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#-> you are not free from your grief but in healing you learn that it's okay; you cherish your grief; it was there with you and for you
kissitbttr · 8 months
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exhale
summary: miguel’s trauma doesn’t stop you from loving him
a/n: fluff and bit of angsty? enjoy!
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the first time you met miguel, you learned that he’s indeed a complicated man. haunted by a trauma that he can’t seem to let go nor move past from and you were okay with that.
you learn to live with his anger and grief that he has to carry everyday. he warned you beforehand that he is a complex being, how you won’t be able to take the amount of ‘burden’ he has weighing on his shoulders because it won’t be fair to you.
but your stubborn self refuses to go. your arms crossed, face forming an annoyed expression as he gave you a long speech about how he doesn’t deserve you. and he hates the fact you had an answer to everything. why were you so keen to loving him despite the flaws he has.
through that, you told him that you were willing to wait until he’s healed. no matter how long it takes.
from that moment, his soul burns for you. his love grows each day because you were indeed patient. luck had been in his favor ever since.
even that one night, where you watched him sit on his chair. watching clips of him and his late daughter ‘gabriella’ being replayed over and over. his expression soured each seconds with tears forming from the corner of his eyes.
who could blame him? grief is one hell of a feeling.
as you stand by the doorway, already in your nightgown getting ready for bed, you softly knock on the door.
“my love, are you coming to bed?”
hearing your soft voice speaks, miguel regains his composure. head craning towards you and you watch how his frown forms into a small smile,
you look like angel. how is it even possible?
“in a second, mi amor. just need to revise a few technical problems that keep happening back at the HQ, i’m sending the reports to Lyla right now” he confirms, eyes looking directly to you.
with a nod, you stride yourself closer to him. taking one good look of his state. and he looks exhausted.
“how are you, baby?” you sound concerned, kneeling down in front of him as you observe the details of his gorgeous features. “you look tired. what is it?”
as your knuckle reach out to thread lightly against his cheekbone, he sighs in contentment. eyes closing momentarily and feel your soft touch.
“nothing” he lies with a smile, grasping your wrist before giving it a kiss,
one thing you hate. you don’t like being lied to. especially by him.
“don’t lie to me, miggy” your tone sounds stern yet still soft. “what is it?”
he contemplates for a while, only finding himself get lost in your beautiful eyes. heart soaring at the sound of your concerns, which makes him feel like the only person he belongs to is you. and he loves the fact that his heart only beats for him and yours for his.
but, there are times where he wonders is it worth it? to drag you into his mess and makes you wait for him to finally break free from the grief that has kept him cages for a long period of time.
is he a good person to you? are you actually meant for him? he doesn’t want to let you go. you’ve become a part of his life and he sees a future with you,
“how could you always tell, cariño?” he breathes a small chuckle. he tends to feel amazed at how well you could read his mind
“you’re my person, miguel… of course i could always tell” you give him a smile, fingers softly running through his hair, earning a sigh from his mouth.
you watch how his eyes move down, gaze empty as he lightly shakes his head. a sob breaks from him and the way he hides himself from you makes your heart torn. because you know what has been occupying his mind,
‘dear god please let me heal him’ you think to yourself
“i just—I miss her— very much” his voice begins to crack, chest heaving as the tears now start to freely roll down his cheeks. “and fuck—lo siento mi amor—this is not…It’s been done too many times now and i—“
“hey no, stop” you hate how he has to say sorry for something he can’t control of. you move your body closer to him, palming his cheek. “you don’t have to apologize. never, miguel. do you hear me?”
“but it isn’t fair to you” he speaks, jumping his eyes back to yours. “it isn’t fair because—“
“what, because we’re married?” your eyebrows raised, seeing him nod with confirmation. “no. that is nonsense. you don’t have to put up this Mr.Tough guy with me. you get that? you can be vulnerable around me. I’m allowing you to be vulnerable around me.”
and it is true. you don’t find him crying is a sign of weakness nor is being tough is some sort of act like manliness. you want him to be comfortable around you because you love him.
“we made a vow to each other, remember?” your hands are cupping his face now, thumb grazing under his eyes. “ ‘through good shit and bad shit—
“ ‘i’ll pick you up when it gets too heavy’ “ he finishes the sentence before you do, remembering the vow you both took the night at your wedding.
his lips pulls into a smile. he remembers how the crowd erupted in laughter at your both silly antics, and how miguel had his hands around your waist and dipped you for a kiss before the revenant could even finish the ‘you may kiss the bride’ speech,
he couldn’t wait to make you his, that’s why he had to do it.
you let out a small laugh, nodding as you find the tears starting to build in the corner of your eyes as well. “that’s right baby.”
both of you gaze into each other’s eyes. millions thoughts of love comes into your minds and hearts, it feels like an eternity watching each other like this but none of you care.
it’s home.
“and i am telling you once again… that you get to exhale now. you get to breathe with me, and i will be there by your side and allow you to express you feelings and be whatever you want to be because you are my husband and i love you.”
he adores how you speak to him. a true poet that you are who manage to give him warmth and closure. things that he has been longing for and he had no idea he would be this lucky.
“i love you most, mi alma” he mirrors your expression before leaning down to kiss you softly on the lips,
lust, happiness, adoration… he’s pouring it all into that kiss.
for the longest time miguel had prayed for an angel, instead he received something better.
he received you.
and nothing could ever compare to that feeling.
-
a/n: fun fact that vow? it was one that my parents took at their wedding night hehe, I’ve consulted with my mom about that. anyways hope u guys love that😚🫶🏻
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evilkitten3 · 2 months
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ok so like i know the reason is just. sexism but one thing that really irks me about how the post-timeskip naruto manga handled which characters became medic nin bc it makes absolutely no sense to me
sakura's decision to train under tsunade makes sense, and i love that she got a super strength power up, so no notes there, but the other teams.... yeesh
so first off, team ten. we're told that ino decided to follow sakura into mednin land to keep being rivals with her... despite that at no point factoring into their rivalry at all beforehand. ino never showed any interest in that, nor was the yamanaka clan ever mentioned to have anything to do with healing as far as i can remember. it's like going to art school to stay with your bestie when your goal is to become a dentist. why are you there. find other ways to spend time together. it also kinda goes against her family's whole thing as. the guys who do the torture stuff. and it's barely ever relevant anyway
for team ten, i think the team medic should've been shikamaru, and i think this not just bc i think it makes more sense skill-wise (something about the way the nara clan's various shadow jutsu work just screams "you need good chakra control for this" to me), but also bc i think it would make asuma's death a thousand times more painful. bc shikamaru is a slacker. he's not learning medical ninjutsu bc he wants to, he's learning it bc someone on the team has to in order to stick together. they're all chuunin now; one of them has to be a medic. them's the rules. but he doesn't really care that much, even when he is trying to learn, and he's so used to being smart enough to not have to pay attention in lessons anyway that he's not prepared for classes that require his full focus. and then asuma dies and shikamaru is doomed to spend the rest of his fucking life wondering if he could've saved him by paying just a little more attention to those medical ninjutsu lessons (he could not have (but he'll never know for sure))
team eight makes some sense, since giving the girl who struggles with fighting the healing job isn't exactly out of nowhere, but i do feel it was the lazy choice. kiba already had a sister involved in the medical business, even if she deals more with animals, so he could've started learning from her and found that he liked it. plus kiba's goal is to be hokage, and the current hokage is a mednin, so it's not like it wouldn't support his goal. or shino could do it; would add another layer to his character. hinata works fine but. it's just not a very interesting development imo
but what really gets me is team gai. good freaking grief. out of every single team, team gai was the one with the most obvious choice. bc there was only one choice. lee can't do any kind of ninjutsu, and tenten's only real backstory is that her chakra control isn't good enough for her to be a medic nin. so it had to be neji. canon establishes that every team has to have a medic; this is a policy tsunade got passed even before she became hokage, so no way in hell is she going back on it now.
moreover, neji becoming a medical ninja - especially if hiashi encouraged it - would show some development for the hyuuga clan maybe starting to suck a bit less. bc as a medic, neji would be bound by oath to stay alive for as long as possible. imagine a world in which hizashi came back and hiashi was able to tell his brother that not only was their family starting to change, but his son had chosen a path that would prevent him from ever following in his father's footsteps. it would be the first step (of many) to show that the hyuuga clan was freeing itself from its own bullshit.
also it would've made sakura catching the zetsu pretending to be neji a thousand times funnier. like that's her coworker. they've shared shifts at the hospital together. she's seen neji drink vodka straight from a bottle and then crash on her couch after they got out of a twelve-hour surgery on the fucking dumbass chuunin who managed to step on his own boobytrap. she knows him.
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celestialtarot11 · 8 days
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Common Cards for Healing in Tarot 🌴🌺
Hi friends! Today we’re looking at different cards you can receive in tarot when it comes to healing + what they mean. As the pisces season wraps up into Aries, I thought this would be suitable!🌹 please like, comment, and reblog to your hearts content! 💗
8 of cups 💨- When tarot drops this absolute banger it’s an indication of leaving or walking away from something we once idolized, or put on a pedestal. It involves discipline, seeing the truth, and grief is associated with this card. Mourning the current circumstances but knowing a better future awaits. It hurts since it’s something we once cared about. Known as the phrase, “grief is love in a heavy coat.”
Judgement 💫- The card of truth despite the ego. A card of tumultuous shifts and changes all leading the reader towards themselves. Something unavoidable, and undeniable. Whatever the reader has been running from will eventually catch up to them. It’s time to shine the light onto what has been hidden. Associated with third eye openings and upgrades. Usually the perception of self and the circumstance shifts heavily.
3 of swords reversed 👻- Releasing the ex, but not always is it related to a person. Releasing baggage in a situation or circumstance, finding inner truth and salvation, resting. Expressing emotional pain with unconditional acceptance and clarity. Journaling frees the mind. Releasing mental control of a situation, because if its out of our hands it deserves to be out of our minds.
The Hermit 🌟- Going on an inner journey to heal and recover. Associated with heavy thinking into the past, being analytical of one self, digging deeper to find out an emotional truth. Being reserved to protect one’s energy and self. Social media breaks and disconnect. Coming out with awareness and understanding that one did not have before.
5 of pentacles reversed 💅🏻- Finding safety and security, repairing situations or finding refuge. Support and protection is offered, and the person feels comforted. Release of heavy baggage and grief. The grief is easier to accept and put down now.
2 of cups 🍵- Therapy and opening up about the past in ways the person may not have done before. Confiding in someone who they are learning to trust. Trying to find themselves in therapy, having a soundboard. If not therapy, meeting like minded people who sees the reader and understands them deeply. Feels safe, trusting, and free.
Queen of cups ☕️- Knowing your emotional truth, having better boundaries this time, and leveling up. Emotional abundance, security and feels at peace with what they created internally.
4 of swords ✨- Mental rest, healing and peace. Meditation to find ease. Trusting the path. Listening to intuition. Taking breaks to reconnect with self. Journaling and brain dumping. Breathing out and feeling calm.
6 of swords 🌹- Emotional abundance, moving on from the past. Moving towards a better future. Releasing stuck or stagnant energy. Transitioning from something painful to the light. Seeing the way out.
The Sun ☀️- Happiness, joy, clarity. Comfort and peace. Feeling carefree and safe to be oneself. Lots of laughter and meaningful moments. Truly connect to oneself.
10 of swords 🗡️- Complete stop, ending of a cycle or circumstance. Usually a lot of guilt or regret is followed by this card, and exhaustion. Mourning over how something went or the choices that were made. Mental unease, overthinking and overwhelming thoughts.
The World 🌴- At one with the universe. Connected to mass consciousness. Moves with awareness and presence, and feels fulfilled inside and out. The ending and beginning of a chapter. New experiences await.
The Tower 🌟- The end of something shaky. Shaky relationship, friendship, circumstance. The falling down to rebuild stronger and better. Now, better choices can be made. There’s room for awareness and improvement.
Death ⌛️- The end of a painful cycle and into the new. Doubts are still present and anxieties. Slowly, the reader will find themselves able to understand those fears and work through them. This card is felt very strongly in a spiritual sense. The endings ripple internally, as it’s not just the death of a circumstance but the ego.
The Star 💨- After the Death comes The Star. Reborn, rebirth, transformation. The hope after all was lost, or what one thought was the case. Reinventing oneself, new patterns, new beliefs, planning manifestations. Planting seeds of success.
Thats all I have for you friends! Enjoy and feel free to like comment and reblog 🌟❤️ Its always appreciated! Your support means a lot to me.
Paid Readings 🍵💫
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merakiui · 1 year
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thinking fluffy thoughts about scaramouche.
When Nahida approaches you with a puppet, who drags his feet alongside her and looks like he’d rather shrivel than be here in this moment, she introduces him with an arsenal of aliases: a false god, the Balladeer, formerly Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, Kunikuzushi (a name he reacts to with a poorly concealed grimace). You’re delighted to meet him, offering him a friendly smile and a kind, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Scaramouche does not share your enthusiasm and only scoffs under his breath while Nahida happily informs him that you will act as guidance in his recovery. It’s up to you to help Scaramouche work through his emotions, sifting through past experiences and slivers of himself he’s buried so that he can heal emotionally. He’s in a poor physical state, bandaged all over in a way that’s reminiscent of mummification. 
Nahida tells Scaramouche that he’s in good hands, and to that he scoffs again. How good could a pair of human hands possibly be? But he’s promised her that he’ll try to improve. This is part of his punishment, as much as he hates to think of it as such. Nahida has suggested he call it ‘taking a break from unhealthy coping mechanisms’ or, in simpler terms, a ‘vacation.’ Scaramouche rolls his eyes at such foolishness, but he follows you as you lead him to a clearing in the forest, a place surrounded with nature so vibrantly lush it practically breathes alongside him. He’d complain, but he finds that this view is much more freeing than a dreary hospital room. 
An empty table with two chairs awaits the both of you, and you gesture for him to sit. Scaramouche lowers into the seat with a frown. He’s not sure what you’re meant to do—what guidance you’re meant to impart—or if this meeting is even going to help him at all, but he remains because he has to. Because he promised he’d do better. He was a fool to make another promise, but this time it will be he who keeps it. It’s he who controls whether or not he breaks it. 
“How do you feel?” you ask, your eyes never leaving his.
Scaramouche can practically feel the way you dissect him, picking apart his body language with a keen pair of observer’s eyes, but, strangely enough, your stare isn’t unnerving. It softens when it analyzes him from where you sit, body angled directly at him. You’re listening, truly listening, and he’s never found himself in a civil conversation where his well-being is the subject. It’s...not a terrible thing, he realizes. 
Still, his lips curl into a nasty sneer when he replies, “Like death.”
“I assure you death feels much worse.”
“You don’t know how I feel,” he snaps. “Don’t tell me there’s a worse feeling than this.” He gestures to nothing in particular, huffing loudly. 
“Then, tell me, what does death feel like to you?”
He hesitates. What does death feel like? Is it anything like the panicked desperation that clawed his throat to ribbons when he watched Nahida take his heart? Was it the grief that overcame him in his past when each of his relationships met poor ends? Was it the emptiness he felt soon after the Gnosis was taken, where he fell from the husk of a robot, alone once again? Was it the world of pain and sorrow he awoke to in the aftermath, where Nahida had sat at his bedside and welcomed him into the world? Not as the false god, but as someone else. A clean slate. A fresh page in a book with a stiff, unbroken spine. Morning dew on tiny sprouts—whatever that’s supposed to mean; he’s learned that Nahida has an affinity for unique metaphors. 
Scaramouche has yet to realize he’s been sharing all of these thoughts, letting everything fall in a torrent of anguished questions. He’s confused and hurt. He’s lonely and sad, but he’s not sure what the direct cause for all of this sadness is. He’s frustrated and alone. He’s ashamed. He’s...many things. He feels like he should hollow himself with a spoon so that he can stop feeling these horrid emotions, and as soon as he feels an oncoming onslaught of tears paired with a wavering voice he clamps his mouth shut and forces himself to look away. 
You’re nodding at him and he has no clue what that’s meant to symbolize. What’s the point of this anyway? Is he supposed to split himself open for your enjoyment? This punishment feels more like death than anything else right now. 
“You can cry,” you suggest and he scowls. “Crying helps. It’s not good to pack your feelings away. I think—and correct me if I’m wrong—you’ve put everything in coffins, sealed them tight, and allowed them to remain buried for years. And it worked for a while because they weren’t so stuffed. But now that you’ve nailed them shut over and over after filling them to the brim, things are bound to start overflowing. That’s what happened when you attempted to become a god, right? Some things broke free and you ran out of nails, and when a few nails came loose so did each panel holding those coffins together. And it became impossible to shove everything back down because it overwhelmed you and you didn’t know how to handle that.”
Scaramouche stares at you. He has half a mind to keep his jaw tightened, lest it slacken and reveal his astonishment. How did you get all of that from his rant? What sort of foul magic is this? Are you a Vision wielder? He can’t see one on your person. If you can’t manipulate an element, then how did you peer inside his head? Are you secretly a god? His guard raises at once, walls building faster than he can produce a retort. 
“That’s not true,” he lies. “You’re wrong.”
You consider your next words with great care. He can tell because you hum lowly, a soothing sound that lessens the tension in his shoulders, and you retreat into your head momentarily. Scaramouche should get up and leave. He shouldn’t sit before a mere mortal and listen to such ghastly accusations! But he remains because he doesn’t want to be alone. Because he’s not sure he could live another moment in solitude with his thoughts. Because, despite everything that happened, he craves a genuine connection. 
“Before we move forward, what would you like me to call you? You have many names, but I’m certain some of them carry more pain than others.” 
Scaramouche frowns. You’re right. Again.
“You may call me...” He pauses, reflects briefly on each title he’s ever owned, and eventually says, “The Balladeer.”
A pleasant smile crawls onto your face. Scaramouche doesn’t trust it. Not one bit. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Balladeer. I look forward to working with you.”
He can’t say the same. 
- - -
If Scaramouche thought he’d suffered enough misery throughout his existence, then this is just a cruel joke. Over the course of a few months, he’s spilled his emotional guts (slowly but surely) and you’ve read him like a book each time. He tries to be deceptive—to protect what’s left of his pride and dignity—but you see through that as well, and so now he just grumbles in his chair, his arms folded tightly around himself in his version of a self-assuring embrace. Nahida lied; this is far from a vacation. This is torture.
But you’re patient, and you don’t ridicule him when he falters and tears gather in his eyes. You validate his feelings. You tell him that it’s okay to react in these ways. His actions back then may not have been morally correct, but that was all he knew. It was all he thought to do because that was what guaranteed survival. 
Scaramouche learns more about himself during these sessions than he ever thought he would. At some point, he stops viewing it with contempt and begins to look forward to the weekly meetings. He likes talking to you. Of course you should also feel honored to talk to him! He’s only speaking to you because he must. Because of his promise to Nahida. That’s all this is, so don’t get it twisted!
But that’s a poor lie. He likes you, and when Scaramouche likes something he treasures it.
When asked how he copes, Scaramouche could only offer a halfhearted shrug. How does one cope with so many emotions—with so much trauma? How is coping even possible? Is someone like him able to cope?
“Have you tried writing?”
“I know how to write,” he had snapped, furrowing his brow. You’ve gotten rather bold in the time that he’s known you.
“Writing creatively,” you corrected with that calm smile he’s begun to see in his dreams. “Poetry. Fiction. Even writing words on paper and destroying it is a creative outlet.”
“What good will that do?”
“A world of good if you allow it to do so. Think of it like...the sun. Everything requires sunlight. It helps us stay warm. It helps plants grow. All of this life around you was fostered under countless days and nights of moonlight and sunlight. There were rainstorms in between all of that, but even so these plants are far from complete. They’re still growing. Some are even healing.” You’d gestured in the distance, towards a Withering Zone that had recently recovered thanks to diligent forest rangers, and smiled at him. “You are that forest and writing could be your sun.”
“My sun...” He gazed skywards and pinched that ball of blinding light between his thumb and forefinger. “My sun...”
“You can write about anything. Your troubles. Good things that happened in a single day. Your favorite hobbies. Sights you see on your walks. It might feel like a chore if you force yourself, but writing can be very therapeutic if you let it.”
“What if I’ve already found my sun?”
You had blinked at him, partially surprised, before nodding encouragingly. “That’s good. Let that sun, whatever it may be, brighten your life. Let it heal you. But don’t rely too heavily on it. You have to put in effort, too.”
“Do you think my sun would think of me as a sun?” As soon as he had phrased it, he’d felt childish. Small. Insignificant. Like that discarded puppet who was cast aside for being too weak. Like Kunikuzushi.
The look in your eyes betrayed your thoughts. So his sun is not inanimate. “I’m certain your sun considers you the sky who cradles them.”
The sky... How laughable.
And yet so very meaningful.
Scaramouche sketched a cumulus-spotted sky with a bright, beautiful sun. He wrote a haiku on the back of the parchment. You can see the ink stains on his hands when he brings it to you outside of your usual meeting time. 
“Read this,” he tells you, thrusting it at you like it’s something he wishes to discard immediately. “And...” He clears his throat, averting eye contact. “And tell me what you think.”
And so you do as you were told. 
Vibrant break of day
A sweet, little sun rises
Over a rice bowl
“It’s very...you.”
“What does that mean?”
“I like it. It reminds me of you, little sun.”
“I’m not the little sun.” He huffs and snatches it from you, turning it over so you can view the accompanying drawing. What you assumed was just a speck of misplaced color is a petite bowl backdropped by an azure sky of pastel water colors. “I’m the rice bowl.”
“Is there a reason you’ve chosen to depict yourself as a rice bowl? And is this bowl empty or filled?”
“Empty...” he says slowly, as if considering the word. “But only because the sun will soon fill it once it rises. It’s as you’ve said. Sunlight grows and heals, and when it fills the bowl it gives it its shine. It gives it life.”
It fills me with life.
For once, you look speechless and that sparks both anxiety and pride in Scaramouche. It’s his turn to impress you with his intellect and yet doing so comes at the cost of scrutiny. He almost fears your response. The very thought of that would have seemed an insult to his past self. No mortal has ever struck fear in him—in Scaramouche! The ex-Fatui Harbinger Scaramouche. But he doesn’t want to lose you. He doesn’t want to ruin what he has, and so he awaits your answer with bated breath. He doesn’t have to wait long, for when you speak next your tone is wonderfully tender.
“Your sun must be very special.”
Scaramouche finds himself nodding in agreement. “Very special indeed,” he mutters and a small, secret smile grows on his lips. You’re so vibrant. You’re the sun to his moon. “My sun is the reason my bowl is repaired.” As if recalling something else, Scaramouche perks up. “Perhaps you’ve heard of the Inazuman art of kintsugi?”
“I believe I’ve overheard a few scholars discuss it before. If I’m not mistaken, it’s when something that was once broken is repaired with gold.”
He nods and adds in a soft voice, “My sun is the gold that fills in every crack in my rice bowl.”
“That’s beautiful...”
His head snaps over to you. No one has ever used that adjective to describe his work. He’s only ever produced despair, hatred, malice. He’s only ever hurt others with his hands. He’s never created a miracle, love, hope. He is the catastrophe that swallows the helpless plant. He is calamitous, ruthless, and heartless. 
But he feels like he can finally use his hands—this body—for good.
“Spare me of the flattery if my comparisons are foolish,” he grumbles, cheeks flaring with color. “I’m not an artist.”
“And yet you’ve made art.”
You grin at him, playfully casual in nature, and Scaramouche can feel himself falling even further. He wants to be the sky that protects that smile. The sky that holds the sun up. 
For the first time since his creation, Scaramouche has found a new meaning to his existence—one that is not fueled by the vicious need for power and control.
- - -
Weekly meetings have become monthly now. Scaramouche’s mentality has improved and he seems so much happier. He manages his emotions well, and he indulges in the creative process to comprehend certain feelings. He’s getting better at expressing himself, and when he struggles he discusses it with you and you listen and provide advice as you usually do. He’s grown to trust and value you and the friendship you provide. He writes about his precious sun—a sun you’ve yet to meet. That is something Scaramouche keeps hidden from you and when you try to pry he shuts himself away and grows defensive. 
He’s begun to travel. It started as small trips outside of the city borders and it gradually grew into week-long excursions. He always finds a souvenir for you. He never forgets you. He always, always returns to his home in the city. To his sun. To his heart. Scaramouche huffs if you tease him about his generosity. “Either take it or I’ll gift it to the fish in the river,” he tells you, glaring impatiently. There’s a shelf in your home that’s filled with the trinkets he’s gotten you. Little pieces of his travels. You suspect you’ll need another shelf as the current one is running out of space. 
But you’re more than happy to accept his gifts. It’s sweet that he would think of you even when he’s so far from you. Last month he brought up wanting to travel to Mondstadt once more. You had found the idea simply delightful and had encouraged him to make lots of memories. Scaramouche, his resolve cracking, invited you along for the journey and you’d smiled a sad, distant sort of smile.
“I would love to,” you had admitted, “but I need to stay in Sumeru. I have other clients outside of you and I can’t take a vacation at the moment. But next time I’ll come with you.”
“Is that a promise?” he challenged with a smirk.
“It’s more than a promise, Balladeer.” You slid a bracelet off of your wrist. A dozen suns have been carved into the metal, and when it caught the light it winked at him. You held it out to him. “It’s a vow.”
Scaramouche stared at the bracelet in his palms. This is the first time he’s ever made a vow which, arguably, is far more special than a promise. 
- - -
When Scaramouche visits you, it has been a full year since he first started working with you. Like a bird drawn to its nest, he returns, waiting at your doorstep with stories of his most recent travels on the tip of his tongue. This time, however, there’s something different about him. His attire has changed and there’s a pretty Anemo Vision over where his heart would be if he were human. Your eyes widen at the sight. 
“Look at you!” you exclaim, pulling him into the comforting warmth of your home. It’s humble and cozy; Scaramouche prefers this to any inn he’s ever stayed at. He likes it because it smells pleasantly of delicious cooking and when he lingers in the sitting room he can wrap himself in the scent. “You’ve got a Vision!”
“Of course I do,” he replies, puffing his chest out, a proud smirk settling on his face. You admire it fondly. “I’d get one sooner or later, even if I had to pry it from a god’s hands.”
You glance at him sharply and he rolls his eyes.
“Pardon me. I would politely ask for it,” he teases, and you chuckle. 
“That’s better.” You disappear into the kitchen for a moment and when you return you’re carrying a plate of sweets and a pot of tea with accompanying cups. “Make yourself comfortable. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
And he does just that, his fingers tracing the bracelet around his wrist. When you sit across from him, an eager smile adorning your lovely face, he’s overwhelmed with adoration. His sun has always shone brightly, but they’re the brightest when pure happiness scrawls itself on their features. 
"You haven’t forgotten our vow, have you?” he asks while you fill the cups with fragrant, herbal tea. 
“I’d never!”
“Good.” He’s smirking yet again, as boastful as ever. “I’d have to politely remind you if you forgot.” As a cheeky afterthought, he adds, “Little sun.”
You laugh, but the sound sticks in your throat. “L-Little sun?”
Scaramouche hesitates for a moment before reaching for your hand. “Can I...call you that?”
Your nod is too quick, but it eases his nerves. The tension in his posture dissipates and his confidence reignites. 
“But only if you’ll call me something else. Otherwise you won’t be my little sun. You’ll be my very big, tiresome burden.”
“Like what? I’d never want to burden you, so please tell me what you’d prefer.” 
His fingers interlace with yours. You gaze into his indigo hues. “Wanderer.”
No longer The Balladeer. No longer Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers. No longer Kunikuzushi. These names are his coffins—coffins he’s dug up and learned to accept. And going forward he won’t bury anything anymore. From now on, he’ll wander the world and unearth all that it has to offer, and he hopes that his little sun will join him. Until then, the vow will stay with him in the form of a cherished bracelet.
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Breakdown [Isekai!Reader + (Legend x Marin)] (Part 3)
Everything has a price, and you're about to be reminded of that.
The indulgence is real.
Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4
Masterlist
TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.
Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.
---
Nothing in life is free. Money, time, sweat, blood, tears, everything costs something. Equivalent exchange, as it were, though the rates of such things are not for mortals to decide.
Sitting across from Time, propped upright only by the assistance of multiple pillows at your back and neck, you were learning the cost of bringing a dream to life.
Fat. Skin. Flesh.
Looking down at the hands folded on your lap, it didn't seem real. They didn't look like your hands. Just days ago, you were hale and healthy. Fit even, after having spent months traveling with an enforced all natural diet.
But now, stripped of fat and flesh, patches of new and raw skin healing in discolored stripes, the weight of the consequences was coming down on your thin (too thin) shoulders. Looking into Time's eye, you could see the veiled grief, the quiet acknowledgement of loss.
You didn't like it. He didn't deserve to shoulder this burden you'd brought into the world. It wasn't his to bear and he damned well wasn't going to take responsibility where it isn't due.
You needed him to let you see Marin. But for that to happen, he needed to feel secure in your soundness of will. He needed to understand that just because you took responsibility for your actions, did not make you a damned martyr. You weren't them. You weren't his boys.
You weren't him. And Marin was not his problem. The ramifications of her existence was yours.
"I'd do it again." You said, keeping eye contact with the man, willing him to hear, to see, the conviction in every part of you. "This is not your burden, Time. I made a choice, fully understanding that I did not know the cost. And I stand by it."
You wanted to grab his shoulders. To shake the sorrows of loss and heroism from his silent gaze. To take that great weight from his shoulders. A weight he seemed so willing to grow with each lash of the heart, like the god-damned self-sacrificing idiot he was made to be.
This world should have let him retire when he put that sword back to the stone. He'd already paid his dues. Twice over. Thrice. They all had. These selfless, courageous boys without a thread of self-preservation between the lot of them.
They will take no more burdens upon themselves, if you can help it.
Time held your gaze, seemingly unmoved but for the gradual easing of his shoulders. You pushed your advantage, sensing the weakening of his own resolve. "This was my choice. I made it willingly."
His eye shifted, searching for weakness in your own resolve. You were tempted to straighten your back and feign strength you didn't possess, but decided against it. This was not the time for false bravo.
But still, you refused to give an inch. "I don't regret it."
"You may never walk again." Time said mildly, trying to get a rise from you with his blase tone. To pull forth resentment that did not exist. Marin was not deserving of your wrath for this, and the one's who were were well out of reach.
You'd simply have to accept that. One day.
"That will make traveling difficult. I apologize for the inconvenience. I'll do my best to recover quickly." You said back just as mildly.
His brow twitched at the blatant jab, but he kept his cool admirably. "See that you do." He tilted his head, still searching. Prepared to push even more. "The others would be very upset if you had to stay behind."
"But not you?" You countered, redirecting the implications behind his words.
He didn't bite. "Wind misses you."
It was a low blow, and you were sure the unimpressed blink you leveled at the man was evident enough of your judgement. He didn't back down though, instead meeting your stare evenly with his one eye.
You smiled, pushing through it, determined still in the face of his stubbornness. "I'd imagine not as much as Marin." His face was carefully neutral, and you knew you had him cornered.
"No." He said, face falling into it's usual serious frown. Or, more accurately, his newest mask.
You frowned back, narrowing your eyes at him. "I'm within my rights to see the woman I dragged into this world. So, unless she told you otherwise I'd like to see her myself." You told him plainly, knowing his answer. It's been what Sky had told you, what Four had told you. You'd yet to corner Hyrule or Twilight yet, their sixth sense pinpointing your predatory interest before you could ambush them.
Damned survival instincts. You couldn't help but admire them, despite the inconvenience.
"The situation is complicated."
"Then uncomplicate it for me, Time. I can't just abandon her after what I did." You bulldozed through, knowing that this was the man you needed to convince. Not Sky, not Four, not any of them. Just this one.
His face went neutral again, and you wanted to soften, wanted to ease back and let the man just be. You couldn't though, even if it hurt you to pick at his own insecurities.
You didn't want to hurt him, but you'd prefer this old pain to settle upon his heart like a worn jacket then to allow this new ache to wear blisters into his skin. It was your burden. He didn't need another scar across his weary soul.
He closed his eye, leaned back heavily into the chair and sighed deeply. Progress. You were wearing him down, slowly but inevitably. He couldn't keep Marin and you apart forever, no matter how hard he tried. But, for him to concede would be for him to relinquish ownership of responsibility.
You needed him to let go.
Finally, he spoke. "When you pulled her through the portal, she was only half formed. You both were." You had- not known that. No one had had the heart to tell you, it seemed.
Your voice nearly trembled. "Marin-"
"She lives." He grit his teeth subtly, pushing forward with forced evenness. "Hyrule managed to stabilize her, and Sky used a fairy on you. Unfortunately, she could only do so much for such extensive damage."
You nod, glancing down at your rail thin arms laying crossed upon the blanket before looking back to Time's gaze. He had been looking too, eye brimming with compassion and frustration both.
"We initially tried to keep you together, as you both seemed to take comfort from each other's presence." His frown deepened. "However, we quickly realized that was infeasible. Whatever had been happening before you exited the portal progressed further after prolonged contact."
He leaned forward, narrowing his eye and you tightened your grip on the blanket with weakly shaking hands. You'd barely the strength to keep the bunched fabric between your fingers. The weight of his stare nearly made you falter, but you held his gaze.
"She began cannibalizing your body, to continue building her own. We moved her to another room shortly after. She's still unconscious, though stable at the moment."
Your heart dropped, the heavy weight of realization bearing down on you with harsh clarity. "That's why you've been keeping Legend away, and you're keeping Four, Sky and Twilight at my side." Your hands shook harder. Your heart squeezed in your chest like a cold vice. "It's why Hyrule's not allowed to be alone with me."
The dark look that settled on Time's expression said everything you need to know. A quiet admission of choice.
"Ah." You huffed, mirthless. Your heart was shaking. "I've caused you unnecessary conflict." You grit your teeth, and bowed you head. "I am sorry, Link. For the hurt I have caused you and the others."
Tears nearly fell from your eyes as emotion gripped you, but you held them in with steadfast resolve. This was not the time, nor the place. Especially not now.
The goal remains unchanged, but now the stakes are higher than ever. The consequences of failure unfathomable. You could not falter. You could not afford to lose this battle.
"I accept the consequences. I will fix what I have broken. Please, take me to her." You said, determination rising forth like fire in your eyes, your expression, your whole being. Overcome with purpose so powerful it boiled hot in your marrow. "Let me see them."
You could see the moment he broke.
He nodded, the weight of years on his shoulders. "Okay."
---
Time carried you through the halls of the house, arms strong and unmovable under your diminished form. Whose house this belonged to you couldn't say, but it felt safe and warm, colored walls and thick carpet ripe with the comforting feeling of home.
A flash of color stole your attention and you managed to catch a glimpse of curling brown and forest green before it disappeared around the corner. The absence of footsteps gave name to the elusive figure, and another piece of your heart crumbled.
Hyrule. Maintaining vigilance over you in the only way he could (that Time would allow). Torn between his need to help, and his loyalty to Legend. Too sweet to push, too pragmatic to yeild. Caught in the tragedy of sacrifice, the curse and blessing both of his blood.
You had so much to atone for. So much hurt to mend.
You turned your head, pressing the side of your face to Time's collarbone. You whispered. "I'll fix this, Link." Your hand fisted weakly into his shirt, trying to imbue the strength of your will into the contact. "Thank you for protecting me."
His arms tightened around you, the movement so miniscule it was barely the tensing of muscles against your thin body. But to you, it was a pact, the promise of protection of the highest degree. A vow made in the shedding of blood.
You realized once more, that you would never leave this world. These men. This bond that had finally looped it's chains around you, anchored itself into your soul.
Your fate was sealed the moment you shed blood for them.
No. From the moment Wind had curled his hands around your fingers to encase a rupee. From the moment Wild had left the bright firelight of their camp to bring you supper. From the moment Wolfie had curled beside you, shielding you from the icy wind as pride kept you from the warmth of shared company.
There truly was no going back. There never had been. Not for you. Not for them.
What a fool you'd been.
What a God-damned prideful fool. To think you wouldn't fall in love with these perfectly imperfect men. These bleeding hearts, these righteous idiots.
You tightened your jaw, closed your eyes and breathed.
'I'm sorry, Legend. I'll be there soon. I'll fix this. No matter what it takes. I promise.'
---
I return to the shadows once more.
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morning-star-joy · 10 months
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speak to me until your history's no mystery to me
a stranger's heart without a home Chapter 15
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Pairing: friends with benefits Joel x F!Reader, Post-Outbreak
Chapter Summary: Tommy approaches you about an idea for Joel's birthday, and you have to distract the man by getting drinks while your friends prepare for a surprise birthday party. When the night winds down, you and Joel share a peaceful moment where you open up to each other more than ever before.
Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Death (Reader's younger sister and Sarah), Grief/Depression with some Catharsis/Healing, Mentions of Sexual Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Alcohol Use (including Underage Alcohol Use but they are supervised by Responsible Adults), Language
A/N: We're caught up to ao3 now! New chapters will be posted here on the weekends when I update on ao3. Ty guys for all the notes, asks, kudos, and comments!!! Words can't describe how grateful I am for the support! I hope you all have an amazing week and I'll see you for Chapter 16, most likely on Saturday!!
Wordcount: 13.1k
chapter 1 || chapter 14 || chapter 15 || masterlist
ao3 link
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“I have an idea.”
You pause in your actions, the rattle shaking in your hand stopping as you glanced up from the crib to Tommy’s face next to you.
“No.”
“What?” Tommy asked, baffled at how you already turned him down. “I haven’t even told you yet!”
“I don’t like it,” you said plainly, looking back down at Hope as you began to shake the rattle for her again, much to the baby’s apparent glee judging by her increased babbles.
“But I haven’t even—”
“Or your face,” you added, raising your free hand to point at the stupid, smug Miller look he still had on, and he glared playfully at you.
“Now, that’s just uncalled for,” Tommy drawled, his smooth Southern accent blanketing the words, and you rolled your eyes as you realized the sound of it meant he was laying on the charm thick.
“You think you can work that good Southern boy charm on me, Tommy Miller?” you scoffed, giving him a look of mock disapproval. “You grossly overestimate your ability.”
“Nah, I just grossly underestimate your ability to call my bullshit from a mile away,” he sighed as he crossed his arms, leaning them on the top of the crib to smile down at his daughter, and you can’t help but snort at his remark.
“Seems like you’re finally learning. Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks,” you teased with a cheeky grin, satisfied with the glare Tommy fixed you with.
“Fu—”
“The child!” you interrupted him with a fake gasp, and Tommy rolled his eyes, even as he couldn’t stop a chuckle at your mock offense to his colorful vocabulary.
“She doesn’t even know what’s going on,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, before his expression melts further when his daughter laughs at your continued shaking of the rattle. “She likes you, though.”
“She likes her rattle,” you brush the compliment off with another shake of the toy, unable to help your own small, fond smile as she laughs brightly again.
You saw Tommy roll his eyes at you from the corner of your eye, but he didn’t say anything further on the subject.
“So, you really ain’t gonna let me tell you my grand idea?”
You sighed heavily, pulling the rattle out of the crib when Hope’s eyes began to droop, a sign that a nap time was approaching.
“Well I know you won’t shut up about it if I don’t,” you reply as you move to set the toy down on the dresser. “So tell me your brilliant idea, oh mastermind Tommy Miller.”
Tommy winced at that, leaning back on the balls of his feet.
“Alright, I like it better when you’re bruising my ego, not inflating it,” he said, and you laughed while you followed him out of the nursery.
“Come on,” you tease, gently smacking him in the chest as you walk to the stairs together. “Now I’m actually curious.”
“Because you like what you can’t have,” he teased, and you let out a disbelieving scoff, even as the words hit a little too close to home. Especially as he added, “Okay, so, Joel’s birthday is coming up.”
The mention of him directly after that previous comment threw you off a bit too much, your foot hovering in the air for a moment as you recollected yourself before you finished descending the staircase.
“How soon exactly is ‘coming up’?” you asked with an inquisitive arch of your brow, trying to not let it show that the topic had actually piqued your curiosity.
“Friday,” he said flatly, and you scoffed.
“Tommy, that’s in three days.” You set your hands on your hips, your other eyebrow raising to join the first as you glanced over him. “Whatever you’re planning for him, it better come together quick.”
“Well, see,” Tommy said slowly with a grin, and you began to shake your head, already knowing where this was going.
“No—”
“That’s where you come in—”
“No, Tommy—”
“All you gotta do is distract him for a bit—”
“Tommy—”
“Take him out for a drink or something, it wouldn’t kill you,” Tommy continued to delve into his great big plan for Joel’s birthday, despite your protests, and you threw your hands up in the air with a defeated sigh when you realized he wouldn’t stop explaining it now, “so then Ellie and I can get the house all decorated—”
“Your house?”
“Your house.”
“Tommy!” you exclaimed, eyes wide with genuine shock. ”What the fuck—my house?”
“He’ll never expect it,” Tommy replied as if the answer was obvious, his tone as cheeky as the grin on his face.
“He’ll never come,” you try to convince him, even if you were the only one who knew that wasn’t exactly true. “Tommy, seriously, Joel and I—”
“Got some real bonding time in,” Tommy interrupted, arching a brow at you as he moved into the living room to flop back onto the couch. “Remember? Said it yourself.”
You paused, taken aback as he flung the words you had spoken after you and Joel had been in the nursery back in your face.
“I mean, we—”
“Are getting along better than you used to,” Tommy said with a smile that turned from cocky to kind, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’ve noticed.”
Your body stiffened at the observation, but you tried to cover it up by collapsing onto the couch next to him. Dropping your head back onto the cushions, you stared at the ceiling, wondering just how you had gotten into this kind of conversation with Tommy.
Maybe you were the one who had underestimated him.
You resisted the urge to shift or look over to try and read his face. Instead, you kept staring at the ceiling, waiting for him to say something.
But it seemed like your friend was also waiting for you to say something, and you fell into an uneasy game of trying to wait the other person out, to get them to talk first.
At least, it was uneasy for you.
When you finally gave in and looked over at Tommy, he looked downright fucking thrilled.
Those fucking Miller brothers, you thought with a roll of your eyes before straightening.
“Yeah, okay,” you admitted, tossing your hands in the air like you were giving up. “Fine, Joel and I are…friendly.”
“Fucking finally!” Tommy exclaimed with a wide grin that lit up his dark eyes like stars in the night sky, and you sighed, unable to stay mad at the sight of his happiness. “Told you that you’d get along! God, you’re both so fucking stubborn. Why didn’t you just admit it?”
You shrugged, crossing your arms as you turned away from him again.
It wasn’t often that you felt guilty about the second rule of your arrangement with Joel, but in the face of Tommy’s glee at the revelation that you were friends with his brother now…
You did feel a bit ashamed.
“Because—” you paused, realizing that the conversation was beginning to sound dangerously close to the one in your kitchen, when Tommy was interrogating you about who you had been fucking.
You shifted, your arms tightening across your chest, ignoring the confused glance Tommy sent you at your sudden hesitation.
“Because we thought it’d be fun to fuck with you.” The lie came out easy, and that guilt grew a bit deeper in your stomach, even as Tommy let out a loud guffaw, finding the fake revelation entertaining.
“Fuck you guys,” Tommy sighed, though the words were affectionate as he shook his head at you. “Goddammit, wait, you two might be a couple of menaces together. I don’t think this was a—”
“Too late now!” you interrupted cheerfully, pushing yourself to your feet to pace away from your friend. “So, what, I just gotta distract him for a bit, then bring him back, right? You’ll take care of the rest?”
“Bingo,” Tommy enunciated each syllable with his reply, pointing at you as he did so, and you rolled your eyes as you began to walk out of the room.
“Joel’s going to fucking kill you—you know that, right?” you call back over your shoulder, tugging open the front door before sending one last glance to your friend as he stood to see you out.
“Yeah, probably,” Tommy admitted with a shrug. “Hey, don’t forget a gift, though!”
You turned on the porch, eyes wide and mouth agape at Tommy’s sudden request.
“A gift?” you repeated, holding your hands out wide, as if to demonstrate how empty-handed you were for this event. “Where the fuck am I supposed to find a birthday gift for your asshole brother in three days—”
“Be there!” Tommy interrupted gleefully before shutting the door right in your face.
You groaned, running a hand through your hair, glaring at the closed door for a moment longer before spinning on your heel to go try and figure out what the fuck you were going to get Joel Miller for his birthday.
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Three days came and went in a carefully contained panic.
You really tried not to stress out about the fact that not only did you have to find Joel a present for his birthday party within the short timeframe, but that you were hosting said birthday party at your house.
And he had no idea.
The more you tried to contain your emotions, the more they seemed to boil over. When it became obvious to Dina, you had told her about the party plans, and invited her to attend before she could even ask when you saw the way her entire face lit up at the idea—not to mention it would take the place of your typical Friday game night.
Joel noticed your increased awkwardness too, something you tried to distract him from with mind-blowing sex. Afterwards, you were much more relaxed than before, and he was too satisfied from your stress relief session to try and press you about it.
But even then you couldn’t leave it alone completely, since you had been tasked with the arduous task of distracting him during party preparation the next day.
You were laying back on the couch, head propped up on your hand as you lazily watched Joel move into the dining room to prepare your typical post-fuck drinks after he had cleaned you up. The drinks were a habit that had become fairly regular after your nights spent together, but the aftercare was new, something he had started doing since that night he had showed up at your house drunk and jealous.
When Joel returned with the drinks in hand, he passed one to you before gently patting your legs, a gesture for you to pull them off the end of the couch so he could sit. You pulled your legs up, curling them underneath you as you watched him with slightly furrowed brows, trying to figure out how to trick him into wasting time with you tomorrow.
Getting him to your house wouldn’t be the hard part—although you would have to ensure he wasn’t too…eager to participate in your usual activities, given the audience that he wouldn’t know you were going to have when you arrived.
No, the truly difficult part would be getting him to spend time with you beforehand.
In daylight.
In public.
“You’re gonna burn a hole through the side of my head.”
Blinking a few times, your vision focused back on Joel, realizing you had been zoning out while staring at the side of his face, which had now turned to face you directly.
Off to a great start.
You took a breath, trying to weave an intricate plan so you could subtly trick him into being distracted for a few hours, your eyes narrowing slightly as you tried to plot it all out in your head.
Your mouth opened to flawlessly execute your master plan, “Uhh—”
Fuck.
You snapped your mouth closed, your eyes narrowing further, but in annoyance this time as a look of faint amusement crossed Joel’s face while he watched you hedge.
“You wanna get drinks tomorrow?”
Joel blinked at the question that came out of the blue, his amusement shifting into concealed surprise, and you winced internally.
Well that was fucking awful, you remarked internally, trying not to seem too awkward as you watched Joel watching you. Shit.
Slowly, Joel raised the glass in his hand, and you understood what he meant even before he replied, “We are having drinks?”
“Yeah,” you assented, giving a short nod, because he wasn’t wrong. 
You did have drinks regularly after fucking, as you were right now, so why would you ask him to get drinks tomorrow, without the fucking? How was that supposed to be normal and not really fucking weird?
“Yeah,” you repeated, wincing externally this time at how you only repeated yourself without advancing the conversation at all. Shit, this really wasn’t going in your favor, and you had barely even started. “But I meant—well, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” Joel said with an arch of his brow. He glanced over you before asking slowly, “Are you feeling okay?”
You kicked him in the thigh, making him recoil with a barely held-back chuckle, and you couldn’t help but smile as you heard the sound get trapped in his throat.
“Well,” you almost groaned as you realized you were hedging again, before deciding to just go for it, “I just meant as friends. Because we are friends now, right?”
Joel was still staring at you as if you had suddenly grown a second head, even as he slowly replied, “Right.”
“And friends go out for drinks, right?”
Joel’s brow furrowed, glancing over you again as he probably tried to figure out what the fuck you were getting at, even as he nodded in confirmation.
“Then there you have it,” you replied simply, throwing back the rest of the drink before passing the empty glass back to Joel. You hopped to your feet, smiling widely at him and moving towards the hallway. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“Wait—”
You continued to walk towards the front door, only sparing one glance back towards Joel’s face that was scrunched up in utter confusion. It was impossible to hold back a laugh at the sight, and his expression smoothed out momentarily, shifting into something else you couldn’t—or didn’t—want to decipher before turning back around.
“The Tipsy Bison at sundown!” you called back as you swung the door open, only allowing your nervousness to show after the door had closed behind you.
Groaning quietly, your footsteps automatically began to take the most hidden path back home, a route that had become well-worn by your own shoes night after night.
“Well, great fucking job,” you groaned to yourself, rubbing your hands over your face and through your hair. “Just strong-arm him into it without an explanation. Real subtle. Really fucking great.”
You would like to say that you didn’t immediately look at the skirt or the heels in your closet within minutes of arriving back at your house, but that would be a lie.
You would also like to say you didn’t stare at the tube of lipstick that Dina had conveniently forgotten on your bathroom counter, but that would be a lie too.
But what you definitely would never admit was how you had fallen asleep that night staring at the side of the bed where Joel had laid for only minutes after he had briefly called you his only weeks before.
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You didn’t wear the skirt. 
Or the heels. 
Or the lipstick.
What you did wear was one of your nicest shirts, a soft long-sleeved one that was in rotation for the clothes you wore to dinner with the Millers each month. Paired with one of your less faded pairs of jeans, you were ready to head out and meet up with Joel, even as a strange nervousness you couldn’t explain settled in your bones.
That feeling lasted up until the point when you stepped through the doors of The Tipsy Bison and saw Joel sitting at the far end of the bar.
The nerves shifted into something else as you watched him sitting there, a full glass of whiskey in front of him, his hands wrapped around it as he stared down at the amber liquid. You realized with a start that he was wearing one of his nicer flannels—nicer meaning less worn and threadbare, one of the ones that he typically wore to dinner at Tommy and Maria’s.
Something about the sight of him sitting there in that shirt, brows furrowed as he stared at his full drink without taking so much as a sip from it, filled you with a newfound confidence. Your back straightened, taking steps with steady purpose as you strode through the bar towards him.
When you saw him begin to turn as you got closer, you glanced away, getting the bartender’s attention for a drink before you sank down in the spot next to Joel. You could feel his gaze on the side of your face when you rested your chin on your hand, your other fingers tapping a rhythm out against the bar counter.
You could only hope Joel hadn’t picked up on the tapping being a nervous habit of yours yet.
Neither of you said anything for a moment, and you only glanced over at him once you felt his eyes finally move off of you. He was back to staring into his full drink, only taking a sip from it once the bartender returned to place your own drink in front of you.
You paused in the middle of raising your own glass for a sip, glancing over your companion as he swallowed and placed his drink back down.
He was…waiting?
Clearing your throat, you turned back around, taking a large drink from your glass before your fingers moved back to tap against the bar faster.
Suddenly, it was like you were back at the start of your budding friendship. Any conversation that had become easy between you in recent weeks seemed far out of your grasp now, your legs crossing as you searched for something to say that wouldn’t sound totally fucking forced and awkward.
“What, no skirt for me?”
The low murmur drew a surprised laugh from you, your eyes finally flashing back to Joel’s face as his own eyes moved from the movement of your crossed legs up to your face. He shot you a sly smirk that was nearly imperceptible behind the rim of his glass, one you couldn’t help but return.
“I’m sorry,” you replied, keeping your voice equally low to avoid any eavesdropping patrons, even as the bar was emptier than it had been in the height of summer, “that’s a luxury few can afford, cowboy.”
It was a bad comeback, really. Outdated and overused, but Joel quietly chuckled at it anyway, his brow arching in response before replying, “Oh yeah? Like Mike can?”
You blinked in surprise for a second before quickly recovering, but Joel had noticed—of course he noticed, stupid perceptive bastard—his smirk widening just a fraction in satisfaction that he had caught you off-guard with the comment.
“And if I said he could?” you murmured, your voice dangerously toeing the line between friendly and sultry teasing.
Joel shook his head as he looked back at his drink, his pinky finger tapping against the glass. You could tell by the look on his face he had caught your intent of trying to goad him now, but his jaw still ticked slightly. A familiar heat curled through you at the sight of what may just be a hint of that jealousy you had gotten a taste of weeks before.
“Well, not many eligible bachelors in Jackson, right?” he finally said through a sigh, repeating your words from the nursery a month before. Joel still didn’t look at you as he drank before adding, “Guess you take what you can get.”
You snorted, shaking your head as you looked down into your own drink. There was something about the words that caused an unfamiliar feeling to grow, twisting uncomfortably in your stomach before settling to the bottom like rocks weighing you down.
So distracted by the unsettling intensity of the feeling, you almost missed it as Joel muttered, “But you could do better.”
Just like that, the feeling was gone in the blink of an eye, even as it was accompanied by surprise so strong that it made you freeze.
That was the second—third?—time tonight that Joel had managed to stun you, and in less than two minutes at that.
And this time your cheeks began to heat to accompany your shock.
You turned your head away quickly, glancing towards the other side of the bar to pretend you were looking over the room as you composed yourself. His gaze was impossible to ignore on the back of your head, but you tried anyway, mentally scolding yourself to get it the fuck together.
This was just Joel. The conversation between you was no different than any others—just because you were out in public instead of one of your houses didn’t make any difference.
So then why the fuck was your heart running a marathon right now?
You cleared your throat, turning back to face your drink again once you felt your cheeks cool down.
There were a multitude of remarks running through your head, ranging from friendly to seductive to something that you didn’t even want to think about.
Eventually your mouth opened and the words came tumbling out, “Yeah, somehow I get the feeling he couldn’t take me home and leave me satisfied.”
You looked at Joel from the corner of your eye, watching his lips turn up in a cross between a familiar knowing smirk and a smile that felt too real to be directed towards you.
Still, you shot him a quick wink before downing the rest of your drink, an action that was quickly followed by him before he ordered another round for the both of you.
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That round was followed by another, and another, the drinks accompanied by quiet jokes and laughter that grew a bit louder the more alcohol that you consumed. Eventually you had to cut yourselves off, not wanting to be anything more than tipsy as you remembered the real purpose of the night.
So that was how you found Joel walking you back to your house, the both of you a little more mellow from the alcohol, and snickering a little too loudly at comments that weren’t even that funny. You noticed that he sidestepped the intermittent street lights leading you back, and you stayed by his side, sticking to the shadows with him as he rolled his eyes at you.
“No.”
“Oh, come on,” you drawled, elbowing him in the side and laughing at how he stumbled just slightly from it. You noticed he didn’t wince, and you felt a small sense of relief at the realization that his injury had probably healed. “You gonna tease me like that and not follow through?”
“I didn’t tease you,” Joel replied, shaking his head at your mock exasperation. “You eavesdropped.”
“You were the one yelling about guitar lessons!” you pointed out with a laugh, eliciting a scoff from him at your word choice.
“Yelling—”
“Come on,” you said again, taking a step closer, nudging his shoulder with yours this time, “you can’t hide all that talent from me, cowboy.”
Joel snorted at that, the sound loud and full of genuine amusement, and you brightened at the lightheartedness of it.
“Hardly,” he drawled, shooting you a lopsided bemused smirk that did things to you that you would take to the grave. “Haven’t you ever heard that ‘if you can’t do, teach?’”
Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as you shot back, “Somehow, I don’t believe that applies to you, Miller. You are absolutely holding back from me, and I won’t rest until you play me a song.”
Joel shook his head again, his gaze sharpening on you as you shifted so you were standing in front of him. 
A smirk grew on your face as you added under your breath, “Besides, you can’t lie to me. I already know how talented those fingers are.”
He made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, his eyes lighting up with surprise at your blunt innuendo that quickly shifted into a familiar dark intent. It was a look that would’ve been so easy to become trapped in if you didn’t remember the situation you were trying to trick him into tonight.
So you took a step back, still smirking up at him as you walked backwards in front of him for a few more steps before spinning back around. You hummed a satisfied little tune to yourself as you heard him sigh behind you, followed by quick footfalls as he caught up to you.
“What about you?”
You turned at the question, looking over at him in confusion until he clarified, “Any special, secret talents I don’t already know about?”
“Other than stabbing, shooting and fucking?” you asked bluntly, making him laugh again. 
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remembered that you were still walking down Jackson’s streets, even as you took the road less traveled by. Anybody could stick their head out their doors and hear you if they listened hard enough, but you were too buzzed to care. 
You couldn’t help but join in Joel’s laughter as you glanced away with a shake of your head. “Nah, not particularly.”
“Bullshit,” Joel replied quickly and quietly, making you turn back with a scoff. “Come on, you haven’t spent thirty—”
He stopped suddenly, glancing over you with a frown. His eyes shifted into an analytical look you hadn’t seen from him for a while, but it didn’t hold the detached, frigid chill you had witnessed upon first meeting him.
“What?” you asked, a grin growing on your face as those familiar brown eyes darted around your face, and you realized what he was looking for. “Joel Miller, you must know that asking a woman’s age is dangerous territory.”
“I just—” he stopped, reaching a hand up to run through the hair on the back of his head, brows furrowing while he continued to look at you. “Thirty, right? Thirty something?”
You chuckled, shaking your head in amusement before turning away, quickening your steps to keep ahead of him, even as he kept trying to catch up.
“Thirty two? Thirty three?” Your laughter only grew as he continued trying to throw out numbers until one stuck. “Shit, not—twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”
Seeing that you were enjoying his floundering far too much to give him an answer, he quickly gave up. When you turned around to walk backwards again, he was shaking his head with a sigh, and you couldn’t help a small smile at the exasperation that you had caused.
“What about you? Is the grumpy old bastard old enough for a cane yet?”
Joel just kept shaking his head, a familiar glimmer in his eye as he replied in a low tone that was almost a murmur, “You sure have some weird kinks, you know that?”
You laughed, your head tilting back with the sound, and you swear you saw something flash through Joel’s eyes before he looked away.
“No, but seriously,” you said as you stopped in front of him, causing him to also stop walking suddenly so he didn’t run right into you. Still, it left a distance between you so short that your chests would be grazing each other if one of you took a couple steps forward. “How old?”
Joel sighed, staring at you blankly for another moment. When you didn’t budge, he stated flatly, “Fifty si—seven. Fifty seven.”
“Forgetting already?” you asked, raising both your eyebrows as you turned around to walk by his side again. Even though you knew it was because he must have remembered that today was his birthday, he didn't know that you knew that, so you teased, “Damn, already going senile. What a shame.”
Joel elbowed you in the arm, and you looked back up at him as you snickered.
“Shut up,” he muttered, hands shoving in the pockets of his jacket, gesturing with the same elbow to your left.
You turned, realizing with a start that you were right outside the familiar picket fence of your house.
Suddenly, you were hit with the startling feeling of deja vu. You could vividly recall the first time you had stood outside that gate like this together, staring at your house while not saying a word. The only thing that was missing was the fall of snow around you and a comment about the color of your house.
Holding back a sigh, you glanced over to gaze at Joel’s side profile as you marveled at how much had changed between you in what was almost a year. You had gone from strangers to…
To what, exactly? Friends with benefits, yes, but did you really know anything more about him than you did then? Hell, you didn’t even know his age until today. He still didn’t know yours.
You rolled your shoulders back, pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind with a shake of your head. Right now, you had a mission.
One that was made harder than it should have been by the heat you could feel simmering in Joel’s gaze as it dragged up and down your body from beside you.
God dammit, how did you get him inside your house without him instantly tearing your pants off?
“Well,” you sighed, pushing the gate open to stroll through. “You gonna stand here like a jackass, making me ask you to come in for a drink from my porch?”
You shot a smirk back over your shoulder at him, one that was matched by his as he shrugged before walking through the gate behind you.
“Depends,” he drawled, even as he followed you up the pathway to your porch steps. “Do you have my preferred poison?”
The repetition of the words you had spoken the first time you invited him inside your house last winter made you bite your lip to hold back a smile.
“Oh, I have all of them,” you replied as you reached for you front door, biting your lip with a wince as you realized you were doing an absolutely fucking terrible job of getting Joel to keep it in his pants the moment you opened that door.
A groan escaped you as you spun around.
To hell with it, you thought as your mouth opened to let Joel in on what lay just beyond you in your house, when every thought flew from your mind as the man stepped close enough that you were chest to chest.
His hand reached out past you to grab your door handle, pushing the door open as the other one reached for your hip.
You reeled backwards faster than you thought yourself capable in your tipsy state, back hitting the door as Joel continued to advance. He didn’t seem to catch on to your sudden evasiveness, and you nearly tripped over your own feet as you continued to back up down your dark hallway, desperately feeling along the side of the wall for the lights.
“Uh, well, you know,” you said loudly, eyes wide as you dodged Joel’s hand reaching for your hip again before finally finding the lights, “I really think that—”
“Surprise!”
The shouts drowned out your panicking, and Joel’s loud curse of surprise overtook your quiet sigh of relief.
He stumbled away from you, completely taken aback and staring wide-eyed at the sight over your shoulder. You turned, following his gaze to glance over the sight of your atrociously decorated, packed living room.
It wasn’t a crowd, per se, but it also wasn’t a large living room. But each face was smiling—one was smirking, you realized with a passing thought of damn you, Dina—and watching as Joel tried to recompose himself.
His gaze flicked from face to face; to the old, discolored birthday decorations that were torn up in places, strewn across the room; and then back to you. You saw his chest rise and fall in a heavy, silent sigh, any sound it would have made covered up by the loud sound of a birthday noise maker that was quickly followed by Ellie hacking and muttering “oh, that’s disgusting.” 
You gave Joel a tentative smile that was part oops and part please forgive me, and he only shook his head before moving past you, presumably looking towards Tommy as he asked, “The fuck is all this?”
“What do you mean?” you heard Tommy answer brightly, and you turned to see him grinning widely at Joel with an absolutely ridiculous, shiny blue birthday hat on his head that was definitely way too small to be comfortable. “Don’t tell me you’re so old you forgot your own birthday.”
“Tommy—”
“Nuh-uh,” Tommy interrupted with a shake of his head, wagging his finger as he wrapped his other arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Look, I know, but you deserve some happiness today, okay?”
You shifted, brows furrowing as you looked over the faces of the two brothers as they communicated something silently, arguing over an unsaid meaning to those words.
After a short moment, Joel sighed, and Tommy squeezed his shoulder when his older brother gave a slight nod.
Even though it was the closest thing to an okay that Joel gave, Tommy apparently took it as a success. The younger brother seemed positively delighted to be hosting this small party in your house, and it didn’t take long for his infectious cheer to spread to the rest of the partygoers.
Combine him with Dina, and it wasn’t much longer until the drinks were flowing and laughter was filling the rooms that you had gotten used to being so empty over the past years.
The three teens in attendance—Jesse being dragged along by Dina, since they were back to the “on again” part of their relationship—were even allowed one or two drinks. Or three, you realized as you saw Ellie swipe one of the smaller bottles of alcohol from the corner of your eye.
Her gaze caught on yours as she tiptoed back towards her friends, and she froze for a moment with her hands hidden behind her back. She hesitated as you pretended to glare at her, before your face immediately lightened up with a roll of your eyes and a look that said to be at least somewhat responsible.
Ellie grinned at you in response, turning quickly to hurry towards the kitchen where she had taken up residence with the other two teens for the past hour or so.
You turned back around, watching as Eugene laughed with a couple other patrolmen in one corner of the room, even as Mike stood there staring at whatever joke the old man had undoubtedly made with thinly veiled disapproval.
Shaking your head, you took another sip of your drink, unable to believe that Tommy had invited the man he had tried to set you up with into your home. Your gaze darted back to where your friend stood with his brother on the other side of the room, knowing that he was probably keeping careful tabs on Mike’s every move to see if he showed any signs of being your mysterious fuck-buddy.
A groan threatened to escape you, but you held it back, looking over to where Maria and Bonnie sat on your couch with Hope held securely in her mother’s arms. Bonnie was cooing over her, and you couldn’t help but smile, considering joining them for a moment before you glanced away from them too.
Silently moving towards the fireplace, you leaned against it, appreciating a moment to yourself in the midst of the busy night. For all intents and purposes, it didn’t seem like Joel was having a terrible time, so you guessed Tommy could consider his foolhardy plan a success.
When you felt a presence settle by your side, you expected Tommy when you looked up. Instead, you were surprised to see Joel looking down at you as he leaned against the mantle next to you.
“Should’ve worn your skirt,” he muttered under his breath, his mouth covered by his glass as he lifted it for a drink.
You held back a laugh, covering your smirk of amusement with your own glass as you saw him glance towards Mike from the corner of his eye.
“Shut up,” you muttered back, shaking your head at his quiet chuckle, taking a sip from your drink to continue to hide your mirth at the teasing.
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As more of the evening passed, and Eugene followed the last of the patrolmen out with a fond pat on your shoulder accompanied by a wink, you settled back against the fireplace mantle again, watching with amusement as Dina and Maria chatted on the couch. The teen was now gushing over Hope, her eyes shining bright as she praised how gorgeous the baby was, each word eliciting laughter and fond smiles from Maria.
Dina was definitely tipsy, to put it lightly—as were the other two teens, but you elected not to comment on it. You were pretty sure everybody left in the room was at least slightly buzzed at this point—well, minus the baby, but that went without saying—and the atmosphere became considerably more relaxed now that it was your small group of close-knit family and friends.
You paused, glancing over the room from where you were still leaning against the fireplace mantle, something cold and hardened in your heart melting at the sight of your living room bustling with more life than you had ever seen. 
Jesse had just said something that had elicited roaring laughter from Tommy and infectious snickering from Ellie. Even Joel’s chest was moving with a deep chuckle. Maria and Dina shared a look, the former rolling her eyes before both of them became distracted by bright, bubbling laughter from Hope that matched her father’s in how cheerful it was.
That same word you passed through your mind again as you watched them all.
Family.
For a long time, you didn’t think you had any left.
Even when you had known what Tommy and Dina meant to you, a part of you still resisted. You were so bitter, so broken that you couldn’t let yourself be happy with the family you had found. The family you had chosen.
You were just so terrified of losing it again. You were still terrified, even now, standing in the safety of your home and surrounded by their presence. 
After losing so much, you couldn’t bear to lose this, too.
But another part of you began to reach out, a voice speaking out to echo through the dark crevices of your mind. It struck a single match and emitted a small source of light, a small flame of hope that, even with all your cynicism, you didn’t have the heart to blow out.
Because even if you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it, you also couldn’t bear the thought of not holding on to it now. 
What was the fucking point of all this love, all this life, if the only thing you could think about was dying for it?
Maybe resigning yourself to that fate of dying for them, dying before them, wasn’t enough anymore.
Maybe instead of being committed to leaving them for that final act of love, you should dedicate yourself to coming home to them instead.
The familiar picture frame caught your attention from the corner of your eye. You turned your head slightly, gazing at the picture that your Little Star had drawn of the two of you surrounded by Washington's tall, evergreen trees.
It was one of two signs in your house that somebody actually lived here, along with the photograph on your bedside table. The only signs that you had actually had a life before you arrived in Jackson.
How old had she been when she drew this? Six? Seven?
You remembered her hair tied in a braid, falling down her back as she laid on her stomach and scribbled the crayon stubs across the paper, feet kicking happily in the air behind her. When she had finished, she presented it to you with a flourish and a bright grin that reached her eyes. It was a light that shined throughout her life, up through the last time that you saw her.
She was so warm, and you were so cold, only getting colder when she was taken from you. A part of you couldn’t help but feel ashamed, wondering what she would think if she could see you now. You had always taken on all the hardness of the world so she didn’t have to, to protect her warmth, her spirit. Now she was gone, and you kept taking on all that cruelty to punish yourself for not being enough to keep her alive.
Every memory of her was wrapped in barbed wire, and you realized now that you didn’t want it to be that way. You wanted to tear the pain off of those memories, even if it made your hands bleed at first. You wanted to remember her with the brightness she deserved, the brightness she had always been. She didn’t deserve to be remembered with winces and tears, but with smiles and laughter, like those that surrounded you in this room now.
It wouldn’t happen overnight. Maybe it would take months, or even years, to give her memory the justice it warranted.
But for what was perhaps the first time, you recognized what her memory deserved. 
And you wanted to try.
“Hey.”
Your gaze snapped over at the soft word, seeing Maria standing in front of you with a babbling Hope in her arms. A smile quickly snapped onto your face, trying to cover up your inner musings, but the drop of a tear down your face told you it was already too late.
Reaching a hand up, you wiped at your cheeks, sniffing quietly before crossing your arms and looking down.
“I’m fine,” you murmured with a shake of your head. “Sorry.”
Maria’s hand found your shoulder, gently stroking it with her thumb, and you leaned into the comfort. When you looked back up, you realized she had stood in a way that blocked you from the rest of the room, and you couldn’t help but be grateful for her thoughtfulness.
She didn’t say anything about it, only giving you a small, reassuring smile before Hope babbled again. You both looked down at the baby, Maria’s smile growing as a quiet, choked laugh full of fondness escaped your lips.
When Maria looked back up at you, silently offering the baby to you, you only hesitated for a brief moment before giving a slow nod.
As Hope was passed into your arms, a quiet exhale was pulled from your lungs with a whoosh, as if some invisible string was tugging at your soul towards your goddaughter. You looked down into her dark eyes with a growing smile as you held her for the first time. She looked back up at you, those small baby teeth showing in her own bright smile that warmed your broken heart.
When you began to bounce her a little, and her babbles turned into laughter, you realized that maybe it wasn’t so broken after all.
Maria squeezed your shoulder gently, giving you one last smile before moving back to her spot on the couch next to Dina. You glanced over at the teen to see her and Ellie with their heads bent together, giggling over something, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly before looking over at the other group.
It seemed Tommy was in the midst of some kind of story, his hands moving and gesturing with his words, Jesse leaning forward and nodding along intently. You didn’t know how it had happened—maybe it had something to do with your rescue from the hunters—but somehow the teenager had really come to look up to the Miller brothers in recent months. He hung onto Tommy’s every word, even as Joel’s attention was less fixed on his brother.
Those familiar dark brown eyes were moving between both of them before they slid over to you, and you tensed as your gaze met his.
For a moment, you almost felt embarrassed at being caught staring, until his brows furrowed, and his eyes shifted into a look that you hadn’t seen before.
But even as it was unfamiliar, you could somehow tell exactly what it meant, and it eased the burden of your emotions just slightly as you heard the question he was silently asking.
Are you alright?
You tipped your head just slightly in a subtle nod, one that Joel returned before looking back towards Tommy at the same moment the man reached the crescendo in his story. Jesse broke out into loud laughter, and Joel followed the cue well, giving his own quiet chuckle even as you knew he hadn’t been listening.
The thought made you shake your head, lips turning up in a half-smile, even as you felt eyes on you from where the girls were. You didn’t know who was looking at you, and you didn’t care to entertain any suspicions you’d rather not deal with in the moment, instead looking down at Hope again when she waved her small hand through the air.
You let it wrap around your finger, and this time you didn’t pull back.
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Even as the night went on, none of you made a move to leave the rare, comfortable peace you had all carved out together in this moment.
A batch of cookies made by Jesse and Dina was passed around the room in a Tupperware container. If you were lucky, you would get one of the cookies that was not horribly burnt—Jesse’s handiwork, no doubt.
Much to Joel's exasperation, the container had been placed in his lap first as you all sang an off-tune, off-beat Happy Birthday to him. His withering glare was hard not to laugh at, but you couldn't contain the grin on your face when Ellie and Dina dissolved into giggles at the sight of his annoyance.
Then came the gifts. The first one was also from the young couple, a new flannel that Jesse had found on patrol. It was sweet and a little bit funny as Dina explained that her boyfriend had shown her at least four options over the past couple of days, and how that one was the least ugly of them all.
Joel’s face twisted into the briefest of grimaces as Dina unintentionally—or maybe with complete intention, knowing Dina—dissed Joel’s taste in fashion, and you and Ellie had to cover your mouths as you both were about to break into cackles at the insinuation, combined with the look on Joel’s face.
The gift from Tommy and Maria—and Hope, whose name had been added to the old, weathered birthday card Tommy had also found on patrol—was a new vinyl record that looked like it was before even Joel’s time.
Still, Joel looked as close to being excited as you think he could manage as he glanced over the title and track list on the cover.
“Is this—”
“Yeah, the one Ma used to play,” Tommy finished Joel’s line of thought with a laugh, and Joel’s lips tilted up into a smile so shockingly bright that it made you smile yourself. “In the kitchen when—”
“She would make dinner, yeah,” Joel finished his brother’s sentence this time, another chuckle escaping his throat, shaking his head as he continued to glance over it. “Damn, where’d you find this?”
“Got lucky,” Tommy said with a grin, turning his head to shoot you a wink, much to your surprise. “Second time that’s happened, now.”
You shook your head, rolling your eyes even as you couldn’t dampen your smile as you knew he was alluding to your own “birthday” gift of music from your youth.
Then it was your turn.
You unceremoniously tossed the small box to Joel, who caught it easily as he shot you a look which was a cross between bemusement and genuine surprise that you had gotten him something.
The only response you gave him was a shrug, and he looked down at the box as he tugged the top off, glancing down at the contents inside.
His surprise only grew, shooting you another look that you merely shrugged at again before he picked up one of the guitar picks inside.
Joel turned the small, finely carved wood over in his fingers, his eyes widening a fraction for just a moment before he put it back down inside.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and you nodded before gesturing towards the other pick inside.
“It’s not just for you,” you pointed out, watching as Joel’s brows furrowed in confusion before he picked up the other one.
He turned it over again, his brow smoothing out, lips twitching into a small smile before he held it out for Ellie.
“Who, me?” she said in surprise, though it quickly turned into glee as she grabbed the guitar pick from Joel. “Fuck yeah, Joel’s birthday is the best.”
Laughter filled the room from more than one person, and Joel nudged Ellie gently with his arm. She glanced towards him before sighing and turning back to you.
“Thanks,” she said, the word coming out easier than it had for Joel, her smile bright and contagious as you nodded in reply.
“No problem,” you waved it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “Eugene’s good at that kind of stuff, and I figured since he was returning a favor, I might as well let him work for it.”
The favor thing was a big fucking lie. Eugene had not owed you a favor—in fact, you now owed him one or two for crafting the guitar picks with engraved initials for Joel and Ellie.
But nobody needed to know that.
When it was Ellie’s turn, she bounced up from her seat, hurrying into the kitchen and returning with a small journal she must have brought with her. She flipped through it, cursing loudly when a page came flying out, grabbing for it until she caught it in the air.
With a sigh, she smoothed out the paper before jutting it out towards Joel’s face, holding it much too close to his eyes for him to see with a blunt, “Here.”
Joel gingerly took the paper, pulling it away from his face so he could actually look over it.
When he did, the man softened more than you had ever seen. A warm smile flickered onto his face, one that didn’t fade as he looked back up at the girl who swayed awkwardly, waiting for his reaction.
“Thank you, kiddo,” he said gently, reaching out to bump his fist against Ellie’s arm, which she rubbed at awkwardly before she shrugged the shoulder.
“Eh, whatever,” she muttered, though her smile matched Joel’s as he looked back down at the paper.
You were able to catch just a glimpse, seeing what looked to be a drawing of him with Ellie's signature in the corner, and you couldn't help but smile yourself.
Joel was careful not to crease the drawing, forgoing folding it to instead hold it flat against his chest while the party finally began to wind down.
Jesse and Dina were out the door first, the boy straightening as you sent him off with a glare and a scolding to keep her safe and to not do anything stupid. Dina punched you in the shoulder, immediately drawing a warm smile from you that was directed towards her alone.
You ruffled her hair, giving her a playful shove to send her off along with a call of, “That goes for you too, troublemaker!”
She flipped you off over her shoulder as they walked off, and you rolled your eyes with a quiet chuckle. Leaning against your doorway, you glanced back to watch Tommy adjust a sleeping Hope in his arms, following Maria as she walked up to give you a short but warm hug.
“I’ll be by in the morning to help you clean up,” she said when she pulled back, and you returned her gentle smile with one of thanks.
“It should be him," you drawled, shooting Tommy a look that he shifted away from.
“Hey, divide and conquer, right?” he said, smiling back over his shoulder at you as he walked out onto the porch with his wife. “I put it up, she takes it down—sharing the power and all that good communist crap.”
“Communist crap?” you repeated with an arch of your eyebrow, and you heard Ellie cackling from somewhere behind you before Maria tugged her husband down along the pathway to your picket fence gate.
You turned back, directing your questioning gaze towards Joel and Ellie now as she gathered his gifts up, as Joel was still holding the paper she had given him close to his chest.
“Is anybody ever going to explain the whole communist thing to me?” you asked with a sigh, drawing nearly matching smirks from Joel and Ellie that you couldn’t help but smile at.
Neither of them chose to respond, and you rolled your eyes as they moved to walk past you.
“Thanks for letting us hang!” Ellie called behind her before crossing the porch, bounding down the steps as Joel paused for a moment beside you.
Your gaze darted towards him, seeing he was glancing towards you from the corner of his eye, even as he wasn’t saying anything.
After a moment of opening your mouth and closing it, you eventually stuttered out, “So, uh—”
“Tonight?”
It was only one word, but it caused something akin to excitement to course through you, and you bit back a smile as you nodded in confirmation to the meaning behind the simple question.
Joel nodded back, his gaze snapping back in front of him as he hurried to catch up with Ellie as she walked down the path. She looked up at him, her small smile drawing a wider one from Joel while they leisurely walked out of the gate together.
“You know, you can take your shit and I can put that back in my journal—”
“No way, this is my gift,” Joel scoffed, pressing the paper closer to his chest, and you smiled warmly as you watched them walk away into the cold autumn night.
“These are your gifts too!” Ellie spoke with exasperation, and you swear you could hear the chuckle in whatever Joel’s response was, even as they got too far away to hear clearly anymore.
You let the door close behind them, ignoring the mess that was your living room and kitchen as you moved into your bedroom, trying to find a way to waste time for a few hours until you met Joel again.
As you waited, your fingers tapped against the tube of lipstick Dina had abandoned in your bathroom before you tossed it into the back of a drawer and slammed it shut, trying to ignore that the temptation had even been there to begin with.
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When you knocked on Joel’s front door a few hours later, he didn’t answer.
You sighed, running a hand through your hair that you definitely had not brushed through more than once as you had waited for the hours to pass until it was truly the dead of night.
“Fucking asshole invites me over and doesn’t even answer,” you muttered to yourself with a huff, even though your words were tainted with more nervousness than annoyance before you knocked again.
Still no answer.
You bit your lip, the situation too similar to when you had found him injured to give you comfort. Even though you knew there was no reasonable way for him to get hurt after the party, it still felt too familiar, and the way it set your nerves on edge led you to open the door.
Letting it close behind you, you took a moment to kick off your boots before moving further into the house. It was a habit Joel had gotten into months ago at your house, and one you had recently picked up on in his house as well.
He wasn’t in the living room, the dining room, or the kitchen, so you moved towards the staircase with a gnawing feeling of fear growing in the pit of your stomach.
There’s no way, you told yourself as you hurried up the steps.
Thankfully, there was no familiar jacket or blood on the floor, and that caused your nerves to lessen slightly.
There was a sound that was drifting from down the corridor, one that made you step forward slowly in confusion, hesitant until you realized what it was.
Music.
You couldn’t place the era of music exactly from the hallway, but you had a pretty good guess as to what it was as you walked closer to Joel’s bedroom door, where the music was drifting through. Your gentle knock nudged the halfway-opened door to creak open further, and you resisted the urge to peek your head through as you called out to him.
“Joel?”
There was a shifting sound from inside, followed by quiet for a moment until his gruff voice replied, “Yeah, in here.”
You huffed out a silent sigh, forcing yourself to overcome your hesitation and enter at what you guessed was an invitation to come in from the stoic man.
Leaning against the archway that led to the main part of his bedroom, you let your gaze wander over the room just briefly, noting the spinning record in the little vinyl corner before it landed on Joel.
He was laying back on his bed, a knee propped up as he rested a glass of whiskey in his hand on top of it, the back of his other arm thrown across his face.
Your brows furrowed, a different kind of worry sweeping through you at the sight. You glanced from him to the nearly empty decanter on his bedside table, chewing your bottom lip as you thought over what you could possibly say in a moment that felt almost…vulnerable. Like he was letting you see a side of him that didn’t show often.
When you finally opened your mouth to try and find some words to speak, Joel asked quietly, “You know what today is?”
You leaned back slightly, your lips turning down into a frown at the ambiguity of the words.
“Your birthday?” you said slowly, earning a quiet huff of laughter from Joel, but it didn’t sound particularly humored.
“The date,” he clarified, and when you realized you didn’t know, you began to count it through in your mind.
It had been September 23rd when Tommy had told you about his idea, and that was three days ago. So—
“September 26th?” you replied, hesitant as you double-checked your math in your mind. When you were sure that you had gotten it right, you turned your confusion back to Joel, watching as he brought the whiskey back to his lips for a sip without moving the other arm from his eyes. “What does—”
Suddenly, it hit you.
Today was September 26th.
Which meant tomorrow was the 27th.
Outbreak Day.
An image flashed through your mind, the names and dates on Tommy’s memorial shrine coming back to you clearly, and you sucked in a breath as you realized what Joel meant.
Suddenly, the look on Joel’s face when he had walked into the surprise party, the “I know” from Tommy, finally made sense.
Jesus fucking Christ, he had lost his everything the day after his birthday.
Your heart ached, stomach sinking as you leaned against the archway. Looking down at your feet, you struggled for something to say, because what could you say to that? What would you want someone to say to you?
At that thought, you looked back up at Joel, thinking back to what he had said to you when you had been the one mourning, the one wallowing, not that long ago.
No, not what he had said to you.
What he had done for you.
You walked around the bed so you were on the side with the decanter, giving Joel a gentle nudge for him to move over.
Finally, his arm pulled away from his face, looking up at you with confusion. When you saw how those brown eyes, a comforting sight at times, were rimmed with red, your chest tightened.
“Move over,” you mumbled, nudging him again, and he sighed quietly before he shifted to the other side to give you room to lie down.
When you did, you gently eased the drink from his grip, finishing it off yourself before placing it back on the bedside table next to the decanter.
You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to. Instead of trying to make the pain go away with meaningless words, you chose to sit with him in it.
Laying side by side, you and Joel stared at the ceiling in silence that was filled only by the vinyl record that continued to spin, the vinyl from Tommy that sounded like it might be from the 60s or 70s drifting through the air. While neither of you uttered a word, you hoped he understood what you were trying to silently communicate to him, because you didn’t think you could explain it yourself even if you tried.
You were trying to tell him that it was okay to let himself feel it. It was okay, and he wasn’t alone in it. He didn’t have to be, not if he didn’t want to.
After a few more minutes of letting it wash over him and listening to the music continue to play, you felt Joel’s pinky finger graze against yours from where they rested next to each other on the bed.
Your heart lurched in your chest, but not from discomfort. In the back of your mind, you heard Eugene’s words echoing clearly.
Maybe it’s your turn to hold onto him.
And for once, you didn’t hesitate.
This time, you were the one who took that leap—the one to reach out when Joel was pulling away. Your hand shifted, grazing over the back of his before snaking underneath it. Your palm laid against his as you held his hand, and you squeezed it gently once.
After another moment when the needle began to hit the end of the record and skip back over and over, creating an endless scratching sound on repeat, Joel squeezed your hand back.
You didn’t have the heart to be annoyed by the record, or the strength to get up and put the needle back, as Joel’s fingers intertwined with yours.
Letting your gaze roam across the room, you couldn’t help but laugh at the simple wood carving on the wall, one that you narrowed your eyes at to make sure you were seeing it right.
“What is that saying?” you mumbled, drawing Joel’s attention from the ceiling down to you, even as you didn’t meet his gaze in favor of looking at the wall décor in the shape of Texas. “‘Can't take Texas out of the man’, or something like that?”
Joel laughed quietly beside you, even before you felt his gaze shift from you over to the carving you were talking about.
“Surprised you’ve heard of that,” he murmured, to which you rolled your eyes.
“Come on, I was alive for a hot minute before the world ended, you know.”
“Right,” Joel said almost casually. “Because you’re…thirty?”
You bit your lip to hold back a smile, still not saying anything even as he continued, “Thirty-one?”
When you still didn’t reply, he huffed out a sigh, shaking his head before muttering to himself, “I’ll get it one of these days.”
Your gaze shifted back to the ceiling, as did his. The record continued to scratch, but neither of you pulled away from where your hands were joined between you on the bed.
“How about this,” you started quietly, shifting slightly to get more comfortable on the bed. Your head tilted a bit more towards his, but you still evaded his gaze as you asked, “What’s your favorite color?”
You didn’t need to look at Joel to know his dark eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, because you could hear the puzzlement in his voice as he mumbled an eloquent, “Huh?”
“Come on, I’m not asking you if you believe in god or whatever cosmic powers there may be,” you said dryly with a roll of your eyes, finally rolling over to meet his gaze straight-on. “Favorite color. Go.”
Joel’s brow was just as furrowed as you had expected when you looked at him, the brown depths of his eyes swirling with uncertainty at what you were getting at.
“And don’t say something stupid like black or white,” you added, trying to draw some comfort out of him with your trademark sarcastic wit. “A real color.”
He huffed, shaking his head at you before looking back up at the ceiling. For a moment, you thought he was going to ignore you, and you were ready to pull away, your palm starting to slip out of his when his hand tightened around yours and he answered, “Blue.”
Your lips twitched, a smile tugging on them at the admission. His gaze flashed down to you, then to your smile, before he quickly looked back up at the ceiling again.
There was a quiet moment as you gazed at the side of his face and he avoided your eyes.
“What about you?” he asked finally, turning his head fully now to return your gaze. When you opened your mouth, he quickly added, “Wait, no. Your house.”
The words made you pause, your heart thumping in your chest with an emotion you couldn’t name as he said it probably in the same moment that he remembered your words from the day you had met.
Interesting color.
He had made the comment about your house color then without animosity, but there had been some definite confusion, maybe a bit of judgment in the remark.
But Joel was looking at you now without a hint of that skepticism or analysis.
Just watching, waiting for your confirmation.
“You said it was your favorite color,” he added, the words so quiet they sounded almost hesitant, and your brows furrowed as you glanced over his face, that feeling in your chest deepening.
“It’s not,” you said quietly, the admission slipping from your lips before you could think twice on it.
Joel’s face was puzzled again now, and your gaze darted away from him.
“It's…it was hers,” you murmured, staring down at where your fingers were still intertwined with his. “She, uh—she always wanted it. The cozy house, the picket fence. All of that.”
You shrugged, pressing the side of your face further against the blue sheets on the bed. Blue, you thought somewhere in the back of your mind, tempted to smile even as you felt the familiar wave of pain wash over you at what you were admitting for—shit, maybe for the first time to anybody. You didn’t think even Tommy knew this, even as he didn’t question why you had turned down the offer of a larger house in Jackson years ago for the small one you still lived in.
“That was her dream,” you whispered, eyes drifting shut as you focused on the scent that was embedded in those blue sheets. Clean soap and something earthy, something heady that made your muscles relax. Familiar. Comforting. “I told her that we’d do it someday. When Tommy and I got here, I figured—well, I figured I’d try, I guess.”
A shaky sigh left your lips as they began to quiver, and your eyes squeezed shut tighter as Joel’s thumb stroked across the back of your hand. Not because it was uncomfortable, but the opposite—it was so goddamn fucking soothing that it threatened to break you with its gentleness.
Who would have thought the thing to make you finally crack was something so tender?
“Sarah wanted pancakes.”
Your eyes blinked open, gazing up at Joel at the quiet words to see he was staring back up at the ceiling.
There was a moment when he said nothing, and you almost wondered if you had misheard before he added, “For my birthday. She wanted to make me pancakes, but I forgot the mix. So I promised her I’d get a cake, but I forgot that too.”
Joel rubbed a hand down over his face, leaving it there for a moment as he inhaled deeply. The breath was slightly shaky, and this time you stroked your thumb across the back of his hand.
“It seemed so trivial at the time,” he murmured, finally letting his hand drop. His face seemed as stoic as always, but you could see the way his eyes wavered, and you held his hand tighter at the sight of it. “And maybe it was but, shit, I—I just—”
He floundered for the words, hand gesturing blankly in the air, and you finished quietly, “You miss those trivial things the most.”
Joel looked back at you, the brief surprise softening into something else, a look that spoke a sentiment along the lines of oh, of course you understand.
Of course.
You had matching wounds, after all.
“The songs they sang, their favorite jokes,” you continued just as quietly. “What food they hated. Seeing something and thinking ‘oh, they’d love that.’”
“I still do that,” Joel murmured, and you smiled softly up at him.
“Yeah, me too,” you admitted, and a small, gentle smile of his own broke across his face.
Another moment of silence as you stayed there like that. Hands still joined, you didn’t even notice the record scratching anymore.
“You know, my sister loved the stars,” you said softly, your smile growing as your eyes glazed over with the memories. “Like, she was borderline obsessed with them. We used to try and find the constellations back in the Seattle QZ. It was hard with all the lights and shit, but when we joined the Fireflies—oh, man.”
You laughed to yourself, and you were so distracted by the warmth of the memory and the way Joel’s smile grew as he listened that you didn’t even realize you had said the words my sister for the first time in years.
“When we first began to travel with them, and we were in all those open outdoors, she would not go to sleep. She’d stay up most the night, trying to find as many of those constellations as she could, tracing them over and over again.”
A sigh slipped past your lips as you shook your head. “Don’t know why she was so in love with the stars when she knew they were dead.”
Joel didn’t say anything, but you didn’t mind that. You also appreciated how he didn’t press you about more information now that you had directly mentioned losing your sister, even as you began to struggle under the weight of what you had said out loud.
“My daughter, she uh—” Joel started, breaking off to clear his throat before continuing, “she played soccer. And she was a fucking natural at it too—I’m not even doing the proud dad thing, you can ask Tommy.”
You laughed at the remark as it pulled you from your silent spiraling, unable to ignore the warmth that bloomed through your chest as Joel mentioned asking Tommy about Sarah. Even though it was akin to a joke, the thought of being that trusted, that included by Joel made you smile.
The quiet sound of your laughter earned a small smile from Joel, even as you replied, “I wasn’t gonna say you were.”
Joel chuckled under his breath at your comment. He turned back up to stare at the ceiling, his gaze far-away as he added, “When she was younger—like, eight or nine—she was on this soccer team of all boys. She was the only girl on the team.”
His gaze shot back towards you, and you saw a glimpse of that proud dad by the way his eyes lit up, his voice brightening while he continued, “Every single boy on that team cried at least once. But not my baby. She was tougher than any of them. Scored the most goals, too. God, she had so many awards cluttering her room.”
Your smile grew, your gentle laughter joining the chuckle that rumbled from his chest at the fond memory.
Joel’s thumb rubbed across the back of your hand again, slowly caressing your skin in gentle circles when you both fell silent, content to let the happy memories ease the pain, at least for tonight.
When a particularly loud scratch of the needle echoed in the room, you jumped, and Joel finally pulled his hand away from yours with a sigh.
You watched him stand and move towards the record player to pull the needle off, your hand that was still warm from his touch flattening against the bed for a moment, spreading across the sheets that were full of his familiar scent before you pushed yourself up.
“I should probably go,” you said quietly, swinging your feet off the bed to place on the floor.
Joel’s eyes moved back towards you, glancing over you as you sat on the edge.
“Yeah,” he murmured with a nod, picking up the vinyl to carefully place back into its sleeve.
You watched Joel for another moment as he set the record back to its proper place amongst the rest of its collection. Your fingers tapped against your knees, hesitating for a few brief seconds before you pushed yourself to your feet.
When you moved past him, you almost thought he was just going to let you go, but then his voice rang out behind you, “Uh—”
You wished you hadn’t stopped so quickly just at that simple sound he made. You wished your heart hadn’t skipped a beat, or that you didn’t instantly turn back to face him, letting his gaze search yours to find god knows whatever was hidden in your eyes in that moment.
Joel cleared his throat, his gaze not breaking from yours even as you both stayed silent. You saw his eyes waver and knew he wanted to look away, but he didn’t break your locked gazes.
Eventually, he finished, “You want a drink?”
Your lips tilted up in a half-smirk, shaking your head in bemusement before replying gently, “I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight, cowboy.”
Joel sighed, his gaze finally slipping from yours, and you felt like you could finally breathe again while he murmured, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Your eyes lit up at the words you’re right leaving Joel’s lips, tucking that little victory away for later. 
His hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans while he leaned back slightly, looking up to meet your eyes again as he said quietly, “Well, see you around, then.”
You nodded, your hands fidgeting in front of you. “Yeah, see you.”
Neither of you looked away.
Finally, after a moment that was much too prolonged for your comfort, you forced yourself to turn. The moment your gazes were no longer locked, whatever tension that had been slowly building between you since he put the record away shattered.
You heard Joel clear his throat again behind you before his footsteps backed away from you, and you resisted the urge to look back, even as you loitered in the archway of his room, your hand grazing against the frame.
When you heard the bed creak as Joel sat back down on it, you let your hand fall from the archway, moving towards his bedroom door before his voice softly calling out after you made you pause.
“Thanks.”
It was such a simple word. 
It didn’t have to mean anything. 
It wasn’t even the first time you had heard it from him.
But it still caused a wave of emotions to crash through you, and you stiffened under them. Clearing your throat, you considered the nearly overwhelming temptation to just run out of there without saying anything.
It was hard to resist your natural reflex to outrun anything that made you feel too deeply. But after what you had said tonight; the way he had opened up to you, how he had smiled so genuinely at you when you spoke of your sister for the first time in years…
Your mouth opened, planning to brush it off, to mutter another simple it’s not a big deal so you could bring that counter up to four.
But that would have been a lie.
And somehow, you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to lie in that moment, even if you had been able to find a convincing enough one.
So instead, you found two words slipping out of your mouth before you could even consider them.
“Of course.”
Again, it was such a simple sentiment.
It didn’t have to mean anything.
It was basically the same as no problem, or even the it’s not a big deal you liked to throw around.
But there was a weight there. Something unspoken in those two words, even though you couldn’t hear it through the blood rushing in your head.
At that point, the instinct to run was too strong to ignore. But you resisted it for just one more moment, if only to murmur a quiet, "Happy birthday, Joel."
After that, your feet carried you quickly out of the room. You walked down the hallway and down the stairs in what was almost a haste, eager to outrun whatever he was making you feel.
Only once you were outside of the house did you relax, leaning heavily back against the front door as it shut behind you. Eyes sliding shut, you winced at your awkwardness at the end there, placing a hand on your chest as your heart had yet to calm down.
“Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath, forcing yourself to take each step away from the house, your thoughts continuing to race even when your heart finally did settle.
Unlike the first time you had been in his bedroom, you had allowed yourself to look around the room that time; seeing how he decorated the most intimate place in his life, taking in the things he chose to wake up to every morning. You had seen the windows opposite the bed, overlooking the street you walked down now.
Resisting what had become a natural habit, you took the path under the streetlights back home this time, wondering if he was watching.
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He was.
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lizzieraindrops · 1 year
Text
Destiny is a story about shapes and grief.
I think I may have figured out Destiny. I don't think the primary conflict between the Light and the Darkness is the philosophical issue we thought it was.
I got thinking about it after all this talking, with many others but especially @jazzhandsmcleg, about the way all of The Witch Queen DLC and its 4 seasons have had overarching narratives surrounding trauma and cycles of violence and grief, and the way the Darkness and the Light are characterized by their different approaches to it.
In TWQ, Savathûn is given a true second chance for her species in the Light. But as Ikora points out, she struggles to break free of the learned patterns of the Darkness, continuing the pattern of deception and violence.
Same with Season of the Risen - it’s the Warlords and Dark Ages all over again, but this time it’s the Hive. It forces once again to ask: what does it mean to be given a second chance if this is what you do with it? Temper this with Saladin’s story about the girl from the Dark Ages who he protected, but who became a cruel mortal Warlord in her own right. Crow objects to the mental torture of the Hive Lightbearers and he tries to break from the cycle of interspecies violence, but unintentionally ends up continuing it by killing the Psion and heightening tensions between humans and the Uluran.
Season of the Haunted!!! Literally, the entire thing is about confronting your traumas and greatest fears and the worst parts about yourself and beginning to heal them, making something better from them. Completely changing the game by turning Nightmares that torment into Memories that guide you. Crow with the memory of Uldren, Zavala with that of Safiyah, Caiatl that of Ghaul - and most importantly, resolution focuses on how they, specifically have been held back from healing by their self-incriminating Nightmares. It challenges the cycle of continuing violence on a very personal level. Eris even has patrol dialogue describing the a Nightmare as a thing of pain craving only more pain: "Such is the cycle."
Season of Plunder brings up the very same questions on a much higher organizational level. It gives us Eido and Eramis taking very different jaded vs. new-hope approaches to the legacy of the Whirlwind, asking: can we change? Are we defined by generational trauma forever? Can we continue to grow and change for the better even though it can never be undone? Though Eido is clearly young and naïve, we're clearly given the opportunity and narrative nudge to sympathize with her desire and hope for growth and redemption, both for the Eliksni overall, and for Eramis in particular.
And we're not even done with Season of the Seraph, but it already goes incredibly hard asking the same questions, again from a more personal angle. How far, and through how many generations is trauma transmitted? From the Bray family to Rasputin, to Felwinter to Osiris to Ikora – how do we fix this? How do we fix this? How do you defeat an enemy who IS war itself? What can you do to end an endless cosmic cycle of violence?
Go back and back and back in Destiny's lore even back to D1, and the majority of conflicts seem driven by this cycle of grief and revenge and violence. The entire line of humanity's war with the Hive goes back through Oryx's grief for Crota and the First Crota Fireteam and Eriana-3's grief for her wife Wei Ning. Even the Hive siblings' pact with the Worm Gods, though manipulated by Rhulk, was driven by the pain and grief they endured for themselves and their people, and wanting to escape that cruel pattern. The entire predicament of the Eliksni and their conflict with humans is driven by the trauma and grief and loss of the Whirlwind. Even Caiatl's empire, a conquering force that would be highly regarded by the sword logic, now must reckon with the same kind of loss in the Fall of Torobatl.
How do you escape this cycle and stay free of it?
I think, this year, we are finally seeing the beginnings of an answer.
I can't highly enough recommend the TWQ Collector's Edition lorebook (page scans & transcript) and The Hidden Dossier (page scans & transcript) that immediately follows it. What I've been calling Ikora's theory of "memory and grace" that she develops through the course of these two lore books is a balanced philosophy of memory/Darkness and grace/Light (which honestly deserves an entire post of its own). I think it clearly points toward the final resolution the story of the conflict between the Darkness and the Light.
In light of this, something in the Calus part of the new Lightfall CE lorebook (images, transcript) really jumped out at me.
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“The doomed and the damned left the record of their downfall in the OXA. Your star got its name from the oldest myths in that archive. And when your mother told your father that story…the star became your name. A prayer that all will go as it must…and the way it must go is struggle.” “Aiat.” Not a word in Ulurant or any other Cabal tongue. “But Caiatl means something else..” “Yes. ‘It may not always go as it needs to go.’ A good name for a soldier." "A strange name for a daughter," I say. "Your father chose it for your mother's sake. Out of love."
And because the parallel is so overwhelmingly striking, I am once again going to reference philosophy/worldbuilding from the Young Wizards universe, which has great resonance with Destiny lore and which Bungie has been long aware of and has even been referenced in Forsaken-era canon lore.
“all the fair things skewed, all the beauty twisted by the dark Lone Power watching on his steed. If only there were some way he could be otherwise if he wanted to! For here was his name, a long splendid flow of syllables in the Speech, wild and courageous in its own way—and it said that he had not always been so hostile; that he got tired sometimes of being wicked, but his pride and his fear of being ridiculed would never let him stop. Never, forever, said the symbol at the very end of his name, the closed circle that binds spells into an unbreakable cycle and indicates lives bound the same way.” [...] “Nita bent quickly over the Book and, with the pen, in lines of light, drew from that final circle an arrow pointing upward, the way out, the symbol that said change could happen—if, only if—and together they finished the Starsnuffer’s name in the Speech, said the new last syllable, made it real.” Excerpt From: Diane Duane. “So You Want to Be a Wizard, New Millennium Edition.”
CAIATL’S NAME IS LITERALLY THE UP-AND-OUT SYMBOL.
I know I'm probably only talking to the handful of Destiny players from the (very small) Young Wizards fandom, but what you need to know is that this moment is pivotal and sets up the series-long theme of hope for an eventual exit from the cycle. It's the incredibly small, overwhelmingly improbable possibility of a second chance, a new start for the Lone Power, the source of all strife and suffering, who itself is driven by loss and pain. A concept of extended grace that is inherently tied to the philosophy of the Light.
“Billions of years, it took. All the redemptions there have ever been went toward this; from the greatest to the least. And finally in the fullness of time you came along, and took my role, of your own will, and woke up a race powerful enough to change the whole Universe, and gave them the fire.” She glanced up at the mobiles and smiled. “How could he resist such a bait? He took the gamble: he always does. And losing, he won.” [...] “The Defender reached down and put a hand into the shadow. “And we are going where such matters are transcended… where all his old pains will shift. Not forgotten, but transformed. Life in this universe will never have such a friend. And as for His inventions… look closely at Death, and see what it can become.” The long, prone darkness began to burn, from inside, the way a mountain seems to do with sunset. “Brother,” the Defender said. “Come on. They’re waiting.” Excerpt From: Diane Duane. “High Wizardry New Millennium Edition.”
This is the devil’s second chance, its homecoming. Grace among the memory. How do we heal this? By fixing it. By making and TAKING that opportunity of grace.
Likewise, Destiny is shaping up into its own universe’s story of this Reconfiguration, the remaking of everything that exists through the act of a second chance, both offered and taken, with full awareness of the irreversibility of harm already caused.
Destiny isn’t the story of the light and the darkness fighting each other. That happens, but that’s not what it’s ABOUT.
It’s “And I know exactly what we are. We’re best frenemies with a history of intense mutual hurt and messy reconciliation, leaving a deep tenderness as well as an almost impenetrable knot of scars. What could be simpler?” (Chalco)
It's “For so long, I believed peace was beyond my reach. No more. I have found it in guiding others down the same path that saved me. But… I might allow myself to want more than peace. What, I am not certain. Is joy the word? Might I find that again?” (Eris)
It's “Second chances… hm. Turns out I've been using mine wrong. I thought being a Guardian was my destiny. That wielding the Light for good was the most I had to offer. But it's clear now. This is what the Traveler chose me for. I was reforged in the Light for a purpose. To remake something dead and gone… into something beautiful. To learn how to forge something new from what we were. Everything Uldren did to the Reef, the Scorn… Fikrul. I have a responsibility — no — a calling to make them whole. And… I can't replace Cayde. But I can cover his old patrols — maybe organize the Hunters a bit, if they'll let me. Clean up some of my mess. I don't know if I can fix everything Uldren left broken… but I can try.” (Crow)
We aren’t defeating the Darkness. That’s never what it’s been about. It’s about breaking the cycle of trauma and grief with memory and grace. We're transcending the Final Shape, but we're not here to destroy it or become it. We’re harmonizing the Darkness and the Light into a sustainable balance to create something new from the wounded remains.
We're here to heal the broken relationship between the Winnower and the Gardener.
That's all that it is, in the end. They had a falling out, and now they hurt, and they hurt each other, and everything else, forever. Breaking free from that cycle begins and ends with them.
Is that fair? No, it's not.
But Destiny is – unhingedly, brilliantly, paradoxically – a FPS game about how to stop killing each other, growing ever more into a framework of restorative and reparative justice.
The story says, we are all culpable, we have all done awful shit and have endless potential to do more awful shit – AND, most critically, we all have the potential to do better (grace). AND, the act of making the conscious choice to do so and letting that happen is the only way for things to get better (memory).
The Collapse happened and it was horrible, the Red War happened and it was horrible, the Great Disaster happened and it was horrible, Twilight Gap happened and it was horrible...AND?? HOW ARE YOU GOING TO RESPOND? The Whirlwind happened and it was horrible! The Fall of Torobatl happened and it was horrible! Your species' Choice was stolen and you became the most prolifically violent killers in the universe and it was and is horrible! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?
Are you going to make it more horrible? Or are you going to make it BETTER????
Are you going to fight for the Final Shape, or for the gentle kingdom ringed in spears?
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carlsdarling · 7 months
Note
Could you write something where carl has always been super in love with the reader but she only starts paying attention to him after Beth’s death also can you include some smut once they get to Alexandria?
New friends & benefits
After losing your best friend Beth, you and Carl finally get closer and you show him your affection... Bit more of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.
WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, oral (male receiving)
Beth had been your best friend, you literally shared everything; you had been inseparable - especially during your time in prison. Your cells were next to each other, and you stayed up late chatting together. Sometimes you told each other creepy stories, or you played cards, you put make-up on each other and did each other's hair.
Carl kept trying to join you, but you always sent him away. Sometimes you were pretty mean to him, but he got on your nerves. He was a little younger than the two of you, and you didn't know what to do with him. Plus, he was always gawking at you and peeping at you, whatever you were doing.
Beth often made fun of that. "Carl has a crush on you, Y/N. He literally adores you," she giggled. She was probably right about that, but it wasn't something you were proud of.
Then the day came when the prison fell, Hershel died, and you fled to all points of the compass. Not only had Beth and you been lost to each other; you found yourself completely alone in the wilderness, fleeing from a pack of walkers that the Governor had let loose before he died.
For weeks you wandered around, lonely, starving and thirsty; you were not used to being alone. Shortly after the apocalypse started, you had ended up on Hershel's farm, following the death of your parents, and he had taken you in. The farm had been a relatively sheltered place. And now he was dead, and you had no idea where Beth had ended up. Or the others.
Finally, Daryl and Carol found you on the bank of a river, and you fell weeping into Carol's arms. You learned from Daryl that he had been with Beth for a while until she disappeared. Kidnapped. That's what he said, anyway. They were going to free her.
And then the horrible thing happened. Beth was killed, shot to death. You were paralyzed with grief when Carol told you, and you didn't really realize that you had found Rick's group again. You and Maggie shared your sorrow and your loss, you missed Beth and Hershel so terribly, and for a long time you shut yourself off from everyone else.
One evening, when Maggie was already asleep, you were sitting by the campfire, and Carl surprisingly joined you. You looked at him in amazement. It had been perhaps half a year since you had been separated, but you hardly recognized him. He had grown so much, tall and lanky he had become, and he had developed some beard growth. "I'm so sorry about Beth, Y/N," he said sympathetically, putting his hand on your shoulder. "I liked her, too. Even though you two never liked me." He laughed humorlessly.
"That's hardly true, Carl," you replied, "Thank you. It's just... you were so young. How old are you again?"
"Seventeen," he replied, tossing a branch into the fire. "No longer a child," he pointed out, eyeing you. When you didn't respond, he said goodbye and went to sleep.
One year later
A lot had happened in the interim. You had gotten to Alexandria, and Carl and you had become close buddies. You were really starting to like him. Then Carl lost his eye and tried to push you away; he withdrew from everyone, but you wouldn't let him throw away your friendship and persisted in seeking his company, even though he kept saying mean things to force you away. "I've already lost Beth," you said heatedly, picking up the plate and the ham sandwich. Carl had slammed both against the wall and yelled for you to leave, that he didn't want you around. "I'm not going to lose you, too, Carl. No way," you vowed.
"Look at me, Y/N!" he yelled. "I look terrible! I'm not worth it!" The bullet wound hadn't completely healed and his bandage was still a little bloody.
"How can you say such a thing?" you said, affected. "I don't give a damn what you look like. You are, and will always be, my best friend. Period."
Carl sadly fiddled with a pillow. "And... and what if I still want to be more than besties?" he mumbled, barely audible, avoiding eye contact with you. "You know I've always had a little bit of a crush on you."
You held your breath. Several times over the last few months you had imagined that there could be more between you and Carl, you never thought it possible, but you had fallen a tad in love with him, which embarrassed you, especially because you had rejected him for years. So you didn’t admit it to him, and you also thought he had lost interest in you. He seemed to get along well with Enid, too well. Carl‘s accident didn't change your feelings at all, you only cared about him even more. "I'd be happy about that, Carl," you said, gathering all your courage.
He stared at you. Carl possessed such beautiful eyes - or, rather, a beautiful eye. "Are you kidding me? Before the accident you didn't want to be with me, why now? I do not believe you.“
You decided to prove it to him, and just pressed your lips to his. He flinched, taken aback, but then awkwardly returned the kiss. You embraced each other and continued your caresses. You were careful not to hurt Carl or touch the bandage. Carl was all tense from all the stress and suffering, his neck muscles felt rock hard. "Lie down on your back," you whispered in his ear, gently kissing his neck.
"What are you up to?" he wondered, but obeyed.
"Just let me do it. Relax," you commanded, shoving his shirt up a little and starting to kiss his stomach. Carl gasped excitedly. You played with his belly button with your tongue and licked along the line of soft dark hair leading way down, then undid his belt and jeans. Carl was already hard, and whimpering with arousal, he squirmed under you. "Lift your hips," you said, and he did, and you pulled his jeans and boxers down so that his cock was exposed. "Not bad, it's bigger than I thought," you teased, taking him in your hand and kissing the already slightly wet, reddened tip before sliding his shaft into your mouth. You massaged it with your lips and sucked gently on it, and Carl almost lost his mind. He moaned, thrusted vigorously into your mouth and tugged on your hair.
"I've dreamed of this for so long, Y/N," he confessed, tossing his head back and forth on the pillow, his eye closed. Tenderly you continued to suck Carl off. After a short while, he became fidgety. "I, I think I, I'm about to cum," he stuttered nervously. „Where? Y/N, I…“ Apparently he was apprehensive about cumming in your mouth.
"It's okay, Carl," you assured him, kissing him on the lips. "Just let go. Let yourself go." Again you took his dick in your mouth and sucked and licked on it, Carl was beyond close, he just sighed and whimpered, then his cum filled your mouth. A load squirted, then a second one and a third. You swallowed it all and waited until Carl was finally done with his load before you let his now softened cock slip out of your mouth, licking him clean and lay down next to him.
Carl snuggled up to you, his pants still pulled down, he was all sweaty and sticky. He glanced at you in love. "I didn't know you felt that way about me, Y/N," he whispered hoarsely.
"Yes, I do," you clarified, tugging the blanket over both of you and playing with Carl’s hair.
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storiesbyrhi · 2 months
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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline
Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.
Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?
Chapter Summary: Pulling strings and aura reading. 3124 words.
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1986
Hedy Lamarr: Golden Age movie star and inventor. George Antheil: avant-garde composer and inventor. Together, at the beginning of World War II, they developed a radio guidance system for the Allied Forces that could employ frequency hopping technology in order to overcome the issue of the Axis Powers’ signal jamming. Decades later, their innovation would become the basis for Wi-Fi and Bluetooth tech.
The Hollywood dinner party Hedy and George were both invited to would mark their meeting in 1940. Hedy hadn’t planned on attending.
“I hear you won’t be the only free thinker there, Hed,” Abby sing-songed from the passenger seat of Hedy’s car. “Maybe you should go. And besides, Janet’s parties are always so fashionable. I’m sure even more so now she’s married that little costumer designer of hers.”
And with that, Abby had pulled yet another set of strings. It was what she excelled at. Mostly, that was a good thing. She was a good witch. However, you hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye, especially since she was prone to stealing your clothes. When she cleared her throat, you noticed she was wearing the purple lace top you loved. Not lost on the road trip to Hawkins then.
“While it is in a witch’s nature to romanticise… well, everything... I must redirect your attention to what is clearly the most critical issue…�� Abby started. She shot you a look. “Where is your angelic vampire now?”
Gillian looked at Sally. She had assumed you’d left Eddie in Hawkins. Certainly, he couldn’t be within the walls of the coven. A vampire couldn’t cross the hidden forest threshold.
You felt Kelsey move closer to you, standing behind you, closing ranks.
“Somewhere safe,” you told Abby.
“Can’t be more specific than that?”
“Fuck, Abby, does that matter?”
“I just want to know if you’ve made the same mistake twice. Did you bring a fox into the henhouse again?”
“I resent the implication of being a defenseless hen,” Kels complained.
The witches were talking among themselves once more, Abby planting a seed of fear in the coven. Eyes darted around, often flicking to you with accusatory stares. Your stomach was churning and Eddie was pushed as deeply into the corner of your pocket as he could go.
“Doesn’t this boil down to – do the means justify the ends? Because we have never abided by that before,”
“If the ends are the survival of the coven and the safety of the humans, then yes!”
Arguments were breaking out across the hall.
“Why didn’t she tell us about the vampire as soon as she happened across it?”
“Because we are a coven, not a hive mind. We are allowed to explore and learn for ourselves.”
You couldn’t gauge if a consensus was forming. Questions were coming hard and fast.
“Can we trust any of them again?”
“Where is the justice?”
“If it really is good, if… he has a soul… were there others?”
“What else have we been wrong about?”
“Even if it is good, what if it makes more, and they are the monsters we used to know?”
The tension was continuing to build. Those in the coven who were conflict-avoidant began to filter out of the hall. Whatever happened, what conclusion came, they would accept unconditionally. Other witches who had hitherto said nothing, began to share their opinions with those near them.
A voice called from within the crowd. A demand to be brought closer. Guðrún sat in her enchanted rocking chair, letting it glide just above the ground until she came to a stop before you. She was the oldest in the coven, having lived lives upon lives upon lives.
You knew Guðrún would scold Gillian and Sally later. To keep her in the dark about such important matters showed her a deep disrespect. That matter would be settled in private, among friends. You, though, the way she looked at you was as cold as ice.
“You are a healer. A rare and special gift for a witch. It comes as no surprise that you believed you saw life in something undead. When you tell your story, conviction yellow. Beloving pink.”
Guðrún was the only aura reader of the coven. Ancient wisdom gave her additional senses.
“But now. As you stand. Green turning bad. Not yet deception. Something concealed.”
Don’t break eye contact.
Don’t hold your breath.
Don’t roll over and show your soft belly.
“Too many. Too many hues. What is concealed… It is a… void. Not black, but a vacuum.”
Guðrún’s gaze trailed down to where Eddie was in your pocket. She couldn’t see him, but she could see the empty space around him where an aura should be.
Sally had figured it out the night before. The way you sat, careful of the way your jacket draped over body. Other physical cues. It was that, and that she just knew you. You’d never be parted from Eddie again. She kept the secret from her sister.
Gillian worked it out only then, following Guðrún’s line of sight. “You couldn’t unhex him completely? He returned to the bat form?” she asked you, stepping closer, ignoring the coven’s growing sense of anger and terror.
You said nothing.
She narrowed her eyes. “No. You did. But… This is how you got him through the gate… A trick of form?”
Realisation rippled outwards. For a moment, curiosity and anxiety were radiating from the coven in equal measures.
“If it is good, such a well behaved creature, then show us,” Abby called.
“He is not a show dog, Abigail,” you spat at her.
“Obviously not a dog. A bat. You’ve always had a penchant for the poetic. It’s a bit on the nose though,”
“Shut the fuck up, Abby,” Kelsey growled.
A strange sort of anticipatory silence fell across the hall. You knew what they were all waiting for.
1986, a few days earlier
“It smells nice,” Eddie commented.
He was sitting on the couch behind you. You’d dragged your coffee table altar closer to it, so you could sit between his legs on the floor and do your work.
“It’s the sage. You always say something when there’s sage.”
Your protection spell for Eddie had been finished, but in the eleventh hour, you had a stroke of inspiration.
The potion was a total risk. It was more guesswork than witchcraft. Almost a Hail Mary. You’d probably be throwing up into the mix out of stress if Eddie wasn’t gently playing with your hair.
It was symbiosis. He liked to have his hands on you. You liked his nails on your scalp. Everyone was kept sedated.
“It’s a good idea, my love,” Eddie told you, again.
“In theory,”
“And in practice. It will work.”
1986, a few days later
You knew what they were all waiting for.
“Remember that what you put into the world comes back tenfold,” you warned.
After one last look to Kelsey for support, you reached into your jacket and scooped Eddie up. While keeping your hand touching your chest, you uncurled your fingers to reveal the small bat.
Mostly, the witches were underwhelmed. Some, confused.
“Turn it back,” a voice from somewhere in the crowd said.
“Again. He is not a fucking show dog,” you sneered.
“Then how do we know it’s not dangerous?” Abby asked. “Who says as soon as it’s back in its vampire form, it won’t try to kill us all?”
She’s a good witch, you reminded yourself. A good witch. Part of your coven. But every family has the shit-stirring little sister that could stand to be brought down a peg or two. Alas, it was not the time nor place.
“Me,” you answered.
“And me,” Kelsey added.
“If you come pleading for absolution, the condition of an introduction is not too great an ask,” Guðrún declared. “If it is not a monster, then a meeting should pose no challenge,”
“The challenge doesn’t lie with me. It is with the coven,” you told her.
“You fear violence,”
“Yes. Should I not? Can you tell me all the colours emanating around us are peaceful blues? I know you see red and black and midnight tones. Why shouldn’t I fear this?”
Guðrún studied your face, briefly read the room. Before she could say anything else, and before Abby could move things along with a tug of a string, you let yourself really feel the fear. You wanted to puke.
“I have everything to lose,” you said, voice cracking. Eddie’s tiny little bat hands clung to your shirt, your hands shielding him still. “I am entirely prepared to lose my place here. And, you know what happens to a covenless witch. I have spent weeks agonising over this. All the possible outcomes. Yet here I fucking am. Telling you, all of you, what I did. What I did wrong. Why I did it. Telling you that I was stupid and I feel embarrassed. But that I was in love. That I am in love. That I was hurt in an immeasurable way. But I have found a way from there to here, and that means something. It is worth something.”
Everybody was silent.
It was always going to come to this.
Turning to Kelsey, she pre-empted your request, casting darkness over the windows, then heading out the hall.
“His name is Eddie. Edward. He was twenty when he was turned. It was 1586. He had no choice. He’s almost finished The Lord of the Rings. He helps me forage. He does housework… Eddie has a list of cats throughout history he thinks are cool. His favourite is Unsinkable Sam… He’s… He’s not what you think he is.”
Still, nobody said anything.
Kelsey reappeared at your side, holding out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.  Taking them, you turned your back on the coven, standing close enough to Kels that you formed a small partition. Your teeth were trying to chatter, nervous energy screaming to get out of you.
Please. Please. Please.
You didn’t know who you were praying to.
You said the words, Eddie appeared.
The silence became a living thing. It ate up gasps and giggles. Words and wind.
Eddie dressed quickly, but not too quickly. No vampire speed. No sudden movements. He looked you dead in the eye, your reflection in that deep darkness. Hand in hand, you stepped to reveal him to your coven.
There was not a single face of indifference.
Becoming hyper-aware of everything in your surroundings, you first focussed on Sally and Gillian. Their slumped postures. Deep set frowns. Resignation. No threat.
Abby’s fast and shallow breathing. Blown pupils.
Guðrún was squinting so hard you could barely see her eyes. She could will it all she wanted, there was no aura to read. She had no better insight than you. Than any of the others. It made her feel powerless, but in that was grace. If she had no better vantage point, her vote meant nothing more. She ceded. 
The grief was written all over Sara’s face as she moved silently through the coven. You stepped in front of Eddie, held a hand out to her.
“Bug, wait,” you asked. Sara – Bug – who you used to spend hours drying and pressing flowers with. Preserving colour and beauty. Happy in each other’s company.   
“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore,” Sara snapped. “You walked by our side for centuries, but by a single moonlit night you betrayed us?”
“Sara-”
“No. She died in my arms… You were there. You tried to stitch her together. But her skin was too shredded. Too much blood loss. They ripped her apart and now… Now this?”
Sara’s grandmother was older than Guðrún but perished at the hands of Eddie’s colony. You had tried to heal her. Save her. There hadn’t been any hope though.
Sara’s hand moved in her pocket and you became acutely aware of why she had not said anything earlier. She hadn’t been in the room. Sara had disappeared and filled her pockets with the death dust. Most witches had stored theirs away, the need gone. Not Sara. Not ever.
She moved fast, her palms flung open and a deep breath out pushing dust up and at Eddie with supernatural speed and force. It would only take a single flake of it to kill him.
It all happened in an instant. The magic hit the border of the protection spell and Sara was showered in the dust, as if she had been the intended target. Simultaneously, Eddie hissed, an innate and unconscious reaction to an attack. And you grabbed him by the arm and yanked him backward, putting space between him and the coven.
Everyone froze, processing your warning of tenfold and the events that had transpired.
Tears streamed down Sara’s face. “You’re choosing him over us?”
Abby walked to her, wrapped an arm around her waist. “Bug,” she said softly.
“I’m asking to not have to choose,” you tried to explain.
Sara wasn’t listening, not to you, not to Abby, who was whispering something to her. Distracted by this, you did not see Alexis.
Alexis did not come for death. She came for pain. She held a dagger made from carnelian, steel, and crocodile scales. She drove the dagger through the air, but hit the spell border just as the death dust had. The spell was a mirror, it would reverse the magic back to sender.
Alexis’ blade spun from her hands and glided too quickly at her. It aimed for her heart, as she had aimed for Eddie’s. Its trajectory would have seen it plunge through her ribcage’s gaps and into her still-beating heart. If Alexis died, it would all be over.
But Eddie was there.
He moved in a blink and caught Alexis with one arm, holding her safely. His other grabbed the dagger, letting it slice through the side of the hand so he could catch it mid-air. The room held its breath. Alexis’ green eyes were wide and set on Eddie. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t pull herself from Eddie’s embrace.
“I mean you no harm,” he murmured quietly, just to her. “And I like your freckles.”
Eddie let Alexis go; she stumbled a few steps before steadying herself. He moved slowly again, turning to the coven and dropping the dagger, letting it clang against the floorboards.
You rushed to him, throwing your arms around him. “Are you okay?” Looking down, Eddie had already healed from the blade. You held him tightly. He closed his eyes and melted into you.
The witches watched. Some submerged in waves of grief, some choking on anger. Some could smell honeysuckle, a sure sign of true love. Others felt a ripple of change, their skin prickling with goosebumps.
You looked to the coven.
“This is… too much. It’s too much for me. And for each of you… But it’s done…” You shook your head, then shrugged. “I just… I don’t know… We have been guided by so many forces. By what we learn. By fate, and life, and death. By the systems of morality we take from the humans. By each other. And I don’t know what’s really right. So, I’ll make my own meaning now. It’s… yeah, it’s been working. What I’ve done in Hawkins. It is good. There’s good to be done there…”
It was resonating. Ev, Meg, and Hailey. Ash, Mel, and Kelsey. More and more witches, lost in a liminal space of post-purpose. What did it mean to be a witch without a goal? What did it mean to be a woman in 1986?
Eddie watched you. I will diminish, and go into the West and remain Galadriel, the book echoed in his head. You held yourself with the same loveliness as Galadriel. Not always, but now.
“I’m going back. Maybe I’ll stay there. Maybe I’ll find somewhere else that needs help. But I don’t belong here anymore. And, maybe that’s okay. Maybe it will… it will be okay…”
As your thoughts trailed off, you met Abby’s gaze. She nodded once, a promise that you would be left alone. You nodded back, then looked for Guðrún. She had already left, putting faith in the youth of the coven.
Some of the witches began to leave the hall. You had no way of knowing who you had hurt and if you would ever be forgiven, but you were willing to pay the price of that shame to keep Eddie.
Kelsey was the first to come to you. “I’m coming with you,” she announced fearlessly.
“Me too,” echoed Mel.
The others stepped up, nodding.
“You don’t have to do this,” you told them.
“And you don’t get to tell us what to do,” Meg replied.
“You’re right. Maybe you don’t belong here. But maybe you’re not the only one,” Ev said.
A deep exhaustion was taking over. Your energy was draining into the protection spell, the mirrored bubble around Eddie took so much of your magic to keep intact. All you had in you to do was nod. You’d argue with them another day.
“Hi,” from Ash then. She grinned at Eddie.
“Hi,” he replied, flashing her a trademark smile. He took your hand. “I, ah, look forward to meeting you all. But I believe it might be best if I depart. For now,”
“Yeah,” you agreed. “Do you wanna go ahead? I know this looks like a truce but it feels more like a stalemate. I’ll be on the road in a few hours... Sic fiat,” and the bat swirled through the air and out the open door. He flew up, up, up, until the wards of the coven were far below him.
Eddie covered miles of Catskills quickly, before finding a nice tree to huddle in, awaiting your arrival.
“You’re leaving already?” Kelsey asked.
“You don’t have to go right away,” Hailey told you.
“I’m causing more sorrow than joy being here. It’s not fair on the others,”
“What happened wasn’t fair to you,” Mel pointed out.
“I know. But… This isn’t black and white… But I’m kind of tired… Meg… Any cinnamon rolls ready? You know, for the road?”
You sat with your sisters, drinking tea and eating baked goods. They told you about their lives, about what the past few months had looked like for them. And while none of it was on the same scale as Henry Creel and revived vampires, you realised you were not alone.
When you imagined the path forward, you were always holding Eddie’s hand. You were the only witch walking though. However, all it took to build a coven was a couple of witches with overlapping notions of love, magic, and morality. Maybe there was room for more.
End Note: Thank you to @jo-harrington for teaching me about the very real Hedy Lamarr. If you don't know about her, she is absolutely worth a Google.
To the newest additions to the coven - @munson-blurbs and @littlesubbyflower. Thank you for being the face of objection.
And, to anyone that loves Catfish and the Bottlemen as much as I do... I had to do it. Hopefully, it wasn't too cringe lmaoooooo.
Grimoire is updated.
REBLOG AND TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS AND FEELS!!!
Love yas.
Fic Taglist:  @paranoidmunson  @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03
All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16
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naofaun · 5 months
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i see people asking what morro's appeal to the fandom is, and after some thought, i think i realised what it is.
it's the tragedy of his entire story, from start to finish. the helplessness of it all, the grief, the longing, the parts of your past that haunt you forever (ghost pun not intended).
you look at morro and you don't see the big scary monster that the writers painted him as. you see a boy, a child, who spent his entire life pursuing one single goal that was just barely out of reach. you see a child who died for that goal suffocated in toxic fumes, who lost his home and family and safety for that goal.
we don't know why he was cursed. but as if he hadn't been through enough agony, as if the world hadn't broken this child enough, he wound up in a realm flooded with evil. his mind couldn't handle the trauma of what happened. as if he wasn't fixated enough, his desire became stronger.
he wanted nothing more than to prove himself.
you can see it in the way he talks and acts. he doesn't care about taking over. he doesn't care about the preeminent's goals. if anything, dying in that cave on that night made him all the more determined to prove himself worthy.
he had so much anger, so much terrible sadness in him that he didn't know what to do with it. he had to blame someone. the only person he could reasonably reflect his agony onto was sensei wu, the only man to ever help him.
he came back to ninjago years and years later. the person who got the green gi was no more than a little boy, who had never been trained like he was. who never spent years and years of his life pursuing this goal, dedicating everything to it. hell, he didn't even want it?
even his defeat was tragic. you can see him panicking, doing everything he can to escape destiny. destiny will always wrap its chains around him once more though, because he was finally dragged down to the depths. once more, he would fail his goal. once more, he would watch everything he dedicated himself to simply fade away before his very eyes.
he could have saved himself. he could have taken wu's hand, dragged himself onto that dragon and started a new life.
but he didn't want to. i love the “morro takes wu’s hand and redeems himself” aus as much as the next person, but he didn't want to. he made the active decision to shove the crystal in wu's hand and let death take him once more.
because in the end, he'd lost so much that living wasn't worth it anymore. his goal was never going to be achievable. he was never going to be truly happy. he never learned how to stop and appreciate life, how to love himself and reach his true sense of self like the rest of the ninja.
he died before he could reach his true potential, guys. that dragon was not his, it was lloyd’s. he died before he even got the chance.
unlike the ninjago villains both before and after him, morro has genuine emotion and life to his story. he's not bad for the sake of being bad. he's not just another enemy for lloyd garmadon to defeat. he's a kid who got in over his head, who wasted away trying to break free of his own fate. and he failed.
if anyone reading this has seen day of the departed, then you know morro came back only long enough to warn sensei wu of what was coming for him. the other villains immediately picked up their weapons and scurried off to cause mayhem for the sake of it, but morro was different. he changed. he let go of his grief and accepted his role in the world.
he helped the ninja despite his prior hatred for them (although i truly believe it was jealousy fueled by insecurity and grief, not hatred). sure, he taunted wu a little at first, but you could tell that it was nothing more than a little fun. he was a boy again, he was okay again. there was no reason for him to hurt anyone. he's moved on.
no one knows what happened to him in the departed realm, or why he healed and the other villains didn't. i don't think i want to know, though. it doesn't matter. all that matters is the fact that he's better now.
so, yes. unlike the other ninjago villains, morro’s story is so painfully and breathtakingly human. he has emotion and development that no other antagonist like him got to have. or at least, it certainly didn't feel as raw as his did.
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January MC of the Month: Nora Rose
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Please welcome January 2024's MC of the Month! Each month, we highlight one MC or OC on our Meet My MC / OC List. They are selected randomly on the Wheel of Names, and eligibility requirements can be found here. We accept MC / OC profiles on an ongoing basis. Please feel free to send yours in!
This month’s MC of the month is…
@inlocusmads's Nora Rose
More below...
In your own words, tell us what you like most about your MC / OC.
The thing I like the best about Nora is how she has a killswitch alternative to any plan she comes up with. Even if it is something as simple as coming up with dinner options. She has this interesting perceptive ability that's akin to playing 4D chess, but at the same time, she has elevator music running in her head.
At the same time, she's sometimes terribly wrong and isn't afraid to acknowledge that. The things she's able to do today - from keeping a level head and a calm composure in the hardest of situations come from her childhood where things were hard, and she had to grow up quite quickly. A lot of times, she'd have to think on her feet, run through options, remember new stuff, and be able to work with her constraints, not just pertinent to her job but in her adulthood as a whole. Her capacity to be able to stand up on her own feet came from so many instances where she couldn't even get off the floor or look straight ahead. 
Nora's also a slow learner but an avid one nonetheless. She was kicked out of so many schools when she was young, mostly because of her not being able to focus properly or standing up to her bullies (something the school calls ‘stirring trouble up’), and it kind of stunted the faith she had in herself. She had to build up an open mind to be able to differentiate between what is good and bad for her. She had to learn how to carve out her own path, despite dealing with so much grief she could never move on from. All of these things stuck to her when she grew up, which made her more aware and sponge-like to gather the mental ammunition needed to face all kinds of problems. 
Nora's far from what she pictured herself to be as a kid, but she's kind of bittersweet about making it this far. Optimistic that if she just doesn't think too much about stuff, the space and time around her would heal even the bloodiest of wounds, but also disappointed she can't deal with things more openly and faster, like in a brawling match. But I'm happy for her, given the circumstances she was in. Nora's always had this ability to chew her way out of things - by hook or by crook. If she can't decode a lock, she'd just give it a slight nudge. If the nudge doesn't work, she'll just straight-up shoot at it and deal with the fallout later. Her main motto is to “just keep going”. 
Do you feel your MC / OC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?
I'd say I took a lot from my experiences growing up and gave them to Nora - dealing with people at school, understanding where she truly “belongs” (before she realized that was a load of bull and she should just stop tunnel-visioning a perfect outcome and instead think about laying down a different road to her path). Nora and I share this trait where we can't sit still, but if something's up, we'd spend hours at the same place, even if it involves doing absolutely nothing. Plus, it takes both of us ages to respond to a message. Nora more than me, for sure, and half the time, she's just bored of the routine email chore (not a good sign in her line of work, but she manages.)
That's where the similarities stop haha.
She's a tough person. She throws a good punch, having undergone a lot of physical training to qualify for her NYPD officer job and more recently, for her private eye job (Mafalda had some strict requirements). She's also a great problem-solver as aforementioned. Besides the usual differences in physicality and all, she doesn't get startled easily - as in, the world could possibly end tomorrow and she'd still be at her desk, responding to a two-year old email. Her self-assurance at that instant (not anytime or anywhere else) but at that very instant is so strong, it is honestly remarkable. 
Nora also enjoys doing things on her own. Whether it be making dinner from scratch, down to the bread-baking, deducing information (without relying on scraping the bowels of the internet) or stitching her clothes if they don't fit her. It was one of the only lessons her mother taught her before she passed. Which is also the reason why she doesn't like frozen food. More on that later. 
What is most important to your MC / OC? What is their motivation in life?
Vengeance. 
Just kidding. 
It is actually vengeance. I don't know how else to put it. 
Nora's been wronged by a lot of people in her life. From losing her mother because the hospital in charge neglected her to losing her father also because her co-workers neglected him, she went through pretty much the same neglect-arc in school and college. She was always dismissed as a “traumatized kid” half the time and the other half the time, people didn't listen to her when she'd say, for example, report a bully for what they did or critique a faculty member for showing their bias. It resulted in a lot of things that went wrong in her life - from not having a good support system to being an actual orphan when she was barely thirteen. 
This kind of manifested in horrible ways when she was a kid. She suffered from a lot of anger issues and would immediately resort to physical violence if she were confronted. It isn't fair to blame her either, because she was so helpless. She'd wanted someone, just anyone to listen to her - to be there for her. This desire to help her child-self developed well into adulthood. Nora began building back the stability she never had. She's still doing it. She allows herself optimism even when she doesn't believe in anything. She puts her faith in the arbitrary workings of the universe so there's less burden to carry on her shoulders. Even though the things she tells herself aren't all perfect, they would be something her younger self would have appreciated so much. 
Taking revenge for the child in her to rest easy, for the teenage girl in her to find joys in stupid things such as trashy television shows and emo music and for her to be at peace in her own skin without wanting to explode every five minutes has always been her plan ever since she grew up. That and simply because she uses it to feel more proud of what she does. When something isn't getting anywhere, she's like “Yeah well, f it, we'll get it done. A setback ain't shit.” It was always about the “we”. 
Nora is also driven by the motivation to finish something as fast as possible. Everything is like cross-country running to her because she relishes in the satisfaction of getting a chunk of time just to herself right after getting something done. Which means she's either very good at jumping through hoops or crashes and burns. If something takes longer than her intended expectations, she'll drop it in an instant or table it until she gets her motivation back to finish it. It resulted in a lot of half-completed, archived projects but a few she's proud of, including having made her own quilts and bedsheets for the winter. 
This mentality is something she can never get rid of. At school, she was either the best player on her soccer team or the absolute worst. (Hey, at least there's no in-between to her.)
What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes?
She hates frozen food with a burning passion. Being from a Chinese household, her parents, in the few good years they had with her - taught her the importance of a home-cooked meal or just any cooked meal. Nora, being the impressionable naive child she was, caught onto it and developed this visceral hatred for frozen anything. While she digs the convenience, she isn't a fan of how it tastes either - apart from her family values. This seeps into how Nora sees everything. She's the weird survivalist aunt with a shotgun in her closet because her personal goal is to make everything she consumes. From food, down to the clothes she wears or the curtains in her window, everything has to have had her work and hours put into it. 
Nora is also not a fan of people who don't listen first and just yap, yap and yap. This is why she often got into “creative differences” with her co-workers in her precinct. This is also the reason why Mafalda gives Nora full control of the wheel when she isn't there at the Agency, because the fewer people yapping, the happier Nora is and the better she works. 
As for visceral dislikes, boy oh boy does she have a lot:
Starting strong with the NYPD because they suck, point blank, period. She also thinks there's a special place in hell for people who just assume a lot and can get away with baseless accusations. She can understand broken promises - after all, people move on sometimes, and it's hard to keep track of them, but she draws the line at a proper betrayal. Words don't matter much to her, but actions do. Nora also isn't a fan of people who jump to the easiest conclusion just because it's easy. She’s seen a lot in her life not to automatically red-flag them. It’s worse when it comes from authorities, y’know people you’re taught to trust.
Also, people who gate-keep their expertise. She’s come across so many pretentious people who’d rather let an important investigation hit a dead end than worry about spilling their “trade secrets.” Kind of a niche dislike, but if you’re running out of time and your only hope banks on a mystery novelist’s ability to describe what he saw and tell the truth like his characters would have done, you too would be frustrated if he’d rather drink his coffee when he knows he’s purposefully jeopardizing the investigation’s momentum. And that’s just one of her ‘good’ experiences. Nora loathes academia and wouldn’t touch it even with a six-foot pole.
If your MC / OC could change one thing - anything - what would it be?
Be blessed with a readable medical textbook so she could diagnose her mother earlier than her doctors ever can (and) get magical surgery skills to revive her dad after he got stabbed. 
She still regrets not being able to do anything because she was “just a kid”.Nora has learned to cope with it, knowing she can't do anything about it but she still has this itching feeling of what if things had turned out for the better. It's this heavy rock she's gonna have to deal with for sometime now. 
Nora has this tricky relationship with her heritage. She isn't a fan of how different she is compared to the rest of her family and how they'd ostracized her after her settling down far from home. She wants to be able to change that aspect but knows it is too late to repair the damage. If she could go back in time and “pick a side,” she wouldn't have to feel the FOMO.
This regret of hers, however, is attributed to her never feeling she belonged somewhere among her family. Someday, she'd have to find her own family, own circle of friends, and culture to build. Someday, she'll learn that she's as valid to celebrate her heritage as her Aunt Mei or Uncle Tommy. That there aren't true extremes to anything there's no “one way” to be something, but until then, she's going to angrily sew back some loose stitches and groan about not being able to speak Cantonese as fluently as her relatives or being a “true” New Yorker. 
Also maybe her hair. (Also it is so hard to draw her hair consistently.) Sometimes it gets in the way. And maybe fix her eyesight without needing contacts or glasses. Automatically give herself 20/20 vision whenever needed and blur her eyes out when she doesn't want to.
What is your MC / OC’s favorite quote or song?
It's hard to pick one song, because Nora listens to anything and doesn't really have a music ‘taste’ as long as the song she's listening to has some spunk to it. Something she relates to would be I Talk To The Wind by King Crimson. Combined with the slow pace and the lyrics that basically put her life as a picture, it's a bop.
Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC / OC?  (It can be why you created them, how they’ve inspired you, or you could write a little blurb as if it is coming from your OC - an acceptance speech. :) )
I've struggled a lot with naming characters before but Nora's was the only time I knew her name wayyy before I could give her a personality. I was like “yep she's Nora, she's definitely one, yep.” and somehow I didn't anticipate how much she'd like, write herself and the story just writing itself. It literally popped into my head as outlandish as it may seem. And somehow that process worked because I don't ever run out of new headcanons to add.
Nora's also the first character I've created a 100k-worded introduction for (which will never see the light of day and is chucked into my files). I honestly expected her to just be fleeting. I'd make up something about her character, and I'd leave it at that, but nope. 
She's the most organized person in the universe. Her clothes never had a chance to get folded since 1999. She is so methodic and yet will pull off stupid shit like kickboxing a door because she doesn't want to open it. Nora is the character to every character but she stops charactering if she's in front of any screen with something playing on it. She can calculate the angle she needs to throw something so it can hit something, but she fails at basic math at the checkout line. She's masterful at cooking up a storm in the kitchen but enters her flop era when she forgets to take her stuff from the oven when the timer beeps.
Honestly, Nora was such a good lesson in writing as well because people are not always black-and-white. Sometimes, their strengths are their weaknesses. Sometimes the things they are chasing after work against their benefit. Maybe their opinions are skewed after all, even though the narrative conditions into believing that they're the Hero character. They should be allowed to be terribly piss-pathetic poor at something before learning to solve the problem, and sometimes it's okay if they're just bad at something if they can improv a way forward.
Plus, she's cool and stuff. Sometimes. 
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bliss-in-the-void · 7 months
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SatoSugu complex relationship angst (pt2) wherein strength is what ultimately came between them.
They saw each other as rivals and the means to push each other to get stronger so as not to be bested. They acknowledged each other’s strength and in turn wanted their strength to be acknowledged by the other. Oh, he’s impressive. I want to impress him too. I want him to know I’m just as good.
(This is long so read full under the cut):
Suddenly they were two special grades and the strongest sorcerers in their generation. All while in high school. Together, they were the strongest. A unit. And so it was less about competition and more about harmony. He isn’t better than me and I’m not better than him in strength.
“Satoru, you didn’t sleep last night and you haven’t turned off your Infinity in two days, are you sure we don’t need to go back to Jujutsu High?”
Satoru thinks: I’m tired but I can’t show him that, he’ll think I’m weakened and I’m supposed to be strong. I need to be strong so he feels strong. It’ll be fine, we’re strong.
“No, it’s fine, I’ve dealt with worse and you’re here too.”
Suguru thinks: He’s acknowledging my strength, he trusts me to keep us safe because I’m strong like him. I’m nervous but I need to keep being strong so that he can depend on me like he is now.
They leave the next morning and as soon as they’re in the barrier of the high school.
“Satoru, you really worked hard. Thank you.” Now he can rest. Everything is okay.
Satoru turns his Infinity off and six seconds later, right behind him, right in Suguru’s direct line of sight, Toji stabs him.
Suguru is thinking: how did that happen? We’re inside the barrier. I’m looking right at Satoru, how didn’t I see him? I should have seen him coming. I couldn’t protect him.
Then Satoru tells him to leave with Amanai and get her to Tengen. Leave him to deal with Toji alone. Suguru hesitates.
He thinks: Leave him behind? But we always do everything together. We can take him on together. I need to get Amanai to Tengen but I don’t want to leave him. I can still fight with him, I’m strong.
But Satoru smiles reassuringly at him. He thinks it’ll be fine. He leaves.
Toji finds him and tells him he killed Satoru. Suguru sees red. He felt grief, anger, confusion, and the need for vengeance. How could Satoru die? Aren’t we the strongest? How could this man have taken him out? Was it because we separated?
Suguru gets defeated but left alive. He feels survivor’s guilt. Toji could have killed him but didn’t—only Satoru died. He dragged himself to Shoko, distraught. Satoru is gone. They aren’t the strongest anymore. He’s alone.
Then he goes to retrieve Amanai’s body from the cult and sees Toji’s weapon-holding curse running free. Someone killed Toji. Only one person would be able to kill Toji. He rushes in to find Satoru holding Amanai’s body.
Satoru is alive. Somehow, he’s alive. But his eyes are lifeless. Something is wrong. Did he come back as a curse? “Satoru, is that you?”
“You went to see Shoko already?”
I did. She healed me. And somehow you’re healed and you didn’t need her. You learned Reversed Curse Technique? I can’t do that. How can you do it? We’re equals, aren’t we?
“Yeah. She healed me. I’m feeling fine again. But that doesn’t change anything here, does it?”
Suguru thinks: He’s different because of me. Amanai is dead because I didn’t see Toji coming behind Satoru. I should have seen it. I should have done more.
“I screwed up pretty bad. You are not the one at fault.”
Satoru thinks: don’t blame yourself, I’m the one who got worn down and allowed all of this to happen. We should have just left the night before like we were supposed to. My judgement was bad, and I wasn’t strong enough. I was too weak. We both got hurt because of it. But we’re still strong. We can deal with these people right now. We can prove that we’re better than them.
“Suguru, should we kill these guys?”
Suguru thinks: it would be too easy. We could do it in seconds. We are strong. But we need to choose where to show it. Restraint is also a virtue of strength.
“There wouldn’t be any meaning to it.”
They leave. They are never the same.
Satoru internalizes the fact that he wasn’t strong enough and buries himself in training and missions so that it will never happen again.
Suguru internalizes the fact that no matter how strong he was, it wasn’t enough, and spirals down with victim-mindset thoughts of we shouldn’t have had to be strong and why do we need to be strong? Is that all we are?
Satoru is now so strong that he doesn’t need Suguru to help him like he used to, and it makes Suguru feel like his exorcisms are in vain. Satoru can take care of it all. Why does he still have to do it when they just keep coming?
And then it dawns on him.
He doesn’t have to be a weak sorcerer. He can be the strongest curse user.
He won’t have to exorcise for no purpose anymore, he can do it to build his arsenal of curses and make money. He can do it to create a world where sorcerers can live their lives as their own and not as self-sacrificing protectors.
So he does it. He becomes the number one curse user, and Satoru is the number one sorcerer. He’s the strongest again, but this time, it’s on his own.
Take that, Satoru.
“There’s no point of chipping away at something you can’t possibly achieve.”
That digs at Suguru. There it is, evidence that Satoru does not think he’s strong anymore He isn’t strong enough to kill all non-sorcerers. All the strength he used to acknowledge no longer exists, apparently.
“You’re so arrogant. You could do it yourself, couldn’t you? But you’d try to convince someone else that it’s impossible, when it’s possible for you.”
Suguru’s thoughts: you see yourself alone as the strongest. Which means it is possible, so don’t say that it’s not possible. You could do it. You’re telling me I can’t. That’s unfair.
“Do you think you’re the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo, or are you Satoru Gojo because you’re the strongest?
How much do you identify with your strength? Did you become strong because of who you are? Or are you you because you are the strongest? Did the inner strength come from your personality or out of obligation and weight to become strong? Why are you strong? Was it your own desire to be so, or the expectation of the world that forced you to be?
It’s a dig. Suguru is saying, you’re strong because you have to be. I’m strong because I want to be. No one is controlling my life but me now, you can’t say the same for yourself. You are a puppet for the society, and I get to live the way I want from now on. Which one of us is truly weak now?
He walks away and challenges Satoru to kill him. Prove that you’re the guard dog that will obey my execution order.
Satoru doesn’t. He lets Suguru walk away, an act of defiance. But he doesn’t feel any stronger because of it.
Yaga meets him on the steps and he asks,
“Do you think I’m strong?”
“Yes. And arrogant about it.”
“Apparently being strong alone isn’t enough. The only ones I can save are those who are already waiting to be saved by someone.”
Suguru vibe-checked the hell out of him. He couldn’t save Suguru, because strength was what came between them. No matter how strong he is, he isn’t strong enough to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. Suguru didn’t want to be saved. Strength meant jack shit.
You don’t just need strength to keep things the way they were, like he had thought. He buried himself in training to get strong to prevent a catastrophe from happening again and Suguru leaving just proved that strength alone isn’t enough. Because now the strength he has could have saved Riko, but it couldn’t save Suguru.
What could have saved Suguru was the two of them not being alone, and he realizes that too late.
So make up for it, he adopts Megumi to make sure he isn’t alone, he becomes a teacher to raise strong sorcerers to be strong alongside each other, to train with each other, to care for each other and have each other’s backs power-wise and emotionally, to never be alone again like he and Suguru became after the Toji incident.
It’s not strength alone, it’s love that you need too.
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yramesoruniverse · 1 year
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I love when 911 reminds us that queers are very much involved with making this show.
Not just the fact of a Henren Begins ep, told through the frame of an Epic Love Story. But the sheer number of choices — all the little details — that only gays would think of. Too damn many to count, and I know I'll pick up on more on rewatch:
Not just dropping in a DADT reference — which any well-meaning straight might do — but starting the ep with Karen's simmering rage. The protective barriers around her broken gay heart, because "they don't let people like us go to space." The fury at your powerlessness against these forces — these people so hellbent on grinding us to dust and eradicating us. No matter how hard you work or how brilliant you are, "people like us" don't get to have our dreams come true. The very queer dynamic of doubling down on your career anyway. How there's a part of you that believes that maybe — maybe I can be smart enough or competent enough or perfect enough and then they'll see. How we will take our own oppression and grind ourselves to dust for them. How all that rage has to go somewhere. The nuances of just that part of their story? Breathtaking.
How of course it was Sally Ride who made baby Karen fall in love with the universe. Sally Ride who so badly wanted to be an astronaut, but they "do not let people like us go to space." Sally Ride who lived and loved in secret, only coming out after her death. (Literally. She orchestrated her own coming out in her obituary.) How even if we don't know — even if we don't have the words and they don't use them — we know who our people are. We always know. Karen knew.
And on a much more fun note: Hen's date-seduction-swagger, the body language, the smirk, the clothes, the everything. A very particular dyke energy, just off the charts.
SO many choices in their sex scene, but that shot of their shoes? Gayest thing I've seen in my gay-ass life. And Crimson and Clover??? I howled and then I died. A queer ass homosexual made that choice, let me tell you.
How we are deprived of so much as queer people, how we don't get to be taught as children and adolescents how to live, how to move through the world, how to be. We have to grow up and figure it all out for ourselves. How there is beauty in this shared experience in our community, a liberation to be found in creating ourselves, building our own families and relationships free from the suffocating confines of the dominant culture. But also so very much grief. The subtle but powerful choice to show how we so often come to ourselves later in life, but told with so much hope and joy. How it took a while — and they had to choose each other over and over again, as they learned to become themselves — but ultimately it was Queer Love that healed and saved Hen and Karen.
I just love everyone who makes this show, but a special shoutout to the queers. And you know what? Hat tip to the straights too. Because they clearly listen and defer to queers in the telling of these stories.
911 said this show is for the gays. I love you 911. ❤🧡💛💚💙💜🖤
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aemondsladywife · 1 year
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Helloooo
kinda have an idea for an alternate ending in My Lady Wife where the reader gave birth and managed to survive but due to the complications she had while giving birth she was too exhausted to hold her newborn daughter and passed out. Aemond enters the scene where he saw the maester and her handmaiden clean up and make her more comfortable in "a sorry excuse of chambers" given by Aemond said by her handmaiden coldly. Her handmaiden hated Aemond after what happened and is very loyal to the reader that she reluctantly agrees to let Aemond see his daughter. Aemond sees his daughter in the cot, sleeping soundly. The baby woke up and sees Aemond and looks at him curiously as he picked her up. His daughter inherited her mother's hair and complexion but has bright violet eyes.
Aemond wants to set things right and left her chambers and instructed the servants to place her things back in their shared chambers and move her back when she wakes up. He sets off with Vahgar to the markets to buy her food and flowers.
Nowwwwwww, reader wakes up. She still doesn't know that everyone knows she's innocent all along and starts to fear what will happen to her child. With a heavy heart, she packs up her essentials (mostly for the baby), dressed herself, and picked up her daughter to run away from the castle. Every step she took hurt her as she was still healing and tried to walk fast with her baby in her arms and a heavy bag in her back. She managed to leave the castle but saw her handmaiden. Her handmaiden saw her but didn't question her and helped her on the journey.
Reader had planned her escape to the free cities in fear that Aemond will take away her baby and managed to get to the free cities via ship as she lied about her identity.
Now when they reached the free cities, they went to the nearest sept to rest and heal. the ladies in the sept were nice and gave her medical care both for her and her baby. The reader is also good at lying so she managed to brew up some sob story about why she was here.
After her stay she thanked them and paid them. Time skip reader stays at some orphanage to raise her daughter and became a teacher to the children and planned to stay there. She still thinks about Aemond as time passes by. She still loves him but the mere thought of him reminds her of the pain, the betrayal, and the loneliness she felt during that time. Her trust issues worsened and didn't trust anyone aside from her handmaiden. Her personality changed too: instead of being kind to everyone no matter what, she had this personality of 'if your kind to me, ill be kind to you. if not, I'll fuck with you". She became more independent to herself and learned to only depend on herself because, in the end, no one will help her.
Now to Mr Aemond.....
My guy was miserable the moment he learned that she ran away. He knew why, who wouldn't run away after he threatened her to take away her baby and face punishment? He was regretful and grief stricken. It's only a matter of time Aemond sees them again.
THIS WAS VERY LONG IM SORRY BUT ALL ASIDE FROM THAT, I REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS!!!
-Carm
CARM BABY THAT WAS AMAZING, i'm adding that to my alt ending list!
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wangxianficfinder · 2 years
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"Beautiful Writing and Good Plot" Compilation Part 1
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"Beautiful Writing and Good Plot" Compilation Part 1 
We got a request at some point for stories with "beautiful writing and good plot" and I missed it back then, but here's my compilation, just from going through my bookmarks and looking for key words like *beautifully written, *lyrical, *epic, etc. So, in absolutely no particular order, please enjoy! [And feel free to list your own, and we'll do a Part 2 Compilation for all of yours as well!] ~ mojo
~*~
take me back to a time by DizziDreams (T, 144k, wangxian, my bookmark, PODFIC) - lwj time travels to modern wwx
❤️Dignity and Animality by Anielka (G, 37k, wangxian, my post) - wwx is reincarnated as a rabbit for the 13-year interval: watership down fusion... not necessary to be familiar with watership down
hills and rivers by LtLJ (T, 70k, wangxian, 4 works, my post) - post canon wwx settling into his new life with appropriate drama and angst
help is on the way by Vamillepudding (M, 15k, wangxian, my post) - dreamy, shadowy fairy tale feel about lwj crumbling/recovery in wake of yiling patriarch's dramatic demise... happy ending!
wide enough and wild by impossibletruths (E, 64k, wangxian, my post) - Noping Out Of Society With Your Boyfriend And Your 50 Wen Refugees: The Novel
❤️We'd roll and fall in green by x_los (E, 27k, wangxian, WIP, my post, 2 works, series in progress) - in which canon wwx was always a girl
Vagabond by xantissa (E, 65k, wangxian, my post) - post canon case fic
❤️The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou (E, 66k, wangxian, my post) - seriously injured wwx after Qiongqi Path canon divergence: lwj caretakes
❤️A Burning Cold by MountainRose (G, 29k, child wei wuxian, my bookmark) - child wwx barely survives homelessness, is chronically ill, and all of canon is slightly different
❤️Dream a little dream of me by Moominmammashandbag (M, 60k, wangxian, my bookmark) - fix it where wwx never dies, he was imprisoned by the Jin and now is rescued
other earths and skies by binghecarer (T, 54k, wangxian, my bookmark) - East of the Sun, West of the Moon fairy tale au
mercy, tear it down. by orange_crushed (E, 33k, wangxian, my post) - wangxian find peace during Sunshot with dom/sub
and his wanting grows teeth by yukla (T, 25k, wangxian, my post) - au where wwx grows up outside the cultivation world but lwj finds him anyway, casefic
the red dark shifting by typefortydeductions (E, 16k, wangxian, my post) - Star Trek, Tarsus IV au
Imperfect Memory by xantissa (E, 62k, wangxian, my post)​ - war prize lwj au
❤️爱不释手; never let me go by yiqie (E, 69k, wangxian, my post) - post canon case fic
two guys r in love thats literally it by victortor (M, 11k, wangxian, my post) - time travel fix it
seldom all they seem by Fahye (E, 25k, wangxian, my post) - in which wangxian have been betrothed since childhood
come morning light by wolframvonbielefeld (maknaeline) (E, 17k, wangxian, my post) - canon and post-canon, grief, character studies and healing
bring you home by Alasse_Irena (T, 28k, wangxian, my post) - modern au with grief and ptsd and healing
in your skin by darkredloveknot (enheduane) E, 10k, wangxian, my post) - post canon case fic with a little body horror
Grave of a Living God by Gotcocomilk (T, 35k, wangxian, my post) - wwx time travels... but ends up in wen ruohan's clutches
From my heart's ground. by orange_crushed (E, 38k, wangxian, my bookmark) - lwj learns a new cultivation in the 13 years interval
set your old heart free by words-writ-in-starlight (Gunmetal_Crown) (E, 42k, wangxian, my post, 6 works) - canon and post-canon feels and catharsis
❤️As It Should Be by kuro (M, 37k, wangxian, my post) - arranged marriage angst
❤️Ribbons and Heartsongs by jeyhawk (E, 37k, wangxian, my post) - kind of a mesh between space/fantasy/urban fantasy AU
Concerning Rabbits by manta (G, 28k, wangxian, my post) - grief and healing, bunnies and friendships
between the shadow and the soul by cl410 (M, 22k, wangxian, jiang siblings, my post) - post burial mounds wwx is feral and needs help, dreamy fairy tale feel
A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart (E, 22k, wangxian, my post) post canon getting together
Lost and Found by dea_liberty (M, 36k, wangxian, my post) - post canon healing, but maybe not *plotty*
Yúyīn 餘音 by riotintheheartt (E, 18k, wangxian, my post) - au with god lan wangji and amputee wwx hiding/living in his temple
~*~
Under 10k (so maybe slightly less plotty)
~*~
After by tellthemstories (G, 5k, lan sizhui & lan wangji, my post) - parent-child relationship, grief and healing, 13 years
tonight i can write the saddest lines by sarahyyy (G, 4k, wangxian, my post) - amnesiac lwj learns to love wwx all over again, post canon
the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 8k, wangxian, my bookmark) - horror with serving of yiling patriarch retribution
you, whose heart would sing of anarchy by doodlebutt (T, 9k, zhuiyi, my bookmark) - #sizhui has full custody of the brain cell; and #rule breaking as a love language
how to tame a dragon by lanwineji  (E, 6k, chengyi, my post) - Spirited Away au where lan jingyi trips into another world and discovers jiang cheng
The Feathers in the Thread by deliciousblizzardshark (M, 4k, wangxian, my bookmark) - The Crane Wife fairy tale au
Buried in the Sky, Hallowed by thy Depths by themunchking (T, 9k, wangxian, my post) - in which the Twin Jades are sirens
the sleeper's gift by iliacquer (T, 6k, wangxian, my post) - fairy tale au inspired by Maleficent
the shadow of a name in skin by iliacquer (E, 9k, wangxian, my post) - amnesiac yiling patriarch, fairy tale feel
❤️tie a knife with a ribbon by iliacquer (E, 5k, wangxian, my post) - war prize lwj au, there is some plot with the pwp
~*~
(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)
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calliesmemes · 2 months
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RANDOM DIALOGUE PROMPTS, ACT II
ASSORTED QUOTES FOUND IN FILMS, TELEVISIONS, MUSIC, AND LITERATURE.
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CHANGE gendered words as needed.
SPECIFY muse for multimuses.
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“   A great force is asleep in you. ”
“   All I ever think about is you. ”
“   All I ever wanted was to know what to do. ”
“   Am I a good man? ”
“   Are you going to kill me? ”
“   Becoming the villain isn’t the answer. ”
“   Can you prove it to me? ”
“   Did you really think that I would ever let you go? ”
“   Do you regret taking the vow? ”
“   It was like a switch was flipped. ”
“   Fear cuts deeper than swords ”
“   Forgiveness is different from absolution. ”
“   Have I explained away any part of my guilt? ”
“   Help me. Remind me why I am here. ”
“   How many have died because of my actions? ”
“   How often will you repent? ”
“   How strange this is! What is the meaning of it? ”
“   I appreciate your concern. ”
“   I am beyond repentance. ”
“   I am destroying myself so other people can’t. ”
“   I am doing no injury to anybody but myself. ”
“   I am nothing if not merciful. ”
“   I am so glad to see you! ”
“   I believe you are perfectly right. ”
“   I can’t help but give in. ”
“   I cannot agree with you there. ”
“   I doubt I will be pleasant company. ”
“   I doubt everything, even my doubt. ”
“   I feel as though I have been living a long, long time. ”
“   I fought so hard to free you… ”
“   I have betrayed everyone and everything I know. ”
“   I have survived, but I have not been spared. ”
“   I have this grief and I don’t know why. ”
“   I will do whatever you ask. ”
“   I will not be a caged bird. I will fly free. ”
“   I played my part in the plan. ”
“   I pledge myself to your teachings. ”
“   I’m like a collection of paradoxes. ”
“   I’m sorry you were not truly loved and that it made you cruel. ”
“   I’m not too gone to be healed, am I? ”
“   I'm not everything I want to be, but I'm more than I was, and I'm still learning. ”
“   I’m restless and harsh and hopeless. ”
“   I’ll do all that I can to make things right. ”
“   If I cannot be loved, I must be feared. ”
“   Is everyone in danger as long as I’m alive? ”
“   Is this fair? Is this just? ”
“   Is this what you wanted? ”
“   It ends as it began. ”
“   It would be impossible, I know. ”
“   It’s not my fault — I’m not to blame! ”
“   It’s been a long time since I’ve been me. ”
“   I’ve started this storm; gotta stop it somehow ”
“   Money can only give happiness where there is nothing else to give it. ”
“   My intentions were not always wrong. ”
“   None of this is your fault. It’s me and my head. ”
“   No harm will come to you! ”
“   Life is full of tough choices. ”
“   Please remove your blade from my throat. ”
“   Pity comes too late! ”
“   Save me from these evil deeds. ”
“   Sorry is not enough. Sometimes you actually have to change. ”
“   That behavior is quite inexcusable. ”
“   The end justifies the means. ”
“   The path of hate is a dangerous track. ”
“   This can only end one way. ”
“   This is why you never should’ve left. ”
“   There’s a revolution coming. ”
“   There’s trouble for all when there’s trouble for one. ”
“   They are not to be trusted. ”
“   What do you mean? ”
“   What is this fighting all about? ”
“   Where were you when I was still kind? ”
“   Why are they all trying to make me into a saint? ”
“   Why can’t you see me? ”
“   Would you like to punish those who wronged you? ”
“   You can’t trust a single thing I say. ”
“   You can’t run from this! ”
“   You changed me. You should remember me. ”
“   You did not mean to be cruel. That does not mean that you were kind. ”
“   You don’t have to make a sound. ”
“   You have been loyal to a greater cause. ”
“   You know what’s best for me. ”
“   You were born for this. ”
“   You’ll always be a slave. ”
“   Your offer is meaningless. ”
“   You’re the one that I need. ”
“   You’re not as brave as you may seem. ”
“   You’ve gone too far! ”
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