#ep: a house divided

[tkslittlesway]

Just saw a GIF set for Saving Grace that had a quote from Grace to Judd saying, "Wherever you are, that's where I'm gonna be. That's the deal, right?" And it instantly made me think of Carlos to TK in A House Divided during the Huntington storyline: "In sickness and in health, right? That's for we're going for. No matter what the future holds, we'll face it together." How beautiful are these two relationships 😭

[mothandpidgeon]

Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

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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.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Chasing Smoke || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based off season 2 ep 4 where Rafe and Barry visit John B's house while they were all hiding

Warnings: gun use, swearing, drinking, if theres anything else lmk

Word count: 1,423

A/n: boy do i love writing canon fics hehehehe. I’m also compiling a bunch of fics in my queue because I’m going to be busy w school so pls put in your requests!!!!!

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

You were sipping on your fruity drink as you conversed in conversations with a few of your girlfriends, Rafe standing just a few feet away animatedly chatting with his friends. “Bro, the kick on a Glock 17, man. You load it up, line it up, and it's like—" he mimed the motion enthusiastically. Before you could warn Rafe about the guy sitting close behind him, he had already backed into him. "It knocks you off your freakin' feet."

"Hey, excuse me," the guy interjected, his expression one of clear annoyance. "Yeah?" Rafe responded, completely unfazed. "Do you mind?" The man stared at Rafe in disbelief. "I'm so sor—" you began, trying to smooth things over, but Rafe cut you off. "Hey, hey, don't apologize. Let me handle it, yeah?"

Rafe turned his head around, leaning casually on the counter. "I'm sorry?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm. The man raised an eyebrow, his irritation clear. "I said, do you mind?" he repeated, his voice growing sharper.

Rafe took a moment before replying, "Yeah, I do mind, Bob." He smirked as the man scoffed in disbelief. "Take a shot with me, pussy," Rafe challenged, his voice dripping with mockery. You slapped his shoulder, "stop it," you hissed at him.

"Come on. Take a shot," Rafe continued, his voice steady as he poured his drink onto the man's hand. The man shot up from his seat, shoving Rafe hard. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?" he yelled, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of everyone around. Your eyes widened in alarm as heads turned.

In the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Kelce rushing towards you, his expression frantic and urgent. His footsteps echoed in the dimly lit bar as he approached, weaving through the tables and chairs.

"Take a seat. That's what you need to do," Rafe commanded firmly, his voice cutting through the tension as he pushed Bob back into his seat. The atmosphere was full of unease, the murmurs of other patrons now audible as they glanced over at the commotion.

“Whoa! Whoa!" Kelce interjected, his hands instinctively reaching out to grab Rafe's shoulders, attempting to calm him down. You exhaled a breath you didn't realise you were holding, grateful for Kelce's intervention. "Go get the manager. He's crazy!" Bob's voice rose above the murmurs.

"Eat shit," Rafe retorted sharply, his frustration palpable as he resisted Kelce's efforts to pull him away from the conflict. Kelce persisted, trying to redirect Rafe's attention. "Hey," he began, his tone soothing yet urgent. "What?" Rafe snapped, his gaze still locked on Bob with a mixture of defiance and irritation.

"Calm down, all right?" Kelce urged, his voice steadier now, trying to reason with his friend. Rafe rolled his eyes in exasperation, but the tension in his shoulders began to ease slightly. "I swear to God, 20 minutes ago, I just saw John B and your sister, bro."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your lips parting as your mind struggles to process Kelce's words. "You're joking, right?" you managed to utter, searching Kelce's face. "I'm not kidding! They're alive," Kelce insisted.

Rafe and you exchanged a stunned glance. "Me and my girl are just tryin' to relax, and you're telling me this bullshit?" Rafe responded, disbelief and annoyance laced in his tone.

"I know you're trying to relax, bro, but I saw them buying beer at Geechie's!" Kelce pressed on. "That's bullshit," you interjected, not believing him. "Do you guys wanna go see for yourselves?" Kelce challenged, his eyes darting between you and Rafe. "I'm telling you, I saw them. Go sober up, man." Without waiting for a response, Kelce dragged both of you towards the exit. "Hey, put it on Cameron!" Rafe called out.

~

"I need to know who's over here at John B's spot," Barry's voice cuts through the tension in the car, his grip on the gun drawing your annoyance. "Barry, could you please not hold the gun like that? Seriously, I don't even know why I'm here!" you groan from the backseat, frustration evident in your voice.

Rafe turns around from the passenger seat, fixing you with a stern look. "You're here because I told you to be, alright? So just be quiet," he grumbles, turning back to Barry.

"Listen, I don't know if he's there, okay? I just know he's on the island," Rafe says, trying to reason with Barry. "That's a complete lack of discipline, man," Barry shakes his head, irritation coloring his tone.

"Then what's your suggestion? We're about two minutes from the fuckin’ place, alright?" Rafe snaps back. "We do some recon," Barry suggests firmly. "Why don't you just follow my lead for once and shut up? all right?" he adds, frustration clear in his eyes as he looks at Rafe.

"Recon, huh?" Rafe mutters under his breath, clearly not thrilled with Barry's suggestion. "This is ridiculous," you interject from the backseat. "Yeah, Princess here agrees. Why'd you bring your girl out here with us, Rafe?" Barry questions, prompting an eye-roll from Rafe. "She's here because I told her to be, alright? Just shut up and drive," Rafe retorts, his tone edged with impatience.

~

"Tranquillo. You feel me?" Barry says to Rafe as he pulls up just a few meters from John B's house. "Tranquillo?" Rafe repeats skeptically, his gaze fixed on the house ahead. "Tranquillo, baby," Barry reassures him as you roll your eyes at the two.

"Let's be smart," Barry advises as you all exit the car. "Rafe, just to be clear, the gun is just for show, right? You're not planning on shooting anyone," you whisper urgently to Rafe as he hums in affirmation, as you exchange a look with Barry.

You follow closely behind the two men, your senses heightened as you scan the surroundings. "Okay, check it," Rafe whispers as the three of you huddle behind some bins. "All right, I ain't see shit, what 'bout you?" Barry asks quietly.

"Nothing," you add nervously, your eyes darting around anxiously. "No. They can't be far though," Rafe whispers, his voice tense with anticipation. "Right, here's what we gon' do," Barry begins, and you lean in closer to hear him clearly. "I'm gonna go inside. I'm gonna flush them out if they're in there. I want you to flank left, meet me out there by the porch."

"And princess, well, you're gonna be with Rafe, aight'? Make sure he ain't gonna do something he'll go cry about later on to us," Barry instructs, loading his gun that you were unaware he was carrying. "You have a gun too?" you whisper sharply at him as Rafe quickly covers your mouth with his hand. "'Course I do. Now, let's go!" Barry commands, rising from the cover, and Rafe pulls you along with him.

You and Rafe step cautiously into the front yard, your hand gripping his arm for reassurance. You point silently to the recently extinguished fire pit, sharing a worried glance with him. Rafe clicks his tongue in frustration, muttering under his breath, "Where the hell are you?"

~

You flinch instinctively at the sharp sound of glass shattering nearby, turning with Rafe to see Barry angrily tossing aside a few bottles. "Yo!" Rafe calls out, his voice tense with frustration as Barry storms out of the house, slamming the door open. "Anything?" Rafe asks urgently.

Barry scoffs, his expression darkening. "No, ain't shit in there, bro," he replies curtly, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. Rafe closes his eyes briefly, disappointment evident on his face. "No? Nothing?" he presses, hoping for a different answer.

"No, nothing, Rafe," Barry responds firmly. "They were obviously just here though, judging by the smoke," Rafe points out, scanning the surroundings. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Great observation, boy scout!" Barry retorts mockingly, earning an eye-roll from you as you observe the banter between the two boys.

"They can't be far, you know?" Rafe continues, his voice tinged with determination. "Smokey the bear! Look at you, bro!" Barry laughs with sarcasm. "They gotta be around here somewhere," Rafe reassures himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration, while you sigh and settle onto a nearby log.

As the tension mounts, Rafe falls silent, his gaze shifting towards a massive tree nearby. Both you and Barry follow his gaze, noticing the initials carved into the bark. "P4L," Barry reads aloud with a chuckle, and Rafe joins in, shaking his head in disbelief. He makes eye contact with you as you stand up from your spot.

"So your sister's a pogue for life, huh, Rafe? Who would've thought?" you mutter under your breath, a hint of irony in your tone, prompting a laugh from Barry. Rafe remains quiet for a few seconds, shaking his head in frustration. You immediately regret your remark as his anger visibly simmers.

"Shit!" Rafe suddenly erupts in anger, causing you to flinch back instinctively. Barry moves swiftly to place a hand on your back, his expression shifting to concern. "Rafe, chill, man," he urges calmly, sensing Rafe's escalating temper. You gulp nervously, knowing Rafe was beyond furious right now.

Without warning, Rafe starts shooting his gun wildly at the tree, bullets whizzing dangerously close to you. The loud bangs echo in the quiet surroundings, and you instinctively cover your ears, fear gripping you. "Hey! Whoa! Hey, chill, bro! Rafe!" Barry intervenes, grabbing Rafe's shoulders in an attempt to restrain him.

Your hands tremble as you yank the gun out of Rafe's grip, your voice shaking with anger and fear. "What the fuck, Rafe! You're going to get us caught, you idiot!" you yell at him, adrenaline coursing through you.

Barry looks around anxiously, realizing the precariousness of the situation. "Let's bounce, let's bounce. Let's go!" he urges urgently, starting to move away quickly. You follow suit, grabbing Rafe's arm firmly. "Hurry up!" you plead, snapping him out of his daze, and together you rush back to the car.

[cityof2morrow]

Space-O-Rama Build 001

Published: 7-19-2024 | Updated: 7-20-2024 SUMMARY “With intricate geometric patterns, delicate parabolas, and inverted inversion, Space-O-Rama glass sets a new standard that’s out of this world!” An odd mixture of low-to-mid poly items for retro-futuristic builds, inspired by the Space-o-Rama glass fences (Pets EP). There are 41 objects and a host of recolors using texture resources from PineappleForest (2022) actions from CuriousB (2010), Pixelhate, and Klevestav (2015; 2013). Many of the recolors have a weathered/distressed look.

DETAILS Requires Uni, Nightlife, and Apartment Life Eps. §100-500 | Build and Buy Files with “MESH” in their name are required. You also need the BBNiche1Master (BuggyBooz, 2012),  Elemental TXTR Repository, and he Graphic Glass TXTR Repository from the Repository Pack (Simmons, 2023). Additional repo pack recolors can be found on this site under these tags - #co2recolors, #ts2recolors, #ts2repo #co2repo #co2repopack. ITMES 3 Fences (~1622 poly) 5 Divider Screens (1025-1528 poly) 8 Window Boxes (Columns) (576 poly) 4 Doorframes (Deco) (92-1353 poly) 2 Door Rugs (Columns) (34 poly) –for doors 003 and 004 7 Planters (546-1092 poly) 4 Wall Accents (Columns) (8-12 poly) (3) Neon Panels A-C (1080-1521 poly) – sharp corners and some overlap (shadows look better than when the mesh is completely smooth); small gap on the side ; requires the Nightlife EP. 3 Bunker Walls (22-24 poly) – some overlap 3 Garden Panels (99 poly) *You’ll need “moveobjects on” and “grid on/off” cheats since not all parts align perfectly. DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA

7-20-2024 UPDATE : Added alternative versions of Doors 3 and 4. The texture on the top interior was distorted when the poly count (“faces”) got reduced. I recolored that part separately in black. If you want the alternative versions, manually delete old files (they are “..doorframe3-MESH” and “…doorframe4-REPO”) and replace them with these new files (“…alt2”). DOWNLOAD (choose one) ALTERNATE DOOR 3 & 4  from SFS | from MEGA CREDITS Thanks: Simmers with meshing, cloning, and fencing tutorials. Sources: Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), Sci-fi House (AiKu via Creative Commons Attribution, 2018), Space-o-Rama Divider (EA/Maxis), 4t2 Eco Living Door (Ethan, 2020), Streets of Utopia (Stonemason, 2024), SciFi Panels (Unity Fan via CCA, 2023), Scifi Gate (Stan via CCA, 2023), Bomb Rush Cyberfunk Street [fan art] (Max Staples via CCA, 2023), Modular Bunker (mats de Wind via CCA, 2020), modular Walls (detona via CCA, 2018).

[spacerockfloater]

Hi, I just wanted to say that I wholeheartedly agree with your recent post. It really bothers me how the fandom, especially those who are supposed to be green fans, are turning on Aemond. Don't get me wrong, I loathe the way they handled his character this season, but it's really interesting how for the last two years we had to listen Aegon stans complain about him being ruined by bad writing. Yet, they never turned on him. He was just the writers' victim, according to them (which isn't untrue). However, those same people (you saw it in the replies) are unwilling to extend the same courtesy to Aemond when he's being treated even worse by the writers for the whole f**king season, all that without having a decent amount of screentime or an actual POV (unlike Aegon who actually got a much better material this season). I guess these fans only "liked" Aemond while he was what Aegon thought of him, "a loyal hound he could set against his foes and who knows his place". Double standards much? Let's get this straight, I hate what they did with RR and Aemond burning Aegon is another dirty trick of the writers in order to divide the green fandom. Apparently, TG fans are unfortunately eating it all up. Nevertheless, it's not the reason the greens are in a bad situation because we saw that Aegon and Sunfyre wouldn't be of much help in battle anyway. Sunfyre could go against dragons like Vermax and Moondancer, but that's it. And Aegon is not a great warrior or a leader. Therefore, just like you said, Aemond can't fight alone so him asking Helaena to join with her big ass dragon isn't unreasonable. Yes, she isn't violent and doesn't want to burn anyone, but nether is Rhaena and I can bet she'll get the Nettles arc, ride the dragon and burn things.. So why does everyone treat Helaena as a little fragile house pet? Aemond is right, she can't defend herself and they would tear her apart. But no, he's also in the wrong here (showing him being violent towards Helaena is so OOC I won't even comment on it). And don't get me started on Alicent. She practically betrayed her faction twice, in ep 3 when she let Rhaenyra go. And she could have ended the war there and then, even before RR. Now she goes to Dragonstone to tell Rhaenyra she'll open the gates for her and this is framed as a good thing because her son is awful and she just wants to save her daughter? Yeah, no. However, Alicent is also defended, it's all on Aemond now, he is the evil villain ™. Aegon can be forgiven , Alicent can be forgiven, but Aemond can't? It's ridiculous. The worst thing is that I'm saying this as someone who has loved Alicent and all her children since s1.

THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH FOR THIS!

You’ve done it, you’ve said exactly what I have been thinking!

I wish I had something of substance to add to what you said, but I don’t. This needs to be a post of its own.

Aegon was treated horribly by the show. I am a huge fan of his. But now they’re doing the same thing to Aemond and he doesn’t deserve that shit.

Aemond is all that left of the Greens.

This show has butchered every single TG character.

[mylostloversbookmarks]

Waiting for a Miracle

Characters - Joel Miller x Reader, Ellie Williams

Summary - After being attacked by raiders, you sustain a serious injury - Joel and Ellie do everything they can to save you but will it be enough?

Word Count - 2.5K

Warnings/Tags - 18+ only Minors dni. Typical canon language, Angst, mentions of blood and wounds, swearing, hurt, anxiety, pain, guilt, insecure!Joel, upset!Ellie. Suicide attempt mentioned but not heavily discussed. Im not a medical professional so forgive me if anything is medically inaccurate!

A/N - I hurt myself with this one! Set Post-Outbreak! This is heavily inspired by EP.6 ~ Kin and the beginning of Ep 7 ~ Left Behind, and I thought it would be fun to reverse the rolls on this.

Reblogs, comments and feedback are so welcome and so so appreciated!

If you enjoyed this check out my other works here ~ Masterlist

Divider credit to @saradika

As he walked through the barren wasteland, he could feel the all-too-familiar sense of desolation wash over him. The air is thin and icy, hurting his lungs as he inhales. The only sound that can be heard is the howl of the wind and the crunch of fresh snow under his tired, heavy footsteps.

Moving further down the dirt road, he can see the outline of the dilapidated farm house where he left Ellie watching over you. Its walls crumbled, the roof caved in, the windows shattered, and the once-blue front door hung loosely on its rusted hinges.

Inside, the scene was just as bleak. The remaining furniture was overturned and broken, thanks to raiders tearing their way through any property they came across.

The walls were peeling and covered from floor to ceiling in a thick coat of dirt and grime. A heavy layer of dust had settled over everything in sight.

Moving further into the house, he makes his way to the barricade he had put in place before he left you and Ellie this morning to look for more supplies and any medication he could get his hands on.

 "Ellie?" He huffs out to let her know it is him moving the barricade as he leans his weight on one side of the heavy mahogany book shelf, sliding it along the dingy wooden floor to reveal the doorway.

"Joel? Did you find anything?" Ellie's pleading voice is muffled from behind the closed door.

Opening the door, he finds Ellie in the exact spot he had left her several hours before, sitting on her knees beside the filthy matteress he had laid you on what felt like a lifetime ago.

She was hunched over you with an old rag in her hand, mopping up the sweat that was beading on your forehead. He could see the worry etched onto her face as she did everything she could to keep you comfortable. She looks up at him as he enters, her face grim.

"How is she?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn't that he didn't want to disturb you; he just wasn't sure he could stop his voice from breaking if he spoke any louder.

Ellie shook her head. "She's still unconscious, but I think her fever has gone down a bit and the wound isn't bleeding anymore."

Joel just nods, his eyes fixed on you. Seeing you lying there so helpless and vulnerable, like a ghost of your usual bubbly, sarcastic self, the ever-present crease between your brows was gone; your teeth were no longer fussing at your bottom lip; your smart mouth was no longer calling him out on his bullshit; and your face was pallid and covered in a sheen of sweat.

The sight stirred up a storm of emotions within him that he couldn't quite put a name to. Joel knew that he had always been drawn to you, even before the attack.

Though he would never admit it and always did his best to hide it. He couldn't place what it was about you that brought him out of himself, despite his best efforts to keep you at arm's length.

He had vowed to himself that he would never get attached to anyone again. Not after what happened to Sarah.

It wasn't that he didn't want to care about people, but he has learned that in this world, caring for people only brings pain, and he just didn't know if he could survive another loss.

He almost didn't survive it the first time. The faint scar on his temple is a constant reminder of the events he has drank himself into oblivion over on many occasions in the hopes of scarring them from his memory, but it never works.

Though Ellie had always ribbed him when she caught him watching you from a distance, usually when youd set up camp for the night and you were rolling out your sleeping bag or flipping through one of the books you had picked up on the road.

She would jab him in the ribs with her elblow, uttering "Eh? Eh?" with a wiggle of her fair eyebrows. He normally silences her quickly with a stern warning glance, worried you might overhear her.

Now, though, his feelings were more intense, and he didn't know if it was because he was too tired to keep up the effort to hide them or that the fear of losing you was overpowering every other thought that raced through his head.

His mind was consumed by guilt; he had failed. Again. He had failed Sarah. He had failed Ellie over and over, and now he has failed you. Failed to protect you from the man coming at you from behind because he was too fucking old and deaf to hear him coming.

He couldn't fathom why you both had insisted on staying with him when you had both overheard him speaking to Tommy. It was the first time Joel had opened up in what felt like two decades.

He openly admitted to his brother that he knew he was going to get you both killed. He begged Tommy to take Ellie the rest of the way, and he knew that you wouldn't leave her side.

He remembers standing in the stables thirty minutes after he had intended on leaving, pretending to check over the horses saddle and reins, when Ellie walked in, closely followed by you and Tommy.

He offered you both a choice, insisting you would be better off with Tommy. He didn't even make it through his sentence before Ellie was thrusting her pack into his chest, effectively silencing him.

You had given him a reassuring smile and a small nod as you moved to help Ellie onto the horse. And now here you are in front of him, lying lifeless on a soiled mattress in the dead of winter in the middle of nowhere because of him.

He knelt down beside the mattress and took your hand in his, his thumb rubbing small circles into the clammy back of your hand. Motioning to Ellie to pass him his pack, Joel opens it and takes out the supplies he found on his run.

"I found a drug store; it was mostly picked over, but I found this under one of the cabinates." He explains, lifting out a vile of pennicilin and a syringe that is still safely housed in its unopened sterile packaging. He says a silent prayer of thanks to whatever higher power allowed him to find this.

Ellie just nods, her eyes glued to Joel's hands, watching as he takes hold of your hand, turning it so it is palm-up as he rolls your sleeve up past the crease of your elbow, removing his belt and tightening it around your arm.

Tapping at the viens in the crease of your arm but getting no response, you had lost so much blood from the wound that your viens were refusing to stand to attention.

Joel doesn't want to risk injuring a vein, so he decides to inject you directly into your wound. He removes the belt, throwing it to the side, rolls your sleeve back down, and sets your hand back by your side.

"Ellie, Im going to need your help." He murmurs to her, his voice thick with emotion.

"What do you need me to do?" she implores him.

"I can't find a vein; she's lost too much blood, so I'm going to have to put it into the wound. It's going to be painful, but we don't have another option. I need you to hold her still no matter what, okay?" Joel demanded it as calmly as he could.

"Okay, I can do that," Ellie confided, her voice wobbling with the unshed tears that were threatening to spill over at any moment.

"Hey, she's going to make it; she's going to be okay," Joel promises her, his hand coming up to rest on her cheek, wiping away a tear that was making its way down her cheek.

Ellie just nods in response, her tears flowing freely now. Joel pulls the blanket down and gently rolls your t-shirt up your torso, stopping at your ribcage. Removing the bloodied gauze that was covering the wound just above your left hip.

The wound was deep and had left a jagged, misshaped circle of angry crimson on your otherwise smooth, perfect skin.

He tore open the plastic wrapping and removed the syringe from its packaging, taking a deep breath before inserting the needle into the vein and withdrawing the medication.

"Okay, hold her still," Joel says, his voice unsteady as he positions the needle over your wound, placing his other hand on your cheek and rubbing his thumb back and forth, willing you to hear him before he continues.

"Darlin, I'm sorry. This is going to hurt, okay? But it's going to help, I promise."

Ellie nods towards him, signaling she was ready; she has repositioned herself at your head, her hands resting on your shoulders, and tightens her hold on you as Joel inserts the needle and slowly pushes his thumb down on the plunger.

You flinch and groan in pain, but Ellie holds you steady, tears flowing down her face and leaving little dark spots where they land on the mattress.

Finally, Joel withdraws the needle and sets it back inside the packaging in an attempt to keep it as sterile as possible given the current surroundings.

He grabs another patch of gauze from his pack and presses it against the wound. He pulls your shirt down and lays the blanket back over you, tucking you in as best he can, being careful not to jostle you too much.

"That's it, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice gentle as he strokes your hair. "Now we wait," he sighs, more to himself than anyone else.

Joel and Ellie sit in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, exchanging worried glances, unsure of what the future holds.

Despite the uncertainty, Joel is determined to do everything he can to keep you safe and help you recover. He holds your hand tightly, and his thumb continues to rub small, reassuring circles into the back of your hand as he silently vows to protect you at all costs.

As the moments tick by, Ellie's anxiety grows with each shallow breath you take. She feels helpless and scared, unsure if you will make it through the night.

The weight of potentially losing another person she cares about is too much, and she breaks. Loud, ragged sobs break through her clenched teeth, shaking her small frame.

Joel's eyes snap up at the sudden sound, and he can feel his heart constricting at the sight of her tears. He releases your hand, pulling her into a tight embrace. He strokes her hair, whispering words of comfort in her ear as she cries into his chest.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, baby girl," Joel murmurs softly. "We're here for her. We're not going to leave her. We're going to get through this together."

Ellie clings to Joel tightly, her body wracked with sobs as she tries to process her emotions. She's scared of losing you and of what will happen if you don't make it. Joel's presence and his words provide some solace, giving her a glimmer of hope that things might be okay.

The three of you stay like that for what feels like hours, huddled together in the dimming light, listening to the sounds of your breathing.

It's a comfort to hear the sound even out ever so slightly and to know that you're fighting to stay alive as hard as they are to keep you with them.

Eventually, Ellie pulls away from him, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her coat. She looks over at you, still sleeping on the matteress, and takes a deep breath.

"We're going to make it through this, right?" She asks, her voice wavering slightly.

"We are," Joel replies firmly, his gaze locked on you. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you both safe."

Ellie nods, a look of determination taking over her face. She moves back to your side, taking your hand in hers and squeezing firmly.

"We're here; we're not going anywhere."

The hours passed by slowly; it was well past dark now and getting colder. Looking over at Ellie, Joel can see she is fighting to keep her eyes open.

"You need to get some rest; I'll stay up with her." He murmurs; his tone is serious, and she doesn't bother to argue with him.

"Okay, but you'll wake me if anything changes." Ellie pushed, not moving a muscle until she had his word.

"I will," he whispered solemnly.

Ellie stood and stretched for the first time in hours, grabbing her pack and unrolling her sleeping bag a few feet away from where Joel sat by your mattress.

She was so exhausted from the stress of the current situation that sleep found her quickly. In a matter of minutes, Joel could hear her soft snores.

Joel shifted into a more comfortable position beside you, stretching himself out on the floor so he was lying on his side, his head level with your own.

He reclaimed your hand in his. It was cold and limp, and he couldn't help but think about how much he had taken you for granted.

He has known that you were strong enough to handle anything that came your way and that you didn't need anyone's help. But now, as he looked at your pale face, he realised that it was ridiculous to think that anyone could have made it out of that situation in any other way.

He leans in close, his forehead resting against your hand, his eyes closed. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I should have heard him. I should have protected you." His voice broke, and he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by your steady breathing, Ellie's snores, and the occasional creak of the old farmhouse. Joel stayed there, still holding your hand, lost in his thoughts. He thought about all the things he wanted to say to you and all the things he wished he had done differently.

He wished he had been more open with you and told you how much you meant to him. He wished he had hugged you and spent more time just being with you.

It was too late for those regrets now. All he could do was sit there, holding your hand or stroking your hair. Willing you to wake up and hoping that somehow, someway, you would pull through. That you would come back to him, and he could make things right.

As he sat watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. Joel knew that nothing would ever be the same again. That he would never be able to erase these memories and that he would always carry this pain with him.

But he also knew that he couldn't give up, that he had to keep fighting and keep pushing forward. For you. For Ellie. For himself.

And so he sat there, stroking your hair and whispering all the things he should have told you before, waiting for a miracle.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Thoughts on Last Twilight Ep. 5

Okay so a tell tale sign of a really good show for me is when I am rendered incapable of talking about it, which is why you’ve never seen a single analysis of I Told Sunset About You or I Promised You the Moon out of me, because if I think about that show too hard the bees return to my brain. And I’m having that problem with Last Twilight too where my chest feels absolutely bursting with feelings but I do not know that I am capable of writing anything about this show that is structured or coherent without prompting. So, here’s some incoherent ramblings I guess. 

First off, Aof is fucking brilliant and I am really desperately in love with the way that Mhok and Day just so beautifully complement each other/round each other out. I love that they have two completely disparate backgrounds and yet they can relate to one another so well. 

Mhok was literally imprisoned, and with the ankle monitor and very likely under some form of house arrest or curfew. Mhok walked through the world after his release from prison completely branded as a criminal, and unable to maintain his career because people always took him at face value. Day lost his career because of his blindness, and then willfully imprisoned himself in his own room because of how heavily he was grieving. 

Mhok knows what it is like to be looked at and judged, and I really loved earlier on in the show how confused he was at why Day would be bothered by that, presumably because he got used to being stared at himself. And I love that Mhok learned his lesson about that by trying to understand Day in a way no one has really taken the time to do for Mhok himself. I love that Mhok is able to take his own experiences of being stared at as a comparison for what it is like to not know if you are being looked at and judged. 

Rung lost her life, and that has fundamentally impacted Mhok and Mhok’s relationship to his sister. Similarly, Day lost (or at least thought he lost) the life he had which has fundamentally impacted himself and his relationship to Night. I don’t know that I have enough information yet to definitively declare how Rung’s death has impacted Mhok’s behavior and approach to life, but I do like to think that Mhok’s experience around Rung’s death, the fact he wasn’t there for her, the fact that he had to go through his first year of life without her imprisoned, may have been a contributing factor to how and why Mhok is so determined to get Day to live his life again. 

I don’t know, I was just thinking about Mhok’s suggestion that Day does his normal thing and goes to Gee’s game immediately following a conversation about Rung’s death and how he thought he would be able to make her False Rice again some day, just felt so clarifying to me as to how and why Mhok approaches Day the way he does. Because Day and Mhok both understand the meaning of “I thought I had more time” so well, for such fundamentally different reasons. 

gif by @casualavocados

I love that Mhok is starting to open up more to Day. Which, when you think about it, Mhok has been pretty private about his life despite knowing so much about Day’s life right out of the gate. I personally read this as a strong indicator for Mhok’s feelings for Day and how he is making a concerted effort to move from caretaker to lover. And there are so many fun layers to that relationship because their current relationship is not balanced. There is a bidirectional imbalance in the caretaker and client relationship. Mhok has power over Day’s daily life and if he wanted to he could have radically more control over Day’s autonomy. As Day’s caregiver, Mhok inherently has access to much more personal information about Day than Day would have for Mhok. Yet Day is still his employer, still his boss, working for Day is still what pays Mhok’s bills. So in order to sort of bridge that divide, Mhok needs to start working to shift their balance. Mhok already balances the physical caretaking elements of his relationship to Day rather well, and has let Day determine what he can do on his own and what he needs help with, so he isn’t stripping Day of his autonomy. 

If Mhok really wants a chance with Day, then the needs to reciprocate the personal information, and I love how smoothly everyone handled the scene. I think Sea did a phenomenal job with how he had Day react to Mhok’s story, as if some things started clicking in to place for him. Day and Mhok have never talked about Mhok’s background, at most Day has brushed aside the information about Mhok having assault charges. I don’t know yet that Day understands just how much Mhok is capable of relating to Day’s feelings and experiences, because he’s been so busy in the past few episodes focusing on how much Mhok is incapable of relating to Day’s feelings and experiences. 

I am not the first, nor will I be the last person to say that I loved the allusions to Day and Mhok’s relationships to their siblings. Once again there is some commonality between them there, in that their relationships are complex. We currently have a very limited view of Rung. As far as we know she was ambitious and hopeful, and then she hit a really bad low after her nail salon failed and ultimately completed suicide. We haven’t seen any indication from flashbacks or the like of Rung’s flaws, we haven’t actually seen her fail Mhok, or be heartless to Mhok. Yet Mhok agrees with Day’s initial comment that the hydrangeas means heartless. Because Mhok is still mad at Rung for leaving him, he is still stuck in his grief. We haven’t seen him put in any time or effort to process his own pain, instead Mhok is doing what grieving people do, and helping someone else instead. 

I am sure Rung was not a perfect person, I am hoping we get more flashbacks of her and get to see more of her flaws, more of the relationship she and Mhok actually had. I am hoping we get a change for Day to help Mhok navigate his own pain, just like Mhok has been helping Day. But it was certainly interesting to see the parallels between Day saying that Mhok has fallen for Night’s act, thinking him nice while Mhok has associated his sister with heartlessness. 

gif by @casualavocados

And I don’t know that I have the energy to get in to it right now in any further detail (hey look at me, trying to keep things short), but I do just want to acknowledge the fact that Mhok has really committed to giving Day as much of a sensory experience as he can. When Mhok took Day out on the practice date, he wore perfume so Day could smell him (and as an aside I love that Mhok puts effort in to making himself look good even though Day can’t see him). When Mhok took Day out on the walk to cheer him up, he brought him to a bridge on a public road, where there are sounds, and there is a fence that Day can feel; he brought him to a flower shop where Day can smell and feel the flowers and where there are bright colors that might register within Day’s limited vision. 

Mhok was constantly touching Day in so many different ways. Casual/platonic touch when he’s performing his duties as caregiver; quickly and playfully when he’s trying to get Day to chase him; heavily and intentionally when he’s both comforting Day and when he’s turning up the charm. One of my favorites is honestly the moment that Day lets his fingers curl around Mhok’s hand when Day switches to using August as a guide. 

Anyway, I love this show so much, it is quickly climbing the ranks to become one of my favorites of 2023.

[luescris]

Guys. You guys. Guys.

I don't know what to do with myself right now.

We've been rewatching Trollhunters the past few weeks or so now. We are already on the last four ish eps of the last season. We just got done watching A House Divided. Aka the episode where Jim sacrifices his humanity to turn into a half troll.

For Pete's sake. I genuinely forgot how many emotions not only this show, but that part specifically gets out of me. I was stimming, and crying, and laughing all at once. Because oh my god. the way they did it.

the music. the cinematography. the way jims memories like. responded to when his friends/family was calling to him on the other side of the door. trying to get him to listen. to go back. my heart split into a million pieces.

I've never felt nearly as devastated as that moment. the only show that comes close is Turtles. but Jim's story. Jim's whole entire thing. They did everything so good it's insane. I could go on about this for hours I don't even care if this fandom is basically dead now.

And not only that, not only did i cry again to this episode. but i freaking found the music for that exact scene on freaking Spotify. I'm going to torture myself by listening to it over and over again because it's so just. Full. Y'know?????

I'm going bonkers. off the walls. insane. biting my pillows and wallowing in sorrow. ough

[tkslittlesway]

Why does FOX warn of sexual situations if all they are going to show is a Tarlos kiss? 😂 Like, Sexual Situations for Owen is usually that, a sexual situation, but for Tarlos it's like "oh no they're gonna brush lips, save yourselves". The way they cut abruptly from that scene you can definitely tell there was more to it and it's like they're afraid to show it now.

Anyway, this was an amazing episode. I laughed, I cried. That Tarlos scene killed me, it's the first time I cried at an episode in so long, so thanks Ronen, he was like 'single tear? What's that?' That was full blown crying, dude. Way to go. Carlos saying "You're TK, I'm Carlos, and we're soulmates". TK saying "Why do you think I ran?" 😭

The Tommy and Judd (and Grace and Trevor) stuff was a mixture of emotions, they had me crying, laughing at the dinner scene, then crying again after Wyatt had his accident.

I have seen others say this, and I just don't know what to think... does Owen really not have it, or does he know how worried TK was and so he was trying to save him the grief right before he gets married? I hope it's the former just because he went out of his way to tell TK in the first scene about not keeping things from him anymore.

[viola-ophelia]

inspired by the poll about favorite seasons, i want to know your top five turn episodes!

here are mine:

s3e10 "trial and execution" - the way i BAWLED the first time i watched this episode lol. need i say more?

s3e6 "many mickles make a muckle" - the iconic TURNSGIVING DINNER SCENE! plus, bonus points for the deeply awkward dance party ft. george & martha, peggy & arnold, and ben lolol

s2e4 "men of blood" - this ep is foundational to jpeg as a ship (garden scene helloooo). also, it contains "don't presume you know what it is to be me" AND "you are a boy playing a man playing a spy, and each one a liar," which are both strong contenders for the best line in the show

s2e6 "houses divided" - this episode just has it all. juicy setauket drama (mary burning richard's magistrate book, awkward anna/simcoe kiss), hewlett kidnapping arc & abe prison arc, and, of course, the legendary john andre flute solo

s1e4 "eternity how long" - this was the episode that got me hooked on turn. i love the gravestones plotline as an intro to setauket's small town drama & revolutionary politics more broadly, plus, andre and philomena outsmarting charles lee is always fun to watch lol

honorable mentions: s1e6 "mr culpepper" because the scene where simcoe stabs a dude at andre's dinner table never fails to crack me up, and s3e7 "judgment" for the LEGENDARY mary shooting simcoe's ear off bit (this is a fantastic ep but it unfortunately also contains poor abigail walking in on andre banging philomena on the freaking dining room table, which is unspeakably horrendous LOL)

[kunimix]

—NEON GUTS

[Name]’s Dumbasses

[Name]; A Photography club member. Very very bad handwriting. She literally hates writing with all her soul. She likes taking pictures of anything whether it’s her friends, the sky, or a random store she will still take a picture with it it if she thinks it’s worthy enough. Secretly (not so secretly) takes pictures of Scaramouche during their study sessions.

Sydney; She’s more on the weird side of things. Loves psychology. BIGGEST instigator there is. If there’s fight and she’ll be there in a split second, sometimes she even tries to get involved. She has fake organs in her room which is why you guys never go over to her house. KAZUHA’S COUSIN (😜)

Hu Tao; DO NOT let her pick a place to hang out at it will go very wrong. States that she is Nicki Minaj coded. Loves haunted houses but is scared of them. Owes a lot of people money so do not lend her money she won’t pay you back. Wins every bet she makes so don’t bet with her it’s a warning.

Lumine; That one friend that when you make plans with them something always comes up for them. Drama lover so if there’s a fight or she heard something then that information goes straight to you guys. Over ten thousand followers on her Drama account (where she says everything about anything)

Childe; He’s not really apart of the group but is? He’s just there for the tea and drama that happens. Basically he’s just y’know there.

prev ep | masterlist | next ep

Summary; Scaramouche is “forced” to tutor you the “dumbass” of the class

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[rafecameronssl4t]

What is French for priceless? || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

GIF by @baocean

Summary: Canon fic based on s3 ep 1 :)

Warnings: swearing, rafe being a dick but what's new lol

Word count: 1,640

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

Watching from the balcony, you watch the sleek car come to a halt in the driveway, its polished exterior gleaming under the afternoon sun. Rafe had mentioned earlier in the week that he was expecting someone from overseas to look at the cross. "To make a deal," he had said, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

You turn on your heel, only to come face to face with Rafe. His tall, imposing figure blocks your path, his piercing blue eyes scanning your face. "You good?" he questions, his voice low and laced with concern. His eyes search yours as you stare at him with an expression he can't quite decipher. Your brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Fine," you reply in a monotone voice, unable to mask the skepticism you feel. The tension between you is palpable. You are wary of Rafe's dealings, especially the idea of bringing someone he barely knows to the house to inspect the cross.

Rafe's eyes narrow slightly as he gauges your reaction. "It's going to be okay," he says, attempting to reassure you. "These people are professionals. They know what they're doing." But his words do little to quell your unease.

You remember the stories you've heard about deals gone wrong, about the dangers of dealing with high-value artifacts in the market. Rafe, with his charismatic but unpredictable nature, often walks a fine line between legitimate business and dangerous ventures.

As you stand there, the man and woman approach the front door, their footsteps echoing on the stone pathway. You glance back at them, then return your gaze to Rafe, who is now watching you intently, as if waiting for you to voice your concerns. "I just hope you know what you're doing," you say softly, your voice tinged with worry. "This seems too risky, Rafe."

He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Trust me," he says, a confident smile playing on his lips. "I've got this." You nod reluctantly, but the nagging doubt remains. As the front door opens to admit the visitors, you can't shake the feeling that this deal, like so many others before it, could lead to trouble.

~

"Again, thank you both for coming. I know it was a long way to travel. But I think what we have is..." Rafe trails off beside you, his voice filled with an enthusiasm that you find hard to match. You watch his profile as he glances at you, seeking your approval or at least some acknowledgment. "Is pretty worthwhile." He smiles charmingly, but you respond with a quiet sigh, unable to shake your apprehension.

"Yes, well, Michel is the most prominent antiquities dealer in the West Indies," the woman begins, her voice smooth and practiced. She is dressed in a sharp business suit, her demeanor exuding professionalism. You cut her off abruptly, your skepticism boiling over.

"How come I've never heard of him then?" you interrupt, your tone sharp. Rafe whips his head toward you, his eyes narrowing into a hard gaze. The tension between you is palpable, but you ignore him, focusing on the woman.

The woman pauses, looking between the two of you with a slight frown before Rafe intervenes. "I'm so sorry, my girlfriend is a bit tired. Still jet-lagged from our travels," he says, chuckling awkwardly. He places his hand on top of yours, a gesture meant to soothe, but it only makes you roll your eyes. The woman nods with understanding before continuing. "Unfortunately, he only speaks French."

"No English," Michel chuckles, a warm, almost apologetic smile on his face. He is a middle-aged man with round glasses and an air of authority. You turn your attention outside, feeling bored and restless.

"Yeah," Rafe chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. "What is French for priceless?" His attempt at humor falls flat as you turn your head back at his words, your expression unamused. You observe the three in front of you, feeling like an outsider in this high-stakes game.

When the cross is unveiled, Michel's reaction is immediate and visceral. His eyes widen, and his breath catches as he stares at the artifact, almost awestruck. You watch closely as he steps closer to the gold cross, his fingers twitching with the desire to touch it. His translator, looks on in amazement.

Michel says something in French, his voice filled with reverence. The translator turns to Rafe. "May he touch it?" she asks. Rafe smiles, clearly pleased with the reaction. "Knock yourself out, Michel." As Michel feels the intricate design under his fingertips, Rafe looks to you for some sort of approval. You only glare at him, still skeptical and unimpressed.

"He wants to know where you found it," the translator says. Rafe shrugs, shaking his head dismissively. "Don't worry about it. We got it. That's all he needs to know. It's here. It's for sale. So, who can we get to buy it?"

Michel takes off his glasses, his face serious as he speaks. The translator translates his words with care. "For a piece of this value, there are very limited buyers. An institution, a museum." Rafe nods along, understanding the implications, but he looks deflated.

"But, he has a client in Barbados who will be interested," the translator continues. You tilt your head at her words, alarm bells ringing in your mind. "Rafe," you say firmly, trying to get his attention. "This is already risky enough."

He, of course, ignores your protests, his focus entirely on Michel. The anticipation in the room is thick, almost suffocating. "This client will have lots of questions. He'll want to meet with you in person," the translator says. At these words, you can no longer contain your frustration.

You stand up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Jesus fucking Christ," you mutter under your breath, casting one last look at Rafe before storming out of the room.

~

"Y/n, I don't have time for this, okay?" Rafe says in a dismissive tone, his impatience evident. "I gotta get to Bridgetown, I'm taking the boat." From the first floor, you watch as he places a black duffle bag on the ground with a sense of urgency.

"Come on, Rafe. You don't even know this guy," you reason with him, your voice edged with concern. Rafe removes his sunglasses, glancing at Michel's business card with a nonchalant air. "You can't just go out and try to make a deal, Rafe. That's so risky!" Your eyebrows furrow in disbelief as he leans against the railing, looking down at you with a smirk.

"I can't?" he retorts in a mocking tone, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips. "I know you think you know what you're doing," you call out as he walks back into your shared room, his presence filling the space with tension. "But there are people out there that know your dad is alive—no! Not just people, Pogues." You correct yourself, taking a sip of your drink, the frustration evident in your voice.

"Pogues, Pogues," Rafe mumbles dismissively as he packs a suitcase with determined efficiency. "Listen, they can't prove it, alright? They don't know where we are," he shrugs, walking back into the room again as you rub your forehead, already feeling a headache coming on.

"Your sister does!" you yell, the desperation in your voice growing. Rafe emerges from the room, his expression hardening. "Oh, Sarah does!" he calls out, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Listen, Sarah's not going to do anything, baby. She's too afraid, and if the Pogues show up, I'm just gonna handle it," he says in a calm tone, but his words do little to reassure you. You narrow your eyes at him, the anger bubbling up inside you.

"Oh, you'll handle it?" you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. "When have you ever handled anything for us, for your family? Huh?" Your voice grows louder with frustration. "Rafe, everything you touch turns to—"

Your words are cut off by the sudden sound of Rafe's hand slapping the wooden railing. "Hey! Hey!" he shouts, his eyes flashing with anger. You stare at him, shock evident on your face, as he takes a moment to calm himself down.

"Listen," he says, his voice now calmer but still laced with intensity, "I'm gonna sell the cross that I found, okay? That I saved, and when Dad wakes up—" You roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief as you take another sip of your drink. "-okay," you mutter quietly, barely listening.

"—he's gonna see that I took care of it. Not my fucking girlfriend," he says in a belittling tone, his words cutting deep. You scoff, maintaining a calm composure despite the sting of his words. "Sure, Rafe. Sure."

"So, why don't you go have yourself another Tom Collins?" he shrugs, pushing himself off the railing with an air of finality. "While I go make us all a shit ton of money, okay?" He speaks slowly, his words dripping with condescension.

Your grip tightens on your glass, the frustration boiling over. Without thinking, you hurl the glass toward him, but it hits just below where he was standing, shattering on the wall. Rafe looks down at the broken glass, a smug smile on his face. "You missed."

Your breath quickens, each exhale laden with a mix of anger and hurt. “Get. Fucked. Rafe,” you seethe through gritted teeth, your voice a dangerous whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and stride away, leaving him standing there with that infuriatingly smug expression. “Love you too, babe!” he calls out sarcastically, his voice dripping with mockery.

[theforgottenmcrmy]

Spring~ Part 1/2 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 6 of the series “Growing Strong”, the masterlist of which can be found on the pinned post on my blog. For some reason Tumblr doesn’t like me posting it here lately.᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, suggestive themes, mentions of pregnancy, death of minor character.

Summary: A few months of wedded bliss has been abruptly ended by another raven bringing grim news from Highgarden. As you try to come to terms with how the news will impact your life, someone familiar approaches you with an offer to lessen your burden... But are their motives genuine?

A/N: Thank you all so so so much!🖤🖤🖤 I’ve got a few more parts planned for this series, and I hope you all continue to enjoy reading it as I much as I have writing it. This chapter made me low key sad to write, but it had to be done for character development and future plot...💔 Maybe I’ll go back and write more light hearted stuff when this main series is over.

Fun fact, when I had planned this series, it was only going to have about 3 parts, and this would have been the last part. If I went that route, this part would’ve been named “Growing Strong” ... take from that what you will about what’s to come. Part 2 should be up on Thursday 10/20.🖤

PS, if anyone, and I mean anyone, wants to chat about last night’s ep, please hit a girl up. Shoot me a message. Send me an ask (shoutout to the anon who did so last time). Anything. I’m dying to talk about this stuff. 

Ravens frequenting the skies between King’s Landing and Highgarden had become commonplace once more.

...

…

... 

Dearest Brother,

Though you suggested you have been feeling less than well as of late, as I suspect is largely due in part to the cold weather, I beg you to take heart. The arrival of spring is upon us once more. With the improvement of the weather, I pray that you shall improve as well.

In the spirit of that happy news, I hope you will forgive me for what I am about to ask of you.

As I have before, I must continue to urge you to muster your physical and mental strength in order to finalize the negotiations with Lord Jason. The marriage between you and Lady Cerelle would be most advantageous for our House, and Lady Cerelle will be a fine Lady of Highgarden.

If not for the best interest of our House, I beg you to come to an agreement for your own sake. I have known nothing but pure happiness since I was wed some months ago. And for you, Brother, I would wish for nothing less.

As planned, my husband and I, along with my Good Sisters, shall see you for a visit in a few short weeks. If I do not receive a raven from you before we depart King’s Landing, I trust we shall speak further of this matter in person.

I hope this visit will benefit us both. Though I have come to think of King’s Landing as my new home, I fear that a part of myself will always long for the Reach, and for Highgarden even more still. Father always said that House Tyrell is at our strongest when we are not divided.

Take care, Brother. Despite the nature of this letter, I sincerely hope you are feeling more favorable than when you last wrote. I look forward to seeing you again.

Love,

Y/N

It was the warmest day of the year in recent memory. Though the winter had been short, and very forgiving, the warmer months were always heavily favored by those in King’s Landing.

Despite the small winter chill that still clung in the air, Princess Rhaenyra had requested to spend some time out in the gardens. You, Lady Lilyan, and Lady Eyla had joined her happily. 

The four of you made yourselves comfortably seated at a table. Various trees and shrubs surrounded you, giving just enough of an illusion of privacy to placate the Princess. The sun shone upon the gardens, bathing the brightening greenery and blooming flowers in rays. Without any canvas overhead, the sun’s rays fell upon all four of your crowns as well. Though it was warm, it felt quite pleasant in contrast to the cool breeze.

“Under the Dragon’s eye…”

Samwell the Bard concluded his song, and the soothing chords faded away into nothingness.

Not but a moment later, Princess Rhaenyra requested, “Again.”

You saw Samwell’s complacent facial expression shift into an exasperated one, but fortunately, the Princess did not. As the bard began to strum the opening chords of the song once more, you exchanged amused looks with Lilyan and Eyla.

“Here you are, Princess.”

A serving girl placed a platter of candied lemons upon the table.

“Ah, yes!” Princess Rhaenyra gleamed, looking at the lemons with hungry eyes. “Thank you very much.”

As the serving girl excused herself, the Princess dug right in, grabbing several of the candied lemons at once. Before she ate the first one, she gestured down to the platter, and looked between the three of you. “Please, I insist- have some.”

Lilyan and Eyla grabbed a few for themselves, but the thought of the typically delicious sweets sound less than appealing to you at that particular moment. “Perhaps I shall have some later, Your Grace.”

“As you wish,” the Princess smiled with a nonchalant shrug. Placing her hand on her stomach absentmindedly, she added, “That just means there is more for me to enjoy now.”

The candied lemons were the latest of her cravings. Princess Rhaenyra, less than a year into her marriage, was with child.

It was a most welcomed development.

Since their marriage, Ser Laenor had been absent from King’s Landing more often than he had been present. It was not aided by the fact that winter had roughened the waters significantly, making sailing between Driftmark to Blackwater Bay and back a more difficult feat than it usually was. Thankfully, the news of Princess Rhaenyra’s pregnancy had quelled the more nefarious rumors about him and the nature of their marriage.

King Viserys was overjoyed with the news. If he had doted upon his daughter before, it was nowhere near comparable to the attention Princess Rhaenyra received from him now. Only the best maesters would be permitted to see to the new needs of his daughter. In fact, those said maesters had recommended against the Princess taking air outside in the gardens that day, citing that it was still too cold.

In response, Princess Rhaenyra had quipped, “When my mother was with child, she listened to every advice and suggestion you gave. But in the end, what effect did your words of wisdom have upon her wellbeing?”

The maesters were awfully quiet after that.

“Did you hear that Lord Hawick means to bring his daughter to Court in a few weeks time?” Lilyan asked the group conversationally.

With the warmer weather, it was not uncommon for ladies of noble houses to start flocking to King’s Landing. Though their fathers and brothers would do so under the guise of paying respects to and discussing business with King Viserys, you knew that it was really a means to flaunt their daughters about in the capital in the hopes of securing a worthy match for them. Various noble lords, their sons, and even knights were not a rarity in King’s Landing, nor the Red Keep.

You and Princess Rhaenyra merely hummed in response to Lilyan’s statement. Now that the two of you were each wed, neither of you were nearly as invested in the gossip pertaining to romantic intrigue of others at Court as you once might have been. You were satisfied with your own lives, in your own ways. However, neither of you would dare crush the spirits of Lilyan or Eyla, as the young girls had reached the age where they seldom talked about anything else but chivalrous pursuits.

“It is unfair,” Eyla sighed, downtrodden, “that as soon as we are to leave for Highgarden, countless others shall be arriving in King’s Landing.”

“There are plenty of interesting people of the Reach to meet, I promise you,” you assured her patiently. If only she knew.

“Lady Y/N is right,” Lilyan agreed firmly. “Besides, I believe that just as many will be departing King’s Landing as those arriving. Ser Royce, for example. I heard Lord Boremond ordered his grandson to depart for Storm’s End by next week.”

You eyes flickered over to Princess Rhaenyra upon the mentioning of Ser Royce’s name.

But Princess Rhaenyra was a good actress. A great one, even. There was absolutely no indication that there was any particular fondness between the Heir to the Iron Throne and the future Heir to Storm’s End.

But you knew there was.

Since the tourney in celebration of Princess Helaena’s second name day, Ser Royce had stayed in the capital city. His grandsire, Lord Boremond, in accordance with his father, Lord Borros, had asked the King if he would be willing to host Ser Royce for a time, hoping that it would enable the young lord to become better acquainted with the business dealings of his House that he would be expected to manage one day. As Lord Boremond had been blessed with longevity, and his son, Lord Borros, was also of good health, Ser Royce had not received the same guidance and tutorage he otherwise would have. But should anything happen to Lord Boremond or Lord Borros, Ser Royce would have to rise to the occasion.

King Viserys agreed to Lord Boremond’s request, and he, Ser Royce, and Princess Rhaenyra had spent quite some time discussing trade to and from the Stormlands over the past few months.

You supposed that’s where the fondness began for Princess Rhaenyra. Whatever it had started as, you suspected that the relationship between the Princess and Ser Royce had developed beyond what one might expect between a future monarch and a future lord pledged to them.

But that was entirely speculation. Princess Rhaenyra knew how grave even a whisper of such insinuations would be. You doubted she would be willing to take the chance of causing such stirrings, despite how inadequate she found certain aspects of her marriage to be.

And when the babe was born with the silvery white Targaryen hair, you would happily wallow in your guilt for ever having doubted the Princess for even a moment.

“It’s about time,” Eyla declared. “He has been in King’s Landing for months… How many trade details could there possibly have been to discuss?”

The Princess looked suddenly alert upon the other young woman’s quandary, but you intervened, knowing that she was not likely to.

“The Stormlands have many forests,” you reminded Lady Eyla tactfully. “Ser Royce has been overseeing the wood traded to the Crownlands throughout the winter. But now that spring has arrived, he is able to return home.”

Lady Eyla accepted your answer on the surface, but there was a small look on her face that suggested she didn’t entirely believe you, or perhaps, merely found your answer dissatisfactory.

“Good day, Your Grace, Sisters… My Lady.”

The four of you looked up at the sound of a fifth voice joining you.

“Ser Harwin!” Princess Rhaenyra greeted, putting the candied lemons she had in her hand back onto the serving dish. “It is a lovely day. Perhaps you would care to join us?”

The clothes and armor your husband wore suggested to you that Harwin had just come from the training yard. Confirming your suspicions was the fact that part of his hair was tied up and away from his face, which would have granted him better visibility. Despite his nickname of Breakbones, it still surprised you just how natural the ensemble looked on him. Some men had the appearance that suggested they were more fitted to scholarly pursuits, but not Harwin.

The gods could mourn that someone of his size, stature, and strength was not likely to ever see true war in his lifetime. But you would not. Just the thought of watching your husband ride off into battle was almost too painful to imagine.

“It is a lovely day, Your Grace,” Harwin affirmed. “Though, I regret that I must decline your invitation to partake in it.”

“Oh?”

“Might I be granted permission to steal my wife away for a short stroll?” Harwin asked Princess Rhaenyra. His eyes finally landed on you, and when they did, a conspiring smile played on his lips.

“Granted permission?” Princess Rhaenyra echoed. “No- I insist!” She turned to you with a knowing look. “Go now, Y/N. Take a stroll with your husband on this fine day… So that I may live vicariously through you.”

Despite your marriage to Harwin, Princess Rhaenyra still found plenty of amusement in forcing you to spend quality time with your husband. Had she not been destined to rule the Seven Kingdoms one day, you ventured to dare whether she would have had a propensity for matchmaking.

“Very well, Your Grace,” you complied, rising from your seat and walking over to your husband.

“And take your time!” Lady Lilyan called from behind you, causing Lady Eyla and Princess Rhaenyra to giggle.

Harwin ignored them, though without having taken offense, and offered you his arm. You took it, and the two of you walked away, waiting until you were out of earshot of the other women before speaking.

“It is a lovely day,” you noted conversationally.

“Yes,” Harwin agreed readily. “Though not as lovely as you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, and tightened your grip on his arm. “You have already won my hand, Dearest. There is little need for such flattery.”

“And yet, you are no less deserving of compliments simply because we are wed,” Harwin challenged playfully. “Aye, I am your Husband now. But that means that I am the only one who is properly allowed to bestow such words upon you.” He sighed then, and the gesture bordered on being dramatic. But you knew it was merely a jest. “It is a heavy burden, ensuring that you are showered with such praise, but it is one that I chose to bear...”

You rolled your eyes at his antics and lightly slapped his arm in mock discipline. Before you could chide him, your eyes widened in surprise as you passed a familiar face along the garden path. “Ah, My Lord!”

Your cousin, Lord Garrett Redwyne, greeted both you and Harwin with a pleasant smile and cordial nod.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that really you?” you teased him. “I heard you had arrived at the Red Keep a few days past, and yet, as you did not pay me a visit, I did not dare to believe it.”

Garrett gave you a sheepish smile, and bore your jibes good-naturedly. “My sincerest apologies, dear Cousin. I had some urgent business to attend to upon my arrival, though calling upon you was the next very thing I planned to see through.”

That was not surprising to you. Garrett, a son of your late father’s sister, was the second son of his family. As such, Garrett had frequently been charged to act as an envoy on behalf of many Redwyne matters across the Reach and Crownlands. Though only a few years your senior, it was indisputable that Garrett was far more-traveled, and you’d always looked forward to his tales at family gatherings for that very purpose.

“No apologies needed, Cousin,” you assured him truthfully, before looking up at Harwin with a hopeful look in your eyes. “Though, should you still feel the need to make amends, perhaps you would care to dine with us some evening before you depart for the Arbor?”

“Well,” your cousin began hesitantly, eyeing Harwin somewhat nervously, “if you insist…”

It was no secret to you that Garrett was frightened of your husband. Perhaps it was Harwin’s rather notorious nickname that put fear into the young lord’s mind. But his fear was unwarranted. You enjoyed your cousin’s company, and were even closer with his mother, who had acted as a mother figure for you throughout your life.

As long as Garrett did not cross you, he had no reason to fear Harwin. And Harwin was aware of your cousin’s reservations, too. He’d done his best at the wedding feast to reassure Garrett that he was not the monster his nickname suggested, but it had all been to little avail. At least Garrett had seemed to get along well with Harwin’s younger brother, Lord Larys.

Still, your husband was not one to be defeated so easily. Harwin gave your cousin his most approachable smile, and confirmed, “We insist, My Lord. It would be an honor to share your company.”

You couldn’t tell if Lord Garrett was affected by Harwin’s effort to appease him, as he made no facial or verbal acknowledgement of it. Instead, your cousin gave you one last smile, before heading about his way. As he passed you, he said, “We shall work out the details of when at a later time, so that may leave the two of you to your stroll. Good day to you, Cousin… Ser Harwin.”

Your cousin all but scurried off into the gardens along the path from whence you and Harwin had just come. You fought the urge to laugh as your focus returned to your husband, and why he had decided to “steal” you away from Princess Rhaenyra and his sisters a short while ago.

“Now, my dear Husband, what is it that you wish to speak with me about?”

“My father has suggested two more men. I was hoping to hear your thoughts about them?”

“Of course. Whom did he name?”

“Lord Graige of House Graceford and Lord Cerran of House Leygood.”

You frowned involuntarily, though quickly recovered, hoping to spare Harwin further cause for concern. “Lord George Graceford is known to be quite cruel… though perhaps his son has learned from his father’s misgivings. And as for Lord Cerran, I’m afraid I have not heard much about him… Though, perhaps no news is good news?”

Harwin hung his head in dismay.

Lord Lyonel Strong had been more proactive in seeking matches for his two daughters as of late. With your upcoming visit to the Reach, the Lord Hand had begun to look into eligible lords from your homeland, with the hopes that you might be able to arrange a meeting between them and his daughters. Though Harwin was less than thrilled with the idea in general, you were honored when your Good Father had asked for your advice on the matter. You’d come to love Lady Lilyan and Lady Eyla as younger sisters of your own, and you loathed the idea of them being wedded off to less-than-honorable men.

You patted Harwin’s arm reassuringly. “Do not fret. I trust that you and your father will find a more than suitable match for each of your sisters.”

“Are we certain they must marry at all?” Harwin questioned, only half-seriously.

“Gods forbid, what if something should happen to you and the Lord Hand?” you proposed. “You will have wished your sisters were married then. Their husbands will see that they are well taken care of. They will be safe and secure, and have households of their own to run, instead of being resigned to your father’s.”

“But Larys-”

“I know you love your brother, but Larys would have his hands full simply by inheriting your family’s seat and lordship. Would it be kind to worsen his burden by forcing him to secure matches for his sisters as well?”

Harwin fell silent, knowing that you made several valid points. Though he adored his sisters, and was fiercely protective of them, he was aware of the reality of their situations. He had a castle and title of his own to inherit someday; his sisters were not so fortunate.

You stood on your toes, and placed a chaste, comforting kiss upon his cheek. “I know your father would only agree to marriages for your sisters with fine, decent men. And, if those men are from Houses in the Reach, we would be able to visit your sisters as often as you’d like whenever we are in Highgarden.”

Harwin’s spirits were immediately uplifted at the idea of that.

“My Lady!”

Harwin came to a stop, as did you, at the sight of a messenger headed your way with the utmost haste. When the young man finally reached you, you noticed he was rather disheveled, and nearly out of breath. He heaved heavily, attempting to recompose himself.

“Gods,” Harwin frowned, very concerned. “What is the matter?”

“There was a raven from Highgarden, My Lord.”

It was your turn to frown, though yours was out of confusion. “Already?”

Your last correspondence to your brother, Lord Derron Tyrell, had been sent by raven just a few days before. Hardly enough time had passed for him to have received your letter and returned his response.

The messenger dug into his coat, and revealed the small scroll of a message.

Your eyes glazed over the scroll, awaiting in the messenger’s open palm, before raising to his face. The young man’s expression was a sorrowful one.

Your gut sank.

“What is it?” you demanded, in as level a tone as you could manage.

The messenger said nothing, and merely held out the scroll to you even further with a pained look in his eyes.

Another chill wind blew through the air. Though spring was on the precipice, it seemed that winter was still desperately trying to cling on. You weren’t displeased with it, despite the lovely day you’d experienced several days before.

The colder weather was far more attuned to your mood.

You and your husband’s shared quarters, which had once felt alive with joy and love, now felt cold and empty. But then again, the whole world felt that way.

You sat at the small table in silence. A grand view of the setting sun over King’s Landing was visible from the balcony, which was only a short ways away, but you couldn't find the strength to venture out there yourself. Besides, you could see it all well enough from where you sat.

The soft shuffling of armor and rustling of a cloak could be heard in the background. The noises gradually grew louder, and suddenly, you realized the bearer of both was now standing behind you.

“I must go now,” Harwin informed you, speaking softly.

Normally, you would bid him the warmest of farewells, and make him promise to keep himself safe. Though Harwin was no stranger to the streets of King’s Landing, every night he had to depart for his rounds for the City Watch, you feared greatly for his safety.

But that night, you said nothing. Though you wanted to, you feared what your voice would sound like. Disuse and sorrow would have wreaked havoc upon it. As it was, you could not even bring yourself to look at him. He’d been so patient with you… But you couldn’t help but feel as though he deserved a wife who was able to pull herself together more quickly.

You could tell Harwin was waiting on a response. Though your eyes were fixed over the city, you offered him a small nod in compromise.

You half-expected him to leave without another word, and confirm your worries that he was beginning to pull away from you.

But Harwin’s fingers suddenly brushed across your neck. The gesture would have normally made you shiver from another feeling altogether, but this time, it made you shiver from surprise. He silently adjusted the black shawl you hadn’t even realized had fallen to rest up and over your shoulders once more. Once he was satisfied that you were better protected from the chill, he moved to rest his hands upon your shoulders. The gesture was hardly an embrace, but it still left you feeling protected. Loved.

Harwin leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. As he withdrew his hands, he suggested gently, “Try to get some rest, My Love. I shall be back in the morning.”

With those last words, your husband walked across the room and exited your chambers. The door shut softly behind him, but once he was gone, you felt no more relief.

You would not be getting any rest.

Your brother was gone.

Between your fits over mourning over the past few days, your mind tore itself apart with questions. How does a young man in perfectly good health be so abruptly struck down by some sickness?

When your father had taken ill, you had a far easier time making sense of it. Your father, though he was not what you would have considered to be old, had lived a large part of his life. He’d gotten married, had children, and served your House, the Reach, and the realm dutifully. But your brother…

The maesters thought it was odd, but seeing as Derron had passed in his sleep, and that your brother was loved by most who knew him, they did not look into the nature of his death any further. You wished that they had, so that you could reassure yourself that nothing foul had been amiss, but you’d lost your chance. The silent sisters would have already begun to see to him by now.

Derron was but a young man, only a few years older than you. He had just inherited your father’s seat, and was robbed of the time he deserved to fully grow into the role and make it in his own right. He had no children. He wasn’t even wed.

You frowned even deeper.

The thought of Lady Cerelle, whom, despite the lack of an official betrothal, you knew cared for your brother so very deeply, disturbed you. How was she taking the news? … You dared to wonder if, had she been present, you might be able to offer comfort to each other in this difficult time.

…

Sometime later, there was a knock on the door.

Despite the fact that you would much rather be silent in the hopes that whoever it was would assume you were not there, you knew that it would be futile. Word about your brother’s passing had spread quickly throughout the Red Keep. If you were not seen out and about, it could only be assumed that you confined yourself to your chambers.

Princess Rhaenyra had visited you several times already, offering her kind words. Though you wanted to be alone, you had to admit that her presence offered you some peace. You were heartened that the woman you had been chosen to serve had become more of a companion to you than you would have ever dared to hope for.

The fact that it was most likely Princess Rhaenyra knocking on the door now encouraged you to call out, “Come in.”

The door to your chambers opened, and closed a moment later. The entrant was silent, but you heard their gentle footsteps upon the stone floor as they approached you from behind.

“Cousin.”

At this, you finally tore your eyes away from the city.

Lord Garrett looked down upon you with sympathy. He was donned in black doublet, and matching trousers. You weren’t sure if you took comfort in the knowledge that you were not alone in your grief, or if it was just a painful reminder of the loss that you both suffered.

Slowly, your cousin took a seat in the chair opposite of you. He looked upon you carefully for a few moments, before saying, “I apologize for not calling upon you sooner. I suspected you might have wanted some time alone.”

A correct assumption. Your focus had returned to the view of King’s Landing.

“I wanted to offer you my deepest condolences for the loss of Lord Derron,” Garrett continued, not dissuaded at all by your lack of response. “My cousin was a great man, and he will be deeply missed.”

Still, you said nothing.

“It is a small blessing that we are here, in King’s Landing, together. At the very least, perhaps we may take comfort in one another.”

At this, you turned your head and gave your cousin a blank look. After a moment, you let out a single, dry laugh.

Your cousin gave you a small smile, evidently relieved to have finally gotten some sort of response out of you.

Now that he had your attention, you inquired, “What brings you here, Cousin?”

Garrett’s smile faltered. “I would have called upon you sooner,” he repeated carefully, “but I wanted to give you a few days of reprieve.” He pursed his lips, clearly deciding how best to phrase his next words. “Though I wish to be delicate at this time, there is a pressing matter that I wanted to discuss with you.”

Ah, of course, you realized. “You are more than welcome to travel with myself and my husband back to Highgarden for my brother’s service, My Lord. The rest of your family may meet us there, if they wish. I shall be happy to see them.”

Garret’s lips twitched uncomfortably. “While that is a generous offer, and one I shall seriously consider, that is not the matter of which I speak.”

“Oh… Then what is it, Cousin?”

Guilt, pity, and a sense of resolve twisted upon Lord Garrett’s face, which resulted in a very conflicted expression. Your entire focus was upon him now, and you were greatly intrigued by whatever subject he had deemed pressing enough to visit you at this late hour of the night.

“I have requested an audience with King Viserys and the small council. I plan to petition them to declare myself as Derron’s legal heir. This would encompass my inheritance of the lordship’s titles, entitlement to Highgarden, and all of House Tyrell’s other holdings.”

…

Your mind went blank.

Your father had been Lord of Highgarden. You had just come around to processing and accepting the reality that your brother was Lord of Highgarden now… or, was. Having anyone else, no matter the individual, assume their place felt… wrong.

In the middle of grieving the loss of Derron, you had somehow overlooked the daunting question that his passing had left. Who was to inherit your family’s seat?

Your cousin was unbothered by your silence. In fact, he seemed to interpret it for his own purposes. “I hope you can forgive me for speaking of such a trivial matter at this time, but, as I said, I do believe this to be a pressing matter.”

You were too stunned to speak.

“I have seen how well married life treats you, My Lady,” Lord Garrett said then, his tone shifting from apologetic to persuasive. “I would not wish to burden you with the responsibilities that plagued your father and brother. If it is your desire, I shall take up lordship of Highgarden, as our grandsire once did, and spare you from any further distress. You and Ser Harwin shall be free to travel the realm as you please, without the weight of responsibility bearing down heavily upon you… Of course, I give you my word that you shall be well taken care of. Any allowances for you currently in existence shall not cease, and, should you require funding for anything else in your lifetime, you would need only to ask it of me.”

Still trying to make sense of anything and everything that Lord Garrett was alluding to, you pursed your lips.

“The meeting with the King and small council is in two days,” he informed you then. “Though you are welcome to attend, that will not be necessary. Your absence will be understood as support of my claim. I am sure everyone will understand your wish to mourn privately.”

Your brows furrowed as your mind began to race.

Lord Garrett took that as his having been dismissed. He rose from his seat, and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder as he passed. “I bid you a good night, Cousin. Fear not, these dark times shall pass.”

Once the door to your chambers closed behind him, you cursed.

The sound of birds chirping filled your ears.

The opening and closing of the chamber doors, followed by quickened footsteps, stirred you.

But it was the sound of your extremely concerned husband that completely woke you.

“Gods, Y/N!” he muttered, though it was loud enough for you to catch in the otherwise silent room.

You forced our eyes open, lifted up your head, and looked about your surroundings. But as you did so, you winced in pain. You very quickly realized that you had fallen asleep right there, still seated at the table in front of the balcony.

Harwin was at your side immediately. As he was still wearing his armor and gold cloak, you knew he had only just arrived back from his watch. Despite his evident tiredness, the concern in his eyes shone through, making you feel more guilty than you already did.

After rising from your seat with a small pained groan, Harwin offered you support immediately. His hands fell to your waist, and he slowly maneuvered you away from the table and chair.

As he gently guided you across the room, he asked, “Were seated there the whole night?” One of his hands rose, and he pressed it softly upon your forehead and cheeks. “Gods, you’re chilled!”

He was probably right. And though your guilt had begun to eat away at you, there was something more pressing. “We need to talk.”

Harwin, though he had always been courteous to you, had grown impatient, and he was forced to put his foot down. “Whatever it is, we can discuss it later, My Love. For now, you need to rest,” he insisted. His tone left little room for argument as he continued to lead you over towards your shared bed. Then he added, “Proper rest.”

You shook your head in protest, though allowed him to seat you upon the mattress nonetheless. “No, it cannot wait. It is about my cousin.”

“Lord Garrett?” After Harwin was satisfied that you were not going to move from your spot, he turned and walked over towards the fireplace. Once there, he added a few more logs to the dying fire. As he began to stir the flames, he asked, “What of him?”

“He wants the lordship.”

Harwin froze.

When he said nothing, you turned over your shoulder to look at him. He turned away from the fire and headed back over towards you slowly, looking as though he didn’t understand, or perhaps hadn’t quite heard, what you had said.

“Forgive me, My Love… What did you say?”

“He wants Highgarden, the titles, the coffers… everything. He is going to petition the King and the small council to be declared my brother’s legal heir.”

A mixed array of emotions flooded your husband’s face. Before you could think of your next words, several knocks sounded on the door.

You attempted to rise, but Harwin was already on the move. As he passed, he calmly gestured at you to stay put. “Rest.”

You did as he bid. Rest finally was beginning to sound like an appealing option. Now that you had confided to Harwin about the matter that had kept you awake most of the night, you could afford a few hours of sleep.

Harwin answered the door, opening it just far enough for you to catch a glimpse of who it was.

Lady Bethany Hightower, the Queen’s cousin, and also, one of her ladies in waiting.

“Forgive me for the early hour, My Lord.”

“What can I assist you with, Lady Bethany?”

“The Queen has requested an audience with Lady Y/N.”

Harwin hesitated. With one hand resting upon the door, he looked over his shoulder towards you. You weren’t sure what your expression conveyed- it could have been tiredness, distaste, or even fear.

Whatever it was, your husband interpreted it well enough. Harwin turned back to face the Queen’s cousin with purpose. “I’m afraid My Lady Wife is resting. As she has just lost her dear brother not but a few days past, I am sure the Queen can understand why her request must be denied at this time.”

“She understands, My Lord,” Lady Bethany claimed, “But she still insists upon an audience with Lady Y/N at once.”

You could see the muscles along your husband’s back and shoulders tense, despite the armor and cloak that covered them.

“Very well,” he said, through slightly gritted teeth. “I shall accompany her then.”

“The Queen wishes to speak with Lady Y/N alone,” Lady Bethany protested disapprovingly.

“And she shall,” Harwin promised haughtily. “The Queen may command me to leave a room in order for her to speak with my wife alone. But she shall not forbid me from waiting for her just outside the door, nor from walking her through the halls, for only Lady Y/N may command that of me.”

Once you knew that it was inevitable, you rose from the bed, and put on your best face to disguise your true fatigue. “Come now, Dearest,” you told Harwin sweetly, placing a light hand on his arm as you approached him. You gave Lady Bethany a stiff nod in greeting. You looked up at Harwin and stated airily, “We mustn't keep the Queen waiting.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! TO BE CONTINUED in Part 2, which is planned to be posted on Thursday 10/20.🖤🖤🖤

[mhsdatgo]

"You told me it was our duty to hold the realm united against a common foe. By naming me heir, you divided the realm. I thought I wanted it. But the burden is a heavy one. It’s too heavy. If you wish for me to bear it, then defend me. And my children." 

Episodes 8

What is your opinion on this speech?

Hello anon.

So this is like you said one of the scenes from ep.8, when Rhaenyra visits Viserys' bedchambers and he acknowledges her as his "only child" (not the main point of the scene, but Viserys when I catch you.)

Rhaenyra in this scene looks like a woman who isn't ready for the consequences of her actions and the way they've come back to bite her in the ass. But there's something else, deep inside. And it isn't as easy as this one. To me, this is Rhaenyra realizing that just about everything she is, everything she'll be and everything she has grown herself to want to be, it all depends on Viserys.

She is seeking out his help because it's the only one she'll ever TRULY get. The only one who comes the closest to loving her truly is him, even if this rotting excuse of a man she's weeping to is someone who would've been happy to throw her away to some other lord had Aemma's son Baelon survived.

In the end, I really think Viserys was mostly obsessed with the idea of Aemma. The idea of her, combined with the prophecy, made it so that she became something central, something fundamental, her and the children Viserys thought he'd have with her- nevermind the stillbirths, the miscarriages and the babes dead in the cradle. To him, those didn’t matter. Viserys had possibly consoled himself with the idea of another child who would wear the Conqueror's crown, and so he'd force Aemma's mangled body to work overtime, all for the sake of building the path to future he so desperately desired. And when it killed her, what was he left with? Aemma's only child. Rhaenyra.

In the end, Aemma is the only reason why he ever paid Rhaenyra any mind. The only thing left of his first wife, the one who mostly resembles the idea he had fallen in love with. He indulged her because in his mind, she, out of all people, could do no wrong. But this isn't magic, and Rhaenyra grew up spoiled and entitled, not the godsend Viserys hoped, but he couldn’t see it, too blinded with his dreams and false visions to be concerned with anything else.

When Viserys spoke of Rhaenyra about the prophecy, this passed on to her. Indirectly, and not for the same reasons and ambition as his father, (because what was Rhaenyra, if not a girl who had just lost her mother?) she believed that the throne, and anything regarding it, were entitled to her. Because Viserys named her heir, because the houses bowed and pledged loyalty to her. But most importantly, not because she viewed herself as a godsend, no, that came later. Because Aemma had died for this.

Her mother had been gutted like a beast for the dream, for the ghost of Viserys' dreams. How can she see and understand his reasoning? All she sees is that her father killed his mother. It doesn’t matter who he blames her death on, the giant cut on her belly was his order and the maesters' doing. All in pursuit of a male son, of an heir, something that poor Rhaenyra had grown to believe it was an idol, with the way her father spoke of it like some Messiah. When that title was passed on to her, can you imagine what it must have meant to her? She now has her mother's and all her brothers' deaths on her shoulders. If she doesn’t get the throne, then what did her mother die for? What about every single one of her brothers, the ones born without breath, the ones dead in the cradle, the ones dead long before its term? And at the same time, was her father's eagerness for the ideal heir all for naught?

Really, it doesn't matter what she says and does, she cannot conceive it as something wrong as long as her father allows her and indulges her, but we all know why he does what he does. And in that scene in ep.8, it all comes crashing down to her. It hasn't quite hit her yet that her father only loved her because she was her mother's daughter, yet deep down she knows her future and self-worth all rely on him. It wouldn't mean anything if she went to some other man, but him? He's the King, his word is law. He's her father, he'd defend her against the Stranger if he could. Because if he wouldn't, what's there left to believe?

Meanwhile she keeps on making one wrong turn after the other again and again, over the years and she doesn't even mind her father anymore, now grow up with the same view of herself as him. She doesn't see him for six years, and when she comes back, he's rotting. She realizes that her end is most likely near, and so even if he's visibly ill and close to death, she goes to him.

Yes, this situation is her doing, but the culprit was Viserys and the way he has grown her. Rhaenyra is nothing but the personification of all his mistakes, and like him, she believes hers can be ignored. She was so sure that everyone would just listen and dote upon his and her word that to her, all it was need for this common foe to be "defeated" was yet another reminder that his chosen one is her, no one else but her. When an entire room of people chooses her over the "common foe", this belief is strengthened even further.

No matter her former best friend who's made to be a glorified bedwarmer and a mad woman in the eyes of everyone, no matter the fact that this reminder only served as motivation for her to grasp power away from Rhaenyra as soon as Viserys dies. The damage is done by this point yet she still believes in Viserys to fix it even when he's basically on his deathbed.

So yeah, I think this is everything I've got to say. Overall, this is Rhaenyra realizing how screwed she is and resorting to fixing it the only way she knows how.

Thanks for the ask!!

[shes-an-oddbird]

911 Lone Star Countdown Tag Game: Redemption

I’m seriously struggling with the word "redemption" so these answers probably trail off course a few times but please enjoy anyways.

Thank you for tagging me @lonestar-s5countdown

(1) Which 911 Lone Star character redemption moment is your favorite? (Feel free to interpret “redemption” as loosely as you like. This can include moments of forgiveness, moments characters proved themselves, moments characters learned from their mistakes, etc.)

The one that’s coming to mind is Mateo standing up to Captain Tatum and the 129. I respect that he was willing to do the grunt work without complaint because he’s the new guy or whatever, but they were awful to him and him telling them off needed to happen and in the end they did respect him. It was also just a great episode for proving to everyone what a good firefighter he is.

(2) Is there a character you think deserved more of an on screen redemption moment than we got in the show?

There are maybe a few little things I would have liked to have seen. I think it would have been nice for a scene between Carlos, TK and Iris after everything that happened at the beginning of season 4.

I also would have liked to have known why the woman with the DNR bracelet ultimately dropped the lawsuit. If there really was something Nancy or Tommy did or said that changed her mind.

(3) Is there a recurring (or even one-time guest) “villain” that you would like to see return with a redemption arc? Or if not, is there a “villain” you absolutely would not want to see get a redemption?

Personally, I think characters like Billy Tyson and Sgt. O’Brien are funniest when they are being best frienemies with Owen. Pearce too actually. He got a little redemption since he and Tommy ended up with a common enemy but it’s just so much funnier when they are fighting that I wouldn’t want him to completely redeem himself. Let him continue to be a coward and a sellout and too full of himself.

(4) Are there any unresolved conflicts from the first four seasons that you wish were reconciled on screen?

Quite a few actually! Let’s be honest, Lone Star has a way of not really solving problems, just brushing past them, but the one that bugged me the most was “A House Divided”. I had such high expectations for that episode so it’s probably my fault that more than a year later I’m still disappointed. It’s not that it was a bad episode, it’s just that they didn’t actually resolve the issue between Judd and Tommy. They just injured Wyatt and decided that that was more important, so the fight was over. And yes, Wyatt is more important but actual resolution would have been so much better.

The conflict could have been so interesting if it was more developed, maybe even over a couple of episodes. Watching it seep slowly into the rest of the team instead of having them have a childish argument about it that was so embarrassing I could barely watch. It could have been so good! The teams not working at their best being on different shifts and not on speaking terms? Not knowing what to do with their little group fighting. No Catan?! It could have thrown TK and Carlos’s entire home schedule off and have had them struggling because maybe they barely get to see each other. It should have directly affected Nancy and Mateo who were on opposing sides but god forbid their relationship be allowed to have any development.

I’m ranting now but it just irks me that this could have been such a good conflict/resolution for the whole 126. They could have had Owen come home, realize something was up and play devil’s advocate or give a different perspective to Tommy about why Judd reported her. They could have let Judd make a similar decision as Tommy or at least have him struggle with making that decision when he is put in a similar situation. All while the rest of the team is working together to accomplish something/save someone and admit to each other that it wasn’t their battle to fight. It could have been an episode(s) that had a story that included all of them, a conflict that affected all of them and instead we didn’t even get a resolution to the one conflict they did give us.

(5) Which main character would you like to have a more developed backstory?

Nancy is really the only character left who doesn’t have a backstory and I would give every penny I have to fix that. I think Paul could use a more developed backstory and they could have been more consistent with Mateo’s backstory but poor Nancy, we know almost nothing about her. And we are four seasons in. We know she is close with her sister, but why? We know she has always wanted to help people, but why? Maybe I’m reading her wrong but I’ve always felt Nancy was slow to trust people and maybe is even a little introverted (crazy right?) but every time I think they’re are going to explore that that, they don’t.

[chicademartinica]

Dangerous Romance ep 1

Yes. Very Japanese (and Chinese) INDEED. I love the show can you tell ?!!!!! A true enemies AND lovers at last. The class divide is enormous (It’s giving Addicted) and we are getting FORCED COHABITATION ?! With these actors ?!! I’m spoiled.

That face fam. Kang let go of him because the tension was too much not because he was merciful.

YES. Sailom spat on him and resisted him and bested him and this man descended into horny rage in 5 sec. You found where he worked sir ? You are scheming in a garden ? You want him to disrobe ??!!! And kiss a boy in front of you ? Kang WENT NUTS and Perth killed that shit. (There is so much Gu Hai in this character’s DNA ?!!!)

Sailom is an amazing character and Chimon is murdering every scene. You cannot weaponize his poverty or queerness against him. He is the smartest hoe in here and he almost yielded just for his friends. But you had to go and be homophobic 🤷🏾‍♀️.

I love the cinematography and locations. The sepia can be warm than turn icy. The school is trash and oppressive it’s giving Suppalo from the eclipse. Kanghan’s house is a cold ass empty shell and Sailom’s remind me so much Xi Gu’s place in MODC.

The friends, the families are so so good.

Money is a true character and homegirl is going to wreck havoc in here.

Bonus : we now know from the credits that’s the only moments where Kanghan will have the upper hand in this relationship is when he is naked. I laughed so much fam.