#i've been having a lot of thoughts about autonomy lately

[liaroflesbos]

listened to tpp s2 Again and I can’t get ben’s line from the monster’s reflection out of my head, what he says when Juno finally figures out why Ben stayed with Sarah: “It wasn’t a good choice. It wasn’t a noble choice. But it was my choice. And I think it’s about time you start letting me take responsibility for my own choices, okay?”

because like, of course this means a lot in context of the Theia Soul, right? That Juno wishes beyond anything that Ben hadn’t stayed with Sarah, hadn’t kept himself in the firing line. Ramses/the Theia Soul would argue that Ben didn’t deserve to die for his choice to have hope that Sarah Steel would get better with him around, or whatever it was.

But deserving isn’t the point. Respect is the point. Ben made his choice, for good or ill, and he deserves the dignity of having that choice acknowledged. Even if it was the wrong choice, you can’t take that away from him.

[pearlessance]

Lust Among Thieves [part two]

[part one]

Summary: Fifteen years after escaping your captors, leaving them and the cabin in the woods behind, you end up in a community named Jackson and find yourself repeating the same old habits. Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, angst galore, mild infidelity (Tommy is with Maria but he and reader share one [1] kiss), canon typical violence, mention of kidnapping, mention of blood, angssssttt but with a happy ending. NOTE: this is a cowrite i've done with my BFF joelmillersgirlfriend!! make sure to go and read her other stuff on A03! thank you guys so much for all the positive feedback on this one, I'm glad you guys are liking it! let us know what you think about the ending <3 [MASTERLIST]

The sun is so warm that it’s beginning to melt the snow, turning it from soft and fluffy to a wet sort of slush. A comforting relief, because the winter holds memories you’re better off leaving behind. Memories of scowls and whittling knives, of the taste of whiskey and lighthearted laughter.

After fifteen years, you thought you’d grow out of the feeling, that you’d grieve the loss and go on instead to appreciate the recovery of your autonomy. But every winter, without fail, you remember your time in that cabin. You remember them. 

You’d never grown out of the feeling and you’d never grown into the now tattered canvas coat. If you closed your eyes and imagined the burn of the winter snow grazing your skin, you could remember how Joel smelled. You could remember how Tommy’s lips tasted.

But years had passed. The memory was now a faint one and one that you tried not to dwell on for too long. You have met a lot of people over the years and had dangerous encounters daily. Why was this one different?

Joel and Tommy had turned you into a new person within the four walls of that cabin. You weren’t the same afterward, now you were sculpted into a being with a sharp tongue and a toughed exterior yet… the core of you was soft. If you dug deep enough, the creature that Joel and Tommy had created was still inside of you, tender and vulnerable. 

For a while, you considered what you would do if you ever encountered them again. You were so far away from the outskirts of the Boston QZ, the death of your father and the weight of the situation turning into a calloused scar instead of a leaking wound over time. Over the past fifteen years, you had made your way across the country, searching for something. Whatever that something was, you weren’t sure of yet.

If you saw the brothers, would you be angry? Would they? They were heavy on your mind that morning as you made your way through the abandoned, ice-covered streets of Jackson Hole Wyoming.

You had left a compound back in Nebraska weeks ago. The people there weren’t bad, but it felt like another washed-down version of living under FEDRA. Constant patrolling, ridiculous rules. It was no surprise that you felt trapped because you had always felt trapped. It was only a matter of time before you ran away. It was the only thing that you were good at. 

You jumped from house to house in Wyoming, occasionally spending a couple of days if you were tired of the constant headache of moving every day. Most of your days consisted of you laying on an old, lifeless mattress, staring up at the ceiling and asking yourself ‘What if I never left?’ Would you have more of a purpose now? Would you not be alone?

You practiced your regular routine of bouncing through dilapidated houses, grabbing what supplies were still left, which was practically nothing. For an area where you had encountered absolutely no one, the houses were surprisingly scarce. 

It was getting late in the evening, and you had picked a house to settle down in for the night. The house had a rough exterior, similar to yours, but the inside was surprisingly still in good condition. You crept through the house, picking through each drawer and cabinet to once again, find nothing.

Truly, the master bedroom should have been an indicator to leave, but you were always a sucker for taking things that did not belong to you.

Just when you were about to call searching the house quits and crack open a book from your bag, you noticed a shifted floorboard in the bedroom. You hummed to yourself in curiosity, reaching down to investigate the suspicious piece of wood. It came out of the floor easily, revealing the contents buried inside. 

Ammo, water, packaged food, medicine. 

But most importantly, a bottle of Jack. Jesus, how long had it been since you had seen one of these? You laughed to yourself when you pulled it out of its hiding spot, half empty but still the perfect amount for a lone wanderer. 

You grabbed your pack, slipping all of the things you had found into it before you heard the voices. 

Fuck.

Moving swiftly, you grabbed everything you could before glancing around the bedroom. Footsteps and conversations were coming up the stairs, and you couldn’t believe how stupid you were for not checking the perimeter of the neighborhood before poking through the houses. 

“Jesse, go get the stuff from the master. Maria is gonna be pissed that we weren’t able to find more. Might as well bring back what we can,” you vaguely heard a gruff voice say. 

Into the closet you went, quietly tiptoeing across the room. Your hands were shaking as you grasped the straps of your bag, praying that luck would be on your side, just this once. 

The second you faded into the darkness of the shadows in the closet, a man stepped into the bedroom. You could see him through the panels of the closet door, especially if you squinted in just the right way.

He appeared young, with long dark hair that fell into his eyes when he glanced around the room. You held your breath when his sharp, determined eyes shifted to look over at the closet momentarily. It didn’t last long, which you were grateful for. You could feel your pulse ticking in your neck as he moved away to check the floorboards, knowing that he wasn’t going to be pleased with what he found. 

He was turned away from you so you couldn’t physically gauge his reaction, but his voice told you all you needed to know.

“Uh, we have a problem here. Stuff’s gone!” he shouted, standing back up quickly to unholster his gun. He glanced around the room once more, waiting for his partner to shout something back.

The voice was distant when it spoke, most likely still downstairs, waiting. “What do you mean, gone?”

The man who was only a few meters from you sighed, shaking his head. “I mean, it’s gone, someone must’ve taken it!”

You could hear heavy footsteps, every movement clearly laced with annoyance as he climbed the stairs. And then they stop a short distance away, and you hear the familiar click of his gun. 

In the holster strapped around your thigh sits your pistol. You have only two bullets—enough to kill a clicker in a pinch, but not enough to fend off two grown men who are also armed. You tighten your fingers around the handle of the old knife, leather now cracked with age, formed perfectly to the hills and valleys of your fingers.

Heart hammering, you know and accept the fact that you’re going to have to take your chances and run. You could already see the shadow of the man entering the room, grumbling at having to come up the stairs. His back was to the closet, approaching his partner.

“It was here two days ago,” he began before quickly stopping. His hand reached out, gesturing towards the ground. Your eyes squinted, following the gesture down until you saw what he found. Wet footprints.

You lunged out of the closet before anyone could even move, and latched onto the man's back like a starfish. You looked at the first man, Jesse, before pressing your knife against the second man's throat.

“Just let me leave. Let me leave and I won’t kill him,” you said coldly, the tip of the blade pushing into your prisoner. 

Jesse’s eyes widened, his hands spread in an attempt to calm you. “Hey, wait a second. We’re not looking for a fight. It doesn’t have to be like this,” he spoke, loosely holding his gun in his hand. You glanced at it with hesitation, which was enough time for your prisoner to grab your wrist and whip you around.

He was much larger than you, probably almost three times your size. There was no way in hell you would’ve been able to keep him restrained for long.

You whimpered in pain at the feeling of your wrist being twisted, the knife dropping out of your hand and clattering to the ground below.

“Stupid girl,” the man said, turning slowly to face you. There’s something about the way the words sound in his mouth that twists up your insides, a timbre that makes your hands tremble and shake. “Shouldn’t make threats when you’re outnum—” He stops. 

And your heart does, too. “Joel?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just narrows his eyes and clenches his teeth, jaw feathering. His hair has gone a little gray and there are defined wrinkles around his mouth and a scar across his nose that didn’t exist the last time you’d seen him, but you’re sure of it. As sure as you are of the ground beneath your feet, you’re sure that a ghost stands before you. 

His eyes soften as the realization hits. You know you’ve aged, too—though perhaps not as drastically.

Jesse is the one who speaks. “Do you know each other or something?”

“Yes,” Joel says, in perfect time as you answer, “No.”

“O…kay.” Jesse shifts uncomfortably on his feet before he closes the space between himself and the place you and Joel stand in what seems to be an eternal face-off. He plucks your knife up from the ground and hands it to you, hilt first. “Here. We don’t want any trouble.”

The shine of the blade catches Joel’s eye, and he scoffs as he processes what he sees. He takes the knife from Jesse’s hand before you get a chance to do so. He raises it in front of his face, no doubt inspecting the two letters etched into the metal.

“T.M? Tommy?” Jesse’s brows furrow as he turns his attention to you. “Is this Tommy’s knife?”

Neither of you answer him. Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and sweat beads your hairline. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and every cell in your body urges you to run as far and as fast as you can. 

“Joel,” Jesse says, voice a little more firm. 

“Just let me go,” you plead, staring Joel in the eye, trying to hide your fear. Not of him, but of the feeling that rises in you upon seeing him. The yearning, the desire, the familiarity. You’d convinced yourself it’d be gone by now, eviscerated. But feeling the warmth of his skin, smelling the pine scent of him—it all comes flooding back with a vengeance. “Please. Just give me the knife and I’ll walk away and we can pretend—”

“She’s coming back with us,” he tells Jesse. “Feed her. Get her some new clothes. If she wants to stay, there’s that empty house over by the cemetery. Fixed it up last week.”

“Stay? Where?”

“A town,” Jesse answers. He smiles at you and it’s warm and inviting, something you haven’t seen in some time. “A community.”

Your stomach growls at the thought of a decent meal, but your fear has you shaking your head. “No, I can’t. I’m—”

“You what?” Joel’s voice cuts through you. “Don’t got anywhere else to go. God knows how long it’s been since you last ate.”

You want to protest, to argue with him, to prove him wrong. But you can’t, because he’s right, and that fact enrages you more than anything else. 

Still, you agree. One night, you tell yourself. A good meal and a good night’s sleep and then you’d leave, never to be seen again.

Jesse helped you onto the back of his horse, leading the way back to the settlement while Joel followed. Every time you glanced back, unable to prevent yourself from looking at Joel, you saw his icy gaze watching your own. You swallowed nervously, pulling back into Jesse. You wondered what Joel was thinking. If he remember everything, if it meant anything to him.

Jackson was huge. There was food and people and walls. It wasn’t like the QZ. People lived like a family, working together for the better of humanity. It brought tears to your eyes to see. 

You felt overwhelmed as you trailed through the streets of Jackson, still mounted upon Jesse’s horse. Random strangers on the street greeted Joel as he led the way like he was some sort of beloved member of the community. All you could do was force a smile and nod during the random greetings, wondering if they knew who Joel really was.

“That jacket looks real familiar,” Joel spoke, gesturing at the worn coat swallowing your shoulders. It was large and had outlived its life, but you couldn’t let it go. It had been with you during some of the coldest winters, keeping you warm. 

“Looks a lot like the one my daddy gave me before he passed. I went crazy, thinkin’ I misplaced it. All this time, it was just you stealin’ shit that don’t belong to you,” Joel scoffed, but without malice. You stuttered, closing it around your body to cover your chest, a habit stemming from pure nerves.

It had been your jacket for years, your only source of comfort during cruel winters. It belonged to you just as much as it belonged to him. You were the one who had taken care of it all of the time.

Joel chuckled at your reaction, grinning down at you. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna ask for it back. I’m happy that you’ve gotten some use outta it.”

It was bewildering, how one sentence he spoke could come across filled with resentment, with ire, and the next be filled with something that felt sort of like relief.

But even back then, even fifteen years ago, you’d never been able to quite understand him. And though his anger was a kindred spirit to yours, Joel was so confusing. 

Once in the stables, Jesse helps you dismount. Before you even swing your leg over the horse, Joel’s handing his reins off to the stable hand and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight. 

Jesse sees your attention follow him, no doubt reading the expression of confusion on your face. “Don’t worry about him,” he says. “Joel can be a bit of an ass sometimes.”

You think that might be the understatement of the decade, but you keep that to yourself. 

“C’mon. Let’s go meet Maria to see where we should place you for housing and then I’ll let you get settled in.”

As Jesse leads you through the streets of Jackson, you can’t help but feel a bit of shock at the way things operate here. There are so many people you can’t keep their faces straight. Children of all ages, people your age, and elders. A rare occurrence these days.

There’s electricity powering lights strewn between the buildings. A carpenter and a grocer and a bar. It feels like something out of a dream.

Jesse leads you into what looks like a cafeteria. There are a handful of tables with hundreds of mismatched chairs around them, and a low chatter that greets you the moment you step through the doors. 

You notice him in a second.

Tommy’s laughing. His hair has grown out long enough that he can tuck the dark blonde strands behind his ear now, curling just slightly at the ends. 

He’s got a couple more freckles and wrinkles around his soft eyes. And seeing Joel was jarring, but it’s Tommy and his boisterous laughter and that wide grin on his face that makes your chest crack wide open. 

You love him, and you’ve always known it. You love them both, but it’s the loss of Tommy’s warmth you’ve felt the deepest since escaping from that cabin. It’s taken you a long time to accept it, but you have—and seeing him brought back a burning feeling that you thought was long gone.

Tommy notices Jesse, waving at him wildly, looking past you as if you were transparent. He didn’t recognize you yet, which wasn’t surprising. You were standing a handful of meters away, and from what it appeared, you seemed to be a ghost from a past life. One that he never anticipated seeing again, with how settled down he appeared to be now.

“Jesse! You have to hear this shit, man! Get over here,” Tommy gestured, a shit-eating smile still filling his face. You noticed the way Jesse looked at you first, evaluating your reaction, which was little to none. You’d grown good at hiding your emotions over the years, a calloused exterior being your own personal form of protection. A shell.

Your brain felt like it was pounding against the walls of your skull when you followed Jesse over to Tommy’s table. You kept your eyes glued down at your feet and prayed, that maybe, he wouldn’t notice you. But, of course…

“Hey, Tommy. I think I found an old friend of yours,” Jesse starts off with, the bastard. Tommy’s soft eyes move over to you, staring blankly for a couple of beats. The noise from the cafeteria droned out as you looked into his eyes, locked on those deep irises that you had dreamt about for years.

The sound of Tommy’s metal chair scraping against the floor pulled you out of your haze. His arms wrapped around you, engulfing your frame - swallowing you in his own body. He was so warm and firm. You hadn’t touched another person for so long, not like this. 

But you still were so uncertain. Your hands wavered, shaking nervously as you considered hugging him back. Things were so complicated, incredibly taboo, and filthy. You shouldn’t want to hug him back. You opt on loosely hugging his waist, too nervous to match the pressure of his embrace.

He pulls back, his large palms coming up to cradle the sides of your face. It reminded you of that night all those years ago when you first kissed him. You could still taste the bottle of Jack on his lips, warm and heavy against your tongue.

Tommy was contemplating kissing you, you had seen the look before. It was all too familiar.

His eyes were heavy, but the look left almost as quickly as it had appeared. He awkwardly shifted back, pulling out of your incredibly loose embrace. Jesus, Tommy was just as conflicted with you. His remorse for what had happened was clear on his face, those heavy puppy dog eyes searching your face desperately, praying that you would forgive him. Forgive Joel.

It was all too much - your head was spinning and your tongue was stuck to the roof of your mouth. Tommy glanced over at the table he had jumped up from, directly at a woman who was sitting next to his seat. Her freckled face was etched with a frown, one that was full of confusion about the situation.

“Christ, you’re alive?” Tommy whispered, wavering away from you. His disbelief wasn’t one that you had expected, nor had Jesse. The young man was still standing beside you, watching the events unfold with wide eyes. 

“I’m not really hungry, Jesse,” you turned and said, needing to get out of there immediately. Something was unraveling deep inside, what that something was, you didn’t know. Your palms felt slick with sweat, your legs unintentionally pulling you back, protecting you from the conversation.

“Please,” Tommy begged, “Let’s talk. Settle in, get used to everything, but don’t leave town without comin’ to talk. And for the love of God, eat .”

You nodded, backing away from Tommy like a scared puppy. The sound of your heart beating filled your brain as you turned and walked away, Jesse hot on your heels. You heard Tommy’s voice speak, “Maria, come on, we gotta go over some things.”

The air is cool against your heated skin, and you greedily swallow the icy air. You press your palm against your sternum, trying to will your heart to slow and your blood to settle in your veins.

“Hey,” Jesse says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder that makes you jump out of your skin.

When you turn to face him, you don’t even remember unsheathing your knife from the holster strapped to your belt. He has his hands held up in surrender, that friendly smile on his face, and guilt begins to trickle down your spine.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You lower the knife quickly, returning it to its rightful place at your hips. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry, too. Uhm…instinct, I guess.”

“I get it,” he says, and for some reason, you believe him. There’s such understanding in his voice that it’s hard not to. “Jackson is a lot to adjust to. Doesn’t happen overnight.”

You nod slowly in response. 

“There’s an empty house over by the cemetery. I can show you, and you can rest or look around or…you know, do whatever you need to. There’s hot water, you can shower, and some staples in the pantry if you feel like cooking. I can run to the community hall and get you some new clothes and drop them off if you want some space.”

The words sound foreign in your ears as if he’s speaking a different language. Cooking, showering, hot water …the thought crosses your mind that you’ve somehow died and this is all some kind of strange hallucination. 

But a moment along sounds like bliss, and a shower sounds like heaven, so you find yourself nodding and following him through the streets of Jackson. Jesse tries to make small talk, but you’re not in much of a talking mood and he seems to pick up on it and doesn’t press for much more information.

He tells you there are towels in the linen closet in the hall upstairs and promises to return in less than ten minutes with a basket of clean clothes. “I’ll set them just inside the door,” he said. ”Take what you want. If there’s anything that doesn’t fit, I’ll bring it back to the hall later.”

The house is nice, bigger than any of the places you’ve ever holed up in for a few days, and more secure, too. Upstairs there’s a massive bathroom and before you do anything else, you turn the handle to the hottest setting. The water spits and spudders and is freezing at first, but the second it begins to warm you’re stripping off your clothes and stepping beneath the stream.

And you’re not quite sure why, but the sensation of it brings moisture to your eyes, salty tears mixing with the warm spray from the showerhead. The water that pools at your feet is dark and grimy, ridding you of the dirt that clings to your skin. 

You scrub your skin raw and still don’t feel clean enough. But when the water runs cold, you leave wet footprints on the wood flooring of the stairs and find that Jesse stayed true to his word. 

Just inside the front door is a laundry basket full of clothes; denim and fleece, cotton t-shirts and undergarments, socks, and even a half-decent bra. You settle on jeans and a hoodie that’s just a little too big, but still hold tight to the old coat you’d stolen.

He also left a plate of food, which you assumed was from the cafeteria. Even though you didn’t think you could’ve eaten earlier, not after seeing Tommy, you were suddenly famished. The food was gone in under a minute. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had something fresh, rice, green beans, onions. It was life-altering.

There’s a big bed in the center of one of the bedrooms upstairs, and you tell yourself you’ll rest just for a few seconds. A few minutes. But the moment your head hits the pillow, you know it isn’t true and you don’t have the energy to convince yourself otherwise. 

When you finally wake, the room is dark, and the rays from the rising moon are silhouetting the bedroom in a blue haze. You sigh, relaxing into the bed sheets. It was crazy to reflect on your current circumstances. Just a day ago, you were starving, sleeping on an old rotted mattress with a gun held tightly in your hand. Now, you could hear the laughter and shouts of children from the street outside your window.

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as you stood up, deciding to leave the house and explore. It would be beneficial to know where everything is, you think. If for nothing else than to know the best escape routes, to become familiar with the routine of the watchers on the walls.

You brush your teeth before heading out, the night air rushing against your face when you step onto the front porch. Even though it’s late in the evening, the streets are still filled with people; families walking back home together, couples holding hands. It almost feels unreal.

Walking past the cemetery, you notice some people crouched at the gravestones, crying. Even when you were somewhere safe, you could never escape the horrors of loss.

It felt like you were floating through the streets of Jackson, an outsider peering in. The closer you got to the center of town, the more people you stumbled upon. Icicle lights were strung across the powerlines and street before you, random strangers greeting you in passing. 

You finally grew tired of the attention, the stares, the forced conversations. You ended up pulling up the hood of your jacket over your head, shielding yourself from gazing eyes. 

A small church was planted near the center of town, and the doors cracked, allowing you to glance in. Though it wasn’t entirely full, many people filled the pews and watched the priest give his sermon. You could pick up a few words from where you were standing, but you didn’t really care to hear. You gave up on a religion a long time ago. 

A couple of meters away was an open space that had a bonfire square in the middle, with a handful of picnic tables spread across the space. The hum of the people talking drew you in, despite not knowing anyone, or so you thought.

“Settlin’ in good?” you heard from behind you, the voice making you jump in surprise. You turned back to see Joel, his dark eyes watching you from a couple of feet away. Those dark eyes still made your palm sweat and your cheeks burn bright. He had always held something in him that made you docile. 

You cleared your throat, subconsciously pulling at the strings of your hoodie. “It’s surreal here. Not like the QZ.”

Joel huffs, nodding in agreement. “Thank God it ain’t.“

There is an awkward pause where you stand shyly in front of Joel, uncertain of what to say next. Making small talk with him was never your forte, because typically he never even wanted to speak with you. Now, here he is, actively trying to pull a conversation out of you. He had changed. 

“You’re not like how I remember,” you say, your lips moving quicker than your brain was able to think. Joel stiffened, rubbing the scruff of his beard.

“Yeah? And how do you remember me?”

It’s a test, one to see how you would describe your relationship with both him and Tommy. A mutual romantic bond? Or something much more sinister, much more taboo? You don’t fall for the trap because you aren’t even sure how you want to interpret everything. Not entirely.

“Quieter. Less gray hairs too,” you said, not expecting the warm sound of Joel’s laughter to hit your ears. He smiled down at you, the grin boyish and full of hidden memories. It made you ache for something you never even had. 

“It’s been a long time. When you left…” Joel trailed off, his expression morphing into a dark cloud. You knew that leaving would hurt both of the brothers, and it felt shameful to admit that sometimes you regretted your escape. Yes, you were free, but what difference did it make? You had lost companionship. Love?

“We both hated to see you leave, but we understood.” Joel was no longer looking you in the eye but was instead staring down at his feet. “What happened there? It wasn’t right, the things we did with you. I can be the first to admit. It was the actions of two desperate, lonely men. But I’m not here to make excuses.”

His eyes moved back to look at your face, to gauge your reaction. 

“I’m sorry. Tommy sure as hell is, he beat himself to death over all of it. You don’t have to forgive me or forgive either of us. But, please, just hear him out. He wants you to come over to dinner tomorrow so you can meet everyone. Then maybe we could all talk?”

You stepped back, crossing your arms and shaking your head. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you tried to explain. The idea of being trapped in a house with people you didn’t know didn’t exactly sound appealing. Joel had apologized for both him and Tommy, truthfully, there wasn’t much of a point to even go now. What more was there to talk about?

“Joel!” shouted a voice from where the bonfire was taking place. Both you and Joel turned to watch a young girl run over to where you were standing. When she arrives you’re able to get a good look at her - pretty blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose that reminds you of the constellations.

For a moment you considered that maybe he had a kid. She looked no older than sixteen - it could be possible. But she didn’t look like Joel, much too soft in the cheeks. Joel had strong features while this girl was the epitome of a cherub, her rounded lips turned up into a smile as she grinned at you.

“Joel. Is it alright if I spend the night at Cat’s? I don’t have garden duty until the afternoon so I’d have plenty of time to get back,” she explained. Well, if she wasn’t Joel’s daughter then she was certainly Joel’s something. The sick thought crossed your mind that maybe something was wrong here, but the moment Joel reached over to tousle her hair, you knew that you were wrong.

“Of course not, El. Be back by dinner tomorrow,” he said, shooting her away, back towards the crowd at the fire. She gave you a farewell wave, one that you returned, as she ran off to find her friend.

Your face was warm when you thought about how you had considered that Joel might’ve been in a relationship with her. Joel noticed your embarrassment, watched the way you huffed into your palm, and shook your head.

“What?” Joel questioned, the distant fire casting a fire over his face. It reminded you of the cabin, of the fireplace. Of his warmth.

“You kidnap her too?”

The small grin that he had on his face disappeared in an instant, replaced with rage and disappointment.

“Of course not,” Joel sputtered, scoffing at the accusation. “I would’ve never- I mean, she is just a child,” he hissed.

“And I wasn’t?” you whispered back just as angrily, pulling your hood off of your head. You wanted him to look at you, to see you. 

“I told you, I’m sorry. I’ve had fifteen years to reflect and I can admit that I was,” Joel pauses before snarling, “a goddamn monster back then. But, Ellie, she’s like a daughter to me. She gave me a purpose. With her, things were different,” he sighed, shaking his head in frustration. 

Tears were burning the back of your eyes, but you forced yourself to keep it together. You weren’t going to show Joel that he had hurt you. That you had missed him. 

“And why wasn’t it different with me?” you questioned, a genuine curiosity behind the words. 

Joel only stood, looking down at you with his lips pressed into a frown. This girl, Ellie, had broken Joel, but you hadn’t. What was so special about her that she was able to receive his empathy?

The answer to that question was easy. You knew that deep down, it was never about you. It was about Sarah. 

You hated that you weren’t able to watch him grow and change, to help him change. He never gave you the chance. 

“I’m going to go,” you said, turning to leave both Joel and the conversation behind. Before you could walk off the sidewalk, you felt a familiar hand wrapped around your arm. A heat rose in your chest and settled in between your thighs just by being touched by Joel. 

His dark eyes softened as he took you in, his gaze tracing the lines of your face, your body, your palms. His large hands dwarfed yours when he pulled you towards him, wrapping you in a hug. It was different from Tommy’s, one that was full of surprise and longing.

Joel’s was tender and soft, his large palms moving in small, gentle circles as if he was afraid he’d break you. 

“Is this okay?” Joel questioned, one that took you by surprise. He had changed, that’s for sure. You nodded, melting into his touch, practically cemented between the pressure of his arms. It had been so long since you had been touched, focused purely on survival. It felt good, to feel wanted.

“When you left we searched for you,” he spoke into your hair. “With the raiders and all, we thought that maybe more had come and taken you. Took us a little while to realize that wasn’t the case. We understood why you left, why you felt like you had to leave, but… fuck .”

He had pulled back now, unable to meet your eyes. “I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to be by your side until it was too late. I fucked up. We both did. But it was me who treated you badly, who excused it. So, I’m sorry.”

It was Joel’s third and final apology of the night. You had decided that you did forgive him, for all of it. There was no point in wallowing in anger forever. You had to let it go.

“I know,” you whispered, reaching to hold his palm in your hand. He wasn’t a bad man. He had never been, and it hits you only now that maybe you’ve always known from the very first moment that he’s not bad …he’s just like you. 

Quick to anger, quicker to self-preservation. Neither of you has ever seen the best in others before the bad, your psyche molded always to expect the worst, tragedy burned in like a bad memory.

“I know,” you say again. “And I forgive you.”

His shoulders deflate as if setting down something so heavy he’d become accustomed to the weight of it after all these years. He gives you this smile, but it’s sort of sad and the sight of it quietly breaks your heart. 

But Joel regains his composure quickly, casting his eyes away from you and clearing emotion from his throat. Your hand still sits in his, a firm, warm hold on you, full of surety, devoid of hesitation. You try not to think about how much it feels like home. 

“So, would you think about dinner then?”

You don’t know these people. You know Joel and Tommy but everyone else remains a mystery, and though nothing about Jackson raises any immediate red flags, there’s still a nagging warning that rings in the back of your mind. Don’t get close. This is only temporary. You don’t belong here. Yet still, you find yourself nodding, pleased with the look of further satisfaction that finds its way onto Joel’s face. “Okay. Dinner.”

When he releases your hand, it feels like a loss all over again. You swallow it down, bury it deep, pretend it’s not there like you’ve always done. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” he says. “I’m going to try and get some sleep. Been a long day.”

You nod and force the words out of your mouth even though all you want is to beg him to stay, to wrap his big hand back around yours and pull you into his side. “Goodnight, Joel.”

Even though it makes you feel a little pathetic, you watch him walk away. But he’s turning back to face you, slowly walking backward as he quickly says, “You’re free to take any leftovers, by the way. No, uh…no thievery needed.”

It makes you laugh, the joy of the tender moment seeping deep between your bones. “Good to know,” you say. “I’ll keep it in mind, but don’t be surprised if I pocket a silver spoon or two.”

You hardly sleep the entire night. All you can think about it the weight of his calloused palm, of the timbre of his voice as he told you they looked for you.

No one’s ever looked for you before.

Just before sunrise, you allow yourself a moment to regret running. It’s the first time in all your life that you think maybe flight was the wrong response. 

Tommy knocks on your door early. He’s got on a pair of Levi’s and a black and red flannel, and there’s a long-barrel rifle slung over his shoulder with a scope attached to it. “Morning, sweetheart,” he says. The familiar sobriquet sends a warmth slithering down your spine. “Thought we could go out today. Just the two of us. That sound okay?”

Before you have the chance to think better of it, you're stepping outside and closing the door behind you. Tommy chuckles softly at your lack of hesitation and throws an affectionate arm around your shoulders. You can’t resist leaning into him, can’t think of another place you’ve ever felt safer. 

But then you think of that day so long ago, with Joel wrapped around you, his strong arms encircling your waist, and you think tucked into Tommy’s side might be the second safest place in the world.

The streets of Jackson are relatively empty compared to yesterday. The sun is up, casting orange shadows over the puddles of melting snow, and the lack of prying eyes makes you curious. “Where is everyone?”

“It’s Sunday,” he says simply. “For one day of the week, no one’s got any jobs to do.” 

Truthfully, the concept of a weekday or a weekend has been foreign to you for so long you’d nearly forgotten its existence. “Oh,” is all you can rebuttal. And then a few moments later, “Where are we going?”

“Hunting trip,” Tommy explains. “Just like old times. Joel says you still got my skinnin’ knife.”

The words hold some accusation, making you flush, but there’s a proud smile on his face and you know he’s not angry for your stealing. You can feel the weight of it at your hip, and pull it from the sheath attached to your leather belt. Slowly, you turn it in your hand, polished silver glinting. 

“Figured you’d taken it when I couldn’t find it. Looked everywhere for that thing. Looked everywhere for you, too. But…I just hoped it kept you safe. Wherever you were, I kinda liked the thought of, ya know…just being able to protect you somehow. I’m glad you had it.”

His confession cracks your chest wide open and leaves you bleeding. You think of all the times his knife had done just that; protected you, fed you, saved you.

“S’alright,” he says. “Go on an’ keep it. S’yours now, sweetheart.” 

You slide the blade back into its home on your hip and follow Tommy as he feeds and speaks softly to an all-black horse in the stables. He saddles it quickly and with precision before pulling you up onto the horse behind him.

Instinctually, you wrap your arms tight around his waist and rest your cheek against his spine, inhaling the familiar but long-forgotten scent of him. The watchers on the walls let the two of you pass with only a nod to Tommy, and you ride slowly through the wet grass until you come to a clearing in the woods.

There’s a tree blind, hidden at the edge of the brush. Tommy ties the horse’s reins to the post and he lets you climb up the ladder first. 

Once you’re both safely inside, the horse grazing on the grass below, Tommy sits the end of his rifle on the edge of the window before settling into one of the rickety wooden chairs that have been hauled into the blind. 

You take the one beside him. Even though you know a big part of hunting is the silence, a million questions press against the back of your teeth. After a few minutes pass by, you can take the pressure no longer and ask, “Who’s Maria?”

A smile climbs onto his face. Unsure of what to expect, it surprises you as he answers simply, saying, “My wife.”

“ Wife ?” It raises a plethora of new questions. How long have they known each other? Did Tommy ever tell Maria about their time in the cabin? Did the two of them build Jackson together? Why does his answer sting?

He seems to sense the confusion and reaches across the open space to squeeze your hand in his. “After you left. Jesus, I think both Joel and I had a moment of realization. I missed you like hell, the feelin’ of you, the warmth. To think that you had gone back out there, with raiders and God knows what else, because of me and Joel? Christ.”

Tommy sighs, pausing before staring out into the wooded distance. You could see how much he had on his mind, an unbearable weight that he had been holding for years. It was wearing him down, weakening his bones. 

“I know Joel talked to you, but I really can’t explain to you how sorry I am,” Tommy began. You glanced down at his palm which was still holding your own, large and heavy against your skin. 

“There’s no excusin’ it. You were so young, and innocent. Something that we hadn’t been around for so long. We had seen horrible things, had done awful things. We took advantage of you. I took advantage of you.” He turned to look at you, a deep sincerity held in his eyes. “Please, forgive me. I don't know how I’d be able to keep livin’ with myself if you don’t.”

There wasn’t anything to forgive. You had wanted everything that happened, at the end of the day. You had missed both him and Joel. 

“I’ll forgive you if you forgive me for stealing from you,” you said in an attempt to break the ice. You knew it worked from the way Tommy’s face broke out into a toothy grin. 

“You’re forgiven.”

Tommy explained to you what had happened after you ran away from the cabin. How he had gone back to the Boston QZ in search of you, eventually abandoning Joel there to join the Fireflies. From there he had ditched the Fireflies, deciding that their methods were too extreme, and then, he met Maria. She had saved him, washed him of all of his sins, and gave him a purpose again. 

“She’s a good woman. An amazing woman, Jackson wouldn’t even exist without her,” he said, but it felt like he was convincing himself and not you. Tommy looked over at you, a dark lust behind his eyes that you hadn’t seen since the last night you shared in that faraway cabin. 

“She is,” he breathed. “But… sometimes I think about how different things would’ve been if I made better choices back then. I’m happy here in Jackson, beyond happy, but-“

You closed the distance quickly, knocking your wooden chair into his own. His lips were warm and soft, just like you had remembered them. It was easy kissing Tommy, like second nature. He hummed into your mouth and didn’t push you away. There was no huge rush of passion behind it, but something much more important. Catharsis. A conclusion.

“For closure,” you whispered into his lips. Tommy nodded, kissing you once more before leaning back in his seat, his hand still holding yours.

“For closure.”

On the way back, Tommy fills you in on Joel’s relationship with Ellie. They met in the QZ, where he agreed to take her across the country to Salt Lake City. When you ask why, Tommy insists it isn’t important, that if it was he would tell you. “It’s Ellie’s secret to tell, anyway,” he says.

You let it go, far more interested in something else entirely. Your arms are wrapped around his waist on the back of the horse and you’re breathing a little easier now as you ask, “Does she make you happy? Maria?”

There’s a moment of hesitation. Or rather contemplation, perhaps. But then he nods slowly and says, “Yeah. Yeah, she does.”

You’re glad to hear it. Truthfully. Even with all that’s transpired, you’re thankful Tommy was able to find this slice of bliss in the hellish affairs of the world. 

“Does she know? About what happened?” you asked shyly. Tommy sighed, nodding.

“She knew bits and pieces but not at all of it. After Joel and Jesse found you, I told her everything. It wasn’t fair for her not to know.”

You would’ve guessed that he told her. He seemed to really love her, to trust her. If Joel even trusted her, then that showed the strength in the relationship. It didn’t bother you that she knew. It was for the best.

“And…Joel? Do you think he’s happy?”

This time it’s definitely hesitation. Tommy’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. He lets out a long breath, misting in the cool air. “He hasn’t been the same since…”

“Since Sarah, right?”

Tommy shakes his head. “No. I mean, yes, but…”

There’s something he’s holding onto, and you’re not sure if it’s for your sake or for Joel’s. Either way, this is the secret you decide you need to uncover. “Tell me.”

“When you left…I mean, I know I already said it was hard but it was different for Joel. I had the Fireflies and then I had Maria and Jackson, all things that filled the emptiness but Joel…I don’t know. S’like he never came back from it. From losin’ you.”

You can see Jackson in the distance now. A silhouette of a town, of a home. Your stomach turns, thinking that all this time you’ve both been suffering from the same plight and the cure has simply been forgiveness. 

But can you live with entirely forgiving Joel? Completely? He advocated for your death, held you hostage, and shot you in cold blood. You can acknowledge and accept the fact that he’s changed, that you all have, that you’ve grown and matured and established a firm line between what’s right and what’s wrong, something the three of you once lacked.

You’ve finally found closure enough to move on from this, but if you let go of your anger, let it dissolve into nothing, what would be left of what you feel for him but longing?

If you let it all go…there would be nothing left inside you for Joel Miller but love, and you’re fairly certain that that would be even more difficult to navigate than your anger. 

Once back in Jackson with nothing to show for your hunting trip but ease in your shoulders, Tommy secures the horse back into the stables and offers to walk you home. You laugh and joke the whole way and it feels natural, just like old times but perhaps even better now that you’re here of your own volition. 

Once in front of your house, Tommy takes your hand in his and kisses your palm. “I’ll always care for you,” he whispers, dancing around a word far more intense. Once again, you’re not sure if it’s for your benefit or for his, or if it’s for Joel’s.

You lift his hand to your face and lean into his caress, feeling the warmth on your cheek, the roughness of his skin brought on by age and hard labor. “Me too,” you admit. And then quieter, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I know it was…”

Tommy shakes his head. “No, sweetheart—don’t you ever apologize for that.” He used his free hand to thread his fingers through your hair, not dissimilar to the way you’d first touched him all those years ago. “You needed it. I needed it.” 

He wraps his arms around you and you lean in close, soaking up his warmth, his safety.

You share so much in one embrace—longing, lust, regret, forgiveness. And when he pulls away, it all fades into the ether, leaving nothing behind but this deeply rooted fondness for him, a desire for him to be happy above all else. 

“If you need anything, and I mean anything, come and find me. We live next to the daycare. Maria said to be there after nightfall tonight,” Tommy spoke, knocking his shoulder across your own playfully. “I hope you’re ready for a home-cooked meal. How long has it been?”

You stand, truly considering his question. Eating in the QZ wasn’t exactly pleasant. Typical meals consisted of stale bread and watered-down soup. You couldn’t even remember your last fresh meal.

“Too long,” you sighed. Tommy smirked, his warm smile making the skin of your cheeks burn.

“Soon enough. See you tonight.”

The day goes by quickly. You fill the empty space with exploration, walking through the greenhouses, around the buildings, and through the one currently being constructed in the northwest corner within the walls.

The people begin to emerge a little after midday, socializing with one another, smiles on their faces and ease in their shoulders. You see Jesse at one point while you’re walking the perimeter, checking for weak spots, and he waves at you and it feels so strangely normal that it startles you. 

When the sun begins to set behind the heavy clouds, you find the house beside the daycare and stand a few feet away. You can see through the open windows that you’re likely the last to arrive—and for a second, you consider turning back and running as far away as you can. 

Because beneath the yellow light, they all look so happy. Maria, Ellie, and someone else you can’t put a name to, all work together setting the table, six place settings with mismatched cutlery.

Joel and Tommy can be seen in the kitchen, sharing a few concerned looks between warm smiles, once in a while knocking the neck of their glass bottles together. They’re all at home here and have all curated a routine, a familiarity. 

And you know without a shadow of a doubt that if you walk in there, you’re going to disturb it. You’re going to break the tranquility they’ve worked towards, you’re going to be the odd one out, the sore thumb in their causal, familiar cacophony. No matter what, you’re not going to belong. 

The only hope you have is trudging through the unfamiliarity until it becomes familiar, hoping to integrate yourself into their already established lives. 

But after all you’ve done since leaving that cabin, after all the blood on your hands, is that the sort of thing you’ve earned?

It’s not. You know it. You turn to leave.

The front door swings open, yellow lighting silhouetting his familiar frame.

He must see the terror in your eyes, must see the flight response kicking in because he’s off the porch in a second and taking your hand in his. 

You’re shaking your head and your breath feels stuck in your throat, amassing into a stone of instinct that sits heavy on your chest. 

“Tell me,” is all Joel says.

The words come spilling out, mechanical, one after another. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve this. I don’t belong here. I’ve killed people. I’ve lied and stolen and—”

He takes your face in his strong grip and forces you to look at him, the sight of adoration in his eyes like a balm to your heart. “It doesn’t matter if we deserve it,” he says. “Do you want it?”

More than anything.

Tommy’s voice cuts through the intensity between you and Joel. “Dinner’s ready,” he says. “Come eat, sweetheart.”

You do. Maria’s made a whole platter; roast and vegetables and some sort of broth soup with rosemary. There’s red wine and whiskey and sweet tea. Joel sits beside you at the table. Ellie sits across from you, beside her girlfriend who you learn is named Dina.

They’re all incredibly nice, asking you questions about your life before Jackson, never pressing too much, sensing when a topic is brought up that you don’t particularly want to recall and quickly changing the conversation.

The chemistry flows far easier than you’d imagined it would. You find you even like Maria, and you especially like that fond look in her every time she glances over at Tommy. 

The food is delicious and you’re bringing a forkful of roast to your mouth when Dina asks, “So, how did you meet Joel and Tommy?”

The table goes quiet then, and Dina and Ellie share a confused glance. You chew slowly, hoping someone else will answer the question or, better yet, ask something else entirely. 

But then Ellie jokingly says, “What? Did guys kidnap her or something?”

You nearly choke, Tommy lets out a long breath, and Joel is stone still apart from the feathering of his jaw. Even Maria looks uncomfortable. 

Ellie sees the unsaid words and quietly mutters, “Oh shit.” She turns to Joel then, eyes narrowed into slits. “You kidnapped her?”

“It wasn’t like that,” you supply. “Not exactly. I stole from them first. Back when food was a lot more scarce.”

“So you held her captive,” Ellie corrects, unrelenting.

“A story for another day, maybe?” Maria suggests. “How’s the soup, El?”

You can tell she’ll circle back to the conversation the moment she can, but for now, Ellie lets it rest. And you’re thankful for it, because you’re not sure how to explain a moment of your time spent in that cabin even to yourself, let alone someone else.  

After dinner, you help Maria clean while the brothers drink beer out on the back porch and watch Ellie play guitar. From the kitchen you can see Dina stretched across the wooden floor, propped up against the rails of the porch. The sound of Ellie missing a couple of strings makes Maria hum in amusement. 

“Joel’s been teaching her for a couple of weeks now. She picks up quickly,” Maria informs you, taking a now cleaned dish from your hand to dry it. It didn’t feel weird, being around her, despite the fact that you had kissed her husband just a couple of hours ago. 

“Yeah. She seems like a good kid.”

Maria places the plate into the cabinet before turning to you. She leans against the counter, taking a moment to look you over. 

“You weren’t how I imagined you when Tommy told me about everything.”

Her words didn’t feel rude or passive-aggressive. They were more so honest, and revealing. 

“How did you imagine me?” you asked, continuing to wash the dirty dishes in the sink. Focusing on the soapy suds melting off the plate the more you scrubbed it distracted you from the conversation. You knew that Maria was trying to understand you, but it made you feel anxious either way.

Maria sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not so quiet. Fiery, like Ellie. I suppose you are, deep down, especially if both the Miller brothers like you.”

You used to have more of a spark inside of you, but over time, it had slowly fizzled out. You had killed too many people, done too many awful things. After your father was murdered, you lost the majority of the fire that was meant to burn in your chest. You learned how to be a drifter and not get attached, because getting attached meant losing them someday.

The only exception were the brothers who you could hear laughing loudly from the back porch. Even after all this time, after leaving them, they had found a place to call home where they could love freely. 

“They both care a lot about you. You had Joel pacing back and forth, wondering if you’d actually show up.”

A warm blush washed across your face and didn’t stop until it reached the bottom of your spine. Joel was waiting for you? How was it that he had shut you off, practically hated you all those years ago, but now, suddenly was worried about you? What had changed?

As if she could read your mind, Maria spoke. “Ellie helped him open up a lot. According to Tommy, she’s got that same spitfire energy as Sarah. Maybe back then, it wasn’t the right time. Joel was too far gone. But now, it could be different. You could take advantage of his weaknesses this go around if you think it would make you happy.”

You understood why Tommy loved Maria. She had created this town, a haven, and even cares about people she doesn’t know. She allowed her husband’s people to be her own.

“Maybe,” you agreed, focusing your attention back on washing the dishes. Maria didn’t pry and instead moved back into the pattern of taking clean dishes from your hands. 

Once you finished, you followed Maria onto the back porch, trailing through the sliding doors. Ellie and Dina were so focused on singing a Foo Fighters song that you hadn’t heard for years (that you were sure Joel introduced them to) that they didn’t notice your approach. Tommy and Joel did, Tommy smiling at Maria before extending his arms. She walked to where he was sitting and joined him, sitting on the edge of his lap. 

You were glad that you didn’t feel anything but happiness to watch the intimacy of the couple.

Joel’s eyes were watching you, dark and full of thoughts you wished you could understand. You wondered how he would react if you closed the space and sat on his lap - not that you had nearly enough courage.

“I think I’m gonna get ready to head home. I gotta organize the pantry in the morning,” you said, glancing over at the two girls who had moved on to singing some song you didn’t recognize.

All three of the Millers looked disappointed in your confession. “At least let me walk you back,” Joel begged, but you shook your head.

“No, stay. Don’t wanna miss out on this,” you said, glancing back over at Ellie and Dina singing. 

There was something like hurt that flashed across his face, but it didn’t linger long. 

“Feel free to come back any time,” Maria said.

“For anything,” Tommy adds. 

Joel says nothing, even though you linger there on the porch for several seconds, secretly hoping he would. But you nod silently, thank them for all their hospitality, and compliment Maria on the food, before parting ways to the soft sound of Ellie’s strumming on the guitar. 

For several days, you find yourself grappling with a decision. Should you stay, or should you do what feels most natural and flee? 

Fleeing would be what you’re used to. A rehearsed, calculated event. Premeditated. You’d been thinking about it from the moment you set foot in this place. Take a backpack full of supplies; food, medicine, water. You’d probably even get away with taking a horse and a couple of guns from the armory.

You’d do it first thing before the sun rises on a Sunday morning when the whole of Jackson is sleeping apart from the watchers on the walls. You wouldn’t say goodbye because you know Joel and Tommy both would convince you to stay. 

Instead, you’d leave a note on the table in your kitchen. One Saturday night you even sit there with a pen in your hand, but all you can manage to scribble down are the words I’m sorry. 

You trash it before sunrise. And that morning, Ellie stopped by to ask if you’d help her tend to the greenhouse. “It’s an eight-hour shift,” she explained. “Four with an extra set of hands. They have that dance going on tonight, down at the community hall. Dina really wants to go.”

Of course, you agree. And as the hours tick by, you understand Joel’s attachment to her. Ellie is probably the funniest kid you’ve ever met. Intuitive too, and so smart it’s jarring. You like her, mostly because she reminds you a little of yourself when you were her age. 

She talks briefly about her journey with Joel to Salt Lake City. Says he started out as this gruff, overbearing man, but towards the end, he was the only source of comfort remaining in her grasp. She says Joel saved her life but then gets really quiet for a while afterward. 

You don’t pry. The silence is comfortable, the dirt between the creases of your palms and beneath your fingernails is warm, and you realize that fleeing is going to hurt an awful lot more than you thought. 

After your shift in the greenhouse with Ellie, you begin to consider staying. Jackson is a good place, a safe place. One without the tyrannical rules of a standard QZ.

The following weekend, a fight breaks out between two men at the Tipsy Bison. One is drunk and sloppy and he has a knife strapped to his belt. You watch from a far distance as the drunken man stabs his opposition between the ribs, blood pooling in the mud beneath his feet. 

You don’t see Joel right away, too focused on the commotion that breaks out over the event, but the moment he steps in he’s hard to miss. He has that strong, domineering energy about him. He breaks up the fight in a second and has the man with the knife unclenching his fist, silver glinting in the pool of blood as the weapon drops to the ground.

Maria and Tommy arrive a short moment later and the man with the stab wound gets carted off to the infirmary. Joel towers over the man with blood on his hands but says not a single word.

You’re not sure why, and you’re too exhausted to attempt unpacking it, but the way he just… controls the situation so easily has your thighs pressing together.

Joel and Tommy take the man someplace, but you don't stay around long enough to find out where. You half expect them to make some scene of it; whippings in the center of the town, a public execution as a display of power. You’ve seen such things before in the QZs you’ve drifted through. 

But nothing like that happens, and all anyone can talk about is Rick’s miraculous recovery and what they plan to bring to him in the infirmary. 

You ask Jesse what happened to the drunken man who stabbed him, wondering if they killed him someplace away from prying eyes. 

Jesse laughs and shakes his head. “No, we didn’t kill him. He was exiled.”

You’re not sure why it surprises you, but it does. 

The next time you see Joel, he’s in the stables. The first taste of summer has presented itself, spring slowly giving way, the earth thawing further each day. He’s wearing a navy t-shirt that stretches tight across his biceps and a good-fitting pair of blue jeans, and you watch from a safe, non-conversational distance as he moves haybales from one end of the stables to another, making room for the new ones loaded into the back of Tommy’s truck. 

A light sheen of sweat coats his sun-kissed skin, and it makes your mouth water. All you can think about is that first time with him, how he’d gripped your hips with calloused fingertips, how he’d kissed your lips until they were swollen, how he’d pressed himself between your spread thighs.

You run home so fast you’re out of breath when you close the door, and the moment you make it up the stairs and to your room, you're slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your jeans to alleviate the ache that has settled and made a home between you legs. 

Telling yourself it was a fluke, you don’t think of it again. In fact, you try very hard not to think about that day in the cabin, you try not to think about the way he looked at you before leaving you and Tommy in the bed on that last day, you try not to think about the way his muscles flexed in the stables. 

You fill your time with chores. The greenhouse, watch, patrol, shifts at the Tipsy Bison. Anything that keeps your mind from Joel you greet with ready and willing hands.

But it happens again. Of fucking course it does.

It’s raining hard and has been for several days. The western wall begins to flood, and it’s an all-hands-on-deck situation, moving sandbags from one end of Jackson to the other. Everyone is running around, moving as fast as they can, piling them into the back of one person’s truck and then someone else’s the moment one pulls away. 

Maria woke you up in the middle of the night with a yellow raincoat in her hands, and of course, you didn’t waste a moment before you put on your sneakers and ran out the door with her. 

She stations you at the western wall with a handful of others, unloading the sandbags and stacking them as high as possible to detour the pooling water.

Joel stands two feet away from you, yelling orders over the sound of the rain, commanding the situation in that way of his. You’re shivering, even with your raincoat, and as Joel’s hand brushes yours when he helps you lift a sandbag onto the pile, it sends an electric jolt down your spine. “Jesus,” he huffs. “Here. Take off your jacket real quick.”

You do, in time with him as he removes his canvas coat, soaked through with water. He pulls his flannel off and hands it to you, and normally you would argue he needs it more considering your dry t-shirt, except you’re freezing.

The soft fabric is warm and it’s a little too big but it’s the most comfortable thing you’ve ever worn. It smells like him, like pine and rain and Joel. For a moment you consider not returning it back to him and adding it to your collection of clothes you’ve taken from him. But for now, you relish in its heat, in its softness. 

He goes right back to instructing others after shrugging his coat back on, as if the act of kindness was nothing, as if he’d give just anyone the shirt off his back. And maybe he would, but you’ve never stuck around long enough to find out. 

It’s still dark when you finish, sunrise still a while away. Maria and Tommy thank everyone for their help and send you home, telling everyone to try and get some extra sleep, that shifts will start an hour later than normal. 

You do as she says, noting the way the muscles in your back ache from strain but finding it strangely satisfying, feeling less like you’d lost sleep and more like you’d protected something that was worth protecting. 

Joel’s flannel remains on as you climb back into bed. And though you’re exhausted, all you can think about enveloped in his scent is how he would feel beside you, on top of you, between your legs. Heavy and warm, strong and so incredibly safe.

It doesn’t even feel like there’s a choice when you wiggle your fingers beneath the elastic of your panties. And even though it only takes a matter of minutes to make yourself reach the pinnacle of bliss, it feels unsatisfying. Like it’s not enough, like it’ll never be enough.

You still wear Joel’s flannel while on patrol with Jesse later in the day. You vow to return it, promising yourself this is your chance to change. To be a better person, to reinvent yourself here in Jackson, to stop running, to stop thieving. 

But you don’t return it. Several days go by and you practically live in the goddamn thing.

You lost count of how many times you squirmed against your pillow with the flannel pressed against your lips, imagining that Joel was there. 

“Just like that, baby girl,” Joel would say gruffly, his strong palms pressed against your thighs to make your hips rock. “Missed listenin’ to those little moans.”

If you squeezed your eyes closed just enough, you could feel him on you, guiding you. You prayed that he still thought about you, but you were scared to know what it meant if he did. It would mean that Joel reciprocated your lust, your feelings.

One evening you walked past Joel’s house after a long, tiring day of helping create concrete for the expansion of the South wall. The summer project was to create space for new houses. Jackson was growing day by day, getting stronger. 

You stopped outside the concrete steps, looking at the path to the front door. Would you have the courage to walk up that intimidating trail and knock on Joel’s front door? Would you have the courage to ask him to kiss you, to show you how much he missed you?

Your question was answered once Joel’s front door opened, and a dark-haired woman stepped out. She was turned back, telling Joel something that you couldn’t quite make out. The steps of your sneakers crunched across the gravel of the road, your feet carrying you as far away from Joel’s house as possible. 

One last glance back allowed you to witness the faraway silhouette of Joel passing something over to the woman, something that you were much too far away to see. You had done something stupid again - assumed that Joel was single. You weren’t trying to jump to conclusions but Tommy was married after all. It would make sense that Joel had found someone too, someone to settle down and raise Ellie with. 

The happiness that you felt seeing Tommy and Maria together was not what you felt when watching Joel with another woman. A big, ugly, green monster bubbled inside of you and threatened to crawl out of your throat. 

You hated this feeling. You hated it so much that you’d ended up going to Joel’s house later that, shortly after his bedroom light had turned off. The streets were completely empty except for the night shift patrollers walking towards their posts, the day saying its last goodbyes in the same way you meant to. A basket with Joel’s flannel and his original jacket from fifteen years ago was left on his porch. They were rejected and discarded, like how you felt. 

The basket mocked you when you walked away from his porch, a visceral reminder of what you were actually returning. Your devotion. 

It was impossible to sleep that night, too many rampant thoughts running wildly through your head. You stayed up the remainder of the night, a scratchy wool blanket tucked beneath your chin as you sat on the couch.

The moonlight streamed in through your living room window, painting colorful silvers and purples across the peeling walls. It was eerily peaceful to watch the earth sleep.

A stark opposite to the peaceful moonlight was the sudden rough knocks banging against your front door. You couldn’t help the way you jumped up, your bloodshot eyes glancing over to watch the wooden frame shake with each knock. 

You move over the back of your couch to glance out the front window to see who is pounding at your door. The top of your head peeks over the blanket, your eyes straining to see. It’s Joel, of course, it’s Joel, and seeing him with that frantic look in his eye has your heart in your throat.

When you open the door to ask what he wants, you see both his flannel and his coat clutched in a knuckle-white grip. “Is this your way of saying goodbye?” 

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” You open your mouth to speak but he raises his free hand and stops you. “An’ don’t lie to my face, don’t…don’t look at me and tell me you’re staying just to disappear in the middle of the night.” There’s a kind of aggression in his voice you’ve never heard before, even when he shot you. “You’re leaving.”

It’s not a question this time. And you know he’s reliving it, remembering every moment in that cabin, the same way you’ve been since setting foot in Jackson.

The urge to comfort him rises in you, to promise to stay, but you can’t. Not when all you can see is that dark-haired woman on his doorstep. So, you swallow thickly and cast your eyes away, staring at the clothes you’d return instead. “It doesn't matter. Keep them, Joel.”

“It does matter,” he insists. “How can you say that?” He pushes into your house, this desolate place that suddenly comes to life with him in it. “After everything we’ve done, after everything we’ve seen… it matters. This place matters. You —”

Your breath catches at his near confession. It’s the first you’ve heard it from anyone, and the young girl you were fifteen years ago silently begs for him to finish it. She begs to be seen, cared for, and loved. 

But you’ve spent so long shoving her into a box in your heart that it’s second nature when you do it this time. Joel shakes his head. He begins to speak, stops, and tries again. “I…you…”

“What, Joel?”

He runs an exasperated hand down his face. Whatever it is he’s trying to say is bothering him, an irritation dug in deep like a tick. “Don’t…”

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s none of your business, yet you still find yourself crossing your arms over your chest and saying, “Should you even be here right now? Isn’t there someone else you should be giving the pleasure of your company to?”

Confusion sinks in quickly. “What are you talking about?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, so I can’t lie to you but it’s fine if you lie to me? Typical, Joel. You’ve always been a hypocrite.”

"Hypocrite? What are you talking about? I’m here, trying to convince you to stay in Jackson because it’s safe. Even if you want nothing to do with me, if you want me to…to stay far away, that’s fine. But this place needs people like us and we need it.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel—I saw her. Don’t fucking play dumb.”

“Saw who? ”

You throw your hands up, anger rising to the surface of your skin. “I don’t know! And I don’t want to know! She was leaving your house with a really big smile yesterday so I guess I should say congrats, right? To you and Tommy both, for finding whatever it was you were looking for in me fifteen years ago.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, no—you’ve got this all wrong. It’s not like that.”

“Right,” you say indignantly. “Because that’s believable.”

He closes the space between you and wraps his hand around your elbow, holding tight enough to bruise. Joel stares at you with his eyes filled with intensity, so much of it that you actually start to believe him when he says so quietly, “There’s been no one. No one since you.”

“Oh, so it’s just the start I interrupted then? My bad, Joel, should I apologize?”

“Will you stop?” His jaw ticks, and you can see his irritation as it rises, a near palpable thing. His neck flushes, and his eyes narrow. “She’s Dina’s mom. She came over to meet me formally since Ellie’s been staying over there so often. She doesn’t mean anything. Not like…”

“Like what, Joel?”

“Not like you,” he finally says. It feels like a breath of fresh air, and you think he must feel that way, too. Because his grip on your elbow loosens, his shoulders drop, and his eyes soften instantly. “You…you mean something. To me. An’ I don’t…I want you to stay. I’m…I’m askin’ you to stay. Please.”

In all your life, in all the places you’ve passed through…not once has anyone ever asked you to stay. Not once has anyone seen you like this, seen and known you well enough to know when you’re tempted and have enough time to deter your decision. 

Well, until now. Until Joel. 

“Don’t do that,” you say, shaking your head, trying to clear the moisture that pools in the corner of your eyes. 

He takes your face in his hands, calloused palms rough and warm against the tender skin of your jaw. “Stay,” he says. And again, softer this time, a plea. “ Stay.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, don’t give me false hope.”

Joel presses his forehead to yours. “I mean it,” he promises, and you want so badly to believe it, so you do. “Do you have any idea how long I looked for you? And even when I stopped lookin’ I saw you everywhere. Saw you in everything. That first winter without you…Christ, couldn’t think about anythin’ else.”

All you manage to say is his name like an escaped breath. Your skin prickles at his closeness, and you’ve never been good at resisting your impulses so you don’t even try to keep yourself from pressing your lips to his. 

His hands slide into your hair, pulling you in closer, his tongue running across your bottom lip. You grant him access in the form of a moan that he echoes the moment he tastes the inside of your mouth. 

You forget everything. Everything. All you know is the way this feels, and you suddenly think that maybe all this time you weren’t running from anything. Maybe you’ve been running to him. 

“It’s always been you,” he says against your lips. His hands trail down your spine, gently caressing your soft curves.

The pad of his thumb brushes against the bare expanse of your spine where the smallest bit of your shirt has ridden up, but you feel the touch like lightning skittering across your skin. You wrap your hands around his neck, anchoring yourself against him, and it feels like second nature when he pulls you closer and lifts you off your feet. 

In fifteen years nothing has changed—you still melt against him, defenses giving way, legs wrapping around his waist. You break the kiss long enough to whimper direction, saying, “The bedroom is upstairs, second door—”

“On the left, I know. Tommy and I fixed it up a couple months ago. Talked about you the whole time,” he says. And you’re not sure why but the knowledge has your heart flipping in your chest.

It’s almost like he knew, like they both did. Like they could feel you somehow, out there, wandering, finding your way back to them.

Joel lays you down and strips your clothes off slowly, fingers familiarizing themselves with every inch of your skin as if he’s learning it for the first time. He kisses your lips until they’re swollen, leaves marks in the shape of his mouth down your chest, and leaves moisture from his tongue over the hardened peaks of your nipples.

When he parts your thighs and tastes you, he’s still fully clothed. And you begin to feel exposed, like the two of you are standing on uneven terrain, but then he lets out a feral-sounding moan and you think maybe he’s suffered in your absence even more than you yourself have. 

His tongue is soft and hot and makes your back bend off the mattress. Twice he makes you come undone with nothing but his mouth. And when he rises to his knees, peering over you, he looks sated. Relieved, somehow. As if being this close to you has healed him, stitched up some long-opened wound. 

Unhurried, he begins to discard his clothes onto the floor beside yours. His flannel first, and then his t-shirt, and you let out a pathetic moan as you drink in the sight of him. His scarred, masculine hands working at the metal buckle of his black leather belt, his toned arms and his soft tummy, and that trail of thick, dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans. 

Everything about him ignites you, calling to you like some sort of beacon. Your skin prickles as he discards the remainder of his clothes. 

And before you have a chance to speak aloud your fervent need, he’s settling between your thighs and pressing the head of his cock to your entrance. He cradles your face in his hands, gently smoothing your hair away from your face, and there’s so much devotion in his voice that it makes you tremble as he says, “You were made for me, little girl. Do you know that?”

You think you do. You think you’ve always known it, always known that whatever god-like, mystical being that resides in this world had crafted you with Joel in mind. All you can do is nod and bask in the moment, in the sanctity of your creation, in the wickedness of his. Carefully, he pushes his cock into you. 

The stretch is painful at first, even with how wet he’s made you. But it’s a bearable pain, a sweet ache, especially with the way he whispers in your ear and presses soft kisses to your cheek with each breath. “S’okay, you can take it. I know you can. See? There you go. So fuckin’ proud of you, baby. You’re so perfect. Perfect for me.”

Joel rocks his hips against yours at a gradual pace. There’s nothing rushed about it, no aggression in his movements. It’s so different from the last time but the change in him just brings the two of you closer. Your orgasm builds like a fire in your belly, burning more and more with each thrust, heightened by the gruff moans that escape him, by the pressure of his body on top of yours. 

He’s so warm and he feels like home. A sensation you’ve never felt since leaving that cabin, a safety like you’ve never known since. You love him. You forgive him. And so you tell him.

And as the words escape your lips, as you make that final confession that will alter the course of your life forever, his breath stutters in his chest, and that fire that’s been building in your belly reaches its full height, flames licking at your skin. He says, “I love you, too, little girl,” and it tips you over the precipice.

You reach the high of bliss together, at the same exact time, and everything but this feeling fades into nothing. All that remains is you and Joel and this otherworldly closeness. There’s nothing left to forgive, nothing left to navigate. As one, singular soul, you simply are. 

He takes the time to clean you up afterward. You shower together, and he massages body wash into your skin, relieving the ache from your muscles. You don’t ask him to stay because you don’t need to; he just does. Because he knows you like no one else ever has. 

You fall asleep quickly. It’s late and you’re exhausted, but for the first time in fifteen years, you feel stable. He holds you through the night. 

But when he shifts just slightly, it wakes you a few hours before sunrise. His eyes are wide open and bloodshot, clearly straining to stay awake.

Shifting on your elbow to lean up, you ask, “What’s wrong?”

Joel just shakes his head and gives you a small smile. “Nothing,” he says. “Just go back to sleep. Get some rest.”

It’s clearly a lie. Something is tugging at him, and you’re determined to fix it. “Tell me,” you say.

He hesitates for a moment, working over his words in his head. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and tries again. And then he says quietly, unable to look you in the eye, “I wanted to be able to talk you out of leaving. If you changed your mind again.”

The words break your heart, cracking open your ribcage and allowing a trace of bitterness to settle there. It’s your fault, you know. Your fault he worries about you leaving so much, that he allots time to talk you down from a ledge you’re not quite sure even exists anymore. You swallow down the tears that threaten and crawl into his lap. You kiss his face a hundred times, leaving no space untouched until you’re both quietly laughing. “You can sleep easy tonight,” you say.

He nods as if he believes you, but you can tell there’s still anxiety lingering within him. It’s quiet for a long time. He just holds you tightly, arms wrapped around your middle. You think he may have fallen asleep, but then he whispers into your hair, “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Just don’t leave me behind again. Please.”

It’s a plea. He’s begging, in his own way. You kiss him hard, and in only moments he’s snoring with his arms locked around you.

You only wiggle out of his grip when the sun rises, yellow and orange hues cast across your bedroom through the glass pane of the window. You pull Joel’s t-shirt over your head and make your way down the stairs as quietly as you can.

This will be the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. You know it will be. You know Joel will pull things out of you you’ve been shoving down deep, know he’ll poke and prod in an attempt to heal all within you that’s been broken. 

Because that’s the kind of man he is; one who takes care of those he loves, who sacrifices his own comfort for others. You don’t deserve someone like him and you know it. No matter how much you forgive, no matter how many times you try to wash your hands clean, you know it’ll never be enough for his devotion. 

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, eyes glued to the front door. It would be easy to leave, you know. Second nature. Instinctual. You wouldn’t have to face all you’ve done, wouldn’t have to unearth all you’ve buried, wouldn’t have to open that closet with all those skeletons. 

Hands trembling, you try to catch your breath. Try to make that final decision, try to forgive a little more. Not to forgive Tommy or Joel, but to forgive yourself. 

The longer you stand there in the kitchen, the less you believe you’ll ever possess that sort of absolution.

But it’s worth a try, isn’t it? To find mercy in a place it’s never existed.

You take a slow breath.

And then you put on a pot of coffee.

taglist; @arizonadreamingg @sirendyes @untamedheart81 @pinkiec6-rubi @galway-girlatwork

[lost-in-beacon-hills]

I think at this point everyone has different opinions on each of the Districts and honestly I love that. It's so fun to read people's thoughts.

(I'm sure I'm not the first person to think or say this but) I have a theory on why District One/Two win so many of the games beyond just being Volunteers in a game full of people going in blind.

It's something I've thought heavily about and even incorporated into my own fanfics.

But District One, I think, they win by raising their volunteers to be pretty. They train them to fight, yes, but I think they pull sponsors by making their kids "sexy." In both the book and movie, Glimmer is heavily sexualized. In the book, she's in a sheer gown that shows everything. In the movie, they tone it down but still show quite a bit of her body during the interview. Even the two victors we get to hear a little more about (Cashmere and Gloss) are mentioned to be pretty. Despite being a sibling duo, they're incredibly popular within the Capitol.

But even after they get 'popular' they don't turn down their attractiveness. She still dresses pretty with make up and smiles like she's been taught to do. He's still beefy and hot. You would think if they had any bodily autonomy they would start to tone themselves down in order to get away from the sex slavery.

I think sex appeal is what makes them a victor. Literally. People 'sponsor' them in the hopes of getting to fuck them. They get told that these people are who they're indebted to and most likely are forced into sex as a way to 'repay' them. Everyone says if Glimmer had won she would become the next Cashmere. Which is true. But no one points out how this is planned and a tactic that one consistently uses. Once they win they realize how fucked they are. They don't know they shouldn't want to win until it's over. It's too late to back out. Part of why Cashmeres life is devastating is because Gloss knew what was coming and he wanted better for her. But it happened away. And now they're stuck repaying the Capitol with their bodies.

In Two I think they raise fighters. They put all their effort into skill, endurance and survival. Out of all of the districts I think they do the best at giving them a chance. They make sure they send the best trained, the most skilled and the smartest. Clove is such a good example of this. She never missed her target. (Except for when Katniss moved the backpack making her miss). She was brilliant. Cato too. He was strong and a fantastic fighter. They only lost because the story demanded Katniss win. Hell there's so many moments where Katniss almost dies at their hands only to **magically** get away. (Thresh owing her, tracker jacker nest, not seeing her a few feet away) all of it. They weren't stupid meat heads. They were warriors. Children raised to kill.

I think they delbrately send plain victors. They don't want want to send "pretty" kids. They tone down any sort of beauty their tributes have. One of my favorite examples is Enobaria. She's pretty. And I think that's her downfall. It's mentioned in the series that she wins by ripping another tributes throat out with her teeth. (A popular theory is she was raped and used the very last thing she had in order to get away.) But she ends up getting her teeth filed down. While a lot of people think it was the Capitol, I believe it was her mentors. They filed them down, knowing she wouldn't be able to be raped again. I mean, who would have sex with her knowing one wrong move and you could be dead? She can bite your dick off in seconds if she wanted to. (Not to say she doesn't get booked) It would sway a lot of people away. I think much like Haymitch fighting against Katniss's breast implants, her mentors fought to get her teeth sharpened.

If they're able to I believe Two will alter the victors in order to make them less desirable. One plays it up, Two tones it down winning off skill and merit alone. Any sponsors they get isn't driven by sex.

It's why they win so much, and why the other districts have such a hard time getting sponsors.

I also think that District Four, the last of the career pack, has it's own way of creating victors. They send tributes like the rest but I think they do something different from the rest. My own headcanon is that they send orphans. It's fucked up but if I remember correctly they never mention Finnick having family.

I think they take the kids with nowhere else to go and put them in a training center. Whoever scores the best goes that year. Unluckily for Finnick, he was picked at 14. He was attractive, and part of me thinks Mags played into that to give him the advantage, thinking he didn't have family to leverage. It would have been fine, but then Annie happened. They use her as a control tactic.

I also think Finnick is the reason it was a one and done on leaning into the sex appeal. It fucked him over. Annie was pretty too but she wasn't used. (No one has ever said ah yes she's crazy let's just not rape her, fuckwads do it anyways.) But I think Mags learned from her mistake and played Annie down. Made her less pretty like they do in Two.

It's fucked. The entire system is fucked. But I think each 'career' district creates winners any way they can. No one in Four would volunteer they're disillusioned unlike one and two. So why not send the kids who have nothing, no one to come back to? In Two why not train them and maim them after to keep them safer? In One why not make them fuckable to win? They won't understand until its too late?

Maybe I've overthought this. Probably have. Idk. Just a thought.

[samwisethewitch]

Something I've been thinking about lately: In conversations about being intentionally child-free, I see a lot of people talk about how much they resent constantly being told that they'll change their minds someday. And yeah, that sucks. When you tell someone that they'll regret their choices or go back on them someday, you're telling them you don't trust them to make their own decisions. And that's a dick move.

But what I see left out of a lot of these conversations is the fact that some people do change their minds about kids, and that is also okay.

People change. Our priorities and our values change. Someone identifying as child-free at 20 and then realizing at 30 that they actually do want to be a parent doesn't invalidate other people's decision not to have kids. It doesn't even invalidate that person's previous decision. They're growing. They're changing, and that's okay. Healthy even.

When I was 18, I felt very strongly that I would never marry and never have children. For me, this was a reaction to growing up in a religious environment where women were second-class citizens, and what little autonomy/independence single women had immediately went away when they got married. And once you had kids? Well, once you had kids, your personal life was officially over and your identity now started and ended with being so-and-so's mother.

If your only model of marriage and parenthood is a nuclear family where the husband is in charge and makes all of the decisions while his wife does all of the housework and childcare and not much else, OF COURSE you wouldn't want to get married or have kids! My thought process at 18 was basically, "Well, I want to have my own money and make my own choices and have an identity outside of being a mom, so clearly the family life isn't for me."

I'm 25 now. I'm married. My husband and I both kept our own last names, and we maintain separate bank accounts. I have a job that I'm good at, and a lot of people know me from my work. I still have my own money, make my own choices, and have my own identity. None of that went away when I got married. All that's changed is that I have a partner and best friend that I decided to do life with, and we had a ceremony and signed a piece of paper to make it official. We're not quite at the having kids stage yet, but it is something we both want someday.

Me wanting marriage and kids now doesn't invalidate my decision at 18. When I was 18, focusing on my education and career was absolutely the right choice for me. I needed to be able to focus on myself without considering how it would affect a spouse or kids. Eventually, I realized marriage and parenthood can look a lot of different ways. I realized I can decide what they look like for me. I don't have to follow the model I grew up with. And I realized I do want raising kids to be part of my life, just in a way that looks different from what others might expect.

This is a process a lot of people go through, especially women and femmes. If you're in the middle of it right now, just know that you're allowed to change.

And of course, a lot of people don't change their minds. A lot of people who identify as child-free at 20 still don't want kids at 30, 40, or 50. I've met people in their 80s and 90s who never had kids and don't regret that decision. My point here is that some people changing their minds about something doesn't mean it's not a good option for other people.

(And, let's be real, unfortunately a lot of people go the other way: they think they want kids until they have them. That's way more complicated because now there's a whole human person involved who is dependent on them for care and this definitely deserves its own post, but the best advice I can give is if you're young, you need to give yourself time to figure out what you want before committing to anything.)

[kindlingkeen]

(i'm sorry if this doesn't make sense, it's late, but i just realized a lot of this recently and i needed to put it into words so i hope you don't mind)

i've been thinking recently and while i don't mind fics with lazarus pit madness (or lazarus pit side-effects that basically amount to uncontrollable rage or violent blackouts, etc) if they are written well and the madness is handled in an interesting way, i've recently taken to mostly avoiding them because — well first of all so many of them are about tim, which. sometimes i want to read a jason fic that's actually about jason. anyway,, — i've realized that a lot of the time the "lazarus pit madness" is used to excuse everything jason has done since he was dunked. it's the reason he kills now, it's the reason he cut off those heads, it's the reason he beat tim bloody in titan's tower, etc.

instead of letting jason be a character who has his own morals, different and not what is usually considered "acceptable" as they may be, instead of exploring how they influence how he does things as the red hood, or how his own morals, his unique code affects his relationships with the batfam, he's just sort of… flat? he's made into basically nothing but a walking wall of seething green that's easily triggered and makes his black out with rage and is to blame for every violent thing he does — he is given no responsibility for his actions. and i've found that a lot of these fics end with the pit madness either somehow being done away with or at least being dealt with and then jason is back with his family happily ever after completely exonerated because it's not his fault, he didn't make those decisions, the pit did

i just,,, what about a jason who is aware of his actions? what about a jason who has thought things through and decided what kind of person he was going to make himself into? what about a jason who looked his trainers in the eye and knew he was going to kill them, who makes a plan and follows through, who didn't have to cut off those heads but he had a statement to make and maybe cutting them off was awful and horrible no matter that he decided they deserved to die but he did it because it needed done? and he's fully aware of what he's doing, he is responsible for his actions and any consequences. and he's going to do whatever he's going to do anyway. i think he's a much more interesting character that way

You 🤝 Me. Let’s be best friends. We can start a fan club, the let-Jason-have-his-autonomy club. I’ll be treasurer (fair warning, I plan to blow our budget on Red Hood stickers).

In all seriousness, yes, this, exactly this. I read a ton of these fics when I first got into the fandom, and I still enjoy a good pit madness fic from time to time, but nowadays I tend to want so much more for Jason.

For whatever reason, I think there’s a lot of “fast” fanfiction (as in the idea of “fast fashion”) written about Jason. It leans hard into a popular trope, hits those hurt/comfort vibes with a wrecking ball, and usually ends up absolutely nerfing Jason.

Writing a Jason who’s resolute in his mission and his methods, a Jason who is balanced and believable, is hard. Writing that kind of Jason and getting him to authentically reconcile with the Bats without sacrificing his autonomy is miles past hard. Reading that kind of Jason, staring uncomfortable truths in the face, that can also be hard. It’s not for everyone, and that’s okay (*grumbles unhappily*).

Thanks so much for the ask, anon, and for sharing your thoughts with me. 💙💙💙

[thegeminisage]

okay. massages temples. it's time for. a star trek update. last night we did voy's "the omega directive" and (grits teeth) ds9's "his way."

the omega directive (voy):

right out of the gate, it's really difficult how many times they said the word "omega" in this episode. i tried very hard to take it seriously but only succeeded for about 60-70% of the time

we had our first real seven/chakotay scene in this episode, outside of him being the one to help sever her from the collective. i still don't totally see janeway/chakotay/seven in my mind palace but i'm working on it.

loved also the chakotay and janeway conversation but "closest friend" lol like we are literally being hetbaited. tuvok is her closest friend. b'elanna is probably chakotay's closest friend. janeway and chakotay are not close friends, they are lovers. not that being lovers means you can't also be friends! but that's not how they made him say it.

i thought this was a really good episode like...touching on seven's idea of religion/spirituality (even if we had to work in some racism re: chakotay's spirituality) without being too heavy-handed or dumb

janeway and seven clashing once again...mwah. ✌👅 or whatever. i admit sometimes this feels a little repetitive, but because both actresses deliver such good performances, i can't be too disappointed.

i am grinding my teeth a little at the logistic details of this episode. while the character stuff was very good and a WELCOME relief after a string of truly horrendous episodes, the plot was like swiss cheese. destroying this particle supersedes the prime directive? what happened to it being, you know, prime? in fact, BECAUSE they destroyed it, an entire civilization will die...not because of the prime directive but because we chose to ignore it. which you can't do! it's the prime directive! how imperialist for the utopic fedderation to impose their laws on civilzations that haven't even reached warp yet! janeway is trying to protect the safety of this quadrant? it's not even her quadrant! what gives her the right! is she just that afraid of losing warp capability and hiding behind federation regulations? let's dig into that! except they dug into none of that. a glaring flaw on an otherwise really good episode.

his way (ds9):

i don't want to talk about it........BUT I'M GONNA

(i actually ran into the character limit for paragraphs talking about it, so i have abandoned the normal bullet list format lol)

man, okay, like...how do i even begin to express my disappointment. not just in a ds9 let me down way but in like your favorite teacher being disapointed in you kind of way. the old janeway lecture in the ready room kind of disappointment. just a bone-deep, didn't-know-anyone-was-capable-of-fucking-up-this-bad, disappointment.

ik i said this already but no WONDER people hate kira/odo as a ship, down to even the actors. i've had some problems with how it's been portrayed lately (6.03 and 6.04 what were we DOING), but i've been willing to ignore them because i'm used to giving ds9 the benefit of the doubt and because i like the ship so much. after reading the summary i knew this episode would be bad and possibly also have kira/odo content and was prepared to try and enjoy whatever i could and write off the rest. but this was just unforgivable start to finish. i couldn't find even a single moment i liked.

let's start with the obvious, most egregious offense: kira does NOT want to be hologrammed. we had an ENTIRE EPISODE about it in which ODO HIMSELF helps her yell at quark about it. making her up as a hologram for odo to practice his kira wooing skills on was a huge violation of her rights, wishes, autonomy, etc. she should have been furious. this episode definitely commits a lot of sins, but i think this is the one that is most blatantly disrespectful, and also ties in to the biggest issue i had (more on that in a second).

the holodeck character was fine, or could have been fine. as far as holodeck episodes go, if any show could make me like them, it'd have been ds9. and the guy himself was FINE, and likable even, until he started breaking the rules of what was possible (contacting odo through the communications system when his hologram should have been deactivated, for example), and what was ethical (setting odo and kira up under false pretenses). now suddenly he is annoying and i hate him (and i feel bad saying this, because i know fandom likes him and his actor recently passed away - this episode was not his fault!!). illogical and unethical holodeck fuckery is the LAST thing i expect from ds9, which always sets out to critique some of the things from other star trek shows that make no sense or ignore potential ramifications of hand wavey world-building, which, again, HAD AN EPISODE ABOUT IT BEING UNETHICAL TO HOLODECK KIRA.

i think also it's really weird and unfair to suggest, through quark, that odo "waited too long" to make a move on kira when they SPECIFICALLY had an entire conversation (that i loved!) about how odo had been thinking about asking her to dinner and then decided not to because of the impending threat of cardassian takeover. they MUTUALLY AGREED ON and were MUTUALLY RELIEVED BY the idea of putting the revelation of odo's feelings to the side to focus on business, and that conversation actually allowed a really unique and lovely dynamic to form in a very organic way - odo loves her, and she knows he loves her, but the burden of having to give him a response to those feelings is totally removed. he's not asking for a response. he isn't asking for anything. she isn't obligated to give him anything. and on the flip side, he is relieved from the burden of having to hide that love. it is simply allowed to exist peacefully between them. this ALSO ties into the biggest issue i had with this writing, which is...

where were kira and odo? cuz they weren't in this episode. we seemed to forget their histories, their desires, their dynamic, and even their god damn personalities in order to replace them with some vaguely uncharming couple from a low-budget hallmark romcom?? hello???

like, think of the popular trek romances, or the couples that fans think of romantically. spock and kirk (and bones if you like) are people defined by loneliness who understand each other on a deep level they can't get elsewhere and soothe that loneliness with each other. both spock and bones and janeway and seven challenge each other's ideas of humanity and how the world works. chakotay finds peace in serving janeway's needs after the turmoil of a hopeless war and she finds a safe place to let go of her captain job with him. dax's flippant personality encourages worf to relax and his strict personality gives her someone to both tease and rely on. sisko and kassidy get to nerd out about baseball together, yet both understand their duty/morals come before their feelings. julian and garak both understands what it is to need forgiveness, and julian's compassion plays well off of the cold-hearted nature of a former obsidian order operative. even in fucking TNG, you had will and deanna who both love trying new things and are down to clown and want to go on adventures together. kira and odo have a dynamic, too, but it was not present in this episode - this, the episode where after FOUR SEASONS OF BAIT they finally make it official??

like, odo is stiff and unyielding, yes - but that means he doesn't find it in himself to loosen up by playing a fake piano for fake people. even DATA, in fucking tng, recognized that when he told bad jokes to a fake crowd and they laughed anyway because they were programmed to do that, that the entire exercise was without meaning. and data is WAY more autistic than odo, all my love to both. odo is not some nice guy incel type who wants to have kira simply for the sake of having her - he didn't fuck anybody in his entire life until like season 5 and that episode was ALSO really fucking bad. odo doesn't need to loosen up in order to pursue kira - IT IS KIRA WHO MAKES HIM LESS UNYIELDING. that is the entire point of them! when they first met, they were both seen as beings without personhood, whose lives had no value. she appealed to his humanity and asked him to see hers so she wouldn't be left to the mercies of the cardassians. it worked because she appealed to the HUMAN inisde him (for lack of a better word) which no one had ever done before. in heart of stone, he even says to the fake kira that she changed the way he felt about his OWN NAME, which was given to him because it was the cardassian word for NOTHING. HE WAS NOTHING. SHE SAW HIM AS MORE THAN THAT. this is, CANONICALLY, the basis of this relationship. this episode was so good BECAUSE he discovered such a pivotal moment was based on a lie. it was IMPORTANT.

and kira in this episode had almost no voice at all. she was someone to be sought after, chased, and then ultimately had after her "perfect moment of clarity" - which then lost meaning because she had two in a row - and which we never got to HEAR about. how does she FEEL? this is the episode where they get to together! but she never gets to tell us. it's an egregious offense considering her voice is usually a loud one, like her emotions - so loud, in fact, that odo is usually kira's rock, her calming presence. from the very first season, she has gone to him in times of emotional turmoil, because he so rarely lets that kind of turmoil rock his boat. he keeps a level demeanor, and he is able to sort through a lot of her anger and fears with a level head. when she is considering betraying an old friend in the THIRD!!! EPISODE!!! odo is the one she turns to. odo always has her coffee and reports ready on time. he will inform her if anyone she knows comes to the station or goes missing or whatever. he respects her wishes even when he doesn't agree with them. the fake kira, a perfect replica by most estimations, even agreed that they were not the type to bullshit each other. odo is safety and predictability in the stormy environment of a post-war bajor. WHAT WAS HER MOMENT OF CLARITY? probably not that, but we'll never know because SHE DIDN'T EVEN GET TO TELL US. she existed only to be pursued. the episode is even called "his way" - yes, a play on "my way" by frank sinatra, but still - it's like odo finally got HIS WAY and was able to have kira like he'd always wanted. "i've waited so long to hold you like this" is there really NOTHING else he wanted from that relationship? one might even argue odo wouldn't know what to do with that kind of love, how to express it in ways like physical affection - that could be part of why he was able to love her silently for so long. we saw hints of this in the season 5 episode, with future odo - there was a distinct lack of that odo telling her what she meant to him and why, which is nuts, considering our own odo was able to do that for lwaxana troi at their FAKE WEDDING when he only loved her platonically - but at least that episode had personality and merit. this had none.

and for all the trappings - the candlelit dinners, the music, the fancy dresses - this episode was DEVOID of true romance. the only moment where they had any chemistry at all was the kiss, and it was entirely out of character. a bicker-bicker-kiss scenario is GREAT and it's one of my favorites, but it doesn't fit THESE CHARACTERS. the kiss they shared in season 5, with future odo, had more personality than the one from this episode. in that, you could feel his longing, the release of his pain, and her uncertainty, along with her compassion in wanting to give that to him. in this, they got mad, and it happened so fast...but they aren't a bickership. i love kiraodo, and i love bickerships, the two things are just NOT the same. kira and odo argue only very rarely and when they do it's about very serious shit, like, kira's fucking worldview in "you take down the cardassians with me or i will fight you too" kinda shit. "our first meeting was based on a lie" kind of shit. they COULD have had a knockdown dragout fight about odo's use of a holo-kira (which wasn't even his idea, to be fair, but given his normal respect of her autonomy was EXTREMELY out of character for him to agree to use), but she wasn't allowed to have opinions or a personality in this episode, so they instead argued over absolutely nothing to shoehorn in a romcom scene that did an injustice to both the characters and their relationship.

furthermore: ableism. walk with me here. again, odo and kira MUTUALLY AGREED to put the question of a romantic relationship on hold for the time being. if both or one of them were ready to pursue that question again, both of them are capable of bringing that up like the adults that they are because part of this dynamic that they have is that they don't BULLSHIT each other. that's why the Big Lie was such a big deal! that's why kira feels so safe unloading on odo! that's part of why odo admires her! the idea that kira has gone to bajor to hook up with shakaar either because she was genuinely tired of waiting for odo to make a move (WHEN THEY HAD AN ENTIRE CONVERSATION ABOUT WHY HE WAS NOT YET AKING A MOVE AND SHE WAS RELIEVED WITH HIS DECISION) or because she was trying to HINT that it was time for him to make a move is ridiculous. kira nerys does not HINT at people. if she wanted something from odo, she knows good and damn well all she has to do is ask. in fact, unwilling though it was, he has already laid his feelings on the table - the ball is technically in HER court. (even in the 90s, this idea that the guy always has to do the pursuing is old and tired and sexist.)

but i am getting off topic. how does this come back around to ableism? it's the idea that, in the defiance of this canon, odo does not have to simply bring up to kira how he feels, or what he wants to do, but that he has to "loosen up." the idea that he's too weird, too socially inept, and that his natural personality and preferences and way of doing things and his past experiences are obstacles to be erased and overcome rather than THE UNIQUE REASONS KIRA LIKES HIM IN THE FIRST PLACE is insulting at best and yeah at its worst ableist. what did he even do at the dinner with kira that was so different from what he normally does? he stammered a lot and paid her a couple of compliments. he reminded her that he likes her. it was technically a date - one he didn't even ask her out on. are we saying odo, in-character, could not have done a better job than that without tired, outdated, "get the girl" lessons from (sorry, doc) a fucking hologram? even BARCLAY got better treatment than this. in tng! tng, which isn't even good! barclay, who is not even a good character! the things that ACTUALLY made him weird and undatable were things people venerated as "representation" while odo's less palatable personality traits need to be trained away during a self-playing piano musical number in order to make him fit to date kira. like it's un FUCKING believable.

finally, and this is a petty little nickpick, but i think i'm entitled at this point: the kiss being in public. kira and odo are both STUPIDLY private people. they are both REALLY uncertain about how their relationship will change by adding romance. they don't like people poking their noses into their business. kira only told ONE person about odo's feelings for her and only one person knew about odo's feelings for kira (if you don't count mommy changeling, which i don't). at one point it was one of odo's most closely guarded secrets, to the point of him hiding it from garak UNDER TORTURE and giving him the other big truth instead (that he wanted to go home) because of how vulnerable it makes him. and you want me to believe these two people just lost their heads in front of everyone on the promenade? you could have sold it to me if the rest of the episode was good and i might have loved it, but this episode was GARBAGE.

i have no idea what will happen with odo and kira from here out...i really hope it will be good, because i absolutely love the ship, but more and more i worry that they're just reducing them to "nice guy who finally got the girl" and "girl" and if that is the case i want no part of it. i find it MINDBLOWING that ds9 - ds9! - could screw up this monumentally, but it has, and now i just have to. deal with that, aaaaaugh.

anyway. TONIGHT: voy's "unforgettable" and ds9's "the reckoning." sheesh.

[foxdev1l]

you need to share more of your thoughts because i know they are good tell me tell me tell me teeeell meeeee

thank you so much for this sweet message. since it's kept vague, i wasn't sure what kind of thoughts you wanted to hear, but i've recently spent a lot of time thinking about and writing down notes about a/b/o headcanons for the rg characters which you might be interested in. i've got notes for basically all of them, but Six's headcanon kind of grew a mind of its own. if anyone's interested in more, feel free to let me know

◇Sierra Six – Shed Skin◇

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54652036

Wordcount: 2.507

Summary: Six does not feel comfortable in his own skin

A/N: much love to @hollandstrophyhusband for helping me brainstorm and beta reading this for me. i hope you guys enjoy my little spin on Six and the omegaverse. might write a second part one day, who knows. there was some talk about six/colt...

Content warnings: nsfw, canon typical violence, self-destructive behavior, rough sex, dub con, identity issues

He presents unusually late, at the age of fifteen, and without any prior warning. It's almost like he's grown a second skin, one that is simultaneously too large and too tight on his scrawny body.

Courtland expects to feel relief. He's an Alpha, after all, the only child to follow in his father's footsteps.

His mother is born an Omega, awfully timid and quiet, and too afraid to raise her voice. His brother has presented as a Beta young, too gentle and too defiant at the same time. His father has always resented them both for different reasons.

So Court should be relieved, to have dodged a bullet, to escape his father's cutting disappointment.

But then his father takes one look at him, his ragged features contorted into a strange expression, something almost akin to pride. He sweeps his gaze over Court's haggard form, breathes in the heavy stench of a newly presented Alpha, and smiles. The smile is twisted, foreign, wrong; like the newly grown skin pulled taut over his frail bones.

Court feels nothing but repulsion.

“I don't think it fits,” he tells his father.

“It doesn't need to fit,” his father says, the contentment on his face turning sharper, more dangerous. “Just wear it like you own it.”

And so he does.

He tells himself things can be different. That it is still about choice. That his second skin does not come sodden in blood. He can learn to be comfortable wearing it, can accept his status, and still reject society's expectations. He can grow up to be a better Alpha than his old man ever was.

It's only when he's standing above the dying body of his father – the powder burns from his gun tainting his fingers black – that he's struck with the sudden realization that he's always been destined to inherit the violence of his father; that this blood-lusting rage is so deeply carved into his DNA, he cannot have one without the other.

He hardly gets any time to think the first few years locked behind bars. He's too busy avoiding becoming a target. He makes himself bigger than he's ever been, plays his part as the aggressive and strong Alpha, and it feels wrong, sickening, but it doesn't matter because this is not about his comfort but the mere act of survival.

He doesn't experience a proper rut until the CIA has him catching the chain. The abuse and trauma he physically and mentally had to endure over his lifetime have taken a toll on his system and fucked with his hormones enough to suppress any prior ruts.

Though he's never experienced one, he's heard of it. How it takes over one's body and mind, burning up the insides with a maddening fever of raw lust.

Court mainly feels pain.

The CIA pairs him up with an Omega. Court is far too gone to protest at that point, but he doubts it would've mattered anyway. The CIA doesn't seem to care much about his autonomy.

He doesn't know the Omega's name, can barely make out their face past his blurred vision. But he knows what's expected of him.

The Omega is nothing more than a piece of meat for the CIA to dangle in front of him, not much unlike a gnarled bone thrown in front of a starving dog. He's supposed to claim them, feast on them, gorge himself on their willingness to submit.

The Omega tells him it's alright, that they don't mind his roughness, the bruises he leaves behind no matter how much he tries to hold back. Court almost wishes they wouldn't have said anything at all.

His rut ends eventually, the fever subsiding without him ever finding relief. The Omega is taken away quickly afterward. Court never sees them again.

The CIA has provided him with a soulless room in a depressing, gray building, and he's allowed a break, an undisturbed couple of days to gather himself back up.

He takes a shower to try and wash away the last traces of his rut, turns the heat all the way up. It burns him worse than the rut but he doesn't step away from the water. Instead, he uses his hands and nails to scrub, scrub, scrub his skin raw, till it's red, red, red, but still there. Despite everything, it's still a part of him no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it.

He wants nothing more than to shed his own skin, peel it away until it detaches from his flesh, tear it apart, so all that remains is a bloody and shredded framework of bones.

What he once reluctantly accepted and exploited for the sake of safety and survival, he's now grown to outright despise, to reject.

He showers multiple times a day over the next week, rubbing and clawing at his skin until it's stung and irritated. It doesn't make him feel better, only leaves him aching and longing for a different life.

Once his break is up, the CIA gets his training underway. It's brutal and laborious and keeps him busy once more, but it also makes everything worse. The once scrawny, lanky boy has grown into a strong, deadly man who seems to fit every stereotype he's sworn to dismantle.

His hands seem to be constantly coated in blood nowadays. He has to stop looking into the mirror when his reflection keeps twisting into the wilted image of his father.

At least he gets put on heavy military-grade suppressants. It berefts him of his ruts and fucks with his pheromones enough to dampen the aggressive smell of his Alpha; but above else, it mainly makes him numb. Court doesn't complain. It's better than the alternative.

He tries to keep to himself, avoid other Alphas at all costs though that's not always possible. He hates it, feels so out of place, uncomfortable, and strangely alien when he's around others.

Rumors begin to spread like wildfire, and as much as he tries to stay unbothered, it makes his hackles rise. They assume he's an omega because why else would he be so tight-lipped, act so odd and deflective whenever the topic gets brought up.

He doesn't know what to think of that. The word Omega doesn't feel as scalding as its counterpart, but it still doesn't fully seem to fit.

It's a bitterly cold winter night when Six makes the decision to hook up with an Alpha for the first time. He finds him in a seedy bar, his cheeks flushed and lashes wet from the snow.

He's freshly off a mission. The gun has left indents in the palm of his hand and he believes he can still feel the sticky, crawling sensation of blood despite the hour-long shower he took.

The alpha is leaning against the beer-sodden bar when Six spots him, nursing a cheap whiskey with one big, calloused hand. He's tall, taller than the Sierra agent, a burly, broad frame with a handsome, aged face.

The stranger turns, then, meeting his gaze dead-on. Six's pulse ticks up, his insides twisting. He isn’t quite sure whether it's from arousal or repulsion.

His instincts are reeling deep below his sternum but he's feeling daring, still drunk on the adrenaline-fueled high of his most recent kill and desperately chasing for more, to break through the heavy, numbing haze of the suppressants.

He ends up with his face shoved against the rough wall behind the bar. The stranger doesn't grant him the comfort of a bed, merely tugs down both of their pants as far as necessary and kicks Six's feet apart. Six thinks he prefers it this way.

The man's merciful enough to work Six open, though it still hurts when he pushes inside. They have nothing but a condom, and Six has never done this before, is hardly prepared to take a single finger, much less the thick cock of another fucking Alpha.

The Alpha's obnoxious scent is filling up the entire alleyway. It's thicker than the smoke of cigars, impenetrable like the billowing fumes of the streets. It clogs up Six's nose, lays heavy on his tongue, sharp and bitter all at once.

Everything about the experience is uncomfortable; the fingers in his hair, tugging and pulling and pressing his cheek into the sharp bricks; the hand on his hip, digging into his bones, squeezing bruises into his flesh; the mouth on him, panting against the shell of his ear, licking and biting up the side of his throat.

Six flinches away when teeth scrape over the skin just below his scent gland but he doesn't get far. The Alpha crowds him further against the wall, keeping an unbreakable hold on him as he relentlessly thrusts into him from behind.

A grunt escapes Six's bloody lips, gut twisting in fear but when the stranger reaches out and grabs his cock, it's already painfully hard and it doesn't take long for him to spill all over the Alpha's sweaty hand.

The Alpha doesn't stop, taking more pleasure than he draws from him, and Six is left to moan against the cold brick wall. He's cold and his legs are trembling by the time the Alpha finishes and pulls away.

“You're not an Omega,” the stranger acknowledges and Six just shrugs because his lungs have yet to fill up with oxygen again.

“And neither are you a Beta.”

Six shakes his head.

The man regards him with a flat, unreadable expression, “I didn't peg you as an Alpha.”

Six simply spits a glob of blood onto the dirt-stained pavement, the inside of his cheek sore where he's bitten through it. Then he shrugs once more and stumbles away, out of the alleyway and back into the shadows.

It becomes a common occurrence after that. The CIA keeps him on a short leash but Six still finds time to slip away every few weeks. He goes looking for meaningless fucks with willing Alphas every chance he gets, in the dark corners of whatever shabby bar is closest to him. He keeps seeking them out no matter how uncomfortable they make him feel.

It's painful, shameful, to be reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess under the aggressive grasp of another Alpha, but he cannot help himself. There is a certain thrill at being forced to give up control. It's strangely alluring, addicting.

He doesn't get off on the pain. In fact, he deeply despises it. But there is a certain sense of detachment that comes with it. It's still not enough to chip away his second skin, but it makes it less restricting, more bearable, gives him something else to focus on.

And then Lloyd comes along and ruins everything.

Lloyd manages to do something no one else has ever done before – he takes one look at Six, gasping and writhering where he's pushed into the wall, chin forcefully tilted back with the muzzle of a gun, and sees right through him.

“Ohh,” he croons, “What a little, pathetic Alpha you are.” He leans in, nuzzles at the column of Six's throat, digs the gun deeper to expose more of the heated flesh.

Gritting his teeth, Six keeps himself deathly still. He swallows down a rising growl, not willing to give Lloyd the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Or,” Lloyd continues, “Is it Omega?” His smile is full of teeth, his leer predatory, and Six does the only thing he can think of.

He fishes for the grenade safely tucked in the pocket of his pants, and pulls the safety pin.

In hindsight, he should've killed Lloyd then and there.

What follows isn't Six's fault. He is aware of that even though it doesn't stop the guilt from eating away at him. His handler is dead, his protégé traumatized, and Six just yearns for a fucking nap.

He's never felt such deep-rooted anger like he does for Lloyd. The Alpha is loud and arrogant and violent, and Six would've torn his fucking face off if Suzanne hadn't stopped him in form of a bullet to his thigh.

The next few weeks are a blur of heavy sedatives and strong pain medication. He's used to feeling trapped but the cuffs binding him to the hospital bed make him sick to his stomach. He finds great satisfaction in ripping them apart.

Tracing Claire's whereabouts is easier than expected and it pisses him off because the CIA obviously doesn't care enough to provide a proper safe house.

He steps onto the property, the smell of blood of his guards at the hospital still sticking to his clothes. The violence of his actions, though necessary, has torn something open deep inside him, a festering wound he fears will never heal again.

Perhaps he is his father's son, after all. Perhaps he's never been anything else.

He feels like a stranger, not only in his skin but his very own bones as he gets closer to the safe house.

His body aches, most of his injuries still not fully healed but he sets his jaw and pushes forward. Breaking open a window at the back of the building, he heaves himself up onto the ledge.

As soon as both his feet are flat on the ground, he goes to work, not daring to waste time. The suppressants have dulled his scent enough to stay hidden as he puts down the vinyl cover and a sloppily written note.

Incapacitating the guards hardly takes any effort. It doesn't bring him any satisfaction, only further rips and gashes at the wound inside. But it's worth it in the end, when all is done, and the blood has begun to dry, and Six pushes open the door separating him from Claire.

Being reunited after being forcefully pried apart feels a bit surreal. Claire looks tired, worn, but her smile is sincere as she clings to him, her nails sharp as claws where they dig into Six's shoulders but he doesn't have the heart to step away.

Instead, he buries his face into her hair, catching the subdued but familiar scent of a young Alpha; intense but gentler somehow, softened by the sweet and mellow taste of wild flowers dried by the sun.

Claire.

The scent slips below his skin easily, effortlessly, soothing the ragged edges of the wound beneath.

Claire is still so awfully young. Too young to be burdened by bearing the weight of her status. And yet, she does not seem to let it drag her down. Despite being impressionable and at the mercy of her biology, through all the illness and grief and trauma, the brutality of the last few weeks – she's remained unchanged.

Her eyes are still kind, her touch still gentle, and her heart untinged.

Six presses her tighter against his chest, his grip white-knuckled where it's clutching the back of Claire's shirt. He takes a moment, then, allows himself to linger, to breathe in the soft, calming scent of his protégé. For once, it does not feel like he's suffocating in the confinement of his own skin.

[estbela]

pleaseeee elaborate on your robul marriage post bc i've been thinking about this concept all day....!!! i need a full length post 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

I'll try my best but I am terrible at explaining myself sometimes but I will for you anon!!! (and also because RoBul has been consuming my thoughts lately)

(Also this post is a mess and I probably got some info wrong i'm sorry)

First of all, before actually talking about RoBul I do need to mention the history behind the proposals!! So during the Middle Ages, you probably know that Bulgaria was an empire, twice! And At times, Wallachia & romanians(who were called vlachs at the time alongside probably othee ppl who were also called vlachs, which yes, makes it confusing to research.) were part of it. The guys who founded the second bulgarian empire (Asen & Peter) were also probably vlachs, so there was cooperation between the bulgarians & vlachs in the empire.

This was one of the reasonings for the union essentially, that bcs they worked together well in the past, they would also work well tovether now, and together be pretty strong. Bulgaria especially would have had a lot to gain through the union(it wasn't independent and had only recently gained some autonomy from the Ottoman Empire), which was the reason proposals mostly came from the bulgarian side.

Anyway yada yada yada all the proposals for the union were fruitless, because of a lot of factors, which could be basically summarised like this: Neighbouring countries didn't want this to happen, and both Bulgaria and Romania had different goals and plans, sometimes that contradicted eachoter.

But if somehow they had succeeded to unite, well, that's certainly an interesting scenario. And now I will mention the union of Moldavia & Wallachia, which would form Romania. You see, those two principalities weren't allowed to truly unite by the powers of Europe, but they had not said that the danubian principalities could not elect the same leader to form a personal union, which led to Romania.

During the reign of king Carol I, he had considered doing this, aka being elected by Bulgaria too, to form a union of this king, but this was strongly opposed by Russia & Austro-Hungary, so yeah. But if he had somehow done this & Austro-Hungary & Russia didn't like...attack...uhmm...Romano-Bulgaria (I GUESS???) immediately, I guess Robul would officially be married!! Let's say they unite in like the 1880s.

Which comes with a lot of questions, obviously, that I will gloss over and just focus on RoBul. Thing is, I think Ro & Bul have somewhat different opinions on marriage. I mean, I see Bul as being way more keen on the concept of marriage than Ro is, so like Ro isn't very into marriage I guess? I see him aa someone who really values his freedom and independence, and isn't very willing to tie himself down, thought he'll do it for someone he loves. And that someone is Bul in this scenario.

Honestly...I think at first it is alright. I think Ro would have more control thought, similar to Austro-Hungary in a way, since from what I read, it would have been a similar kind of union to this one. I think Bul would be fine with this tho, especially at the start. He trusts Ioan(my human name for Ro) and his judgement, and Ro would also seek his opinion on things. Ro is happy about having control on some stuff.

But they do clash, quite a lot. Their personalities and view on things and their friends are different. Serbia is Ro's friend...while him and Bulgaria often don't see eye to eye. Russia and Bulgaria as well...yeah. Ro does not like Ivan very much, and Tsvetan also has conflicted thoughts on him, but veers towards liking him.

And also!!! Unless Bulgaria somehow achieved independence, Romania qould go back to being a vassal. Which well, I doubt Ioan would be fond of that. Honestly, I cannot say if being an union would help Bul achieve independence sooner, but it is not that important I suppose.

Also the capital of such a state would probably be Bucharest, like how the capital of Austro-Hungary was Vienna.

And to continue, as time goes on, I do think all these factors, including the political and cultural differences do put on a strain on their relationship. I cannot say if they would even enter the Balkan Wars, but this would also be a reason for fighting between them. Romania tends towards being neutral and really thinking things through while Bulgaria does tend to act based on instict and feelings, so I can see them participating in the first balkan war, and when Bul does not get what was promised for him, I can see him wanting to start the second balkan war, while Ro is trying to stop him from doing so, because it would be pointless in his opinion (as he was less focused on Bul's goal to unite with Macedonia and more focused on Transylvania and Moldova, which was definitely something they argued about!)

But I think they do have good times, really. I mean, being together like when they were children (in the middle ages) is wonderful for both of them. I think they can be very sweet together, and being marriage would def appeal to them because of being almost always together.

And now I am gonna stop talking about alternate reality and focus on their relationship more(because I suck at alternate history). The thing is, as I already said, where Ioan thinks, Tsvetan feels. And I think they do appreciate eachoter for these qualities, but in the end when you have different opinions about a lpt of things it's very hard to be in a marriage, especially if this marriage holds the fate of a country. I think they'd try to pretend those problems aren' there, thought, until they eventually have to face them with no way to run away from them. Alrhough I see Tsve as more willing to talk about things, while Ioan wants to pretend nothing is wrong and is non-comfrontational unless he believes talking will help him.

So at the end, things are...bad. towards the first world war, their relationship is already standing on it's last leg, but WW1 in this reality is what kills it truly. They each become their own country, like Austro-Hungary, and just, not talk to eachoter for a long time.

Althought...there is another scenario, in which they unite in the communist era. So like, everything happens the way it did in actual history until the communist period, where somehow those 2 manage to unite. I guess they'd fight for different reasons then, as again Bul kinda likes Russia & Ro Does Not. They probably separate in the 90s.

Also in these scenarios RoBul 100% has a way more complicated weird relationship going on and they do make it other people's problem.

[96dys]

hydrangea ; johnny seo

money makes the world turn. there was so much of it, and yet so few people ever saw it. maybe if it weren’t for the money, johnny might have acted differently. maybe his family’s badgering wouldn’t have weighed on him as much as it did. maybe he wouldn’t have taken you, because finding a wife this way wouldn’t have mattered. he didn’t like the circumstance, but he couldn’t keep himself from liking you—the dirt-poor girl who worried more about helping others than feeding herself.

ceo au

masterlist

taglist: @tyongpoetry @mooncrvmbs @blossomfear @pak-pak-suhgar @love-and-other-possibilities @livingsoundslikeagoodideas @jhornytrash @thejungjaehyun

05 | power TEASER

"do you ever get sad," you started, flicking your eyes upward to look at the young boy in the mirror, "knowing you're never going to have your first kiss?"

this was a thought that had been lingering in your mind a lot lately. never before had you been very interested in the idea of being kissed or anything of the sort, but being forced into your marriage with johnny seo has really caused you to think about everything that could have been and will never be. there was a small part of you that regretted not making a greater attempt to seek out romance and physical affection earlier in life, as all of your options were now stripped away from you in a way you never could have imagined. johnny has made it abundantly clear that he will never make an attempt to touch you unless it's on your terms and in your own time, but he has also made himself the only contender for every first and every last you will ever have in life. with this realization came a sense of mourning, but you couldn't exactly put your finger on why that was. it wasn't as though you were dying to do these things, anyway. 

the boy giggled softly to himself. with his free hand, he pushed your head back down, using the other to brush the knots from your hair.

"i've had sex."

you crinkled your nose in disgust, doing your best to fight the images that began to creep to the forefront of your mind. 

at the sound of your silence, he continued. 

"it's kind of like, we're all in the same situation here; we all lost everything when we were forced to come here, and all we have is each other. i know a few staff members that are in happy relationships, but other than that, there's always just kind of been this unspoken agreement that we're all people and we all have needs, you know?" he set down the hairbrush and allowed you to lift your head. he snickered at the sour expression plastered across your face. "for a lot of us, making that choice is the only kind of bodily autonomy we're ever going to get to feel."

"you're too young," you muttered. 

the more time you spent together, the more jisung had began to remind you of your younger brother. he was so lively and wise beyond his years all at once. it pained you to know that he had done so much growing up already. once upon a time, you had hoped by this age, you would be the one giving your little brother advice about sex and romance, but here you were getting advice from a kid that seemed to have lived an entire lifetime by sixteen.

after a brief moment of silence, you continued. 

"i don't think i'll ever get to choose who to spend my first experiences with."

"trust me, if anyone knows what that's like, it's me. do you know how many other gay boys there are in this hellhole? the choice was already made for me before i made it myself, you know? jaemin is my only option no matter what i do or what i want as far as love and romance goes and i just have to be okay with that. you're a pretty girl and i know so many of the men here would love to give you what you want, but everyone is too scared of johnny to ever touch you. i'm not saying you should have sex with the enemy, but you're tied to him for life, so all you can do is the choices be yours to make. do things on your own terms and in your own time and try to find strength in choosing. don't ever let anyone take your choice away from you."

[solariaswitch]

Can you imagine Icy having a redemption arc (in an au/canon divergence maybe)? If yes, then what would it be like?

I've thought a lot about this lately because of a little writing project I've been doing and to tell you the truth, I don't think there isn't a simple answer here.

If we're looking at an AU or a canon divergence, then of course, anything can happen and the only limits are what the author wants to do. But if we're looking at Icy's character, I think it's doubtful whether there could be a full redemption. To begin with, I don't think Icy could or would want to turn truly 'good'. At best, I can see her turn into a more morally grey character, sometimes aiding the winx and sometimes aiding the villain, but all according to her personal motivations and not according to some motive of the greater good.

Icy's really complicated, which I've discovered as I've been trying to write her point of view. It's implied that she's been indoctrinated from a very young age to do the bidding of the ancestral witches and serve the 'forces of darkness' as she calls them. This has shaped her whole personality, more or less. She loves power, she doesn't mind hurting people, in fact she seems to find it rather amusing. Completely reversing behaviour that is so deep rooted is more or less impossible. It can be improved upon, for sure, but reversed? Unlikely.

The most likely scenario for redemption I can see is her fighting for her autonomy back. A lot of the time, Icy is merely a pawn to someone else's plans. Icy's motivations are largely tied to her personal desires and ambitions. So in case of redemption, I think this would involve her interests clashing with the greater villains she's aligned herself with. These clashes may lead her to reconsider her loyalty to the forces of darkness, as she realizes that her own interests aren't being fully served by her association with them.

Another potential path for redemption could be emotional connections with the good guys. Icy can clearly form strong friendships and experience love, she loves her sisters, she has several crushes and flirts with various characters throughout the series. Perhaps a friendship or a bond that transcends the black-and-white notions of good and evil could humanize her and expose her to alternative perspectives.

[la-princessaa]

In weird way, this post is a long time coming. Does it matter? No. Not particularly. Not to anyone other than me, really. But I'm going through a lot right now. Like, a lot. So I figure, I don't know, just... see where I've come from. The pictures are kind of important. To see how I used to look, the little girl I used to be. Show her some love and care that she needs. She was beautiful. But also be proud of maturing, celebrate getting older, and being alive. That's what these pictures are for. I'm going through a lot in regards to my body, my appearance, autonomy, mental health, and just general change and growth. Growing up. Getting older. Being honest with myself. And also remembering who, exactly, myself is. And carving out a space for me in my own life. Surprisingly hard!

I'm drastically different from 10 years ago. Obviously. 10 years is a long fuckin time. But also I'm one of the unlucky few (or many, I don't know) who had their mental illnesses really take off in their 20s. When I was 16, I was anxious mostly, with some depression. I felt very deeply, regularly, but most of it was happy. I was very sensitive. I did cry a lot. I didn't like the way I looked but I found ways to be happy and appreciate it. I broke up with my boyfriend and honestly. I cried for about an hour. And then I was done. The rest of my teen years were rediscovering myself, dealing with newfound trauma, worsening anxiety and depression, coping terribly, coping well, starting therapy, and just learning... How to be me. Or what exactly felt right. I was super cute, also. I'm baby.

In my late teens-early 20s I discovered that I have, at the very least, OCD-like symptoms in my anxiety. That consumed my life for awhile. My rituals, intrusive thoughts, ruminations, devoured my life for awhile. But I got it back eventually. Everything was... not fantastic, but it was okay. Y'know? I don't really remember a lot from anything before the pandemic, but, hey. Who does? After the pandemic hit, though, I got bad again. So bad, I had to get on medication.

Sometime in my early 20s, I decided I did not like the way I looked. I went to the doctor, saw my weight, went home and just cried. That's always been a struggle for me. Always. Ever since I was about 8 years old, maybe younger, my weight has been a subject. Either directly with me or to my parents from family or doctors. I'm realizing I grew up very different from some of my real-life peers. They didn't have to shop at plus-sized stores and spend exorbitant amounts of money to hope clothes fit. I feel joy and a twinge of jealousy now when I see how accessible clothing is now for fat people. It's fantastic, it's wonderful, but I do feel... some grief, every time, for younger me. I didn't realize I loved fashion until I started losing weight because I couldn't fit into anything. I didn't have variety. I had expensive ass Torrid. And a body that didn't match any of the models. And it was, always, just a little punch every time I went out to buy clothes and couldn't get anything fun in most other stores. Just a slow chip away at my self esteem every time I put something on and hated the way it fit me, hated the way I wasn't the acceptable fat shaped. Hated how I couldn't go into H&M and have anything fit. I still feel this way. I've lost a lot of weight, but these still chip away at me. I'm surprised there's anything left, at this point. Put on clothes, it doesn't lay right on my body. I have so, so much loose skin and it genuinely kills me inside every time I see it.

Anyway. I hated the way I looked, so I decided to lose weight. And it helped. It created a lot of anger and grief that I still have to sift through. A lot of anger at why did nobody tell me this was all it took, how everyone made comments but nobody helped me at all. Everybody was worried for me but nobody told me how to do it RIGHT. It was all no sweets, no fun, no nothing. Atkins. Which, for a teenager who emotionally eats? Fuck that. Plus, I was fine with how I looked, really, as a teen. Some stuff hit me wrong, I had parts I didn't like, but my biggest complex was my boobs. But that was due to a boyfriend. Anyways, I changed habits, it worked and helped. Until the pandemic hit. September of 2021, I bought a dress after getting a job, which was a whole other ordeal. But I put it on. It didn't fit right. And I went "oh". Something shifted that day. And I started down a path I haven't gotten off of. I ignored it, as long as I could. I think I did well. Hell, I started dating and stopped caring after awhile. I quit my job. Gained some weight back. Had a small, like, stupid small health issue that wound up affecting my confidence, and wuh-oh. I did a sharp, sharp left turn and was now having an absolutely terrible view of my body and how I fit into the world. It kickstarted a lot of problems. I went on websites I shouldn't, wandered through parts of Twitter that would make a grown ass, confident man feel terrible about himself. Looked through things I knew would hurt me, to make it all more intense. To see more "progress". I finally spoke up about it, and was like, I gotta get better. This isn't great. Which I have done several times before and since.

And then my world exploded.

Like, big-bang, everything I knew shattered, my world tilted and has never been the same. Every ounce of trauma came back, everything I've talked about here increased to a level I've never had before. I became so, so depressed. I've always been functional in my depressive states. Responsibility has always been stronger. But this time was so different. All I did was lay in bed and cry when I wasn't walking. I, at this point, had only self-harmed occasionally, and then suddenly it was so regular. I count this as when I developed my full-on eating disorder. In my fuckin mid 20s. Suddenly nothing fit me, everything sags, and let me tell you, that does not help. It makes it all worse, actually. I became genuinely suicidal. Like, "staring at my anxiety medication longingly" suicidal. My body dysmorphia is at an all time high, even now. I'm still not out of this. It's better, it's more... I'm doing more healthy, sustainable things, but it's still. bad.

I don't recognize myself in the mirror anymore, or in my own head. Genuinely, I've forgotten who I am. As the months have gone on, I've found things that bring me joy or remember things that do, but it's like it's underwater. It's so dull. I think the last week has been the most I've felt like my old self in genuine years. I've done little things to try and fix this. I pierced my nose, which was awesome. I've had a surgery I've wanted since last year. To finally help me feel more comfortable in my skin. To take away a part of me that made me violently uncomfortable. Reclaiming my body to be mine and mine alone. I'm finally buying clothes that fit instead of "I need to gain weight, so I'll get this larger" clothes. It's just as harmful as buying clothes too small to create "goals", by the way. Because in my case, I haven't fixed what's made me drop all the weight, so I'm PETRIFIED of gaining it back. So the clothes are just baggy and don't show off what I like. I don't feel happy or confident in them. Just buy clothes that fit. Seriously.

I'm comfortable saying I'm finally on the mend. I'm not better. But I'm not laying in bed sobbing every day. I'm not self-harming every day. I still have a lot of work to do. A lot. I've become obsessed with being sexy, and desirable, that it's drowning out anything I would actually like. My depression, my eating disorder, my desperation to be accepted and desired and loved, are all drowning out anything that is me. I'm trying to get better. But Jesus, it's a struggle. I do appreciate how I've grown into my face, the nose piercing definitely does a lot. I do still wear what I enjoy, not what my brain tells me I need to wear to be sexy. It's a battle, but I have little victories, at least.

[vaultofcobaltandjade]

Alright folks, Ao3 is temporarily down, so it's time for some meta Thoughts. Something I've been thinking about lately, especially with the recent interactions between Ashton and the Bright Queen, is how both Ashton and FCG might/did view their own bodily autonomy and how this affected their friendship as well as their gender identities. In this essay, I will...

As an Aeormaton, FCG had a demonstrably dehumanizing view of their metallic body, from not believing they had a soul to being willing to sell or sacrifice themself as a mere object to their final moment of utilizing their body's design to save their friends. I don't remember him ever saying that Dancer was his "owner" at any point, maybe just his "maker" or "creator" in the earlier episodes, but there seemed to be a very different dynamic with the Division of Public Benefit--aka with automatons that Dancer did create--versus with Bells Hells where everyone encouraged him to see himself as equal with a soul like any of theirs. Plus, the discovery of what he was originally created for and the actual Murder Bot moments on stream likely only increased any feelings of powerlessness over his body. Although all beings are technically "created" by others against their wills, FCG was built with a specific purpose they were meant to fulfill and then presumably be disassembled or repurposed after that task had been completed.

And with the gender thing: I've been thinking about the wider implications of having automaton and construct PCs. Historically, a lot of robotic characters in media have either been referred to as a genderless yet dehumanized it or forced into a human concept of the gender binary, the former being mostly because they're meant to be portrayed as non-sentient objects and the latter being mostly projection and attempting to erase the creators' (and audience's) fear of the unknown. So the choice to give some automatons in Exandria sentience and soul and the room for some genderfuckery has allowed for FCG's largely unaired but undoubtedly beautiful gender journey. (I mean, the irony and Pun Value of a robit being nonbinary is hilarious on its own.)

So while I can't know for sure how much FCG's he/they pronouns were chosen in relation to--or in defiance of--the historical depictions of robots I mentioned, there was undoubtedly a theme of reclaiming bodily autonomy throughout their arc.

Moving onto our other favorite he/they C3 PC though... Ashton's own history with their body isn't much better.

I mean, their first memory is the ritual of the Shard of Ka'Mort and being unwillingly portaled away to another continent, which later resulted in their entire body being transformed into stone and gem. (And while this is purely in headcanon territory, it wouldn't be that far off to imagine that maybe their father Efterin the cult leader may have even had Ashton for ulterior purposes, like having a sorta cult heir or even fully intending to give Ashton up for the ritual from the get-go, which would be incredibly dark and further lend to their lack of bodily autonomy.) Then, there's The Fall. The cracks and gold scars, the half-blindness, the head injury and slag glass. Even though it saved his life and has been used to his benefit since, he never asked Milo to pour the Potion of Possibility into his head or to get his unfathomable and unique dunamantic Rage abilities. And then, there's the recent Shard stuff, both the incident with the Rau'shan Shard--especially how it literally rejected him--and the full activation of the Ka'Mort Shard with its resulting Titan transformations. While I can't quite remember if Ashton's chronic pain began with the initial transformation in Bassuras or after The Fall, there's gotta be frustration and helplessness present whenever their body doesn't want to cooperate because of the pain and Exhaustion. Plus, there's the literal mind/body control moments that have happened where some enemy magically puppeteers Ashton's strength against his friends--similar in some ways to FCG's Murder Bot moments.

Back to the gender thing: I'm sure part of Ashton's gender feelings are from their pretty queerpunk, very genderfuck identities, which can be a statement of reclaiming bodily autonomy in and of itself. But I will always remember how Tal made a point in the CR Sick Day Stream to state that Ashton could have anything in their pants, and making them potentially AFAB/transmasc brings up even more complications with gender dysphoria and bodily autonomy.

So. All this is to say: a) Ashton and FCG's friendship and bonding over mutual Gender and Trauma and Self-Hatred and Lack of Bodily Autonomy and such will always be everything to me, and b) it's starting to make a lot more sense why Ashton is throwing himself into the proverbial fire by recklessly showing people like the Bright Queen or even Essek his dunamantic abilities despite the warnings and despite prior experience with hubris-induced mistakes. (This is especially the case in the wake of FCG's sacrificial death, but that's a whole other Long Post about Ashton's grief over the friend they started this campaign with and how they could have very well learned the wrong lesson from that self-sacrifice.) Ashton likely hasn't felt like they've ever truly had full autonomy over their body or, at the very least, that their relationship to their body has been Complicated. He's talked about how people in Jrusar would ogle at the hole in his head, often for a charge--much like how people would offer to buy FCG or even how a circus performer sells tickets for a spectacle. So really, it's not that far of a stretch to have people "examining" or experimenting on him. And with how little Ashton knows about his own body and what's inside it and how it works (even their dunamantic class abilities are purposefully left to random chance), of course he's going to be motivated to put himself in the hands of those more knowledgeable and experienced. If he's never had full autonomy over his body, is it really his to give away for experimentation in the first place? Has he ever learned to entirely respect his body or to feel a sense of power or control over it--especially outside of combat when he can kinda harness his unique abilities?

Most importantly, will Ashton get a moment of reclaiming full autonomy over their body--and, consequently, their life--in a similar arc to FCG, or will some entity--like the Bright Queen, according to a lot of fans' fears--inevitably take advantage of their self-neglect in order to gain control over their body with little regard to their mind or will?

Only time will tell... which is why chronomancy is the greatest magic of all ;)

[cinamun]

I get where people are coming from when they think things are a little too perfect with HoJay. And I have 2 thoughts about that:

First, I think it's shortsighted to think that drama can't be born from a good, nurtured relationship. They are still young and a degree can't replace experience. Sometimes even living through or adjacent to a textbook example of what not to do can't keep people from tripping over the same stone. So, they will trip, fall, and if they're doing it right, they will get back up again. Though, not because of cheating, not necessarily because of external factors, and not because they don't speak the same love language, but because they are YOUNG. They are babies, for real. They are still becoming the people they want to be. They don't even know their minds and hearts completely; to join their lives at this point when they haven't mastered their own personal curriculum is like taking on a double major.

Conflict is an automatic byproduct of change. How the transitions is handled will determine what will be when they come out the other side.

Second, speaking of babies... If anyone wants to see a snag in the HoJay fabric, they need look no further than the honeymoon. I've seen some dropped stitches along the way, but none so gaping as the fact that they did not truly confirm with each other before they were even engaged their stances on one or two or baseball team of big commitments.

Hope... Darling, sunshine, love, we are talking about bodily autonomy here. About reproductive freedom here. We are talking about sometimes irreversible changes your mind and body may go through here. Jay should have been saying to you that he wanted however many big commitments you wanted, not the other way around.

So, I feel that if they only had that definitive conversation on their honeymoon, there are likely other Important Topics that have yet to be discussed.

Babies, for real.

THIS IS A VERY IMPORTANT TAKE! All caps needed. I'm going to let this one marinate friend. They are very young and especially in comparison to Indya and Darren (which seems to be the comparison of the day) when they finally got married.

Hope is the same age as the late Elliot Mahajan, 24. Jay is about a year and a half older (I stopped putting numbers on them but in this case it makes sense), so 25 and a half? Both fresh out of college with barely any life experience.

Remember when Hope said all she knows is Jay and her family? She wasn't wrong. We are guaranteed to have bumps along the way, I just don't think we need full on collisions. They've got a lot of growing to do and I'm happy they get to do that together.

[peppertaemint]

hey! on the army/shawol drama –

i am a shawol and an army (or well... i am a bts fan lol i don't like associating with armys if i can help it) and to be completely honest i did see a level of nastiness coming from shawols this time around that i hadn't seen in a long long time. the accounts with the more inflammatory tweets seem to have either deleted or gone private for now except for this one: https://twitter.com/arcticminkey/status/1628075402156552215 / https://twitter.com/arcticminkey/status/1628111485078470678 ("didn't even change the spelling" 😭 of a four-letter word?!)

those tweets in particular annoyed me because they use the same rhetoric armys love to use (and which i loathe) – accusing other artists of "ripping off" their faves instead of acknowledging their autonomy, creativity and even humanity.

now i don't know if sm fans were already on edge because of the sm/hybe acquisition (understandably) and decided to take their frustration out on this – or if it was because the shinee plagiarism series holds a special meaning for many people – i think all of those things combined + the usual fan war logic might explain the overreaction. but yeah, i don't think shawols were all that innocent this time around. there WERE a lot of nice shawols who also shut that shit down fast, as expected, but i thought the loud minority was loud and especially nasty.

obviously armys were ten times as vile in response – WAY disproportionate, like you said, and like it tends to be. they make not knowing anything about kpop their personality and then have the nerve to call artists "flops" when they don't know them. just absolute fucking twats. lol if i may.

(apparently some of the louder elements on the shawol side turned out to be ex-armys, which sort of supports a pattern i have been noticing for a while. armys are fucking annoying and call these people "leftovers", acting like they hold a grudge against bts specifically, but – to me at least – the issue is that while they move away from bts they do not unlearn the superiority complex, bullishness, and overall nastiness that they practiced as armys, and bring it with them wherever they go. genuinely when i say armys have made fan culture worse as a whole i mean it. this is based on my impression of things and not any hard data though lol so i concede i might be way off.)

anyway! the whole thing was ridiculous. any plagiarism accusations over common phrases are ridiculous. i concur with the last anon who is asking for jimin on nolto. MAXIMISING THEIR JOINT SLAY etc.

also re: shinee contracts: if i'm not mistaken their contract extensions are usually 3 years long. they renewed their original 7-year contract in 2015 for 3 more years, then again in 2018 for 3 more years. contracts are frozen during enlistment, so if my calculations are correct they should be renegotiating fairly soon, once taemin is out. not sure what that means in the grand scheme of the hybe/sm takeover but i believe that's the timeline. (i agree with your take on the situation btw – i really don't think groups and solo artists like shinee will be affected creatively, and they'll retain their usual freedom in that regard, but i do worry that if hybe stays obsessed with targeting the US then artists who are "only" popular domestically might see their promotional activities take a backseat. i hope i'm wrong. we'll see!)

sorry this was so long! appreciate your blog :)

Hi! Thank you for sending this in for more balance.

I have that account on mute, which is why I never saw that crap. And I'll be controversial (but also agree with you) - ex army are spreading gross behaviours. But shippers are also at the route of a lot of shitty behaviour. I say that as someone who likes shipping for fun so I see it. I've seen a lot of weird stuff from MinKey shippers in the last year. And no surprise the account you mention is in that category. Other ship accounts are problematic too but MinKeyers have been the worst lately. They just get way too comfortable speaking on things they shouldn't. They had a whole thing about MinKey bringing gay marriage to Korea.... yeah. Read that again. If you're a fan of Key or SHINee, it should be pretty fucking obvious why that's a really bizarre and just grossly insensitive way to go.

But anyway. There will always be nastiness and as SHINee World keeps growing, it will be harder to keep up our behaviour standards. But I think we have to. The fact that most people deleted is positive. Minho said we're a reflection of them so I hope shawols will keep taking that seriously.

Thanks for your Ask!

[multiplicity-positivity]

sorry if repost but I genuinely can't remember if I sent an ask before. I'd go off anon but anxiety. //

for context I've been questioning if i'm a system ever since i was 12-13, bodily in my early 20s now, like I always felt i wasn't alone and that there were at least other Me's. I felt their presence but whenever I try to engage communication or make visible notes to log in possible switches theres nothing. i very much experience depersonalized and dissociate and have moments where i "come back" often feeling like i was shoved back in the drivers seat.

i'm always at least semi-concious and the body doesn't feel like mine. but from what i remember i always act like myself or yet masking. Lately i've been coming to terms i have "irls" and have high kins which are Me. Just: Is it possible that irls/dms (delusional mis-identification) to be actually fictives or at the very least close? I only ask this because i feel like an entire different whenever i go into an irl shift. i have pseudomemories, remember people fondly from source, and the memories i make often are tagged with that shift. and as of recent i've been noticing i go in these shifts whenever something triggers me or even when i have to do something like working and general adult things (note caregiver level stuff, just adulting in general from grocery shopping, work related, idk i tag this as the Operator/Manager role)

again idk if irl/id stuff equals to fictives, they're entirely different mental health fields since irl/dm's are a delusional thing rather. but i feel like i AM these people whenever a shfit happens. i'm always at least co-con or partially aware though it feels foggy and dream like.

i do plan to ask all this to a therapist/psych when i get the funds to regularly see one but just wondering if it is possible first if that makes sense.

idk sorry if I sound ridiculous /gen

Hi, you don’t sound ridiculous at all. I’m the host of my system and what you’re going through does sound similar to me.

Before I knew I was a part of a system, I’d often feel like I was floating through life in a haze. I’d watch other headmates go through life thinking it was me, and that I was just dissociating or disconnected from reality and that’s why nothing I did ever felt like it was actually me doing it.

Our system also masked a lot and we still do to this day. This is because a) I have and had a lot of self hate and would lash out at system members who scared me by seeking autonomy, and b) in a society where plurality is not widely known or understood, it was just safer for us. We’re trying to learn how to unmask together but it’s a long process that we’ve only recently embarked on.

I’m not entirely sure what irls mean in reference to the kin community. I do know that many systems have fictives who they believed were just kins before they learned about their plurality. I thought I was fluctuating Meta Knight kin before I learned about my system and met our Meta Knight fictive. I also thought I was Ralsei kin for a while, but they’re actually a headmate here too.

I’d definitely recommend bringing this up to a mental health professional. If you’ve been questioning your plurality for this long, there’s a big chance there’s a reason for it! Even if you don’t experience amnesia between switches, you could still very much be plural. Our system was recently diagnosed with DID and I don’t even have full amnesia between switches. I experience gray outs more than anything else, where I’m semi-present in the moment (able to watch/listen to what my alters are up to) but tend to forget things later.

Sounds to me like you could very well be the host of a system, with poor communication and low amnesia barriers. Or you could be a singlet with lots of kins and other symptoms of different disorders that might look like plurality (though I personally doubt that if you’ve been wondering if you’re part of a system for this long). Ultimately this is something only you can discover for yourself. But a therapist will be a great help and benefit to you on this journey!

Good luck to you. Being the host of a system can be incredibly challenging, and I sincerely wish you the best as you learn more about yourself.

💫 Parker

[violetjedisylveon]

✨Space lesbians✨

Amnesia AU link here.

Please ignore the bad hand, I hate drawing hands.

This is Chora(oc) and Yaosney(ES-02, not her canon name, I made it up). They are girlfriends and seeing each other for the first time in person since Yaosney was offered a position within the Empire.

The scars on their arms are from work related injuries, they are both bounty hunters and injury comes with the territory. Yaosney's scar on her face is from currently undecided trauma but she's had it for a long time. She generally covers it when on duty or out and about, she doesn't like getting asked about it.

Yaosney was offered/sorta volunteered when she saw the paycheck, a position as a soldier in the Empire, one of the first non clone troopers.

She was a better and more versatile fighter than the rest of the options and was picked for the Elite Squad led under a clone commander.

She's got the most experience of that entire squad, even Crosshair, cause she is about ~30(like Chora) and been doing the bounty hunter thing fir well over a decade, Crosshair is 12 and while he's been training for soldier stuff his whole life, he's got a lot less field experience. She doesn't mention it unless it is nessicary for a situation.

She's also the oldest of the squad, the rest are mid to late twenties. She isn't like the group mom or anything, she's like the group tired of your bs thirty year old.

She doesn't actually believe in the Empire beyond it being a good way to get a constant flow of money relatively easily for someone with her skills. She'll fake loyalty but she isn't actually a believer, she's just using it for her own means.

She's really doing it to build connections and get some money built up in case of an emergency, specifically for Chora cause non human med care is harder and more expensive, not made easier by the Empire which she gets pissed about. Bounty hunting is a gig to gig sort of job, so the Empire was the opportunity for something a bit more stable, even if it didn't always pay as much as some hunts did but it is a constant thing.

Chora didn't try to join because she really doesn't do good in that military setting and needs a degree of autonomy in her work, also she's smart enough to pick up on the fact that the Empire is a human centered government, like the Republic, and she knows she wouldn't have been allowed in based on her species. She's fine with that though.

Yaosney and Chora definitely get up to a lot of stuff and makes lots of comments about doing the stuff, just cause they both enjoy making everyone else feel very awkward, Chora was raised on Massanii, she's a bit of a shit and an asshole by nature. They've been dating since before the clone wars.

This was fun to draw, I wanna draw them again soon but I am bad at side profiles so I can't do any of that sort of stuff with them, I could draw them on a hunt together and I probably will cause that's a good idea I just thought of, but I've got some other things on my plate I wanna do.

I'm thinking of redrawing some old bad batch art of Omega and Merrin and fixing it, it was before the show came out and I didn't have a very good idea of what Omega looked like. I also forgot Merrin would also be like 12 and not 17 like she is in the game😅. That'll be fun!

I hope you all have a good day, whatever that is for you!

VJS Out!