#i never journal unless i’m in a bad place

[7rashstar]

09-13-22

[pearlessance]

Dig Two Graves - Idle Threats [vii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel relives the worst moment of his life and finally reads your journal.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI (no smut in this part, but in almost every other in the series), brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, angst, canon typical violence, joel and reader fight the rat king, reader has an added backstory to progress the plot

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

There’s a certain sort of amazement in your horror. Joel watches you take everything in—watches you sift through trashed rooms, taking what hasn’t already been picked over. Scalpels, expired vitamins, and gauze all wind up in your pockets or your backpack.

You only encounter two clickers on the main floor, and they likely wandered in through the bomb-sized hole that’s been blown through the side of the hospital. 

He thought you were quick with the bow of yours, but it’s nothing compared to how lethal you are with that sawback knife. Before you even make it to the second floor, there’s blood splattered on your cheek and a murderous glint in your eye. When you take down the second clicker and turn to see him with his rifle raised, you draw a new, crystal clear rule. “We don’t use bullets unless we absolutely have to. We don’t use guns unless we have to. The less noise we make here the better.”

“‘Course,” he says.

But you narrow your eyes at him, unrelenting. “I’m serious, Joel. I’ll tell you when I need help. If you fire that thing every infected in this place will be on us in a second.”

He almost hears the echo of his own voice in your words. It makes him smile. There’s a sign hanging above the stairwell. Joel nods to it and says, “You got that list of stuff you need for Maria? Can probably find most of it in the labor and delivery wing. Third floor.” 

You nod in agreement and find the scrap of paper you’ve kept safely stored these last few days. It’s crinkled but still legible, the smeared ink list covering both front and back. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

There are spores on the third floor. Joel helps you secure your mask, tightening it maybe a little too tightly, and can’t help but smile to himself as you look up at him through the clear glass over your eyes. You look so innocent, so sweet—and he might die today and so he says, “You’re so beautiful, baby. You know that?”

You shove his shoulder playfully and scoff at his compliments, but your cheeks turn a shade of crimson he’s never seen before and he knows it’s gotten to you. “Shut up.”

The two of you slink through the halls on the third floor, and at this point, Joel feels like you’ve gotten too lucky on this trip. There haven't been any bad moments, any close calls. And you find a quarter of your list in just one room behind the nurse's station that Joel has to break into with brute force. But it works, and he tries not to think about how everything on the list for Maria had been easily accessible. 

He’s still bitter about this whole trip, in truth. Joel’s glad to have this time with you, glad to have gotten to know the most hidden parts of you. It’s all made him understand you better, made him see who you really are beneath the bratty facade you wear.

You’re different out here. And not just because of the inherent danger that comes with being outside the walls. You’re different with Joel. And he knows it’s likely because your rigid exterior has kept everyone else in Jackson from getting too close to you. Everyone except Maria.

Joel wonders if she knows how lucky she is, how fortunate someone like you has decided to love Jackson as much as its creator. Because if it were him, if it were Ellie in your position, Joel would never let her lift another finger for Maria even if she begged on her knees. You’re worth more than this. Your life matters beyond what you can provide. 

And he vows to remind Maria of it the moment the two of you return. He promises to put an end to this parasitic relationship formed between the two of you.

“Hey,” you say. “Look.” You pull something from a drawer behind the nurse's station. It’s an old folded paper, yellowed around its edges.

It’s a map of the hospital. Joel stands beside you, so close he can feel the heat of your body through the sleeve of his flannel. He scans the map briefly, taps his middle and index finger against the lowest level labeled operations. “That’s where we can find the rest,” he says.

“How do you know?” 

He doesn’t. Not for certain. “Operating rooms,” he explains. “They were always stocked with supplies, oxygen tanks, stuff like that. There was a cart full of things for anesthesia. Could be someplace else but it’s likely there. Maybe secured in some closet or somethin’ down there.”

You nod slowly in contemplation. He watches your profile, savoring the sight, watches you gnaw on your bottom lip. He can tell you’re nervous. He is, too. 

Joel presses a kiss against your hairline. “We’re gonna make it back home,” he says. But he can’t promise it, even though he wants to. 

Something is weighing on you. Your eyes are far away, misty. He wants to prod for answers but knows better. “Yeah. We will. Let’s go.”

The north stairwell past the third flood is blocked by rubble and debris, likely caused by the explosion from the bombings.

You end up doubling back, winding through the hallways down to the lobby and to the opposite side of the hospital. The south side of the building is in better shape but must have been where the quarantine rooms for Casper began because the infected are everywhere. A dozen clickers roam the halls, some hidden between solid steel doors or plastic sheets to section off makeshift rooms.

Thankfully, the task of eradication proves relatively easy. Until the last three, anyway. 

Joel’s crouched low, knife in hand, stalking slowly behind a clicker with fresh blood on its mangy shirt when a test tube shatters beneath his boot. 

The infected turns its head and lets out an ear piercing screech, gathering the attention of the other three clickers left. They descend upon him, and Joel is readying himself to jam his knife through the head of whichever one’s closest—but then he hears your voice. 

“Hey! Hey, over here!” 

And all three of them change course. You’re like a magnet drawing in death. Joel feels everything slow in an instant. 

It’s like he’s right back in that capitol building, leaving Tess behind as if she meant nothing. And Joel had never told her otherwise because he’d been too afraid of caring and losing. But then came you, who obliterated all of his defenses and wriggled your way into his worm-eaten heart anyway. 

And yet somehow Joel ends up in the same predicament. 

He abandons his knife altogether in favor of his rifle. He looks through the scope, aims, and the shot echoes off the hospital walls.

You’ve got your knife in the neck of one clicker but it still thrashes in your grip. You just missed the spinal cord—the first time he’s seen you miss any of your strikes. 

It’s too close for him to shoot without potentially hitting you in the process.

The other isn’t, though, and Joel looses another bullet that pierces true. 

He slings his rifle back over his shoulder and he’s only two yards away from you when you stumble backward, losing your balance, the clicker’s strength overpowering yours. 

You’ve got both hands holding its mouth just out of range of your face, knife still stuck in its neck, and Joel’s ears begin to ring.

He doesn’t remember reaching you. He doesn’t remember ripping the clicker off of you and onto the floor. He doesn’t remember shoving the heel of his boot through its softened, decayed skull.

All Joel can recall is the sound of your fearful scream in his ears. 

But when he comes back and the color red bleeds from the edges of his vision, the evidence is there. The infected brain matter has splashed across the white tile and his boot is covered in blood and gore. 

Your chest is heaving when he turns to look at you. You’re still sitting on the floor, arms stretched out behind you as you try and fail to catch your breath.

His voice is calm, and steady as he asks, “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”

“Me? What about you, Joel? I said no fucking guns!”

He doesn’t know what to expect when you speak. But it certainly isn’t that. “I wouldn’t have had to use it if you didn’t try to get yourself killed,” he says, biting anger in his voice. Residual fear from the clicker, he tells himself. 

But it feels like a lie even in his own head. His fury has nothing to do with the clicker and everything to do with your brush with death, Joel knows.

“I told you if I needed help I would say so! I had it!”

Joel leans down and plucks your bloody knife from the dead clicker’s neck and hands it to you. “Did you? Cause it didn’t look like it from here.”

You push yourself to your feet furiously. “Yes, I did! And I don’t need you making decisions like that on a whim! It’s too goddamn dangerous out here. What happened to my run, my fucking rules? Hm? What about that?”

He’s never seen you this angry before. Even with Maria, you’d been more lax. It doesn’t bother him, though—because he’s just as furious. “A whim?” He scoffs. “You wanna talk about rash decisions? Alright—what about that stunt you pulled that got you into this mess in the first place? Yelling’ and hollerin’ like some banshee in the middle of a bunch of clickers and for what?”

“What was I supposed to do, Joel? Let them swarm you, kill you? Are you delusional? I—!”

He closes the space between you and takes your arm between his fingers, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Whatever you’d meant to say, whatever insult you’d had full intentions of hurling at him, lodges itself and stays stuck in your throat. “Don’t you ever do somethin’ like that again, you hear me?”

“What am I doing, then? Protecting you? Oh, sorry! I guess that’s my bad!” You raise your bloody hands in mock surrender. “Next time I should let them tear you apart, is that it?”

“Next time you don’t put yourself between me and a threat,” he says firmly. “I don’t care if it’s a clicker or the barrel of a gun. Your life fucking matters.”

You flinch as if he’d struck you in the face. It takes you a minute to come back from it, to gather yourself enough to respond. But the moment a crease forms between your brows Joel can sense a coming argument, and he cuts it down before giving you a chance to breathe life into it. 

“It matters,” he says again. “It might not to you, but it does to Ellie, to Tommy, to everyone in that town.” He doesn’t say Maria’s name, but he knows you mean something to her just as well. His voice cracks as he admits, “You matter to me.”

You search his face frantically, trying to find a lie when there isn’t one. He watches tears well that refuse to fall, watches your throat bob as you swallow down that fight in you. Your silence speaks volumes to him. 

Still, it’s not enough to settle the fear that’s curdled in his gut. “Promise me,” he says. “Promise me you’ll never do something stupid like that again.”

It takes a moment, but then you relent. “Okay. Okay, I promise.”

Joel releases his hold on your arm, and as his panic begins to subside, it’s replaced with urgency. He wants to get out of here, to make it back to Jackson. He wants to move all of your things into his two story colonial, wants to see you writing in that journal of yours on the porch while he sits beside you and strums his guitar. He wants to see you wearing nothing but his tshirt, padding barefoot into the kitchen while the moonlight streams in through the window. He wants to see you laughing with Ellie over a strawberry scone, wants the subtle sound of your breathing to lull him to sleep in the comfort of his bed. 

He wants to live.

As if you’d read his mind, you say, “C’mon. Let’s get this over with, I’m ready to go home.”

The south side of the hospital, while in better shape than the north, was still affected by the bombings. The descent proves treacherous, and more than once Joel has to hand you his rifle while he lowers himself down a steep drop in the rubble. When it’s your turn to climb down, he takes his rifle in addition to your bow and quiver, and stretches his arms out to ensure your safe drop. 

It must look much more daunting for you, he thinks. You move slowly, carefully, wiggling the heels of your boots between the unwavering stones.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, and gives a low grunt when you push yourself off the rubble slope and stumble into his waiting arms.

Once you’re on the lowest level of the hospital, you’re able to navigate through the building from the crumbled but still legible directories posted on the wall.

Your feet are silent as you round every corner carefully, an arrow knocked the whole time. Joel trails behind you, rifle poised against his shoulder, finger a hair's breadth away from the trigger.

The two of you clear the hallway that consists of only two runners—and it raises a bit of a red flag when you realize they’ve been infected fairly recently. You slaughter them both with your knife silently and send him a weary look over your shoulder. Joel knows, even though neither of you speak, that you’re thinking the same thing he is. 

What killed them?

But you discover nothing remaining in the hall. And the first operating room you investigate proves fruitful. Joel clicks on the flashlight tied to the strap of his backpack and closes the door behind him. “There,” he whispers, pointing to the cart behind the operating table. “An anesthesia cart.”

Unease creeps up his spine because this trip has been made easy. Too easy. But the cart has everything you need, and he’s not in a place to question the hand of God. Not anymore.

You place your bag on the floor between your feet and begin rifling through the cart’s contents. Joel watches you place viles, needles, surgical tubes, and a container of some sort of compressed gas all into your bag. Twice you have to readjust its contents to fit more into it. And when you’re finished, he switches you and lets you fill his just as full.

It doesn’t take long until everything on your list has been crossed off twice. You’re placing one last glass vile into his bag, trying to wiggle it into the pocket on the side. But you fail, and the vile slips through your fingers, shattering on the concrete floor. 

That’s the first time he hears it. 

A feral, angry sort of screech—deafening in the hospital’s silence. 

Joel’s eyes find yours, and he wonders if the terror on your face is reflected on his, too.

It’s a foreign sound. Not runners or clickers or bloaters—and Joel has absolutely no interest in making a new discovery. He tightens his hand around his rifle and nods towards the door. 

But the two of you don’t make it more than three feet before the wall standing between you and safety erupts into pieces, revealing the most monstrous thing Joel has seen in all his life.

It’s a massive, fleshy creature, and before the dust even settles he can see not one or two faces but four—bodies all held together by overgrown masses of cordyceps.

Joel can feel the icy fingers of death wrapping around his neck. He has only his rifle and your sure-fired arrows, both of which don’t have nearly enough ammunition for his liking. He knows, sure as rain, that he’s not getting out of this alive. 

But that doesn’t mean you have to die here. 

“Stay behind me,” he orders. “I’m going to clear a path—distract it, you go around and get out that door.”

He knows you’ll fight him on it but Joel doesn’t give you the chance. He aims for one of the heads and pulls the trigger. 

The creature wails and thrashes and charges forward blindly, teeth gnashing in the air. 

Joel fires again, but it barely registers. The first bullet seems to have made it somehow more lethal, movements harsh and angry. 

He realizes you’ve completely ignored his direction and instead have saddled up to his side, bow in hand with an arrow knocked. “You’ll have to shoot me, Joel,” you say over the clamor, and it makes his stomach turn. And then again, “If you want me to leave this place without you, you’re gonna have to shoot me.”

You’re not bluffing, he realizes when you loose your arrow and it buries itself deep within the creature’s mangled form. He needs you safe, he needs you out of here, far away from this place. Joel turns his rifle towards you, heart hammering behind his ribcage. He tries not to think about the way your eyes widen as he turns and aims for your thigh. 

But before he can pull the trigger the monstrous things charges towards the both of you. Joel surges to the left, pushing you out of harm's way and narrowly missing the onslaught himself. 

In a second you're back on your feet with another arrow whizzing through the air, piercing true. In that moment you remind him a little of Tess, and the thought crosses his mind that she would have adored you but he can’t linger in it long. Joel raises his gun and empties his magazine into the mass of infected.

He reloads and empties another. The creature slows but doesn’t stop and Joel begins to panic at the rapidly dwindling amount of ammunition. His heart is beating so fast that he worries it might burst. His palms are perspiring, sliding against the cold metal of his gun. 

“Joel!” Your voice cuts through the fog in his brain. “You think you can distract it for a minute?”

“I got it,” he says. He kicks the hospital bed in the center of the room and the mass of infected turns its gruesome head. He fires again and again and again, aiming for the several heads stuck between clumps of cordyceps.

He can’t see you but he can hear you fumbling with things on the anesthesia cart, can hear the soft click of a lighter through the cacophony. And then your sweet voice. 

“Hey, asshole!” An arrowhead drenched in blue flame flies through the air, landing true right in the creature’s center. 

It lets out a wail of agony, stumbles, and then charges towards you. 

Joel sees you falter, watches you become a deer in the headlights in real time. It reminds him so much of the look on Sarah’s face when she witnessed Joel’s first kill in their front room when Jimmy Cooper broke through the glass door; frightened, terrified. His chest pulls tight. 

He empties another round into its head, distracting it just long enough for you to come back to reality, to knock another arrow, light it, and release.

It takes every last one of your fiery arrows and all but six of Joel’s bullets before the creature falls to the floor in a mass of blood and flesh and fungus. 

He slings his rifle over his shoulder and tries to catch his breath, tries to accept the impossible reality before him. 

You’re alive. Alive, and safe, and he is too. It’s the first time in a long time Joel has felt this happy, this elated. His eyes connect with yours and you’re covered in blood splatter and grime but he thinks you’ve never looked so beautiful as the moment that pretty smile stretches wide across your face. 

You laugh, and he does, too. The sound fills the space with warmth and light and love. Joel swims in it, basks in it, savors the moment because it’s the best thing to happen to him in years. 

But then a clicker peels itself from the mass of decay on the floor and it’s on you in a second. 

Your laughter turns to blood-curdling screams, bow clattering to the floor and you tumble right along with it. 

Joel runs to you, shoving any fallen debris that stands in his way.  He angles himself just right, Aims. Shoots. 

The clicker falls limp over you. Your screams stop. Joel thinks his heart does, too. 

You don’t move. Even when he finally manages to get to you and shove the clicker away, your eyes are misty, far away. 

Your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, which is a relief, but you don’t look at him. He places both hands on either side of your face, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You’re okay,” he says, more for himself than for you. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay.”

He begins to wonder if he was too late. Maybe you’ve been scratched or bitten or—

That’s when he sees it. The blood covering your shirt, pooled in the center of your belly. And all he can think is not again. 

Please, God, if you’re listening, don’t do this to me again. 

It’s all too familiar. 

And suddenly Joel Miller isn’t in a hospital at all. He’s back in Austin, in the middle of that field, so goddamn close to the highway, so close to freedom. And that blinding light is being shined in his eyes again but this time it’s not his daughter dying in his arms, it’s you.

He must have missed. Must have shot right through the clicker. This is his fault.

Joel peels the wet cotton of your shirt up and doesn’t see any injuries. No scratches, bite marks or bullet wounds. But there’s so much blood it covers his hands now.

“Sarah,” you choke out. 

He freezes, trembling fingers still intertwined in the hem of your blood-soaked shirt.

It doesn’t feel real. You don’t feel real. Joel’s grip on reality is swaying. He must have heard you wrong, right? He must have. 

But then you speak again, voice stronger this time. “My sister’s name was Sarah.”

He says nothing. What can he say, anyway? 

Your eyes are still clouded when you finally look up at him. “Maria doesn’t talk about her. I…I want to, I should. I don’t want to forget her name.” The confession is broken in your mouth, breathless. “Please, Joel. Don’t let me forget her. Don’t let me forget—“

“I won’t,” he says. He swears he’ll circle back, swears to let you talk about this later. Promises it to himself, in fact. But right now he needs to get you to safety, needs to get you far from here. 

He helps pull you to your feet and doesn’t look away from you for more than two seconds while he searches for both abandoned backpacks full of supplies.

Joel carries them both and then wraps a tight arm around your shoulders, half carrying you. The ascent back up to the street takes longer, but he manages. And when you come upon two runners just outside the hospital, Joel wastes them easily even with extra weight on his back. 

It’s not the weight or the runners or the two mile distance between the hospital and the house where you’d stashed your horses and supplies that bother him though. It’s your complete and total silence that does. 

He doesn’t want to make things worse for you. Doesn’t want to get involved if you’re not ready to share. But he can tell something’s weighing heavily on your shoulders and the urge within him to fix it chafes him raw. 

By the time you make it half a mile from the hospital, it begins to rain. It’s a spring rain but still cold enough to make you shiver. Joel gives you his canvas coat, but it doesn’t have a hood. And you’re leaving a murky blood trail with every step you take. He thinks about clearing a house somewhere closer but knows even being away from the horses this long is a risk for thievery.

So, he forces himself to power through it, to watch you suffer silently while he can do nothing. Even though exhaustion is heavy in your bones, on your face, in your heart. And when you do finally arrive back at the house, the ends of your hair are plastered to your neck and the majority of the blood on your clothes has vanished.

He orders you to sit with the horses as he rummages through the bedrooms in search of something warm and dry. Joel returns with a pair of black jeans, an oversized sweater, and two towels to dry you off. “Stand up,” he says. 

And you obey wordlessly, which breaks his heart because he wants to hear some bratty remark, some unhinged comment. But you give him nothing but compliance. 

He strips you of your clothes, uses one towel to dry your skin and the other to ring as much rainwater from your hair as possible. He works slowly, gently. And then he maneuvers your limbs of his own accord, running two fingers over every inch of your bare skin. 

Your voice is broken and you sound so tired as you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Checking for bites,” he explains softly. “Maybe scratches.” He can feel your gaze on the side of his face, but Joel doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied with his inspection.  He dresses you in the clothes he found. The jeans are a little tight and the ivory sweater has a moth-eaten hole in the sleeve, but your shivering lessens.

He knows it’s risky, but he breaks apart the crumbling oak dining chair and tosses the wood into the fireplace. He’s already striking a match and trying to light it before you catch onto what he’s doing. 

“No fire,” you tell him, a frantic tone slipping into your voice. It’s the first emotion you’ve shown since the hospital. “Joel, what if someone—?”

“Then I’ll deal with it,” he says, leaving no room for argument. You’re cold, and he has the tools to fix it. What kind of man would he be if he chose not to? 

The fire catches, illuminating the dark room in orange and yellow hues. He doesn’t want to leave you but he does for only long enough to feed the horses, bring them fresh water, and find dry clothes for himself. While sifting through one of the dressers he discovers more than just jeans and a black tshirt, though. 

When he returns to the main room, you’ve moved to sit in front of the fireplace, hands held out in front of the flames.

He moves the rickety old coffee table towards you and sits on the other side of it. “Look what I found,” he says, holding up the set of fifty-two playing cards. They’re no longer shiny and white, weathered and yellowed now with age. But they’ll still serve their purpose. Joel begins to shuffle the deck as he asks, “Is there anything you know how to play?”

You take your hands reluctantly away from the fire and tuck them beneath your legs instead. “Rummy,” you answer quietly. “Maria taught me.”

Joel nods and begins to deal out ten cards to the both of you. He can feel your stare, heavy and weighted, but doesn’t meet it until he’s lifted his cards to observe them. 

He’s got shit for luck. Always has. “Went out to a casino once with Tommy,” he says, smiling fondly at the memory. “Promised myself I’d only spend a hundred bucks but ended up spending double and left with less than fifty cents that night.”

You start a discard pile. Joel picks up your eight of hearts. “I’m okay,” you say. “You don’t need to do…whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

A crease forms between his brows. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“Distracting me,” you tell him, drawing from the stack of cards. “Trying to make me feel better. I’m just saying you don’t have to. I’d tell you if I needed to talk.”

He doesn’t believe it for a second. Because you might have a foul mouth and a habit of thievery but you’re also the most selfless person he’s ever met. You didn’t tell Maria you didn’t want to go on that run for her pregnancy craving, you didn’t tell him you needed him with a clicker trying to tear you apart, you didn’t ask for a fire or dry clothes while you shivered in the dark. Joel Miller doesn’t think you’d say a goddamn word even if you were drowning. “Would you?”

You don’t answer. You discard a three of clubs instead.

Joel discards and draws. He inhales deeply and lets out a slow breath. “You don’t have to do things alone anymore,” he says. “Supply runs, life riskin,’ grief…whatever it is, I’m with you.”

“Even back in Jackson?” There’s disbelief in your tone as you draw a new card. “People are gonna talk, Joel. You said it yourself.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah I did.” He discards his ace of spades. “Turns out, I care less about them and more about you.”

You don’t say anything. Joel wishes so badly that you would give him just an inch of an idea as to what’s going on inside your head. You pick up his discard and get rid of the two of clubs.

“That alright with you?”

“I don’t care about what the people of Jackson think or say about me. I already told you that.”

“I’m not askin’ about them I’m askin’ about you,” he says. Joel wonders how long you’ve been forced to put all your wants and needs aside for them. Long enough that it’s become a habit, even here when it’s just the two of you. 

“What about me?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, which only further proves his point. You discard a nine of hearts.

He picks it up. “I’m old,” he says, discarding his four of clubs. “Got a good fifteen years left in me, twenty if I’m lucky. You gotta whole lot more than that. An’ I don’t live on the exciting side of things much anymore. That really what you want?”

You roll your eyes and Joel feels warmth bloom in his chest at the sight. It’s something. 

“You could die tomorrow and so could I,” you say. “You know that as well as I do. Something as trivial as age doesn’t matter. Maybe it used to, but things are different now.”

He nods contemplatively and draws another card. “That’s true enough.”

“And you won’t ever hear me complaining about monotony,” you say, a little quieter. “Never had much stability. Doesn’t seem like a bad thing to me.”

It’s not meant to provoke sympathy but he feels it anyway. Joel wants to provide that for you more than anything. But he doesn't want to be the kind of man that keeps things from you. He learned his lesson the hard way with Ellie. “My, uh…my daughter. Her name was Sarah, too.” Joel lays his cards down on the table, displaying a perfect ace through king run of hearts.

You don’t even register the fact that he’s won the game. Your cards tremble in your fingers. He knows you won’t speak, so he decides to instead. 

“I think I’ve known for…for quite some time. Just didn’t want to admit it to myself s’all. But the minute you looked at me and said her name?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “When I realized we shared this loss, you and I…that we were…connected somehow—I knew there’d never been another option. No goin’ back. It’s when I knew it without a doubt.”

You lay your hand down this time, a perfect run of spades.

A tie.

“Knew what?”

“That I love you.” It surprises him how easy it feels to say it, how naturally it flows from the tongue.

You tense up, muscles going rigid at his words. He watches the orange flames reflect and flicker in your eyes, watches you hesitate to speak.

He doesn’t expect you to say it back. Doesn’t matter to him whether or not you ever do, in truth. Because he doesn’t love you for what you can provide, he just loves who you are. He just loves you. 

You make a sudden decision and stand to your feet, crossing the room to rummage through your backpack. It takes you a minute, but you finally pull the battered leather journal from the bottom and then you return to your spot. “Goodnight, Joel,” you say, tossing the journal into his lap and lying on your side in front of the fire. “You’ve got the first watch.”

He spends it learning everything about you. The entries are vague, details omitted. But it fills in the gaps left behind by what he already knows. He gets a glimpse of who your Sarah was, and in those entries, he sees bits and pieces of you within her. He sees your distrust of Maria spiral into acceptance and then into attachment, sees your view of Tommy’s arrival and your apprehension to trust him, too. 

He learns that ultimately it was a day you spent on patrol together that his little brother won your faith. Tommy told you all about his sibling he would kill and die for, a conversation that must have struck you deep enough to decide to protect Tommy the same way you protect the whole of Jackson.

One of the older entries shocks him. The first interaction you ever had with Ellie, it seems, was the night after they returned to Jackson when he followed her back to the hospital in Salt Lake City. Joel remembers very vividly how awful he felt back then. And Ellie, it seems, was much the same.

In the entry, you say you find her sitting beneath the willow tree across the street from your home. You find her crying, alone, and so frustrated and confused that she’s barely making sense. You bring her inside, and she confesses all to you. Ellie tells you about the hospital, about how she both loves and hates Joel at that moment. She tells you about her friend Riley, about Marlene and Tess and Sam and Henry. She tells you she’s immune.

And in the next sentence, you make a confession in ink that you would do no differently than Joel had. You say that you would damn everyone else if it meant the safety of this crying girl at your kitchen table, and Joel’s eyes begin to sting the longer he reads. 

You document a run that happened seven years ago in which you made your first human kill at fourteen. You reference it in several other entries as The Dying. It takes Joel until halfway through the journal before he realizes you formulate several things in this dramatic metaphorical way. 

Discovering Jackson is The Finding, you call your bow The Cursor and sometimes refer to Maria as The Director. Your sister’s death is referred to simply as The End.

With less than a quarter of the journal left to read, he finds an entry dated the day before he was assigned to watch duty with you. You refer to yourself as The Wraith, comparing yourself to the dead, to a ghost. You express your longing to be a sibling again, despite that fact never changing even after enduring such a heavy loss. 

And then the next entry, dated the day after your shift in the watchtower, is an almost blank page. In the center, there’s a hand-drawn moth, the only thing within the journal’s entirety drawn in color. Below it, a single word is written.

Joel.

[part six] [part eight]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef

[let me know if you'd like to be added!]

[inell]

About Me

I'm Inell (she/her/hers). Forties. Ace. I write fanfic, and I've been actively writing in fandoms since 1999. I’m a fandom old for sure! Current fandom: 911 (Buck/Eddie) and Teen Wolf (Stiles).

I am basically a Buddie mono shipper. I have written Buck/Connor, Buck/Tommy, and BuddieTommy since joining the fandom, but my heart belongs to Buddie.

I don’t care what other people ship; I filter things I don’t want to see. I’m very anti-drama in my fandom space. I try not to reblog hate against characters or ships that I don’t enjoy because I have friends who do enjoy them. My general motto is that fandom is for fun, and I’m going to spend my minimal free time focusing on things I enjoy, not hating on characters/ships that I don’t like.

Currently accepting 911 prompts from this list.

Also accepting Buck/Eddie prompts from this list.

Inell watches 911 live blogging

I started writing in BTVS with Willow as my OTC. Then I moved into Harry Potter, where Hermione was my OTC. I dipped my foot into the Star Trek XI fandom, where Kirk/McCoy was my OTP, and Avengers fandom, where I wrote a long Steve/Clint series.

I am currently swimming around in Teen Wolf, where Stiles is my OTC. I have a long crossover series that’s Stiles/Bucky Barnes that I’m updating sporadically. I’ve also done a deep dive into 9-1-1 fandom, where I enjoy writing Buck/Eddie and FireFam.

My Ask is always open if you want to chat. I’ve been around fandoms since the days of posting boards and egroups, into the live journal era, and beyond. My general philosophy is ship and let ship, and not my kink but enjoy yourself. I don’t like drama and hate in my fandom experience. I do block tags, and I try to curate my experience. I have never had a ship I love writing in fandom actually go canon, so I tend to live in the fanon & love it. Now, if my current ship did go canon, I certainly wouldn’t complain! But I won’t stop shipping it regardless.

I like writing happy endings and romance, and I ride the wave of the muse in terms of spamming fic when she's talkative and possibly going days with nothing if she stops talking. I’m always happy to be tagged for fic I might like & I like chatting about fic and fandom.

Prompting Me

My Ask is always open! You can prompt me or send me questions/comments on fic/whatever. I can't promise to write every prompt that I receive. I prefer general prompts, like a ship & a dialogue prompt etc. You can find prompts that I’ve reblogged in my tags. If you have a rating restriction or an AO3 account, put those in the Ask. One prompt per ask.

I generally don't write M-preg, age regression, adult/baby play, scat, emesis play, necrophilia, rape/non-con, extreme underage, non-consensual adultery/cheating, hardcore BDSM, pain play, humiliation, character death, watersports, sounding, tragedy, dark fic, unhappy endings etc.

If you happen to send me a kink/prompt not on the above list that I realize I can’t write, I’ll let you know unless it's anon. I tend to like happy endings, romance, fun tropes, smutty times, and plot that is more centered on friendships or relationships than Big Bads etc. I have a fondness for either the getting together, the first times in relationships, or slices of life in established relationships. Really, if you’re familiar with my writing, you probably know what’s safe to prompt and what probably isn’t!

My Fic

My Fic on AO3 - Best place for all Teen Wolf & 9-1-1 fic as I’ve post everything there from 2015 forward.

My Fic Archive - This is best for finding anything written from 1999-2015.

[sleephyuns]

A sharp scream awakes her, nearly sending her toppling off the couch. There’s echoing screams and metallic scrapes that follow, and while she fumbles for anything to hold her upright, two things happen:

First, her hand finally finds purchase on her desk. Second, she realizes the commotion was from the TV.

With a roll of her eyes, she grabs for the remote on the floor and clicks it off, ignoring the way her heart had practically rumbled out of her chest.

On again. Then off. On again. Then off. Just to make sure it won’t happen again.

It’s well after midnight, she also realizes, looking at her phone’s screen. She must’ve fallen asleep while journaling and… yes, her notebook’s currently supine on the floor.

She heaves herself off the couch to retrieve her empty wine glass, and thinks about how messy the rest of the end table is. She should probably clean it… but the thought of having to interact with mess makes her brain feel septic. At least for the moment.

She’ll do one thing, though, and it’s to carefully remove the half-written page of her notebook.

It’s one of her irrational thoughts, the need to start fresh and finish an entry in one go, lest something horrible happen to her come morning.

She’s been having a bit of a spike in thoughts like that lately, not that she lets them get the best of her. That’s mostly because she knows where they come from, the root cause of her stress. Of course it’s…

Jeongyeon.

Jeongyeon reminds her of Mina.

Quiet. Very to herself, even if she doesn’t mean to be.

Well, isn’t she kind of like Mina too? In a way. It’s part of why they hit it off so well in the first place. They both have a habit of observation. Though it’s a mystery whether Jeongyeon is the same.

It’s likely. Jeongyeon wasn’t sly in hiding her wandering eyes, her intensity. She just hadn’t realized someone else was watching her too. And maybe she never would.

Another blatancy about her: she was comically bad at acting with any sort of normalcy. With a plastered smile on her face, actions bordering on robotic. She must’ve thought everything was going fine. And well… she’d tried to make the woman feel like things were going fine, in response. So it’s not completely Jeongyeon’s fault.

But what she can do, is notice this line of behavior isn’t Jeongyeon’s usual.

Jihyo always spoke about Jeongyeon like she’d created the universe itself, told her about her days with the other woman as if they were some kind of great tale. And for the most part, they were. She loved to hear about what made her happy, what got on her nerves. Even-

—

“So, Jeongyeon has this idea that if you put a song on loop during sex, you can use it as an instant switch when you want to get in the mood.”

“…”

“You do psych work so… is it true , you think?”

—

So surely there’s more to Jeongyeon than just a few one worded answers.

One worded answers are the devil. Just the thought of them frustrates her to no end. If she makes tea, though, that’ll fix it. That way she can detox and destress as the inevitable happens.

Her inevitable thoughts about Mina.

She rises from the couch and takes her few steps towards the kitchen. It’s there she resumes her thoughts.

They’re amicable, the two of them, when the situation calls for it. Only two other people knew of their history, and there was no point in making a big fuss during group gatherings.

So they chose to let things be, not bothering to contact each other unless they absolutely needed to.

Of course, she has no real ill will towards Mina. Even at her most upset, she always wanted what was best for her. For the both of them.

Though that doesn’t make the memory torment her any less.

—

“I’m alone, waiting for just a text from you with the very little time I have off that we agreed to spend together and you’re either hanging out with your coworkers or begging to spend time with Momo. Where do I fit in?”

—

She laughs, thinking about the quiver in her voice. It might’ve been a little pathetic, in hindsight. Words said in a desperate need to get her point across.

But “you don’t get to do that analyzing stuff with me,” was what Mina had said. And she couldn’t help it-

—

“Well what else should I do when you won’t tell me what’s going on or how you feel? What am I left with if you don’t give me anything aside from ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’?”

“What is it you want Mina? Answer me honestly. And I promise I won’t get mad.”

—

Her voice had been soft, as she begged. Pleaded. Because maybe, just maybe, she’d hoped that Mina wouldn’t come to the obvious conclusion. The one that stared them both in the face. She hoped that maybe, for once, her perception wasn’t as spot on as it usually was.

But Mina gave her that look. That damned awful look that told her the next few words weren’t going to be ones she wanted to hear.

And that was that.

No she isn’t carrying a torch for Mina anymore, but the memory still stings, nags at her insides. She even considers journaling about it for a fifth time. But she won’t, not tonight. Instead, she clicks the burner of the stove on and off and on again. Four times until she’s satisfied.

But being around the stove like this… she feels the embarrassment of yesterday creep it’s way up her spine.

“Whyyy did I walk into the kitchen like that?,” she asks her reflection in the kettle.

One more click and it’s gone.

She knows she’s going to have to address this soon, if Jeongyeon won’t.

Their current situation isn’t working for anyone. For as much as Jeongyeon’s been walking on eggshells, she, herself, seems to be completely crushing them under her feet. Which, excuse her therapy brain, means it’s time for a new approach.

Because the thing is? Minatozaki Sana no longer gives up on a challenge. Even if she fumbles her way through it, she won’t give up on happiness so easily. There’s probably something to be said about that, but she resists the urge to analyze herself. It’s better not to make herself go mad.

Right now, she’ll take the kettle off the burner and pour herself a mug of hot tea.

The mug she chooses tonight is one of her recent favorites, simply because Jihyo had commented on how pretty it was when she was over days ago. It’s nice to have a reminder of her on nights where she thinks too deeply.

But it also reminds her of Jihyo’s story in response. How Jeongyeon had bought her a beautiful blue-glazed mug in Jeju, just so Jihyo could have one that better suited her grip.

So yes, Sana concludes, Jeongyeon must be the observant type. And thoughtful, at that. Her gaze is as intense as it is tender. She’d known that all along, really. But her brain, per usual, had to work through the evidence to find the answer.

Even when the evidence was presented to her from the start.

—

“Are you cold?”

“Hm?”

“Your legs are shaking. Here-”

“You can use my jacket if you want. I have a sweater on underneath, so it’s all good.”

—

She remembers the beginnings of protest bubbling up in her throat, when the jacket was draped on her, overcome with the need to convince the other woman things were fine. She didn’t need to sacrifice her own warmth in the chilly outdoor air.

She did so anyway.

An insignificant moment to Jeongyeon, perhaps, for several reasons.

Sana was still fairly new to everyone… except Mina and Momo (and Nayeon by proxy) really. And that particular event had gone beyond their usual group of friends, extending to a few people from campus, maybe some coworkers. Lastly? Sana was still in what she had aptly dubbed her “Mina mourning period.”

Sana had been an outwardly happy person for years, wearing her joyousness like a knight’s armor. It worked well to protect her. Harsh words, snide remarks, testy glares. All of it just bounced right off of her.

It still works well for her, as someone who wants people to adore her, to have people know her as one who was “always happy,” rather than one whose despondency made others uncomfortable.

It worked very well… until her heart was broken. When her armor had temporarily cracked.

She’d been on week 2 of stewing in her own misery. Nothing but nights of tears, scribbled journal entries and enough cups of tea to have her running to the bathroom every hour.

That night had been no different, in terms of Sana’s mood. She was quiet and reserved, nursing her second or third beer in her own little section of the circle. She’d forgone her usual flashy colors and habits in order to simply enjoy bask in the night and maybe feel like herself again.

That one simple gesture, that warmth from the fabric, was bright enough to combat the dull drab of everything else.

But then Jeongyeon left early, not even bothering to take the jacket from Sana.

“Fate’s funny that way,” she mumbles, watching the tea leaves dye her water dark. It really is funny. If Jeongyeon had never left her jacket, there would’ve been no need to approach her “best friend” later.

—

“That friend of yours… is she your roommate?”

“Roommate? You mean Jeongyeon?”

“Yes! I think so. She left this with me.”

“Uh, but also… is she seeing anyone?”

—

It’s a memory she thinks on quite fondly. Sana went in expecting the pretty woman with the sharp eyes to mend her broken heart for a just a while. Months later, she’s blessed with the love and affection of said woman’s girlfriend.

And only a fraction of a hair closer to the woman she’d been initially after.

Sana’s going to change that, though. It’s certain. She taps her tea strainer four times against the mug’s rim to insure it.

Of course she has doubts, because what would be worse: Forcing a relationship that leaves all three people broken, or leaving the remaining two behind to salvage the remains of what they have?

Neither is acceptable. So-

“I’ll just have to walk it back.”

She raises the mug to her lips, basking in its warmth while she ruminates on a potential plan.

Minutes later, when she finds herself properly settled for bed, she’s sure of what she’ll do. Now, she’s left to see how Jeongyeon responds.

[povivekara]

Rival

1/3

OC(in your pov) x Neteyam

Word count: 1,173

Summary:

You and Neteyam are rivals. You two always compete with each other, trying to beat one another. It was so satisfying for you when you beat him, your hands on your hips, a smug grin plastered all over your face, shoving it in as he desperately tried to think of a come back.

It’s been 3 years since the RDA had attacked again, and you have reached the age where most na’vi have mates. Although, you don’t have one, and your parents are pressuring you to get one.

The worst part is, that if you don’t find one soon, deals will be made and you are to be mated with your RIVAL. Ever since you were young, your parents and the Toruk Makto and his wife have yearned for you and Neteyam to be mated (unless you and Neteyam already have your own mates).

You and Neteyam have learnt of this, and you both are desperate to find a mate on time. Unfortunately, luck isn’t on any of your side.

Random day in 2173

You stroll through the forests, trying so hard not to just turn around and go back. Kiri told you that taking a walk would improve your stress levels.

To you, this was just making it worse. You had so much to do, so much weight on your shoulders, and all of it was just making your stress reach its peak.

You tried to think of things to calm you down, like that one time you learnt how to ride an ikran before Neteyam, and how proud of yourself you were.

That’s when your thoughts shifted to Neteyam.

You were thinking about all those times you beat him, and how satisfying it was to see that one look on his face when you did.

You always thought of when he beat you, and how you just wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. And also to the times where you weren’t competing or anything just oddly… being friends.

You remember that one look he gave you when you had pissed him off but his father, the Toruk Makto, was calling him and he couldn’t do anything.

His jaw clenched, he gave you that one glare and he gave you a Quick Look up and down before walking off to his father. You never wanted to admit it, but that was quite attractive.

You smile without realizing, feeling all giddy as you bit your lip. You felt a big hand reach your shoulder, sending you into a shock and a snap back into reality.

Neteyam bent forwards to reach your level from behind you, and leaned into your ear, whispering; “did the mighty warrior scare you? I felt your flinch.”

You turned around, immediately recognizing his voice.

“What is it you want, Neteyam?” You asked, raising an non-existent eyebrow and folding your arms.

He handed you a journal full of lists of herbs. “Kiri asked me to give you this.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You replied, flipping through the delicate pages worth of notes.

Neteyam stared at you, walking beside you as you flipped through the pages. It was obvious he was bored by the fact he was still beside you. Neteyam slowly put an arm around your shoulder, looking down at the journal as well.

You put the journal in his hands, as you found the right page. “Read out the list of ingredients for me.”

He did as you said.

You ventured through the forest, looking for each ingredient that he read out. You were now on the last ingredient, looking through every bush and branch.

“Txana..” Neteyam called.

You turned around to see Neteyam holding a slightly poisonous fruit in his hands. What concerned you is that he decided to take a bite out of it.

You rushed up to him, taking the fruit and dropping it onto the ground. He just knew what to do to stress you out.

“Why didn’t you ask me if this was safe to eat?!” You yelled in frustration, pacing around him, running your soft fingers all over his body, trying to find the rash.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” Neteyam asked, looking at her as she placed her hands on him.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t anything too bad. This is just gonna give you a big rash.” You sigh, as the rash slowly started to appear on his chest.

You grab his wrist and lead him somewhere near a stream and sat him down on a rock. “Why would you eat it?”

“It looked good, okay?” Neteyam looked away, embarrassed.

You huff out of annoyance as you grab some of the herbs, mush it up and all that and heal his rash.

For some reason, you felt Neteyam’s eyes on you the entire time you treated the rash on his chest. “Did you find a mate yet?” You ask, looking up at him and meeting his gaze.

“No. Have you?” Neteyam mumbled, as you finished up. He stood up from the rock as he watched you clear everything up.

“Not much luck yet.” You reply, standing on your tippy toes as you inspect his face. “Are you feeling anything?”

Neteyam’s heart skipped a beat as you inspected. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, and your lips. Neteyam finally shifted back to reality, “I’m fine.”

Neteyam returned back to the hut after a long day.

Lo’ak walks in, grinning from ear to ear. He watched carefully as Neteyam stretched his arms and yawns. “How was it?”

“How was what?” Neteyam asks, clearly confused as he sets himself down on a snonivi (hammock).

“Your walk with your girlfriend.” Lo’ak says in a teasing manner, placing his hands on his hips.

“She isn’t my girlfriend, baby brother.” Neteyam looks up at Lo’ak.

“Whatever you say, Teyam.”

The next following day

You walk into a tent, as the clan’s tsahik, Mo’at, called you.

Your eyes darted around the room as you saw Lo’ak being treated by Mo’at, another Na’vi warrior about the same age being treated by Kiri, and Neteyam who locked eyes with you.

“Tsahik, why did you need me?” You ask, as she turns around by the sound of your voice.

“Ah, Yawne (beloved), I need an extra hand to help my grandson, Neteyam.” Mo’at smiled, before turning her attention back to the na’vi warrior.

You nodded and went up to Neteyam, getting on your knees. “Where were you injured, youcareless skxawng?”

“Hey, don’t call me careless. This is a sign of bravery.” Neteyam said.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Where were you injured.” You say firmly, annoyed.

“On my back and on my chest.”

You took some dapophet and slowly but cautiously rubbed it where his injury on his back was, making sure it stung.

“Ow, ow.. ouch.” Neteyam groans.

“It doesn’t even hurt that much,” you mutter. “Anyways, how’d you get injured?”

Neteyam was relieved as you finally finished up on his back. “Me, Lo’ak and another warrior were hunting and got attacked by a herd of yerik (type of pandoran deer).”

You can picture that, probably hurt. You put your hand on his chest and push down, making him lay over.

You grab some more dapophet and other herbs as you slowly start to treat his chest.

You mix some of the ingredients with the dapophet so it would sting less. Your fingers trace along the large cut, as you lock eyes with him again.

“Does it still sting?” You ask.

“No, thanks.” Neteyam answers.

You turned to your left to see Neteyam’s mother with yours, intently watching as you treat Neteyam. They chatted, and you knew well what they were talking about.

You look back down at Neteyam, trying to quickly finish up on his chest. After you were finished, “get up. I’m done.”

Neteyam sat upright, groaning as he did. You handed him a cup of tea.

You stand up, telling the tsahik and Kiri that you’re leaving, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

You decided that today you would find a mate. It had to be today.

To be continued

[angst-king]

Betrayal Beyond Repair pt 1

(this is a Fallen Emily AU hazbin fic. CW mention & description of violent injuries including blood )

“Miss Emily, is everything alright?” “Huh?” The snake gave a soft smile to the young seraphim and repeated his question. The girl straightened up her slouched stature and nodded quickly.

“Yes yes, ev-everything is fine, Sirpentious.” She tried to muster a smile but the snake was unconvinced and reached out a gentle over hers.

“You’ve been spacing out and you haven’t been yourself as of lately. I may not know you well but, I pay attention.” Emily blushes a little realizing she had been letting her guard down enough for the new winner to notice. She didn’t know whether to tell him or not, would he even care? It truly wasn’t that bad, he didn’t need to know. Shaking her head she tried once more to convince him nothing was wrong but the tears that fell didn’t help her case.

“Miss Emily, please, you’ve done so much for me since I arrived, it's only fair that I return this favor.” Emily knew she couldn’t get out of it and sighed shakily.

“….ever since the trial that exposed the exterminations. I’ve tried to understand Sera’s reasoning…but I never truly did. I’ve tried convincing her that it needs to end and there is a much better way to go about this but she hasn’t been listening.” Sirpentious nodded along with a sympathetic look.

“I have a journal that I write in when I get frustrated or don’t know what to do. Sera’s never went through it before…until now.” Curiosity filled Sirpentious wondering where this was going even though he had a feeling that he already knew.

“She went through it, and screamed at me for my ‘foolish and childish’ ideas. Called me selfish and…other things.” Brushing a lock of hair covering her neck she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Sirpentious looked wide-eyed at her, he knew Sera had issues but he never guessed she would do something like that to someone whom she considered her sister.

“Oh Miss Emily, I’m so sorry.” “I-it…it’ll be okay Sirpentious, I-I probably am just out of line or something. I shouldn’t involve you in this.” Pentious took her hands in his gingerly rubbing his thumb over the top of her hand.

“No, you didn’t deserve that. She shouldn’t have done that. I’m sure your ideas are amazing.” “A-are you sure?” “Yes, I am dear. Now listen carefully” Sirpentious pulled the girl close, at first Emily was confused until she realized he was telling her what to do if she ever found herself kicked from heaven. She heavily doubted it would ever happen, she was a high Seraphim like her sister. Sure Sera had harshly humiliated her but, she wouldn’t go that far would she? It wouldn’t hurt to keep everything the man said in mind though…just in case.

And it was good that she did.

She didn’t even remember how she ended up in hell but, one minute she was in heaven the next she was lying in the red dirt of hell. She didn’t even know where in hell she was since she didn’t know much about the place. All she could see was red, and her own blood. It took several attempts to gather the strength to get to her feet. She remembered Sirpentious’s instructions though. Either find the kindest overlord or the hotel, tell them who sent you and never look back. Even though she didn’t know where she was going, she started her walk into the pride ring. Of course, she garnered many stares from the sinners. Many only saw angels on extermination day, so most looked wary or not fond of her presence, to put it mildly.

Limping along the sidewalk golden blood trailed behind her along with a troop of sinners who looked ready to attack at any second. She didn’t care, too focused on finding someone who could help before her body gave out. Each step sent a shock wave of searing white-hot pain through her. She could feel certain bones crunching and crackling, she could taste the blood, and her vision was beginning to cloud and blur.

“Unless you wish to face any consequences you’ll stop following this young angel.” A dark raspy voice commanded, Emily froze too scared to look up. Unknowing to her the group of sinners turned tail and ran, and two young girls approached her and carried her. She barely had the chance to see who it was before unconsciousness took her.

“Zestial is everything alright? You said you’d be coming home an hour ago.” “Sorry to worry you Carmilla but, on my way back with the girls, I found an injured seraphim being followed by some sinners.” That got Carmilla’s attention quickly, turning away from her current task with curiosity. Zestial beckoned for her to follow him towards the living room where the girls were working on fixing up Emily’s injuries. Something in Carmilla broke, even though she never knew the girl, she knew it had to be bad for her to be wandering around with such injuries.

“We’ll keep her here for a while.”

With the agreement in place, she helped her daughter through the process of tending to Emily’s injuries. Seeing the damage had her curious as to what happened. She could tell this had been done by angelic weapons. Still, why would they do this? Had she gone against them? Judging by the clothes she wore she seemed almost princess-like.

It was a normal morning at the hotel, and everything running as usual, Lucifer had stopped by to check in on things.

“Hello hello, how’s everything going?” He asked while pulling his daughter into a hug as soon as possible, she smiled at him while answering.

“Everything’s going well, still working on some renovations but going well, Dad. Thanks for asking.”

“That’s good! I’m glad to see it, do you have any plans for today?” “Not really, The majority of the new flyers passed out yesterday, today’s just a relaxed day.” “Oh, maybe we can go out! You’ve been working so hard these past few days, what do ya say Charlie? Vaggie as well, if you’d like to go, I’d love to get to know you.” Charlie walked Lucifer over to the bar to sit down. Vaggie raised a brow at the invitation and sheepishly asked

“I mean I don’t mind it, Are you sure I wouldn’t be crashing on anything?” Lucifer waved it off

“No way, you are my daughter’s girlfriend, I’ve missed out on meeting you the last 3 years, I gotta start somewhere.” As they agreed to the plan the doors to the hotel swung open. Behind them was Carmilla carrying Emily wrapped up in a jacket.

“I’m terribly sorry to barge in so early but you guys are the best ones to handle this.” Turning to see who she was and the limp body she was carrying Charlie and Lucifer both leaped from their seats and rushed over.

“Is that Emily?!” Asked Charlie, Carmilla explained what Zestial had told her as Charlie guided her to the couch where she gently laid the girl down. All attention from those in the lobby was zoned in curiously.

Charlie gasped as the coat unraveled to see the extent. A good portion of her torso had been bandaged up though blood was still seeping through. Her hair matted in it too as well as bandages wrapped around her head and legs. One ankle had been wrapped in a splint, and the color in her face looked almost sickly.

“What happened to her?!” “She fell.” Answered Lucifer, quickly taking off his hat and coat, rolling up his sleeves he materialized a first aid kit while checking Emily’s condition. Charlie stood by offering her assistance. A sneer pulled at his expression as looked over her beaten and battered body.

“She doesn’t have enough strength for me to heal all of her injuries, I’ll heal what I can, the rest are going to have to heal on their own.”

He huffed focusing his energy on his healing magic. A soft gold and red glow emitted as he did this, some wounds closed completely others only partially. Once he finished what he could he picked her back up and told Charlie to follow after thanking Carmilla for bringing Emily. Following her father closely, Charlie could feel his energy change. It was a mix of sadness and anger, even with his face stone cold, she saw the way her father held Emily. How firm yet gently his claws curled around her, how he kept Emily’s head to his chest so securely.

Lucifer had Charlie unlock a bedroom where he placed Emily to rest for now. “Dad….a-are you okay?” Charlie didn’t know how to ask the question but she knew what answer she wanted. Lucifer knew what she was asking and sighed as he pulled the blanket over Emily.

“I’m just…angry is all.” Charlie nodded in understanding as they both peered back at the girl.

“I’ve known her since she was first created, they kept her innocence and blinded. She was a pawn….She was so sweet, and kind.” A crack in his voice escaped, Charlie looked back to her father to see him shaking.

“I know why they threw her down here…same reason they did with me.”

“Why don’t we go, let her sleep alright?” Suggested Charlie, extending a hand to the king who straightened himself up and took her hand. Lucifer turned the lights out before they left following his daughter out.

Three days went by before Emily had woken up in a dim unfamiliar room.

“Wh-where am I?” She sat herself up and almost screamed from pain trying to get out of bed. Looking down at herself she noticed the bandages which only made her even more confused. What happened to her? Where was she? This wasn’t the castle. It was no easy task but she managed to walk herself out of her room and down the hallways.

“All the walls are red…a-am I in hell?” She asked herself, why was it so hard to remember. She knew something had happened, someone hurt her, but who? Using the wall to keep her balance, Emily dragged herself down the long hallway and into the elevator. The elevator ride gave her a little bit of time to think about how she ended up here. Last she remembered she had just gotten back to the castle after hanging out with SirPentious.

When the elevator dinged she entered what looked to be a large hotel lobby.

“Woah what is this place?” Emily wondered out loud, just as she stepped out Nifty came running at her with a knife.

“Kill kill KIll Kill the angel!” Letting out a scream Emily scrambled to get back into the elevator. She ended up falling back and closing the door before someone had grabbed the cyclops.

“No no no Nifty, ya can’t kill her, she’s a guest.” A voice explained from the lobby, there was a short back and forth before the elevator door was opened.

“I’m sorry, she’s been like that since the last extermination.” A gray hand extended itself to Emily who cautiously took it once she recognized who it was.

“V-vaggie?” The woman nodded and pulled the angel to her feet and wrapped an arm around her waist.

“What are you doing out of bed? You don’t look like you should be walking about just yet.” Emily shrugged and smiled sheepishly explaining that she didn’t know where she was.

“Oh well, you’re in hell and this is the Hazbin hotel that Charlie mentioned during the big meeting.” This seemed to jog a little bit of Emily’s memory as she looked around.

“Wow so this is a big hotel, this place is rather nice.” “Thanks we just finished the main renovations since the last attack destroyed the first place.” Vaggie brought Emily over to the couch and told her to sit tight. Emily nodded and just continued to look around the place, it was much nicer than she had anticipated. The place was clean, seemed to be well kept and organized.

“Oh Emily, what are you doing out of bed?” Looking over her shoulder she saw Charlie and told her what she had told Vaggie, and that Vaggie had helped her to the couch.

“Well, I understand that, it is probably frightening to wake up in a completely unknown place. Anyways, how are you feeling?” Charlie asked while placing herself beside Emily.

“I’m okay i guess, everything still hurts. How long have I been asleep for?” “Hm well, from what Carmilla said, i’m going to guess about 6 days now.” “6 Days?! What happened to me?!” Emily asked in a panic holding onto the dress shirt she had been placed in.

“You exiled from heaven-” “What?! No no no, I-I couldn’t have!” Her eyes blew wide, shaking her head in disbelief.

“No no no, Sera wouldn’t let that happen, she wouldn’t, she would never let that happen! Sera…Sera would never hurt me.” Her words coming out in a flurry of fear and desperation, tears welled up as she collapsed in on herself as she repeated it all. Charlie had only seen this once, it was with Vaggie. When Vaggie had been abandoned by the exorcists she went through something similar.

Gently Charlie pulled Emily into her letting her cry into her shoulder listening to her repeat her mantra. This did attract a lot of attention though most of the inhabitants of the hotel kept their distance. Vaggie had come back with water and a blanket, she could hear the angel’s cries from the elevator and braced herself to see the poor girl sobbing. She draped the blanket over Emily’s shoulders and waited it out. They eventually brought the girl back up to her room knowing it would be best for now. It did hurt them when they realized she had managed to cry herself into unconsciousness and soon sleep.

[koolkat9]

👀

AU Ask Game

ACE Family School AU

Arthur is a middle school English teacher. Matthew and Alfred, twin brothers and foster kids are both in his class. But Alfred is a troublesome student, always talking, not handing things in and overall is distracted and is a distraction to his classmates. He's on the verge of failing. Arthur tries everything, opening the door for Al to ask for help, punishing Alfred for his poor behaviour, but Alfred doesn't respond to any of it. It gets to the point that he's going to have to call home.

But then Matthew, Alfred's twin comes up to Arthur at lunch begging Arthur to help Alfred.

"I can't do that lad unless he comes to me," Arthur says.

“B-But he’s…h-he’s going to be in so much trouble when Ms. Lynda (name possibly subject to change, it's just a place holder) finds out she’s going to…”

Matthew is on the verge of tears and Arthur isn't sure what to do. He was never good with crying children.

“Now, now Matthew,” Arthur chastises, “There is no need for tears. Tell your brother to come to me and I’ll try to help.”

“But he won’t listen to me,” Matthew suddenly yells, “Nobody will! A-And Alfred…He’s given up and I’m just…I’m scared.”

Arthur finally agrees to try harder to help Al and it seems to calm Matthew enough for him to head to lunch.

Monday rolls around and Arthur tries his last attempt to reach out to Al, asking him to stay after class. He lays everything out: his grades are slipping, he's a distraction in class, he better change his attitude and reach out for help if he needs or Arthur will have to call home.

Something flashes in Alfred’s eyes and Arthur feels his stomach jolt. But other than that, the boy’s posture remains defiant. “Go ahead,” Alfred taunts.

“Your brother is worried, you know,” Arthur says, going for a different tactic.

“He shouldn’t…He’s the perfect, successful one.”

Ah so that was what was wrong. “I offer help at the end of every class. If you’re struggling you should come to me with questions.”

“Why do you care?” Alfred bites back.

“Because I’m your teacher and it’s my job.” Alfred doesn't seem moved and Arthur’s patience is wearing dangerously thin. “Fine,” Arthur hisses, “I was trying to be nice, but if I hear a peep from you next class you’re getting a call home. Understood?”

Alfred just shrugs before running out of the room. 

The next day Matthew comes in at lunch, Alfred trailing behind. “Mr. Kirkland, could we go over the meaning of today’s poem again?” Matthew asks, “I don’t think I got a good grasp on it.”

Arthur is confused by this. Matthew had done so well in his journal so why was he, but then Arthur meet Alfred’s eyes. The boy has his arms crossed, but he seems to have his attention set on Arthur. Arthur makes a little ‘Oh’ sound as all the pieces fell into place. 

“Well…It’s rather simple once you know what to look for,” Arthur begins, pulling out his book of children’s poetry. “What sticks out to you. Alfred, maybe you could help your brother by pointing something out.”

Alfred complies with a huff and the three discuss the line Alfred chose. They go through the whole poem and Alfred offers some interesting readings that not even Arthur considered. But eventually the lunch bell rings and Arthur has to dismiss the two boys. He makes sure to compliment them, giving an extra compliment to Alfred who blushes slightly and runs off.

Francis, the French teacher and Arthur's rival/friend since elementary school sees all this and decides to tease Arthur a bit. “I know you said you were terrible with children, but I didn’t think you were that bad.”

“You’re losing your edge Bonnefoy. Now if you excuse me, I have a salad to get to.”

“Mon Dieu. With your cooking I’m surprised you can prepare anything. My offer is always there, let me take you out to lunch, just once.”

“Over my dead body,” Arthur growls, slamming his door closed.

So Arthur, Matthew and Alfred start regularly meeting at lunch or after school to "help Matthew." When the next test/assignment rolls around, Alfred does better than Arthur has ever seen.

Things are going a bit better for the boys now at least in Arthur's class, but the more time he spends with the boys, the more concerned he becomes for their home life. He starts to suspect they don't have support at home. If they do, it's not affective perhaps harmful given how anxious Matthew seemed about the idea of Arthur calling home. So Arthur decides to meet this guardian.

And he can immediately see why Alfred seemed so unwilling to do better. Ms. Lynda is distracted, not seeming to want to be there. The only time she actually looks lively is when Arthur let's slip about Alfred's grades being poor in the past. She seems much more aggressive assuring Arthur she'll "talk" to Alfred. But he assures her that's not necessary as his grades have greatly improved with help.

He learns Ms. Lynda sees Al as a problem child, always in trouble, distracted, not doing what he's supposed to. It kind of makes Arthur squirm because that's exactly how he felt about Al at first, but over the past couple months, he's gotten to know the boy and how capable he is. He just needed a little extra push and an environment who built him up instead of tearing him down.

At the end of the day, Matthew comes rushing into Arthur's office in tears.

“Alfred says he’s running away,” Matthew wails

“Whoa, Whoa slow down there Matthew,” Arthur says gently, handing the boy a tissue, “What’s wrong with Alfred?”

"He’s running away. We were about to walk home but…but he…he just said he wasn’t going home and th-then took off. He said it was better this way…Ms. Lynda is going to…”

“Shh,” Arthur hushes, “It’s going to be okay. I’ll call Ms. Lynda and tell her Alfred is with me, going over today’s lesson. You just go home and don’t worry about a thing.”

“O-Okay."

He probably legally had to contact the guardian, but he didn't exactly trust her and he probably should request a welfare check. But right now he had to find Alfred and make sure he was okay. He eventually finds Al at a nearby park on the swing set.

“May I join you?” Arthur asks.

Alfred throws him a glare, before picking up his speed, swinging higher and higher. Arthur let out a sigh. “Is this about the meeting?”

Alfred just kept pumping, ignoring the question completely. 

“I know I had promised you I wouldn’t call if your grades started to improve, but I was concerned about Ms. Lynda’s attitude towards you two. I had to see it for myself.”

“Did you call her this time?” Alfred sneers. 

“Yes, but she only thinks you’re getting some extra help.”

Alfred is still annoyed and jumps off the swing. But he didn't slow down enough and so he ends up falling and scrapping his knee. And he just starts sobbing, unable to hold back any more.

Arthur takes a seat beside him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Alfred latches onto Arthur, hugging him tightly and sobbing into his side.

“Why…Why do you care so much?”

‘Because it’s my job,’ echoes at the front of Arthur’s mind. The mechanical response he had been using for the past couple weeks, but the more he watched Alfred open up, the less that response became true. “Because…” Arthur begins, swallowing the lump forming in his throat, “Because I’m worried about you. You’re a bright young man Alfred and you deserve an environment where you can thrive in.”

Arthur just lets Al cry for a bit, just letting him get it all out. This seemed to be coming for awhile. Once Al is a little calmer, Arthur proposes they get ice cream and Alfred immediately lights up.

but eventually they have to return to the school and Al has to go home.

“I don’t want to go,” Alfred murmurs.

Arthur doesn't really want to send Alfred back to that house either. “I’m sorry Alfred but…there isn’t much I can do for tonight. But you have my word, I will do everything I can to help you and your brother.” 

Arthur can't sleep that night, too worried about the two boys and what will become of them after the check-in. That's when he starts considering something: he could adopt them. He tries to brush it off, but the thought won't leave him alone.

Alfred and Matt end up getting moved into a more supportive home, but amongst the shake up and the questioning my child protective services, Alfred's began to slip again, but Arthur isn't about to let him fall. He even tries to help him in other subjects. And Alfred passes.

Not long after, Arthur starts the adoption process. By winter of the following year, everything is place, so all that's really left is the trial period to see if Arthur's home is a good fit for the two boys.

When he goes to pick them up, he's nervous. Is this too soon? Will the boys even want him as their father? Well he didn't have to be their father, but would they even want him as their guardian?

The boys are delighted to see him when he comes to their new home. It's touching, but he has business to get down to. “Lads, we need to have a serious conversation.”

The twins turn to each other, brows furrowed. 

“Now…I want you to know that you have a say in what happens going forward. I don’t want you to feel pressured in any way and I don’t want you to end up somewhere you don’t want to be.”

“Stop being cryptic Sir,” Alfred whines, “It’s winter break I’m not supposed to be analyzing things.”

Arthur chuckles lightly. “Forgive me Alfred, but what I’m trying to get at is…If you would like…Would you be interested in…Coming to live with me?”

“What?” The boys gasp, almost in unison. 

“I…w-w-well…I’d like to adopt you. Both of you if you’ll–” Arthur is cut off by Alfred barreling into his stomach, almost knocking the unsuspecting Brit over. Matthew soon joins them, though he approaches them more gently.

“Do I still have to call you Mr. Kirkland?” Alfred suddenly asks.

Arthur laughed, shaking his head. “No, Arthur would do just fine.”

“How about Dad?” Matthew pipes up.

Arthur’s heart leaps into his throat “Whatever you want,” he chokes out, squeezing the two just a little bit tighter.

He takes the two home with him and finds Francis's car in the drive way. Francis has heard the news about the adoption and has decided to come over to cook a celebratory dinner since Arthur can't cook.

While the boys go look at their new rooms, Arthur and Francis are left alone in the kitchen.

“Arthur Kirkland, single father, never thought I’d see the day,” Francis chuckles as Arthur seats himself at the bar.

“Me neither.”

“It's not going to be easy–”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Francis tuts, “It’s not going to be easy, but I’m here for you if you need help.”

Arthur considers snapping at Francis that he doesn't need help,  but he doesn’t because he can’t deny that he’s worried and he’ll need all the help he can get. Instead he says: “Thank you…I might take you up on that.”

Now this will hopefully be a fic I start on once my other long fics finish. And I already see a sequel possibly happening where Fruk gets together.

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Twenty

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

Ethan's Journal

August 31

Today started off by getting stabbed by someone who looked almost identical to Karl.  Turns out it was his identical twin.  What I don’t understand is what he said when he stabbed me.  Who tells somebody “Don’t cave” and then stabs them?? 

The good news is that I healed fast…we have time to figure out how to help the Mutamycete without sending Eva back. 

I do feel pain around where the wound was, but hopefully that will go away soon too. Eva says I might be healing fast because I know how to ‘focus’ on healing now.  

Karl has been with Donna most of the day.  It was weird how she just randomly started remembering her life, and it happened faster than mine did.  Karl has been sad all day too, but he won’t say much–Typical.  At least Rose is in a good mood!  We played outside until the storm clouds showed up.  And now I’ve been sorting through the things we got in the mail.  It’s nice to have a break from thinking about “Mold stuff”. 

Then around 5, we got more visitors.  Maricara, Alina, and Lidia!  It is so great to see them.  They haven’t stopped by since Rose’s party.  Maricara said that the Duke was in their village to trade, and told her about Donna.  She came with a basket of fabric, a big sewing kit and a bunch of supplies. I guess they’re going to try to help Donna with some project.  Maricara knew her real mom so Donna has someone to talk to about her family.  They’re the best kind of people.  I offered them all their old rooms upstairs, they’re going to stay for the weekend.  

So even though the day started out pretty bad, it’s looking up. Let’s hope it stays that way.  

Karl and I are going to the field tonight. I'm happy that he’s finally on board with confronting Miranda even if we’re not ready to fight her yet.  She can’t come into this world and I believe Godric when he says she can’t take Rose either. All I can hope is that Karl gets answers about his brother.  I’ve never seen him so agitated, unless you count after I killed “Sturm” …he was pretty mad, but that was nothing compared to this.  I’m a little nervous about seeing Mia…if she knew Miranda all those years ago, maybe Miranda did something with her identity too?  It turns my stomach to think about, but I need to know….I’m tired of not knowing things.  

Ethan rubbed his eyes and stared at the journal entry.  The intense eyes of the Heisenberg twin, moved onto paper by way of his pencil, glared up at him, and he closed the leather-bound book.  With a sigh he stared out the window at the mostly grey sky; stars were out already, and clouds moved quickly underneath them.  Thunder had rumbled most of the afternoon, but no rain yet fell.  As Ethan watched, lightning flickered across the valley that once-was Heisenberg’s Factory, below the cliffs.  

Were they crazy to go down there?  They’d discussed where specifically to venture–Heisenberg’s idea was over the obliterated ceremony site.  Not only was it over the original location of Miranda’s lab, it was where the Mutamycete had lived before Chris’s explosives.  Since its regrowth, the central nervous system of the Mold was now away from that site.  But if any of the underground cavern systems remained–Heisenberg swore that he could sense them with his powers-then the Mold itself was powerful in that area.  Eva had agreed with this.  

It wasn’t a bad idea, but Ethan was even less enthused about going back there than he had been to go to Dimitrescu’s castle.  It was, in a sense, Ethan’s death place.  Well…one of them?  He wondered if Miranda would be able to manifest there in different ways, if the Mold would help her.  It seemed to in the past, even with Eva and Rose working against her.  

The office door opened and Eva entered, looking particularly solemn.  Ethan turned his gaze from the brewing storm, and managed a faint smile for his friend.  

“Rose having fun seeing her friends?” 

“She is,” Eva said with a grin, “But I believe Maricara is the most happy.  She says Rose will say her name soon.” 

“That’s a lot of syllables even for me,” Ethan protested, stretching at the desk.  As he moved to push the seat back, Eva stayed him with a hand, and then pulled a stool away from the wall, to sit next to him.  

“I need to tell you something.”  She had papers in her hand–Ada’s research, he could see. 

“Okay.”  Ethan raised an eyebrow.  “You’re sitting down.  That means…?”

“It means it is important,” Eva said with a heavy breath.  “Not bad.  Yes?  Just…important.” 

“Is it about Karl?  Is he okay?” 

“He is fine.  I think it is about all of us,” she said, tilting her head as if she were uncertain.  “He read this first, while Donna slept and he stayed to watch over her.  He wanted me to make you aware of it as soon as possible.” 

“Why couldn’t he?”

Eva scratched her hair awkwardly.  “I do not think he is in a mood to talk much.” 

“Fair enough.”  Ethan had worked for months to get the reclusive engineer to talk in the first place, and most of what Ethan knew about Heisenberg’s past came from accidentally stepping into the other man’s thoughts and mind.  And now Heisenberg was handing off important information through Eva.  The blond massaged his temple, wishing there was more that he could do, but he finally leaned back in the leather chair.  “All right, hit me.” 

Eva’s confused stare reminded him that she’d not been in a human world for many years.  

“I mean….show me what you’ve got.” 

The blond woman thumbed through papers, moving to a paragraph with sloppily made notations beside it, slashed in red pen.  Heisenberg. 

Ethan abruptly made a noise and held up his hand.  “Wait.  This isn’t…your….mother’s writing, is it?”

“No, it is from the biologists in Ada’s organization.  She translated it for added security.”  Eva tapped the paperwork. “They seem to be simply trying to understand the Mold, rather than using it for weapons.  Although the same cannot be said for other, adjacent organizations.” 

“Right.” 

She began to read aloud, impressively translating the German to English as she went.  

“...Questions arise then as to the sentience of the Mold itself.  If considering the widely accepted model of consciousness which suggests that sentience and awareness are broadly grounded in the biology of the cell, it becomes obvious that firstly, the Mold is keenly aware of its environment.  It is very much like other fungi when mapping: its mycelium expands, detects the physical structure of its surroundings and responds to the availability of food and the presence of other organisms. The overall pattern of branching is determined by the genetic code, but the exact positions of each branch are dictated by the character of the environment. 

For this reason, the shape of each colony is never reproduced. The individual fungus is unique, much like how no two humans are exactly alike.  As this organism’s basis for operation, its “fungal brain”, has obviously imitated the human brain network, this calls defensive and survival mechanistics into question.  

Pathogenic fungal mycelia such as this mold and many others respond to their environment when they invade a host. Species which target humans have been shown to modify their growth form to become more invasive as the infection develops. These responses are genetically programmed and not learned behaviors, but the mold is able to grasp things about its environment and show that it learns.  

This leads to our report result: 

We have concluded that this Mold affects its hosts emotionally. 

Nowhere is this more obvious and evident than in witnessing behavior of its hosts after infection.  Many subjects have been mapped and their behavior studied by psychologists with all results leading back to the concept that the Mold influences its hosts’ decisions for its own survival. (like any parasite)

See attached reports from psychiatrists for more information on data gathered and how it is quantified.  

In mammal studies, including infected wildlife but most notably, infected humans, the Mold implants a strong desire for family into the host’s mind.  This manifests differently for every person affected based on the host’s pre-existing experiences and beliefs about family, but it…” 

Eva’s lip was trembling and Ethan stared past her toward a far bookshelf, his own eyes glassed over, as her first tears began to fall.  Exhaling and steeling herself she continued reading, but her voice was very much affected.  

“It is clearly part of the organism’s learned mechanism for survival.  If a candidate has, as two examples: a pre-existing yearning for family or, no close family relationships, the Mold’s influence can cause behaviors that are erratic, toxic, or even self-harming.  The host is not experiencing mental illness, rather, they are responding to the signals from the parasite to get, and keep, a family close.  This usually leads to behavior patterns that do not match the host’s personality–interviewed infected persons have stated during these ‘crises’ they felt no control over themselves or their desires.  

For notes on extreme examples of this manifestation, see examples ‘Connections E Series’ and ‘Romania - Miranda.’ 

In other subjects, who did have positive family connections, the bond between those family members was strengthened universally.   The Mold rewards positive behaviors and emotions much like a human brain, and hosts report feeling satisfied when they are with their families or loved ones–even reporting feelings of bliss or euphoria when an entire family network is infected.  

In case studies where one member of the family was given a healing serum, removing the mold from their body temporarily, the other family members became combative and tried removing the patient from the room even though no danger to the host existed.  They become overprotective, anxious, and feel negative emotions for any threat and often manifest as overprotective family members.    

It is likely that hosts who manifest this type of protectiveness would have unmatched resilience when a family member is in danger.  We have documented animals with this protectiveness: an entire pack of infected wolves mourn the deaths of its elder members, showing symptoms of depression for months, and an infected murder of crows were witnessed having funeral ceremonies and mourning together after a death of one of their own.  Both communities of mammals had intense aggression when approached by outsiders.    

For notes on extreme examples of this manifestation, see example ‘Dulvey - Ethan Winters.’” 

The papers were thrown down onto Ethan’s desk, and Eva cautiously wiped her eyes, trying to judge the other blond’s reaction.  He was massaging the bridge between his eyes, his teeth bared as the information sank in.  Ethan’s hand dropped from his eyes down to his mouth and he stroked the dark stubble there. He stared at Eva, cupping his own chin. 

“So I’m not even me, really.  I just…” He shrugged, his voice hollow.  “I’m just…..a psycho dad because of the Mold.” 

“No,” Eva argued sternly.  Likely, she had been anticipating this response.  “You are still you.  The Mold affects everyone differently.  What it has done is amplify your pre-existing feelings about family.  It has propelled you when you needed it, to save your daughter.”  Eva’s fingers brushed his knee.  “Everything you have done is because you are noble, Ethan, and brave.  This doesn’t change that.” 

He frowned at the compliment.   “But this means that all of us…every single person…is doing whatever we can to what?  Seek family?  Be a part of a family?”

She was silent, biting her lip and then lifting a hand to her own chin as he’d done.  

“I suppose so, or at least, subconsciously, in ways.” 

“So…Miranda slaughtered a bunch of innocent people by turning this into a fucked up experiment for one person’s life…Eveline had Jack doing her dirty work of trying to create infected people to expand her own network….Mia, what?  What did it make her do?” 

“I don’t know Mia very well,” Eva admitted, “But from what I understand, she tried very hard to stay in her marriage with you, hiding things from you and trying desperately to make things appear stable and make you happy.  Could you see how that would benefit her, as a host, responding to these feelings, the need to…keep her family together?  On top of the love that she had for you?”

Ethan sighed, but he was still too in-shock to produce tears or outrage.  Instead he gripped the sides of the large leather armchair, and planted his feet on the ground.  

“I’m not even a person at all.  Nothing I do is even me.  Are any of my feelings real?”

“They are all real!  Ethan, you are not listening.” 

“Oh, I’m listening, I even made it as aggressive dad footnote in their article.”  When he threw his head back, closing his eyes, Ethan mused aloud, “Guess this explains the Lords.  Donna needed a million terrifying dolls to keep her company.  Moreau obsessed over Miranda.  And even Lady Dimitrescu and her monster daughters.  The Mold just wants us all to be one big happy family.” 

It had begun to rain.  What was usually a comforting sound now filled his heart with sorrow.   He remembered Godric’s words.  Sorrow will find you. 

He wasn’t trying to avoid it or anything, but damn it sure seemed to seek him out, didn’t it?  Eva looked heartbroken, and he met her eyes for the first time, happy to listen to her, instead of his own cynical thoughts.  

“I could almost forgive my mother, knowing that her grief was transformed into something that would benefit the entire organism.  Almost.  But what she has done is turn this survival mechanism, which could have been something so lovely, like the love you showed in protecting your daughter, into something horrific.”  

Hearing Eva speak so sadly about her own mother caused Ethan to put aside his feelings; he didn’t have feelings, actually–he was numb, from his head down to his feet, he could feel nothing.  It was the type of news that made one go blank, disconnected immediately, just like he’d done when Eveline first told him he was made out of mold. 

Even in a moment where his own distraught grief eluded him and he turned into a barely existing shell of a person, he had compassion.  Ethan stood and pulled Eva into a hug.  She soon burst into tears, sobbing onto his chest, and he hugged her harder, planting his chin onto the shorter blond’s head. From the hallway of the second floor, he could hear more sobs, likely Donna.  

The house would have made a good haunted attraction today, what with all the wailing.   And Karl’s loud Frankenstein-boot stomping.  Ethan smiled to himself, and then Eva ended up laughing through her sobs, choking as she fought to control the laugh.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that thought,” he said quietly, smiling against her cornsilk hair.  “Eva, it’s gonna be okay.” 

She laughed more, and then sighed as she pulled away, wiping tears again.  “Thank you, Ethan.” 

“Thank you for dropping the bomb, I guess.”  He sank back into his chair as she turned to leave.  “How did Karl feel about it?” 

Eva paused at the door, keeping it closed.  

“He didn’t say much, but I think he is happy to have some answers about the others in the village–their devotion to the religion.  Perhaps he also has answers about his own resistance to the pull of family.” 

“Yeah, why would he have that resistance?  What made him different?” 

Eva frowned, and finally turned back to Ethan.  “It is not my place to say more, but Heisenberg has always been protected.  By someone out of the reach of the Mold.  A true family member, which has…perhaps…overridden the commitment that Miranda put inside him when she infected him.  I think he has always believed his father and brother were also protected, immune.  Knowing that at least his brother is not, is devastating to him.”  

His mother.  

Ethan hadn’t said it aloud, but Eva nodded anyway.  

Ethan remembered the vision of Heisenberg’s, the pitiful and yet horrific creature strung up on pulleys-that looked dead but was not afforded that luxury.  That was the source of Heisenberg’s protection, his link to true family?  It was nightmarish.  How could Heisenberg have any solace at all?  Then again, maybe he didn’t.     

He chewed on his lip, and then waved at Eva.  “Get some sleep.” 

“Be careful tonight,” she warned.  “I know you don't need to hear it...and I already told Karl....Not all answers are comforting.”  

[tzuyubit]

ups and downs

note: this was originally a request from a different fandom that i wrote for that i changed up a bit. i’m sorry if this ooc, this is my first time writing for tzuyu. please be nice and keep in mind i mean no harm at all.

sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

warnings: deals with the topic of eds.

. . .

: tzuyu?

: i'm sorry, i know it's late but

: i know you said to message you whenever i feel this way. so i am. but i feel so bad, i'm so sorry.

: i just didn't know what else to do.

if you had been in a rational state of mind, you would've opted out of texting tzuyu. you hated feeling like you were bothering her, but somehow she always managed to reassure you that nothing was ever too much for her to handle.

so in your frantic mindset, your thumbs raced out to reach her.

it's okay, you told yourself. she would want you to do this.

it was currently 2:36 in the morning and you were losing your grip on reality all because of the simple fact that you'd forgotten to log your food intake all day.

you'd gotten so carried away between lively things that it unintentionally slipped your mind.

how could you forget? it was such a habitual thing for you to do.

but between your panicked, rushed out breaths, you didn't hear the sound of your phone buzzing. the sound of tzuyu.

it had been twenty minutes since you sent her those texts, twenty minutes of you sitting on your bedroom floor, scribbled notebook in hand with tears rolling down your face.

meanwhile, tzuyu drove to your place of stay as fast as she could, not caring if she was breaking any laws. she knew you felt like a burden most of the time, so with that information she knew you wouldn't text her unless something was truly wrong.

the blonde woman didn't miss a beat rushing to your door. she fumbled with the key, cursing at how much of an inconvenience locked doors could be in such a moment of desperation.

tzuyu didn't have to think twice before making her way to your room, already hearing the sound of your cries the second she walked through the door. 

seconds later she was kneeling in front of you. "y/n? can i sit next to you?" you nodded, instantly bringing your shaky body into hers.

sh tensed at first, but put aside her distain for physical touch for the sake of your comfort.

"what happened?" she questioned, mechanically rubbing her hand up and down your back.

"it's stupid, so stupid." you sniffled, bringing your head into your knees. "i can't believe i forgot. it's not possible, i never forget!"

tzuyu took the time to scan your surroundings, finding torn pages from your notebook with scribbles covering lines with various amounts of numbers underneath them. it didn't take long for her to connect the dots, making you worry even more about what she was thinking of you.

"i'm sorry, i know you've never seen me in this state. it must be awkward for you." tzuyu frowned, her hand stopping all movement at once. "there's nothing for you to be sorry for. you know i prefer it when you text me. i'd rather be here with you than have you go through this alone." 

your breaths were still heavy and quick paced, but as you leaned into your girlfriend they seemed to lighten. tzuyu kicked your food diary out of view, hoping that maybe if you didn't see the "crime" you'd committed, you wouldn't feel so guilty.

"are you willing to talk about it?"

wiping your eyes, you attempted to speak through your labored breathing.

"i log my food, it's what i do. i have to do it. you know why." speaking was hard do to, tzuyu understood that. so she let you take as long as you needed, listening to each and every word you fumbled over. "i must've forgotten because i was so busy with everything today. i didn't even realize it until i noticed my journal laying on my nightstand untouched."

tzuyu nodded, taking in the information you so carefully passed to her and came to her own conclusions.

"so it's apart of your routine, right? one missed day will not hurt you, no matter what your brain is telling you. and even though i don't exactly support your habit of logging your food, mostly because from what i've read it's not enough fuel for your body, if it helps you and you need it, i'm here to support you. i know i'm not the best at physical comfort, but i'll still always be here for you. i hope you know that."

the blonde took your hand and moved you to your bed, sitting next to you as you laid down. she then placed her hand on your chest, "remember that it's just one day." 

you nodded, and for the next seven minutes or so watched tzuyu's chest rise and fall, eventually returning back to your own regulated state of breathing.

"mistakes happen, but they don't always make you a bad person, especially not something like this. i'm glad you reached out to me though, i just hope that one day you won't feel the need to rely on such a small thing for so much of your worth." 

you squeezed her hand, suddenly feeling exhausted from the extreme reaction. tzuyu stayed with you throughout the night, checking your every needs, never leaving your side until you felt safe.

[daveyfvckingjacobs]

still Thinking about bill and darcy and their dads and usually I’m too full of straight up Fear about posting headcanon stuff unprompted but y’know what my braces hurt like a motherfucker and I’ve had a bad day besides so I’m locking the anxiety in the basement to ramble because I deserve it

I like to think they’re both products of their environments as much as the newsies and it shows. the general consensus that their dads aren’t great is obvious, and it has a glaring affect on them and their relationship even if they don’t notice it

bill’s dad is strict. incredibly strict. everything about bill is pin neat because of it: his room, his clothes, his attitude because he won’t risk letting something fall out of place. he’s the heir to a huge business empire and he has to make a good impression, has so much expectation on his shoulders that he’s suffocating a little. it doesn’t show very often (he’s always all smiles, the picture of a good son) but darcy knows how much the pressure gets to him. it’s why he boxes: he’s not violently inclined at all, but the physical activity is better at releasing tension than talking and it’s not a team sport, so he doesn’t feel any pressure to perform well or not slip up, because he gets enough of that at home. his dad is always breathing down his neck and it makes it difficult sometimes to enjoy the newspapers the way he wants to

the nitpicking is a lot. always little comments that put a strain on whatever he’s doing. straighten his posture, fix his jacket, smile more, laugh quieter, make his father look good. it makes bill feel like a puppet a lot of the time, like he’ll never be quite good enough no matter how much he tries and how much he exhausts himself doing it. even if he loves the newspapers, the printing presses, the smell of the ink and the way he can get lost in typesetting, there’s always a shadow over his shoulder that screams at him to never mess it up or falter

on the other hand, darcy’s dad is just not there. he’s always so busy with running his own paper, engrossed with business that he has no time for his son. darcy was dumped with nannies from the get go and, when he got older and better at escaping them, his own thoughts. occasionally at dinners his dad will ask how he’s doing, make a comment with the wrong friends name or even get his age wrong, shrug off most of what he says and it leaves darcy feeling completely superficial (except for events of course, when it’s all smiles and “look at my son!”. that’s something he and bill share; feeling like they’re used for image and image alone). rationally he knows his dad loves him, but he doesn’t actually care all that much.

it’s why darcy writes. not articles, or journalism like his dad and everyone else around him would prefer, but stories. left alone to entertain himself for so long left him a storyteller through and through and as much as he loves the reality he finds in his newspapers, he can escape in fiction for days at a time as well. he’s always a little scruffy no matter how much he tries, his room a tip of notebooks and pens and ink smudges because no one looks long enough to straighten it up unless there’s a good reason too

that’s why they work so well as a pair. they keep each other sane. darcy doesn’t care if bills laugh is a little obnoxious or his top button is undone, if there’s still ink on his hands or he sprawls haphazardly on his bed instead of sitting neatly. bill never finds darcy boring or makes him feel like he isn’t wanted, loves listening to him and his stories and giving him company he desperately needs. they can talk about anything without worrying about it being wrong or getting shrugged off, or sit in each others presence for hours without saying anything at all. around each other they’re completely themselves and comfortable in that the way they can’t or don’t get to be with others

[mysticheathenn]

Get to Know Your Tarot Reader!

Where or how did you start learning Tarot? I watched a lot of pick-a-card readings and noticed how each reader deciphers each card. When I finally decided to do readings I purchased and downloaded several tarot journals and guides to help. Overall, I’m more of an intuitive reader than reading cards based on their meanings.

Topic/theme you are good at? Life, Purpose, Guidance, Money, Family/Friends

Do you read reversal, why and why not? Yes and no. I keep reversals but because I’m an intuitive reader that doesn’t always mean something good or bad is happening. I go off the energy that I feel from the cards and not always their meanings.

A card you identify with (signifier)? It’s between The High Priestess & Queen of Swords

Your birth cards; do you see yourself in those cards? Yes. (Hermit & Moon). I tend to keep to myself and only say what needs to be said nothing more unless asked.

Deck(s) you use? A lot, haha! To name my favorites: Muse Tarot, Moonology (both decks), Spellcasting Oracle, Starseed Oracle, Modern Witch Tarot, etc.

Do you cleanse your deck(s), and how? Yes. Depends on how the decks feel. If they feel heavy then I cleanse them either in the moonlight or with a certain sage/dragon blood and the window open. If they feel light but need a bit of a refresh I blow on them and knock a few times to shake the energy it’s holding.

Do you have a ritual or a prayer you do before a reading? So far nothing special. I mostly just have dragon blood burning as I am reading and I ask my guides for protection. Sometimes afterwards I will take a spiritual bath if the energies are heavy.

Do you believe decks have personalities? If yes, what are your decks’ personalities? Yes, my tarot decks are like me and give me cutthroat readings haha.

Decks you want to buy? Too many to list, haha. If you would like to buy me a deck to use for a personal or general reading click here.

Your favorite Suit, why? Cups because its energy is beautiful. If not Cups, Wands in 2nd Place and Pentacles in 3rd.

Your favorite Major Arcana, why? Death because in every ending there’s a new beginning and I find that poetic.

Your favorite Minor Arcana, why? 10 of Cups because everyone deserves that kind of feeling and fulfillment in their life.

Card(s) you dislike and why? The Moon, because of its ambiguous energy.

Your opinion on the Tower, Death, The Devil, 10 of Swords and other ‘negative’ cards? I never find any of those cards as negative because they are just things in life that need to change. I find them as wake-up call cards rather than negative.

Do you have any weird or interesting experiences with tarot? Nothing weird or interesting so far but I do love it when spirit confirms the reading through oracle cards or a passage from the book that came with the oracle/tarot deck.

Any controversial opinion about tarot reading? I don’t think this opinion is controversial more so that tarot reads current energy and what you are doing with your life that causes ripple effects to get your message for your reading. So if I say someone new is coming into your life romantically and currently at the time of the reading you are going out all the time but then stop going out other than just to go to work or grocery shopping of course no one new is coming in unless you’re active online. Information changes which is why I say it shouldn’t be used to predict things but more so used as a guide or confirmation on things you already know or hope will come to pass if you do the work required to bring them in.

Message/Tips for beginners OR querents? Figure out what kind of tarot reader you are. Some of us including myself are intuitive readers, some of us are card-meaning readers, and some go off of other things maybe symbols on the card. Figure that out and go from there. It will help relieve some stress in thinking you are doing things wrong because everyone is different so don’t feel you need to copy someone else. Be authentic in your practice.

Recommendation (tarot readers, websites, videos, books, etc)? (TBA)

What other interests do you have? Reading, Sims Franchise, My Shih-poo, traveling, quiet nights stargazing or night drives.

[zhuhongs]

Ah yes, space. I’ve always lived my life thinking that i was the type of person that didn’t really take up much space. Physical size aside, I had always lived in rather small places. Well small compared to the average american. I ate so little, did so little, and consumed really so little compared to my peers. When people talked about how compact Taiwan and most East Asian cities were, i figured space and size would be no problem. But even with how tiny i thought I was I realized that westerners, especially were raised used to a certain degree of space that just didn’t exist here unless you were very rich or lived in the countryside. Like I’m used to sharing a room but i’ve always lived in a situation where i was home a lone alot. So I could go in the living room and sprawl out all of my stuff and have a large space to exist in. Even though it was small compared to most Americans it was rather large. I had no clue, I never had that sort of perspective. Or if I was walking around I always sorta expected to have a big sidewalk to walk around on and to be far away from everything. Or if I wanted to listen to music I didn’t need to use headphones, or if i walked around with a drink it wasn’t a big issue. But here you really can’t carry much around with you, or if you do you need to be careful about those around you, because every space is shared. Its things like being in a small classroom and dropping your stuff because the desk is too small to fit all of our books, pens and everything. Or things like buying food on the street and expecting to eat it when you get back home because theres nowhere to sit. If you sit on the side of the road and eat you will very likely spill unless you are very careful. And I was never a very careful, graceful person even back in the US when I had so much space afford to me. So being here right now I often feel very embarrassed about how much space I take up. Like I know obviously there’s nothing wrong with that, obviously we all deserve space, but it’s more embarrassing how visibly Western i am. Like i’ve gotten adjusted to this aspect of living in Taipei quite a bit but man, somedays it really gets to me. Like i’m such a disorganized and clumsy person, those are not sins by any means but man do I feel strange about it. Like I wish I could just be better at living in a more organized, well planned out way. But everything I do feels sloppy and like it messes up the people around me. I shouldn’t care about that, I should only are about me but when it’s a constant feeling, I can’t help but notice it. It makes me realize how the US is so different from a lot of the world.

I feel like this lack of space affects me a lot more than i realize. I get really frustrated about it sometimes. Like I want to goplaces and do things but like I feel like it’s so inconvenient to eat or to go study or go out and draw and as such all I really do sometimes is stay on my phone and it’s so… yea. I’ve been going through a massive art block recently too. It feels like nothing I draw looks good, or I can’t bring myself to make any art because I can’t allow myself to be messy and occupy an ugly space in my sketchbook. I want it all to be beautiful but since it isn’t, i just don’t draw and don’t draw and as of recent the only thing I do is write in my journal. And I love writing too but sometimes I think that too much introspection is a bad thing for me and it makes me more miserable than happy. I just want to have the space to exist, or to get rid of the part of my that is embarrassed to be myself in the presence of others. But I’m still bothered by it, and being here has def exacerbated that fear I’ve always had of being too much. This isn’t to say that Taipei is a bad place, its great. It wasn’t healthy for me to have this fear anyways, if I stayed in the US I’d def still have this latent tendency to make myself small, but now I moreso need to learn to accept myself as it is. My issues are just being pointed out to me because I can no longer have the advantage of knowing my surroundings to a T. Now I’m in a new place and I can’t hide from myself anymore. So I have to lay it bare and make peace with it. That’s good but it’s just a bit miserable. But i’ll be okay. I’ll figure it out. I just need to verbalize it and none of my friends are picking up and I don’t want to sit at my desk and physically write so this one will go onto the internet for everyone to see.

[slayolay]

Life Goes On

November 24th, 2022

5 years since i’ve forgotten that I have a tumblr acc, I’m back.

I just remember that I have this acc 10 mins ago when I needed to vent about how my mom got mad at me for not lending her money to buy her stuff for when she travel tomorrow, well I do have friends that I can talk to about this but they’re busy and I don’t want to bother them. And my therapist told me to write a journal about my day or how i feel, but as much as i like to write on my book i don’t want people at my house found out about it. So the next best place to do that is tumblr, since no one irl knows me here, and i know that the people that follows me don’t use their acc anymore.

Lets start with how my day started.

I woke up at 8 feeling anxious as usual because i should’ve text my advisor to talk about my thesis but i’m to afraid and very anxious about it. Why? because i really hate doing it, if there’s any way i can do to avoid it then i’ll fucking do it, i don’t know why i hate it so much but i really don’t wanna do it. I know that i should, people in my year have already finished theirs, but i haven’t and i hate myself for that. But i just can’t bring myself to do it. Guess i’ll just do it tomorrow, lets see.

I’ve been having mixed feeling this past month. Anxiety, fear, excitement, numb, sad, confused, all sorts of things. I can’t explain it and it’s been bugging me so much. I wish i still have my meds and could afford to go to therapy again.

The day went buy just like that. Until tonight my mom ask me if she can lend me money to buy some stuff for her travel tomorrow. Money has always been an issue for us and it’s really tight these days. I do have a bit left but i don’t really want to spend it unless it’s emergency. I didn’t give her an answer the first time. Then a few mins later when i’m about to go out to buy dinner she asked again. I don’t really want to lend her some because she rarely pay me back eventhough i needed the money and have never asked her for money if i want to buy something for myself and i’ve been the one that paid the bills this month. But i’m still trying to be a good child so i said i’d lend her half the amount she asked. Then suddenly she got mad. And when i tell her the reason why i can’t give her the full amount she yelled at me to shut up and don’t want to hear me talk. Man  i was baffled, felt mad and upset at the same time. Then i went to out to buy food and cried on the way because i’m that kind of person that cries when something upset me. Then it got me thinking, was i selfish for not lending her money? am i really that weak for crying? is she really mad at me? am i a bad child?. All sorts of thought came into me, and its not the good kind. And now i don’t know what to do. She’s at the kitchen now and i’m here in the bedroom where me and her share a bed. 

With the feelings i’ve been having these days, and the situation i’m having, disappearing into thin air or be dead doesn’t sound too bad right now haha.

Anyway despite what happened, thank you for staying alive. You did great today:)

Song recommendation

Langit Abu-Abu by Tulus

https://open.spotify.com/track/2FaquTc3FYvNm7RuO1gD6O?si=dd2af22eac3f4688

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

I know that you have a lot on your plate, so you don't have to answer this, BUT, if you have a Gravity Falls au where the characters are in Aerwiar then consider a Wingfeather Saga au where the Wingfeather characters are in Gravity Falls.

I’m assuming by “Gravity Falls AU where the characters are in Aerwiar” you mean Anniera Falls? So like, a full alternate universe thing? Since in Wingfeather Falls the Wingfeathers do visit Gravity Falls. That’s what I’m going to go off of for this, if you had something else in mind let me know.

****SPOILERS FOR THE WINGFEATHER SAGA. Mostly just books 1-3, I think there's only one vague spoiler for book 4, so if you've read through book 3 you should be okay, but my memory is bad so read at your own risk****

Soooo back in the day I kind of had some ideas for this. It actually kind of works purely because you can keep the dynamic of two brothers, one goes missing, the other desperately tries to get him back, and years later the nieces and nephews visit.

Aaaafter that the plot gets a little more difficult. It is kind of fun to imagine Artham and Esben living in a cabin in the woods inventing things and going on adventures but I don’t think either of them are stupid enough to get involved with Bill. Unless they’ve been in Gravity Falls for a long time and they accidentally summoned the Dorito when they were kids or something.

If you integrate the idea of the Fangs and all that it could work because Gravity Falls is a profoundly weird place and I believe it could have stones that meld people with animals and well water that heals people etc. Now, Gnag I could imagine working with Bill, so if he summoned him and built the portal and all that and Artham and Esben tried to stop him, that could work. Stuff starts to go down and Esben sends Nia and his little children away to live with their grandparents. The brothers get sucked through a portal while fighting Gnag and the Fangs and they seal the threat inside but trap themselves in the process. Years later, Artham escapes, broken and mentally unstable. Nia has some contact with him after that, but he never tells her what happened to Esben and he never gets better.

Hoping that if she sends her kids to visit it might help her brother-in-law, Nia sends Janner, Kalmar and Leeli go to Gravity Falls for the summer. The kids are a range of confused, worried about, and unnerved by their eccentric uncle.

Artham doesn’t run a tourist trap like Stan does, at least, not intentionally. He displays an eclectic arrangement of items and taxidermied animals from his and Esben’s adventures when they were younger and allows people to see it after paying an admission fee. He also gives tours of the forest. People mostly come to see it because you never know what Artham’s going to say on any given day since his mind is so messed up. Some days he just tells disjointed, unrelated stories. He still stutters and mixes up words. He doesn’t wear socks, but he does wear like, fireplace gloves that he never takes off. He’s kind of a mix of Stan and Fiddleford.

Sara works in this version of the Mystery Shack, along with Maraly. Sara runs the register and Maraly fixes things sometimes? No one’s actually sure what she does, they mostly just find her eating food out of containers in the fridge and hunting monsters in the woods. She captures or kills these and brings them to Artham to display in his ‘museum’. She fixed the golf cart once.

As for Janner, Kal and Leeli, they go on adventures and work to solve the mystery they fell into just like Dipper and Mabel. Janner finds Esben and Artham’s old journals (they wrote them under pen names tho, so he doesn’t know they’re by his dad and uncle) that Artham buried in the woods after he escaped the portal. Kalmar has a blast pulling pranks and encountering creatures, he teams up with Maraly whenever he can. The image of Leeli hitting gnomes with her crutch lives rent free in my head.

The cloven exist, and they live deep in the forest, still headed by Artham’s lost love Aurendelle. Townspeople are a mixture of Glipfolk, Stranders, and Hollowsfolk from the series. Glipfolk include Oscar and the Shoosters, Stranders include Maraly’s family, Hollowsfolk include the O’Sallys and Rudric. Gammon’s also there somewhere because someone has to adopt Maraly. At some point Nia and Podo show up to help with whatever chaos is unleashed.

WAIT I GOT IT, BONIFER SUMMONED BILL AKJHGKJAHSFD he’s still living somewhere in town, waiting for the portal to open again so he can free Bill/Gnag/the Fangs. He befriends and later betrays the kids.

ARTHAM AND ESBEN GET AN ACTUAL REUINION *glares at Andrew Peterson* Artham tries desperately to get his brother back, but struggles to get the portal running again until the kids uncover vital clues about it. Artham’s terrified to see his brother again, but Esben’s not actually angry with him for what happened. Esben probably lives in this AU. Also, Idk how exactly, but Artham does get wings.

Aaaaand yeah, after that it’s not too hard to follow the base plot of Gravity Falls and modify it as needed. Hopefully that made some modicum of sense, I’m pretty tired. xD This was fun tho, I love AU’s.

[lovevalley45]

#fictober22 day ten

"It's my name on the line."

original fiction (dungeons & dragons)

word count: 562

By now, Kassandra was used to bickering with her mother. It was the only time she felt like she had her full attention, when she wasn’t telling Katharina to tutor her or telling Kaleb and Klaud to listen to their sister. 

This fight, though, was the last one they’d have for a long time. 

“I don’t think you truly understand how important this position is, Kassandra,�� her mother was saying. “I can’t have you coming with me unless I know you’ll behave.”

“Behave?” Kassandra scoffed. “You’re asking me to pretend to be someone else.”

“I’m not asking that. Just don’t spread any of your nonsense, please. No cards, no trying to tell the future-”

“Then what is our job?”

Her mother sighed. “It’s my name on the line, Kassandra. Our name. We earned the name Stjerne for a reason.” 

It always came down to this. Her mother would never, never agree with her. When Killian had turned away from the family legacy to embrace another circle, her mother had welcomed it. But when Kassandra wanted to honor things different, that was when things went bad. 

“I know, Mother. I studied the stars. Katharina knows that I know my stuff.”

At the mention of her name, her older sister glanced up. Katharina rarely stepped in, not wanting to challenge their mother’s authority. That time was no different. 

“Yes, Kassandra. But your methods… any veering from tradition is frowned upon. We stick to our star maps. Not… silly cards.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, and certainly not the first time from her mother. But Kassandra stood up from where she’d been sitting on the couch as she got lectured at. Although her height would have been intimidating to anyone who wasn’t a Goliath, her mother still had a few inches on her. “I’ve earned my tattoos. What can they do, take them away?” she asked. 

“Kassandra, please.”

“Fine. Go without me. But I might not be here when you come back.”

She turned to head to the room she shared with Killian. But as she stepped into the hall, she felt Katharina’s hand on her shoulder. 

“Please, don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about going,” she said.

“I’m old enough,” Kassandra said. “I’ve been saving up money, I can make it on my own.”

“It’s just one fight-” Katharina started to say.

“It’s never one fight!” She cleared her throat, moving her sister’s hand. “We’re just clearly too different. I have to find my own ways. I have to… I’ll actually go help people out there. And then she’ll see.”

“If you stay until we return from the summit, things will cool off.”

Kassandra sighed. “For how long?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but Katharina back at their mother, still fuming in the other room. “If you do leave… keep in touch. Please.”

“I’ll try.”

Her room was empty when she stepped inside and started to gather her things. She grabbed her old star maps, her cloaks, but paused over her journal.

The first page had her name written in her neatest lettering - Kassandra Stjerne. But she grabbed a quill off her desk and crossed it out, leaving a new name in its place: Cassandra.

Her mother had thought her name was on the line, but if their name was so fragile, Cassandra could leave it behind as well.

[antihoecial]

Well when I would think about them or even if the thought and image of them appears in my mind randomly, I feel like that’s when im being told to choose. At times I would say fuck it and just go on to reach out to one and then I stop myself and think about the other. What my mind or god or the universe is telling me to choose.. it’s the two women i constantly have thoughts about. Both are unique but im not sure who was truly genuine. I held myself back with one and the other I just got in my feelings and didn’t say what I needed to say or what she needed to hear. I’ve always been the one to reach out throughout the years with one of em and when things crumbled.. i stopped reaching out and she never did or even bothered to unless it was during the moment and time we would talk but after months/years? No.

I messed up with her but that’s what stops me from reaching out even if I deeply care inside and want to make things right. I’ve spoken to friends and some family about this and they all say try and reach out again but then it’s like why keep trying if it’s gonna be the same results all over again? Why not just keep my head up and keep moving forward and just do my own thing.

I’m a genuine man and soul. I can get into my feelings and thoughts and fuck things up but I learn from them especially now. I never had guidance as a child or teenager.. I might’ve been treated well by family, with love etc. But guidance with life, work, self, and women? Nah. I gotta learn myself and that’s what im doing now. Making things right for myself but I wish I can make things right with one of the two women I miss dearly. Idk what to do anymore.. I might just leave it how it is. I’ve always had the courage and positivity to reach back out no matter what but now? It’s like what’s the point even if im being dragged by mind to do so..

I just wish I can have a clean new slate with the one i recently lost. And as for the other, same thing but at times I think about that it’s best I don’t reach out. But then again when i reflect to our time together… all I remember is how madly in love she was with me and how much i was in my head doubting myself with her. Yet knowing i liked her very much too , but I was too self conscious and I wasn’t in the right mental space to grow with her even if i look back now and can say “yeah it would’ve worked” but im not sure who or where id be now. So when that kicks in, it feels like a choice needs to be made and then thats when i look back and dare myself to communicate with who i lost recently. The one I’ve known for years, the one i wish I could’ve spent more time with her, the one I felt a peaceful touch when we kissed.

And the choice lingers every time I think of them and every time I try to decide, I get pulled back by who to choose..

Well I guess it depends on how you feel about who you are now, and if the time away from her or anyone was bettering you as a person. And I guess also just how much time has passed.

I always come from a morbid place when it comes to things like this because the concept of death is something that weighs heavily on my thoughts. So much so I really don’t like to talk about it lol. However, it exists and it’s the final ending. words left unsaid can eat you alive and if there’s something you feel you want to say/ need to say I would call you to lean into that, because what’s the alternative: nothing.

I feel like not caring about losing or gaining and just feeling like you want to say what’s on your mind so you took it upon yourself to unapologetically say that and stand by it, is never a bad thing no matter the outcome.

(I say this but I too have words left unsaid that I still am deciding if I want to say directly due to relationship semantics but moral code eats me alive, so I stay silent due to it, and it makes me sad but I try to share anonymously and via my journal so that if I die they will know how I felt but I do worry about them and if they die before me and if I won’t ever be able to tell them that I love them truly ever again and it fucks with me a lot, I just don’t know if I’ll ever get passed the moral code I feel inside to not say anything. not to make this about myself, just to relate)

But if you just are feeling emotional over it… and are just reminiscing then is there anything to really say at all..? or is it nice to watch the movie of your memories from time to time?