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i would never wave around 'he's just misunderstood </3' but like within canon he really.... literally is misunderstood. all the time. he just doesn't care about the fact.
#*・゚⊰ 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒. ⊱ ✦ › OUT.#'but couldn't he explain himse-' he's not gonna do that. alskjasjlfkj#his self image is also poor he has no reason to defend himself. ever!#he is hurting people he does hurt people he is a curse he is a monster#he's estranged he's denied intimacy he speaks as if he's above everyone but is painfully. acutely aware of his being below and insufficient#but sometimes. just sometimes. he can be so kind. he feels grief when others lose themselves (hiwatari)#or die (the hikari overall. the artworks. innocent people)#he's legitimately COMPLETELY respectful of other people's agency and individuality#the chaotic good man#breaks the law over and over everybody's positive he doesn't care about anything but himself#and it's true.#but at the same time. all he even really. truly. literally has -is- himself. and his other self. his host! daisuke!#dark absolutely loves. but his is just. so distant. it has to be. he can't love anybody or the world in any other way#for all his flirting the most he can ever do is stand and watch the world while remaining a beautiful work of art
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Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)
Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!
pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader
rating: E 18+MDNI
summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.
contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.
wc: 9k
a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.
Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young
You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you.
You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller.
Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely.
Her words still ring in your ears.
“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”
“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life.
“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said.
You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.
So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you.
But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart.
“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder.
“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says.
“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask.
She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room.
“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”
It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid.
You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you.
You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better.
It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now.
“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say.
That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture.
“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say.
Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”
“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”
You both laugh.
“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles.
You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades.
“I’m sorry,” you tell her.
“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”
Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.
You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there.
At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time.
Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face.
“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy.
She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen.
Dread settles in the pit of your stomach.
“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself.
A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze.
“Mercy?” Sarah asks.
You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass.
Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air.
“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.
“Where’s your dad?” you ask her.
You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around.
“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.”
Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night.
The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller.
Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away.
You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.
“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands.
What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor.
You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.
“Help me,” he rasps.
He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something.
But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies.
As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral.
Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break.
Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster.
When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk.
Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground.
With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence.
This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you.
“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged.
Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete.
For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her.
“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.
There’s a thud and then quiet.
You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill.
Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway.
Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers.
“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says.
“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her.
“But she’s hurt!”
She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle.
Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck.
“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”
You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away.
You wait for a long time.
As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now.
You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes.
Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine.
For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare.
No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you.
He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family.
But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope.
The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning.
You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday.
You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt.
They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you.
He left you to die but you just go on living.
It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night.
You’re on your own.
A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.
At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone.
On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her.
You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.
Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead.
When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head.
It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk.
You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north.
You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival.
By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you.
They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal.
It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.
Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven.
You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached.
Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall.
It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table.
You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home.
Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you.
He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright.
“Uncle Tommy?” you manage.
“That really you?” he asks.
Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.
You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope.
“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”
He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife?
“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner.
And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller.
He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.
It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up.
He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become.
“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up.
He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel.
You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival.
“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago.
You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath.
“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall.
There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened.
At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks.
You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out.
“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes.
“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says.
It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you.
But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious.
“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself.
“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder.
“You should’ve saved her,” you bark.
Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back.
“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say.
You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing.
You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall.
The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel.
Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today.
It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine.
“You okay?” Ellie asks.
She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much.
He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall.
“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers.
It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken.
“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says.
She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out.
Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache.
Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted.
He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you.
The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded.
So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves.
“Want some company?” you ask.
He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in.
Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him.
“Surprised you remember,” he says.
“My best friend’s birthday?”
He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”
“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.”
You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living.
You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything.
You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck.
“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down.
“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.”
“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him.
“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says.
He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”
Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.
“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.
Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.
“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”
“Shit,” Joel says.
“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”
“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”
You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear.
“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him.
A thick knot forms in his throat.
There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment.
He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch.
The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end.
“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”
You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out.
It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky.
The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen.
“How’d…”
“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”
You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well.
“You sure?” he asks.
You nod. “I know where to find it.”
He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect.
“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask.
“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains.
You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates.
You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since.
“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes.
He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile.
“How’s she look?” you ask.
He can’t help but chuckle. He nods.
You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair.
You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.
Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?
The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library.
Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor.
He’s still Mr. Miller, after all.
Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”.
He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved.
Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.
“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly.
You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.
You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”
“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink.
He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy.
“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze.
He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing.
You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.
You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet.
You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago.
It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek.
“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.
“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours.
It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it.
“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say.
He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went.
You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night.
That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.
He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.
He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning.
And then you kissed him.
Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing.
You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone.
The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you.
That’s when he heard it.
It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong.
She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you.
He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again.
If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself.
He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you.
Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you.
“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon.
Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth.
“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table.
“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.
“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”
“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs.
“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says.
“Dentment is not a word,” you reply.
“Neither is thoard,” Joel says.
“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.
This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life.
But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.
When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.
The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there.
Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips.
He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open.
“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers.
“Stay,” you murmur.
He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back.
But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?
He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress.
Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well.
When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further.
You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could.
It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.
After a while, though, it happens.
Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them.
He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light.
You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment.
The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him.
You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper.
You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up.
It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes.
You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever.
You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want.
You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul.
When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass.
You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him.
Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him.
Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.
Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply.
You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this.
You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories.
Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.
Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before.
But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.
You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back.
It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.
Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?”
You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft.
“Pretty,” he says almost to himself.
He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all.
Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart.
You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection.
Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years.
In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you.
Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.
#joel miller#tlou#joel miller fic#bfd!joel miller#jackson!joel miller#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fic
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Back Home Again- s.r. x fem!reader
I absolutely love John Denver. I beg they give Spencer a happy ending if he does come back.
Warnings: fluff, Maeve mention, brief moments of grief, pregnant reader
It was a dreary, overcast afternoon when Spencer arrived at his apartment building, the weight of his briefcase in one hand and the case files he had been working on tucked under his arm. The sky was a solid sheet of gray, threatening rain, and the air carried the damp, cool scent that always preceded a downpour. Spencer had just returned from Quantico, where he delivered his latest reports to the BAU. He had gotten into the habit of making these trips once a month, a chance to check in with his team, his friends, and to keep himself anchored to the world he used to inhabit full-time.
As he approached the entrance of the apartment building, he noticed you standing under the small canopy that offered minimal protection from the incoming storm. You were shivering, clutching a worn-out rain jacket tightly around you, but it was no match for the cold that was seeping into your bones. You looked up as Spencer approached, your eyes wide with a mixture of hope and mild embarrassment.
"Hi," you said, your voice slightly trembling from the cold. "Do you live here?"
Spencer nodded, frowning slightly at your predicament. "Yeah, I do. Are you okay?"
You sighed, glancing down at your bicycle, which was leaning against the wall. "I, um, lost my keys. I need to get my bike inside, but I can't get in without them."
Spencer could see the frustration and discomfort etched on your face, and without hesitation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keycard. "I can let you in," he offered, his voice gentle.
You looked at him with relief, nodding gratefully. "Thank you so much. I don't know how I managed to lose them."
He swiped his keycard, opening the door for you, and you quickly wheeled your bike inside. Spencer followed, watching as you propped the bike up near the stairs, trying to figure out your next move.
"I can call the apartment manager for you," Spencer said, already pulling out his phone.
You smiled at him, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. "That would be great. I think she's out, but she should be back soon."
As Spencer made the call, you couldn’t help but notice how kind his eyes were, how he seemed to exude a quiet, calm energy that put you at ease. You had seen him around the building before, occasionally crossing paths as you both went about your day. Sometimes you carried groceries, other times you had flowers, always with a smile and a friendly nod as you held doors open for each other. But you had never exchanged more than a few words—until now.
After hanging up, Spencer turned to you. "She’ll be here in about an hour. In the meantime, would you like to come up to my apartment? I can lend you some dry clothes while you wait."
You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to impose, but the warmth in his voice and the genuine concern in his expression made it impossible to refuse. "If it’s not too much trouble, I’d really appreciate that."
Spencer smiled softly and led you upstairs to his apartment. As you entered, you couldn’t help but take in the surroundings. The space was cozy and meticulously organized, with bookshelves lining the walls and a few personal touches scattered about—a small stack of books on the coffee table, a framed photograph of what looked like colleagues from work, and a well-used chessboard set up by the window.
"Here," Spencer said, breaking you out of your thoughts as he handed you a folded sweater and a pair of soft sweatpants. "These should fit."
You took the clothes, thanking him as you headed to the bathroom to change. When you emerged, feeling warmer and more comfortable, Spencer was in the kitchen, making tea.
"Do you drink tea?" he asked, glancing up as you entered the room.
"Yeah, I do," you replied, sitting down at the small dining table.
Spencer handed you a steaming mug, sitting down across from you with his own. For a few moments, you both sipped in silence, the sound of the rain now pouring outside creating a soothing background. He had spent so long hiding from this part of life, closing himself off to the possibility of connection after everything he had been through—after losing Maeve. But there was something about you, something in the way you sat there with your warm mug of tea, looking at him with genuine interest, that made him want to open up, just a little.
The rhythm of your relationship with Spencer had grown steady, marked by the gentle back-and-forth of dishes passed between your doors. It started so simply—just a thank you for the warm clothes and kindness on that rainy day. You had returned the borrowed sweater and sweatpants folded neatly, accompanied by a casserole dish filled with a homemade meal. Spencer, surprised but touched by the gesture, had baked cookies in return, carefully placing them back in the dish and leaving it outside your door.
This exchange became a regular occurrence, a silent communication between you two that spoke of care and warmth. Each dish carried something more than food; it carried an unspoken connection, a feeling that was growing stronger with each passing day. But one evening, when you opened your door expecting another delicious offering, you found the dish empty. Your heart fluttered when you saw the note tucked inside, written in Spencer’s neat handwriting: “Dinner? Friday night?”
You smiled as you read the note, feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation. When you saw Spencer later that day, you eagerly accepted, and from that moment, things moved faster than either of you had anticipated. But it all felt right.
The dinners became more frequent, the conversations longer and more intimate. Spencer found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years. Every day, he became more attached to you, drawn to your warmth, your kindness, and the way you made him feel safe and understood. You filled a void in his life that he hadn’t realized was still there, healing wounds that had remained tender for too long.
Then, your world shifted suddenly when your grandfather passed away. It was unexpected, a loss that hit you hard. In the midst of dealing with your grief, you learned that he had left you a small farmhouse, tucked away in the mountains a few hours from the city. You hadn’t visited it in years, but you had spent every summer there as a child, and the thought of it brought back a flood of memories. You told Spencer about it, your voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and uncertainty.
“I always wanted to raise a family there,” you admitted one evening, the two of you sitting close together on his couch. “But I don’t know… Maybe it’s too far, too much.”
Spencer listened, his heart aching for you, but also feeling a strange sense of hope. The idea of a small farmhouse, a place filled with memories and dreams of a future together, appealed to him more than he could express.
“Why don’t we go see it?” he suggested gently. “Just to see how it feels. Then you can decide.”
A few days later, you found yourselves driving up to the farmhouse. The journey was quiet, filled with the hum of the car and the occasional conversation about your memories of summers spent there. The closer you got, the more you could feel a sense of peace settling over you. When you finally arrived, the farmhouse stood exactly as you remembered it—modest but well-maintained, with a wraparound porch and a small garden out front. The mountains loomed in the background, their peaks dusted with snow, and the air was crisp and clean. Everything felt untouched, as though time had stood still.
You stepped inside, and it was like walking back into your childhood. The furniture was old but lovingly cared for, the walls adorned with framed photos of your family. The familiar smell of wood and earth filled the air. Spencer walked beside you, taking it all in, watching the way your face softened as you moved through each room.
When you reached the living room, you turned to Spencer, your eyes searching his. Before you could say anything, he took your hands in his, pulling you close. There was something in his eyes, a mix of determination and love that took your breath away.
“Let’s do it,” he said, his voice steady and filled with certainty. “Let’s raise a family here.”
You blinked in surprise, your heart swelling at his words. “Spencer…”
“I know it’s fast, but I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he continued, his grip on your hands tightening. “I want this with you. I want us to have a life together here.”
You felt tears welling up, but they were tears of happiness, of relief. You had wanted this too, deep down, but hearing him say it made it all the more real.
“There’s no ring,” he said, almost apologetically, “but I’ll get you one. I promise. I just… I don’t want to wait.”
You shook your head, smiling through your tears. “I don’t care about a ring. I care about you, and us, and this.”
And right there, in the living room of your grandfather’s farmhouse, surrounded by the memories of your past and the promise of your future, Spencer Reid proposed. You didn’t need anything fancy, no grand gestures—just the two of you, standing together, ready to take on whatever came next.
You said yes, and in that moment, you knew that this place, this life, was where you were meant to be.
The move happened faster than you expected. You and Spencer had decided to donate almost everything—your old furniture, books, and knick-knacks, items that had once filled your apartment with memories but now felt unnecessary in the new chapter of your life. You kept only what was essential, what truly mattered, and packed up the rest.
The ceremony was as quiet and intimate as you had hoped. In a small, sunlit room filled with flowers, you exchanged vows with Spencer. The BAU team sat on his side, their familiar faces smiling back at you. On the other side were your parents and siblings, holding back tears of joy. The ceremony was simple, heartfelt, and exactly what you both wanted—a celebration of your love without the fuss or grandeur. Afterward, you shared a dinner with everyone, laughing and talking late into the evening.
Once the last goodbye was said and the final hug was given, you and Spencer set off for your new home. The six-hour drive was long but peaceful. Spencer drove most of the way, his hand resting on your thigh, a silent reassurance that you were heading in the right direction. The road stretched out before you, winding through hills and forests, leading you closer to the life you were about to build together.
You arrived at the farmhouse just as dawn was beginning to break. The sky was still dark, with only the faintest hint of light on the horizon. The house stood quiet and still, waiting for you.
Spencer yawned as he pulled the car into the driveway, the tires crunching on the gravel. He was exhausted from the long day, the ceremony, the drive, but there was a contentment in his tired eyes. He grabbed the last of your bags, and you both stepped inside, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty rooms. Boxes were stacked everywhere, but for now, they could wait.
Spencer headed to the bedroom, eager to collapse into bed. But when he reached out for you, he found your side empty. Concerned, he walked back through the house, searching for you. He found you sitting on the porch in one of the old rocking chairs, your knees tucked up to your chest, gazing out at the slowly brightening sky.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked softly, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he approached.
You looked up at him, smiling gently. “I want to see the sunrise. It’s only an hour away, so I figured I might as well stay up rather than miss it.”
He nodded, understanding, and pulled up another chair beside you. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, listening to the night sounds fade as the birds began their morning songs. The air was cool, a light breeze rustling through the trees, and you felt a sense of peace settle over you. This was your home now, your place to build something new.
As you waited for the sun to rise, you both talked quietly about the future. You shared your dreams of starting a family, imagining little ones running across the expansive yard, exploring the woods that bordered the property. You talked about fencing in part of the yard, maybe getting a few chickens or goats to bring more life to the quiet countryside. Spencer smiled at the thought, his mind already racing with ideas of how to make it all happen.
But mostly, you both sat in silence, lost in your own thoughts, content just to be together in this moment. There was something magical about the stillness, the way the world seemed to pause before the dawn, giving you time to reflect on everything that had brought you to this point.
Then, slowly, the sky began to change. The first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. The trees, the grass, the house—all of it seemed to come alive in the soft morning light. You watched in awe as the sun rose higher, flooding the world with light and color.
Spencer reached over and took your hand, squeezing it gently. You turned to look at him, and in that moment, everything felt perfect. The future stretched out before you, filled with possibilities, and you knew that whatever came your way, you would face it together.
The sun continued to rise, bringing a certain glow to both of you, a promise of new beginnings and the life you were about to build.
It had been a year since you and Spencer had moved into the farmhouse. The transformation from newlyweds to expectant parents had been a beautiful, unexpected journey. The house had become a home, filled with warmth, laughter, and the soft glow of your growing family. The chickens roamed freely in the yard, and the beginnings of a garden took root behind the house, just as you had imagined that first morning together.
Now, as the evening sun dipped low in the sky, you found yourself setting the table, the soft clinking of dishes a comforting sound in the quiet house. Spencer was away, working his first case in almost three years. It had been ten days since he left, and while you missed him deeply, the time had passed quickly. You had kept busy, tending to the house and the animals, preparing for his return. But there was a constant, gentle flutter in your belly that reminded you of the life growing inside you—a tiny presence that had become your constant companion.
You placed the last of the silverware on the table and paused, pressing a hand to your swollen belly. Sunshine, as you had lovingly named the baby for now, had been making their presence known more and more these days. Just last week, you had felt the first kick, a soft but undeniable nudge that had filled you with joy. You couldn’t wait to tell Spencer, to see his face light up with the news. You imagined how he would react, how his eyes would widen with wonder and how he would gently place his hands on your belly, hoping to feel another kick.
The thought made you smile as you continued setting the table, thinking about everything you wanted to share with him. Your mother had called on Friday to check in, leaving a sweet message for Spencer, reminding him how proud she was of the life you both were building. It was a small thing, but you knew how much it would mean to him. Spencer had always been so careful about balancing his work and personal life, and it warmed your heart to know that your family saw how much effort he put into being present for you.
As you finished up, you heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Your heart leaped with excitement, and you hurried to the window, peeking out just in time to see Spencer waving to the chickens as he walked up to the house. He looked tired, but there was a lightness to his step that made you feel like everything was right in the world again.
You quickly returned to the table, straightening a napkin as you tried to calm your racing heart. The door opened, and you heard his footsteps, soft but purposeful, as he made his way through the house. And then he was there, standing in the doorway, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away.
“Welcome home,” you whispered, a smile spreading across your face.
Spencer didn’t say a word at first. Instead, he crossed the room in a few quick strides, pulling you into his arms and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was tender but full of emotion, a reunion of two souls that had been apart for too long. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were full of love and gratitude.
“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he studied you, as if committing every detail to memory. The soft glow of the fire cast a warm light over your features, making you look even more beautiful in his eyes. He still couldn’t believe this was his life—something that once seemed so far away now felt like a long-lost friend returning home. The joy he felt was palpable, and he could hardly contain it.
“I missed you too,” you replied, your voice equally soft as you reached up to stroke his cheek. “But I’m so glad you’re home.”
He smiled, his hand moving to rest on your belly. “And how’s Sunshine doing?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with the nickname you’d chosen for the baby.
“They’re doing just fine,” you said, feeling your heart swell with love for the man standing before you. “In fact, I have some news.”
Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of curiosity and anticipation in his gaze. “Oh?”
You nodded, your smile growing as you placed your hand over his on your belly. “Sunshine kicked for the first time last week.”
His breath caught, and his eyes grew wide with amazement. “Really?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
“Really,” you confirmed, tears of happiness welling up in your eyes. “It was the most incredible feeling, and I’ve been dying to tell you.”
Spencer’s eyes filled with emotion as he gently pressed his hand to your belly, his fingers splayed out as if hoping to feel the baby move again. “I can’t believe it,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “Our baby is really growing in there.”
“They are,” you said, nodding as you blinked back tears. “And they can’t wait to meet you.”
Spencer let out a shaky laugh, his joy so overwhelming that it brought tears to his eyes. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your belly, whispering words of love to the baby growing inside you. When he stood up again, he looked at you with such love and devotion that it took your breath away.
“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” he said, his voice full of wonder. “To have you, to have our baby… it’s more than I ever imagined.”
You smiled, your heart overflowing with love for this man who had become your everything. “We’re the lucky ones, Spencer. We have you.”
He pulled you into another embrace, holding you close as you both stood there, lost in the moment. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the warm glow of the fire, the promise of a beautiful future ahead. The sun had set, but the light that filled the room was brighter than ever—illuminating not just your home, but the life you were building together, filled with love, hope, and endless possibilities.
Spencer had always been a man of intellect, driven by logic and the pursuit of knowledge. But in the quiet moments, when the world outside was still and he was surrounded by the warmth of your home, he realized that it was the little things—the sweetest, simplest things—that truly made life beautiful.
It was the way you hummed softly as you moved through the house, your voice carrying a melody that soothed his soul. The way you folded his sweaters with such care, tucking a lavender sachet inside just because you knew he loved the scent. The way you’d leave little notes for him to find—tucked into his jacket pocket, slipped between the pages of his books, or left on the bathroom mirror. They were always simple but filled with love: *“Thinking of you,”* or *“Can’t wait to see you tonight.”*
He cherished the way you brought life into the house with your laughter, your warmth, and your kindness. How you made sure there were always fresh flowers on the kitchen table, even in the dead of winter. How you danced around the kitchen while making dinner, pulling him into the rhythm, even though he swore he couldn’t dance.
He loved the way you instinctively knew when he needed to talk and when he needed silence. How you would sit with him on the porch in the early morning, wrapped in a blanket, sharing the peace of the sunrise. How you understood that sometimes, the best conversations were the ones where no words were spoken at all—just the comfort of knowing you were there, together.
The little things you did made the house feel like a true home. The way you’d curl up next to him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder as you watched a movie. The way you made him feel when he came home after a long day, greeted by the scent of dinner cooking and the sight of you smiling at him from across the room. The way you always made time for each other, no matter how busy life got.
As Spencer sat in the nursery, assembling the crib that would soon hold your baby, he thought about how much his life had changed. There was a time when he had closed himself off to the idea of a family, of a future filled with love and happiness. But now, as he looked around the room filled with baby clothes, books, and toys, he realized just how far he had come.
So yes, it’s good to be back home again.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reidx reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x you#fanfic
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agnes, just stop and think a minute
gojo satoru x reader (1.2k)
" you're gone but you're on my mind, i'm lost but i don't know why. ,,
warnings: CHAPTER 236 SPOILERS, reader and shoko r going THRU it, i wrote this during a mental breakdown, denial, semi-comfort at the end
a/n: when i found out about what happened i just spent 2 hours on social media just. watching everything gojo related and i kind of wanted to reflect my reaction through this word vomit of a drabble. i haven't cried at all but i just feel so devastated and oh my god it's been terrible. rest in peace to my bb </3
based off of one of my favorite glass animals songs (agnes) that i've always associated with gojo.
you like to think that grief in your life always comes and goes.
it’s a part of being a jujutsu sorcerer. each day, new people are trained to become one, and others die the same day. there are new beginnings, and people who meet their ends. you know sorcerers out there who have completely closed themselves off just so they don’t have to experience the soul crushing feeling of grief.
it’s like a bud, they say. a bud that forcefully plants itself in your heart, and you can do nothing but watch it grow as it takes hold of every part of your being. people describe the feeling in many ways: a weight on top of your chest that won’t cease, or a part of your heart that’s been ripped away, and nothing in your life seems to fill the remnants of it.
you’ve experienced grief in your life many times. loss is so normalized as a sorcerer that you’ve almost lost count at this point, but the ones that have hit you the hardest are the deaths of your closest friends: kento nanami, yu haibara, and geto suguru. they haunt your thoughts every day, up until the point where everything feels asphyxiating and you sometimes want to join your friends too.
you think that geto’s death hit you the hardest.
you remember geto’s disappearance and the night parade of a hundred demons like it was yesterday. the hardest pill to swallow about his death was the fact that it could’ve been prevented. geto’s lifeless eyes made you see parallels from the weeks leading up to his disappearance. he just needed a push in the right direction, but then you couldn’t even do that and you didn’t see all the signs of his deteriorating mental health. you just felt so guilty, even though your friends assured you that it wasn’t your fault.
seeing geto’s body for the first time after 10 years made you wail uncontrollably–and you had to be forcefully pried off of him despite your screams of protest. the most prominent thing about his body were his lifeless eyes–and guilt coursed through your veins as you knew that they were probably devoid of life even before his death.
that guilt stuck with you for a long time, and you felt it until you thought that it would consume you whole.
that’s why shoko was hesitant to show you gojo’s body.
she knows that you would have an emotional outburst again, like last time. actually, she knew this one would be worse, because geto was a best friend to you, but satoru was the light of your life. he was your lover. your soulmate, even. the reason why you were excited to come home everyday. he grieved about geto with you, and you held each other when you both cried… usually when december 24th was nearing again. you think that, without satoru, you don’t know what you would do. you kept each other sane and grounded.
so you don’t understand.
why is his body in front of you right now? why are all your students crying around you and mourning gojo’s loss? it’s all the sorcerers are talking about right now, and you just don’t get it.
he’s the strongest, so why did he fucking leave you behind like this? no, no. he wasn’t supposed to lose that fight. he said it himself. he said he’d win, right? he’d win, and he’d come home, albeit injured, but home nonetheless. he’d celebrate his victory with you, and life would go on. so why did he lie?
that’s the only word coursing through your head. why?
you tried not to think about anything right now… like how there was probably so much crimson red on that battlefield. if you saw it, you’d think that the red would leave an everlasting stain in your mind, to the point where you’ll never forget about it. no matter how many times you’d wash your hands, all that red would still be there, and you hate to think about it.
you like to think that grief in your life always comes and goes.
people describe the feeling in many ways, but if you had to describe how you felt right now, the only word you’d use is empty.
you feel so utterly empty and hollow, that you can’t even bring yourself to cry or scream.
shoko’s surprised at your reaction. when she told you what happened, you became eerily silent. your eyes and gojo’s were practically identical. both so devoid of life, that all she can bring herself to say is, “im sorry.”
what do you even say at a time like this? what do you say to someone who’s had their heart ripped apart again and again as they watch each of their friends die? for you and shoko, it’s happened four times now. four is too much. you can’t bring yourself to believe it anymore.
no. this isn’t real.
this isn’t happening right now.
you move for the first time in what seems like ages, and you place your hand in gojo’s open casket, tucking a stray pearl white strand behind his ear. you observe him for a minute. he looks so peaceful, now that he doesn’t have to worry about his infinity or constantly being on his guard anymore.
“shoko, i think he’s hungry.” you say, feeling the ice cold veins in your chest stilling.
your words catch shoko off guard. “huh?”
“he’s hungry,” you repeat simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. you look away from his body and turn to leave. “i’m going to go buy kikufuku for him.”
you suddenly remember all of the dates you’ve had with satoru, where you buy many sweets like kikufuku, but he always made sure to save you some. he’s known for his notorious sweet tooth—putting one too many sugar cubes in his drinks, but he’ll always share his sweets if it’s with you. even if it was kikufuku.
“it’s his favorite after all.”
you walk out of the funeral, leaving behind the confused and sympathetic looks of everyone there. shoko sighs at your reaction—she’ll let you go for now. everyone’s processing this in different ways, so she can’t blame you for how you’re dealing with satoru’s death. she’ll just hope you’ll learn to accept it soon.
on the way to get kikufuku, you spot a pet shop nearby. there’s a fish tank on display, and you notice that one of the tanks has a white betta fish inside. it’s the same shade as satoru’s hair, and you feel your feet moving on its own as you walk to the glass. you exhale with a shaky sob, placing a hand on it. i love you, satoru. i won’t say goodbye, though, cause i’ll be there eventually.
you make sure not to say “soon” because you knew that if you took your life with your own hands instead of letting fate choose your death, satoru would never let you hear the end of it. so you’ll keep living. you’ll keep living for yourself and satoru, even though you want to join them. every single day hurts and it also hurts to even breathe sometimes. though you know, somewhere out there, satoru and your friends are cheering you on with every step you take.
wait for me… okay?
the betta fish suddenly notices your presence, and swims up against the glass. so close, yet so far. you take that as satoru’s answer. it was like you could hear his voice directly speaking to you.
i’ll always wait for you, no matter how long it takes.
you smile for the first time today, even if it was barely a smile. you felt a familiar presence with you on the other side of that glass, even if it was just for a short moment, and it gave you what strength you had left to keep moving.
#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru#jjk#gojo angst#gojo satoru angst#gojo satoru comfort#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#jjk manga spoilers#jjk manga
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dilf!johnny cage > to heal
how it goes when reader dates older johnny following the loss of sonya
warnings: grief, age gap, mentions of sex but no smut written
notes: i want to gnaw on dilf johnny until he is nothing but bones. it is for that reason that this post is LONG. yappasaurus rex over here.
masterlist <3
•first of all mk11 was so bad at covering the grief of a man losing the mother of his child
•then again that also implicates that johnny is really, really good at hiding his emotions, especially around the people he's meant to be stoic around. i wouldn't necessarily cry in front of a thunder god or cryomancer either. and i'd try to keep it together for my kid.
•regardless, johnny falls into a deep, DEEP depression that eats away at him. he should have been there on that mission. he should've canceled that ninja mime shooting and spent one more day with his family before it was completely wrecked. and he'll tell himself this every time he looks at cassie's empty eyes. he stays sober, for her, but god does he wish he could just feel nothing sometimes.
•johnny stays smiles and jokes, but as soon as he closes the door to his sleeping quarters, all he can do is blankly stare ahead. damn him and his acting skills. he wants people to check up on him, but it's just so... hard to express his pain.
•some time passes and he considers himself recovered, but every time he sees his daughter excel in training or lips smile in the way sonya's did... god.
•imagine his surprise when his own daughter asks him to get back into the dating scene. cassie says something along the lines of "you're a sad old fart that needs a woman to get him off of the couch."
•cassie's right, unfortunately. johnny let his stubble grow in and hair grow increasingly wild. he didn't carry himself as well as he once did, which was especially worrying to those who saw him as the confident, sharp, charismatic character.
•johnny declines to his daughter, finding the conversation kind of off-putting. but, on a late tuesday, he decides "fuck it" and sets up a bumble profile while sitting on the classic leather dad recliner in the living room. the one thing he forgot to do? set an age range.
•so he's a little taken aback when a 29 year old you is the third person he swiped to. instinctively, he thought to swipe left on you, but curiosity got the better of him. he read your profile and realized you sounded incredibly mature and had the same interests as him. covering his mouth and holding his phone with the other, he swipes... right, feeling an immediate intense guilt.
•he doubted you'd match with him, but as soon as he swipes, a big "IT'S A MATCH!" covers his phone screen and he lets out an audible gasp, tightening his grip on his face. he then gets a twinge of embarrassment for himself. was he seriously flipping his shit over his first match on a mobile dating app? yes.
•johnny spends a good long while staring at the screen, wondering if you'd even message him. after all, men couldn't message first on the app. what if she thinks he's too old? what if it was an accidental swipe? what if...
•NEW MESSAGE! "hiii :)" johnny swallows, afraid to open the message. what would he say? what should he say? does bumble have read receipts? would you notice he opened your message and stared for several minutes?
•he settles on "hello, how are you?" it's been a while since he's had to genuinely flirt with interest, so he opens cordially. johnny was a charmer for sure, but this time he was playing for keeps, not just for fun. he also, unlike his younger version he met some time ago, wants to take his time.
•you two chat back and forth, and while you acknowledge to him that he is indeed a celebrity (and how hilariously stupid it was that he was on a public dating site), you express no real concern over it. you mention to him that you want to see him as a man and not a character. the deeper conversation of dealing with the spotlight could come another time, as johnny didn't want to scare you away.
•you two text for a lot longer than most matches on bumble. johnny's honestly terrified of meeting up in person. he wants to be so incredibly sure that it's you he wants to meet up with. he forgot to keep swiping, even. he was so fixated on getting to know you. he felt weird talking to multiple women on the app, since he was so used to married life.
•he can't bring himself to ask you on a real date, so you two settle on a friendly coffee chat. he shaves, gets a trim, and for the first time in a long time, stresses about wearing the right things. he even calls cassie and asks if he should wear shirt A or shirt B, but was very keen on redacting your age from the conversation. that was something he was afraid to disclose to her.
•what was this man so afraid of?? you are a SWEETHEART. you're so incredibly mature, have more "vintage" interests and asked so many questions, leaning in to listen. johnny didn't feel the need to perform, in fact, he found himself... with butterflies. he death-gripped his coffee to hide the fact that his fingers were trembling.
•one coffee chat turns into two, and then three, four, and eventually, he feels okay enough to plan a real date. his heart was swelling with excitement, a new warmth in his chest. you were so effortlessly patient and kind with him, never asking for anything of him besides his time.
•he plans a dinner date, squeezing you two into a lavish restaurant that he wouldn't have been able to get into if he wasn't a celebrity. he didn't want to overwhelm you with his money and fame, but god did he want to do this right. even though the topic of money was something you never thought to consider with him, he still wanted to show off at least a little bit. it's just in his character!
•there, he starts to come out of his shell a bit more. he starts flirting back, and you two hold hands across the table, intense eye contact as you converse freely.
•johnny takes a sip of his drink, looking down. but when he looks back up, he notices you admiring him with your sweet young eyes. and it's here that he realizes just how much you've revitalized him. he springs out of bed with a smile. you're the last thought in his mind before he falls asleep. when he is with cassie, he can't stop thinking about how much you two would get along.
��which, by the way, johnny is so incredibly sure to remind you that he has a daughter that's your age. you pause and think, trying to articulate your thoughts on the awkward circumstance.
•"i understand that it may be a little uncomfortable for her and the last thing i want is to drive a wedge between you and your daughter. you speak highly of her and i deeply admire that. i perfectly understand that she comes before me."
•johnny stops himself from tearing up. you're... just so kind. you're perfect.
•after the ninth date, he decides that he's ready to go back to your place. it's a quaint apartment, and it's there that you both make the conscious decision to have sex.
•it's slow and sweet, he's murmuring praises into your bare skin as he takes his time exploring a new body. older johnny takes his time with sex unlike his younger days. he needs to appreciate your beauty, complimenting every feature on your body. you're so divine.
•"such a pretty girl..." he whisper-groans above you, strong hands holding your hips in place with a passionate firmness.
•over the next couple months, he's still working toward officially calling you his girlfriend. a new partner in his life scares him, even if you make all of that tension disappear when you're around. it's just a lot to ask of a man to take that new step again.
•biting the bullet, he asks you at your doorstep holding a cheesily large bouquet, having to glance over it to get a proper look at you. you smile sweetly, nodding and immediately accepting in that gentle voice. you knew how much this meant to him to make things official.
•cassie eventually gets the chance to meet you, as her father brings you along to a holiday party with the family. it's... it's a little weird, she won't lie. i mean, it's just weird in general to see your dad with someone that isn't your mom. that's something that naturally needs time to adjust to. and your age isn't something she can avoid discussing.
•she doesn't hate you. she actually finds you quite enjoyable to be around! she's just a little uneasy that you're her age. but, after a long, long talk full of tears and reassuring words, cassie realizes she can learn to accept you being with her dad. i mean, she sees what you do to him.
•that sparkle in his puppy-dog brown eyes is back, and he just can't stop being engulfed by your presence. a hand is always on the small of your back, a grin always plastered on his face, and eyes are always locked onto you when you're doing the most mundane of tasks. he's chirpier, and people even joke that he seems as active as he was in his younger years. you got the old man's rusty gears turnin'!
•he loves you. he didn't realize he could do that again.
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MASSIVE rotb spoilers ahead but can i just say. the emotions they let optimus feel for once really sold this movie for me.
optimus' anger after what happened to bumblebee, the way he just picked up something and chucked it, is what i want to see from him when he's angry. because there wasn't just pure fury, there wasn't murderous intent, there wasn't "oh they're just really angering me now", no. there was agony. there was grief and pain. there was so much pain in his reaction.
they really let him feel his emotions, let optimus feel his pain, in this movie and i really loved seeing that side of him. he was vulnerable, he made mistakes, he was selfish, he was flawed most of all, and had the weight of the world on his shoulders. he just wanted to do what was right, and bumblebee's death broke him in that moment. he began blaming himself for everything, he took on more of that pain and they let him feel it. they let him learn to navigate it. they let the team know he was suffering with it too; this wasn't something he bottled up and hid from them
it was made VERY apparent that optimus was crumbling under that kind of pressure for a very brief moment. but he had to be strong. for his people, humans, for himself and for bee. but they didn't keep him from experiencing his emotions. but because of needing to be strong, because of trying to be better for his team while in this torrent of emotions, he was not the leader he was meant to be for a bit and that's okay. they really showed he's a person too, complete with his own feelings and relationships. and that those things DO affect his judgment, contrary to what the high standards set against him say.
and after everything, after losing and winning everything all at once, he still put on a smile. because you can be a person with emotions while being the strong leader others need you to be, and i think that was his true arc in this movie. it was more than just "i'm worried about my home" to "i'm worried about my new home", it was so so much more. it was going from "to be strong is to be imposing" to "to be strong is to be gentle"
and this is exactly where age of extinction (and even dark of the moon) went wrong, when optimus discovered ratchet had been killed — by his former allies no less. his extreme reaction was understandable but it lacked that certain compassion that is unequivocally our optimus. or when sentinel betrayed the autobots, betrayed him, and killed ironhide, he didn't show much of that grief/betrayal/sadness that was barely present. he was just. angry.
so i think rotb really set us up for something great. yes, we do get silly goofy prime who isn't as stoic in other things, but we don't often get an optimus who really feels. because they don't let him. some toxic masculinity thing, y'know. and i'm really happy we're moving past that
ngl, it took me several hours to process this movie so to have me tearing up a little bit at the prospect of optimus in visible emotional pain means a lot. it means a job well done. i'm really excited to get to see this movie again sometime
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would it be enough if I could never give you peace?
Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, Established Relationship, ASHWAH Universe
Summary: You settle into your relationship with Joel, but struggle with the anxiety of possibly losing him one day.
Warnings: Themes of Anxiety and Grief, Description of a Panic Attack, Angst from PTSD/Loss. Hurt/Comfort. Talking about emotions/fears. Very brief mention of sex. Some things can be read as foreshadowing for Part 2 (it's not canon in ASHWAH universe, but can be interpreted that way)
Wordcount: 3.6k
A/N: Been struggling with writing lately, so I ended up going back to my roots and writing some more for ASHWAH. This was a little thought experiment on how Reader would adjust to a relationship and reveal some of her anxiety around it, along with a bit of Joel's. I may end up writing a companion piece of Joel's anxieties from his POV.
When you knew you were in love with Joel Miller, the three words falling softly from his lips and pulling them from your own in a confession you hadn’t consciously realized you felt until that moment, you wondered how you hadn’t known before.
There was some part of you, something resting deep in your soul, that knew you loved him all along. There were a few times where you think you realized it—after Thanksgiving on that rainy street, during the holiday party when you opened the gift hand carved by him and caught his gaze from across the room—but another part of you, the girl who was still so unsure and afraid of anything resembling that kind of love, kept you from fully acknowledging it.
Still, there had been no ounce of hesitation when you repeated his affection back to him with your own that first time when lying in bed, and that whole morning where you laid in each other’s arms and dreamed up another life together was a memory that quickly became one of your most cherished moments.
You didn’t profess your love for each other at every waking moment. Most of the time, you didn’t say it at all, instead letting it speak for itself in the way you moved around each other, the way you touched each other, casual as much as intimate, with such a comfortable ease that said everything you ever needed to know.
Those moments where you did repeat the three words to each other were still some of your favorites, though. They came so naturally, murmured against each other’s lips in the heat of a passionate embrace, Joel’s rough voice mumbling it against your ear after he stole a kiss from you while out shopping in Jackson’s markets—one of his favorite activities, for some reason, though you couldn’t quite understand the joy he tried to conceal for those painfully domestic moments in your lives—or your whisper of it as you kissed his cheek before he left for an early morning patrol.
“Come back to me safe,” you’d sometimes add on those mornings, the quiet plea pulling Joel right back to you from where he had moved towards the front door, dropping his backpack to be forgotten momentarily on the ground before he pulled you into his arms for a deep kiss full of all the emotions you both had fought so hard to accept and nurture for each other.
“Oh, mi luna,” Joel would whisper against your lips as he kissed them again and again, unable to resist giving you one more peck even as you pushed him gently away so he wouldn’t keep Tommy waiting at Jackson’s gates. “Always.”
Those were the days where you felt the most anxious. Even though you knew Joel’s near unrivaled skill in combat and survival, having seen it firsthand more than once, you couldn’t help the doubts and fears that crept into the back of your mind if he was just the slightest bit late.
Most the time you managed to contain your pacing to the house you now shared with him, wearing a hole in the floorboards in front of the front door until it opened, and you’d spin around, feeling all the anxiety flood from your body as you saw his tired face from a long day of hard work, relaxing in the same moment he did when you saw each other.
But if Joel was just the slightest bit late, you’d be out the door, walking down the streets until you were pacing in front of the gates, waiting with increasing panicked breaths until the gates were open. Your entire body would tense as you hoped you wouldn’t see one of the Miller brothers walking in alone, then relaxing when you saw them both ride in on their horses each time.
“Hey,” Joel said quietly as he brought his stallion to a stop, quickly demounting it to move towards you when he saw the look on your face that first time you were waiting at the gates. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing,” you sighed, shaking your head to try and rid him of his own worry, something you failed in and felt guilty for as he cupped your face in his gloved hands.
Tommy would pat you gently on the shoulder before taking his and Joel’s horses back to the stables those days, letting Joel wrap his arm around your shoulder to take you back home.
The very first time you had waited for them like that, your best friend had teased you about it, saying something along the lines of you never having waited like that for just him.
But when he got a closer look at your face, any jokes quickly stopped, understanding exactly what drove your fear even as you tried to ignore the cause, as much as it lingered subconsciously in the back of your mind.
A suicide mission you had begged her not to go on. Days going by with no word from them. Pacing at the entrance to the camp when you caught wind of a radio call that they were returning. Seeing Eugene walk in without her. Without her. Without her.
Some of those nights, you’d wake up struggling to breathe from the nightmares that plagued you, trying to quiet your whimpering not to wake Joel as you curled in on yourself on your side of the bed.
But every time, it was like something woke him up, some deeper part of him knowing that you needed him in those moments, even if you still wouldn’t admit it.
You’d be tangled in the sheets, hand pressed firmly to your chest as you tried to calm your racing heart, only able to relax when you felt the familiarity of Joel’s strong arms snake around you gently and pull you back into his broad chest.
“Don’t let go,” your voice would rasp out into the darkness of your shared bedroom, grabbing his hands where they held you tighter, breathing easier when you felt his lips press to your shoulder. “Please, don’t let go.”
“I’m not letting go,” Joel would always murmur back, voice raspy with sleep, but completely in the moment with you, here to keep you grounded in a way so effortless compared to your struggles to do so by yourself. “I’m with you. For as long as you’ll have me.”
Tommy was right with his comments about you waiting for Joel on those long patrol days, even if it was just teasing. Even though the younger Miller brother was your closest friend, you had never felt this anxious over his patrols, or anybody’s—not even Joel’s, not until your love had been confessed out loud to each other.
There was something so painfully vulnerable about what you had with Joel, opening up to him slowly over time until every part of your soul was bare to him, intertwining with him completely until you couldn’t bear the thought of anything ripping him away. Not like how it had happened to you once before.
You had hardly been able to pull yourself back together that time, and you didn’t think you could ever manage to do it again if you lost him too.
But on those nights after long patrols, the ones where your body didn’t succumb to its anxiety, you found yourself having some of your favorite conversations with Joel. Most of the time, you were both too tired to have sex—except for maybe a self-indulgent quickie or mutually getting yourselves off—but instead you both laid comfortably in each other’s arms, heads resting on the same pillow as you talked.
One such night, you hardly even realized as a question you began to mull over slipped past your lips until you heard yourself say, “Were you ever in love before?”
As soon as the last few words fell from your mouth, you froze, feeling Joel’s body stiffen from where his arms were wrapped around you, both of you realizing what you had just said aloud at exactly the same moment.
You coughed, lifting your free hand to cover your mouth, an attempt to try and cover up how horrified you were at the random, blunt question you had asked.
“I—fuck, sorry,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks flush as you worried you were prying too much. Even as you had started to open up to each other in as many ways as you could discover, this hadn’t been a topic you had broached yet. “That was fucking weird. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes.”
The simple, one word confirmation brought your face back up, blinking in surprise at Joel
His face wasn’t entirely closed off, but it was pensive; strong brows furrowed to show he was deep in thought, pronouncing the wrinkles on his forehead. You felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to reach up and smooth them out with your fingers, to ease the tension your own words had caused in him.
“Or, I thought I was,” he added in a mumble, eyes focusing in on the scar on your cheek, reaching a hand up to stroke his thumb over it in his usual habit he fell into whenever he wanted to remind himself that you were with him. “It…”
Joel glanced back towards your eyes then, his eyes flickering over your face.
“It felt like it at the time, at least,” he finally said, thumb stroking your scar again.
But his grip around you now was still stiff, still awkward, so you shifted closer to him, pressing your lips to the beard he had grown as much as he could on his jaw, still charmingly patchy in places, before pulling back to look into his eyes, showing you were nothing but open ears for whatever he had to say.
“Oh?” you asked lightly, arching your brows before starting to wiggle them suggestively. “Was there a Mrs. Miller in the picture at some point, then?”
Joel huffed out a quiet laugh at your words, his brow smoothing out as he glanced over your face, and you felt that same flutter of emotion, that same surge of love you only ever had for him, unable to help but smile when his arm around your waist loosened from a firm, awkward grip to something more natural again.
“There was,” he confirmed quietly, and your eyes widened briefly in surprise at the gentle answer before you softened again once you saw the conflict in Joel’s eyes. “Didn’t last long, though.”
Your head tilted, watching as unnamed emotions surged in Joel’s gaze before settling into something somber, something melancholic.
“What happened?” you asked, keeping your voice just as quiet as his, afraid you would shatter the vulnerability of the moment and have to deal with Joel’s walls rebuilding. It didn’t happen that often anymore, but old habits were hard to shake at the worst times.
But as Joel answered your question, you suddenly realized that he had been keeping those walls down just around you, for you, for a while now, “We were young. Far too young. But she was pregnant, and…”
You watched Joel struggle for the words as he shifted his gaze from your scar to your eyes, then back again, as if he was looking at options for what to say, turning them over in his mind before he settled on, “Getting married seemed like the right thing to do. I wasn’t going to be a deadbeat like my own old man.”
Slowly, you began to realize that you were addicted to this side of him—the Joel that opened up to you, telling you things that he may have not said aloud to anybody in years, if at all.
“I quickly learned it wasn’t what she wanted,” Joel huffed out quietly, his face pinching into a pained expression for a moment before it quickly cleared, but that brow was still furrowed, still enhancing every line of age and weariness on his face that you had grown to be so fond of. “She wasn’t ready for marriage, or kids. When she wanted to leave, I didn’t stop her.”
Subconsciously, your free hand lifted to smooth your fingers across the deep furrow in his brow, thumb stroking the wrinkles there.
When the furrow of his brow finally smoothed out, and Joel glanced back at you with a small, hesitant smile, his thumb stroking along your hip, you melted back into him with relief that he wasn’t regretting letting you in on this little-known fact of his long, tumultuous life.
You wanted to know every crack and chip in Joel’s carefully constructed armor, to feel them underneath your fingers as you ran them over the hidden crevices of his life, knowing the parts of his soul so surely until you couldn’t distinguish them from your own.
“What about you?”
You froze up, blinking in surprise as Joel’s returned question sent nerves ricocheting through you, and you quickly looked away.
“Uh,” you hesitated, clearing your throat as you forced yourself to remove yourself from the present and think back through your life.
When Joel’s thumb stroked along your hip again, his hand squeezing you gently, in a gesture to reassure you that saying nothing was always okay, you found yourself saying, “No.”
“You haven't?” Joel murmured, and you laughed gently at the surprise in his voice at your confession.
“No, not really,” you finally whispered, still not meeting Joel’s gaze as you thought back through your childhood, your time in Seattle up to the whirlwind days with the Fireflies, and then to Jackson. “I mean…maybe I…”
You sighed, forcing yourself to pull your gaze up and finally meet Joel’s eyes.
And when you saw that they were nothing but open and understanding and devastatingly warm, a soft breath was pulled from your lungs, as if just the sight of him looking at you in such a way made you fall even more in love with him.
“So there was someone?” Joel finally asked gently, picking up on what you had left unsaid, his eyes moving over your face, lingering on the scar on your cheek before meeting your gaze again.
You shrugged, suddenly feeling frustratingly shy at the topic of a matter that was so utterly foreign to you, even as you were the one who had brought it up.
Combat? You could do combat, having learned how to fight even before the world went to shit at your father’s urging.
Sex? Oh, you could do sex. It was a familiar coping mechanism, a way to escape the cruel, harsh truths of existence, if only for a little bit.
But feelings?
Emotions?
Love?
Yes, you loved Joel, and you were comfortable telling him now, on more than one occasion. But you had never really talked about love as a whole this much, with anybody, and it frustrated you how out of your depth you still were in it.
But the way that Joel was looking at you now, like he knew what you didn’t, like he knew you—and you knew without a doubt that he did, better than you knew yourself even…it was comforting.
“Maybe,” you finally relinquished, shrugging a shoulder as you gazed up at his face. “I had a…friend.”
Another sigh pulled from your lips as you gently bit your bottom lip, shaking your head again, more to yourself as you thought back to your youth.
“In Seattle,” you elaborated, struggling to get yourself to relive those feelings, let alone admit them. “It was just a stupid crush. Nothing ever came from it.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Joel broke it by almost teasing in a gentle way, “There’s a but in there somewhere.”
You laughed, feeling a sense of relief at his rare show of humor that you cherished every glimpse of, unable to suppress the warmth it made you feel whenever you heard it.
“I don’t know,” you sighed, tilting your head back to glance over his face before looking away. “I guess…sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had stayed. Maybe…”
Trailing off again, you struggled to find the words, until Joel seemingly pulled them right from the deep subconscious part of your mind, or perhaps the buried longing in your heart, “Maybe you could have.”
Your face turned back to him, surprised eyes meeting those of complete understanding, and you softened.
“Yeah,” you murmured, giving a small nod as you watched him watch you.
“I had somebody like that,” he admitted, a frown pulling onto his face as you watched his eyes shift into an even more somber look than when he had been talking about his wife. In fact, it was almost…
“Back in the Boston QZ,” Joel continued, eyes darting away, and your lips parted in a silent breath that was pulled from you as you realized, oh.
Mournful.
His look was one of grief.
Your thumb stroked along his cheekbone, and Joel answered by stroking his own thumb along your hip, his grip tightening on you a fraction before he began to speak about this love lost, “We worked together for years. She was a…companion, I guess. A partner.”
The words sent some kind of nostalgic feeling through you, a memory dangling in the back of your subconscious.
I made a promise to someone.
Joel’s dark expression from then appeared in your mind, followed by your own words that had answered his quiet admission, and then his almost pained confirmation.
Must’ve been someone important, to do that for them.
Yeah.
When you remembered it, you found yourself saying softly, “She’s the one who wanted you to take Ellie, wasn’t she?”
Joel nodded slowly, not seeming surprised in the slightest that you had remembered your discussion in the nursery from so long ago.
“Yeah, Tess,” he said quietly, his voice almost choking on the name, and he cleared his throat as he turned his gaze away from you. “She was…”
You watched as Joel turned onto his back, and you gazed at his side profile, trying to find a pattern in the way his hair curled above his neck as you heard him mutter in a voice that was rough, nearly strangled with grief, “Fuck, she was better than me. She deserved so much more, and I couldn’t give it to her. I…”
Tears began to blur your vision as you heard him whisper almost more to himself than you, “I wasn’t enough.”
He sucked in a breath then, and your heart broke at the way you could hear it shake, your hands reaching out to hold him close, burying your face into his chest as his arms wrapped around you by reflex when he felt your embrace.
“Think that’s what I’m most afraid of, darlin’,” he whispered, and you squeezed your eyes shut at the weight of the somber revelation, feeling a few stray tears fall down your cheeks. “Not being enough. Never being enough.”
For a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to say anything else as silence filled your room, but when he mumbled again, you pulled yourself up to look at the man who you knew was the love of your life—maybe every life you ever had, and would have.
“What are you afraid of?”
You took another deep breath, wishing that you didn’t have to answer. Wishing that you could just fade into him, without ever having to leave this moment.
But after all this time, Joel deserved an answer. You knew he did.
And so you steeled yourself, treating it as casually as talking about the weather, even as your voice shook as you whispered one simple word.
“Loss.”
Joel froze, his body stiffening underneath where your chest rested against his. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the world even as you continued, “I’ve lost so much, I can’t—I can’t…”
He didn’t say anything then, even as his body relaxed again, because he knew.
You knew, you both knew, that loss was everywhere. You had both lost so much already.
No, not just so much, but everything. You had both fucking lost everything.
There were no promises you could make, no vows that would erase the ever-haunting possibility that somebody might not come home at the end of the day.
In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but marvel at what a pair you were.
Here you were, afraid of losing a peace that could never really be yours to lose in the first place.
And Joel, afraid that he wasn’t enough to…
To what, exactly?
Not enough to protect those he vowed to himself to keep alive?
Not enough to make those he cared about happy?
Not enough for you to give up on the false hope of ever finding peace?
“Is it enough?” the three words falling from Joel’s lips made your eyes reopen, gazing down at the tired lines of his face, pinched in a way that told you he was holding back a wave of emotions, your throat choking up at the sight of your strong, steadfast love so shattered by his own grief. “If…”
You exhaled heavily, nodding before you could even find the words.
Because despite the fears that held you captive awake or asleep, you knew Joel. You knew your love for him, his love for you, and even if there was a day to come where one of you would be left without it…
“It’s enough,” you whispered, tears falling down your face to mix with his as you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, one that assured him of what you both needed to know. For however long you had him, however long you could love him…
It was enough.
taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @dinsdjrn @cupofjoel @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @cynibuns
#joel miller x reader#joel x reader#joel x f!reader#joel x female reader#joel miller hurt/comfort#joel miller angst#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller series#joel miller drabble#a stranger's heart series
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HURT / COMFORT STATEMENTS THAT HIT ME RIGHT IN THE FEELS
pardon me please, i'm just having a moment. possible tw for suicidal ideation and references to death and loss. bonus points for specifying a scenario!
from those who are struggling. ❝ i never thought i'd ever make it this far. ❞ ❝ ... when were you going to tell me about this? ❞ ❝ i don't ever want you to die. please ... don't die ... ❞ ❝ we had our whole lives planned out. ❞ ❝ i just can't, it's too much. it's too fucking much. ❞ ❝ losing him/her/them was the cruelest thing i've ever experienced. ❞ ❝ people say things like, 'you're going green with envy', or 'there's smoke coming out of your ears'. you think they'd come up with a statement like that that describes someone who's in constant pain like this ... ? ❞ ❝ sometimes you need to make room for grief. make time for it. embrace it. it's all i've been doing as of late. ❞ ❝ how is it possible to hurt this much when nothing's wrong? ❞ ❝ drowning in sadness is more fulfilling than drowning in pleasure these days. ❞ ❝ it's hard to let go of the fact that i'm probably going to outlive everyone else in my life. ❞ ❝ i've already lost everything near and dear to my heart. everything except for you. ❞ ❝ i'm just so tired. i just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. ❞ ❝ i was so close to giving up once. ❞ ❝ i don't want him/her/them to die alone. i'd never forgive myself. ❞ ❝ please, don't go ... i just need to feel your arms around me ... ❞ ❝ there's a reason why i hide my emotions locked in a metal cage so deep in my heart. it's so i won't get hurt like this again. ❞ ❝ i've always had to deal with these kinds of things alone. i don't need your help. ❞ ❝ it was my fault. i did this to him/her/them ... ❞ ❝ i can't even see my future anymore. i don't want to. ❞ ❝ there's no way i could possibly be this important to you. ❞ ❝ if i lose him/her/them, then there'll be nothing else for me to live for. ❞ ❝ i don't see a point anymore. in going on, i mean. ❞ ❝ time won't slow down. it never does. i had to learn that the hard way early on. ❞ ❝ go away ... please, just go away. ❞
from those offering support. ❝ ... i'm sorry. i'm so, so fucking sorry that you had to lose him/her/them. ❞ ❝ it wasn't your fault. you did everything you could. ❞ ❝ just remember they'll always be in your heart. ❞ ❝ i don't know what to say to make you feel better, but ... i'm here for you, if that means anything. ❞ ❝ believe it or not ... i know how you feel. i've been through this exact same thing. ❞ ❝ he/she/they loved you. he/she/they loved you so much. trust me ... i know. ❞ ❝ you're not alone. i promise you, you're not alone. ❞ ❝ don't worry, i'll stay. i'm not going anywhere. ❞ ❝ you've been through so much ... be kind to yourself. please. ❞ ❝ it's okay to cry. you don't have to hide your emotions around me. ❞ ❝ you don't have to talk to me. hell, you don't even have to look at me. but, please ... give me a sign that you're hearing what i have to say. ❞ ❝ please ... don't tell me that you'd choose to spend eternity up there with him/her/them over an eternity with me ... ❞ ❝ you're grieving. it's an understandable reaction. but you should rest. you've been overexerting yourself far too much lately. ❞ ❝ the man/woman/person who you lost, who loved you ... he/she/they wouldn't want to see you doing this to yourself. ❞ ❝ crying is your body's way of telling you that you've been keeping everything in for way too long. so let it out. you're safe here. ❞ ❝ sadness is like an ocean. sometimes we drown in it, but other times, we're forced to swim in it. ❞ ❝ as long as i'm here, you'll never not have anyone ever again. ❞ ❝ i hope you know that you can talk to me about anything at all. share anything you need to get off your chest. i'm here for you. ❞ ❝ love is often felt the most in your favorite memories. honor him/her/them by remembering all the happiness he/she/they gave you. ❞ ❝ if you don't feel strong right now, then you don't have to be strong. it's okay to be vulnerable, weak, scared, and sad. ❞
#rp ask memes#rp ask meme#rp memes#rp meme#rp starters#rp starter#ask meme#ask memes#angst prompt#angst prompts#angst meme#angst memes#tw: suicidal ideation#tw: sui ideation#tw: implied death#tw: death#angst#memes#mine#ask to tag#200
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Grief, Pt. 2
I have a thread on Twitter talking about Astarion's grief that I will bring over here eventually, but it's something I thought of again while trying a new path last night.
I'm halfway through Act 3 with Val and I decided to see what would happen if I didn't take Astarion to Cazador's (I've done this quest like 8 times so I'm just doing separate saves to try things out).
It's a pretty rough path to go because Astarion is understandably upset. You robbed him of his choice to ascend or not, and his story is all about lack of free will (he and his siblings are enslaved after all), among several other things.
But if he doesn't break up with you, he tells you that Cazador held up a lot of space in his life and now he feels empty.
The quote before this is that Astarion thinks he would have felt differently if he had killed Cazador himself, but even if you take him with you, he says he feels numb and empty (said here if you defeat Cazador before dealing with Lorroakan).
Several characters in the game have this in common like Dame Aylin, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Wyll, who are all in different stages of mourning a loss. Losing a future. Losing family. Losing freedom.
Grief can be a non-linear process and not the same for everyone. The five stages often quoted are never in a straight line like you would think. You might feel angry right away and hold that for so long that you cycle through everything else later.
Astarion is angry for a lot of the game in part because he's grieving; he was young and then enslaved for centuries with nothing to call his own. He has lost everything including his sense of self, something he will have to rebuild over again after the ending of his quest, The Pale Elf. How he does that is up to you, but with Cazador gone, it's no wonder he feels lost after two centuries.
Lastly, and I find this interesting, is the conversation that Tav/Durge can have when about to kill Cazador (again, if you decide not to take Astarion).
I think that all the evidence you encounter in the palace and in the dungeon isn't there to make you feel bad for Cazador (I mean, you could but you'd be a better person than me LOL). The purpose of Vellioth's lessons and this particular dialogue, etc. is to foreshadow Astarion's potential transformation into the Vampire Ascendant.
Ascended Astarion is a new kind of vampire, yes, but he's still a full vampire. He's not 100% outside of the mentality that full vampires have. For instance, when he first tells you about Cazador in Act 1, he says that vampires are scheming and power-hungry beasts.
This is evidenced by things you find in Cazador's Palace including the fact that he was hosting a final "feast" before the ascension ritual where he was gathering information (pretty sure this person said they worked at the Counting House).
Ascended Astarion is doing something similar in the epilogue when he tells you to bring any secrets right back to him - he's scheming and biding his time just like Cazador.
While we don't know exactly is going through Astarion's mind when he ascends, I sometimes wonder if there is a layer of him trapped like Cazador. I've argued in another thread that I don't think Ascended Astarion will fully deal with his past the way Spawn Astarion has to in order to move on, but maybe I'll re-post that or revise that for another time.
Anyway, while this path is interesting for lore reasons if you really love Astarion, it does feel hollow and anti-climatic because there's a lot of emotional payoff in the final confrontation.
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You know what really gets me about Eleven’s run? Is that it starts off with an amazing thesis statement in the Beast Below which I think sums up the Doctor as a character more than any other line ever has. "What if you were really old, and really kind, and the last of your kind?...All of that pain and misery and loneliness, and it just made it kind."
Yes, sometimes the Doctor needs to be reminded of that fact, as when Amy has Liz 10 hit the abdication button, but the Doctor is kind. He is the man that cheered that "just this once, everyone lives" and was a "coward not killer anyday" and flung away a gun and even after the Time Lord Victorious arc, died to save a single man from dying from radiation. The Doctor and his companions bring out the worst in each other, yes, but they also bring out the best.
And then comes along The Girl Who Waited and the God Complex, which are just an extension of Let's Kill Hitler and eventually Angels Take Manhattan, which are all about how the Doctor takes people as companions because he needs someone to worship him, that he can't bear to see them age and would rather see them young and beautiful, that he is vain, that he is cruel, that he is a god, and I get that interpretation but at the end of the day, the Doctor has never been about vanity or worship or needing someone to keep him in check.
Because yes, companions have reminded him the importance of being kind as part of what is "necessary." The importance of having hope. But it's just that: a reminder. The Doctor is unlike the Master and unlike the rest of the Time Lords because he is compassionate. Because he hates to see children cry. Because he is a coward who is nonetheless brave enough to keep caring, over and over again, no matter how many people die in front of him, no matter how many times he loses those he loves, because the Doctor is a love story as much as it is a ghost story at the end of the day.
And it kills me that the main themes/character arcs of Eleven’s era boil down the Doctor to someone who is not that. Someone who, as the Power of Three ending/Angels Take Manhattan imply, had to have the Ponds to keep him in check. That he could not let them go, could not respect them and their choices like Ten did with Martha. That an entire religion formed itself, kidnapping a child and making her into an assassin, just to stop him from ruining the universe, because he is a god more than a man. That he is a god just like the minotaur, feeding off of people's faith in him, taking children and companions so that he can be nourished, so that he can feel important.
Because even at the Doctor's worst in the Time Lord Victorious Arc, it has never been about worship. It was about grief and loss and love and compassion, because the Doctor has two hearts because he has too much love to fill just one, because that is the kind of person that the Doctor is.
All of that pain and misery and loneliness, and it just made him kind.
#eleventh doctor#angels take manhattan#god complex#the power of three#amy pond#meta#tenth doctor#ninth doctor#doctor who#Doctor Who has always been my franchise of choice because it is about KINDNESS#this is a ghost story and it is a love story#about a lonely man (or woman) who loves too much that they are always condemned to pick up more ghosts#and they carry those ghosts forever#but being haunted makes them kind#the fear keeps them kind#river song#the beast below#you know i think the beast below might be the best amy & eleven episode there is
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asoiaf: a feast for crows starters
❝ i’m sorry that i never trusted you. i don’t know how to do that any more. ❞ ❝ you make it difficult for a man to swallow his anger. ❞ ❝ history is a wheel, for the nature of man is fundamentally unchanging. what has happened before will perforce happen again. ❞ ❝ the worst isn't done. the worst is just beginning, and there are no happy endings. ❞ ❝ words are like arrows. once loosed, you cannot call them back. ❞ ❝ you are a lioness, and it is for all the lesser beasts to fear you. ❞ ❝ anger is better than tears, better than grief, better than guilt. ❞ ❝ kind? how boring that would be. i aspire to be wicked. ❞ ❝ sometimes there is no happy choice, only one less grievous than the others. ❞ ❝ when i make a jest i smile. do you see me smiling? do you hear laughter? ❞ ❝ beauty can sometimes mask deadly danger. ❞ ❝ i know what a burden you bear. you should let me share the load. ❞ ❝ you would be wise to not take me lightly...and wiser still not to make of me a foe. ❞ ❝ i need to sleep, but fear to dream. ❞ ❝ i do not doubt that kindness and mercy and forgiveness can still be found somewhere in this kingdom, but do not look for them here. ❞ ❝ no fight is hopeless till it has been fought. ❞ ❝ open your eyes and look about you. the kingdom is in ruins. ❞ ❝ my hand is hungry for a sword. i need to kill someone. ❞ ❝ it does no good to speak of roads not taken. ❞ ❝ i begin to think that all your words of love were lies. ❞ ❝ i pray that i never offend you. you are terrible when roused. ❞ ❝ a sweet face oft hides a sinner’s heart. ❞ ❝ when i am with you, i...i can scarcely think. you are all i ever dreamt of. ❞ ❝ i used to be someone, but now i’m not. ❞ ❝ suffering is everywhere...and grief and death. ❞ ❝ you ought to be pleading for my forgiveness rather than seeking to provoke me further. ❞ ❝ i have been here the whole time, waiting for you to come to me. ❞ ❝ no one who wears a crown is ever safe. ❞ ❝ i have touched more men that i can count. some with my lips, more with my axe. ❞ ❝ i love you too, but you’re a fool. a beautiful golden fool. ❞ ❝ i have been despised by better men than you. ❞ ❝ i never wanted to see half the things i've seen, and i've never seen half the things i wanted to. ❞ ❝ that man is as useless as nipples on a breastplate. ❞ ❝ sometimes there is no happy choice. only one less grievous than the others. ❞ ❝ most have been forgotten. most deserve to be forgotten. ❞ ❝ heroes will always be remembered. the best. the best and the worst. and a few who were a bit of both. ❞ ❝ we all dream of things we cannot have. ❞ ❝ i do not know who we are, if truth be told, nor where we might be going. i only know the road is dark. ❞ ❝ you lie. worse, you lie poorly. ❞ ❝ do you even know what honor is? ❞ ❝ this is not real. this is another bad dream, and soon i’ll wake. ❞ ❝ the rain feels good against my face. it feels like tears. ❞ ❝ i need you as i have never needed you before. ❞ ❝ there is no shame in being afraid, only in showing your fear. ❞ ❝ it is a good thing that i thrive on chaos. ❞ ❝ the times grow ever more interesting, and when the times are interesting you can never have too many swords. ❞ ❝ curses are only in songs and stories. ❞ ❝ you will forgive me if i am suspicious, but the times are troubled. ❞ ❝ fear cuts deeper than swords. ❞ ❝ be grateful that i have more honor than some. ❞ ❝ you do turn a pretty shade of pink when you blush. ❞ ❝ you would do well to ride with me. the roads are perilous. ❞ ❝ some doors are best left closed. ❞ ❝ it does no good to speak of things no man can change. ❞ ❝ why won’t they leave us be? we never did them any harm. ❞ ❝ i cannot die yet. there is something i still need to do. ❞ ❝ it’s time you told me the rest of your plan, don’t you think? ❞ ❝ every man should lose a battle in his youth, so he does not lose a war when he is old. ❞ ❝ words are wind. they cannot hurt you. let them wash over you. ❞ ❝ you are not the only one with wounds. ❞ ❝ when the cold wind blows the lone wolf dies and the pack survives. ❞ ❝ i will teach them what it means to put a lion in a cage. ❞ ❝ better to mock the game than to play and lose. ❞ ❝ knowledge is a weapon. ❞ ❝ you know me. if you want sweet words, look elsewhere. ❞ ❝ you reckless fool. what do you think you’re doing? ❞ ❝ you’ll be safe here. no one will know where you are but me. ❞ ❝ sorcery comes at a cost. ❞ ❝ i have never taken kindly to chastisement, as any number of dead men could tell you. ❞ ❝ so you’re brave as well as beautiful. ❞ ❝ this will cause more trouble than you know, i fear. ❞ ❝ will you throw your life away for pride? ❞ ❝ the crows will feast upon us all if you go on this way. ❞ ❝ our time together is at an end, i fear. ❞ ❝ spare me your japes, i have no taste for them. ❞ ❝ war makes monsters of us all. ❞ ❝ you cannot eat love, nor buy a horse with it, nor warm your halls on a cold night. ❞ ❝ i have a hole where my heart should be. ❞ ❝ i thank you, but i have no need of your protection. ❞ ❝ trust is earned. like gold. ❞ ❝ a lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. ❞ ❝ far be it from me to question the word of such an honorable person. ❞ ❝ i will bring the head of any man who would betray you. ❞ ❝ noble words, but words are easy. deeds are hard. ❞ ❝ my father is very good at doing nothing. he calls it thinking. ❞ ❝ if you do not go, i will spend the rest of my life wondering what might have happened if i had. ❞ ❝ the sea is never weary. i must be as tireless. ❞ ❝ it’s strength that’s needed here, not chivalry. ❞ ❝ i did not come to you for comfort. ❞ ❝ you see the wonders that can be worked with lies and gold? ❞ ❝ an age of wonder and terror will soon be upon us, an age for gods and heroes. ❞ ❝ a ruler gets no rest. ❞ ❝ if you share your plans with no one, no one can betray you. ❞ ❝ i have a confession. ours was no chance encounter. ❞ ❝ you have your mother’s eyes. honest eyes, and innocent. ❞ ❝ am i still a thief if i put it back and no one ever knows? ❞ ❝ i am weak and full of sin, and scorn is more than i deserve. ❞ ❝ when have i provoked any man...unduly? ❞ ❝ i have never met a man i didn’t provoke, you should know that well enough by now. ❞ ❝ that’s a cold suspicious look if i ever saw one. ❞ ❝ you’ve faced more things this past year than most men face in a lifetime. ❞ ❝ there is a difference between fear and caution. ❞ ❝ it is my look they will flinch from, my frown they must fear. ❞ ❝ you have been disappointing me for years. ❞ ❝ why? tell me that. tell me why. ❞ ❝ i am surrounded by enemies and imbeciles. ❞ ❝ go back. turn away. there is nothing here for you. ❞ ❝ you would do well to omit ‘must’ from any speech directed at me. ❞ ❝ a bad dream. did i scream? i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ i will not be afraid. i will not let them see my fear. ❞ ❝ you will never know how sick it makes me to see you. you will never know how much i despise you. ❞ ❝ i have seen terrible things in my time. ❞ ❝ only a fool makes threats he’s not prepared to carry out. ❞ ❝ stay with me. i do not want to sleep alone. ❞ ❝ sometimes it is best to study a game before you attempt to play it. ❞ ❝ why, do what you always do. do nothing. ❞ ❝ no man ever truly knows what he can do unless he dares to leap. ❞ ❝ what you meant does not matter. only what you did. ❞ ❝ is there any more that you would care to tell me? ❞ ❝ i can’t command you to be brave, but i can command you to hide your fears. ❞ ❝ tell me something useful. tell me of our enemy. ❞ ❝ go away. you are not welcome here. ❞ ❝ these are such fearful times. some nights i can hardly sleep, for fear. ❞ ❝ some wounds do not show. ❞ ❝ i have never looked upon you as a rival, even for a moment. ❞ ❝ go home. you have a home, which is more than many can say in these dark days. ❞ ❝ play me for a fool, and you will die screaming. you are aware of that, i trust? ❞ ❝ you must be more dangerous than you look. ❞ ❝ tell me. i want to know all of it, from the beginning to the end. ❞ ❝ i see you are as lovely as the tales. ❞ ❝ your hands are shaking. they would rather be caressing me, i think. ❞ ❝ dry those tears. have you ever seen a lion weep? ❞ ❝ come! come kill me, if you can. ❞ ❝ i never knew what love could be, yet now...i am afraid. ❞ ❝ the enemy of my enemy is my friend. ❞ ❝ young men are overbold, and think only of the glory of battle and never of its dangers. ❞ ❝ you are weary and sick of heart, that’s plain to see. ❞ ❝ some doors are best left closed. ❞ ❝ the world is full of horrors. you can fight them, or laugh at them, or look without seeing. ❞ ❝ i was wondering. are you drunk, or merely stupid? ❞ ❝ does it hurt so much? is there aught i can do to ease your pain? ❞ ❝ what i want is none of your concern. ❞ ❝ this must end, for your sake as well as mine. ❞ ❝ glory is good, but gold is better. ❞ ❝ please tell me who you are, and why you’re following me. ❞ ❝ many a man will drown in those eyes. ❞ ❝ the best lies have some truth in them...to give them flavor, as it were. ❞ ❝ what are you looking for? your destiny? your death? ❞ ❝ love can make a fool of any man. ❞ ❝ may i stay a while? i feel that we should talk. ❞ ❝ is that a beard, or did you forget to wash the dirt off your face? ❞ ❝ i’ll hear the truth, or you’ll wear chains. ❞ ❝ if you love me, do not leave me. ❞ ❝ only madmen fight wars they cannot win. ❞ ❝ you have a strange look in your eyes. are you unwell? ❞ ❝ last night, i had a dreadful dream. ❞ ❝ you have to help me. where am i to go? what will i do? ❞ ❝ i warn you, i am out of patience. ❞
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sometimes i get the very strong urge to write a comes back ??? fic for bakugou but the more i think about it, the more i realize how emotionally taxing and honestly horrifying it would be.
you and bakugou spend a few years in that weird will-they-won't-they stage before you officially start seeing each other seriously, and then it takes some time to adjust to having a pro-hero for a partner — so it's not always easy. until the time goes by and you have a break up scare or two and things finally level out, and you figure out how to talk to each other and you fall into the beautifully warm comfort of just being together, in love.
and then he fucking dies. in a heart-explodey, blind-in-one-eye kind of way.
the two years that follow are just — time passing, like pages in a chapter you can't understand the words to. you know grief in a way you never could have comprehended before, you wonder what it's all for and how you'll go on. you're angry at him for sacrificing his stupid life and angry at the world for taking him from you, but you're so deeply, down to your bones, heartbroken over losing him.
and you're not the only one; more than any of his friends that you see, deku is the one who is there for you the most. calls you daily and pulls you out of bed, makes sure you eat because he knows that's what kacchan would want. lovingly flings out a few gruff insults that make you laugh until you're both crying in your kitchen. it means something, maybe, that you both can just mourn in the presence of one another, without judgement or care.
your relationship gets a little — dependent. not romantic, at least not for you, but it's like you need the other person for the bits of bakugou they hold that you don't. the memories and the laughs and the bad times as well as the good. the secrets katsuki would never tell you, and the tenderness izuku was never shown.
it never gets easier. every day is just another day. if you think about it for too long, it all comes crumbling down. you're almost having to disassociate through your life just to make it, and that's hard when the whole city mourns him, too. but you do it. every single day, even on the worst of them.
izuku calls you a little more than two years after, in the middle of the night.
sounding way too awake and out of breathe, though you don't think that's necessarily out of the ordinary, considering his profession. he's a very hyper-fixation kind of guy; you can only imagine what hobby he's picked up and also mastered in the last 48 hours.
he asks if he can come pick you up from your apartment because he "needs to show you something important" and you agree, even if it doesn't feel like it usually does, when the nights are long and you both need someone to talk to. this feels — urgent. a bit worrisome.
you don't know where he takes you, but he's quiet the whole way there. in an old sweater, hair mussed, bags under his eyes like he really hasn't slept in the last 48 hours.
("stupid flighty fucker," katsuki would say, sometimes, when the weight of the world was weighing too heavily on the number one hero's shoulders, and even if he would huff and puff and grit his teeth, you'd notice him checking his phone more often than usual. taking every phone call that came without hesitation.)
you almost want to tell izuku that, in the car, because that's what you do, that's how you've kept him alive between the two of you; kacchan would make a point to tell you that's not how generators work, in the shitty horror film you and deku go see, that kacchan wouldn't dare sit through.
("no, he would," you argue, solemn as the lights in the theater warm back to life, as it empties. "he would."
and after a long, heavy beat, izuku would agree. "yeah. he would.")
izuku brings you somewhere that's too clinical to be as quiet and as dark as it is: inside, the walls and floors are sterile with anti-septic but the lights are off, in every hallway. the only visibility comes from a small lamp that's in a lobby of sorts, and there is a small handful of people you don't know, at all, already there. waiting.
you say his name in a small, concerned question, and when he takes both his hands in yours, they're warm and too wide and sweaty. his eyes glow, but in a way you don't recognize. everything he says to you is — gibberish, a mish-mash of worry and half-sentences and all the warning bells are going off in your head.
"y-you can't freak out, okay? you have to—i can explain all this when...when the time is right."
"you said that you would give anything to have kacchan back, remember? you said—you would do anything."
"i know this sounds—i know how this sounds, okay? but nothing is impossible!"
"i just need you to trust me."
and up until now, you had no reason not to. but you're not sure when he slept last, or even when he ate last, or why he's muttering things about his quirk, how he and katsuki are connected somehow, in ways he's not able to explain.
or why you can faintly hear the steady beeping of a heart monitor just beyond the only closer door in this wing of the hospital.
#not me actually crying while writing this lmaooo#deku is ✨ delulu ✨ enough for the both of us kahfkaha#no bc the thing is that he comes back and it's the age old question of. what have we done.#but at what *cost*#in my anime world logic for this deku does something something with all for one to bring him back — along with other unspecified stuff — an#bakugou comes back with deku's memories of the last two years 👀#and he can FEEL how miserable deku was without him 🥺 how bad deku felt for YOU 🥺#how weirdly close the two of you got 🤔#does he come back wrong ????? or does bringing him back make YOU wrong ??? 🥺#okay bye for real for real we've been driving all day bye bye#✿ willow writes#✿ thoughts: bakugou
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new luka content! you know what that means (from luka fan number one tm)
trigger warnings!: this is more or less coherent, I tried my best to tie my ideas togheter though. physical violence mentions, heart attacks mentioned? idk if these are valid tw's
pointing out the obvious, we have earpieces for both Luka and Till, which means they'll probably use their hands!! a lot!! I wonder what that means...
also, on the topic of earpieces, a lot of the times, rock singers use them.. does that mean they'll have that kind of performance? it could be, since we do know that bl8m DEFINETLY has the ability to sing that way!! I would love to see Luka just.. snapping. A lot of people say that Till will rage, but I'd like to see the opposite.
If you look close, you can see a heart rate.. at first glance, it's.. a little faster than usual? It looks a lot like Tachycardia. I looked closer and noticed the heart rate chart is kinda.. shaky?? I wonder if this is foreshadowing.. maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I know that sometimes, your heart rate can slow down during a heart attack?? (I just talked about tachycardia what am I saying.)
considering his fingers' placement, I realized that chronic migraines usually hurt on the side of the head.. I dont have chronics, but my migraines usually hurt behind my ear, so I was wondering if that's why they are there...
onto his appearance... his hair looks put up, right? At least, half put up, and that reminds me of:
top 3 luka... when he's standing on a throne all alone... foreshadowing much huh
i personally believe "Never come back again" is the name of the song, since CURE was "delivered" to us in a similar manner. for me, it could go 2 ways:
"Never come back again", as in, never participate again.. as in, either Luka losing and not participating again.. because he's dead?? or not participating again because the aliens got bored of him and Heperu gets another pet for his whims...
"Never come back again", as in, "She'll never come back again", I was thinking of the song possibly being Hyuna dying and so, never returning, which would make sense because Ruler of My Heart, Luka's other song, is also about her.
No matter the outcome, I am so excited for this! Luka is.. obviously my favourite character and he's been since the first time I saw him, so any outcome will have me.. quite interested :3 if this goes into Luka dying, I will feel the grief of Ivan fans (I hope not though.. sorry Till..)
just akane fangirling under cut:
OH. MY GOD RAAHHHHH HE IS SOOO BEAUTIFUL😭😭 I can see the long hair... it's longer than in round 6... AND THE PONYTAIL TAKBHHHH HES SO BEAUTIFULLLL THE WAY I STARTED JUMPING WHEN I SAW THESEEEEEEEHEJDJSH
#alien stage#alnst#vivinos#alien stage luka#alien stage theory#alnst anniversary#luka alien stage#theory#ramble#akane fangirls
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hi Azia! since I'll probably never play FFXIV but want to gobble up everything you've ever written or will write for Io and Estinien, I was wondering if you could kind of summarize or describe the context for their relationship in the canon universe. what do I need to understand about their history in order to better appreciate the way they fit? how do they meet and what brings them together? are there some universal truths for each WoL that heavily contribute to who Io is (kind of like how Hawke in DA2 loses half their family, or every Shepard in Mass Effect is deadish for two years)?
no pressure to answer if you don't have the time/energy or just plain don't want to! ok thanks love you bye 💙
🧍
Hi Ells. I am so sorry....
Understanding Estinio
General World Lore: The story of XIV begins five years after a Calamity (an event of large-scale devastation that leaves the land and people struggling to recover). This is the seventh Calamity over a period of 13,000 years. Other notable world happenings are:
the Dragonsong War: a war between man and dragon that has raged in and around Ishgard for one thousand years
the more recent advancement of the Garlean Empire: Garlemald is a technologically advanced nation seeking to "unite" the world under its rule
Warrior of Light Things: The player character is almost a completely blank slate. Their appearance and combat proclivities are entirely up to the player! Their backstory is not really mentioned, and the only thing we know about them from the start is that they're an Adventurer, which in this setting is someone who wanders here and there, helping with whatever odd jobs they can in hopes of earning a living and maybe some local fame too. A little network of unionized Hometown Heroes. But some things hold true for most WoLs (headcanons notwithstanding):
They have a gift called The Echo. A few other characters have the gift, but it can manifest differently from person to person. The WoL's Echo allows them to visit scenes from the past, sometimes through the eyes of another and sometimes as a kind of bodiless spectator, usually triggered by high emotion from a person or place. It also has a few other functions.
They join the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, an organization that's a bit of an open secret, determined to stop Primal summoning (Primals are replications of gods, the will of a people made manifest, and they are powerful and destructive. If most people venture too close, they become enthralled). Recruited for their prowess in combat (or healing, maybe, if you're not Io) and apparent inability to be tempered by Primals, they, of course, become the team's most powerful asset.
Io Laithe is my WoL, a viera born in the Garlean-occupied region of Dalmasca. When she was 19/20, her home village suffered a violent raid, and her family was lost. She managed to escape and flee far to the west. At the beginning, she's around 29 and an accomplished archer, among other things. Io endures more loss over her story, friends and lovers, and she blames herself over and over. She struggles to lay down her grief and represses her anger for so long that she almost loses herself to it at one point, but she claws her way back with the help of her friends. She's soft-spoken, and reserved, but is also deeply kind and surprisingly funny. (This paragraph is short but I feel like I talk about her so much lmao. Trying not to gush too hard)
Estinien Varlineau was born to a family of sheepherders, in a small farming community outside Ishgard. When he was 12, his village was razed to the ground in a dragon attack. He found the charred remains of his parents outside his home (his dad had tried to shield his mom from the dragon fire). His younger brother was inside, trapped under a collapsed beam but already gone. He was the only survivor, and was taken in by a man named Alberic who held the title of Azure Dragoon (the most powerful lance-wielder in the land, but I'll spare you the specifics. There's dragon-y magic and a literal dragon eye that gives them powers. This was supposed to be quick omfg). Estinien swore to avenge the deaths of his family and trained with Alberic, eventually becoming the next Azure Dragoon. Eventually, he gets his vengeance, but the cost is so much more than he expects. At the end of it, he is begging for his own death, but his friends (the WoL included) refuse to let him go out like that and save him. He's since been on a journey of self-discovery; who is he without the drive to avenge those he lost, without his duty or his post? In personality, Estinien is blunt and abrasive, he cannot read a room (but he would like to leave it). He has a sharp sense of humor and often teases his few friends, he's extremely sentimental, he's very protective of the people he cares for, and can't stop himself from helping a kid in need.
Relationship Summary
They overlook each other at first. Io finds Estinien too harsh and rude. He thinks (since she is seeing Haurchefant at the time, who is... affiliated with a noble house of Ishgard) that Io is another pretty girl grabbing at coattails--surely not the "great warrior" he's heard about. And it takes a journey into dragon country for them to warm up to each other, when he learns she can easily hold her own, and she sees how protective and kind he can be to their traveling companions. They become friends and it's easier than either of them expected. They don't talk about their loss with each other though, not for a long time. Both hear the other's story from someone else, and it endears them to each other, an unspoken, invisible bond in addition to what they've already faced together. Just as Io saved him at the end of the Dragonsong War, Estinien saves her when she faces off against the might of Garlemald and almost dies. It's a long time before she gets to thank him for that, but when she does, it's around the time he agrees to join the Scions too. They spend more time together, and they become almost inseparable. And as the world hangs on the brink of what seems to be another Calamity, they quietly fall in love and almost lose each other again. Neither confesses to the other until things have settled down. But once the confessions are out of the way, they easily fall into warm domesticity. They spend the better part of a year mostly in one place, living together, working together, making the smaller trips they need to but always returning to a home base. Now, there's the itch to travel again. They just pulled a stint of traveling separately but ended up in the same place. He very much wants to continue roaming, and Io does too, but part of her is starting to think about a family. I haven't decided when or if they talk about this lmao. They love each other so much, but both have a strong streak of wanderlust, and both are legendary heroes who belong to the world as much as they belong to each other.
Why they compel me:
I don't know if you guys know this about me but I love to think about grief :> It's the shared trauma, the love transformed into anger, and how new bonds can heal someone. I did not plan for Io's backstory to be so similar to Estinien's, and even before I shipped them, their friendship was a highlight for me. I love that they do most of their recovery on their own. I love that they always come back to each other. Big fan of people who might not appear outwardly soft all the time, but are just SO mushy for their partner.
They are both symbols of hope for their people, for better or worse. They understand that about each other, what it's like to have some of your personhood stripped away so you can embody an ideal.
Estinien is impulsive and straightforward, Io is cautious and thoughtful. He pushes her, and she grounds him. They both relish the peace the company of the other brings, and they are more certain of the other's ability and resolve than they are of themselves. They are best friends, they are family, and they admire each other.
Some key reads, chronologically:
close quarters | oh no, she's hot…
oblivious | a mutual friend notices io and estinien seem… different.
what i see in you, i hope you find in me | io realizes she is not in love with zenos
pang | estinien has his own realization
see you in the morning | the night before they depart towards unknown danger, estinien tries to soothe a worried io
in this state | io is unconscious, estinien keeps watch
mustering | estinien tells io about his brother, the first time he's talked about him in decades
take another step off the edge | FIRST KISS!!!!
And then their tag is filled with gposes I've made, art I've commissioned, writing prompt fills, fics from the two AUs I've written for them, and tons of quotes or poems that fit their vibe. I'd share a playlist but I don't have a playlist... there are five now T^T BYE!! 💗
#asks#io/estinien#understanding estinio#long post#this is SO much i'm sorry aslkdfjls#there was more in the world lore and i was gonna explain more dragoon stuff but. you know what it's fine#this is enough. this is more than plenty#i could've just said “they have similar backstories and lost their families. so finding family in each other is compelling to me”#but no.#the linked fics cover the things after esti joins the scions#i'm hiding my face in my hands but i think this is a good primer for non-xiv people who want to engage with my fics!!!#and i'd love to see more things like this for friends writing for fandoms i'm not in 👀 so i may have to pay this style of ask forward
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hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?
hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].
but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.
it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.
and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.
the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.
an emptiness, like you said.
but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.
you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.
he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.
but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.
how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.
the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.
think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.
i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.
but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.
as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛
#q&a.#birdsong.#wishing u gentle ease; the death of a loved one is near inexplicable to put into words and i hope you take care of yourself gently <3#i hope this will make u laugh: when i was a tiny child in middle school there were times i would go outside in my tiny suburban cul de sac-#in the rain and sing along to my lil ipod nano and i only remember doing this to drops of jupiter. can you imagine going out to get the mai#after a long day of work and you just hear this kid singing train in the streets. in the RAIN.... it makes me laugh like i really.#i really thought i was so cool and deep and emotional ghjkd but i find it v funny that i only remember it w/ that one train track.#and saturn just. it's my fav s.a.l. song for a reason. that slow violin opening? the piano coming in gentle and easy?#it feels like light. like hope. like something new - a dawn after the long dark. that beautiful things can begin again even where#it hurts. and there is nothing more human than a sentiment like that.#how rare and beautiful it is to truly exist. what it is to be alive and get to be here and live with other people. with those we love.#i think your grandfather was so lucky to be able to know you. to have you in his life for the time you had together.#i'm no spiritual person; but i like to believe when you're thinking about him? he's thinking about you too.#the second law of thermodynamics (physics nerd mode) is that no energy has ever been created/destroyed since the beginning of the universe.#so it has to go somewhere - it's that carl sagan quote of 'we're all made of stardust'. because we are. we used to be stars; planets; etc.#i think it's why i think of these space songs - because they're a part of everything; once more; when they go. us and everything else.
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Heyy, would you be interested in writing legolas x reader (f or gn) where reader is hopelessly in love with legolas but the love is unrequited. Reader never loses hope (doesn’t push it tho) and at the end legolas finds solace in reader but only because his “first choice” refused him/died/left (or something) and he chooses only after that the reader.
Sorry if this doesn’t make any sense.
Legolas x elven! reader
Words: 2530
Google Docs Pages: 4
Warnings: minor character death, kind of angsty, elf grief, cuddles but it’s sad, hair braiding
Opening: You find yourself falling for someone you’d been working alongside for hundreds of years. Though, you soon notice he seems to be interested in someone else. So no matter the attempts you make at getting closer to him, none of it works. He notices, but kindly lets you down.
It’s only after a dreadful battle that you notice the elf he’d been interested in had fallen. Making you skip from second place to first, Legolas finding some solace in you.
AN// Reader can be any gender! Hehe, I haven’t written for Legolas in a while, so hopefully I still got him somewhat figured out. Thank you for the request though, I had fun with this <3
I’m also closing requests for a while as I write out the older ones. They be suspecting arthritis. And no matter what this is, every joint in my body including my hands hurt so much, it takes me ages to write anything past 1k words. So hope yall don’t mind too much, I love writing the requests when I’m feeling out of ideas. Yall are much more creative, hehe <333
“Solace with a price.”
You’d tried to deny it, tried to tell yourself that there was no point in pursuing your feelings any further. It was clear as day that the man you’d laid your eyes on was after someone else, and you were in no way looking to get in between them. So you had tried multiple times to forget, to turn the other cheek. But what could you truly do when your mind had made a decision on its own. And it was persistent.
You’d been a part of the guard for as long as you could remember, having wanted to join as soon as you could. So it had been the work that drew you in, having always been interested in weaponry and protecting the borders of the kingdom. It was only logical for you to want to join the guard. Though, it soon dawned on you that a lot of the jobs that required more movement were the patrols. Other than that, you’d be lucky to see anyone while on guard. Apparently the king wasn’t too fond of spilling the blood of his own.
But he had a son. A son who wasn’t as afraid to fight as he was. But the prince wasn’t fierce either, not a killer. But he was a skilled archer who at some point started leading the patrols. You didn’t mind of course, having acknowledged his leadership skills quickly. And that had been all it was for the most part. You’d see him during the patrols, and other times he had more important business to attend to.
But as time went on, a crush began to form. You found yourself talking with him during the patrols and if you were lucky, after as well. He was very reasonable and well versed in a lot of subjects. Which gave the two of you much to talk about. And if not that, you found that fighting alongside him was fascinating. From your perspective, it felt like the two of you worked well as a team. Making the battles you from time to time faced during the patrols much easier. You found him a pleasure to be around, and sometimes caught yourself waiting to be able to talk to him.
Though, a problem surfaced when you noticed him having his eyes on someone else. You knew he wasn’t one to bring his relations into conversations easily, especially when there were others around. But when he talked to you about this elf, it only confirmed your fears. And maybe it also pushed you over the edge just enough that you decided to come clean with your feelings.
It was important for you to do this before he got any further with the elf he’s set his eyes on. Confessing any later would only make it all the more awkward, and if you never said anything you’d just feel even worse. So at the end, you didn’t see many ways out of the situation you’d gotten yourself into.
So, after another patrol you bit down any hints of doubt in your mind and went for it. It took you a moment to find him, noticing that he’d left to tend to his other duties. You caught up with him in the hallway, near his father’s throne room. “Legolas!” You called out, slowing down to a walk as he turned back to look at you. He’d of course sensed your presence before you were even able to call out his name, but he always acted as if not. As if the call had been the first indicator of your form following him. “I had something…I wanted to talk to you about.” You cringed a little at the wording, but quickly faded the unpleased expression to a faint smile.
Legolas had now fully come to a stop, eyes keenly on you as you closed in. “Go ahead”, he said in a calm tone. Somehow saying what you’d been planning so thoroughly, now that he was in front of you felt impossible. The sight of him standing in front of you, calm and collected, while your heart raced as your thoughts tried to form a comprehensible sentence. You could have sworn a flash of worry appeared in his face for a while, releasing it must have been for the amount of time it took you to finally speak up again. “I’m not certain if this is the best time nor the place to tell you this, so I apologise in advance.” You started, but to your ear it somehow now sounded like a formal report rather than a confession. The look the elf was giving you didn’t help, he seemed confused but curious to hear the rest. Though, he didn’t interrupt you. Allowing you to continue. “I fancy you. And I wanted to ask if…you felt the same.” You stuttered out the last part, feeling odd to leave it at the first statement. But now that you thought about it more, the last part sounded almost more like a plea. Mentally scowling at that, you waited for his response.
Legolas looked a little troubled, but even that was hard to catch. You found that he was usually rather hard to read, the emotions on his face so faint that you really had to read into everything to catch how he was feeling. “Henion…” (I understand). Legolas said, voice a little quieter than before, though you assumed it was to not bring attention to the conversation. “But you must be aware of-” He began, but you stopped him. Not to be disrespectful, but you understood what he meant. “It is okay. I only wished to tell you…” You lied. Of course a part of you had hoped he’d somehow change his mind, choose you. But now it all felt awkward, regret brewing within you. But you also knew Legolas was nowhere near dumb enough to ignore that. “Walk with me?” He requested, seemingly having skipped over the previous topic. Not that you minded, not anymore. At least that’s what you swore to yourself. “Of course”, you nodded and followed him to the throne room.
You’d sometimes tag along with him as he went to give a report to his father from the previous patrol. The king didn’t seem all too fond of the elves Legolas spent his time around. Though, you told yourself that he’d somewhat warmed up to you. That he wasn’t as harsh when it came to you tagging along with Legolas even after the patrols were done. Something about that gave you hope, even if it was false.
You tried your best to keep your relationship with him as it was before, and he was making it easy as well. He’d talk to you like before during patrols and you’d still sometimes go with him to deliver any reports to his father after. It made you almost hope that you had another chance. That you had just confessed too early on, and that there was a chance after all. So keeping your hopes up, you kept talking to him. Sharing things about your life with him, and listening to whatever he had to say.
But as time went on, you began to doubt if there was a chance at all. Legolas still seemed to view you as a close friend, if anything. He still had his eyes elsewhere, and each time you attempted to get closer to him he was able to kindly turn you down. So you didn’t push any further. Slowly trying to come to terms with the fact that this was never going to work out.
But you still shared many things with him. The connection you had with him during battle was still there. And that’s what you put your trust on when a battle was announced, knowing you’d be sent there.
But as you had expected, no battle was fought without the blood shed of your own kin. As the dust began to settle and the sounds of battle died down, you found yourself exhausted. Muscles so worn out you felt shaky. But even through that exhaustion you felt the need to find Legolas, having lost sight of him at the very end. The chaos around the area made it hard to make out anyone specifically, raising some worry within you. Maybe deep down you knew that he was okay, but not being able to find him as quickly as you would have hoped shook you a little.
Your eyes landed on a small group of elves, some who had survived the battle with a smaller amount of injuries and a couple of healers. They’d all gathered around someone, and by the looks of it seemed desperate. A possibly fatal injury, you thought with a flash of sorrow and grief washing over you for a moment. The death of an immortal being, as pure as an elf, was never a pleasant sight.
You raised your gaze, having paused for a moment to pay respect to whoever had fallen. Scanning the nearby area, you could spot who you believed to be Legolas. He’d strayed from the small group you’d just come across, form somehow slumped. You couldn’t see his expression clearly enough to tell what was going on, making you curious.
You didn’t dare pass the group, staying near them as your eyes followed Legolas’ movements. This position allowed you to see the dreadful sight bestowed next to you. As the warriors began to make their way back to the kingdom, it gave you enough space to see who the healers were tending to. You recognized them, soon a more lost expression spreading across your face. Understanding why Legolas had seemed more distraught than you’d ever seen him before. Something so important to him had been lost that day.
And from there began a confusing period of time. You could tell Legolas was defeated, down from the loss. And you were no stranger to the dangers of loss and what it could do to your kin. So it wasn’t unwarranted that you were worried about him, and had made it your mission to try and help him get back on his feet.
And doing this also healed something in you as well. Perhaps you couldn’t court him, but helping him as a friend felt good as well. Like you had a purpose to fulfil by his side, even if not in the way you initially had hoped.
This also meant you started spending more time with him. Publicly you could barely tell of the heartbreak he was going through, but it showed more when the two of you were alone. Which you found endearing, meaning he trusted you enough to talk to you about his thoughts. Though, during one of these talks he told you something that mixed up your whole view of the situation.
“Would you still court me?” His calm voice asked. Your hands stopped braiding his hair, having to blink a couple of times before drawing in a breath. You felt Legolas tilt his head towards your’s, trying to find out why you’d gone so silent. Though, he didn’t say anything else, waiting for your response. Which you tried to form into something respectful. You wanted to tell him that this might have not been the best time to make decisions like this, but at the same time every other part of you wanted to say yes. “Yes, I think”, slipped out without even thinking. Something that resembled a smile appeared on the prince’s face, like he was relieved? “Then we shall make it official.” He said, something new in his tone but you could tell that this hadn’t magically removed the grief from his mind. Yet, he reached out for your hand and turned around to face you properly. He’d been between your legs, back towards you as you braided his hair, as had become tradition. You looked into his eyes, swallowing down the guilt that tried to overtake your mind. You’d gotten what you wanted, right?
Things moved so fast after. Or maybe they didn’t, you couldn’t tell. You’d been so shocked after that night that a feeling of numbness had spread across your whole being. What was even going on? The king had approved of the courting, which hadn’t come as a huge surprise to you. But even then, it all felt a little too unreal. And the guilt that had been brewing ever since he had confessed to you was going to boil over soon, you felt. But so the days kept passing, and this was now the reality you lived in.
You were getting ready for bed, tidying up your hair so it would be easier to handle in the morning. Routines that somewhat kept you sane, keeping thoughts away from what had been going on. You’d watched Legolas go lay down already, beginning to wonder if you had started to slow down your routines on purpose for the amount of time they now took. Because there was still a part in you that wondered if you should have been helping him with the grief as a friend or as his partner? That, did Legolas choose you out of genuine interest or out of needing someone to just be there for him?
You shook your head, trying to swallow the hesitancy back down. No. Even if this was all wrong, you couldn't possibly leave him now. Not when someone he’d cared about had died, you didn’t want to put him through another heartbreak. This was what you had wanted, right?
While in your thoughts you had wandered to the bed, laid down and somehow automatically turned your back to Legolas. He might have been engulfed with bits of grief, but he wasn’t blind. If he saw the way you looked, he’d be able to tell how miserable you felt right then and there. You did still love him the same way as before, and this had been exactly what you’d asked for. But how could you enjoy something so precious, when it felt like you’d stolen the first place medal and sneaked your way out of the second place? And all of this was happening while you couldn’t tell Legolas of these feelings without hurting him, nor did you wish to leave him. You’d promised yourself that you’d help him now that he needed you the most.
While engulfed in a state of self loathing and sadness, you felt the man scooch closer. His hand moved to your upper arm, as if to ask if he was allowed to be so close. He was, you wanted him to be. But you didn’t want to admit that to not feed the guilt. When you didn't reply, his arm moved itself over your waist to bring the both of you closer to each other. Taking the silence as a ‘yes’. But was there a way to enjoy closeness like this when you didn’t feel like it was meant for you.
The edges of your eyes burned, but only a singular tear managed to escape. Racing its way down your face and disappearing into your pillowcase. At what cost had you gotten the ‘gi melin’ that felt like it echoed in the air as he said it.
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