he huffed, rubbing his side with an amused smile.

“Not my fault your kitchen is tiny,” you shot back, nudging him playfully before grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

He shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee. “Or maybe you’re just in my way.”

You smirked. “Maybe you’re in mine.”

Another bump, this time, your shoulder against his as you reached for a spoon. The closeness wasn’t new, not really. You’d spent your childhood shoulder to shoulder, running through the streets of Otheon, always moving together. But something about now about being here after all this time made the space feel even smaller.

Rody exhaled, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Y’know… I don’t see you much these days.”

The shift in his tone made you pause. You stirred your coffee absentmindedly, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic. “Yeah? Guess I’ve been busy.”

“Right. Busy.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “You always disappear for weeks at a time. Then you show up out of nowhere, act like nothing’s changed, and then poof. Gone again.”

You looked at him, seeing the way his brow furrowed just slightly, the way Pino chirped softly from his shoulder, almost as if echoing his thoughts. You flashed an easy grin. “What, miss me that much?”

Rody rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “Not the point.”

You let out a soft chuckle, stepping aside as he reached past you for the sugar again. In the tight space, you barely had room to move without brushing against him. He didn’t step away, and neither did you.

“Come on, Rody,” you said lightly. “You know me. I go where the wind takes me.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah. You always say that.”

The words were familiar, like an old refrain, but this time, they held something heavier beneath them. You didn’t answer right away, just took a sip of your coffee, letting the warmth settle in your hands. Rody studied you, waiting. You could feel it the way his gaze lingered just a little longer than necessary. Like he was searching for something.

Pino fluttered over to you, landing on your shoulder and nuzzling into your cheek. You smiled, brushing your fingers gently over her feathers. “Your bird’s really loves me. I think she’ll be happier following me around”

Rody exhaled a soft laugh, “she’s…. just affectionate ”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the same as before. It wasn’t the easy silence of two kids who had nothing to worry about. It was something different now something heavier, something older.

“Still the same, huh?” Rody finally said, his voice softer this time.

You smiled, tilting your head slightly. “Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t.”

But you both knew that wasn’t true. You weren’t the same kids running through the streets, scraping by on clever tricks and sheer determination. Time had pulled you in different directions, left gaps that neither of you knew how to fill.

Still, you wouldn’t say that. You wouldn’t tell him where you’d been, what you’d been doing. Some things were better left unspoken. Rody let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair before picking up his coffee again. “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy the company while you’re here, then.”

You clinked your mug against his in a small toast, your grin still in place. “I hold the company I have with you so close.”

Pino chirped again, and Rody glanced at her before shaking his head with a smile.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

A question came up more often than you liked.

“You don’t have a hero name?”

People always asked with some mix of surprise and curiosity, like the idea of someone doing this kind of work without a flashy title was strange. Like it wasn’t normal to just be a person. But you never had an answer that satisfied them.

Because the truth was, you never needed one. Heroes had names to stand for something hope, power, legacy. They had people waiting for them, people who chanted their names in the streets, who relied on their presence. But for you?

There was no crowd waiting. No legacy to uphold. Just the job. That’s what you sold yourself too. Growing up in Otheon, names didn’t mean much. You learned early on that no one was coming to save you. No one cared what you called yourself when you were scraping by, running through life with Rody, protecting his siblings from the kind of people who didn’t bother learning kids’ names before taking what they wanted.

Survival was enough. A name wouldn’t have changed a thing. Even now, with the commission branding you as one of their best assets, you still didn’t see the point. The work you did wasn’t meant for the spotlight it was quiet, precise, the kind of thing that made people uneasy when they thought about how things really got done.

And maybe, deep down, it was better this way. A name meant being known. And to be known was to be missed.

You weren’t sure you could handle that.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The night air was cool against your skin as you leaned back against the hood of Rody’s beat up car or is probably his car, you stopped asking. Staring up at the Otheon sky. The city lights blurred out most of the stars, but a few stubborn ones still shone through, distant but steady.

Rody sat beside you, one leg pulled up, his arms resting lazily over his knee. Pino was curled up on his shoulder, half dozing. For once, the world wasn’t pulling either of you in different directions. No missions. No responsibilities. Just this.

“You ever think about leaving?” he asked suddenly, voice softer than usual.

You glanced at him. “Otheon?”

“Yeah. The city. The country. Just… all of it.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back. “I used to.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just sat with it, letting the silence settle between you like a familiar weight. Then, finally “But you stay.”

You turned your head toward him. His eyes were unreadable, reflecting the dim city lights, but there was something in them, something careful. Like he was waiting for an answer that mattered.

“…Yeah.”

Rody hummed, looking away, a small smile playing on his lips. “Good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

“Yeah.” He let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because if you left, I think the whole damn world would feel it.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “…Rody.”

“I mean it.” He turned to face you fully now, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I know you don’t think about yourself like that. I know you don’t see yourself the way you should. But you—” He huffed, shaking his head. “You matter, Y/n. To me. To the kids. To a hell of a lot more people than you think.”

Your throat tightened. You had spent so long moving in the dark, convincing yourself that it was better that way, that your presence wasn’t needed. Rody saw right through that. Like he always did.

“…You really believe that?” you asked quietly.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Of course I do, dumbass.”

Rody reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours with a familiarity that made your chest ache. His grip was warm, solid, grounding.

“We’ve always been surviving against the world, I’m scared you don’t know how much you mean. Everything is changing and… and-” he said. “You just need to be you. And that’s enough.”

You swallowed hard, looking down at your intertwined hands. There was no teasing in his voice, no deflection. Just truth. For a long time, you had carried the weight of being unseen, unnoticed, untethered. But Rody saw you.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

It was supposed to be another straightforward mission for you, a pro hero on a routine contract. The job was simple, intercept an illegal exchange of weapons and information, apprehend the individuals involved, and ensure the goods didn’t make it onto the streets. You had done this hundreds of times. But now, standing above the alley, you realized just how easily something simple could spiral into chaos.

You’d always kept your personal life separate from your work as a pro hero. Being top tier came with its own pressures, and if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t need anyone’s pity or sympathy. The world of heroes was a strange one, filled with expectations, spotlight, and public relations. You never cared for the fanfare or the flashy name. To you, it had always been about getting the job done, saving lives, and making sure that people who needed help got it.

The mission was unfolding, but everything felt wrong.

You crouched low, eyes scanning the alley below as you noticed the familiar figure of Rody, his lanky frame standing awkwardly among a group of shady looking individuals. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, trying to play it cool, but the tension in his shoulders told a different story. He was out of his depth, and you could see it.

The voices from your earpiece crackled with static, a reminder of the task at hand. “Y/n, do you have visual on the target?”

You clenched your jaw. “Yeah. I see him.”

The rush of adrenaline hit you. You were supposed to be the one in control. You were the one who was supposed to stay ahead of this. no surprises, no distractions.

You’d seen Rody around the city occasionally, but you never really asked about what he was doing. He always seemed to disappear for days at a time, coming back with some new odd job, a bit more worn down, a bit quieter each time. He never talked about his work, and you never asked. You had your own life to handle, your own responsibilities to take care of. But seeing him standing there, surrounded by men you knew were tied to dangerous underground syndicates, made your blood run cold.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, realizing what this was.

You’d been hired for the same mission, but you never imagined he’d be involved in something like this. The contract you’d taken was straightforward: stop an illegal arms trade. But seeing Rody here, in the middle of it, made your stomach drop. He wasn’t a part of this world the world you worked in as a pro hero. This wasn’t the carefree kid you’d grown up with, not by a long shot. He was knee deep in a deal with people you knew to be dangerous, and the worst part was, he didn’t even seem to notice the weight of it.

Rody adjusted his jacket, glancing around like he was trying to hide his nerves. The man in front of him, a bulky figure with a scar running down his cheek, sneered as he took a step closer. “You’re late. You got what we asked for?”

You tensed, instinctively crouching lower behind the ledge, your heart pounding in your chest. The contract you had taken was to take down a ring of illegal arms dealers that had been slipping through the cracks of the law. They were smart, elusive slipping between the hands of the law with fake names and a string of different identities. You had been tracking their movements for weeks, and now here they were, just a few steps from being caught.

But Rody didn’t belong here. It wasn’t just the shady group of people. It was the fact that he was so calm too calm. This wasn’t the awkward, lovable Rody you grew up with. This was someone else, someone playing a part in a world you didn’t want him anywhere near.

The scarred man reached into his coat, pulling out a small package wrapped in cloth. “You know what to do with this,” he said in a low, menacing tone, handing it over to Rody. You couldn’t see the contents from this angle, but you didn’t need to. The exchange was happening.

You swallowed, unsure of what to do next.

“Rody, what the hell are you doing?” you muttered under your breath, a mix of anger and confusion flooding your chest. You never thought he’d go this far this deep into the underground world.

A flash of movement caught your eye, and you snapped your attention back to Rody. He was holding the package now, slipping it into his jacket like it was no big deal, still wearing that careless grin of his. The man gave him a nod of approval, and Rody took a step back, almost as if he was waiting for something.

Your heart raced. Was this the moment to act? Static crackled again in your earpiece. “Y/n, what’s your status?”

You exhaled, trying to steady your breath. “I’ve got eyes on the target.” You hesitated, your thoughts racing. “There’s someone else in the mix. Stand by.”

The radio was silent for a moment. “Acknowledged. Proceed with caution.”

You didn’t respond. Your mind was already made up. You couldn’t leave him there. You couldn’t just walk away and pretend it was any other mission. You had to act. Slowly, you slid from your perch, moving down toward the alley with practiced silence. Every movement, every step, had to be calculated. This wasn’t just about catching criminals anymore. This was about saving someone you cared about, someone who, despite everything, still mattered to you.

As you neared the corner, you heard Rody’s voice, low and a little too relaxed for the situation. “So, uh, do I just walk away, or what?”

The scarred man smirked. “You’ve done your part. Now get lost.”

Rody shrugged, turning as if he were about to leave. But then, just before he could make it to the exit, you rounded the corner.

“Hey!”

He froze, eyes wide as he looked up, catching sight of you standing at the end of the alley. His expression shifted surprise, then recognition, followed by that damn grin of his. “Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?”

You didn’t answer. You took a step toward him, hands raised, quirk already activating. “Get out of here,” you said, voice low but firm. “Now.”

He didn’t move. He just stared at you, a thousand questions in his eyes. “wait what?”

You didn’t want to explain. You didn’t want to answer the question he had no right to ask. You had always kept your work separate from your personal life, and this was not how you wanted him to find out what you’ve been occupied with.

The scarred man behind him grunted, clearly annoyed by the interruption. “What’s this?” he growled, eyeing you suspiciously.

Rody held up a hand, signaling for the man to calm down. “Hey, it’s fine. She’s an old friend. We go way back.”

But you couldn’t lie to him now. Not when he was standing there with a package in hand, standing right in the middle of your mission.

“I’m a pro,” you said, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could stop them. “But I’m not here for you. You need to walk away before things get worse.”

Rody blinked, looking down at the package in his hand, then back at you. “This… This is what you’re after?”

You didn’t answer. Rody swallowed, the tension suddenly making itself clear. “You know what this is, don’t you?” His voice was quieter now, a little softer.

“I know,” you said quietly. “But this isn’t the world you want to be in. It never was.”

The confident grin faded from his face for the first time since you’d seen him. His shoulders stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can’t do.” His voice was sharp, defensive like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you.

You stepped forward, keeping your voice steady. “This isn’t some delivery, Rody. This is an illegal arms deal. And you’re standing right in the middle of it.”

He didn’t answer, but his jaw tightened, and his gaze shifted uneasily. You could see the conflict behind his eyes now, the way he was trying to hold on to that facade of control, but it was slipping. He didn’t want to admit that he’d made a mistake, that he’d gotten too deep.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly, lowering your hands slightly. “There’s always another way.”

Rody stared at you for a long moment, the tension thick between you. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second, it felt like he might say something real, something vulnerable. But then he just shook his head, the smile returning, forced this time.

“Yeah, well, we all gotta make a living somehow.” He picked up the package again, slipping it into his jacket, and turned his back to you. “I’m not your problem anymore.”

You reached out instinctively, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. “Rody, stop!”

He met your eyes, his expression unreadable, but the way his gaze flickered for a split second told you everything. “I have to do this.”

The words hit harder than you expected, and for a moment, you were both frozen in place, neither of you moving. The sound of Pino chirping nervously on his shoulder barely registered in the background.

Finally, Rody pulled his arm away gently, but there was a finality in the motion that stung more than it should have. “You’re a hero,” he said quietly, his voice almost sad now. “You do your thing. Let me do mine.”

You couldn’t let him go. Not like this. Before you could speak again, the scarred man growled, stepping toward you. “Enough talking. You’re not gonna ruin this deal, are you?”

Rody didn’t look back at you. He just started walking toward the exit, his steps slow but determined.

You stood there for a moment, torn between staying on mission and pulling Rody back from the edge he was so dangerously close to falling off. But you knew he was too far in now.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Rody had expected this to be another routine gig quick in, quick out, no complications. But now? He was sprinting through a crumbling warehouse, barely keeping up as bullets ricocheted off steel beams and crates splintered around him. This was not what he signed up for.

And the biggest problem wasn’t the deal gone wrong. It was you.

You moved through the fray like it was second nature, weaving through enemies like you had all the time in the world. Rody had always known you were quick, clever, and strong growing up, but this? The way you fought, the way you anticipated every move before it happened, the sheer confidence in your stance, none of it made sense.

He’d seen you fight before. Back when you were kids, you used to take down low level thugs together, scamming the occasional rich idiot out of their money just to survive another day. But that had been scrappy, desperate. Survival.

This was something else entirely. He barely ducked under a flying crate, cursing under his breath. “Oh, come on—”

The guy who threw it didn’t get another chance. You pivoted, a single sharp movement, and with barely a touch, redirected the momentum of the crate straight back at its sender. The impact sent him flying into a rusted container with a loud clang.

Rody’s brain stuttered. You hadn’t just dodged, you had controlled it. Like you’d known exactly where the force was going to go.

And you were completely calm about it.

He barely had time to process before another attacker lunged at him. Rody braced himself, twisting just in time to dodge, but before he could counter, you were already there. A single, well placed strike sent the guy sprawling to the ground, unconscious before he hit the concrete. Rody exhaled sharply. “Okay—what the fuck—”

You just turned to him, barely out of breath. Then another wave of enemies poured in.

“Later,” you said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him behind cover just as gunfire shredded through a nearby wall. He felt the way your grip tightened not panicked, not frantic, but controlled. You had everything mapped out in your head. You knew exactly what was happening.

Rody didn’t know what to focus on, the gunfire, the chaos, or the fact that the person he grew up with, the person he thought he knew, was not the same anymore.

You peeked out from cover, scanning the situation. “Alright, we need to move—”

Rody grabbed your sleeve, yanking you back before you could go any further. “No.” His chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath. His mind was spinning. “What do you do?”

You blinked. He wasn’t joking. His usual carefree expression was gone, replaced with something between shock and frustration. His brown eyes searched yours for some kind of explanation, some reason why the person standing in front of him wasn’t just the same street smart kid he grew up with.

You hesitated for only a second before smirking. “Let’s just say…” You adjusted your stance, tilting your head slightly. “I got a little more official than you.”

Rody blinked. Then the realization hit him like a train.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. what you said earlier was real? ” Rody groaned, running a hand through his hair as the realization fully settled in. “You’re a hero?” The words sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth, but there was no denying it now.

You gave him a lopsided grin, adjusting your stance. “Surprised?”

“Surprised doesn’t cover it,” he muttered. His heart was still pounding, half from the gunfire, half from the fact that everything he thought he knew about you was apparently wrong.

You shot him a knowing look, but before he could argue more, another burst of gunfire tore through the air, forcing you both to duck. The remaining thugs were regrouping, barking orders, trying to surround you.

Rody exhaled sharply. No time to argue.

“Alright,” he said, glancing around. “We need an exit.”

You peeked over the crate you were crouched behind, scanning the warehouse. “Main doors are too risky, they’ll have snipers covering the outside. Back entrance?”

“Locked, bolted, probably rigged to hell,” Rody said without missing a beat. He had already been looking for exits the moment things went sideways. Years of slipping in and out of trouble taught him to always have a way out.

You grinned. “ok pretty boy i’m gonna need you to lock in.”

Rody rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Give me cover, I’ll get us out.”

Just like that, the tension shifted. The shock of finding each other on opposite sides of the mission took a backseat to something more instinctual survival. The old rhythm kicked in before either of you could think about it. You launched forward, drawing the attention of the gunmen while Rody moved, darting between shadows and obstacles, slipping into the background like he was made for it.

And damn it, it was smooth. While you dismantled threats head on, Rody did what he did best found an opening no one else would’ve noticed. He spotted a rusted out maintenance ladder leading up to a row of high windows. If they could get up there, they could drop onto the roof and disappear before anyone noticed.

He worked fast, prying open an access panel and overriding the lock mechanism with a flick of his wrist.

“Y/N!” he called over his shoulder. “Exit secured!”

You heard him, but you were still occupied, two guys left, both moving in sync, trying to corner you. You sidestepped one’s attack, caught his wrist mid swing, and redirected the momentum into the other guy, sending them both sprawling.

Rody stared with awe. “Damn.”

You grinned, breath steady. “Told you. Official.”

“Yeah, yeah, get moving!”

You fell into step behind him, scaling the ladder with practiced ease. As soon as you reached the top, Rody swung the window open and hoisted himself onto the roof, offering a hand to pull you up after him.

“Not bad,” you said as you both landed, crouched low on the rooftop. The night air was crisp, the chaos below now just a dull hum.

Rody dusted off his jacket, grinning despite himself. “Yeah, well… turns out I still know how to work with you.”

You met his gaze, and for a second, it was like nothing had changed like you were still just two kids running through the streets of Otheon, watching each other’s backs, finding your way out of trouble together.

Except now, the stakes were higher. And you weren’t sure where you stood anymore. Rody exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So… what now, hero?”

You glanced back at the warehouse. “You tell me, thief.”

The tension between you both lingered, but there was no time to pick it apart. Not now. Not while the remnants of the fight still rang in your ears, and adrenaline buzzed beneath your skin.

Rody shook his head, letting out a breath as he stared out over the rooftops. “You know, I thought tonight was gonna be simple. Just another job, in and out, no surprises.” He shot you a look, half exasperated, half amused. “And then you show up.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “What, disappointed?”

He scoffed. “I don’t know what I am. Still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you—” He gestured at you, exasperated. “—are a hero.”

You shrugged, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. “Wasn’t exactly the plan growing up. But life happens.”

“Yeah. Life happens.” He let out a short laugh, rubbing his temple. “And apparently, it happened to you a lot harder than it did to me.”

You just hummed in response, watching the city stretch out below you. The streets you both grew up on were still the same bright, busy, uncaring. But standing here now, after everything, you realized you weren’t the same kids anymore.

Rody shifted beside you, reaching into his jacket. “Speaking of jobs…” He pulled out a small, tightly wrapped package, the one he had been hired to deliver.

You frowned. “That what this was all about?”

“Yeah. Didn’t exactly ask questions when I took the gig.” He exhaled sharply, tossing the package once in his hand. “Turns out, I probably should’ve.”

You held out your hand. “Let me see it. Rody hesitated for half a second before placing it in your palm. You turned it over, feeling the weight. The package was small, but whatever was inside wasn’t just some ordinary delivery. You had a bad feeling about it.

“I need to take this,” you said finally, slipping it into your jacket. You shot him a look. “This thing nearly got you killed. Whatever’s inside? It’s dangerous. And if it’s linked to whatever bastard sent those guys after us, I need to know what it is.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”

“Then why do you sound so annoyed?”

“Because,” he grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with you stealing my paycheck tonight.”

You smirked. “Technically, it was never yours to begin with.”

He groaned. “Oh, shut up.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of the night, the revelations, the near-death experienced it all settled between you.

Then, Rody stepped closer, tilting his head slightly. “You know, for what it’s worth… I get it now.”

You blinked. “Get what?”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Why you stayed.”

Your breath caught. He wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t deflecting. He just meant it.

And suddenly, everything—the mission, the years of knowing each other , the different paths you had taken it all faded into something smaller. Less important. Without thinking, you grabbed his jacket and pulled him into a hug. Rody stiffened for only a second before relaxing, arms wrapping tightly around you. He smelled like gunpowder and cheap cologne, familiar and warm in a way that made your chest ache.

“Idiot,” you muttered against his shoulder. “You mean more to me than some dumb package.”

Rody let out a breathless laugh, squeezing you a little tighter. “Yeah. You too.” And just when the moment felt too much, when your heart was on the verge of really saying something stupid

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Something in his voice made your chest tighten. You had spent so long keeping your distance, letting your work pull you away from him and the life you once had. Now, seeing him like this standing beside you, after everything you realized how much you missed him.

And you weren’t going to let the moment slip away. Before Rody could react, you closed the distance and wrapped your arms around him.

He stiffened at first, caught off guard. But after a second, he sighed, his body relaxing as he slowly returned the embrace. His arms curled around you, firm but familiar, like they belonged there. You turned your head and kissed his cheek.

Rody froze.

A strangled noise escaped him as he immediately let go, taking a full step back. “H-Hey! What was that for!?”

You grinned, hands on your hips. “Oh, relax, pretty boy. Just proving a point.”

His ears were bright red. “You are so—”

But before he could finish, a tiny, distressed chirp rang out. You barely had time to react before Pino, who had been perched on Rody’s shoulder, suddenly collapsed, dramatically fainting onto your head.

Both of you stared at the tiny bird, now sprawled over your hair like she had just witnessed the most scandalous thing in existence.

Rody groaned, covering his face. “Pino, please.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god—”

Pino twitched weakly, as if trying to recover from the absolute shock of it all. “Pino—?” Your brows furrowed in concern, carefully cupping your hands around her small form.

Rody sighed beside you, rubbing the back of his neck, but there was no real annoyance in his voice when he muttered, “Yeah… saw that coming.”

You looked at him, confused, but his expression told you everything you needed to know.

Pino was relieved.

He never told you his quirk but right now you saw him in her. She had always been a reflection of Rody’s true emotions, the ones he didn’t say out loud. And right now, she wasn’t holding anything back she was clinging to you, sobbing like she had been carrying the weight of all the time you had been gone.

Your chest tightened.

You gently stroked her head with your thumb, whispering, “Hey, I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Pino let out another wobbly chirp, her grip tightening. Rody let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, she’s gonna be like this for a while.” He glanced at you, something unspoken in his gaze. “Guess I can’t blame her.”

You met his eyes, something settling between you and Rody no matter how much he pretended otherwise had missed you just as much.

How long had it been since you had really been here? Since you let yourself be with Rody, without the weight of your job, without keeping him at arm’s length?

Too long. Way too long. The thought hit you all at once, and before you could think twice, you launched yourself at him.

“Rody!”

His eyes barely had time to widen before you crashed into him again, arms wrapping around his shoulders as your full weight sent the both of you stumbling. He let out a startled grunt, barely keeping his balance as you buried your face against his neck.

“Whoa—okay—hi didn’t we just do this?” He sounded surprised, but his hands instinctively came up to hold you steady.

You didn’t care.

“You mean so much to me,” you mumbled against his skin before pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. “Like, so much.”

Rody froze. You felt his whole body tense, his breath hitch. Pino, still curled between you two, let out a delighted little chirp, wiggling excitedly at the pure joy radiating off of you.

For a second, Rody was completely silent. “You really had to go for the cheek, huh?”

You pulled back just enough to see his face, his ears were red. Like, burning red. His usual easy smirk was nowhere to be found. Instead, he was staring at you, wide eyed, lips parted slightly, and way too stiff to be playing it cool.

You grinned, tilting your head. “What? Would you rather I kissed you somewhere else?”

He made a choked noise. “I—”

You laughed, tightening your hold on him. “I missed you, idiot.”

Slowly, his hands settled more firmly against your back, fingers gripping just enough to keep you there. His chest rose and fell beneath you, and finally, he let out a quiet chuckle.

“…Yeah.” His voice was softer now, barely above a breath. “I missed you too.”

Pino chirped happily, flapping her wings.

“Now come on, partner. We’ve got work to do.”

Rody rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips as he held you tighter.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The small trailer was as rowdy as ever, filled with the sounds of Roro and Lala excitedly recounting their day. You sat on the couch, Lala clinging to your arm while Roro dramatically reenacted a scene from school.

“—And then I told him, ‘That’s not how you do it!’ and bam, I solved the problem first!” Roro grinned proudly.

You gasped, playing along. “No way. You totally outsmarted them.”

“Obviously.”

Lala tugged at your sleeve. “Did you see my drawing? I made you a hero!”

Your heart warmed. “Yeah? Let me see.”

She beamed and scrambled to grab her notebook. Rody, meanwhile, leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching. His expression was unreadable, but you knew him well enough to catch the way his fingers tapped lightly against his arm a small habit of his when he was thinking too much.

After Lala finished showing off her masterpiece (which featured you punching a villain twice your size), Rody finally spoke up.

“Alright, alright, bedtime,” he announced.

Roro groaned. “But—”

“No buts.”

Lala pouted dramatically. “You just wanna talk to Y/n alone.”

Rody sputtered. “I—what? No, I just—”

You burst into laughter. “Smart kid.”

Lala giggled, dragging Roro toward their room. “Goodnight, Y/n! Don’t let Rody be too boring.”

The second their door closed, the trailer fell into a quieter hum. The absence of their voices made the space feel smaller.

You exhaled, standing up. “They’ve got you figured out.”

Rody huffed, moving to the sink. “Yeah, yeah.” He grabbed a glass, filling it with water. “So, you sticking around this time, or am I gonna have to wait another few months for you to show up again?”

You blinked. There it was, the question you had expected, but still weren’t fully ready for. Stepping into the kitchen, you leaned on the counter beside him. The space was narrow, just enough that every time Rody shifted, his arm brushed against yours.

“You miss me?” you teased.

Rody scoffed. “No. Pino does.”

Right on cue, Pino fluttered onto your shoulder, nuzzling into your cheek with an excited chirp.

You grinned. “Uh-huh. Just Pino, huh?”

Rody turned to face you, his usual smirk in faded something about it was different. Maybe it was the way his fingers drummed absently against the counter. Maybe it was how his breath had slightly hitched when you got closer.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Maybe the truth.”

Something flickered across his face. Neither of you moved, the weight of unspoken things pressing between you. suddenly, you were done waiting. You reached up, cupping his face, and before Rody could react.

You kissed him.

It was soft hesitant for just a second—until Rody melted. His breath caught, his hands gripping the counter like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure this was real.

Pino let out the most dramatic squeak you had ever heard before fainting onto the counter.

You barely registered it, too focused on the warmth of Rody’s lips, the way he exhaled like he had been holding this in for years. When you finally pulled back, his eyes were wide.

“You—” His voice cracked, and he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really do so much for me?”

You glanced up at the tiny, unconscious bird. “…Yeah, when it comes to you, i’ll do anything”

Rody groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/n…. what is this .”

You smirked. “did you like it?”

Rody opened his mouth paused then sighed, shaking his head with a lopsided grin.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah, I did.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist, and this time

He pulled you in first.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 160 (Blast From the Past)

Felix pulled back anxiously as the blonde woman read his rights, a righteous anger creasing her dark brows. "Last I saw you, you floated up to me on my wedding day and begged me to run from my husband to join you as a ghost!"

"You what?" Lilith looked between them with a nervous smile.

"I..." Felix stammered. "I was still processing everything, Lil. I've had more than enough time to let go; it's been a century and a half."

"At least we hope so," she lamented, remembering they were here without Emit. She turned to the angry woman she suspected was her great-great-grandmother, Maude Alcorn Ruggbyrne. "Ma'am, do you know what day it is?"

The blonde cocked her head sideways. "July 13, 1920, of course! How don't you know that? Are you both dead?"

Felix reeled. "July 13th? You're certain?"

Maude pointed to a newspaper strewn across a nearby bench. "That's the paper I write for. Today's edition."

"We're a day early," he said to Lilith.

She frowned. "I must've set the wrong date on the device after we jumped from January 13th, 2020."

"What in blazes are you two talking about?" cried the blonde. "Felix, are you dead or not? And who in Watcher's name is she with all those nails in her face?!"

Felix and Lilith glanced helplessly between themselves. They weren't supposed to do anything that might change history, and they weren't supposed to tell anyone who they were, either. But Felix couldn't exactly lie to someone who knew beyond a doubt who he was. "They're piercings. Maude, and her name is Lilith Pleasant. She's my girlfriend."

"Your girlfriend!" she cried. "You...you were dead!"

"I was! For almost a century and a half," he said, leading the three of them to a nearby bench. "But a few years ago...In the future, I...I was still a ghost, and I made some friends who cooked up some ambrosia for me. You know how much I wished I could live again. Where I came from, Britechester looks pretty much the same as now, but it's been a long, long time."

"That old wives' tale about fish cakes is real?" He nodded, and Maude's face softened. "Why are you back here?"

"Lilith and I are helping a friend catch a time thief, but we overshot our landing by about 24 hours."

Maude looked at them as though they had two heads. "Felix, are you telling me tall tales? You sound like they just rolled you out of the asylum!"

"I promise it's not like that," he vowed. "But everything we tell you, we need to you to promise never to tell another soul."

"I'm a reporter, Felix! Telling the world the truth is my job."

"The world isn't ready for this. I'm not sure you're ready for this..."

"Spill it," she demanded. "Convince me your painted jumpsuits weren't issued by a psychiatric ward!"

"Could we go somewhere more private to talk? Maybe find a change of clothes so we don't stick out too much?"

Maude thought for a moment, studying Lilith with a discerning glare. "You're sure we can trust her? She looks spiky."

Felix laughed. "She's a lot like you."

Backhanded compliment or not, Maude appreciated the thought, studying Lilith with keen interest. "Berend's in Komorebi trying to become the first sim to scale the mountain, and Bruno's with his governess. I think she could fit into some of my roomier skirts."

Lilith laughed, unfazed. "She's not like me. She's more like Angela!"

"And who's Angela? Another girlfriend?"

Felix shook his head. "No, she's your great-great-granddaughter. And so's Lilith."

Maude's stunned expression remained until they'd made it to her two-storey home in Britechester. She lived here with her husband and three-year-old-son, but the elegant rooms were empty of voices when they entered.

Maude quickly found some clothes for Lilith to change into. "That hat hides the metal on your face quite nicely," she enthused.

Lilith forced a smile. None of the clothes she was wearing were her style, and she hated tucking her bright red hair under a hat. But she and Felix were stuck here waiting for Emit and the time thief to arrive the next day. She had to make the best of this.

Despite the rules they were supposed to follow, Felix and Lilith told Maude almost everything - about the ambrosia, about falling in love and Maude's connection to Lil's family tree. They showed her the time travelling device, and explained their mission to prevent a time thief from changing too much about the future.

But they didn't mention the young Landgraab behind the device - even in 1920, the name was too well known, and they'd promised Heather and Conrad they'd help protect him.

Maude listened intently, sitting before a portrait with her husband and young son - Lilith's ancestor, Bruno Ruggbyrne. "I never met my great-grandfather," said Lilith, but my grandmother Coral used to tell us he was the biggest charmer you'd ever meet."

"That sounds like Bruno." Maude smiled intently as she glanced at the portrait. "But Felix has been around a long time. It's a bit strange he's never found another soulmate except my own kin."

Lilith shook her head. "I think it makes sense. If he married you, my sister and I would have never been born. Bruno would have never been born."

Maude's face fell. "So this was meant to be? I was always supposed to be with Berend and you were supposed to live happily ever after with a girl with piercings in her face?"

"Lil's beautiful, Maude. She's your kin, after all."

"I think...you really love her," Maude said, rapidly processing this new information.

"I do. As much as you love Berend. Maybe more."

Maude smiled proudly. "My boss wanted me to quit the Times when Bruno came along, but Berend marched right downtown to insist I keep reporting to show our son what a hard worker looks like. When the boss promised to let me keep my job, Berend told him I'd take his job one day, too."

Felix was well aware of the future and he knew this was true, but he refrained from mentioning it. As long as things stayed the same, he didn't need to tell Maude what she would accomplish in her life. "I know I wasn't happy for you before, but a lot can change in a hundred-fifty years. I think you and Berend truly were meant to be."

"And I think Felix was always meant for me," said Lilith. "Before I met him I was stuck in a cycle dating an endless stream of losers and dreamers who didn't really care about me, but Felix showed me what it was to be really loved."

The corners of Maude's mouth turned upward. "Felix was always a good man. He let me pursue my career and didn't rush us into marriage, and I appreciated him for it every day...until the day he died on me. It's hard to overstate how important it is for a woman to be seen on the arm of a man to survive in this world, and after Felix' death, Berend offered opportunity. And I do love him, Felix. I know you said I never could as much I as I loved you."

"Maude, I was wrong. I'm sorry I tried to put you on the spot that day," said Felix. "You deserved better and you deserve this life. This beautiful house and your beautiful family suits you better than even I could have done."

She laughed. "You think you can date my great-great-granddaughter with that attitude? I know you, Felix. You were the best man I knew. I can see you haven't changed much, but I don't know you anymore. I don't know anything about this world you say you came from, with time travelers and computers and websites and eyeball phones, or whatever you called it. I don't know what a podcast is and my editor never puts my stories on the front page. Just his own tripe with spelling mistakes. A story like this could make my career overnight."

"If you tell anyone, you'll change the future in ways no one could possibly know," Lilith pressed. "Simanity doesn't figure out time travel until Emit appears in 2060. Even then, no one's saying much about it because it's so dangerous."

"That's why it's been so important to put the component together to catch the time thief," added Felix. "But if we get discovered here by anyone else, or you tell anyone about this, everything we've been though could be for nothing. Will you help us wait out our friend's arrival tomorrow?"

"I can't let you stay here tonight. My son and his governess will be home soon, and I don't know how to explain you to either of them, but I can help you find a room that'll let to unmarried men and women. I do need to work tonight at the Foxbury Jazz Club - why don't you come with me?"

Felix perked up at the mention of the club. "Foxbury Jazz Club was the place to see and be seen in the Roaring Twenties! I went once or twice, but never let anyone see me as a ghost."

"If you stick with Lilith tonight you shouldn't be recognized. Tonight's event's mostly out-of-towners who've come together for the Simlandia Builders' Club gala, and everyone's so well-known, they won't be looking at either of you. My editor wants me to take photos and sniff out content for the gossip page. You two could help me find a story to make up for the one I'm not allowed to tell."

Lilith, a loner at heart, didn't love the idea, but it would probably be a more interesting experience than sleeping on a park bench waiting for Emit to arrive the next morning. "I don't know any of the dances," she said sheepishly, but outgoing Felix grinned.

"I can lead."

"Berries!" said Maude with a grin. "I love the new jazz, and the Foxbury Club is heavenly!"

As they chatted, the front door opened and Maude stood, with a beaming greeting for Bruno and his governess.

"Mama!" Bruno raced into his mother's arms as the governess slipped quietly upstairs. "Mama we went park!"

"Did you have a nice time?"

"We threw rocks at pond!" Bruno laughed while he recounted his morning, looking up with curiosity when he spotted Lilith and Felix. "Who they, Mama?"

"These are friends of mine," said Maude, careful not to name either one. "They're going to work with Mama tonight to help me get a headline!"

"Mama Headline!" he celebrated, half understanding what it meant, but happy enough to join his mother in laughter.

Felix smiled at Maude with her son. He'd wanted children and a family of his own for so long, but he couldn't begrudge Maude for achieving her happy ever after. Not the way he once did.

"Motherhood suits you, Maude. Just as well as your career."

He felt Lilith's hand wrap around his own as they looked back to the portrait, and he wouldn't take for granted how their lives - or second lives - had thrived in recent years. In different timelines.

Felix knew his own happy ever after was just a proposal away. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

FUN FACT: When I was putting together the newspaper, I looked up real history on July 13, 1920 and picked the weirdest piece of real news I could find. On this day in history, the US Postal Service had to ban people sending children through the mail because enough people were actually doing it.

WCIF: Thank you @deardiaryts4 and @matchalovertrait for letting your sims stand as models for the top right photo on the newspaper! I was so, so excited to play with them, you have no idea! And they look so good in some amazing period cc pieces, like Antoinette's La Maison Blanche coat by @javitrulovesims, Flapper Fabulous by Kiara Zurk (Antoinette's headband and Lilith's '20s hairstyle), Chorus Curls by Retro Pixels (Antoinette's hairstyle), Dmitri fashion set by @happylifesims (Antonio's hat), and happylifesims' Blessan jacket with @pleyita's matte trousers (Antonio's suit and Berend's portrait outfit in different swatches).

Lilith is in happylifesims' 1920s Cloche hat and Lady Mary's Day Dress, while Maude wears the 1920s Guest Dress in the family portrait on the wall. In the scene, she's wearing another happylifesims' Cloche hat and Day Dress 03. If you get the urge to set some scenes in the past or throw a costume party, happylifesims has incredible cc from many eras that I can't recommend enough. I couldn't have done any of this without their work.

I used @beto-ae0's Imperial Dynasty posepack for the portrait of Maude, Berend, and Bruno, and Maude and Bruno are posed in the living room with Guess How Much I Love You (Part 1) by @simmerberlin. The Ruggbyrnes' house can be found on the Sims 4 Gallery by JoaoDiBarro, and the Governess was aged up to elder and can be found on the Gallery by NMinnow.

And finally, I did not create Maude. A whole plate of cookies for after Iftari goes @purplesimmer455, who knew it was Maude when she showed up last episode! She guessed that this might be Mimsy, if not Maude - and fun fact - I used a Gallery-submitted version of Mimsy called 'Mimsy Von Haunt Teen Fix' and aged her up. I thought it looked nothing like OG Mimsy, while also resembling her just enough to be a sister (and the sim is beautiful), so Gallery-user mariuopole put up a good one!

I could not have put this installment together without the combined forces of everyone mentioned in one of my longest WCIF postscripts ever. Thank you so much, everyone!

[lilithlounge]

Hi! I saw you answering asks on Lilith placements. If it's possible can you tell me what it means to have Pisces Lilith at 22° in the 9th house? It is conjunct sun and moon, square Pluto and trine my ascendant. (I am a woman btw). Thanks in advance ❤️ have a great day 💐

Hii gorgeous! First of all, I’m obsessed. Second of all, you ARE the fantasy. The line between reality and dreams, you blurred it, sprinkled glitter on it, and walked away. Let’s break this magic down:

Lilith in Pisces 22° – The Mystical Seductress

Lilith in Pisces is like a soft whisper that lingers, hypnotizes, and then disappears, leaving people questioning everything they thought they knew. At 22°, a master number, you carry old soul energy with a knack for navigating dreams, illusions, and spiritual truths. You’re alluring without trying, and people project their wildest fantasies onto you but they have no idea who you really are. In the 9th House, you are the spiritual siren who doesn’t stay put mentally, emotionally, or physically. You crave freedom, higher meaning, and cosmic truth. You can seduce with your mind and attract lovers with your philosophy, your art, or your late-night existential convos. You’re like “let’s make love and then discuss the meaning of life.” Iconic.

Conjunct Sun & Moon, this is the main character energy. Your core identity (Sun) and emotional world (Moon) are infused with Lilith’s wild, untamed energy. You’re someone who won’t be boxed in, controlled, or dimmed, and you naturally disrupt expectations just by existing. People feel both enchanted and unnerved by you. It’s giving “she’s dangerous, but I can’t look away.”

Square Pluto, you scare people a little. Sorry not sorry. You have intense, transformative energy and you don’t do surface-level anything. Your power is magnetic, dark, and healing, but people who aren’t ready to face themselves? They’ll run, trip, and fall. You’ve got karmic attraction vibes. Love feels like fate, obsession, and rebirth.

Trine Ascendant, that’s effortless magnetism. You radiate Lilith. People see it in your aura, the mystery, the allure, the vibe of “I know things and I’ll never tell.” You attract attention effortlessly and don’t have to do a thing just show up and breathe, bestie.

I saaaay that you’re mystical, magnetic, and slightly untouchable. People are drawn in by your energy, but you’re not here to be claimed you’re here to explore, evolve, and inspire awe. Your love life is probably a blend of romantic poetry, psychic dreams, and past-life connections that leave people shook.

Thank you for this divine ask, you’re living in your main character fantasy, and I love that for you. Have the most magical day 💖💐✨.

[thesirenwithnovoice]

Sir, you cleansed my soul with this.

"But Siren, how can you say this artist is great at writing cool women, when he sexualizes them so much?" Ahá, the point is: the labour of developing great female characters doesn't stop when you replace sexualized designs by ones with outfits that covers their bodies. They must have relevant roles and deep, non-stereotyped character constructions too. So for as incongruous as it might sound, it's perfectly possible for an artist do a great job at one of those aspects, yet lack on the other; and to me, that's Mashima's case.

One of the aspects I love the most about Fairy Tail is that it doesn't feel like a "boy's club" in which one or two woman are tolerated, but a manga in which man and woman coexist without hierarchy. Like you said (although we sadly lack in terms of body diversity), we have so many different female characters from all ages and personalities that go beyond the usual stereotypes, and the best part to me: they don't behave like "dream girls" or a prize for the male cast to win through their journey. I would say they simply feel like normal women, each one with their particularities, qualities and flaws.

We have Lucy, this feminine, happy and smart girl that loves reading. She may not be as skilled as her friends in the magic field, but her great hability of reading situations and charisma helps immensely solving puzzles and getting allies through the story (like Brandish, the Spirit King, etc - as you perfectly put into words, things that "add to the story overall");

We have Wendy, to me one of the few young girls I've seen in manga that actually acts her age: a hardworking, shy and respectful kid, despite owning a rare magic power (and that's indeed a great and adorable character);

And we have Elza, an extremely tough and rigorous woman, that holds a very girly side all at the same time; and contrary to what we usually see when it comes to stereotype of "strong female characters", she's also the first in the series to have an explicit love interest. Like you said, after we get to know her, behind the unapproachable facade she shows to the world (what's completely understandable, since we can't expect a warrior and traumatized person to open up to anyone), she's really affectionate with her friends and just as quirky and crazy as the rest of the guild.

And we have Mirajane, Levi, Bisca, Kagura, Porlyusica, and so many others (I confess Cana reminds me a lot of an old friend, that loved drinking, was very friendly and didn't take shit of anyone, heh).

Another cool point I saw someone here mentioning is that there's no female rivalry. The moment Lucy gets the mark, she's part of the guild, and no one is mad about her getting attention or expects her to prove her worth to be accepted - pretty much the opposite, Mira and Elza are there accepting her with open arms (maybe the only one that ever wants to compete for attention is Evergreen, but her behavior is explicit put as something negative, and no one buys her competition).

Do I wish many things were done differently and we didn't have so much cheap fanservice scenes? Everyday, and I'm not exxagerating when I say it hurts my heart to read some scenes. Yet, there are definitely qualities that, as a woman, still makes Fairy Tail SO PLEASURABLE to read to me.

All the love for the Fairy Girls ♡

Fairy Tail’s Female Cast and How It Has Consistently Surprised Me

The title alone should have your head cocked with a raised eyebrow. I mean, this is Fairy Tail where every female character has some form of cleavage and the most unflattering of camera angles (sans Wendy thankfully). How the hell would anybody expect anything aside from paper-thin Moe traits to get all hot and bothered over?

That’s what I thought at first myself. ;)

Now I’m not about to go on about how “revolutionary” Fairy Tail is with its female cast. I haven’t read every Manga published in a Shonen Magazine or seen every Anime based on them. I know my limits. That being said… I will go about how the series doesn’t nearly get enough credit when it comes to the girls.

One thing about the Fairy Tail Guild is that each member has some amount of personal baggage or another that lead them to Makarov and his ideals of family that go beyond blood. What might seem like a barebones archetype with only a few quirks like Gray’s stripping, Elfman’s sense of manhood or Makarov being a wise old coot are but seasonings to the entree. There’s always a reason why.

Continuar lendo

[nadzhosny2]

The Rantings of an Old Soul

Does anyone else feel as if they were born in the wrong era? I do. Constantly. My ways of viewing aspects of life are so categorically different from how society views them, that I feel as if I've been plucked from the past and slammed into the present with no recollection of how I got here. So being the nerd that I am, I decided to do some research into this and see if there is any coherent explanation for it.

Thankfully there was. The term for this feeling is ‘historical nostalgia or vicarious nostalgia’.

Whatever else you can change about your life, one thing you can’t do anything about is the time. If you don’t like where you live, you can move — if you don’t like when you live, well, tough shit.

Complaints about being born in the wrong era come up a lot online, often in the context of decrying modern culture and yearning for bygone days. Whether it’s memes about being misunderstood, lambasting other “kids of today” spending all their time on their phones or endless YouTube comments on Nirvana and Queen videos written by teenagers complaining that music today is bullshit, it’s a common yearning. Also if you don’t know who those two bands are, I am SERIOUSLY judging your music taste and you need to update your playlists IMMEDIATELY.

It should go without saying that almost any one of us, transported back even a few decades, would find the past to be unimaginably awful. Living in the Swinging Sixties or the Roaring Twenties probably sounds awesome — hello flappers and tie-dye shirts! — but it mostly just means foregoing the benefits of a huge amount of life-improving technological and medical breakthroughs as well as civil and women’s rights. You don’t have to go back that far for things to become utterly dire: Life expectancy among the middle classes in Victorian Britain (i.e., the 19th century) was just 45!

The sad thing about this though is that versions of a time period we didn’t live through are often idealised or romanticised, images of a simpler time, before tech dominated our lives, seem to show that people were happier then. Such periods are usually shown in film or other art forms in biased versions by avoiding the unpleasant, even painful, aspects.

But syphilis, tooth decay and dead-before-middle-age thing from the flu aren’t what people fantasise about, of course: It’s the dream of experiencing cultural milestones firsthand, even though the reality is that most people only become aware of the cultural significance of a moment many years later — just try asking the average Italian peasant how enlightened they felt while the Renaissance was actually happening. While Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael and Leonardo were busy creating their masterpieces of art, they wouldn’t come to prominence or even be unveiled until several years later. Also if you thought these people were the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, you need to be hit on the head. With a chair. Shame on you.

Putting all of this aside though, there are some things that used to be so powerful in the past that have utterly lost meaning in today’s world: language, art, music, love, marriage, MANNERS.

As a massive lover of Shakespeare and Homer (no, not Homer Simpson, because sadly that’s the first thing that will pop into people’s minds *HUGE eyeroll*), I developed a love for the older English language; a language that wasn’t spoiled by slang or oversimplified ways of speaking, that spoke in ways that resonated with your soul, using words that perfectly described a situation or a feeling. The language people use now is mostly sullied with cuss words or smut.

The language used to be dignified and elegant, Shakespeare’s sonnets are the prime example of this. The language flows beautifully and while it is drastically different from the way we speak today, the meaning behind the words is powerful. People just don’t talk this way anymore and it's a true loss. With all the trends and challenges that are flying around these days, is it too much to ask to have an Old English trend? Sigh.

Instrumental and classical music is something else that is missing from today’s world that used to be revered in the past. The works of Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, and Chopin have been forgotten and shoved aside in vinyl records somewhere, collecting dust in favour of Ariana, Beyonce, Drake and Post Malone. I remember the first time I ever heard a piece of classical music; I was 13 years old and was visiting a friend at her house, her father had an enormous collection of vinyl records that he had been gathering for 30 years, which he kept in pristine condition in a shelf mounted on the living room wall. His record player, a large, old-fashioned brass gramophone (the man was committed) was in the corner of the room and the most exquisite violin music was playing. I remember just sitting down, right there in the middle of the room, facing the gramophone and listening as the music washed over me, giving me goosebumps as it vibrated through my body. I sat there, not moving a muscle, until the song ended and then dashed to the gramophone to pick up the record sleeve next to it to see which song it was. That was the first time I had ever heard ‘Concerto in Two Violins’ by Bach.

After that day I was hooked, I went down the rabbit hole and started listening to all the classical composers I could find. Fortunately for me, YouTube had an abundance of videos of orchestras from all over the world that were playing the music. As I grew older I found Yanni, a Greek/American composer and pianist who was bringing instrumental music back to the modern world with his concerts all over the globe. His song ‘Nostalgia’ has such a haunting rhythm which is just breathtaking that I always listen to it with my eyes closed.

Just recently I found a duo called 2CELLOS who were doing instrumental versions of modern songs. The blending of the past and the present was so perfect that it was hard to believe and brought me such incomprehensible amounts of joy. Now don’t get me wrong, I'm not decrying today’s music, I'm an avid listener of all genres but there is just a magnificent beauty in the classics and the way it reverberates through the soul that is unmatched.

Finally, the aspect of life that has been butchered the most by modern society is love. “I love you” is a phrase many people tend to throw out into the world, without realising its full impact and repercussions associated with it. The society we live in today loves love, just for the sole idea of it. We lust for the idea of being head over heels in love, so maybe that is why it seems to slip through our tongues so easily. Media exploits love in the sense that it is used as a patch-up for when the going gets tough, used as a way to have someone finally commit fully to you, and has begun to underlie lies and most shamefully, it gets someone into bed. Maybe this is just my perception, but it seems to me that emotions are muted, and are shown through materialistic things rather than our faces. We would rather buy someone a bear over writing love letters or poems.

A love letter was the main way men and women expressed their romantic feelings for each other back in the 19th century. To put all their emotions down on paper, pouring their hearts out so that the others would understand how deeply they felt about them. Something to be cherished and reread over and over until it's dog-eared and ragged. A physical reminder of the love the other had for them.

What happened to courtship? To developing a deep bond to ensure the relationship has a clearly defined direction and it’s going just the right way. When prioritising the mental connection over anything else by getting to know each other, thereby capitalising on emotions was the main reason people got together. How all of this has been twisted in today’s world.

Today’s world is infinitely better in significant ways than it was in the past, there can be no doubt about that. It just needs to remember. These are perils of being an old soul stuck in a modern time that baffles her.

[vaguely-concerned]

walking through lucanis' mind prison. the tam lin of it all

[dammit-tazmuir]

I AM SHAKING but HELLO. Okay. Okay please ALSO consider...

All of this extra saying John can't die, UNLESS Alecto also dies.

"Spray and walk away" could imply either him not being around for the second run (if the death is permanent) OR that he wouldn't be responsible for the second. That he'd just live as a normal person instead of being God, maybe even a mortal one, or that he'd become an even truer Resurrection Beast than he already is and just... wander through the far reaches of space or something, leaving the new world to its own devices.

And "that's why I made the Tomb" followed first and foremost by what could be read as "so I can reliably die when I want to (just not before)."

And then compare THAT to...

Like it's pretty much guaranteed that neither Kiriona nor Ianthe fully know what he's thinking or what he wants, but if there's ANY truth to what he's told Kiriona...

And like, this man is experiencing new levels of rock bottom, with just how much he's personally lost all at once in the last six months + having been fighting and gradually losing this much for this whole myriad with next to nothing to actually show for it and his enemies closer to turning the tide than ever. But it isn't the first time he's been really, really low, either...

And I believe this one. If he'd SAID something like "if she'd just put a bullet in me then and there, I would have thanked her," I'd think he was being hyperbolic or straight up lying. But the fact that he doesn't quite say it here, that he's evasive about it, suggests it's genuine.

Of course we know what she did instead, and that discovery changed everything, at least for the time being. But he's never really been able to fix things, has he? Not in all this time.

He chose punishment of the wicked over protecting the masses and it didn't even work. He's never succeeded at finishing what he started with that. He's known since becoming God that the other RBs were out there, and then the reality was even worse than he anticipated. It still seems likely something really bad will happen if he so much as SETS FOOT in the perimeter of the system. Maybe not something that would actually kill him, but something much worse than just the pursuing RBs just moving toward it, for him to have parked for weeks at the edge (which would still draw them that direction) but not dared to actually cross the border.

He loves Alecto, he needs Alecto, but he fears so many things, and he puts her in a box. To the women we've left behind, does he have to drink to that? Forgiveness not so hard, nor anger so long, said over 9,000 years ago, and now there can be no forgiveness. ("For whom?" For a long time, he did not answer.) He's traveled the face of the universe and poisoned it to match his grief. Now the last of his old friends are gone, the very last lost long ago as far as he'd known, and now turned against him regardless. His partners are gone, and their blood is directly on his hands. Everyone he loved gone or fled. And he's never recovered, not really, not from any of it.

"If we weren't around, I don't know what he'd do." All his prospects now in two baby devotees, one of whom is his newly discovered and already dead adult daughter, who is her own person yet may also be tapped into the same mega-soul he shares with Alecto.

Has her existence changed things? Created a new option that never existed before, or the possibility for one he's willing to take a risk on? Is he trying to play Kiriona to fill that dying role so he doesn't have to after all, or trying to mold her into a true successor so he can leave finishing his work to her and finally be done with it himself? Or has nothing changed, except maybe that now Kiriona dies alongside him and Alecto too?

Whatever the case, it damn sure feels like he's ready to finally put the first draft dream to bed...

John has to die for a Second Resurrection

Okay, I just developed the most insane theory, but I'm sure I found out why John can't resurrect people anymore, (apparently not even his own daughter), but still dreams of The Great Cleaning. The key is to look at the first resurrection and the poem at the very beginning of Nona the Ninth. Warning: if I'm as right with my theory as I hope, it could tell a lot about Alecto the Ninth.

Thing is, and that is what brings me to this post, he obviously *wants* to do it in the future, as @thanergetic-hyperlinks pointed out here. If we look at the poem we'll see that indeed John implies a second resurrection. Let's put this first draft dream of mine to bed. This time will be the time we get it right.

He also mentions this opportunity (resurrection, new beginning) in his talk with Harrow, as if it was a possibility.

But how? And at this point, I can connect two points of which I always wondered how they fit together. The fact that John apparently wants to die ("Lie down beside you; die; and sleep the night") and the fact that he apparently plans to resurrect people (and houses) a second time. But I think I know found the answer.

To resurrect people for the first time (house population) he had to kill eight planets, Pluto and the sun. My point is, he obviously needed a whole fucking lot of thanergy (death energy to do that.) But that sun is gone, where will he get that thanergy this time? I would assume he can't just use random suns because it would produce a new wave of Resurrection Beasts (and because he would surely just do it, if he could.)

And he seemingly (as @dammit-tazmuir pointed out here) wants to kill Dominicus to start over. What else should he mean with "I'll kill the light"? He wants to sweep out his old solar system. But! The interesting thing about the Dominicus system is, that its death would create a great blossom of thanergy without creating any Resurrection Beasts that could become dangerous to him. Because he already controls it. He is the soul of the Dominicus system.

(Okay, I've seen the theory somewhere that in reality Alecto's energy holds Dominicus alive. But Alecto can't do necromancy so I think he is in any case the catalysator. The point is, that the Dominicus system depends on him.)

What would happen if God died? What he held together must fall apart. The solar system he powers would die. All people would die. It would create a gigantic mass of thanergy that he could use to build a new one. What he hasn't done so far because "the cost would be too great". Maybe because his friends were still alive? "When everyone we loved has gone or fled"

And yes, I see you say: "But John claimed he wasn't able to die."

But

It's John. (And it's even ome of his weird answers, where he not really declines something ("I can't die", "I did kill all those guys on purpose"), but merely implies the answer "I didn't get where I am by being able to die", "guys as careful as I don't have accidents")

He himself says in the poem that he will die.

Harrow (last one in the line of tomb keepers says that the tomb would house "the death of the lord")

And I'll go a step further. I think he really can't return to the Houses without dying. In the poem he returns to the Tomb and dies.

And I think it's his plan to do so. Return to the Houses, kill the system, make it clean. Create the big thanergy bloom that's needed for a restart. But... You'll now might say, what use could he have from doing that? He would be dead then!

But a) he doesn't need to stay dead forever, he only needs to do it for a few minutes, so the system can die. (As in HtN demonstrated maybe), and b) what happens to individuals that experience a sudden death in the TLT universe?

Dying would make him the Resurrection Beast of his own solar system.

[scarfurure-main]

I'm gonna reblog this cuz there's some changes!

First of all, I changed the herb x mystic flour cuz it doesn't fit my story anymore. This change only applies to mystic flour cuz I feel like it doesn't suit her.

This is inspired by the fic resolute volition and yes, it's a beast x ancient but it's a good character study of Mystic flour ok 😭😔🙏

Mystic flour, is still well, pale in her body so when she was born in the dark cacao kingdom, she stand out and well, 🔥racism🔥

This will cause mystic flour to belive in her philosophy more, the suffering of all will become an end when the world become flour. She then will heard of dark cacao and well, at 18 years old, she enter it to become a healer, so that she could steal the soul jam. (lil did she know it's gonna heal her instead)

She then entered and become a healer. However due to her talk of turning ppl into flour and pointless stuff, cookies started to avoid her and create rumours abt her. Until, caramel arrow. She was one of the only one who respected her morals, philosophy and didn't create rumour nor treat her like an outcast. Ofc she still doesn't trust her but still,

One day, she was reading a book named "Two Dragons and the King of the Dark Cacao Kingdom the Almighty Dark Warrior Dark Cacao Cookie" yes I copy and paste that shit. Anyway- caramel arrow then revealed the book is the reason she wanted to become a watcher, which intrigued mystic, so she ask for more stuff and caramel arrow cookie reveal that dark cacao is the main reason she wanted to become one, because, let me just-

“King Dark Cacao Cookie read this book to me when I was ten years old,” she began. She didn’t stop even though her voice trembled. “Two months after I lost my family in battle. It felt so… comforting that I could never forget that night. But I don’t think I was listening to the story, I was listening to His Majesty’s voice , instead. He sounded so proud, reading the tale of his olden warrior. And also gentle, as if I could crumble away should he ever raise his voice.”

“I don’t know why he was that kind. I… I actually do, technically. He has a gentle soul, a tender heart. He might look tough and distant, but all of us in this kingdom know very well that… he is a nice person. Everything he does is for the greater good. He bestowed his life for this kingdom just like every other Dark Cacao Warrior did. And I know his loyalty will last forever, countless generations ahead of me will get to taste his beneficence. This is nothing out of the ordinary for him.”

The white cookie remained silent, she didn’t move her lips and patiently waited for the cookie to gather her words.

“I suppose, by not knowing, I meant that I don’t know why he is like that. He went through a lot. And… as you said weeks ago, immortality can turn someone insane. I just… how does he do that? All of that, I mean. That’s so… wonderful. Everything…”

“Like, he has an entire kingdom to take care of. Each decision determines our fates, it must be tough to live with that responsibility. I would never be able to handle such a duty even for a year, and he had been doing this for centuries. He is the leader of our army, the protector of the continent, the one behind each action our kingdom takes, and many more… The responsibilities of an Ancient Cookie, the tolls of possessing a Soul Jam, the traumas of the past…”

“He is simply… too great to be concerned with us. And that wouldn’t be his fault or our shame. I am but a temporary cookie in his eyes, at least, that’s what I’m supposed to be. And everyone else around. The highest ages we can reach should mean nothing to him, he is just that old..! And yet… he spared his time and sat down, read this book, for me only. Because the storm scared me and I couldn’t stop crying.”

“He turned that terrorizing night into the best moment of my whole life. After that, the sound of storms made me feel… serene. Just because he read this book. Just because he let me put my head on his lap. Just because he caressed my hair like my dad used to”

“I don’t know why he did that. But that night shaped the person I am today.”

“I don’t know why.”

Caramel Arrow Cookie’s last words left her speechless. The tranquility she sensed, coming from her head and reaching each corner of her dough blessed her with an ease akin to that serenity she got from storms. It was like the emptiness after penance, so odd but equally freeing.

She didn’t get the opportunity to talk about that night for years, and when she did, it amplified her emotions. Caramel Arrow Cookie was on the verge of crying and couldn’t even feel ashamed. Her hold on the book was firm, she was pressing it onto her chest without realizing. She missed that night so much.

After that, Mystic Flour went and drag caramel arrow with her, saying how she wanted to hear just how "fatherly" his voice is. And then, although confused, dark cacao read the book for them, which almost made caramel arrow cry. She then look at mystic, only to see her looking at her back. It was then that caramel arrow knew, that mystic didn't even wanted to hear the "fatherly" voice in dark cacao, rather, she was simply doing it for caramel arrow.

With crunchy chip, some cookie would say how he and his wolf are street wolves, making him mad and hurt, but mystic would defend him, saying how both of them are from flour and their the same thing. The cookie then wanted to hit her but the cream wolves bit then first lol.

Then after that, crunchy chip would tell the story to ppl in the castle, over exaggerating stuff making ppl cheer very much, Mystic Flour being confused.

After that, in 3rd years she's there, she would notice dark choco and would convince him not to touch it, since it'll only brought more suffering. Then she would scold the shit out of dark cacao it's not even funny. (for dark choco it is tho) and now dark cacao is more open to advice from his son, yay!

She then would be promoted to the grand healer and then there's tittle like "The Fair Lady" and most importantly of all "The Mother of Dark Cacao Kingdom" lol. Basically she would become a mother figure to all of the citizen and then they would heal her with the kindness and more, the one she barely get to witness due to well, it was the olden time, where son is more valuable than daughter.

She then would kinda be an acting consultant because dark cacao trust her judgement cuz well, most of the time she's right, but then she was forced to go into a 2 week vacation by the kingdom, but that's when all hell break loose, such as affogato, the dark cookies, dark cacao paronia which by the way did not align the list she made for him before she go to creme republic, and dark choco getting frustrated with his father cuz he won't listen. After everything was done, dark choco would say that she would scold the heck out him after this, and she did.

Basically, while her philosophy is never broken, it's VERY toned down. Also the relationship between dark cacao and her is platonic, it like mom and dad for the kingdom, except platonic. So yeah! That's all. She works for there 7 years, and also this is her design!

The fucking au cuz I have procrastinated enough lol

Recap, in this au, instead of being sealed in the tree, the witches kill the Beast and reincarnated them, promising them that this time, they'll do better and give them a better life. They also made a spell so that all of them will not meet each other, until a certain point of when they are becoming lesser of the Beast of they are. This also include in the sidekick, but they have a much higher chance meeting, the percentage being higher.

Shadow Milk (this au is inspired by another so I copy some stuff ok) was abt to be reincarnated as a normal cookie, when for some reason, the light of truth feel like trolling and reincarnated him into one of the ancient's twin, Pure Vanilla.

The name change cuz their reincarnated, duh

Silent salt - silent chip cookie

Mystic Flour - Mystic White

Eternal Sugar - Eternal Daisy

Burning Spice - Burning Chili

Shadow Milk - Shadow Vanilla

Shadow Milk

Anyway- At first shadow milk cookie was like 'get me outta here bro nah!!! wtf man I hate this!!!' and tries to kill pure vanilla at first because he's a bit. Insane like that and he doesn't know who the hell this child is 😭😭 he probably thinks he got a second chance from fate or something and is having none of that because he's still salty about being killed

The thing is tho– pure vanilla is scared at first but forgives him and shadow milk is rightfully confused because '????? I tried to kill you????' and he's never seen a cookie so, kind? Simple minded? Before, so he feels weird, and is baffled but ultimately lets it go under the guise of him waiting for a perfect opportunity to strike (spoiler, he doesn't he's actually weirdly touched yet disgusted on how kind pure vanilla is)

HC that their sibling dynamics is still chaotic older twin and kind younger twin, shadow milk cookie still mischievous as hell, same exact personality and vanilla scolds him lightly from time to time, but most times just playfully exasperated

They attend the blueberry yogurt academy together, along with white lily, shadow milk cookie probably puts up a facade towards everyone, a bit silly yet insane at times, the only one who's seen shadow milk cookie with his guard down is pure vanilla cookie, and that's only during the time he almost killed him.

But one day he sees what white lily was researching and, honestly he probably already knows the truth so seeing white Lily research it set off alarm bells in his head, honestly, knowing him he'd probably let her go to the banquet fully knowing what she could learn, but the thing is he's conflicted on pure vanilla learning it too, "he's too- too simple minded for that, he can't learn it ever" (he started caring a bit over the years) so he confronts white Lily and gets her to hide her research from pure vanilla, not without her pressing him for answers too though, he tells her some sparing details.

It's worth noting now that shadow milk got weirdly attached to pure vanilla, but is still planning to regain his powers back, and find out what happened to the rest of the previous ancients.

I feel like he'd stick with PV during his pilgrimage, and finally understand why he was reborn as his twin when pure vanilla recieved the light of truth, at first he was afraid that pure vanilla would spiral like he did but cast his worries aside when he realized that it lacked the engulfing shadows of deceit, "...why am I even caring anyway??" And then he thinks it's laughable, he thinks fate is trying to screw him over by showing him his replacement front and center.

They'd probably um, have a fight?? Idk but it would lead to shadow milk cookie storming off

They part ways until the fight with dark enchantress, he knows FULL WELL who she is and wanted to ask her things but he gets caught in the crossfire instead, pure vanilla spots him as dark enchantress was preparing for her final blow and uses the strength he has left to shield him and shadow milk's like "WGAT THE FUCK" because it's simply, illogical, incomprehensible to him, it reminds him of his past allies- he was left stunned as everything disappeared.

Everything else happens normally, except now the light of truth sticks with shadow milk cookie since they still technically have a connection, and since pure vanilla is temporary unavailable, shadow milk does NOT know how to feel yet, he's still processing everything that happened, definitely has beef with the light of truth tho I think it'd be funny. He also keeps it around because it can see pure vanilla when he can't, and they're now (begrudgingly) working together to wake pure vanilla up

Idk what happened next, since I'm still new to the lore and don't know which place to put this best, but one day smc would find wizard cookie and the gang and yadayada he suddenly remembered that he was a natural at teaching (he was teaching wizard cookie) and he loved teaching but the pressure and negativity that developed centuries later outweigh it and he realises he still love teaching. Don't know where to put in the timeline tho

The other are still developing but here's the idea

Mystic flour

When she was reincarnated, all of her life was simply normal stuff (for now) but then one day she moves to dark cacao, she found herb cookie (pls tell me he lives there-) and meet espresso cookie who remind her way too much abt smc, Pre corrupted and post corrupted. She realises her negligence to every friends she had and swore to apologise to them. (it's a slow burn realisation tho and slow burn accepting she cares and loves her friends). She would also have a slow, SLOW burn with herb cookie, like he confess to her once and she rejected it soo.... Yeah (I don't ship this in the official but I do ship this in the au cuz I can)

Burning Spice

Burning Spice, not much but he's like- bored, BORED. so he went out to travel so that he won't get bored (it barely help) BUT- like izuru form danganronpa, he'll learn that even tho it's boring, GET FUCKING THERAPY. Also in the past life, he's dyslexic but now he's colourblind lol. Also he will meet various cookie like adventurer cookie and rye cookie so yeah

I don't have much for him cuz he's prob the least traumatised/idk how to handle his trauma- so yeah

Silent Salt

Silent salt, also not much (for now cuz he's the 2nd most traumatised cuz WAR) but got free therapy from cream unicorn cookie lol

Eternal Sugar

eternal sugar was simply chilling when kouign amann came and declared her as her mother (I also didn't developed much cuz idk how to progress it, srry)

also not much except a few trauma lol and some panic attacks, phobia of touch and just- yea

The sidekicks cuz there's no way I'll forget them!

black sapphire cookie, i hc him as a run away child and smc save him (before corruption btw) and kinda adopted him, making him very loyal, not to mention he gave him a bit of his life force which is why he doesnt age, so when smc died, he was FUCKING devastated. so when the sidekicks heard the witches voice that they were going to be reincarnated, they immediately went out of their way to find each of their master.

candy apple cookie doesnt care much abt smc, seeing as she barely know him and was technically was raised by black sapphire cookie so yea, she didn't care much abt smc, maybe a bit since smc is still his father and the one created her

cloud hatea would be devastated and would learn how to survive on their own, and when they meet mystic flour, they would hug the shit out of her lol

nutmeg cookie, although VERY respect burning spice, she would scold the heck out of him and would probably cry

My headcanon on why theyre corrupted btw

burning spice: he wanted to feel full, alive, hes going crazy, please, he would do anthing to be alive, to be full... so please..

mystic flour: shes tired. shes so tired. she already fulfilled so many of the wishes, how many more? shes tired.

eternal sugar: she did everything to make them happy. so why is she not? she did everything, even let them use her body to make them happy. elder faerie said she should do everything and that seeing happiness on the other will make you happy, so why is she isnt? she just want eternal sleep. forever. in her eyes, thats a blessing, all of the suffering ending when you sleep forever. so why are they still..?

silent salt: war, murder, weapons, loneliness. is he only a weapon in everybody eyes? hes so lonely... he cant live without his friends, and not like the cookies care anyway, they just like him because hes a weapon, a protecter. how annoying.

shadow milk: all of them r corrupted, ppl always questioning wheter is he worthy or useful, always being in last place, loneliness, no one who could understand him, and now... the reveal that the witches who created them wanted to eat cookies? sure the one who created them decided they didn't want to eat them, being kind enough, but his whole existence were an accident? so all of those suffering, sleepless nights, praying were worthless? so hes always the last one? .....the burden of knowing to much, embrace the lie, his head says. and this time, he'll agree.

Ships:

Cream unicorn x affogato cookie

Purelily

Shadowsalt

Herb x mystic flour

Stormcacao

Knight cookie x black sapphire

Kouign amann x prune x capsaicin

also u can see the favoritism and yes, like i said, i have lore dump u. anyway- it was fun

ANYWAY- the inspiration!

What happened when mystic flour rejected herb cookie

Smc and mystic flour relationship

Just some other inspiration/flashback

What happened when all of them snapped (PRESSURE MENTIONED LOL)

And finally, the au that inspired me the most!

[332-442]

You know what's fucked up? The trauma really doesn't go away.

[toleen-hassouna]

Help me get my life back, achieve my goal, and save the rest of my family

Education, which was young Tulin's passion, now seems like a distant memory, as there is no school, no home, and no safe place. The war has forced us to abandon our dreams and our work. Life as we knew it has stopped, swallowed up by a sea of ​​uncertainty, loss and despair

• My daughter Tulane is a radiant ray of sunshine, bringing joy, warmth and boundless love to everyone she meets. She has been through many health ailments.

• My middle daughter, Wateen, who is five years old, suffered a broken leg as a result of escaping during the aggression against the area surrounding us. Wateen suffers from osteomalacia and poor growth. I hope that this incident will not be repeated and that I will not see anything bad about it

• This is our house, full of our memories and moments of joy and happiness, which has now turned into ruins. His destruction

broke our hearts

Despite the darkness that surrounds us, a ray of hope appears in our hearts - a longing to seek refuge in the embrace of safety, and to find solace in a land untouched by the scourges of war. Egypt beckons to us as a beacon of hope, promising safe haven and the opportunity to rebuild our shattered lives. However, the path to freedom is fraught with obstacles, and we are unable to afford the journey that might lead us to a new beginning.

My family and I are looking forward to evacuating to Egypt, but as you know, a lot of money is needed to pay for the coordination costs in order to cross the border, and we still need money to get the total amount required so that we can travel.

With each passing day, our burdens grow heavier, and our pleas for help become more urgent. We long for the warmth of a safe haven, an opportunity to regain what we have lost and forge a path to a brighter future

My family and I are about to embark on this journey of hope, but we cannot do it alone. Our situation is dire, and we need your support to rebuild our lives and provide a future for our children. Your kindness and generosity can make a big difference. Your contributions will help us provide safe shelter, access to medical care, and the basic necessities of life and we humbly appeal to you, kind souls, to extend your helping hand. Your generosity may pave the way for us to escape this nightmare, and give us a chance to start over

Please, consider helping us during these critical times. Every donation, regardless of size, brings us one step closer to safety, stability and the opportunity to rebuild our lives

With gratitude from the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for every donation, every engagement, and every ounce of compassion you provide to our cause. Your support means more than words can express. Together, we can turn our story of loss into a journey of hope and resilience.

My campaign number is 320

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your concern

My campaign was vetted by ✅90-ghost🫂