#...wait that was also against Doc specifically

[shadeswift99]

If I had a nickel for every time VintageBeef became an animal-themed mob boss, I'd have two nickels and probably also a hit taken out on me

[justagalwhowrites]

Shelter

IT'S FINALLY DONE!

A request from MONTHS ago from the lovely, the talented, the supreme Lavender fan @dundienominee who wanted some QZ era Joel angst that included a few specifics. I thought you'd sent an ask but I think it was just one of the millions of DMs lol

So here it is! A NON-CANON Lavender one shot, where Joel and Doc are stuck together when FEDRA puts the QZ on lockdown.

I hope this is what you're looking for, love!!

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender (can be read independently with the understanding that Joel and Reader are exes and Reader also dated Tommy in the QZ.)

Warnings: SMUT!, Results of canon-typical violence, infidelity (not on each other). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 8.4k

August, 2017

Joel had been right. 

That wasn’t a fact he particularly appreciated in that moment. He’d rather have been right and not shot. He’d rather have been wrong, for that matter, even if you’d be bound and fucking determined to hold it over him for the next who knows how fucking long. 

But no, he had to be right and shot. 

Still, better than another alternative. 

You shot. You hurt. That was the worst possible outcome. 

Well, maybe not the worst. That would be you dead.

Joel couldn’t think about that. 

“Shit,” you swore, the sound of FEDRA around the next corner. 

“There,” Joel said through gritted teeth, nodding toward a pile of junk. 

“Right,” you said, pulling him along toward it, your shoulder tucked into his underarm. You pulled him down to the ground just as a dozen or so FEDRA guards ran past, armed to the teeth, guns drawn. Joel fought to keep quiet, breathe silently through the pain, until he couldn’t hear them anymore. You looked at him. There was blood on your cheek. “Should we wait? Or do you think we’re good to move?” 

“So now you want to listen to me?” He asked sarcastically. You glared at him. He ignored it. “Should be alright now, doubt more troops will be headin’ that way from here.” 

You helped him to his feet and he leaned against you again, trying to ignore the way his body seemed to be hyperaware of everywhere you touched him. You started walking. 

“I’m really sorry, Joel,” you said, sounding a little breathless, as you started getting close to his apartment. “I really thought it would be alright…” 

“Maybe fuckin’ listen to me next time,” he managed through the pain. “Might not be a damn doctor but I do know about shit like this…” 

“I know,” you said quietly. 

Joel let the subject drop. 

The two of you had gone to the absolute shittiest part of the QZ to run medication to a boy there who had been in the clinic just a few days earlier. You’d gone on a special trip outside the QZ for it. You had explained it all to Joel and Tess, of course, but he didn’t really get it. All he knew was there was a four-year-old boy who needed some drug urgently. 

You just hadn’t bothered to explain where that drug needed to be taken until you, Joel and Tess made it back to the QZ. 

“No,” Joel had shaken his head. “No fuckin’ way…” 

“He’s going to die,” you said. “He has the flu, he’s already showing signs of complications, if he doesn’t get help it will kill him, I need…” 

“No.” 

“Fine,” you snapped. “I’ll go on my own.” 

You turned to leave. 

“No the fuck you won’t,” Joel grabbed your wrist, yanking you harshly alongside him. “Gonna just get yourself fuckin’ killed…” 

“Fuck off, Joel.” 

You pulled yourself from his grip and stalked off, leaving him no choice but to follow you. For someone as damn smart as you were, you made stupid fucking decisions. 

Decisions that led to the two of you getting caught in the crossfire between two rival groups that left Joel with a bullet in his stomach near his hip. 

“Almost there,” you said, your fingers holding tight to his side. 

“Know where the fuck we are,” he muttered. He didn’t need to look at you to know that you rolled your eyes in response. 

He managed to make it up the stairs and into the apartment, Tess pacing the living room. She stopped when she saw him, her eyes going wide. 

“Jesus Christ,” she ran to him, taking his other side. 

“Let’s get him to the table,” you said. “Trying to avoid doing this on the floor again…” 

Joel had all but forgotten that you’d saved his life here, in this room, once before. He had almost no memory of it, what little he did remember was more like a dream. You, next to him, your hands soft, voice gentle, something warm in him that was tied to you. You didn’t seem real, you seemed like something he’d lost, something that was in a place that was too far and too good for him to reach. But you were there. And you were taking care of him. 

“Fucking told you, Doc,” Tess snapped, helping to haul Joel’s broken body to the table. She cleared the papers and trash from it, dropping shit into a chair. “Fucking told you not to go to that side of the goddamn QZ…” 

“Yeah, I get it,” you snapped back. “I’m a fucking idiot, alright? Just help me.�� 

You and Tess got Joel up on the table and he groaned, his muscle tensing and pulling around the wound in his stomach. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you said, helping him lay back on the wood with a grunt. 

“Don’t know why I let you talk us into this shit,” Tess said, still pissed, as she unbuttoned his shirt. “I should really fucking know better by now, you’re the dumbest smart person I know…” 

“Tess,” Joel growled. 

“She’s going to get you fucking killed,” she snapped. “She’s going to get us both fucking killed…” 

“Tess,” his voice was sharper. 

He knew that Tess was far from a fan of yours. She’d been growing tenser and tenser around you for a while now. He was never sure why, if it really was what she said and it was because she felt like you took stupid risks, if it was because he’d never been able to care about her the same way he cared about you in spite of how much he loathed it, if it was because she was tired of trying to keep the peace when you were so clearly done with him. For a while, it had seemed like the two of you were friends. Almost friends. But not anymore. 

“Someone has to give a shit if you live or die, Joel, and we both know that it’s not going to be you and it’s not going to be her, either,” she unbuttoned his jeans next. “So that leaves me.” 

“You think I don’t give a shit?” You asked, dropping your pack on a chair and yanking it open. “You think I keep you and him alive for fun?” 

“No, I think you do it so you can keep trying to save a place that can’t be fucking saved,” she was yelling now. 

“Tess.” 

“Shut up, Joel,” she barely glanced at him before rounding on you again. “I’m tired of being some tool in her goddamn stupid crusade…” 

“Tess.” 

“I didn’t fucking make him come with me!” You yelled back at her. “I would have gone on my own, he’s the one…” 

“You really think he’s the one who makes the decisions when it comes to you?” Tess shoved you. “You really think he’d let you run off to get yourself fucking killed? You’re an idiot sometimes, Doc, but you’re not that fucking stupid.” 

“Tess!” Joel was trying to sit up but she wasn’t paying attention. You were. You looked at him, frowning. 

“No,” she yelled, shoving you again. “No, I’m done with this shit, I’m done pretending that we’re doing fucking anything besides risking our fucking lives for some pointless…” 

“Tess!” He managed to sit up, grabbing her arm before she could shove you again. Her head spun, hair whirling, eyes narrowed. “She’s right, don’t fuckin’ blame her…” 

“She’s…” Tess shook her head. “You are so fucking stuck on her, on her bullshit, on…” 

“Get out.” 

You pulled gauze out of your pack and pressed it to the wound at his hip. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She gaped at him, her brows raised. 

“You can figure out how to fuckin’ respect her or you can go,” Joel said through gritted teeth. “Not gonna just let you talk about her…” 

“Her is right here,” you cut him off. “Stop talking about me like I’m not fucking here. And Joel you need to lie down before you fuck something else up, Jesus…” 

Tess looked between him and you before she shook her head and stepped back from the table. 

“Good fucking luck,” Tess snapped before stalking out and slamming the door behind her. 

You looked where she had been for a moment before nudging Joel back down onto the table. 

“You done?” You asked, brows raised. “Because I don’t need you to defend me from your girlfriend, Joel. I’m still going to keep you alive even if you both hate me.” 

“I don’t…”

“Stay still.”

He gritted his teeth and stared daggers at the ceiling while you worked on him for a moment, pressing gauze into his skin for a bit before pulling it away. 

“Don’t think you’ve hit anything major,” you said, more to yourself than to him. He still grunted in response. “Stay put, I still need to get that bullet out and get you cleaned up.” 

He followed you with his eyes as you went about collecting tools, cleaning yourself up, putting on sterile gloves. He tried to focus on you without it raising his blood pressure which, he figured, wouldn’t be the best thing to do when there was an open wound on his torso. 

But it was hard. 

It had been years with you like this. More than a decade. Thinking about you too much made his chest tight, his stomach clench. Thinking about you too much made him worry he might be having a fucking heart attack, that you just might be the death of him.

But you were still who he thought about when he needed comfort. Still where his mind went when he was in pain and he needed to remember why he should try to live through it. Still what he pictured when alone at night and he thought the loss and the emptiness of his life would swallow him whole. Still where his thoughts found when he wanted to come because nothing had ever felt as good as you. 

“Think you can sit still while I get this sucker out of you?” You asked. “Because I don’t exactly have someone here to hold you still at the moment.” 

“Just do it,” Joel squared his jaw and stared at the ceiling again. 

You were quiet for a moment before you touched his bared skin with the lightest, gloved touch. 

“I really am sorry,” you said softly. “I know… We have our issues but… I really hate seeing you hurt. I really hate getting you hurt.” 

Joel looked at you, your face drawn into a frown, your eyes sad. Even now, he thought you might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“I know,” he said, looking back at the ceiling. 

You were quiet and he could feel your eyes on him before he felt you slip some kind of instrument into the wound. He hissed through the pain of it but kept still. 

“I know,” you said, voice gentle and soothing. “You’re OK, it’ll be OK.” 

He remembered you using that voice with Sarah. He came home from work once and his daughter was perched on the counter, sniffling, her face streaked with tears. You were talking to her in that voice, a wad of paper towel held against her knee. 

“You’re OK. It’ll be OK.” 

“You with me, Miller?” You asked after what felt like an eternity but knew it must have only been a few minutes. “Need a break?” 

“Just finish it,” he managed through gritted teeth. 

You found the bullet and planted your hand firmly on the softness of his stomach. 

“Hold still,” you said. “This is going to have to be kind of slow, there’s relatively little damage, nothing major hit and I’d like to keep it that way.” 

You pulled on it and he could feel you moving through him, through the gaping wound him, pulling the pain out into the open air. 

When you finished, you held the bullet up, glistening with blood. 

“The cause of all this trouble,” you said, turning it in the light. “Let me patch some of this up and make sure you don’t bleed out. I don’t think you’ll need a blood transfusion this time at least…” 

Joel frowned, lifting his head slightly as you set to work. 

“What do you mean ‘this time?’” 

You froze for half a second before you tried to brush it off. 

“Just, you know,” you said. “In general.” 

He watched you work for a moment. 

“Hey.” 

You glanced at him before looking back at his wound. 

“What?” 

“You had to give me a blood transfusion last time?” He asked, trying not to groan at the pain. 

“I didn’t want to freak you out,” you said eventually, tucking gauze into the wound. “But… yeah, you were down a lot of blood and… Look, I did what I had to do to keep you alive.” 

You cleaned up the skin around his injury. 

“Whose blood?” 

“What?” You asked, focused on the task. 

“Whose blood did you use?” He asked. “Don’t imagine you went down to the clinic so whose blood.” 

You were quiet and Joel was about to ask again when you spoke. 

“We didn’t know your blood type,” you said quietly. “So Tommy would have been the best option…” your voice trailed off but he knew that wasn’t the end. He kept watching you and you sighed before you kept going. “But I’m O- so…” 

He just blinked for a moment. 

“It was yours.” 

Your eyes darted to his for half a second. 

“Yeah. It was mine.” 

He was quiet as you pulled off your gloves with a sharp snap. 

You’d saved him. Bled for him, poured yourself into him so he would keep breathing. He’d walked around for who knows how long with you pulsing through his body and he hadn’t known. 

“You should have told me,” he said eventually. 

“Yeah, well.” 

You started packing up. 

“You should have…” 

“I couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t fucking slit your wrists if you knew, alright?” You snapped. “You hated me. You still hate me but it was worse then, you’ve figured out how to tolerate me in the last decade which is great and all but Jesus, Joel, don’t act like telling you was the easy thing to do.” 

You threw your pack over your shoulder and he sat up, ignoring the pain at his hip. 

“I need to get home,” you said. “Try not to wreck all my work…” 

There was a pounding at the door that made you jump. Joel shoved himself off the table and quickly buttoned his shirt as he limped for the door. 

“Bag down,” he said quietly. “Stay back.” 

You nodded, obeying him for once in your damn life. 

He opened the door slowly, cautiously. A FEDRA officer stood at his door. 

“Can I help you?” Joel tried not to growl, tried not to do anything that would incite suspicion. Not that he could help that he had on a bloody shirt with a fucking bullet hole in it. 

“There’s been increase violence in a nearby quadrant of the QZ,” the man said, barely looking at Joel. “We’re requiring all residents to shelter in place until further notice. Is everyone here a member of your household or does someone need an escort home?” 

Joel saw you step toward the door, opening your mouth like you were about to speak, but he held his hand out behind him, silencing you. 

“Same household,” he said. “We’re all set here.” 

“We’ll let you know when it’s safe to leave,” the guard said. “Lock your door.” 

He left before Joel had a chance to respond and he shut the door quickly before slumping against it. 

“Joel!” You hissed, going to his side and looping an arm around his waist. He leaned against you and you helped him to the couch. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You really want to get a fuckin’ FEDRA escort home?” He grimaced. 

“No,” you snapped, setting him on the couch. “But do you remember how long they locked us down for last time?” 

“No.” 

“A week,” you said, sitting on the threadbare arm chair. “And I’d rather get a FEDRA escort than have you kill me out of frustration in three days because that’s how long we’ll last before you get that fed up with me.” 

“Jesus, you really think we can’t manage to not kill each other for a few fuckin’ days?” He settled into the couch. “You n’me have survived a lot worse than that.” 

You scoffed. 

“Have we?” You asked, brows raised. “Besides, aren’t you worried about Tess?” 

He shrugged. 

“She can handle herself better than you can,” he said and you rolled your eyes. “You that worried about gettin’ back to Derek?” 

“Worried about FEDRA showing up at my door to look for relief for the clinic and not finding me,” you snapped. “Should have just let them…” 

“Not gonna let you go out there with those fucking assholes if people are out there shooting at each other!” Joel cut you off. “Don’t trust ‘em with shit let alone with you! I can keep you safe here so you’re staying here, it ain’t up for discussion!” 

You just blinked at Joel for a moment, a shocked look on your face. 

“Think we can handle not strangling each other for a few damn days,” he muttered, looking away from you. He couldn’t really handle looking at you. You didn’t say anything. You just got up, grabbing your pack and stalking further into the apartment. He frowned. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” 

“Don’t want to be around you any more than you want to be around me,” you said. “So I’m going to Tommy’s room…” 

“Always liked his bed,” Joel muttered, grinding his teeth. 

You flipped him off, not bothering to even look at him before slamming Tommy’s door behind you. 

***

Day 1

Tommy needed better hobbies. 

It was clear Joel had barely used Tommy’s room since he’d left. There were some boxes for storage - things you weren’t about to go searching through since you were pretty sure it was full of black market things from smuggling runs - but otherwise it was exactly how you remembered it. Not that you’d ever spent much time here. You liked to avoid Joel and Tommy seemed to like to avoid him even more than you did when you were around. You’d slept here a few times, when Joel was outside the QZ but Tommy had stayed behind, but he was much more likely to be at your place than his. 

But this room was all but a shrine to him. Or maybe more of a mausoleum, something left in memory of someone who was gone and would never be back. You hadn’t really realized how much you’d missed your friend until you were back in his space, surrounded by his things. 

You also realized that, in reality, you didn’t have a ton in common. Tommy’s book collection was… lacking. He had a few tattered Tom Clancy novels and you settled on one that you were pretty sure he’d brought over to your place once or twice. 

It wasn’t really your thing, though, and you were desperately bored. You were going to have to emerge from the room eventually to do more than pee and refill your water bottle in the bathroom sink. You were almost out of the jerky you’d packed for your trip outside the QZ and you’d never been very good at sitting still with nothing to occupy your mind. 

But you’d need to check on Joel’s injury at some point, anyway. Because looking at the ex who seemed to mostly hate you but apparently flew off the handle at the thought of you getting shot. 

Which you didn’t fully understand. If anyone asked you, you’d have sworn up and down that Joel would shoot you in the street if it wouldn’t make his life harder. You were surprised he hadn’t all but tossed you to an infected in the years you’d been going outside the QZ but the fact that you did things like pull bullets out of him and stitch Tess’ knife wounds closed was apparently a good enough reason to keep you alive. 

You didn’t see how that was a good enough reason to keep you from leaving his apartment when the two of you were about to be locked down for who the fuck knows how long. What were you supposed to do with… well, any of it? 

Your head dangled over the edge of the bed when you spotted a ratty tennis ball in the corner. You tumbled off the bed and picked it up, oddly grateful to have something to function as a distraction and started bouncing it off the wall, catching it out of the air when it bounced back at you. 

“The fuck you doing?” Joel called at you from the other side of the wall. 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Keeping myself from being so bored that I jump out a window.” 

He was quiet for a minute. 

You threw the ball again. 

“It’s annoying.” 

You caught the ball and then threw it. 

“Should’ve sent me off with FEDRA then.” 

For a moment, you thought that might be the end of it. And then the door opened. 

He’d gotten changed, at least, his new shirt as clean and intact as you could really find in the QZ and he looked a little pale. You looked him in he eye and you threw the ball again. 

“You tryin’ to piss me off?” He asked, one arm propped against the door frame. 

You shrugged and caught the ball. 

“You just make it so fun…” 

You threw the ball again and he came and snatched it out of the air. You glared at him. 

“Are you trying to make me miserable?” You asked. “Because it’s getting really old…” 

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” He snapped. “Think I decided to come find you in my brother’s bed because it’s fun…” 

“Oh will you stop fucking harping on that?” You shoved off the bed and stalked over to him in the doorway. “It’s ancient history! Think it’s time to get over the fact that your brother decided to pick up your broken toy…” 

“You think that’s why I’m pissed?” He asked, brows raised. 

You ignored him, dropping to your knees and yanking his shirt up. He stopped breathing and you checked his wound before getting to your feet. 

“In a few hours I’ll change your dressing,” you said, looking up at him as you stood almost shockingly close to him. You could see the pulse in his throat. “Leave me alone until then.” 

He clenched his jaw, looking you up and down, before storming off, yanking the door shut behind him. 

Day 2 

You waited until you heard the bathroom door close before you emerged. You were officially out of jerky and sitting in a room full of Tommy’s things while being sharply aware that he was thousands of miles away from you was wearing on you fast. You needed something - anything - to distract you. 

So you darted to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of jerky, and paused on your way past Joel’s room, his door cracked open. If you were quick…

You opened the, the hinges creaking, and ducked inside. 

It was neat, orderly. Like you remembered it being years ago when you were together. There were little signs of him everywhere, enough that you’d have recognized the room as his even if you’d walked into it in a strange place a thousand miles away. Little carvings on the window sill, the watch you’d helped Sarah picked for his birthday gift on the nightstand, a cracked Springsteen CD case sitting next to a worn boom box. You resisted the urge to touch the booklet and see if it fell open to a specific page, if you could tell what he’d been looking for when picking that album. 

Instead, you went to the bookshelf that was collapsing, worn boards sagging between cinderblocks. You recognized Joel’s taste in books, a little more in line with your own. You found a Cormac McCarthy book you hadn’t read with a spine that looked comfortably warn and pulled it, almost reverently, off the shelf. 

“The hell you doin’?” 

You jumped, almost dropping the book and the bag of jerky. 

“Sorry…” 

“I say you could come in here?” 

He was standing in the doorway in pajamas, his pants slung low on his hips, t-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. 

“I am bored out of my mind,” you said, squaring your jaw even though you knew you shouldn’t be in his room. “I got desperate.” 

“You think that’s a reason to just waltz in…” 

“No, but…” 

“Sure acting like it!” 

“Is hating me fun for you?” You snapped. “Because it sure seems like it is! I don’t know why you’d work this hard at it if it wasn’t.” 

He looked you up and down for a moment. 

“Just get the fuck out of here,” he stepped to the side and you ducked around him, all but running back to the room you’d claimed as your own. 

You settled in on the bed with your new book, resting it on your knees and trying to forget how mad Joel had been just because you dared set foot in his room, as though you didn’t live together once in another life. It had been so easy for him to forget. You’d been so easy for him to forget. 

You opened the book and tried to get absorbed in the story but were having a hard time focusing, shifting around on the bed and hoping that a more comfortable position might make it so you could let yourself fall into it. You were changing positions for the third time when something fell out of the book and flitted like a leaf down to the worn quilt. You frowned, picking it up and turning it over in your hands. 

It was a picture. A picture of you. 

“What?” You whispered to yourself, eyebrows knitting together. 

It was a photo you recognized. Derek had it in his bedroom and he’d taken it without you knowing. You were folded into an armchair in his living room, a book in your hands, hair wild with a ribbon in to keep it out of your face. When he’d developed the photo, you remembered the day he’d taken it. One of the few that you had off from both jobs in the QZ. It had been warm that day, you hadn’t bothered to put on a bra or even pants, sitting around Derek’s place in a pair of his boxers and a tank top. He’d fucked you that morning, before it got too hot, and the two of you spent the day not moving much otherwise, not wanting to spend hours sticky with sweat and miserable. 

The day stuck out to you, though, not because of the heat or because you got to spend it somewhere besides the clinic or the school. Instead, it was because it reminded you of summer days in Austin with Joel. Trying not to run the AC too much, you sat far apart on the couch wearing as little as possible with Sarah coming and going from the house with friends. He would bring you glasses of ice water or lemonade almost every time he got up, his lips finding your forehead when he pressed the cold glass into your palm, his large hand finding your ankle because he had to be touching you in some way without making both of you miserable in the heat. 

And now Joel had a picture from that day, the one where he’d been on your mind the whole time, so much that you’d given up on trying not to think of him. 

You weren’t sure how he’d gotten it. Derek may have given him a copy if he’d asked but you didn’t know how he knew it existed. And why would he want a copy in the first place? 

You looked a little closer at it, the corners curling, edges peeling. Like it had been held a lot. There was a discolored almost halo around the edges of you, like someone had been tracing over the outline of you over and over again. 

There was a sharp knock on your door and you stuffed the photo into the book again. 

“What?” You asked, tone softer than it had been when speaking to Joel in years. 

“Mind checkin’ this damn wound?” He asked through the door, his voice oddly gentle. “Since you’re here and all. Make yourself useful.” 

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, of course. No problem.” 

You made sure the photo was tucked away and set the book on the nightstand, keeping your fingers crossed that Joel didn’t realize which book you’d taken. 

***

Joel didn’t like that you’d taken to hiding in Tommy’s old room. 

He didn’t like that you were still here. Or so he tried to tell himself. Really, he didn’t like that you were still here without being here, like you were the ghost in his house in the same way it seemed you’d spent most of the last decade. You were just more corporeal now. 

He was used to you crossing his mind all the time. Used to the feeling that, any second now, you’d come around the corner as you finished braiding your hair or with a little bottle of nail polish in your hand or a book in fucking French tucked below your arm. He knew what to do with that. 

He didn’t know what to do with you actually here, in such close quarters. Especially not when you seemed to find such comfort in just the memory of his fucking brother - his brother who had damn near gotten you killed - and not Joel, who was actually here. 

Joel stared down the hall at Tommy’s - your - door. His wound ached. You’d checked it earlier, said there was no sign of infection and that things were coming along well. You refreshed his bandages and he’d try not to think about the way the soft skin of your arm felt when you brushed against his exposed flesh. 

That had been hours ago. He hadn’t heard a word from you since, not even the squeak of the mattress as you shifted and moved in ways he knew so well but couldn’t see. 

He shoved himself to his feet with a pained grunt and went to the door, the one that seemed to fucking haunt him now. He knocked once. 

“Yeah?” 

Your voice sounded thick. 

“Want a drink?” He asked. You were quiet. He pressed on. “Figured it was better than drinkin’ alone.” 

He gave you a minute and was about to give up on you responding when he heard small creaks on the other side of the door before it opened. 

“Whatcha got?” 

It took a few whiskeys before you stopped being quite so stiff at his kitchen table and Joel pulled out a deck of cards that had to have been old before the world fell apart but had somehow managed to stay complete. 

“Game’s Gin,” he said, dealing. “Remember how to play?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m not a total idiot, Miller.”

It was strange, drinking around you. Spending time with you in ways that weren’t required, being able to look at you in ways beyond brief, desperate glances driven by the subconscious need to never, ever forget just how you looked. The precise way your eyes were shaped or your brow arched or lips curved, the exact shade of your skin and your hair and your eyes. Because as much as he didn’t want to need these things, he did. He needed to know these parts of you the way a scholar needed to know his subject, with this obsessive, aching drive for more. 

It had never been enough before, the little pieces he was able to collect when you and Tess were distracted with other things and he could take in the new way your skin creased around your eyes, and it somehow wasn’t enough now, memorizing the way you pursed your lips as you organized your hand and the way your hair had fallen out of the braid that was tight against your skull. 

“Need somethin’ to change into?” Joel asked eventually. 

“Hm?” You looked at him over your cards. 

“Just…” he nodded to you. “Still wearin’ what you were when we came back from the run. Need somethin’ to change into?” 

“Oh,” you looked down at yourself and then shrugged. “I mean, I won’t argue with it but I don’t want to put you out. It’s not like anyone’s getting close enough to smell me. Oh God, please tell me you can’t smell me from across the table…” 

“No, Kid,” he laughed a little and took a sip of whiskey. “Can’t… can’t smell you.” 

He wondered if, below the grime of the world outside, you still smelled like lavender. 

“If you’ve got some stuff I can borrow then,” you shrugged before grabbing a card. Your face lit up a bit and you set a card down before fanning out your cards in front of you. “Gin.” 

“Well shit,” he said, looking over your cards. “You win.” 

Day 3 

He left you something to wear outside your door. 

Joel stared at the wall most of the night, telling himself it was because the fucking bullet hole was hurting more than it had been but that was bullshit. It had faded to a dull pain, one that was easily tolerable and certainly not enough to keep him up at night. 

No, instead he stared at the wall that he knew you were just beyond. His mind went over and over your face again and again, logging every single facet so he’d know the next time he was away from you for a while. But that wasn’t enough, either. He wanted to hear you breathing as you slept, wanted to salt away that information, too. He needed it, needed to add it to his collection of you. 

But you were out of reach. Asleep in his brother’s bed, the place where you’d chosen to be all those years ago and now left Joel wondering if you’d ever really left. If you’d ever have chosen Joel at all or if he’d just been a stop gap, a thing keeping you from Tommy all this time. 

It would have made sense, when he considered it. You were always softer and more open than Joel, always more like Tommy in that way. Maybe all he’d ever been was a placeholder. 

He was still awake when he heard you get up in the morning, heard you pause at the door before going to the bathroom and starting the shower. 

He hoped he’d find your hair in his shower later. 

Your hair was down and wet when you emerged, cautiously coming into the kitchen where Joel was making the shittiest excuse for coffee with instant packets that had expired so long ago it seemed like a miracle there was anything usable at all. You were in one of his flannels and sweatpants, the legs cuffed so you wouldn’t trip, your arms crossed tight over yourself. 

“Morning,” you said, glancing at him like he was a predator and you were prey. 

“Morning,” he said. “Feelin’ better?” 

“Yes, actually,” you said. He held a mug out to you and you took it with a slight frown. “Thank you.” 

He just nodded stiffly. 

“If you want to lie down,” you nodded toward the couch. “I can check your dressings again. The good news is, this might be the last time I really need to do it so…” 

Joel shrugged and obeyed, trying not to think about the sense of panic that flared in his chest at the thought of you not touching him anymore. 

It was something Joel had found almost impossible to hold within himself. There was this constant yearning, a pull towards you that was as persistent as gravity and twice as strong. He needed to be close enough to touch you, hold you, protect you. He needed to be close enough to love you. 

But standing in sharp contrast was the cold threat of you. The painful grip of it always there at the edges when he lived too long in the memory of loving you. It was a cruel and constant thing - one of the few constants Joel had found in his life in the QZ. He could let his mind wander to the memory of you asleep in his arms but, linger there too long, and the memory shifted to you pale and bleeding and nearly dead as he ran with your broken body to the clinic. The thought of you laughing all full and free with your hand on his chest would twist into you reaching for him and screaming as you were dragged away by raiders. Hell, spend too long trying to savor the memory of being deep inside you, the look on your face as you came undone under his touch, and his mind pulled him down into what McCarthy had described doing to you years ago. 

All it took was a second, a moment of Joel not protecting you when he should and you could wind up there again. He didn’t know how to live with that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever figured out how to live with loving you at a distance, either. Something that had become harsh and clear in the days the two of you had been locked down in his apartment. 

“This is looking good,” you said, nodding to yourself. Your hands were on his stomach.  “Think I can trust you not to fuck it up from here, don’t need me messing around with it anymore…” 

You got up and held your hand out, helping Joel sit up without pulling too much at his wound. 

“Thanks,” he said. “For making sure I don’t drop dead.” 

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged. “It’s what I do.” 

You gave him a tight smile and went back down the hall, Joel frowning after you for a moment before following. He knocked on the door and he heard you sigh before opening it a few seconds later. 

“Yes?” 

“Don’t…” Joel realized he didn’t really have a good reason to be standing at your door. “Don’t have to keep hidin’ in here. Sure you’re going stir crazy… Just come out here and…” 

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” You asked, brows raised. “We’ve managed to not kill each other so far, I don’t know that we want to push it.” 

“You really think being in the same room is gonna be pushing it?” 

You laughed a little and crossed your arms protectively over yourself. 

“Honestly? Yeah, kind of. I mean, Joel, come on. This is the most time we’ve spent together just the two of us since my first trip outside the QZ and we both know how that ended…” 

“Yeah,” Joel scoffed, his blood getting hot as he saw you standing there, in his brother’s room, next to his brother’s bed. “Ended with you hating me and jumping into bed with my fuckin’ brother…” 

“Jesus Christ, you cannot be serious,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Joel…” 

“What?” He propped an arm against the door frame, holding himself back from stalking into Tommy’s old room like he wanted to. “That not what fuckin’ happened? You all but disappear for months and the next thing I know you’re with him. What was it, hm? Was I just who you settled for because you thought he wasn’t interested? That it?” 

“No!” 

“You just waitin’ for a chance to…” 

“I was only with him because you left!” 

You yelled it at him. You so rarely yelled, usually so measured and soft and kind in damn near everything you did. He went quiet, the silence hanging heavy between you. 

“Do you think I was interested in him before?” You asked, quieter this time. “It was always you, Joel. From the day I met you, it was always you and you’re the one who left me. You’re the one who made me live without you after you made me love you and you don’t get to judge me for what I did to survive you hating me. Yeah, I probably fucked up with Tommy, by having him be anything more than a friend but I was so alone because you made me be so alone! You left me, Joel! I’m sorry I didn’t sit there and wait for you to decide you gave a shit again, I’m sorry I tried to find some semblance of a life without you because losing you was going fucking kill me if I didn’t! So stop holding Tommy against me, stop blaming me for what I had to do to survive losing you, what I’m still doing to survive losing you, because out of all the shitty things that have happened in my life that might just be the worst one!” 

Your eyes were shiny with tears and you were standing closer to him than he’d really realized until that moment and his hands were on your skin before he fully understood what he was doing. All he knew was he needed to touch you, feel you, taste you. 

His lips were on yours and swallowed the small, surprised squeak that slipped from you as he kissed you, mouth hot and needy against you. 

He’d expected you to push him back, to be mad or hurt. Instead, you threw your arms around his neck, body curving and arching into his. Your fingers tangled and knotted in his hair and you pressed yourself so tightly against him that he could feel every line of you through his clothes. 

“Joel,” you pulled away from him ever so slightly, sounding needy and breathless. “We shouldn’t do this…” 

“Why.” 

“We don’t work,” you tugged him closer but kept your lips from him. “We just hurt each other. And you have Tess, I have Derek, it’s not…” 

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he cut you off, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” 

For half a moment, Joel thought you were going to. But you didn’t. Instead, you kissed him again, a sense of urgency on your lips, like you were trying to devour him and he longed for you to swallow him up until there was nothing left. 

He pulled you into the hall, pressing you back against the wall and ignoring the pain at his hip when he did. In that moment, he didn’t care if it killed him. He needed to be inside you, to feel you close and tight around him. Being without you now would be a more painful end than ripping himself open inside, what difference did a bullet hole make? 

Joel pushed his leg from his uninjured side between your knees, shoving them apart and pulling your hips down on his thigh. You ground down against him and moaned into his mouth as you worked your core on his leg. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, pulling ever so slightly away from him, your pupils blown and lips swollen. “Joel, you’re hurt, we shouldn’t…” 

“Don’t care,” he pressed his mouth to your throat, earning him a delicious moan that hung in his ears like syrup on the tongue. “Need you, Baby. Need you so fuckin’ bad…” 

You clutched yourself closer to him, rocking your hips on him as he pulled you back from the wall and maneuvered you to his room, his bed, the place he woke up every day and looked for you, some part of his subconscious knowing that he belonged next to you. 

Your fingers pulled at his shirt, tugging it up and over his head before casting it aside and he nudged you onto the bed, taking his shirt off your body, too. 

“Joel…” you were sitting back on your elbows, the soft fullness of your chest bared to him as he crawled between your legs. “I can’t… I can’t do this and go back to being nothing to you, Joel, I can’t…” 

He looked in your eyes, a pain in them that he found sadly familiar now but it was harsher than he was used to, like you couldn’t keep it contained now so it was laid bare. 

“Oh, Baby,” he breathed, his hands finding your waist. You closed your eyes at his touch, breath catching in your throat. “You’re everything to me, everything. Always have been.” 

His lips moved to your throat, kissing and biting at the tender skin there as he pulled your pants down and off, you lifting your hips to help before putting your hand down his front to take hold of his cock with a moan. Joel moaned, too. He couldn’t help it, your touch was burned into his memory, what he longed for more than anything else and you were touching him. Your thumb grazed the head of his cock and he shuddered at the contact, whole body on fire with aching and desperate want. 

“Need you,” he panted into your lips. “Fuck, need inside you…” 

“Good,” you pressed your body against his and he felt his head graze your soft mound. “Because I need you, too. Never stopped…” 

He kissed you and pushed you into the bed before pressing his cock into your wet heat. You moaned as you took him into yourself, your back arching. You were so warm and tight around him, Joel had to focus to not come from just the feel of your body clutching onto him. 

“Goddamn,” he looked down to where he was buried in you to the root, your fingers sinking into his bicep as you panted for breath. He could feel you breathing, feel your heartbeat from inside you. Why had he wasted so much of his life fighting this when he could have been with you instead? In that moment - when he was buried deep inside of you and he could feel you everywhere, in everything - the fear he’d been so desperately fighting against faded to nothing. There was just you and everything you held, the whole of all his wanting looking up at him in quiet desperation. “Forgot… forgot just how good you feel, holy fuck.” 

“Need you to move,” your nails dug into his arm. “Fuck, please Joel, need you to move, please…” 

He wasn’t about to say no, even as your already tight walls clenched around him. He dropped his head to your chest and pulled out of you almost entirely, until just his head was left within you, before thrusting back in hard and deep. He kissed you again as he did, swallowing your needy sounds. 

Joel tried to hold back, the echo of some pain in his body and his mind, but he was too overwhelmed by you for it to last long. You met his every thrust, working your hips back up against his own as he fucked into you. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you wrapped one arm around his shoulders, digging your fingertips into his skin as he felt you getting so tight around him it almost hurt. “Fuck, I’m gonna… Joel, I’m gonna come, I can’t…” 

“Do it,” he slid an arm below your waist and pulled you tight and flush to his body, needing to feel as much of your skin as he possibly could. “Come for me, come for me, Baby, need to feel you, have to feel you, fuck Baby…” 

You whimpered and keened as your tight channel pulsed around his thick cock, squeezing him so tight it was like your body was pulling his own orgasm out of him. 

“I’m comin’ Baby,” he pressed into you deep and hard and you clung to him as he came undone, emptying himself into you. “I’m comin’, fuck, I’m comin’ so fucking hard, Goddamn…” 

He collapsed on top of you, his cock still twitching inside you. He couldn’t remember the last time he came that hard, felt quite that drained when he was done. His head rested on your chest, your heartbeat heavy against his cheek as your fingers trailed through his hair and his cock softened inside you. 

“Fuck,” he was still panting for breath when he pressed a kiss to your breast bone and slid from your body, the pain at his hip suddenly back with a vengeance, as he collapsed beside you. 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you said quietly, turning your head to look at him. 

“Baby…” 

“We shouldn’t,” you said, your voice thick. “You’re hurt…” 

“Good think you’re a doctor.” 

You glared at him. 

“We just blew up our entire lives, Joel,” you said quietly, eyes wet. “I’m with Derek and I just fucked you because, what, you loved me once and felt bad letting me get shot in the QZ? This was stupid, this was so…” 

“No,” he shook his head. 

“No?” You raised your eyebrows at him. “No what?” 

“No to all of it,” he said. “I didn’t blow up a damn thing. I just finally was able to admit to myself that there isn’t anything to blow up without you, don’t want any of it without you.” 

“Joel…” 

“Been too scared of it all to admit that,” he pressed on. “But I can’t keep living like that, Baby. I can’t. And I don’t think you can, either.

“We’ve already wasted too much damn time,” he continued. “But I’m not wasting another minute of it, not when I could be with you. Not sayin’ there’s not shit to figure out - pretty sure we got a decade’s worth of it - but don’t ask me to waste more time. Please. Not when it comes to you.” 

Your eyes held his as you reached a hand forward and carefully, delicately, cupped his cheek, your thumb tracing his cheekbone. He brushed his lips against the inside of your wrist, feeling the flutter of your pulse against his mouth. 

“Think we can figure it out?” You asked. You sounded so uncertain, so afraid. 

Joel’s large hand covered your own, holding you against his chin. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “With you, think we can figure anything out.” 

[jupiitersreturn]

US Transit Predictions - Part One

More celebrities will be suing people OR getting sued by people for Defamation of Character. However, a specific trope or theme will be present. A lot of celebrities will be suing or getting sued by ex partners, unrequited lovers, and fans during this Neptune - Venus Square Transit. Venus is the ruler of the MC in the official US Birth Chart. We know that the MC rules our public persona. With it squaring Neptune, a lot of celebrities will be going to extreme lengths to protect their public persona against any rumors, assumptions, and lies, especially those about their persona, interpersonal relationships and finances. Since this orb has lessened we have seen the following DoC Lawsuits;

Jack Harlow is suing a Tiktok Creator for DoC for editing pictures of herself with him.

Dan Schneider has sued Nickelodeon for DoC calling "Quiet on Set" a "hit job".

50 Cent is suing his ex girlfriend for DoC alleging that she accused him of assault in an Instagram post.

The woman the hit Netflix show "Baby Reindeer" was written after is suing Netflix for DoC after the show neglected to tell the story from her POV and instead made her out to be a stalker.

The Housing Crisis will continue to worsen and to mitigate this problem houses are going to stop being built, partially due to the government not being able to support the continuation of building. Right now, TR Saturn is Opposite Natal Neptune. Saturn is the ruler of the 2nd House which rules our Finances and Material Possessions. Neptune is the ruler of the 4th House which rules our Home and Security. Saturn is the planet of Restriction and Scarcity. With it currently being opposite the ruler of the 4th House it can indicate either a lack of control over, or TOO MUCH control over both 2nd and 4th House matters, i.e Finances, Housing, Material Possessions, Security.

Celibacy and Abstinence could be reported to have increased amongst members of society with more celebrities revealing themselves to practice it. I also think that Birth Rates and Fertility Rates will be revealed to have been predicted to drop significantly. The ruler of the 5th House is Mars which is currently being squared by TR Saturn which can indicate a lack of children being born in general, or a sudden surge of women waiting until after their Saturn return to have children.

A change in Rulership (The Fall of Congress) The 10th House in Virgo is indicative of our Government in this chart, with it's ruler being Cancer Mercury. TR Pluto is currently square Natal Mercury which can indicate the sudden upheaval, abolishment, and restructuring of the current way of Rulership.

The increase of faith based organizations and movements and the redefining of religion. Pluto in Aquarius will soon be opposite Leo Mercury in the 3rd and 9th House axes which can indicate a sudden uptick in spiritual individuality, self expression regarding religion, spirituality, and more importantly ideologies that people will begin to live by rather than adhering to a specific religion.

An increase in division and fighting over gender, race, sexuality, and religious based conflicts. TR Neptune will be squaring Natal Mars which is sitting in the 7th House, for a long time and the orb is only going to get smaller. I think for now though, we will see a lot of hate and aggression being spread regarding these topics, as well as misinformation and false information to widen the division.

New laws regarding Military Service. TR Saturn (The Planet of Rules and Guidelines) will be Square Natal Mars( The Planet of Aggression and Action, and Military) which sits in the 7th House of Law. Additionally, TR Mars will be in Taurus, transiting through 6th House of Service. So some of these laws could pertain to material belongings, finances, veterans, military service, etc.

[whatthefishh]

until we bleed

Rydal Keener x F!Reader ; part of the Oxford Comma series

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: swearing, an unnecessary amount of big words being used, smut, pinv, um... slight dub con... drama...

Beta read by the lovely @xbellaxcarolinax who basically jumped on the doc every time I helplessly texted her to ask if I was being stupid, and special s/o to @melodygatesauthor for helping me talk out the smut hehe

The charity gala was a front for the girls to get dressed up and the men to boast about their new business ventures. The charity mentioned in the invitation was picked out by the dean’s wife, a hedge fund manager – a most noble career – and she had already swindled enough out of the guests for the entrance fee before the scheduled auction later that evening. 

You didn’t want to go but you couldn’t really tell Rydal that, especially after the whole thing with Chester just last week. He had been a little down since then, his skin halfway healed from where the skin had broken. You couldn’t help but feel a current of electricity pass through you straight to your core whenever you looked at the slightly swollen pout he was sporting because of it. And the bastard knew it, too. He had been using the pout, with the added weight of his baby cow eyes, to get his way for the past few days, easily swaying you into submission for the littlest things. 

Which is how you ended up at the pretentious gathering being thrown in some philanthropic attempt to absolve the attendees of their greed. The dress you got for this event specifically was more expensive than any you’d ever worn before, the black satin silk of it tickling your calves where it hit. Your heels were new and not broken in, the thin straps sitting across your fresh pedicure — also something he insisted on paying for, picking out your nail colour for you. A glossy soft pink, a shade that reminded you of the Chanel perfume he had gifted you with. 

Rydal had taken you out to buy an outfit when you tried to tell him you couldn’t go with him to the gala because you had nothing to wear, rolling his eyes at what he knew was you trying to weasel your way out of it. You felt bad, making him wait while you tried on every dress the saleslady threw at you. He kept telling you it was fine, eventually threatening to come in there and dress you himself if you didn’t cut it out and that he was comfortable lounging on the sofas outside the fitting rooms. 

Slipping on the next dress from the large selection you had gathered in your fitting room, you checked yourself out in the mirror. Flatting the skirt with your palms, you tried to imagine yourself at the party, your arm looped around Rydal’s elbow and everyone’s eyes on you. Would this help you blend in? Was this the golden ticket you needed to finally gain acceptance? You’re starting to feel like it didn’t matter what you wore, they’d be able to sniff you out regardless, the vultures with their sharp manicures and syringe sculpted faces. 

When you finally stepped out in the simple but flattering black dress, Rydal’s eyes flashed as you turned this way and that in the mirror, trying to see it from all angles. This could work, it was simple enough that you didn’t feel entirely unlike yourself but it was still a lot more extravagant than anything you owned.  

You didn’t notice him slowly getting up like a predator stalking its prey, too focused on whether you liked the garment or not until his hands came to rest on your hips and his nose pressed itself against your neck. Only then did you take note of his half hard bulge pressing into your bum, your body temperature jumping at how quickly he was reacting to you all dressed up for him. You weren’t a lingerie girl, never had to be in your experiences but the way he was growing more and more feral by the second had you itching to buy the most delicate, laciest sets just to pull this behaviour from him on demand. 

“D-Do you like it?” you hated the way your voice wavered when you spoke, the slight increase in pressure from his hot hands causing you to blush heavily. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Go take it off before I do it for you–”

“Yeah, on it,” you pushed his hands away, bolting towards the fitting room before he got any ideas and shaking your head at him. 

He purchased the dress while you were changing back into your regular clothes, coming out to the sight of him holding the garment bag over his arm while dumbly ignoring the stares of the other girls in the store. 

You weren’t used to feeling so aggressively desired so publicly but Rydal never made you feel like he wanted to hide how he felt about you. He would compliment you in front of his friends, in front of strangers, he would speak highly of you despite having told you something that would send your blood boiling seconds prior. It was reassuring, especially since you weren’t blind to the way girls would look at him, especially the ones in his social circles. 

The dress would help you fit into the crowd a little better, the shoes only slightly uncomfortable so far but that wasn’t the part that bothered you. Before leaving for the night, you made sure to try your best with your hair and makeup to look effortless with the help of your roommate, Eleanor, who told you that Rydal was going to go crazy over your look. That didn’t make you feel any more comfortable, however, wearing clothes much too expensive, you began to wonder if he liked you better like this, if he wanted you to be more like them. 

His reaction upon seeing you made your stomach swoop, the reverence in his eyes making you shyer than you’ve felt in a long time. You think maybe you should dress up like this more often, maybe he’d prefer you like this. Trying to shake those thoughts out of your head, the two of you make your way to the party being held on campus, looping your arm through his. Rydal was wearing a beige linen suit himself, the white dress shirt underneath had the first couple buttons open for a more relaxed look that you knew he only did to stick it to his dad.

You don’t know if you would have preferred to be invisible rather than be gawked at by the guests, but either way you were extremely uncomfortable and trying your best to mask it for the sake of your boyfriend. The party itself was unlike any other you’d attended, and why would you have? It wasn’t something you’d normally be invited to, especially with your financial struggles. It was kind of ironic, you being here now. At least you were dressed for the part.

Most of the guests were in casually lavish clothing themselves, almost everyone in the room exuded an air of superiority and arrogance you didn’t know how to handle. Walking by a group of older men dressed in various shades of browns and beiges, you overheard their heated discussion regarding the new instalment of fine art in the library’s entryway. There was a table full of what looked like raffle prizes to be won, along with a small brass raffle drum at the end. Near the end of the room stood a podium next to a sign with the charity of the night outlined in large, black lettering. For the good press, for the photos, you bitterly think. There was even a small group of classical instrument musicians playing classical renditions of modern day music. 

In every cluster of guests, there was an undeniable condescending overtone, the haughtiness oozing from every direction and you didn’t know where a safe space was for your eyes to land so as not to be assaulted by a judgemental gaze. Rydal was walking with ease, his hand at the small of your back, the warmth from it burning your skin due to the backless nature of the dress but you were thankful for the touch as it kept you somewhat grounded, helping you not trip over your heels. 

He walked you through the psychological battleground, gliding through the people who were most definitely whispering about his date for the evening, leading you to the food and drinks table. Exotic delicacies littered the banquet table, carefully prepared for consumption and small enough to grab several handfuls before feeling any sense of satiation. The rich were an interesting breed, despite their indulgence they loved making things tiny. 

The purpose of the night was drowning in the show of snobbery, and you were so bitter inside at the show they put on for each other that you opted to stay quiet so as not to make Rydal uncomfortable. These were his peers, the people he grew up with, the old man in the corner, his godfather, the lady with the laughable plastic surgery was his favourite ‘aunt’ growing up, giving him the biggest presents at his birthdays. Countless familiar faces for him, all of them sneering at you. 

The comforting touch of his hand leaves your back and you immediately turn to him in a near panic, the idea of being left alone in the sea of sharks making you stumble over your shoes. Upon seeing Rydal’s father right behind you, you opted to stay silent. This was not the first time you were meeting him, but it was the first time you were seeing him on school grounds after spending the summer at their family home. 

“Rydal,” he nodded to you and greeted you by name, “Come, I need you to meet a couple of people from that firm I was telling you about. Quickly now.” 

Lawrence Keener wasn’t the most terrifying person you’d ever met but he was definitely intimidating and he definitely was aware of it. The man had influence at the school, and honestly anywhere else he went. His handsome face and strong jaw demanded respect before his clothes did, his bespoke and cleanly pressed suit giving him a reason to tilt his chin just that smidge higher so he could look down at you with a single snobby brow raised. You could see where Rydal learned that expression from. 

He was somewhat dismissive of your presence, which only served to piss you off further but you had to hold back from rolling your eyes since Rydal was looking at you with a plea in his eyes, asking if it was okay to leave you for a few minutes to go meet the senior partners his father was pushing him towards. 

You nodded with a tight smile to him, trying to be supportive without showing how anxious you already were on the inside. Stepping into his world and pretending you were fine with it was proving to be more difficult than you initially thought.

Rydal leaves you with a relatively chaste kiss on the cheek, his father watching you two with blatant boredom before ushering him away with a hand on the back of his neck. After watching them turn a corner, you have to blink a few times before gathering your bearings and heading straight for the hors d'oeuvres, the miniature yet intricate selection taking your attention away from the prickly company. Devilled eggs, stuffed mushrooms with crispy onions on top, micro fig pies, melted brie and shortbread, roasted oysters with butter mignonette, caviar and creme tartlets and bowls and bowls of shrimp cocktail met your eyes. Reaching to try a pie, it almost made you laugh at how tiny it was in the palm of your hand. 

Some time must have passed and you’d eaten several different kinds of mini appetisers, gulping down the mocktail a random floating waiter had offered you after watching you stuff your face while you observed others mingling and networking. Hearing Rydal’s voice over the soft music playing, your eyes start searching for him excitedly. 

There’s a girl. Walking next to him, there is a very pretty girl. And they’re laughing. She’s touching his arm – familiar, they’re familiar – and he doesn’t brush it off, he’s smiling with her and for a moment you forget that you’re together. 

They look… they look quite perfect together, to be honest. She’s taller than you, blonde hair perfectly coiffed with a classic cocktail dress in a shade of blue that matched her eyes, making her smile look all the more bright. The girl in question throws her head back in laughter at something Rydal says, and it must have been funny at the way she covers her mouth elegantly to hide her grin and–and you want to leave. Badly. He’s not flirting but he’s also not taking her hand off of his arm, and he’s still smiling at her. 

They…fit. She looks like she belongs. Here, with him, on his arm, wherever she pleases really. Maybe she’s the girl his father wanted him to go for, the choice that made sense for him. The option that was easier. The kind of girl who crossed her ankles when she sat at the dinner table, the one who knew which one the soup spoon was. The girl with the right parents, the right upbringing. The one who didn’t need a room at their family home because she had her own next door. The one he didn’t have to take shopping to make her look the part at a charity gala. 

The girl that wasn’t a charity case. 

You should just leave now, and leave them to it. They would probably be engaged right after graduation. Rydal would get a job with the law firm his father was pressuring him about and she would be the host of their next charity event. Hell, maybe she’d even run for a council position. Talk about a power couple. 

While your intrusive thoughts were spiralling, you get caught staring by Rydal, his eyes lighting up to see you and you can see the words forming on his lips as he’s about to call out for you, most likely to introduce you to the girl in question. Turning on your heel before he had the chance to get your name out, you walk with speed and purpose, hunting for the washroom to collect yourself. You know people are looking at you walking past them, you probably look a little out of it but you couldn’t care less right now, just focused on getting some air and maybe splashing some water on your face.

Ducking into the washroom with a sigh of relief – the door matched the wood tone of the walls, the little sign above labelled “Washroom” in tiny, cursive writing making it incredibly difficult to find – you manage to find an empty stall. Leaning your head back against the stall door, you close your eyes as you try to even your breathing. You have to manage the anxiety bubbling up in your chest and the influx of negative thoughts about Rydal, it’s not fair to you or him.

The washroom door swings open and shuts, a pocket of music from the main hall echoing for a few seconds before giving way to the animated chatter of the girls who just entered. Their giggles and whispers became more clear once they settled in front of the large mirror hanging above the marble sinks. 

“I’m going to need a lot more champagne to withstand anymore of that woman’s inane chatter, like, we’re already helping so much,” one girl huffed. 

Peeking your eyes through the tiny gap in the door, you catch a glimpse of the back of their heads. 

“Yeah well at least your boyfriend hasn’t been ignoring you all night. All I said was that he was repeating his outfit and that people would notice!” 

“Oh honey, don’t worry. Nobody is going to notice that with Rydal walking around with his charity case girlfriend. What the fuck does he see in her anyway?” Another girl said, carelessly loud. 

Your ears perked up again, your heart dropping in your stomach. Now was not the best time for you to hear this, their conversation only confirming your shameful thoughts about your boyfriend. 

“I always thought he was easy but to stoop so low? She’s basically the farmer’s daughter!” 

The scandal in her voice almost made you laugh in disbelief from where you were hiding in the stall. 

“I think he’s doing it just to get back at his father. Lawrence doesn’t even look at her.” 

Well. That’s not… that’s not what you wanted to hear. Lawrence looked at you, right? He said hello perfectly politely, right? You’re frowning at the thought.

“Ha! That’s because he wanted Colette for him. My mom told me he’s secretly hoping Rydal wakes up one morning, ready to go running back to Barbie Blue Eyes and make them all proud parents,” the loud one from earlier said with a wicked tone. 

Colette… you didn’t know a Colette. Blue eyes? Could they be speaking about The Girl from earlier? Were they right, were you just a phase for him? 

“Oh my god El, you kill me! They are really blue, and that dress she’s wearing tonight looks so fucking good on her, I can’t deny her that. It’s like she got it custom made to match her eyes.” 

Oh fuck. The Girl was Colette. Of fucking course. 

And from the sounds of it, she was Rydal’s ex. No wonder he never mentioned her. No wonder she was so friendly with him, hands all over his arms, giggling together like a couple of young lovers. Compared to her, she was the obvious choice, and it wasn’t a surprise that Lawrence had given his approval. 

“Sounds like Colette,” the third girl chimed in. 

“I don’t care how much Rydal spends on this new girl, she isn’t fooling anybody. I bet she’ll be gone by the winter. Anyways,” the first girl sighs tiredly, as if unloading all that gossip took a physical toll on her. “How’s my lipstick, Vee?” 

They descended into a different topic, focused on adjusting each other’s appearance until they left the washroom leaving you to stew in silence. They wouldn’t have known you were listening but they said everything you didn’t need to hear anyway. 

So Rydal was dating this perfect girl, Colette, before you got together. You were the rebound. You were never permanent. You didn’t belong. 

You should’ve known he wasn’t serious, it was too good to be true. You should never have opened up to him, never have trusted him with all your insecurities and vulnerabilities. He probably bought all the girls Chanel. He couldn’t have been serious about you. He hasn’t even met your mom, hasn’t visited your home yet. You couldn’t let him get any closer. 

Stepping out and gently splashing your cheeks with some cold water, you walk out the doors on shaky knees and look around. Nobody is paying you any attention now and you exhale a breath of relief. These people are never going to respect you. No matter how many pretty clothes he buys you. 

Rydal finds you before your eyes find him, his hand snaking around your waist and mouth finding your ear to whisper a sweet little I missed you, softly kissing your skin. You shiver, and despite the direction your thoughts were going you find comfort in his smell and warmth, closing your eyes while you turn your body into his. 

He’s the same and yet he isn’t. Rydal slips into his social persona and you’ve never really paid attention before but there’s a slight difference to his voice and once you notice it, it bothers you. You stare at him, perplexed and hurt. You wonder if you know him properly at all. Which one is the real one? Is he pretending with you or with them? 

Rydal tells you he has someone to introduce you to but your stomach starts churning and you think you’re gonna be sick because you see Colette making her way towards you in the crowd and you can’t face her, not after what you just heard. 

“I feel kind of sick, actually, can we go? Like, now?” 

You know you have a frantic edge to your voice but you can’t help it. 

“Can we go in a bit? Just stick it out for a little longer, baby—“ 

There’s a bubble of anxiety in your chest that rises to your throat the closer she gets and you look to Rydal with pure panic, upset that he’d even suggest you stay in this stifling room for any longer. He stops talking upon noticing the tears welling in your eyes, brows immediately furrowing in concern and then nodding quickly.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, we can go, c’mon.” 

His hand returns to the small of your back, guiding you out of the hall and you’re glad for it because all of a sudden your vision is blurry and if it weren’t for his persistent hands helping you, you would’ve surely never found your way out. 

The way back to his room was tense. Not the comfortable silence you were used to, your throat closed and sealed shut since leaving. Your mouth has opened and shut several times, wanting to break the silence but your tongue felt like lead. 

Rydal doesn’t make any attempt at conversation either. After putting his blazer jacket around your shoulders, he stuck his hands in his pocket and frowned the whole walk back. 

By the time he let you in his room, your bottom lip was wobbling and your anxiety was suffocating you in its attempt for release. Either you were going to cry or yell or both. 

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you reach for the makeup wipes you keep with his things, aggressively wiping at your eyes and fighting with the layers of mascara you had put on. He slowly comes up behind you, not looking into your eyes but his hands reach to unclasp your necklace, brushing your hair aside for ease of access. 

You inhale a shuddering breath. 

You should just do it now. Just come right out and say it. You may as well cut your losses and let him be happy with whoever he wants, let him make his father happy and stop standing in his way. You were only holding him back, and that’s not what you wanted to do. You still loved him, even if tonight did break your heart. 

Dropping the necklace on the counter, he reaches for the zipper of your dress next but his hands still and instead rest on your waist as he presses his forehead into your shoulder. 

“Did something happen? Did someone… say something?” He mumbled, the vibrations of his voice almost triggering your tears. Instead you let out a sniffle.

“She really is beautiful. Why didn’t you tell me about her?” 

“Who?” 

“Why did I have to find out about her from a bunch of girls in the washroom? Does she go here? Is that why your dad doesn’t look me in the eye when he talks to me?”

“…it’s not like that—“ he sighs.

“No? It’s not like you become someone else when we’re around these people? It’s not like you have this whole goddamn life that I’m not part of, that I’ll never be part of because they’re never going to accept me? They’re never going to respect me, never think I’m good enough?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t even know what you heard!”

“Everyone thinks I’m with you just for your money, you know. They called me the farmer's daughter. They said I’m your fucking charity case. Do you know how that makes me feel? As if I don’t already feel like an outsider here?”

He opens his mouth to respond but you don't let him, rushing to hurt him the way you’re hurting inside. 

“You’ve never had to work a day in your life, you don’t know what it’s like in my shoes.” You laugh humorlessly. “What are we doing, Rydal?” 

“What do you mean?” His voice sounds so small and the knife just twists deeper in your gut. 

“Why should I have to deal with this constant bullshit from the people in your life? I don’t even know them! Maybe… maybe we should—“

“Stop, stop, listen I can handle everyone else being upset with me, but not you. Not you, please. I can’t take it from you, please don’t say what I think you’re going—“ 

“I don’t know. I just can’t, I— maybe, maybe we should break up, I think you’d feel better, too, I think—“

“How could you think that? How could you say that?” He’s upset, expression sour and twisted.

He looks the way you feel. 

You watch him fumble for words. 

“I literally left my dad at this stupid party and he’s going to be fucking pissed, like seriously livid because he was building me up to his buddies but– but I don’t care because I wanted to make sure you were okay!”

His palms grip your waist tighter and he steps closer, crowding you against the basin and doesn’t give you any room to move. You can’t look at him so instead you stare at the makeup wipe, the angry black marks mirroring your heart as your mind yells at you to run, to leave and hide where he can’t hurt you, where he can’t see you crumble and break after he inevitably agrees to leave you. 

You push it once more.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe I should’ve just left you there.” 

There’s a small part of your brain that tells you that you’re being irrational. That he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t care, he must care even a tiny amount, even if you were a temporary toy. 

His hands leave you for a second and he takes a step away. You feel cold, immediately feeling small and stupid, fighting between wanting to cry and going numb until suddenly the familiar warmth comes back, his hand pushing your back with so much force that your hands shoot out in front of you to catch yourself. One on the mirror, one on around the edge of the vanity. 

Looking up at Rydal in shock, you open your mouth to ask him what the fuck his problem is until you see he’s not even looking at you, his eyes are trained on your ass and he’s biting his lip, but he still looks… broken. 

“Rydal, what the fu—“

“Stop. Talking. You’ve said enough.” His voice was almost a whisper but still firm enough to cut through yours, and his hands were still kneading your hips. 

His behaviour is new and kind of confusing, if you’re being honest. It’s clear he’s never been denied before in his life. He looks helpless and angry and worried and aggravated and entirely too focused on your body at this moment for any of it to make sense. 

Rydal’s fingers trail down your dress until they reach the slit in the back and leave goosebumps as they make their way back up, hooking into your panties and then tugging them off and around your heels. Upon rising, he’s still avoiding eye contact. Your cheeks are burning, legs slightly wider than before. Despite being mad at him, your body still obeys. 

“So mouthy all the time.”

Balling up your panties, he surprises you further by shoving them in your mouth even as you protest and try to push back on him but his body keeps your balance wavering. You have no choice but to keep your hands where they were if you didn’t want to fall. 

Your eyes must be bugging out of your sockets and the rise and fall of your chest is coming quicker and quicker.

“If that’s what you really want, then leave.” He’s saying this while the tips of his thick fingers brush and tease your entrance, keeping you frozen in place.

Your mind was at odds with your body as you felt your instinctive reaction to him touching you. Fighting the urge to embrace the desire now dripping down your thighs, you knew you had the ability to walk away if you wanted to and yet you found yourself pressing back against his hand wanting more. 

“Aren’t you gonna leave? Isn’t that what you wanted? No?” 

Rydal slides two fingers inside your cunt, easily and without warning and you grunt but it’s muffled against the cloth. This is absurd, you think dumbly. You want to feel embarrassed but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Didn’t think so, baby,” he’s saying while stepping closer and his fingers reach even deeper, if that were possible.

His mouth comes up to your ear, whispering his next words and sending them straight to your gut, weighing heavily inside you. 

“I need you, can’t you see that? Look at me,” his hot breath hits the shell of your ear and you’re panting. “Can’t you tell? How fucking badly I need you?” 

So you look at him, and you see a desperate and needy man in the place of your Rydal, the one you’re familiar with. This wasn’t the same man you were used to, the one who would make you laugh while he was making his way inside you. This Rydal was upset and he was adamant on making you regret your words. 

His fingers were curling inside your wet heat, pressing up against that spot that made you see stars and stealing your breath so hard your fingers were curling. Your fingerprints were marking the mirror, the squeaking sound making you shudder against his body. Moaning around the fabric still in your mouth, you tried to grind down on his hand, desperate for him to move, to do something, anything to the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter. 

Rydal could feel your hips moving back against his hand and moved to still you, fingers holding you tight enough to bruise. Slipping his fingers out, he taps them against your clit before removing his hand entirely and making your shoulders sag at the loss.

Reaching one hand up and back to keep him close, afraid of his warmth leaving you, your hand wraps around his neck as he rushes to unbuckle his pants noisily. He’s shaking a little, breaths coming out ragged at how badly he needs to fill you up. 

Once he frees himself, Rydal uses one hand to push you back down and bunch your pretty dress up, lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in swiftly without hesitation. 

He groans loudly, tilting his head back with his eyes shut for a moment before looking down at where he’s seated to the hilt inside you, unmoving. 

“You lookin’? You need me, too, I can see it in your eyes. Look,” he reaches forward to grab at your jaw, making you watch yourself as he slowly pulls his cock out and slams it back inside to kiss your cervix. Again, and again, and again. “See that?”

Rydal forces your head to nod with his hand still holding your face while you try to speak, voice coming out unclear against the panties still in your mouth. The stupid fucking fabric was making it hard to breathe and you were going to pass out, drunk on his cock, you were going to faint against the god damn builder’s grade medicine cabinet. You want to moan out loud, you want to tell him he wasn’t playing fair, that he was going too slow. You want to pull his beautiful hair out and yell at him, you want him to hurry up and fuck you harder, you—

You’re coming. 

“Ohhh, fuuuuck,” he let go of your face, hands dropping to press on your lower back and push you more forward, your hands clambering on the mirror like a fool. “Look so—so, oh fuck, baby, look at you.”

It didn’t take him long at all to make a mess of you. 

“You gonna take it back? Take back what you said, tell me you were wrong,” he whines, still fucking you hard but not hard enough. 

The problem was that he was dragging his girth out slowly but stealing your breath on every hard thrust forward. And it still wasn’t enough, not for this, not for right now. 

Your attempt at speaking is ruined by the fact that your panties were still in your mouth, your saliva soaking the material by this point. You wanted to spit it out, hurl the obstructive garment across the room but it wasn’t possible in your current position. He can’t possibly be stupid enough to expect you to answer him like this. 

He almost laughs when he realises you’re trying to say something, quickly pulling the fabric from your mouth to let you finally have your voice back and you immediately let out a cry at his perfectly timed thrust. His cock was moving faster, intent on not having you speak but making you come again. Now that he could hear you, he was becoming more and more unhinged. 

Embarrassingly, you’re having a hard time keeping your voice down, whines and cries falling from your lips continuously while Rydal fucked you against his sink. Your hands are leaving fingerprints all over his mirror from where you’re trying to get a grip and push yourself back on him, his own hands keeping you bent over for him but squeezing whatever flesh he could reach. 

Leaning forward to kiss your back, he mumbles words he thinks you don’t hear, don’t leave me, mine, my baby, stay here—

“S’wrong, I-I was wrong,” you whimper. “M’sorry, fuck—“

“Shhh—“

“I—“ you hiccup. “I hate them, I, yesss right there, god—“

“I know, baby, I know, I got you,” he’s back to grunting in your ear and you can’t see or feel anything that isn’t Rydal. 

You’re overwhelmed by everything that’s happened tonight, your feelings from earlier still bubbling up and causing you to tear up while he continues to ram into you. He sees you crying, reaching his hand in front of you to toy with your clit.

“Stay with me,” he demands, voice low against the shell of your ear. Desperate, he’s still so fucking needy even after making you cry on his cock. 

You nod before you realise you’re nodding, sniffling in your daze. 

Rydal’s index finger, the same one he teased you with earlier, starts circling your clit in the surefire way he knows how to make you cum, grunting when he feels your walls fluttering over his length. 

And when you’re gushing all over him, his finger still circles your nub but he stills his hips as he feels you come undone and talks you through it. Pretty baby, love you so fucking much, stay, stay with me, stay—

Lifting you off his length he takes off your dress completely and turns you around with his hand wrapped around your neck to bring his mouth to yours, kissing you like a man possessed. He doesn’t wait to slip his tongue into your mouth, claiming it as his own to prove a point. He’s always fucking proving a point, always pushing his way through your walls. 

Walking you backwards towards his bed, he only breaks away from your mouth to help you remove his shirt and pants, your hands mapping out his chest and shoulders. You don’t let him get far from you even as you lower yourself to lay back on the mattress, pulling his body along needily while he crawls over you. 

This time when he enters you, it’s slower, softer, gentle, but you’re shaking in his arms, foreheads touching as you share a breath and syrupy kisses. You cry a little, mascara messy and lipstick smudged, but he shushes you, mocking you, “thought you could leave me,” he says and anticipating your rebuttal — as he does, he always fucking does — he says, “thought you could go on without my cock, hmm?”

And then he’s kissing you again before you can say anything, effectively shutting you up while pressing you into the mattress, fucking the fight out of you as his hips slide into yours again and again. Your bodies are sweat ridden, your pussy is soaking his sheets and he still hasn’t cum yet, but you think he’s close. He has to be, he’s barely pulling out now, his length throbbing inside your pulsing walls as he ruts into you. 

He’s biting your shoulder and your eyes are focused on the popcorn ceiling, your oversensitive core trembling as he tries to pull another orgasm from you. You’re probably crying, it’s hard to tell at this point, face and body damp, but your ears are attuned to his sounds, his gorgeous whimpers and grunts. Rydal’s body is heavy on yours but you’re floating, you don’t feel a thing until his thumb starts pressing hard against your clit that you try to curl in on yourself, thrashing against him and– yeah, you’re crying. 

He’s speaking absolute filth, it doesn’t make any sense, but in the midst of your pleasure you hear him saying he’s going to fill you up. 

He does. It’s so wet between your legs, the glide of his half aborted thrusts smacking lewdly and loudly and you feel like an exposed nerve and numb all at once. His spend is leaking out of you and just when you expect him to pull out and play with your puffy folds, he turns on his side, keeping you full of him. Rydal rests his face against your chest, your sweaty and spent bodies tangled together. Boneless and breathless. 

His arms are everywhere, one running down the length of your thigh soothingly and the other wrapped under your torso to pull you close by your waist. Touching, always touching. That’s been one constant you’ve noticed from the start. Your breaths are echoing loudly and you’re almost afraid to speak, afraid to ruin the tranquil silence that envelops you both. 

You open your eyes to find him already watching you. 

“I’m hopeless without you,” he says, so so softly. “I’ll let you win at monopoly every time, I’ll stop ruining the ending of the books you’re reading, fuck, just tell me what I have to do. Tell me, I’ll do it.”

You just hold him tighter to you, kissing his temple.

[thehumanwiki]

rating all NuWho finales based entirely on how cool the titles are

because yea

(putting a read more because this will take a while, lol)

Bad Wolf / The Parting of the Ways

5/10. Bad Wolf is a cool name! For cool ppl! It’s the season’s mystery! It slays! But The Parting of the Ways? That could be used for like, half of the finales in this show. That’s a generic name. Not a fan. It even has one more “the” than it ought to. That’s a tryhard name. (Rose and The Doc don’t even part ways for another season! It’s a LIE!)

Army of Ghosts / Doomsday

6/10. Army of Ghosts! That’s freaky! It catches my attention! I’m interested, Mr. Davies, tell me more about that! Doomsday is also a generic name though. Like it could be used anywhere. It gets more points than S1 however because Doomsday is a very cool word and I like it a lot.

Utopia / The Sound of Drums / Last of the Time Lords

8/10. YES. I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THESE TITLES. Utopia? That’s a word that can’t be applied to many other episodes! That’s a memorable word! That’s a fun word! The Sound of Drums? What the hell is so significant about drums?? In a FINALE episode?! There must be something SCANDALOUS about the drums, tell me everything! (And they did! But this isn’t about what happens in the episode this is just how hard the titles fuck.) Last of the Time Lords??? Holy shit! That means we’re delving into that aspect of him specifically, and you can’t duplicate that easily! But more importantly, that sounds cool! Cool names, absolutely W from whoever named RTD’s stuff.

The Stolen Earth / Journey’s End

5.5/10. Same boat as S1, tbh. The Stolen Earth? Excellent, no notes. Journey’s End sounds generic af though. But I gave it a half point lead because Journey’s End has the Vibes more than The Parting of the Ways, lol.

The Pandorica Opens / The Big Bang

8/10. Yea I see the vision Mr. Moffat, I see you. Love what you’ve done with the place btw. Like, neither title is generic! And both are super interesting! Look honestly I forget how to do commentary I’m just one sleep deprived fan who likes Vibes they just slap OK

The Wedding of River Song

9/10. Oh. Oh yes. Oh I am LOVING this. Nothing gets me going like seeing a wedding that is somehow the culmination of a high stakes season. Like, how is there a wedding there?! And. River Song is there? Do you promise? 🥺

The Name of the Doctor / The Day of the Doctor / The Time of the Doctor

6/10. OK I’m honestly not sure which ones are finales or not, but y’know what? The name matching is fun. I like that. That is good. But besides the first one, these are p generic episode names. Sorry.

Dark Water / Death in Heaven

8/10. Dark Water is a p good episode name. It’s not the most interesting, but I like it. BUT ***DEATH IN HEAVEN***?! Now THAT is a finale title! I have never SEEN such a title! THAT is an IMMACULATE title! SPLENDID!

Heaven Sent / Hell Bent

10/10. The matching names? The rhyming? The low-key religious theming? The ominous nature? EXCELLENT. No notes Mr. Moffat. Great vibes.

World Enough and Time / The Doctor Falls

9/10. I would give this striaght up 10/10 if I could figure out what “World Enough and Time” meant. The vibes are perfect but like. What does it mean 😭 And The Doctor Falls??? OH MY ATTENTION HAS BEEN GRABBED BY THE THROAT DO GO ON PLS—

The Battle of Ranskoor av Kolos

4/10. Kolos? What is this, Pokémon XY? Anyways, I feel like this is just dialogue that would be said in passing in a sci-fi novel that everyone forgets. Sorry 😞

Ascension of the Cybermen / The Timeless Children

7/10. Cybermen are OK. It’s a fine title, I have nothing against it. The Timeless Children??? The vibes are just SPLENDID here. Especially because it’s a Bad Wolf situation where it’s like “hey wait a fucking minute I’ve heard that somewhere else—” Good stuff! W for Chris.

Chapter Six: The Vanquishers

6.5/10. Adding chapter to the title does make it automatically cooler, so that’s a bonus half point right there. Otherwise, it’s neat. Like it’s good. The vibes are fine and I like them, but not THAT fine, y’know?

The Legend of Ruby Sunday / Empire of Death

7/10. Look, even if it’s not generic, anything with “death” in the title *feels* generic. The Legend of Ruby Sunday still saves this tho, because I am INTERESTED, girl. TELL ME EVERYTHING

In conclusion, episode titles peaked with Capaldi.

[jacks347]

Eternity has never been kind to lovers

Word count: 5000 Enjoy my pretties >:3

~~

Albus had once been asked if there was anyone he left at home when he went off to be a hero. He'd laughed off the question, saying he wasn't a hero and he had no home so who would be waiting for him?

In truth, his home was a place that hadn't existed for him in many years. As an immortal demon, time had stopped really having a meaning to him. So the years had all started to bleed together, his trips back to the little house in the woods becoming less and less frequent. He'd failed to notice the silver starting to thread through Devlin's hair, the lines creasing around Faith's eyes and mouth, or the little girl becoming not so little anymore.

It wasn't like he meant to, it was just how things ended up. He gained more credibility and prestige as a bounty hunter and got more lucrative jobs that took him farther away for longer. He visited home less and less until he eventually stopped going altogether. And now he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen his little family. Hell, if he really thought about it, he could barely even remember what they looked like. Was Faith's hair black or brown? Which arm did Devlin have the enhancements on? All the details had slowly blurred together in his memories and he hadn't even noticed.

Well, until those memories came waltzing back into his life. And by the gods, more time had passed than he thought.

~

"Albus, someone has a job for you." The bartender he'd come to vaguely know popped his head into the private room he'd come to occupy. Albus lifted his head from where it'd been resting against the wall to fix the bartender with a look in his slightly drunken stupor. What was his name again? Ah, who cares, he wouldn't remember it anyway. "And? They can post it with the bounty hunters like everyone else." "That's the thing, she asked for you specifically." "Is that so? Who is it?" "She didn't give me her name. Said she was your daughter."

That knocked the alcohol right out of him. Daughter? Him? No, that was impossible. He made sure of that. Well, when he was sober he made sure. Which, frankly, wasn't a lot. Fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do? The kid had spent gods know how long looking for him and now what? Hell, he couldn't even say which woman gave birth to the girl. Or if he wanted to know.

Gods above, is this what Dad was like?

He violently shook the thought away. No. No no no. He would not become his father. Abso-fucking-lutely not. "Alright, let's see her." The bartender shrugged and left, his voice fading as he called for the girl. Albus sat up properly, unwilling to admit his heart was beating worryingly fast. Doc would probably say he was having a heart attack.

Huh, Doc. Wonder what happened to him. Mafia, probably.

When the door opened again, a woman stepped in. Like, a fully grown woman. She looked in her 50s. And definitely not young enough to be his kid. At least, not as of recently. But she somehow looked...familiar. Were those his features he saw in her or was that his imagination? His brows furrowed, could he even remember anyone that far back?

The woman smiled, showing off the gap in her teeth. A very familiar gap in her teeth. "Hi Mr. Albus. Seems you haven't changed a bit."

That voice...

"Kerano." He breathed as recognition slammed through him. "Fucking hell kid, how did you find me?" Kerano just laughed, settling into the chair across from him and letting him get a good look at her. He could see bits of that little girl he left behind; the freckles, the wide smile, the eyes shining with mischief. But he could also see the years that had disappeared; lines starting to crease around her mouth, silver threading between the normal brown, the sag to her posture as years of growing up weighed down on her. "Man, I haven't been called "kid" in decades. Though I suppose everyone is a kid to someone who lives forever." She shrugged. Albus scrubbed his hand over his face. "You didn't answer my question. How did you find me? And why?" "Okay, the how is the fun part. The why is the not so fun part. Which do you wanna hear first?" She giggled and for a second, he was back in New Tennessee watching Faith chase her around the ship. But then he blinked and the second passed, his heart sinking with it. "Well it's me so I guess the fun part." "Good, I was hoping you'd say that."

Kerano sat back in her chair, a smug smile creeping across her face. "So, I needed to come find you for reasons I will explain later. But you haven't been back home in over 30 years, no one knows where you are, and any of the ones who could are old or dead. So I was on my own and had to follow the trail of breadcrumbs. Starting in Maya. And honestly, I expected this to be a lot harder than it was but all it took was a couple pointed questions to the receptionist at the Hunters Guild and I was on my way. The hardest part was actually finding you once I got here."

"And you wanna tell me why the bartender said you were going around telling people you were my kid?" Kerano's smile widened at that, holding back a laugh. "What? It was the fastest way to get people to listen to me. You're a very mysterious person, Mr. York. People will take any advantage they can to get to know something about you." "Even if it's a complete fucking lie?" "Like you've ever had a problem with lying to get what you want." "...Fair enough. Shit, you really could be my kid. But now tell me why." She chuckled, her smile slowly fading. "That's the hard part. Um..." She chewed the inside of her cheek, squirming in her chair a little. "Big sister, she's...she's really sick. I mean, she hasn't been the same since she got the dementia diagnosis but now it's gotten really bad. She's-" Kerano's voice wavered, forcing herself to swallow the lump in her throat. "She's dying, Albus. The doctor says she won't make it to spring."

The words hit like a ton of bricks. Faith? Dying? No, that wasn't possible. Not his bright, spirited, fire-blooded Faith. No no no, she was far too alive to die. Not her. Anyone but her.

"Dementia? What-what is that? Can it be fixed?" Kerano snorted softly. "Right, forgot, you wouldn't know what it is. Dementia is a brain disease. It slowly attacks your brain functions until you can't do anything yourself. Eventually, it reaches the brain's ability to regulate heartbeat and breathing and that's what kills. There is no cure for it. The most notable symptom of dementia is memory loss. Of which she is dealing with in spades." Kerano traced the grain of the wood in the table, refusing to make eye contact. "It started a few years ago, she started forgetting prayers she'd known since she was little. I didn't think too much of it, I mean for gods sake she was almost 70 of course she's going to start forgetting things. But then it started getting worse. Forgetting appointments, directions to places she'd been a hundred times, stories she'd told me dozens of times. And now it's...it's really bad. Her moments of clarity are getting further and further apart. Hell, she barely remembers me half the time. And it's really hard, especially after we lost Devlin 'cause now I'm the only one who can take care of her and she gets pretty feisty when she has one of her episodes and it's just-" Kerano dropped her head into her hands, sniffling softly.

Albus was left completely frozen, watching as Kerano choked back sobs and tried to pull herself together. So much had changed after he'd left and he hadn't even realized. Faith was sick, she was losing her memory, Kerano had to take care of her after...

After...

Holy shit.

Devlin is gone?

When did that happen? How had he fallen so out of touch with the family he loved that he wasn't even told when the brother he'd come to love so deeply had died? He couldn't process this correctly. It felt like his brain was shutting down. How long had Faith been alone? How long had it just been her and Kerano in that house? How long had she needed him and he wasn't there because he'd forgotten her?

How long had he forgotten about her?

Albus was pulled out of his thoughts by Kerano's head snapping up, watching as she swiped at the lingering tears staining her face before clearing her throat. "Anyway, not what I came here for! I came for a job, not to make you my therapist." She laughed wetly. Albus just blinked at her, remembering that this little reunion wasn't just to rip his heart out. "It's not a job in your typical sense. I'm not asking you to hunt someone down. It's actually more of a request. Faith doesn't spend a lot of time in reality and when she isn't, she's in the memories she still has. And most of them are with you and Devlin on that ship back in New Tennessee. And she...she asks for you. And every time I say you're not there, she gets so sad and worried. She'll ask where you are and if you're okay and...I can't keep doing it. I can't keep breaking her heart. So my job for you, come home. Come home and see her before she dies with a broken heart."

Not his typical job indeed. His reason for fighting was dying and all she wanted was him to come back. But could he? Kerano said it'd been over 30 years, he'd missed his own brother's death, how could he possibly go back? How could he ever deserve to stand by Faith's side again after all the years he'd left her behind? The silent guilt that he'd shoved down for years began to crawl up his throat once again, threatening to cut off his air and choke him with his own misery.

"Kerano I...I can't. I've been gone for so long, I couldn't possibly go back." I don't deserve it. I don't deserve her. I never did. I never will.

Kerano frowned at Albus, folding her arms like the stubborn child he remembered her to be. "So you'd rather stay here? You'd rather stay here and continue to be a stranger to everyone rather than return to the woman who actually knows you?" "She doesn't know me, no one does." "Cut the self-deprecating bullshit Albus. Even if she doesn't know all of your broken blackened emo heart, she knows part of you. She knows the part of you that died to protect her and her mission. She knows the part of you that was human. And that's more than most people here know."

He hated how she was right. He hated how she reminded him of that weak, pathetic voice in the back of his head that mourned his humanity. It'd been there for so long that he'd learned to let it blend in with the rest of his thoughts. So long as he never acknowledged it, it would never be loud enough to remind him of everything he'd lost.

He hated how much she reminded him of Faith. He could see so much of her in Kerano, in particular her annoyingly persistent stubborn streak and her uncanny ability to cut right to the center of all the emotions he told himself he didn't feel. He hated the desperate part of him that wished she was her, wished it was her sharp eyes and pouting lips that were scolding him like she used to. He hated how much he missed her. He didn't deserve to miss her, not after he'd been the one to leave in the first place. Besides, that soft spot was going to get him killed one of these days. Maybe he really shouldn't go back, maybe it would let that lingering weakness in him finally die.

Maybe then he'd finally be free.

His blood ran cold at the thought. How could he possibly think that? This was different, this was Faith. This was his Faith. She was his oath and like hell he was going to forsake his honor for some perceived weakness

Kerano's hard stare bore into him, her disapproving frown looking sorely familiar. "Albus, she needs you right now. We need you right now. And if you ever actually loved-"

"Don't you dare fucking finish that sentence."

Her eyes widened, shrinking back against the sudden demonic energy pouring off of him. Albus tried to reign his temper back in, willing himself to have his voice not come out in a growl.

"I loved that woman more than anything. I still love her with everything I am. Don't you ever even imply doubt in that again. You don't understand everything I've done to protect her. To protect you. And it would take an eternity to try and explain it."

He sat back in his chair, fixing her with a glare of his own. How dare she try and accuse Albus of never actually loving her. How dare she try and say that the only woman who had ever truly meant anything to him was just another notch in his bedpost. That was his Faithful. His beautiful, caring, frustratingly loyal when he was the last person who deserved it Faithful. "I'll go. I'll see her. But I can't be the man she remembers from back then." Kerano sighed, her anger deflating. "I don't need you to be. I just need you. That's good enough for me."

Kerano stood from her chair, offering him a weak smile. "I'll tell her to expect you. She'll be ecstatic. You know where to find us, we've never left." He gave a stiff nod and she left, seeming to take all of his energy with her. He dropped his head onto the table with a dull thud, groaning softly. That was exhausting. Are reunions supposed to be that tiring? I suppose I wouldn't know, not like I've got a chance to have many of them.

He forced himself back upright and called for the bartender. He was going to need so much more alcohol.

~ Albus couldn't tell if he was seeing double from the relentless hangover he was dealing with (he really shouldn't have had that last round before he came here, everything was spinning) or if because he was really back here. Back at this place he'd called home for so long. Back with these people he'd called family for so long. His stomach twisted and this time he knew it wasn't from the alcohol.

Could he really do this? Just waltz back into this home like there weren't decades worth of dust on his place in it and just insert himself back into the quiet lives of the people who had grown to fill his spot? No one had seen him yet, he could still just turn around and act like nothing happened, like he'd never even been there. No one would notice, he could act like that whole conversation with Kerano had never happened and forget it all. He could let Faith go peacefully without ever bringing his chaos and bloodshed back into the fragile peace she'd built without him.

But then she'd die without him ever getting to say goodbye. She'd die scared and alone, thinking that the only person she could still remember had left her behind. She would die thinking he didn't love her enough to stay. And he just couldn't have that. Kerano couldn't let Faith die with a broken heart and now Albus couldn't either. He couldn't bear the thought of it.

"You gonna continue to just stand there and stare or are you actually gonna come in?"

The teasing voice snapped Albus out of his contemplation, forcing him to look up at Kerano. She was stood on the porch, mild amusement written on her face. "How long have you been standing there?" "Long enough to watch you have an entire crisis before inevitably deciding I was right because of course you did cause I know I'm right." "...y'know if I didn't know any better I really would suspect that you're my daughter." "I'll take that as a compliment. Now come on, she's inside."

Albus walked through the front door and almost thought he was in the wrong place. Gone was the life and liveliness that he was used to. There were no sounds of talking or laughing or smells of something cooking. There was nothing but silence and the staunch smell of disinfectant. "What happened to this place?" His voice came out an involuntary whisper. Kerano snorted softly as she closed the door behind them. "Death and disease. Big sister was crushed after we lost Devlin and she was getting older so she couldn't keep up with the housework like she used to. So things got simplified. Really simplified. I know she hates it, she always has, but there's nothing we can do about it. When she has her moments of clarity she complains about how plain the house looks. I mean, coming from the woman who was always covered in ten pounds of jewelry whenever she had the chance, I suppose you wouldn't consider that to mean a lot but even I get it." She ran her hand over the wall, rubbing the dust between her fingers. "This house is nothing but a shell of itself, of everything it used to be, especially to the people who lived in it." She glanced at Albus during that last sentence but moved on before he could say anything.

"Come on, she should be in her room." He followed along silently, taking in the last remaining bits of life along the way. There were still some pictures on the wall, mostly of Kerano as she was growing up but there were a few of Faith and Devlin as they got older. It was strange, seeing the people that in his memory were so young and vibrant and had their whole lives ahead of them as so old and lived. They'd been through so much together and he'd missed it. What kind of stories would they tell if they had the chance? If he had found the time, would he have listened? He'd taken advantage of his eternity so much he'd forgotten that not everyone got to live it.

Kerano came to a halt in front of a door, knocking softly. "Big sister? Someone's come to see you." There was no answer and Kerano sighed. "She always does this." She muttered with a shake of her head before turning to Albus. "Go on, she doesn't want me. She wants you." She stepped back and gestured for him to open the door.

This was it. The point of no return. He could open the door and shatter the reality he so fondly remembered and replace it with the stark reality that he was about to lose the woman who held his heart in her trusting hands for half a century, who would take that heart with her when she left or he could turn around and run and never have to face his failures, never face the fact that he had left her when he promised he would always protect her but that would mean living with the fact that he willingly left her.

Dammit. How do you always end up making me do the things I don't want to Faith? Do you take joy in forcing me to make life-altering decisions?

He opened the door before he could talk himself in circles again, bracing himself for whatever was beyond it. He wasn't sure he braced hard enough.

Sitting in an old rocking chair staring out the window was Faith. Or at least, what was left of her. She was still dressed in her sister paladin best but her strictness was starting to slip, pieces of silver hair untucked from beneath her headscarf to frame her face, looser fabrics taking over the usual tighter ones that had given her more shape. She hadn't seemed to notice the door opening, probably assuming it was Kerano.

"Faithful?" He attempted softly. Her head snapped to look at him, eyes wide in surprise. "Albus?" Her voice was weaker, scratchy and weathered from age. "You're really back?" She reached out for him, hesitating like he might just be an illusion or a trick her mind was playing on her. He kneeled next to her, taking her hand in his and bringing it up to hold his face. "I'm back, faithful. I'm back."

Her eyes sparkled with tears, sniffling softly as she brought her other hand to hold his face properly. He could feel the bones of her fingers through her thinned skin, see the deep lines in her face and the silver that threatened to completely take over the brown in her hair. He could feel his heart thump painfully in his chest, she was so...different. She was older, yes, but she was different. His Faith was bright and fierce, taking life by the horns because no one else would. This Faith, one so subdued and broken down by time and circumstance was so foreign to him. "Oh Faith...what happened to you?" He whispered, cupping one of her hands with his own.

She laughed quietly, smiling in that way she always used to when she thought he was being ridiculous. "Oh Albus, my Albus..." She even said his name the same way, with that quiet fondness that she used to be so embarrassed to admit was there. She was so different but at the same time, exactly the same. Her eyes held that same fire that they used to, determined to take the world by storm and correct everything she saw wrong with it no matter what it took. But her body could no longer keep up with her soul's desire to do right by the gods she had so treasured. "Where have you been all these years?" She asked, her thumb stroking over where his beard melted into the rest of his face. He sighed, leaning into her touch and laying a light kiss to her palm. "Don't you worry about that. I'm here now and that's what's important. I'm here for you." "Why? Why come back? I...I thought you were gone. I thought I lost both of you." Her voice tapered off into a whisper, unable to meet his eyes.

It nearly knocked the wind out of him. It was one thing for him to recognize that he'd been gone for too long, it was entirely another to know that Faith knew it too. That she thought she was alone. He never should've let it get this bad. "I know, I'm so sorry faithful. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you. I was just...I was scared. Scared that you wouldn't want me back after so long. Scared that you had moved on from me." She clicked her tongue, frowning at him like she was about to reprimand him like she used to. Honestly, he wished she would. "I could never move on from you. You've carried my heart with you every time you've walked out that door and that last time was no different. I just wish you'd told me beforehand how long it would be until I got it back, I would've prepared better." She giggled before pinching his cheek with a surprising strength, her nose scrunching. "Never do that to me again, you hear? Had me here mourning you while you were still out there alive and well and having no reason to give me such anxiety."

Albus burst into laughter, trying to pull away from the iron grip she had on his skin. "Ow, ow, ow okay I get it I already said I'm sorry! Gods above you've gotten stronger since I left." "It's a grandmotherly perk. Once you get above 70, your pinching strength increases tenfold to discipline rowdy grandchildren. Though you wouldn't know anything about that, would you mister immortal?" "Shit, yes I understand can you let go of my face before you rip a piece of it off?" "Hm, you better." She huffed as she let go of him, leaving him to rub the now sore spot. "Y'know, you've had Kerano worried sick about how you weren't like you used to be but you seem just fine to me." "Hey, don't you bring me into this. This is for you to atone for your crimes of leaving us with no one but each other for 15 years." Kerano snorted, leaning against the doorframe with a smug smile as she watched the interaction. Faith turned to Kerano with a sad smile, leaning back in her rocking chair. "Oh give the girl a break Albus, she's dealt with a lot with me being...out of sorts." "Oh is that the word we're using? Big sister, you know I love you, you tried to throw me out the window." "I thought you were an illusion!" "Doesn't make it any less terrifying! You ever almost get literally shoved out a window by an old woman with a strength you didn't even realize she had?" The two glared at each other for a few moments before both burst into giggles.

Albus rolled his eyes at the display. "I will give no such breaks, the girl went around saying she was my daughter in order to find me." "You did what?" Faith suddenly whipped her head to look between Albus and Kerano. "You're not being serious, are you? Tell me he's not being serious!" "...sorry big sister." "Kerano! What in the hell would possess you to do such a thing?" "You couldn't see it sister! You were so...hollow. You kept asking for him and well...with your prognosis, I couldn't just sit back and do nothing! So I went and found him! It was just a little harder than I thought it was going to be so I found a way! And hey, it worked, didn't it? He's here and you're lucid and everything's the way it used to be. Can you blame me for simply wanting to fulfill a dying woman's wish?" "I thought I told you to stop talking like that." Faith huffed, turning her pointed glare to Kerano. "But you are-" "And I know that Kerano. But I don't need to be reminded of it. I'm still alive and I intend on remaining that way for as long as possible. So do not call me dying until I lay on my deathbed, you understand me?" "Yep, that's Faith." Albus muttered with a soft smile, earning a sarcastic stare from her.

Faith just sighed, running her hand through Albus's hair with a slight smile. "Won't you stay? At least for a little while? I...I don't want to risk forgetting about you." "Of course faithful. I'm not going anywhere, not until you tell me to go." Not until I see that fire leave you. Not until my faithful is really gone. Not until I actually have to say goodbye to you.

Faith stared into his eyes and he could see every moment between them, their entire history laid out in the color of her eyes. He feared the day he'd see blank spots in that history. That day when she'd forget he loved her with his entire being. That he'd fought against armies and demons to return to her side. That he'd given up his life for her once and he'd do it again in a heartbeat if she simply asked. He leaned up and kissed her softly, like she would break if he pressed any harder. She pushed back like she was trying to send a message. He hoped she could read his own.

I'll love you for eternity Faith.

I've loved you for my eternity Albus.

He stepped back, running his thumb over her cheek one final time before heading towards the door. "I'll check in on you tomorrow, don't go anywhere." "Not like I could if I wanted to." She laughed as Albus closed the door behind him, leaving just him and Kerano in the hallway again. She looked on the verge of tears and he was about to ask what was wrong when she threw herself into his arms, squeezing him tight. "Thank you. Thank you for bringing her back." She whispered into his chest. He slowly hugged her back, letting her cry out her relief into his shirt. "Thank you for letting me bring her back." He responded, petting her hair.

She pulled back after a couple minutes, wiping her eyes. "I'll go get a room ready for you, sounds like you'll be here for a while." She headed down the hall into a separate room, leaving Albus with his thoughts once again. He wished that would stop happening, his thoughts were getting quite headache-inducing recently.

He still couldn't entirely believe that he was here, that he'd seen Faith again and had gotten the chance to love her again. To love her like she deserved until her mind finally left her.

I've got so much lost time to make up for. There's so much I've missed, so much I have to learn about you, Faithful. But maybe I can start to work for your forgiveness. I just hope I'm not too late to earn it.

I'll stay by your side until the end, I promise. I'll be your warrior again if that's what you need me to be.

I'm yours Faith. Always yours.

Until the next sunrise

Oops, wrong universe, sorry-

[freyadragonlord]

Was Chuuya chosen for Project Arahabaki because of N’s personal grudge? A Stormbringer theory

One thing I find very interesting about Stormbringer is that there are a lot of elements in the novel that are left ambiguous, or that are only mentioned briefly, but if you start putting them together you can draw a possibly really interesting picture.

And my favourite interpretation for that picture has to do with the reason why Chuuya, specifically, was chosen for that experiment, and how it is very plausible it wasn’t a random pick.

For this theory, I am going to work on the assumption that Chuuya is the original and not the clone (this is after all heavily implied in the epilogue), but even if he wasn’t, the existence of the original human child that was cloned was also confirmed in the epilogue, so this would be applicable to him instead.

Let’s start with this thought:

Why, in a country where the War has left countless orphans, would the military pick one of the only characters confirmed to have parents in all of BSD?

They could have grabbed any random kid from the streets or an orphanage, after all. We know for a fact that the Director of Atsushi’s orphanage was quite happy to lend kids to random guys who wanted to experiment on them. It would have been easy.

Instead, they picked Chuuya. Wasn’t that risky, especially since we know that both of his parents were quite powerful and influential?

It’s an odd choice.

Let’s look at some possible clues that are explicitly stated in the text:

The picture that the Flags give to Chuuya in the first chapter, the one with him as a child next to N, was found when they were investigating Chuuya’s pre-experiment life. The photo is taken at a beach, near an old farming village that is now abandoned, and in a town nearby Doc found the medical records proving Chuuya’s human existence before he was taken by the government.

In the epilogue, we learn that Chuuya’s father is a now a simple doctor, but he was once in the military, and “not someone who could be taken lightly”.

The first fact is interesting enough on its own. If the photo was taken in the village where Chuuya was born, why is N there? Did he stop to take it on his way out from the kidnapping, as a fun memento? That doesn’t seem very likely.

And if we then consider the fact that Chuuya’s father was a military officer with medical background, just like N, a natural conclusion would be that N and Chuuya’s father were colleagues.

No, more than colleagues.

Would you invite a random colleague to your home and let your 5 years old kid take a picture with him?

They were probably friends.

But how do you end up performing horrible experiments on your friend’s child?

The novel tells us nothing about the circumstances of that kidnapping; we only know that as far as the world knows, the child has passed away. Maybe Chuuya got sick or injured, had to be taken to a hospital where it would be easy for a government agent to snatch him. Maybe he got lost near the sea, and believed to have drowned. Maybe there was an airstrike from a foreign country, there was a war going on…

We will never know the details. But N was not quite sane after all, he claims to be solely dedicated to his science, so it is possible that he just saw the opportunity and took it, no logical reasoning needed.

However, I don’t believe N to be as emotionally detached as he wants to appear.

Insane, sure, you have to be to do the things he did, but he’s also extremely prideful. He lied about his own work to make it look so he created Chuuya’s body and mind, and then he gave Chuuya his own last name, signing his “scientific masterpiece”.

He also waited for the perfect opportunity to take revenge on Verlaine for killing his brother, even though that resulted in his own death.

And this is why my theory is that he chose Chuuya as his lab rat out of some grudge against his friend.

What that grudge would be, we can only speculate. Maybe it was envy for his colleague’s achievements, maybe something else entirely, there’s a lot of room to make up our own headcanons and interpretation.

(There is another possible hypothesis, which is that Chuuya’s parents were equally insane and they willingly gave their own kid to the government to be used as a weapon for the War. There’s however no hint of this madness in the brief scene that we see them, so it’s up to each of us to imagine if this is a plausible interpretation or not)

Anyways, that’s my thoughts on this subject, let me know what you think if you want!

I believe that many things in Stormbringer were left vague on purpose, but that’s why it is fun to try and look at it and come up with our own theories.

[hlficlibrary]

Hey! Could you please recommend docs that are highly smut but if interesting plots? Thanks!

Hi, anon! You're very welcome! I'm just going to go with three fics that have both some kind of plot and multiple smut scenes. If you want something more specific, just let me know!

Saving Symphony Hall by @helloamhere

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

Old Photographs & Times I'll Remember by @jaerie

Carefully he set that negative down and lifted the paper to see there was another beneath. This one again was a young man, this time posed against an antique car. He lifted a few more negatives out one by one, each a portrait of the same man with various backdrops. The man in a meadow, in an office, leaning against a doorframe — even one in his underwear grinning at the camera. On the edge of each negative printed in slanted, handwritten characters were the initials and date. H.S. 1924.

He quickly but carefully packed them back into the box and buzzed with excitement. He couldn’t wait to develop them to see exactly what had been captured in the images. It was a find that felt like a puzzle to piece together.

H.S. was likely the man in the photographs as well as the owner of the suitcase. Who was he? Why had his suitcase found its way into Niall’s attic? Was he still alive and well somewhere in the world?

A camera, a suitcase, and a relationship forged through time.

I Walk the Line by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites

Professor Louis Tomlinson is the leading researcher in his field. Harry Styles is Louis’ recently hired grad assistant. Sparks fly between them but something doesn’t add up when it comes to Harry, and Louis is determined to find out what.

What happens when everything Louis thought he knew comes crashing down around him? Is he doomed to repeat his past mistakes? Or will he learn to follow his heart and find a way to forge his own path, alongside someone he’s not sure he can trust, but who might just be the best thing to ever happen to him.

[arisunakayama]

WAIT I FORGOR TO MENTION THAT THE FLUFFY GRUNTS WERE THE MAIN 4 AAAAA IM SO SORRY ILL ADD ANOTHER WEIRD DRAWING 😭😭

you can always add additional grunts :)))))

Fluffy!Main Four + Tricky X Reader

Tricky’s is a little short considering I didn’t really have much to write for him *dies*

[MAIN FOUR]

How this happened? Absolutely no fucking clue. At least specifically.

All you remember was going on a mission with the main four on infiltrating some AAHW building where some experiments were happening.

The five of you did manage to get to the room where the scientist and a couple of abominations resided in.

But something had happened to where there was an explosion where you and the others were knocked out.

You woke up to a pressure on your chest, eyes fluttering to see four little fluffy puffballs that oddly looked like if a cat and a grunt were mixed together

What was even more strange was the fact they looked like Sanford, Deimos, Hank and 2BDamned

You stare at them for a brief moment, listening to the high pitched mews coming from them, especially the ones that looked like Deimos and Sanford.

Suddenly you come to realization that it was them.

You scoop them up in your arms, ignoring the surprised yowls and quickly speed all the way back to S.Q

Once you had gotten back to the tower, you quickly make your way back to Doc’s office, setting them down on his desk table before trying to process what the hell had just happened to your S/Os.

You were to entangled in your own thoughts that you had to be quickly brought to reality by 2BDamned’s loud mewings to catch your attention.

You apologize a little before going to the four of them, gently petting them only to hear a soft purr coming from the two.

The loudest being Deimos and Sanford while there was a soft and barely audible one coming from both Doc and Hank

You definitely knew it was them considering how accepting one pair was with affection compared to the other two.

The days did go by though with the five of you trying to figure out how to change them back.

Doc would mostly be on the desk with you, watching over the work you took on while the other three would lay and nap on you.

Hank would mostly occupy your thighs and make sure the other two wouldn’t get a spot on his favorite spot.

Even before being turned into a fluffy, he loved your thighs. Regardless of how thick or thin they were.

You remember he physically fought the three of them because Sanford tried to make himself comfortable on your lap.

You had to separate them considering Hank was the biggest

But the other two did manage to find a spot by perching themselves on your shoulders, purring nonstop. Deimos being the one to constantly rub himself against your chin.

You weren’t going to lie, the four of them were absolutely adorable how they were and it made you melt at how soft they were.

Hell even sleeping with all of them piled on top of you, purring away and lulling you to sleep.

It was even cute with seeing how they play with each other. Watching them chase each other around the room to get some sort of exercise or training.

Well mostly Hank, Deimos and Sanford. Doc would be with you in a loaf as you petted him. Still it was very cute to see. They did heavily remind you a lot like cats.

But you still wanted them back the way they were. You heavily missed your boys if anything.

The weeks did pass by and there was a moment where you yourself had to seek out Jebediah himself to help you out.

Despite the hissing and spitting that came from Hank himself.

Sanford and Deimos very trustful either considering you saw how puffed their fluff was

Doc on the other hand was indifferent and actually encouraged you to seek him out considering he also wanted to go back the way he was

Jeb himself was surprised at the sight of the four of them before reluctantly agreeing to help you guys out

It did take a couple more weeks though considering you and Jeb had to raid a couple of labs to figure out a way to turn the four of them back.

The halo wasn’t a way to bring them back, trust me he did try.

Once you guys did find a way to turn the four of them back, you immediately three yourself onto the four of them, welcoming them back as they were in their normal forms.

The four of them also seemed to be glad as they wrapped their arms around you into a tight hug.

Well, mostly Sanford and Deimos. Hank did give you a hug, but it was more like he just held you there with him while the other two were angry and yelling at him for hogging you all to himself.

Doc did hug and praise you as well along with thanking Jeb for assisting you.

They did tease you though about the little baby voices you made at them while they were fluffy grunts though.

But oh well, you make fun of them as well for the stuff they’ve done while they were turned.

[TRICKY]

With Tricky it’s a bit more simpler with him. At least with how he turned into a fluffy grunt.

And that’s just because he turned himself into one.

Because you were talking about how cute animals were despite there being none in Nevada….

Unlike the main four he willingly turned himself into a fluffy grunt and can turn himself back whenever he wanted to.

It’s just right now he wants you to pay attention to him now that he turned himself into something that looked very similar to a cat and a grunt.

Even as a fluffy grunt he’s very excitable and hyper considering how much he’s would dart around the rooms.

Hell he would even constantly yowl for you to pay attention to him.

A chaotic little shit he is. There was even a time you woke up to him literally sitting on your face.

But hey he’s also had his moments by constantly cuddling up to you, purring the time away or by constantly rubbing himself against you.

Not only that, he does notice when you do get overstimulated and tries to calm down a bit for you.

None the less he’s still very sweet and loves to give and get your attention on him by doing cute things.

But he will only do them for you and you only.

With anyone else he’s a fucking menace. And still would kill someone who isn’t you

Then again you did warn those around you about him

[pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb]

Training with Zoro P.3 (Eventual Smut) Y/N X Zoro

🍶 wc: ~3.4k

THIS FUCKIN PLAYLIST is amazing to listen to while reading/writing slow smut im gonna die. I was blushing and not breathing and eyes so wide they were watering because just IMAGINING THIS MAN.

Crossposted from my AO3 work called Zoro Train Me.

Also again- no use of Y/N.

TW's: insecure reader, taking medicine for pain, very sore muscles, reader is oblivious to Zoro's hints.

P.2 P.1

-----

“Oh fuck” you muttered. You’d thought it was only a skin-deep attraction, that he only made you blush because he’s so hot. You looked at Robin in horror, heart racing.

“I-I… I can’t… It’s not just physical” you whispered. She smiled knowingly at you.

“He’s a good man.”

“NOOO Robin! You’re supposed to help me!” you whined pathetically. She giggled at your flushed pout.

“I am helping you. You just realized it was more, right?” You gave her a flat look but gestured for her to continue.

“If it’s more than skin-deep, it’s probably best to let it fade over time. Maybe you can start to see him the same way you see Franky, Usopp, or Luffy. Maybe Sanji, seeing as you seem to bond with him over cooking. Either way…” she looked at you out the corner of her eye. “He’d be lucky to have you.”

A scoff left your throat before you could stop it.

“Me? Yeah fuckin’ right. He’s way out of my league” you muttered quietly. Robin opened her mouth to reply, but Chopper came back, calling your name as he ran towards you.

“I got the medicine and bath salts!” he said excitedly as he produced two pouches. You grinned.

“You’re the best doctor, Doctor Chopper!” you exclaimed in reply. He giggled and blushed, falling into his adorably weird dance while denying he was happy. You watched him a little before interrupting.

“Can I take the medicine now? I’m supposed to stretch and meditate with Zoro after his nap” you asked, opening the pouch of medicine. It contained a few small glass bottles that held a single dose of liquid medicine. He nodded.

“Yeah! He should be waking up soon too! Oh, also, I ran out of an ingredient that needs to ferment for a day, so I gave you extra of the general pain relief. So the muscle-specific pain relief will only be ready about tomorrow night. But I promise it’ll be worth it!”

You smiled at his excitement as you uncorked a small bottle you’d plucked from the pouch. You breathed out, preparing to take the medicine like a shot. You inhaled through your nose as you upended the bottle in your mouth, opening your throat to let the medicine bypass your tongue as soon as possible. You smacked you lips as the bottle left your lips, expecting an unbearably bitter taste. Surprisingly, it was only mildly salty, muddy, and minty. Odd combination, but not horrible.

“Huh. Not bad. When does it kick- ohhh” you interrupted yourself as you went to stand, finding your muscles only mildly sore, instead of agonizing. You jumped a few times.

“Oi! You gotta take it easy, remember? Your muscles aren’t healed yet!” Chopper nagged as he snatched the empty bottle from your hand. You held up your palms in surrender as Robin giggled at your antics.

“Right, Right. You’re the doc. Hey do you know where Zoro is?” you asked the reindeer.

“I saw him at the back of the ship, napping against a railing” he replied. You nodded and called out a thanks over your shoulder as you walked off. You dropped off the medicine and bath salt in your room and brushed your teeth quickly before making your way to the back of the ship, passing by Robin’s flowers. A gleam from above caught your eye, and you smiled as you saw three sword handles glinting in the sun, resting on the banister on top of the bath house. Must be one of his favorite nap spots now.  You knew it wouldn’t be wise to climb up the way you usually did with the way your muscles were, so you decided to wait him out. Hopefully the medicine Chopper gave you would last through the session with Zoro. You climbed on the railing, sitting on it and looking out to sea. Footsteps behind you thudded lightly on the deck.

“Hey! I had a question for you” Usopp said as he hoisted himself on the railing beside you.

“Shoot” you replied, giggling to yourself at your pun at the sniper. He blinked at you before giggling a little himself.

“If you could have a choice of any weapon, what would it be?”

You glanced at him, before sighing as you looked back to the horizon.

“Did Zoro put you up to this?”

“No, no. I just know you’ve been training for hand-to-hand combat, but you don’t have a Devil Fruit power, nor are you insanely powerful like Sanji and Zoro. Nami and I use weapons that suit us, so I was wondering what you think would be a good weapon for you?” He finished his sentence sounding unsure of himself. You chuckled a little.

“I don’t think many people are as strong as those two. They’re pretty special. But a weapon? I’ve never really thought about it. Honestly, I’d almost think a sniper position would be my favorite since I’m not athletic or strong. But considering you’re much better at that than I am, and you’re right alongside everyone else, it’s probably not a practical position for this crew. I know you and Nami have mid-range weapons, right? They can be used at close range but aren’t as effective, and take more skill to be used in long range.”

You could feel Usopp looking at you, surprised.

“Well… mine is ideal for long-range, but you’re right. This crew gets in trouble pretty quick, which means I don’t have time to get to a high position. Wait, how long have you been thinking about this?”

You turned to him, confused.

“Thinking about a weapon?”

He waved his hand in front of his face while shaking his head.

“No no, about how the crew fights”

“Hmmmmm… well, I don’t exactly think about it, it’s more that I just notice things and as I’m rambling it comes together? I don’t know. It just sorta goes on in the back of my mind I guess” you shrugged. Usopp nodded.

“Well, what kind of weapons appeal to you in general?”

You tilted your head, thinking. What weapons appeal to me?

“I guess maybe… daggers? Throwing knives? Projectiles? Maybe something that you aim and shoot? Not guns though.” You shuddered and brushed a finger over your scar before continuing. “I love cooking, so working with knives is familiar to me, but I’m sure I’d be too clumsy and forget which side was the sharp one in the middle of the fight. Though I suppose having a dull side, like Zoro’s swords, would be good. I don’t want to kill anyone. I’m pretty sure I’d like a sort of staff like Nami has, even though I’d have to train with it a lot to not whack myself in the head.”

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and glanced to the side. Usopp seemed to be scheming and planning something in his head.

“What about… a sort of scythe, but the staff end of it can become a sort of small cannon?”

You thought about the idea, liking where  it was going.

“I’m not too sold on the curved blade. I’d probably end up cutting my own head off by accident” you giggled.

“What if the sharp bit was on the outside, so if you hit yourself with it, it would be the dull side?”

You hummed in thought.

“Since we’re talking hypotheticals and daydreams… I think it would be cool if I could press a button or pull a lever or something and it could switch between different types of blades. Like a spear, the backwards scythe thing you mentioned, and maybe a short sword blade? And if I could shoot different types of bombs, like how you have different sorts of ammunition for your slingshot!” you babbled, eyes lighting up in excitement.

“Oooh! What if I could have a blade come out at both ends of the staff? That would be so badass” you sighed. The sound of scribbling met your ears, and you glanced to see your friend desperately scratching something in a small notebook. You leaned over, reading messy writing containing your ideas, plus some additions.

“What’s this one?” you asked, pointing to an unreadable word.

“A shield. You’d probably need one if you need to reload or if you’re facing guns.”

You nodded, liking the idea. The sound of boots thumping loudly on the deck behind you made you turn around. Zoro had awoken from his nap, and had leapt down to approach the pair of you.

“If you’re thinking about a weapon like that, you’ll need more arm strength” he said matter-of-factly. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“Let me dream, Mr. Monster of a Swordsman.”

He scoffed in reply.

“Whatever. Looks like Usopp has your weapons plans started.” 

Usopp cheerfully agreed, jumping off the railing with a quick wave before disappearing- probably to bother Franky with the plans.

“Wait… but I was just daydreaming! That can’t be made!” you exclaimed. Zoro jerked his head in a sign to follow him.

“Franky made this ship and his body, and Usopp made Nami’s weapon. I’m sure they’ll be able to figure it out, and probably add some things to it that you didn’t think about” he replied. You hummed, mind thinking about what the two could possibly accomplish with your idea. Zoro started up the ropes to the Crows Nest, before he stopped and looked down at you.

“Oi. You good? I can carry you up if you want.”

You opened your mouth to respond, when from out of nowhere Robin swept up behind you and spoke for you.

“I believe it would benefit the muscles to not be pushed by climbing up there. Why don’t you carry them, Zoro?”

You whipped your head around, shooting her a look. You heard boots thud next to you as the swordsman jumped down.

“You’re right Robin. Come on. I’ll help you put the muscle cream on before we get started.” A corded arm wrapped around your waist and you let out a squeak, looking desperately at the raven-haired woman who put you in this situation. She sent you a kind smile and waved with her fingers. Zoro picked you up with ease, slinging you over his shoulders so your stomach was meeting the back of his neck, and your crotch was right by his face. His arm was wrapped around your upper thighs, resting just under the curve of your ass. You wiggled, face hot from being in such a compromising position.

“Stop moving or I’ll drop you” he snapped, easily climbing the ropes. As you got higher, your mind started to think less about your uncomfortable position and more about gripping on for dear life.

“If you dropped me from this height, I’d die like a NORMAL person” you muttered as he nearly reached the ladder. His body suddenly jerked, his grip on your thighs loosening for a split second. You squawked, scrabbling for purchase. You ended up basically curled around his head- one arm wrapped around his forehead and the other around his neck, and your legs tightened towards your torso, blocking his view until he yanked your legs back. Heart racing, you hardly noticed his chuckles until he was on the ladder.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT!” you scolded. “I thought I was gonna die!”

His laugh got louder with your complaint, shoulders shaking and jostling your body. You huffed a breath.

“Put me down” you ordered once he was safely in the crows nest. He followed orders without complaint, and as you stood upright, you saw he was still obviously feeling rather pleased with himself for scaring you. You scowled.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m your teacher, remember?”

“You scared the shit out of me twice already today!”

“Twice? Oh yeah, this morning” a smile erupted on his face at the memory. Your face flushed. Stupid dumb little attractive, hot, smile.

“Yeah. This morning.”

“I didn’t do that one on purpose though.”

“So you admit the one just now was on purpose?”

“Sure. Whatcha gonna do about it? Hit me?” he teased, leaning towards you with his fists on his hips. You narrowed your eyes at him and crossed your arms.

“I will put sand in every single one of your socks” you threatened. He snorted.

“I train all the time without socks. What would that do?”

You grinned evilly.

“Any time you put on your boots? There’s sand in your socks. Every. Single. Time. A slight nuisance that is sure to bring down your day as it wears on you.”

“You’re a petty little shit, aren’t you?”

You chuckled and leaned in closer to him. 

“I got the Great Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro to call me a petty little shit? I feel flattered.”

“I never called myself a pirate hunter” he grunted, standing straight again. Your smile died a tiny bit, missing his proximity. Did he back off because of me? Shit, I forgot for a second. I’m not his type. 

“Well, it’s what you’re called. Did you bring the muscle cream?” you asked, disguising your anxious disappointment with curiosity. His gaze swept over the benches as he nodded.

“I keep it up here. I don’t use it much, only when I’m training after a hard fight, or if we’re by a winter island and my muscles won’t warm up fast enough.” He said distractedly. As he spoke, he walked to where he kept his weights, clanking metal around until he found what he was looking for.

“Here” he said, tossing you a small glass jar. You caught it with a small fumble, not realizing how small it was. You noticed fingers and thumb could touch easily when you went to twist open the lid.

“Thanks” you muttered, inspecting the cream. The first thing you noticed was the smell. It was like menthol, mixed with strong cinnamon, and an earthy overtone of other medicinal herbs. You jerked back slightly, not expecting how strong it would smell. Your eyes stung slightly.

“It’s really strong.”

“Yeah, that’s why I was going to show you how much to use. Also, don’t rub your eyes after without washing your hands first if you use that stuff. Trust me” he advised with the sound of experience. You imagined Zoro quietly accepting the pain and eye water after he accidentally rubbed sweat out of his eye after using the muscle cream. You snorted at the image.

“It seems like you’ve had some trouble with that before.”

“Shut up. It was an accident, and Chopper didn’t tell me.”

You smiled, quirking a brow.

“Well? Are you going to show me how much to use?”

“Sure. Take off your pants.” He crossed his arms and looked at you expectantly. Your face burned.

“I-I-I… What?”

“Take off your pants. I need access to your entire leg.”

“Why can’t I just roll them up if you need me to?”

“It can stain your clothes until it’s absorbed completely into the skin, and I need your entire leg. So, take off your pants. Now.”

“Seems a little unfair” you muttered under your breath. Your face felt like it was burning, hands slowly going to the waistband of your cozy pants.

“Unfair? I can take mine off too if that makes you feel better. But I’m not wearing anything under them” he shrugged nonchalantly. You froze, heart beating wildly. Nothing under his pants? Does he mean that is just there? Under those pants?! Hanging out?! You watched with baited breath as his hands rose towards his own waistband. He wouldn’t… would he? I probably wouldn't be able to hide my reaction. I can’t see that yet, or if ever.

“NO!” you accidentally shouted. Zoro froze. You cleared your throat.

“N-no. It’s okay. It’s just for my muscles, right? I’m just… unsure about my body.”

“Unsure?” he echoed.

“Insecure” you clarified. He blinked.

“So? We always judge ourselves the harshest. You’re at the least completely normal. Now pants off so we can get started with you.”

Your face flamed harshly at the combined semi-compliment and innuendo but dropped your waistband from your hips.

“Sit.” He ordered, nodding to a bench. You walked over to it shyly, and he plopped down next to you.

“Leg” he said, patting his lap. Does this man even know what he’s doing to me? You hesitantly raised a leg to drape over his thighs. A warm, calloused palm rested on your shin.

“Pay attention. This is how much you use” he said, dipping two fingers in the jar. The tips came out covered in the clear gel-like cream, jiggling slightly on his fingers with the vibration of his next words “And this what a muscle massage should feel like when overexertion happens” he explained.

Warm hands cupped your ankle and knee, bending your leg so he had better access to your calf. Your breath hitched at the contact.

“Wait!” you squeaked. I must be really hell bent on cockblocking myself you thought, annoyed at your mouth. Zoro paused, looking at you with a raised brow.

“Uh… I took the medicine, right? So would I really be able to feel what it’s like to massage it when the pain is dulled?”

He furrowed his brow in thought.

“It shouldn’t be too different. Really, the aim of this is to increase the blood flow to the area, so when the pain is dulled, it should be easier to accept the harder pressure. Of course, you don’t want to bruise the area, but that shouldn’t be a problem. When the medicine wears off, just massage however feels best, either a harder pressure or a lighter one.”

Shit. There goes my excuse.

“Oh. Okay. G-go ahead then” you muttered. You were sure your blush was prominent, and you self-consciously wrapped your arms around your thigh, determined to focus only on how he was doing the massage and NOT on the growing arousal between your legs. Even though you watched his fingers cup your calf, you still flinched at the cold of the gel. You hissed in a breath through your teeth. Zoro immediately paused, looking at you questioningly.

“It’s cold” you said quickly. He grunted and resumed spreading the gel on the bare skin of your calf gently.

“It’s easier to spread out the stuff first like a lotion. It’s kinda oily, which makes it perfect for massaging” he explained quietly. You hummed, watching raptly as his fingers cupped your calf gently, your mind straying into much less-innocent thoughts. His hands are so warm, I wonder how they’d feel stretching me out. Maybe he’d have me suck on them while he was- STOP. NO. FOCUS.

“Flex your foot up” he instructed. You looked at him questioningly as you did so. He caught your gaze and explained, “I need to know where the most painful parts are first, and it’s a lot easier to do when the muscle is firmer.”

You nodded in understanding, watching his fingers prod over different areas. You winced when he found a particularly sore spot, and his fingers lowered their pressure.

“Relax your foot down” he said, gaze focused on his hands. You followed instructions, a little confused. He began to massage the area that was so sore, having followed the shift of your muscles with his index finger. You flinched and let out a little moan of pain as he dug into the area with a knuckle, dragging it vertically over the area.

“I know. It’ll feel better in a moment. Just gotta get used to it” he muttered.

“Now I really want to kill you” you muttered, flinching slightly again as his knuckle dug into your calf. He snorted.

“Yeah? I could be doing this when you’re standing. That would really hurt” he threatened.

“I think you’d just end up giving me bruises - ow - if you did that” you scoffed.

“Wouldn’t be nearly as fun giving you bruises that way” he muttered under his breath. You looked at him. What on earth did he mean by that?

“What?” you asked. A faint blush tinged Zoro’s cheeks, as if he realized his words were spoken aloud.

“Uh. Sparring. Bruises from sparring” he said hurriedly. You rolled your eyes.

“And here I thought I finally annoyed you enough to want to whack me.”

He gave a particularly hard rub over your calf and you winced with a hiss of pain.

“Not yet” he smirked at you. You stuck your tongue out at him, and he chuckled.

“Flex your foot again. This area is done” he said in lieu of a reply. You sighed. This was going to be long and torturous. Hopefully just like his – STOP. NO.

[geneticcatalyst]

as promised, an exploration of my one pet problem in fandom, or: misinterpretation of jby's first death (ft. zzs)

heres the thing. i occasionally see people reference what seems to be a misconception of the (english translation) text in qi ye. both the fact that its a translation and the metaphorical phrasing make it pretty clear to see why they got the wrong idea, but i firmly believe its still the wrong idea. i am by no means calling the people who got this mixed up dumb or bad, i am simply leaning over their shoulders going 'wait no bestie pls read that again pls read that one more time!!' because this is one of my favorite books and this thing is a key piece of one of my favorite things about it.

i said i was gonna pull screenshots for this post but i think it will be a little while before i get to another reread and i can't ctrl+f the google doc so im just gonna whip this out from memory. if anyone does have this particular passage on hand feel free to pop it in here. the rest of the context/explanations are just from my cursory research, im not chinese or a historian.

cards on the table. the only thing i love more than unhinged gay romances is unhinged platonic soul mates. its catnip to me. i go feral every goddamn time. and i havent stopped losing my mind about zhou zishu and jing beiyuan since that first qi ye scene. what do those guys have going on? not even sure they know but it's A Lot. ive got like 18 other unpublished drafts trying to work that out slash losing my fucking mind at the lengths they go to about each other. that relationship is at the center of both novels even if the spotlight isnt on it. so I admit that my readings are colored a bit by how much i like that they like each other!

which is why im shocked baffled and, ok, lightly salted, to see a few people make the claim that zishu (personally) tortured/killed beiyuan in his first life.

so what the text says is that after helian yi stopped trusting beiyuan (after su qingluan's accidental death), he was basically put to death. but even the emperor has to have a half decent reason to execute someone. the text describes these reasons- ten of them- as zhou zishu's masterpieces. it also refers to them as great shames to beiyuan's standing. what's happening is that helian yi has zishu frame beiyuan for treason or other betrayals against the emperor/the country. it isn't specific as to what, but it doesn't really matter, because its all fake and zishu is really good at his job. so yes, it is fair to say that zishu is the INSTRUMENT of beiyuan's death, but he didn't kill him, he just laid the groundwork.

the text goes on to another slightly confusing line where it says something to the effect of that when each of these accusations were read out in court, each line drew blood from jing beiyuan. that's a metaphor! it's just saying that his reputation was torn apart and ultimately his fate is sealed, despite the phrasing there are no literal injuries happening.

also, i may not have the timeline perfect on this part, but in zishu's introduction in the beginning of the novel, the narration tells us outright that while zishu is partially responsible for beiyuan's death, he was like. cool about it. in what seems to be the first and only time he ever steps out of line or goes against helian yi's command (!), after setting all this up but- if im remembering right- before the news actually breaks in court the next day, zishu warns beiyuan. now this admittedly doesnt do a whole lot because the only other possible option (cut and run) isn't a very good one, but it's the only thing zishu can do. he doesnt have to, but he does it anyway (!). of course beiyuan doesnt even consider doing this, he's stubborn and heartbroken, but he really seems to 1. appreciate the risk zishu took here to try to give him a chance and 2. not hold the whole set up against zishu or take that bit personally.

so what actually happened at the end of beiyuan's first life? he was sent the 3 zhang of white silk. the text does explicitly say this once, but if you're not familiar with the practice it may not click. receiving the white silk from the emperor is what happens when you're too high ranking to execute like a commoner but you've fallen from grace and are being politely asked to hang yourself in order to clear your name. and of course beiyuan, stubborn and heartbroken, does. yes, it's a forced suicide, but it isn't a murder.

anyway, its in that secret conversation, where zishu secretly meets with beiyuan seemingly to try to convince him to save himself and beiyuan outright refuses, that beiyuan promises that if theres a next life (ha), they'll get drunk together. and of course against all odds, there is and they do.

the thing about the idea that some people might think that zishu killed beiyuan is that after that nothing between them makes sense. even if it was at helian yi's request, i just cant see that not permanently damaging the friendship, i don't think beiyuan could immediately pick back up being best friends in the seventh life with that memory in the way. why would zishu go out of his way to warn beiyuan one day if he was perfectly capable and fine with killing him the next? why would beiyuan not only be happy to meet zishu again in the seventh life but also go out of his way trying to save zishu's? none of their other interactions really make sense if you believe there was a murder done there. idk. it clouds the whole throughline of the story which is that they have a bond!

i think maybe people think it is in character due to the other ruthless murders, and they're not wholly wrong, but that's the kicker for me. zishu will murder all kinds of innocents no questions asked, but he's suddenly trying to give an out to his coworker and drinking buddy? hello? thats insane, and that's the point.

furthermore, if you think maybe it would make sense for helian yi to have beiyuan violently killed (since it keeps fucking happening later), i actually have to become helian yi's lawyer for a moment here and say that that doesnt make sense either. helian yi is sitting on a throne gained by shadowy means but he's the Good Guy Ruler and that reputation is important. hes not a cruel person and he may have become paranoid but he still has a shared history with beiyuan. plus, even the emperor has to abide by a certain amount of decorum when he wants to have people killed, especially when that person is also a high ranking member of court. beiyuan's status is basically second only to the royal bloodline, he's essentially the prev emperor's godson, as well as a previously close confidante of helian yi himself. the white silk was regarded as a privileged, dignified means of offing someone. helian yi is perfectly within social acceptability to do this to beiyuan with the pretext of beiyuan's disgrace. but it would be pushing the boundaries for the good and just emperor to suddenly have one of his top advisors and members of high nobility brutally killed like a common criminal. he could probably do it, but it would reflect on him and his reputation too. he could do it in secret, but would have to cover up the disappearance of a prominent court figure. it just makes sense to use the white silk as the neatest, most acceptable legal justice channel here. maintain emotional detachment, be polite, everybody's honor gets honored and such.

so that's the ted talk. theres even some beautiful fanart on here of white-haired first life beiyuan holding the white silk! he wasn't tortured or outright executed, and he chose to obey rather than escape or fight the false claims of treason even though his friend tried to give him the only out he could manage. to interpret things differently really skews the character motivations and plot for everyone- beiyuan, zishu, helian yi- in a way that warps the story out of believability, imho.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

He hasn't been himself

What -- we're still in S02E05 Chupacabra, and Daryl gets some stitches (courtesy of you), T-Dog teases you about calling that mangy hick so many pet-names, and you come face to face with your big brother Shane's descent into something that you're afraid of you don't recognize.

Relationships/ is there fluff? -- yes! found-family fluff and slowww-burn Daryl x Reader fluff

Perspective - 2nd you, 3rd Daryl at the end

When - right after Spell your last name, please. when Daryl is getting some medical attention after his very rough, hell of a day

Pronouns - neutral, y'all

TWs - some language, and light discussion of giving sutures (stitches), and Daryl's significant scarring (the result of child abuse) is mentioned

I always do my assigned reading, what chapters will help with context? XD -- all of them muahahahaha Start with souls stripped bare, then the Invisible, tugging strings Part 1 and Part 2, then of course Spell your last name, please.

is there a crappy screenshot of the mangy hick? -- yes, you'll be embarrassed on my behalf.

Masterlist -- Official One here, purely chronological one here :)

Have fun and happy reading!

You

Because Maggie and everyone else but Hershel and Rick are leaving the room, you use your uninjured side to take over maintaining pressure on Daryl's head wound.

That he wanted specifically you to stay made that strange, invisible string on your chest tug more. And that you had to curl your arm gently around him so you could press the rag down properly didn’t escape your notice. Neither was the way his hand just brushed against yours to take over for you.

While you’re waiting for the tugging string to give it a rest, Patricia mumbles to you that she’ll come back in to help clean Daryl’s head once Hershel gives the okay.

“Daryl, is this about what you found?” Rick asks.

“Hell yeah it is.”

More quietly, he wants to know “Would it be alright if Shane and Carol came in, too, or is it better if it’s just Shane?”

You think he means if what Daryl had to tell him was good or bad news regarding Sophia.

“You and Shane seem to be a package deal,” Daryl grunts in response.

“Like a BOGO sale,” is your unhelpful, dumb comment to yourself followed by a more helpful, “Oh snap, doc, his second bag is empty already,” when you see his IV fluids are drained again.

A blunt, “Remove it and bandage him,” answers that. “The wax for the needle point is in my kit.” Mr. Greene’s patience gauge is pointing to the E, that much is plain.

While you’re busy taking out the IV catheter (guess what!—this time you did the venipuncture and IV setup! You can do that now!) and pressing a gauze pad to the site, Rick lets your brother in.

Shane seems kinda terse when he hands over the search map and squats on the little ottoman.

Rick places the map on the bed in front of Daryl, then kneels down to face him.

Before anything is said, Mr. Greene points to the bloodied rag that Daryl is not pressing down like you’d directed. “Are you able to maintain firm, constant pressure, or will Rick have to assist you?”

“I can hold a rag,” he responds back in that…unpleasant way he’s got.

You make a face at him. Rudeness is bad enough, but 1.) rudeness to the host, 2.) to the host who’s offering medical care, and 3.) whose horse he’d stolen borrowed without asking and now lost, and 4.) who is about to teach you stitching, and 5.) was using/had used a ton of his own stock of medical supplies? Who 6.) also just lost a man he considered family because of helping your group, like dude?

Daryl. Use a tablespoon of that gentleness you got in there.

Hershel looks at you, and you hope he sees the apology in your eyes.

“Y/N, if you’re going to observe,” he begins, pulling the towel off Daryl’s back and putting it aside. “Wash your hands again with me in the chlorhexidine solution and position yourself on this edge of the bed, there.”

It sucks that you’re all out of gloves. You’ll have to add that to the supply list, along with IV fluid if possible. Fortunately, there was enough chlorhexidine as well as iodine to sanitize, plus the leftover doxycycline but don’t get you started on how that’s unsafe antibiotic use, there’s only so much you can do.

Under his breath, Hershel explains, “We used the clamp and forceps during the boy’s emergency, but they aren’t sterilized. Stitches are best done with a clamp, but as you can see, it will be just our fingers today.”

Thankfully, you have clamps in the med-bag, you’ll donate one.

“Shane, in the med bag, there's a small bag with blue stripes, in it are two clamps,” you call over. “Grab one for me?”

“Swirl it in the solution first,” Mr. Greene requests. “Y/N, did you observe the two times you were stitched, and when Theodore had his?”

“Not the first time.” You shake your head. “But I did watch when Teddy got his, when you did Carl’s, and when Miss Patricia redid mine earlier.”

“She what?” your brother cuts in.

You idiot, Y/N.

“Y/N, what happened that you got stitched up again?”

You’d not told him on purpose. It’s not like you did anything wrong in not telling him, but you immediately feel overheated and guilty as if you had.

You reach out to accept the clamp from him. “Yeah, she checked them earlier,” you do your best to reply in a way that would imply it as being a routine course of action. That didn't count as a lie, right?

Mr. Greene to the rescue: “Y/N, watch what I do, then copy it on your own when I say. I’ll guide you along.” He holds up a small packet. “This is called a swaged needle. There's no eye, the thread is part of the needle. An ordinary straight needle can be used, likewise regular thread, in an emergency, but ideally a curved and swaged is best for obvious reasons. Cleanliness would be a concern, for one.” He opens the packet, points to Daryl’s side.

You sit where he asks and look at Daryl’s wound.

Hershel continues: “We’ll do a simple continuous stitch, the pattern is straightforward. If Daryl pops them, then I suppose you’ll learn how to do interrupted suturing. It’s time-consuming, but more secure.”

That your eyes travel down Daryl’s back again isn’t intentional, but there they get stuck, the same way your eyes had gotten stuck staring at it earlier when you’d helped remove his shirt.

The poor man.

What you thought you saw earlier, back at the house, was correct. Scars. Very big ones.

It looks like the tattoos he’s got on his upper back are partially to cover/distract from some of them on the more visible places up near his shoulders and neck.

A lot more money for a lot more ink would’ve been needed to try concealing the rest of what that person did, those scars were very thick and wide. And no, an accident would not have made such specific scarring, unfortunately, how those got there had to have been deliberate. Scattered all around were cigarette burns, too, some in patterns.

Statistically, it was probably a parent or parental figure.

Mr. Greene’s hand passes over your line of vision as he calls your name. You blink out of it, see his finger wag as if to say ‘don’t look at them anymore.’

After wiping your eyes with your forearm so as to not contaminate your hands, he points to the spot and nods once. “Daryl, I’m going to begin. It will pinch, then burn. Stay still.”

You cringe as the needle goes in. The invisible string tugs when you see Daryl’s breathing pattern hitch and his muscles clench in discomfort. Your stomach tells your eyes to look away when the skin tugs as the needle exits and the thread is lightly pulled.

“Then use the tool to gently bring it across like so,” Mr. Greene murmurs, “going slowly with the thread.” He does two more, then pauses. “Alright, now take over.”

Already?

“Rest in peace, bud,” you joke, whether to ease Daryl or yourself. It’s an insane blessing you have the doxycycline, is all you’re saying.

Slowly you thread the needle, as smoothly as you can. You use a low angle to pull it all through and gently hold the skin down to reduce how much it pulls…oh my gosh, you’re giving sutures right now. “You have my leave to cuss me out if it’s hurtin’ too bad.”

“Ain’t nothing.”

“There’s that phrase, dude,” you quietly tease, focused on closing the wound and Mr. Greene’s silent guidance.

Daryl must be doing okay (or is toughing it out like a champ), because he starts to talk to Rick. “Right around here is where I saw the doll, see where the creek bends there?”

“Was it on top of the ridge, or down by the creekbed?”

“Creekbed, right near a waterfall. Spotted it from up top.”

“Was there a little camp or any tracks?”

“None that I saw. My guess is she was thirsty, but got her feet stuck in the mud and needed both hands to get out. Or somethin’ made her run again.” He stops pressing the rags to his head to look at the bleeding for a quick second.

Shane speaks up. “You run into any walkers by that spot there?”

“Yeah.”

“How many.” Not really a question.

You lose your focus for a moment, hearing his tone and being disappointed and a little frightened by it, so you pause the suturing. Breathe slowly and bite your tongue.

“Why? They friends of yours?” Daryl tosses at him, completely unphased even if dickish. You’re on his side with this one. “They wouldn’t have been a problem if I wasn’t stuck on my back with a bolt stickin’ out of me.”

Shane raises his eyebrows as if to say “See? Told you,” then licks his teeth but doesn’t say anything other than: “Yeah, so I just wanna be realistic about this. Think we all do.”

“Daryl, I’m all ears,” jumps in Rick, ever the decent human being diplomat. “Can you tell us more?”

Mr. Greene taps you and directs you to get back to it.

Daryl tells Rick, “I’m thinkin’ the doll flowed downstream a ways after the rains yesterday, see the area closer to the road, there? I’d check around there.”

“I’ll take some people there tomorrow.”

“Not now?”

“Sun’s going down.”

Without looking up as you resume your work, you know Daryl will understand. His own words were 'Out in the dark’s no good.'

Rick then points to the map. “This spot here?”

Daryl hums in agreement and nods at wherever he’d showed him. “She must have dropped it crossin’ there somewhere.”

Rick looks back at your older brother and tells him “Cuts the grid almost in half,” as if it were a plea.

And just as you and Mr. Greene finish stitching him back up, Daryl grates in the most unattractive way possible, “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Rick whips out his skill at de-escalation again. As poor Hershel has to quickly remind you to snip the suture from remaining thread in the packet (you legit forgot, so he does it for you), Rick turns the focus on the patient. “How’s he looking?”

“I had no idea we’d be going through the antibiotics so quickly.”

Fair enough.

Hershel then washes his hands again, so you do the same. “Any idea what happened to my horse?” he then states more than questions, in the way you might confront a teenager who left their dirty clothes on the kitchen floor after sports practice.

And God save him, that mangy hick has no shame. Caught red-handed, he still yips like a grumpy little coonhound, “Yeah, the one who almost killed me? If it’s smart, it left the country.”

You either just huffed, tutted, scoffed, groaned, or made all four at once. RIP invisible, tugging string.

Mr. Greene’s response implies his generosity, which makes you feel shame on Daryl’s behalf all the more. “We call that one Nelly. As in Nervous Nelly. I could have told you she’d throw you if you’d bothered to ask.”

Your friend says nothing back. He stays quiet, and simply twists onto his back and starts spacing out at the ceiling, pressing the rag to his head and looking as if he feels very small and very tired.

His eyes close—and you remember that he’s just been through hell and back. He almost died how many times today?

As annoyed and on-guard as he is, Mr. Greene was offering him due kindness and patience when he didn’t get overly short with him.

Still, the way the older gentleman next chides in the most graciously Southern way possible, “It’s a wonder you people have survived this long,” strikes you as having such dry comedic timing that now you’re the only one cracking up in a room full of uncomfortable people.

It doesn’t stay full of uncomfortable people for long; Shane and Rick see themselves out.

When the door opens, you spot Lori in her worried-position (on the floor with her knees curled toward her chest). As she leaps up from the floor to see Rick, you give her a little wave before the door is once more shut.

Quiet and stillness passes over the room. You breathe out. Breathe in.

Okay, it's probably just about time to clean up and bandage Daryl’s head.

You turn to see him still laying there on his back, eyes still closed. By the looks of it, he wanted to cover up; he’s pulled the side of the quilt over his stomach. You take the towel you’d used to give him some modesty earlier and gently drape it over his exposed abdomen.

But your big brother’s voice sounds through the door before you can do anything else.

The beginning of whatever he said, you don’t catch, but it doesn’t matter. You hear enough. “…Hershel on this one. Can’t keep goin’ out there, not after this.”

Rick is saying something back, but his voice is softer and you can’t make out as much of it. “Daryl” “risked,” and “first, hard evidence” gives you the gist, as does Shane’s response to him:

“That’s one way to look at it. Way I see it, Daryl almost died today for a doll.”

“Yeah, I know the way you see it.” Rick’s footsteps then fade down the hall.

On the other side of the door, your pulse thumps in your ears. Your breathing is faster than it should be.

Shaney still has that little girl written off?

“Y/N,” Mr Greene calls from the bedside.

Before you calm yourself down enough to turn to help Hershel, your brother starts talking again.

He’s whispering, but it’s still recognizable enough that you hear every word. “I’m not out to be a hard case, just bein’ realistic. He’s just gotta start making the tough calls.”

Shane's speaking to Lori, then?

His footsteps are moving down the hall, and you quietly open the door in time to hear him mutter, “You know I’m right.”

Door now open, your fist grips the knob and doesn’t let go.

“I may not agree with all his choices, but I respect him,” Lori states.

With all she's got going on, she shouldn’t have to deal with how much Shane has changed for the worse. In fact, in your gut you don't want your brother even near her, now that you know they’d been intimate. And that she’s pregnant…

You miss her first few words, but do hear “Your way isn’t harder, it’s…it’s the easiest thing in the world to cut our losses and to not help. You keep telling yourself you’re making the tough calls, you’re really just trying to justif—”

He cuts her off by mumbling, “—The only thing I care about now in this world is Y/N, you and Carl. So I, apologize if I appear to be insensitive to the needs of others, but see, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the three of you safe.”

His words aren't a put-on, that's what alarms you. You know what smooth or schmoozy Shane sounds like; but that there was genuine.

Lori calmly shakes her head and walks toward him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Even abandoning a lost child?” she prompts. “Really?”

She sounds like she expects Shane to snap out of it and think better on it. To remember his goodness.

But.

To the woman that his best friend since childhood married, and in the context of not caring about a missing, abused child, your brother instead tilts his head and offers Lori a small grin.

He’s…he just flirted with her.

Lori takes a step back.

Her back tightens, her head bows slightly. “My son and I are not your problem anymore. Or your excuse." She turns away. "As for Y/N, they’d be horrified to hear y—” she cuts off as you loose your grip on the doorknob, making noise, causing her to finally notice you standing there.

“You’re right, Lore, they would be,” you drawl, voice soft. “Sh-Shane, get out.”

Whatever he starts responding with, you don’t give a fuck, your softness vanishes as you growl back, “Get. Out.”

You link your good arm into Lori’s and take her down the hall to Carl’s room. She stops you from plowing through the door by holding you by the waist. You take a moment, turn toward her.

She looks you in the eyes and shakes her head, silently mouthing “Please.”

“I won’t,” you mouth back. Still, under your breath, you do stress “B-but he, he needs a leash. Rick can leash him.”

She looks into your eyes but says nothing back.

As soon as the door is open, your words charge out, “Ricky, Shane needs—

“—Mom! Y/N! Mr. Dixon found Sophia’s doll! The one Eliza gave her!” interrupts Carl, (crying and) grinning so wide that your cheeks are getting sore just looking at it.

You take in the room.

Carol and T-Dog are there along with Rick. Lori goes to her son, takes his hands and kisses them, Beth scoots in behind you holding three glasses of water.

Seeing your nephew helps you remember yourself, and you begin to smile back. Your lip wobbles. “He found her doll, little dude.”

Some tears decide to fall when you take a moment and lean against the wall.

Shane is scaring you.

You are frightened of your own brother.

And no, it's not just how he's been after Otis got killed, he hasn’t been himself. He’s scaring Lori, you saw it just now—and this is before he even knows about the new baby, oh my God how are you going to fix this? God, Shane doesn’t even care—doesn’t understand—that a clear sign of Sophia was found today.

And, and he doesn’t care about anyone else here, either, not even about Rick? “The only thing I care about in this world is Y/N, you and Carl.”

If that was really just him trying to flirt or whatever, you aren’t sure whether you’re more disgusted that he claimed to not care about jack-shit else to do it, or that he was saying something that awful not only to flirt but to flirt with a married woman. His best friend’s wife.

That you’re at Rick’s side and murmuring low, “Shane’s a problem,” doesn’t register in your head until he’s replying with what’s pretty much a platitude: “He’ll see reason.”

Even coming from Rick, it doesn’t comfort you.

“But how to we fix it?” you whisper. “Ricky, it’s like I can’t see him anymore. I’m gettin' scared of h—” you stop what you’re saying, a little alarmed that you just started to confess it out loud.

Rick is quiet.

“He hasn’t been himself,” he admits.

Lori’s whispering cuts in, “Honey, w-what are you two talking about?”

You figure she’s scared that you’re telling Rick more than is your business, so you subtly shake your head, then ask “Lore, have you noticed Shane ain’t been himself?”

The expression on her face is controlled. “He hasn’t been.” And she turns to sit back down beside her son and takes one of his hands into hers.

Rick rubs your arm a few times, and nothing else is spoken.

Whatever, you need to get back.

You’re supposed to be helping patch Daryl up, not hiding moping in here like some idiot bitch.

Cursing yourself that not only did you admit to being scared of your brother, but that you’re scared at the possibility he’s still in the hallway, you hold your injured side to lessen the pain when you bend down to peck a kiss on Carl’s forehead. “I’m headin’ off, baby, to help with Mr. Dixon,” you mumble in goodbye.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You turn back around to see Carl giving you his—sneaky grin? Why, what’s he about to rag you about? “Mr. Douglas told me you called Daryl ‘baby’ like a hundred times after he fainted.”

“That ain’t true,” T-Dog cuts in. “Y/N, I’m sorry, he’s mistaken.” He turns to Carl.

Wait up, T-Dog’s doing his pout thing he does before teasing somebo—

“First off, Y/N was at it before he even passed out.”

*sigh*

“And it wasn’t just ‘baby’, it was also ‘honey’, ‘sweetheart’ and ‘sugar.’ Oh yeah, and ‘mangy hick,’ gotta admit that one threw me.” He makes a particularly wide smile in your direction. “Can’t remember if they also called him ‘darlin’ or not, though.”

“However many times Y/N called him a sweet name, Mr. Dixon deserved every one and more,” Carol softly tells the room.

As for you, you must feel lighter, because now you’re smiling, too.

What's better, you’ve thought of a way you’ll feel safe comfortable if Shane’s still in the hallway (that won’t include taking Rick, because you’re pretty sure Lori needs him to feel safe comfortable right now).

“Theodore, will you walk me back to darlin’ baby sugar sweetheart Daryl’s room, please?”

“Walk you a whole six yards down the hall?”

“Please," you ask him more urgently than you'd intended.

He might could've noticed, because he quickly stands and goes to the door with you. "I'ma charge you for this, though."

"Naturally, how many of my jewels will it take?" you joke.

"You gotta call him 'mangy' again for me."

You snort so hard it makes your new stitches hurt. That's the easiest possible exchange he could've made. "Deal."

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

Him

When he heard from outside the door their soft, “Thank you, Teddy,” his muscles relax again.

He’d been worried. Last thing he knew, Shane must’ve been saying some bullshit, ’cause Y/N had dead-ass growled at him to “Get. Out.”

After two knocks, a pause, and a “Daryl, it’s me,” he realizes he’s gotta call back, “You’re good,” so they’d come in the room. Usually people knock and just bust in, it was real nice to have someone wait until he said it was cool.

He’s damn relieved they’re back and doing okay. Other than worried about whatever crap their brother was slinging around them, he’d felt…small, and, and naked without them in there. Now that they’re back, he feels safe, like he’s got clothes on again.

It’s the total opposite of earlier that morning, when he’d felt like Y/N had seen too much of him, and him too much of them. Didn’t feel like that no more.

“Well, you’re still lookin’ nice and mangy, so I guess I haven’t missed much,” his friend jokes, then shuts the door behind them.

Why did they just make a face to whoever was out in the hallway?

“Where’d Mr. Greene go?”

Daryl grunts, unsure.

Y/N sinks into the little footrest by the window. “We’ll get you some dinner in about an hour, okay, sugar?”

Another pet name, another weird feeling in his stomach and chest.

His friend stares out the window and massages their shoulder and neck. “Oh, are you thirsty?”

That he can answer. “The opposite.”

“Ah, let me help you get up—wait, maybe let’s wait for Patricia or the doc to get back, just in case. Can you hold it?”

He just grumbles back. Ain’t like he’s two years old, of course he can hold it. "What's the deal with your brother? Heard him mouthing off."

"Yeah. He, um, he ain't been himself." Y/N grimaces as if there was a bad taste in their mouth, then covers their face, sighs, and changes the subject. “Should we might call today ‘rough,’ or pick a different adjective?”

No idea. Today was…“Today was somethin’ else.”

“Whoa, we’re going hardcore.”

He starts to crack up, which is how he learns that now, laughing makes his head and side ache.

“Crackin' up hurt, didn’t it?” they guess correctly.

A grunt passes as his “yes.”

His friend breathes in slowly, out just as slow. “When you’re up and at ’em again, I’m taking you with me to go light all the candles at that little church to help thank the heavens you got home alive.”

…he feels all warm and can hear his pulse again, what gives? Like, it’s just that he’d imagined Y/N talking about his coming “home” safe, it’s just weird it’s coming up again in real life. Not a bad weird, but still.

“Well,” they scrunch their nose and stare into space, “‘home’ might be different than the usual definition, but you know what I mean. You got back alive to us after all that, it’s—I dunno, God’s got plans for you yet, dude.”

Hadn’t had a friend say stuff like that to him before, so he just lays there like a beanbag.

Y/N is still still staring into space. “And like, all afternoon I had this tense…dread, that you were hurt. Kept explainin' it away, with a quick prayer just in case.” A chuckle. “We’ll bring Carol and Sophia with us when we go light those candles, deal?” Then they give him a look he can’t translate. “Right-o, bud, let me see that side of yours, I wanna admire my handiwork.”

Standing up with a wince, they walk to him. When he begins to slowly twist back onto his side, they stop him and tell him to stay comfortable. His stomach gets all funny again when he partly pulls aside the towel covering his abdomen and his friend gets close.

Y/N starts to put their hip on the bed, then pauses. “Does it hurt you when the bed jostles, baby?”

His stomach goes all funny again. He’s, um, he’s hungry… “You’re good.”

And not a moment after sitting on the bed and exhaling does Y/N groan and start to jabber, “Oh, Moses, I just did it again, look how red you got. Tell me, did you feel redder when you knew how many of us were crowded around you like seagulls on french fry, or when I kept callin’ you pet names? T-Dog’s been poking fun at me for it.”

He…grunts again. It’s, um, he isn’t really sure what else to do, this isn’t a conversation he knows how to tackle. Hadn’t had a friend who called him a ton of pet-names while taking care of him after he’d pin-balled down a ridge twice and got a bolt lodged in his side and fought off two zombie bastards after dreaming up a conversation with Y/N and Merle.

Now Y/N is looking at him in the way they usually look at Glenn before they goof off together. “Wanna compare yours and mine right quick before they get back?”

Well, he hums this time instead of grunts, so that counts as conversation.

“Carl and I joked that we have temporary, sewn-in friendship bracelets. You’re in the club now, too, welcome!” They lift their shirt slowly, blocking the rest of their belly with their arm. Their stitches are up by their ribs aaaaaannd why are Daryl's goddamn cheeks feeling hot again?

“We both have white nylon thread. Carl got blue, though, real fancy,” Y/N says, cute smile on their face.

“He showed me his when I talked to him last night, actually.”

With a giggle, they nod. “Of course he did.”

The front door to the house opens, and the muffled voices of Dr. Farmer and Patricia sound outside the closed bedroom door.

Y/N looks back and forth from their stitches to his, then mumble to themself, “Miss Patricia definitely gave me a different stitch, check out the variations.”

Daryl couldn’t tell from the angle he was in, to be honest, but…“Yeah, mine are way better.”

Y/N deserves a compliment. And, dunno, he’s not an expert, but his side is probably sewed together nice. It’s not like it's still bleeding, right?

Y/N almost misses it. “Hey, the stitches Patricia gave me are grea—ohh.” Their face lights up, and they bop him on the arm. “Aww!”

Daryl feels the corners of his mouth raise. His shoulders relax.

Dr. Farmer Mr. Greene calls from the hall, “I’m opening the door,” and finally walks back in with Patricia.

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

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

> Masterlist link here

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[tellmegoodbye]

-> Music Monday

It's Monday, so you know what that means...more songs!!

I made this post the other day going over the details of how this tag works, as well as linking the playlists and docs! Don't worry if a song you wanted to submit is already there, because adding your own thoughts and interpretations is a completely valid way to contribute!

Today, I have four soundtrack songs, as well as one Tarlos song and one Jace song.

How Did You Love - Shinedown

This song is very important to me, being one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands. Lone Star and OG both have incredible music taste, what can I say? It's a very Owen coded song to me.

"What is the legacy that you're going to leave behind? It's a song that is a lot about reflection and understanding that it's better to give love than to spread hate." - Shinedown

In the video that I linked above the band explains that the meaning of this song is about accepting that one day, your time will be up, and that it's important to focus on what we leave behind when we're gone. That is Owen to me. He is someone who is learning to accept his mortality and put all of his efforts into being a good father, and a good captain. In 1x02, the episode this song is from, he is still coming to terms with his cancer and what that is going to mean for him going forward. He has to learn to accept the things he can't control, and focus on the things that matter most.

"No one gets out alive. Every day is do or die. The one thing you leave behind is how did you love? How did you love?"

Simple Man - Lynyrd Skynyrd

Another god tier song from 1x02. This song reminds me a lot of Owen, Gwyn and TK. It's an anthem for the way they love him. The lyrics “don't forget son, there is someone up above” make me think of how Gwyn is watching over him even after she's gone.

Also, Shinedown did a cover of this song that blows the original out of the water. Just so you know.

Breathe - Fleurie

The lyrics “when will we finally breathe” are on my blog title for a reason. This song reminds me of Push, and One Day (the episode the song is from) which is my second favorite episode in the whole show!

There's a feeling I get when listening to this song that is similar to the way I feel when I watch these episodes, like something is building up until suddenly all of the emotion comes pouring out and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Amen - Amber Run

Such a good song for 3x08! It's the perfect song for TK and Gwyn and the lyrics definitely speak to his struggles with addiction, as well as the way he's feeling after she dies.

"Oh, is there a heaven? You'd know now you've been"

"Are those real stars that hang in the sky? Or are they man-made, a trick of the light?"

"Cause the devil is raging inside my mind And is there a moment when it all makes sense? When saying goodbye doesn't feel like the end?"

"Sometimes I'd rather be dead, at least then I'm with you, amen"

Now that I've gotten the soundtrack songs out of the way, I'm going to share my other two songs!

If It Keeps You Up At Night - The Swoons

I've seen the world on top of your shoulders You lift me up 'cause you know I'm smaller When this life's a concert I can't see When I'm black and blue you paint me brighter And raise me up just like a lighter Even through the darkest symphony

And if it keeps you up at night I'll stay up and learn the words to all the songs that you like So if your eyes are open wide I can sing you something sweeter than that devil in your mind And if it still keeps you up at night I won't hold it against you I'll just hold, hold you tight

This song is perfect for Tarlos. It's about them loving each other even through the hard times. The lyrics in the chorus specifically are what I think they are feeling when they watch each other struggle with grief, addiction, and everything else. The first scene it reminds me of is the dining table scene in 3x13, but it could apply to many other scenes too.

Are You Still Waiting For Me? - Vian Izak

Traveling this road alone Made my heart heavy like a stone But when I think of you, I feel hope Are you still waiting for me, love?

I fall so many times, oh no But standing up makes me strong I need you in my life, you're the one Are you still waiting for me, love?

This is the song that reminds me of early Jace. When Judd finally sees Grace again when Tommy is in labor and he's uncertain of whether or not she still wants to be with him. He's wondering if she's still waiting for him.

No pressure tagging: @strandnreyes @nancys-braids @carlos-in-glasses @goodways @lemonlyman-dotcom

@carlos-tk @literateowl @eclectic-sassycoweyes @herefortarlos @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@freneticfloetry @bonheur-cafe @captain-gillian @heartstringsduet @welcometololaland

[lighthouse-system]

My trans siblings, please listen to me.

I learned some disturbing news about a nearby "surgeon" in my state that I watch very closely named Kathy Rumer. Ms. Rumer (I refuse to call her a doctor) is known as "The Butcher of Ardmore, PA" and that title was not given to her willy-nilly. Due to her dwindling reputation in Pennsylvania, she has started taking medicaid from outside states.

This is extremely concerning because Kathy has a long history of transphobia, medical malpractice, filing SLAPP suits against whistleblowers, and abuse towards patients/victims and fellowship trainees alike. By the way, if you're in Eastern PA, I recommend giving Dr. Kathryn Brandt (Reading PA) or Dr. Katherine Rose (Bryn Mawr PA) a look-- two infinitely better surgeons. I had top surgery through Dr. Rose in July 2022 and her team went above and beyond to help me out. I'm in the process of getting things done with Brandt, and her team is also amazing.

Rumer has also decided she will see exclusively trans patients, meaning she has chosen to target us specifically. But don't let that fool you: before making that choice, she permanently disabled a cis man who needed gynaecomastia surgery by severing ligaments in his arm. So it's not just us she's hurt. She's hurt cis people too.

You will see reviews online that say otherwise or claim this to be a troll operation. Do not fall for it. Rumer creates sock puppet accounts on Reddit, Google etc to post fake reviews propping her clinic up.

A friend of mine in the group we watch her in has made a much longer, more in-depth post about her atrocities here. There are accounts of Rumer prescribing meds that could have killed a patient, Rumer ghosting or even denying patients who were in desperate need of care for complications she created, and more. And while no one has died under her care (yet, or that we know of), it would be best that it stay that way.

The scariest part is that the lawyers she's appointed to work for her are Trump-aligned, and the court she has threatened to take her victims to has a Trump-appointed, anti-LGBT judge.

Kathy Rumer is an active threat to the trans community. Please, please do not let you or your fellow trans siblings go to her. Do not let the short wait time and cheap price tag entice you. There is a reason her clinic is like a revolving door. When you go under the knife, speed is not the primary concern; accuracy, gentleness and safety are. She claims to be a "gift from God" for trans people, when in reality she is leaving a trail of blood in her path, and she could very well be coming for your state next.

Edit 1: "Apprentice" wasn't the best term, so I subbed in "fellowship trainee" instead

Edit 2: Took out my assumptions of her being abusive towards other docs bc I want concrete evidence first.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Ode to Artists Pt 4 (Censored) - Click here for the explicit version

Part (4) of Ode to Artists, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Also, huge thank you to all the support when I was feeling overwhelmed the other day - not gonna say I cried, coughcough, but it really helped

Warnings: Heated kissing, sexual tension, reference to sex, profanity. I went through and remove about 6k words from the explicit version. There's still reference to the fact that it's a romance scene, but nothing explicit or specific.

WC: 2,295

There was no whir of machinery as the lift carried us high into the elaborate building; no shudder from overused gears catching between levels, and that quiet stillness only added to the tension in the air between us. Crosshair leaned silently against the wall, arms wrapped loosely about his chest with his visor trained unmistakably on me. Though I faced forward in some long forgotten bid to appear indifferent, I hadn’t been able to keep my gaze from wandering back to him with that same unspoken need, greedily taking in the elegance of his lithe form.

If there was some chime indicating we’d reached our floor, I didn’t notice it, only realizing we’d arrived from the subtle shift of his helmet toward the entrance seconds before it began to open. The hallway lay empty before us, though we still tread to the room I’d claimed just hours prior in carefully even strides.

My helmet crashed loudly to the smooth tiles underfoot before the door to the room had even closed, and his lips were on mine mere seconds later, his own helmet placed with just a touch more care on the half wall that his hands might be free to lock around my hips, wrenching me harshly against him. I could feel his haughty smirk as he kissed me, could feel that smile grow as I yielded beneath my own desires, fingers already tugging at his bandolier, and I nearly came undone at the deep chuckle the shook his chest. Maker, I was helpless against that flash of earnest glee, the untainted happiness that painted creases in the corners of his eyes.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” I murmured, delighting in the way my words made him pause, “how long I’ve wanted you,” surprise quickly ceding to something too soft for the veil of nonchalance he so often flaunted.

“Pretty sure I had you screaming my name just a few weeks ago.” His taunt left me biting back a shy grin as he finished freeing my arm of that dark plastoid, but I merely shook my head. Without a word, I brought my hands up, fingers trailing along his jaw until my palms rested against his cheeks, and I could only smile as he readily gave in to my gentle plea, head dipping to grant me the pleasure of his kiss once more.

Abandoning his earlier task, his arms curled around my waist, and I eagerly leaned in to his embrace, back arching forward just enough to remember the cursed layers of armor between us.

“How long?” He weaved the words into his kiss, hand dragging up my back to tangle in my hair.

“Mm… been thinking about you… for so long. That damn smirk of yours…” I admitted, and the flush that wanted to creep up my cheeks meant nothing beneath the hint of laughter catching on his breath. “But when you waited for me,” my voice faded into a whisper as I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, “when you held me like this,” again, my hands softly cupped his cheeks, touch delicate as though he might break beneath the slightest misstep, “and asked me to stay…” I didn’t need to explain further, to sow words together in some vain hope of describing just how thoroughly he ruined me that day. The way his grin fell, attention rapt on that long ago moment even as his gaze studied me as though he was memorizing every facet of my eyes left little doubt that he knew exactly what I left unsaid. 

Without a word, he pulled me toward him once more, but there was something new in the way he touched me, lips an intoxicating flurry of gentleness and lust, embrace fueled by the same need that had left him near shaking all those months prior, and part of me wanted to ask if he’d been holding himself back for just as long. Had he entertained thoughts of following me into the storage room while the others slept? Contemplated excuses to get me alone with him during missions? Wondered over all the ways we might ignore the endless reasons this wasn’t allowed? One day, I’d ask him, but not that night. That night I didn’t want to think over moments I’d so nearly lost him in the past. I didn’t want to worry over what might happen in the future. That night, I wanted only to treasure every second that he was mine.

When I again reached for his shoulder pauldrons, he didn’t object, instead merely shifted to tug at his own gloves as well. I thrilled at the little bursts of static rippling through my chest, hands eagerly moving to his arms, his torso, tossing each article from him in the thrall of my impatience. He no longer offered any mocking quips, finally granting himself freedom to abandon his façade of haughty aloofness, hands expertly stripping the armor from my body faster than I could remove it myself.

The easy back and forth of teasing remarks and shameless pleas easily lulled me into a joyful haze amidst the shared hunger growing between us. He was gentle, and he was careful; and I would never tire of the thrill gleaned from the warmth and safety he filled me with.

 When first I’d found myself trapped beneath the intensity of those golden eyes, when he glared at me with something far harsher than indifference and offered me not even the courtesy of curiosity, I’d felt resigned to whatever prejudice fueled his disgust, but the way he looked at me now, the softness in his gaze that left me bereft of the will to breathe lest I break whatever trance lulled us into that gentle quiet held no trace of long-forgotten resentment.

He said nothing, and I felt no remorse at the time lost in those moments of stillness, no impatience for the fulfillment of base desires so rarely satiated purely from the scarcity of such precious isolation. Nerves rejoiced throughout every inch of skin granted the ecstasy of his touch, that feral part of my brain preening at the safety of his presence.

As we lay in the midst of share passion, I thought he might continue to tease me; readied myself for some final quip about how willingly I succumbed to the depths of my desire, but when he spoke, there was no glimmer of fond mockery nor lilt of that unapologetic sass. I didn’t know what language it was, though I thought I recognized the gentle cadence occasionally shared between clones, and what words he whispered were too long to grant any hope that I might remember them absent even a base foundation of that elegant speech. Still, the way with which he spoke them, the reverent quiet that he fell into as the tantalizing rasp of his voice sent ripples of something far softer than heat and far more powerful than lust filled every aspect of my being until all I could manage in return was to murmur his name in a hushed psalm.

Veiled beneath the cover of night in that unnamed forest, when first we’d yielded to emotions too overwhelming to even feign understanding, his touch had been governed by a tense hesitation only just overcome by shared desperation. When, next, he touched me, it was with elated relief, rife with the blissful ignorance and candid pride innate in newborn romance. Now, however, as we lay together hidden from threat of discovery and safe beneath the certainty that, despite what cruelty awaited us in the coming days, despite the horrors we'd seen and the monstrous things we'd done, no doubt lingered between us; no whispered uncertainty for the sincerity driving hidden touches the instant proximity allowed, no question toward the passion fueling kisses stolen in fleeting moments of stillness. It was effortless in a way few things are. He moved and I knew exactly how to move with him. My lips parted, and he answered the unspoken plea without need for thought, cherishing me with his kiss and torturing me with his body.

I wanted to tell him I loved him, but how could such a simple word not cheapen the way my heart leapt at the warmth in his eyes, the glee that sent bursts of heat dancing atop my skin in the wake of his every caress, the wonder that left me stunned each time he smiled at me, rare moments in which those predatory eyes softened with a joy that just toyed with the edges of thin lips that, for any other, would sooner snarl than be even glimpsed showing such affection.

So I said nothing beyond the wordless cries of a pleasure until we sat gasping, my legs straddling his hips, locked in each other’s embrace for a far too-short eternity, treasuring the sharp tang saturating air left too humid in the fleeting space between us. He was the first to move, head shifting just enough to let his cheek whisper against me before dropping to lightly rest his forehead to mine. Mind yet floating in a gentle haze, I selfishly held him tighter. We’d never had that before – this stillness after screams of passion fell silent, a breadth of minutes or seconds or hours in which we could simply relish in the euphoria of skin on skin absent the frantic race for release, a moment free of thought that we might merely exist with each other and bask in unspoken adoration known only through the tenderness of feather-light touches.

Eager to savor that stillness, my hands dragged slowly across his shoulders, up his arms to flare across his chest, nails raking gently atop glistening, caramel skin until reaching the sharp line of his jaw. He shifted so slightly into my touch as I delicately cupped his cheeks that I found myself wondering if it had been an accident, a slip of his carefully constructed veil of indifference, but then he seemed to pause. I could feel his throat shift, swallowing back whatever reservations came so readily to him in the face of such a vulnerable intimacy. Chest swelling with a deep breath, he leaned fully into my touch, brows pulling almost nervously together above pointedly closed eyes.

Heart surging, I instantly sought out his lips once more, body curling subtly around him as though I might offer some comfort in the face of his uncertainty. It wasn’t with lust that I kissed him, nor was it fueled by joy or gratitude. It felt as though I was asking for something; begging, and when his embrace tightened around me, I held little doubt that he understood even when I didn’t, but the simple act of returning my kiss with that same unnamed desperation quieted my sudden flare of need.

“We should clean up.” He muttered almost reluctantly after several more seconds of blessed stillness. Fingers flaring greedily over the soft stubble just beginning to adorn his jaw, my head shook subtly to voice my refusal.

“Not yet.” I murmured, unsure if it was a plea or invitation. “Just for a bit longer.” His chest hitched softly with an airy laughter, but he made no move to untangle himself from me. “I want to stay like this,” I breathed, shifting just enough to press my lips to his cheek, and then to his brow, “with you,” and again against the delicate skin of one eyelid and then the other, and the way he slowly began to sink into me, shoulders falling, free, if only for those precious, fleeting breaths, of the crippling weight of responsibility and regret lingering just beyond the sliding door behind us, the way he let himself fade into the almost cruel temptation of impossible dreams woven through whispered wants that we both knew could never be was almost worth the impending whiplash of returning to a reality we would never be able to escape.

When he looked at me, head slowly tilting back just enough to meet my gaze, there was a quietness in his eyes that infected me so completely, even the air stilled in my lungs. I wanted to ask him what he’d said; what those elegant words he’d breathed against flushed skin had meant; almost desperate to hear what I found myself hoping them to be, but I couldn’t. He’d spoken them in a language I didn’t understand. That meant something. Whatever he’d said, he wasn’t ready for me to hear it. Not yet. But as he kissed me again, lips dancing so carefully against mine that I couldn’t silence the blissful moan, when he reached for me as though I were fire and ice and worth the agony of scalded flesh for each cherished caress, I knew that even his secretted words would pale beneath promises voiced only through silent touches.

A deep sigh fluttered slowly from my lips as his hands thoughtlessly roamed the length of my back, fingertips digging softly into skin still dampened with sweat, savoring that stillness for as long as I could.

“Think they have fresh sheets hidden somewhere?” Only after my heart calmed and the memory of life beyond that blissful moment no longer held such crippling weight did I release a deep breath and find the strength to pull away from him, if only enough to meet those piercing eyes.

“I think there’s an empty room next door, and we can let someone else deal with our mess.” Crosshair answered with that unapologetic, taunting monotone that instantly drew a quiet laughter from me.

“You’re awful.” I teased, feigning disgust, but he merely answered with a hum of agreement before stealing one final kiss and letting his arms slide away from me with a stifled reluctance.

Next Chapter

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[michelle-is-writing]

Emergency, Dr. John Carter

Word Count: 1.7k~

Warnings: a bit of angst, pregnancy

I never thought anything would be harder than nursing school. All of the late nights spent studying combined with little-to-no sleep seemed like the worst torture at the time, but right now, I have to disagree with my prior belief. I’m used to seeing people in their hospital beds, caring for them and giving them their medication; but now I’m the one in the hospital bed with various monitors hooked up to me. Beside me is Dr. Carter, the doctor I work alongside with who also happens to be my ex.

“I told you, you need to slow down at work once you hit twenty-four weeks,” John reminds me, but I continue staring ahead of me at the light pink room. “You should know, first-hand, you cannot be running around the halls like you used to,” Despite his words holding truth to them, I still don’t respond to him, and instead, I close my eyes as memories pass through my mind. To be specific, the memory of why Dr. John Carter is my ex.

“You deserve someone better, someone much better than me.”

To him, he believed what he was saying, but no matter what I tried to tell him, nothing changed his mind. He wanted to break up after nearly a year of being together; even now, I still don’t understand his reasoning. Heartbreak can cause bitterness, and mine still hasn’t gone away despite being six months pregnant.

“Are you listening to me?” John’s question laced with worry brings me out of my thinking and back to him, my head tilting toward him to look at his concerned face. Months ago, I would’ve kissed that worry away; now I can only feel my throat close as I start to form a response. At work, I can handle talking to my ex, but anything outside of work is pointless for me.

With a sigh, John shakes his head before looking down at my stomach. “You know, I’ve been waiting so long for the opportunity to talk to you, but baby, I never wanted it to be like this,” he confesses, his brown eyes flickering to me. “I know it’s been hard, and I’ve-“

“You wanted this,” I tell him, my voice cracking as I fight away tears. “You wanted us to break up, and… we broke up. I’m sorry I-I got pregnant, and I didn’t find out until after we broke up, but-“

This time, it’s John’s turn to cut me off as he quickly sits up to face me. “Please, don’t apologize for this, please,” He urges me, taking my hand in both of his. The action shocks me, my eyes stuck on his worried ones as I feel his touch after what seems like an eternity. “I’ve regretted that night every day since it happened, and I’ve been trying to talk to you, but you… haven’t wanted to,” he looks almost crushed as he says this, his face cast with a pained expression. “I don’t want to trail behind you like a lost puppy in this hospital anymore, I can’t. I want you, and I was beyond stupid that night for what I said and did,” John sighs, “When I found out you were pregnant, I tried my best to avoid anything that could stress you and the baby out, but it’s killed me to stand back and have to watch you do everything by yourself. That’s the last thing I ever wanted, baby, and I'm so sorry.”

Looking at his sad face makes the dam in my eyes break, causing him to quickly reach up and brush my oncoming tears away. I can’t even fight against him doing so, missing him and his touch outweighing the hurt at this exact moment. For a while, I savor his touch, and even after the tears stop falling, his hands still remain on me. That is, until I open my eyes and turn my face to look up at him. “What’s my treatment plan then, Doc?” I ask him, his eyes meeting mine as he moves to brush my hair out of my face.

After a few seconds, John lets out a small chuckle before answering my question. “Your treatment plan is: you need to stay off your feet and do desk work for the next four weeks, but then you cannot return to work after thirty-two weeks,” His words make me frown; I had a feeling that would happen as my obstetrician had already hinted at it to me before.

“Lastly,” John’s voice brings my attention back to him, seeing a now nervous look on his face. “I would… I would love it if you’d move back in with me,” Before I can argue him on the last part, he quickly shakes his head at me and continues on. “I know you and Carol don’t mind room-mating like you used to, but baby, please, come back. That apartment doesn’t feel the same without you, I miss you so damn much. Please come home - with me.”

After what feels like forever, I smile and find myself relaxing back against my pillows as I watch John’s face flash between worry and fear. I remain quiet until a sigh leaves through my nose and I speak up. “Okay,” I whisper, an elated, yet relieved smile breaking onto John’s face at my answer. “I’ll… I’ll come home.”

John can’t hold his happiness back as he moves forward and plants his lips back on mine one more time. “Great, that’s amazing,” he babbles, seemingly overfilled with a mix of joy and relief. Letting out a happy sigh, he rests his forehead against mine before speaking up once more. “Thank you, baby.”

For a few moments, we remain like this until I pull back to look at him and his unusually messy hair. He must’ve been running his fingers through it earlier, a nervous habit of his. A part of me feels bad at the idea of being the reason for this, but at the same time, I didn’t mean to pass out on the hospital floor either.

“I want to keep you here under evaluation until I get off,” John states, his tired brown eyes staring back into mine. “I’d like to give you some more fluids for the dehydration and nausea meds, but in the mean time,” He further explains, rolling back in the stool he’s sitting in to grab the ultrasound stand in the corner of the room before scooting back over to me. “I want to check on a few things.”

Once the machine is plugged in, John quickly sets up everything he needs all the while I simply roll my gown up above my stomach for him. It feels a bit weird exposing myself to him like this after all this time apart, but he quickly reassures me by reaching over and gently squeezing my hand. I smile at this before closing my eyes in preparation for the cold gel which comes soon enough. At the freezing sensation, my eyes shoot open before ultimately looking over at John to see him staring at the ultrasound screen with focused eyes and a look of awe on his face. I’ve helped him perform many ultrasounds on other pregnancies, but never have I seen such a look on his face while doing so.

A few seconds pass before he seemingly realizes something and adjusts some of the knobs on the machine. A soft wave sound fills the room once he does this, the sound being something I’ve heard many times before at my appointments, but for John, this is the first time. This is the first time he’s seeing and hearing the heartbeat of our baby, and I’m sure he’s been wanting to do this for a long time. I felt bad having to watch him do this with every other pregnant woman that walked in, but yet, he couldn’t even do it with me - the woman carrying his baby.

“Hello, little one,” John addresses our baby, smiling up at the ultrasound screen. He moves over the wand before laughing a little to himself. “A healthy baby girl,” he announces, more to himself than anyone. “She’s… fine, healthy. She looks like she’ll come out a perfect baby,” despite this comment, John still spends the next several minutes scanning over every little part of our baby, keeping an eye out for any abnormalities. It’s only when he feels satisfied with himself that he takes the wand away and cleans my stomach off before resting his hand on top of my stomach, his eyes now locked onto mine. “You’re doing a great job, mama.”

I’m not sure if it’s the eye contact or the sincerity in his comment that causes me to begin tearing up again, but John is quick to wipe the few strays tears away with his free hand, his other hand remaining on my stomach as his thumb gently rubs against my skin. “I’ve missed you too…” I whisper to him, too emotional to speak louder as I remember what it was like to learn how to do all of this without him. “I missed you so much.”

John smiles at my words, although it doesn’t reach his eyes that seem to share the same emotion as mine. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you, baby,” He vows, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to my forehead. “To both of you.”

With that, he stands up from his stool before pushing it to the wall and looking back at me. I place my hand where his was just moments ago, already missing the warmth from his hand on my stomach. “When my shift ends, I’ll have one of the nurses start the discharge papers. Then we can head home,” John states, a smile making its way onto both of our faces as he says the word ‘home’. “Is that okay?” He clarifies earning a nod back from me. His smile seems to grow at this, turning into a soft grin. “Good,” John says, “Now it’ll finally feel like home again, too.”