#im sick of living in someone else's shadow

[lordrandreaming]

I LOVE YOU WINTER

I LOVE YOU SNOW

I AM BEING GENUINE I HATED THIS SHIT WHEN I WAS IN HIGHSCHOOL AND NOW THAT I'VE HAD 3 GREEN CHRISTMAS' I FEEL LIKE I TOOK THIS SHIT FOR GRANTED!

[calmcoldevening]

Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Brahms Heelshire, Sinclair brothers, Thomas Hewitt and Bubba Sawyer getting sick and their s/o taking care of them and who is very worried asking if they want something or if they are better?

I love what you write, kisses from Brazil🇧🇷🤗

Sick!Slashers x reader

Note: oh thanks luv! im glad you live it!! 🤍🤍

Michael Myers

• He doesn't really care if he gets sick, and he tends to ignore his body's signals. But you can tell. The way he moves slower, like his body is made of lead. The way he breathes heavily even without a mask (rare moments, but they do happen). The way he's less likely to leave the house (but you're honestly happy about it)

• You have to force him to sit down and listen to you. The illness. It's been a long time since he's been sick, even when he was in the mental hospital. Or at least he didn't notice it, because the doctors were quick to respond, so this was new to him.

• You managed to change him into more comfortable clothes, like loose pants and a large t-shirt, and he immediately felt much better, at least now he wasn't restricted in his movements. However, he refused to remove the mask, despite your insistence.

• You just put him to bed and wrapped him in a blanket, and he stared at you with unblinking eyes. Michael wasn't used to being cared for, at least not voluntarily. The doctors took care of him in one way or another, but that was their job. And you... it was like you cared.

• He ate all the chicken soup you made for him and obediently took all the pills. For some reason, he wanted to listen to you and see your satisfied expression. He'll even have some lemon tea, so be it.

• When he had a fever, he wouldn't let you out of the bed. He just grabbed your wrist and stared at you with a silent "Don't leave. Please." At times like these, he felt like a child, and he didn't want to part with his only source of security, you. Plus, the warmth of someone else's body was comforting.

• When you tucked the blanket around him, he tilted his head to the side — that's his own way of saying "thank you."

• When Michael recovers, he immediately returns to his usual routine and disappears into the shadows. But now you're finding more and more little things and treats — that's Michael's way of thanking you for your care. And he wouldn't mind having some more of your chicken soup just for the sake of it.

Jason Voorhees

• You find him in the forest, leaning against a tree, breathing heavily. Of course, you immediately help him to your cabin.

• He looks at you with gratitude as you apply a compress to his forehead, but he is still ashamed of his face without a mask. But your words of reassurance that you like him for who he is really comfort him.

• With one look, you see him apologizing for not being able to protect and take care of you right now.

• When Jason is sick, he often has nightmares. They're so vivid that once, when you were changing his compress, he didn't realize it was you, but instead felt someone else's touch and grabbed his machete. He then spent a long time whining and apologizing to you.

• When he has a fever, he likes to cuddle with you because your body is cool. Your touch on his hot cheeks provides a soothing sensation. The last person who took care of him like this was his mother, so he's really grateful.

• When you leave the cabin (for example, to get firewood for the fireplace or just to go to another cabin), he stares at the door. Jason is afraid that you won't come back or that something will happen to you while he's not there to protect you.

• When he recovers, you can expect a lot of flowers and warm, strong hugs.

Thomas Hewitt

• Thomas doesn't like being sick, which means he can't take care of his family. In principle, he rarely gets sick, so if he does get sick, he feels weak and sluggish, he is ashamed of it. He wants to be a support, a protection for you and his family, this is his duty. Thomas can't afford to be idle for a day.

• When he gets sick, he becomes more moody. He may turn away from the medicine, be mischievous, but when he sees that it really hurts you, he apologizes in a mute way and drinks medicine or warm milk.

• He doesn't want you to get sick too, so when he coughs or sneezes, he turns away from you or goes into another room. If you do get sick, he'll be sad and blame himself.

• He doesn't want to strain you, but when Luda Mae asks you to take care of him, he gives up.

• You'd better get into bed next to him to get him to stay in bed and get some rest. He might even fall asleep while hugging you tightly. Despite the heat of Texas, he's cold, so he pulls you closer and covers you both with a blanket. It's even better if you stroke his hair, it's soothing.

• He sincerely does not understand, so you do not give him ordinary food, but believe that something light is not made from human flesh, but on herbs or animal meat. But it's really delicious. He's generally not picky, and he'll eat anything you cook, absolutely.

• He grumbles, coughs, and gets angry at himself for not being able to work. But deep down, he's pleased that you're the one taking care of him, that you care. It makes his chest feel warm.

Bubba Sawyer

• When Bubba gets sick, all the years of fatigue catch up with him. He becomes moody, slow, and lethargic. He sleeps more than usual and feels like a helpless child.

• He values your care simply because you genuinely love and care for him. His brothers don't provide the same level of support, so he clings to you like a child clings to their mother. Give him a hug, stroke his head, and reassure him that everything is fine.

• In general, he likes it when you worry and take care of him so much, so gradually he starts to not worry so much about his illness. On the contrary, he starts to.. like it.

• Whines and doesn't let you go when you leave to do some housework. Actually, he understands why you have to leave, after all, he can't help you now. But he feels that while he is ill, he has the right to be so capricious and cute.

• After the illness, he will remember for a long time how you took care of him and smile. These memories warm his heart. And in his mind, he has vowed that if you get sick, he will take care of you just as well.

Brahms Heelshire

• He's becoming even more of a child than he already is.

• He's asking you to stay with him all the time, and he doesn't care about food or anything else. He wants to be small, cry from a sore throat and fever, and be pitied.

• He loves when you feed him with a spoon. He'll deliberately pretend to be very, very sick, say his hands are hurting, just so you'll take care of him.

• He enjoys your concern for him, and he'll get sick again for that.

• When he has a fever, he acts like a baby, crying, throwing tantrums, and screaming for you to take away the pain. But he also refuses to take his medicine (because it's disgusting and bitter) and spits it out. But if you give him a little spanking on the butt, he'll drink it like a good boy.

• He refuses to eat soup (but if you feed him, he'll think about it) and demands sweets. Or at least you.

• Sticky and cuddly, he doesn't need anything but you and your warm body next to him. He also wants to take off his mask because it's hot and he can't breathe, but he'll ask you a hundred times if he can take it off and if he's handsome to you.

• Even though he wants to sleep, he'll be cranky and ask you to play for a while longer. "I'm sick, you should do what I want!"

• If he's screaming too much, just show him a syringe with a thick needle, and he'll sleep like a baby. But give him the shot anyway.

• When he's better, he'll pretend to be a little sick for a while, just to have you around..

Sinclair brothers

• You find out that Vincent got sick when he coughs softly into his fist while the two of you were sitting in his basement. And even though he refuses, you force him to go to bed. He's quietly grateful for your care, even though he's still worried that you'll get infected from him.

• Bo gets sick after Vincent. It's not because there's a virus in the city. It's just that Bo was sitting in Vincent's basement on purpose when he noticed how much you cared about his brother. And jealousy is a serious thing. He has had fierce competition with his brother since childhood, so he couldn't help himself.

• Vincent is calm and obedient, he will drink and eat anything you tell him, and even sleep.

• Bo will be a little moody: the tea is too hot, or maybe another blanket? The pill from the head didn't help, please bring another one. When you ask him to sleep, he grabs your hand and asks you to stay in case he gets worse. He's just a great actor.

• Bo will ask you to read aloud so that he falls asleep faster just because he likes your voice. It calms his nerves and bad thoughts.

• Vincent takes off his mask when he's sick, so he's genuinely happy when you don't have disgust on your face because of his appearance. You still look at him with such love and care, it calms him down.

• Vincent is afraid of infecting you, so when you're around, he turns away or buries his nose in the blanket. He's still a little ashamed that he got sick so easily like some kid, but he likes your acceptance.

• Bo requires attention. He's also a big whiner. In the middle of the night, he will come to your room and list in a plaintive voice what hurts him.

• Lester watches all this with a great "I don't give a fuck, I'm just playing with the dog and smoking the weed."

[starkeynation]

I love you, I’m sorry

A letter from reader to Rafe

Content: Angst, like PURE sad, the lamp looks weird, based on the song I love you, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams (may or may not be accurate)

A/N: about that cliffhanger and happy ending, I changed my mind… also ignore any writing mistakes if there’s any and this was kinda rushed so I hope it still turns out good

Masterlist

dividers from @anitalenia

Rafe,

It is Saturday night. I should be out doing something, partying or whatever to enjoy myself, yet here i am, pen in hand, finding myself writing to you again. I know this letter will never reach you- it’ll end up crumpled at the bottom of my drawer or burned to ashes. Still, I can’t seem to stop myself.

It has been exactly two august ago since everything fell apart. I remember the way I laid it all out, raw, I wanted to be real, hoping that honesty would mend us. We weren’t perfect. Hell, we were far from it. We fought like fire and gasoline, burning everything we touched. Jealousy leads us to mistrust each other but even then, I didn’t think it would end the way it did. I never thought that fight would be the last..the final, devastating blow before you ghosted me and blocked me everywhere.

I swear it wasn’t my intention to break up with you, I thought by exposing the cracks, we could patch them together. Instead, the truth just ended up pushing you away. When you drove off in your Benz and left me standing at my gate, it felt like everything had stopped. The time, the world, my heart…everything froze. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream, I wanted to stop you, beg you to stay, to tell you that we could still save us but you didn’t look back, and i was too late.

Now, i watch you from a distance as you become successful, helping your dad doing business, running Cameron’s development like you were born to do it. I heard your name whispered in admiration at the club where I work, how you charm people the way you trained for. And you know what? I’m so so proud of you Rafe. I always knew you had it in you. I’ll be rooting for you always, even from the shadows.

Maybe two summers from now we’ll be talking again at some point, exchange smiles, our lives untangled and we’re cool again. I can picture you’ll be in your family’s jet, travelling, and me, on my boat moving on with our own lives. By then, i hope..im actually ready to move on. I know you’ve already moved on- I mean, why wouldn’t you? Still, there’s part of me wish that you wouldn’t yet, and maybe, just maybe, you would take me back.

But that’s just selfish isn’t it? I was selfish when we were together too. I made everything about me, i was inconsiderate, I turn something small into raging battles. I didn’t listen, didn’t see you for who you were. I’m ashamed of the person I was, of the mistakes I made. After everything i did, I’m surprised you haven’t send someone to kill me yet.

Lately I find myself sitting on the porch, watching sunsets like we used to, with a glass of something strong in my hand. I laugh at myself, at the crash I made, because what else can I do? It’s a twisted kind of coping—laughing at my own heartbreak. It doesn’t feel real and it’s really hard to let go but i guess that’s just the way life goes.

I know i was a dick, Rafe. I had too many flaws to count but as sick as it sounds, I loved you first. You’ll always be my first love. You were the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me, a storm that left me shattered but alive. Your love had impact me deeply, it is carved in my soul. No matter where we are, i want you to know that I’ll carry the past and the weight of my mistakes with me. Trust me, it will always, haunt me.

I regret every second for not treating you well, for not being the person you needed. Lastly, i want you to know that I still, truly, deeply, love you, I’m sorry.

*Ding* you heard the bell rings. You rush downstairs to answer the door.

“Pizza delivery”, says the delivery boy standing in front of you. You almost forgot you ordered one, an hour ago. You take your prepaid alfredo chicken pizza and thank him. It was Rafe’s favourite pizza, you’re not sure if it’s still his favourite though. After shutting the door, you walk to your kitchen.

Just two seconds later, *ding* the bell rings again. Did the delivery boy forget anything? You thought.

You open the door, “yes-“ you pause. You couldn’t believe it, standing right in front of you,

“Topper?”

“Topper what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice laced with confusion.

He then steps aside and reveals a man behind him, lying on the steps of your porch- a man whose silhouette you’d recognize anywhere. “Rafe,” you whisper.

“Shit I’m sorry to bother you but this dumbass got into an accident for driving while he’s high,” Topper blurts out, panickly.

Your brow furrowing and your confusion deepens. You walk closer to Rafe and spot the blood dripping from his head, “Accident? What? Then why do you bring him here instead of the hospital?” You ask, your voice sharp, slicing through the chaos of the moment.

“He won’t let me. He insisted I bring him here to see you,” Topper explains.

“Y/n,” Rafe speaks up, his voice low and strained.

Your heart skips a beat. It’s like the universe has stopped spinning again. This is the first time you hear him calling your name after two whole years.

“Hey Rafe, you’re bleeding,” you say, your voice mix with feelings.

“I’m fine,” he says, giving a soft, disarming smile while trying to sit up.

You instruct Topper to go find some cloth to stop the bleeding. As he dissapears, you sit on your knees facing to Rafe, “Rafe, what happened? Why are you here?” you ask, still have no clue of what’s going on here.

“I wanted to see you,” he replies, putting on that damn smile again, the one that’s always managed to unravel you. “I miss you, y/n.”

Your face goes pale, your eyes widens, the words hang in the hair, heavy and unexpected. “Rafe, you’re drunk,” you accuse, trying to make sense of what’s happening right now.

“No, I’m not, i swear I’m very conscious right now,” he insists, his voice firm. You’re still not sure if he’s telling the truth or not. “I really miss you, y/n,” he continues, his voice low but still clear for you to hear it.

Your heart aches, torn between disbelief and the undeniable pull of his words. “How hard did you hit your head? God, you’re still bleeding. We need to see a doctor,” you say, trying to stand up, but he grabs your hand, pulling you back down.

“Stop it, I’m fine i swear…this is nothing,” he says waving off the concern. Just then, Topper returns with a towel in his hand. He hands the towel to you and says, “dude, are you sure you’re okay? When i saw your car there were smokes everywhere. Looks like you hit that tree pretty hard,” his voice fill with concern.

“I’m fine Top, just go. I need to talk to y/n,” Rafe says with a dismissive wave. Topper hesitates, he looks at you for confirmation as if you’re the one in charge here. You nod at him, signalling an approval, “s’okay Top i can handle this.”

“Okay, just call me if anything happens,” he says. “Thank you,” you mutter softly to Topper as he’s leaving towards his car.

With Topper gone, you shift your focus back to Rafe. You take the towel and start dabbing on the blood on his forehead, “we still need to get this stitched up,” you say. Rafe then grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful, “look at me,” he demands.

You look at him straight in the eyes, drowning in his blue eyes. It’s overwhelming- staring at the man that you love but no longer yours.

“I do mean what i said, i miss you y/n and i wanted to see you,” he says, his tone steady and sure.

“But why now?” You ask, your voice breaking under the weight of the question.

“Sar..Sarah told me tonight that you’ve been writing letters about me. She found them stashed under your bed,” he says, hesitantly.

Your stomach drops and you shake your head in disbelief, “God…i knew it there was something wrong. She was acting so weird when she left this morning,” you mutter.

“So it’s true? You’ve been writing about me?”

Your face is turning red, you’re struggling to find the words. “I- yes…I’ve been writing letters. Pretending like I’m gonna send it to you but i never do,” you stutter.

“Why didn’t you just send them?” He presses, his voice low, almost pleading.

“You know why Rafe…you’ve moved on. You blocked me few months after we broke up. You’re thriving now with your job, you got your whole life together, and I- I was the reason why we broke up. I can’t just crawl my way back into your life like nothing happened,” you shatter, your voice breaking as you’re struggling to control your tears.

Rafe shakes his head. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles and kisses it. “You’re wrong y/n, you’re absolutely wrong. I’ve been doing nothing over the past two years except than trying to forget about you. That’s why I’ve been doing all these jobs, thinking it could distract me, but no,” he shakes his head again. “Nothing could make me stop thinking about you.”

His confession leaves you breathless, your tears streaming down your face as he continues. “About the blocking and disappearing, I’m really sorry, I was a coward. The truth is, that day i came to your house to apologize. Then, as I stood outside, i saw you were laughing with jj through your window. I knew you guys were not together cause after jj left, I may or may not have confronted him…” he then mouthed sorry. “But then, I remember the way you looked so happy when you’re with him. At that time, I knew I had to let you go cause you deserve someone better and you deserve to be happy so that’s why I blocked you..as if that makes any difference.”

You idiot,” you scoff. “I never wanted anyone else, only you Rafe, only you. You’re the only one who could truly make me happy.”

His eyes glisten, his smile soft and hesitant. “Please forgive me y/n, I swear I’m a better person now and I love- I love you, so much. I still do.”

You reach up, caress his cheek and pull him in for a kiss. “I love you too Rafe,” you whisper. He cups your face and returns the kiss. The kiss is passionate, slow and tender. His lip is so soft and only god knows how much you miss this. The world fades around you, leaving only the two of you, two broken pieces finding their way back to each other.

You pull away from his face and let out a giggle. “Why are you laughing?” He asks, can’t help but let out a soft giggle too.

“Before you came I was actually writing another letter for you,” you admit, a shy smile appears on your face.

“Oh really? Tell me about it baby,” he smirks. Your smile widens at the sound of the nickname that rolls out from his mouth. “Mm I miss that. You, calling me baby. Anyways, it’s in my room, wanna come in?” You ask.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer as he leans back against the stairs railing. “Hmm in a bit sweetheart, you can tell me here while we stargaze. I missed your porch- and mostly you, of course,” he replies with a faint smile.

So you do. You talk to him about the letter while your head rest on his shoulder and your fingers intertwined. “Lastly I wrote, I love you, I’m sorry,” you say, explaining the last content of the letter. But then, you realise he has gone quiet. His stillness unsettling. You glance up to him, “Rafe?” He’s not responding. You check his pulse but there is none. Panic sets in as you shake him, calling his name.

“Rafe”

“Rafe, wake up”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up!”

“Y/n”

“Y/n”

“Y/n, wake up”

You gasp, your heart is pounding like a drum. You’re sweating all over your body as reality crashes down. It was a nightmare.

“Hey..baby you okay?” You turn your head to your right and realise it’s Rafe. He’s okay, he’s alive and he’s sitting on the bed next to you. Relief floods through you like a tidal wave.

“Is it the nightmare again?” He asks. You nod, signalling him that he’s right.

“It’s okay baby I got you. Here, come back to sleep,” he says, gently pulling you into his arms. You smile and cuddle him, clinging to the illusion of safety his embrace provides. You close your eyes again trying to fall back to sleep till your alarm suddenly rings.

You wake up with a tear running down your cheek. You hit the snooze button and realise that was a dream and this time, it’s the true reality. You look to the other side of your bed, it’s empty. It always has been for quite a while now. The truth is, that night after Rafe collapsed, you called for an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, they try everything to make his heart beat again, but nothing works. It was too late. He had lost too many blood before that you weren’t aware of and that same night, Rafe had died in your arms.

It’s been 3 years since the tragic. You keep having the same dream almost every night. Part of you is grateful that you and Rafe had ended in good terms but another part of you knows that the truth is you’ll never get the chance to redeem yourself and be a better partner. There’s nothing remaining other than the memories that will haunt you forever.

Rafe, if you’re hearing this, I love you, I’m sorry.

Like and reblog if you want to kys after reading this😇☺️

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: There is no choice, not really—just the weight of a decision that will haunt him for the rest of his days. Joel moves forward, because he has to, because stopping means losing, because if he looks back, he might see what he’s done.

warnings: psychological warfare and im really sorry. read with caution. Ellie hospital scene. It's a long one!

Joel

Joel gasps in a ragged breath as he breaks the surface, lungs burning, throat raw from swallowing half the damn river. His body is done, legs barely kicking, arms aching from the weight of what he’s dragging with him. The current fights to pull him back under, but he fights harder. He has to.

When he reaches the work ramp, the water slows, lapping lazily at the concrete as he collapses onto solid ground. His knees hit hard, pain ricocheting up his legs, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the two unmoving bodies beside him.

Neither of you are breathing.

His hands tremble as he leans over both of you, chest heaving, mind spinning. Water drips from your clothes, puddling around you, your faces too still. Too pale. His heart is hammering against his ribs, panic flooding through his veins like a sickness.

He needs to move. He needs to do something, he can’t fail, he won’t fail. There's only so much time the brain can handle without oxygen.

But how is he supposed to choose? Who does he reach for first, who does he save first? It’s a paralyzing thought as he looks between you. 

Ellie . She’s immune, she’s the only hope left for the world. What started as a promise to Tess, the reason Henry and Sam died, the reason he’s still moving after losing everything. If she dies here, if this is where it all ends, the Fireflies won’t have a cure. Humanity won’t have a chance.

But then there’s you.

And if he loses you, if he watches you slip away under his hands, he doesn’t know if there will be anything left of him to keep going. 

The thought digs into his ribs, carves something hollow and aching in his chest, a terror deeper than anything he’s felt in twenty years. You aren’t just another person he’s had to protect, another responsibility thrown on his back. You’re something else entirely—something he wasn’t supposed to have, wasn’t supposed to let himself care about, but he does, God, he does. 

His breath catches, his hands hovering, twitching, desperate to do something.

He has to pick. He has to pick.

And he doesn’t know if he can live with his choice.

There isn’t a clear path here, no choice between right and wrong anymore. His chest tightens as the seconds bleed away, each one too precious to waste. Then, finally, he moves, pressing his hands down, forcing his hands into the chest cavity. It’s robotic at this point, panic melting into auto pilot, too sick to his stomach to think about what he’s doing.

“Hands in the air!”

The voice barely registers.

“She’s not breathin’,” Joel mutters, barely aware he’s speaking. His hands don’t stop, pressing harder, trying to force the chest beneath his palms to rise again.

“Hands in the fucking air!”

Boots slam against pavement. Rifles shift. He doesn’t stop.

“Come on,” he pleads, voice raw, broken, desperate. “Please, please—”

The footsteps close in. He refuses to look up. Someone moves fast, a shadow rising over him.

The weapon swings.

There’s a bright light above him the next time his eyes crack open, stark and unforgiving. For a moment, he wonders if this is it—the moment they all talk about, the light at the end, the peace after all the hell. Maybe this is where it ends.

Then his mind catches up.

It slams into him all at once—your lifeless body, Ellie’s motionless form on the cement, the desperate press of his hands, the gasping prayers caught in his throat. His breath hitches, his body jerking like he’s still trapped in the current, still fighting to pull you both to safety.

His eyes snap open fully. His pulse pounds against his ribs as he scans the room, unfamiliar walls closing in around him. The air smells too clean. The sheets beneath him are stiff and thin, the bed hard and unforgiving. There’s a deep, pounding ache in the back of his skull, his limbs heavy in a way that makes his gut twist. Something isn’t right.

He looks to his right, and sees someone that, for all he knew, was dead.

“Welcome to the Fireflies,” Marlene says, sitting beside him in a chair, legs crossed, her expression unreadable. 

She gives him a moment before saying, “Sorry about the…” he points to her head, reminding him of the source of the thrum in his skull, “They didn’t know who you were.”

Joel barely hears her. His throat is dry when he finally asks, “Ellie?”

“She’s alright. They brought her back.”

His stomach knots. He inhales, but the breath feels shallow. “And…?”

Marlene’s expression flickers—regret, maybe, but it’s distant, weighed down by something else.

“They were only told to bring in you and Ellie,” she says. “By the time I heard there was another girl… they told me she wasn’t moving, Joel. I’m sorry.”

His body stiffens, his back pressing against the hard mattress as he takes it in. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. The words are there, clear as day, but his brain refuses to take them in fully.

You were already gone when they got there.

His hands curl into fists, nails digging into his palms, but the pain doesn’t pull him out of it. His mind lingers in the space where you might have had more time, where if someone—anyone—had just tried a little harder, you might be here. If he had just worked faster. If he had made the right call.

But Ellie is alive. Ellie made it.

Marlene’s voice cuts through the fog, like she’s trying to process it all herself. “You came all this way… How’d you do it?”

“It was Ellie,” he mutters, his voice hollow. “And…her. They fought like hell to get here.”

“Maybe it was meant to be…” He whispers it more to himself than her, like if he says it enough times, he’ll believe it.

Joel pushes himself up, ignoring the way his body protests, but then he realizes—there’s a guard by the door.

Marlene exhales, shaking her head. “You were the one person I never wanted to be in debt to.” She doesn’t look at him when she says it, just stares ahead, like she’s still working through the reality of it all. “I pretty much lost everything. Most of my crew died getting me here. And then you show up, and somehow we find you just in time to save her.”

Not in time enough. Not for both of you.

Joel squeezes his eyes shut.

Marlene glances at him, voice softer. “Maybe it was meant to be.”

The words don’t feel right coming from her. They don’t feel right at all.

Joel swings his legs off the side of the bed. “Take me to her.”

“You don’t have to worry about Ellie anymore,” Marlene says. “We’ll take care of her—”

“I worry,” Joel snaps. “Just let me see her. Please.”

Marlene’s arms cross over her chest. Her eyes flicker to the guard. “We can’t. She’s being prepped for surgery.”

Something sharp lodges itself in Joel’s gut, cutting straight through whatever daze had been dulling his senses. The exhaustion, the grief, the weight of loss—all of it clears in an instant.

His voice is tight. “The hell you mean, surgery?”

“The doctors tell me that the Cordyceps, the growth inside her, has somehow mutated. It’s why she’s immune.”

Joel feels the guard shift behind him, closing in, but he barely registers it.

Marlene doesn’t flinch. “Once they remove it, they’ll be able to reverse engineer a vaccine.” She exhales, like she’s still convincing herself of the importance of it all. “A vaccine, Joel.”

His mind stumbles over the words, trying to put the pieces together. “But it grows all over the brain.”

Marlene just looks at him.

“It does.”

A thick silence settles between them.

His chest rises and falls, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together with sickening clarity.

“Find someone else,” Joel demands, voice cold.

“There is no one else.”

“Listen,” he growls, teeth clenched, hands curling into fists. “You’re gonna show me where—”

The guard moves before he can finish, slamming him down, pinning his arms behind his back as his chest hits the floor.

Joel grunts, pain sparking across his ribs.

“Stop,” Marlene says, and as Joel groans, pressing against the cold tile, she continues, “I get it. But whatever it is you think you’re going through right now is nothing compared to what I have been through.”

His jaw clenches so tight he feels his teeth creak.

Oh , fuck her .

Didn’t she get it? He was losing both of you. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

“I knew her since she was born,” Marlene’s voice cracks, just slightly, but she keeps going. “I promised her mother I would look after her. No one understands more than me.”

Joel barely hears her over the blood pounding in his ears.

“Then why are you letting this happen?” His voice is hoarse, nearly pleading.

“Because this isn’t about me,” she says, jabbing a finger into her own chest, anger flashing across her face. “Or even her. There is no other choice here.”

Joel exhales slowly, shoulders rising and falling as he pushes himself up just enough to sit back on his heels. His voice is dark, low, edged with something dangerous.

“Yeah,” he growls. “You keep tellin’ yourself that bullshit.”

Marlene straightens, glancing at the guard without a second thought. “March him out of here. He tries anything, shoot him.”

Joel doesn’t move, doesn’t fight, just glares at her from the floor.

She watches him for a moment, something almost unreadable flickering in her expression before she turns to leave. Just before stepping through the door, her voice lowers.

“Don’t waste this gift, Joel.”

Then she’s gone.

Joel stands there, Marlene’s words ringing in his head. Don’t waste this gift, Joel. Like this was some grand gesture, like they were offering him something instead of taking everything from him. Like he had a choice.

But what other fucking choice was there?

Going back to Jackson alone? Failing the both of you? Failing everything he had fought for, everything he had clawed his way through hell to protect? He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.

The guard orders him up. Then a second time, the barrel of a gun pointing down at him.

Joel obeys, moving slowly, forcing his mind to focus through the pounding in his skull. He needs time. He needs his weapons.

The gun shoves harder into his back now, an irritated breath hissing through the Firefly’s teeth. "Give me an excuse."

Joel tilts his head slightly. "Which way?" His voice is quiet, measured, just enough distraction.

The man jerks his gun to the left. Joel follows.

The hospital is dim, the only light flickering weakly over the center desk. It looks abandoned, half-dead already. But something catches his eye as he passes—a bag. His bag. His weapons.

His fingers twitch. He watches them until the wall cuts off his view, then slows his pace, working it through in his head.

The Firefly bristles behind him. "What the fuck are you doin’? Keep walkin’."

Joel doesn’t answer. He waits.

The second the guard’s gun nudges his back again, he moves.

It’s fast—an elbow thrown back, a sharp crack as it connects. The gunshot rings out, echoing through the halls, but it slams harmlessly into the wall. Joel is already turning, wrenching the gun from the Firefly’s hands, twisting his arm, shoving him back. The man grunts, dazed, and Joel slams the barrel against his face. Once. Twice. The Firefly’s head snaps back, blood splattering the wall.

Joel shoves his forearm into his neck, pinning him, pressing the gun to the man’s groin.

"Where’s the operating room?" His voice is low, controlled, cold.

The man grits his teeth and stays silent. Joel exhales through his nose, then pulls the trigger. The Firefly howls , sagging against him, body crumpling.

" Where ?" Joel growls again.

Still nothing.

Joel squeezes the trigger again.

"WHERE?"

The man’s head lolls, breath ragged, face twisted in agony. His knees buckle, Joel’s arm the only thing keeping him upright.

"Top floor," he chokes out. "Far end."

Joel lets him drop. A moment later, he doesn’t hesitate, firing a final shot into the man’s skull.

He grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, hands locking around his rifle just as the sound of footsteps barrels down the hallway. More Fireflies. More obstacles.

Joel doesn’t think. He just moves .

He pushes forward, steps calculated, rifle raised. The first Firefly barely sees him before he drops. Then another. And another.

One by one, he clears them.

His mind is razor-sharp, focused, his grip steady, his body moving on instinct. But your face keeps creeping at the edges, pulling at his resolve, yanking him back to the cement, to the cold water pooling beneath you, to the way your hair had fanned out, damp and lifeless, as he made his choice.

He shakes it off. He has to. He can’t lose both of you. He has to get to Ellie.

More bodies fall, but he doesn’t care. He isn’t leaving until he finds her. If he couldn’t save you, he would save her. He couldn’t leave alone.

His boots pound against the linoleum, moving faster, fueled by something deeper than adrenaline, something darker. The halls flicker in and out of shadow as the emergency lights struggle to stay alive. He follows the signs—pediatrics—how fucking ironic that they’d still use the same rooms meant for saving children, even now, in this ruined world.

It’s quieter here. The distant echo of gunfire fades, replaced by the steady, rhythmic beeping of machines. He moves down the hall, toward the bright glow spilling out from the small glass window of a red door. His stomach twists as he swallows thickly. The scrub-in room is sterile, lined with sinks, the scent of disinfectant cutting through the blood drying on his skin.

Ellie is on the operating table, too still, too pale, wires and tubes snaking around her small frame. His chest tightens. She looks lifeless. Just like—

No. Not now. He shuts it down.

There are voices. A murmur of surprise and confusion as he steps inside. The second the door swings open, the surgeon’s head snaps up.

“What are you doing?!” the man exclaims, instinctively moving back. His hands fumble for something, grabbing a scalpel—a scalpel , like that could stop Joel now.

He pushes through.

“I won’t let you take her!” the doctor shouts, voice cracking with desperation. “This is our future! Think of all the lives we’ll save!”

But those lives won’t be Ellie’s. They won’t be your life.

Joel moves forward, slow, measured. The surgeon bristles, stepping back until there’s nowhere left to go.

“Don’t come any closer! I mean it!”

Joel barely hears him. There’s only red. The bright light of the room turns crimson in his vision, flooding everything. His body moves before his mind even registers it.

The scalpel is in his hands. Then it’s in the man’s neck.

A sickening gurgle fills the air as the doctor stumbles, hands flying up to the wound as blood pulses between his fingers. He slumps to the floor, his body twitching before going still.

“No!” a nurse screams, voice sharp with horror. “You fucking animal!”

Another one hisses at her to shut up. Joel doesn’t care.

He’s already at Ellie’s side, unhooking her, pulling tubes from her skin, tossing aside the oxygen mask suffocating her small face. His hands are shaking, but he works quickly, murmuring low as he cradles her limp body in his arms.

"Come on, baby girl. I got you, I got you."

Then the alarms begin to blare.

A loud, shrieking wail rips through the hospital, the red emergency lights flashing in jagged bursts. Shadows move beyond the glass doors—flashlights cutting through the darkness, the rapid stomp of boots, Fireflies closing in.

He needed to move. Now.

With Ellie secured against his chest, Joel turns and runs.

You

It’s warm.

Not just warm—golden, like the kind of sunlight that filters through leaves in late summer, shifting and flickering in the breeze. The air is soft, thick with something comforting, familiar, wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. You hear the faint rustling of trees, the slow hum of cicadas in the distance. Somewhere close, a creek bubbles, the gentle rush of water against stone.

You’re lying in the grass, the blades tickling your skin, the warmth of the sun pressing against your cheeks. You should get up. You know that. But your limbs feel heavy, too relaxed, too comfortable.

Then, fingers brush against your temple.

A slow, careful touch, tucking the loose strands of hair behind your ear. It’s gentle, warm. Safe.

“Hey,” Joel murmurs, voice low and steady. “Come on now, sweetheart.”

You hum, eyes fluttering, but they don’t open. Not yet. Just a little longer. Let me sleep.

His thumb trails lightly across your cheek. “Need you to wake up, baby.”

Something in his voice makes your chest ache. There’s something wrong there, something pleading beneath the softness.

You want to stay here. You want to keep breathing in the warm air, feeling the sun, listening to the steady rhythm of his voice.

But then his hand is slipping away.

No.

You reach for him, but the warmth starts to pull back, the golden light fading . The sound of the creek dulls, the hum of cicadas fading into something else—something colder.

“Joel,” you murmur, voice thick, slow, like you’re trying to hold onto something slipping through your fingers.

“Wake up,” he says again, but his voice is changing, shifting, deeper now, rougher.

Then everything disappears.

Suddenly it’s freezing.

Your body seizes as cold slams into you, sharp and biting, cutting through the softness in an instant. Your chest tightens, lungs spasming, and then—

You’re coughing, choking, water spilling from your mouth as your body jerks violently, muscles convulsing as you fight for air. Your fingers scrape against rough cement, nails dragging as you push yourself onto your side, gasping, spluttering, your throat raw, your ribs aching.

You blink, forcing your eyes open, the dim light of the tunnel swimming in and out of focus. Your limbs feel leaden, frozen through, but you push up onto shaky elbows, sucking in a breath that burns all the way down.

Your heart is pounding.

The warmth is gone and so is Joel. Where was he? Where was Ellie?

Your stomach knots, panic rising through the exhaustion. You scramble up, your body swaying, head spinning as you look around, searching for them.

But the tunnel is silent, just the sound of water lapping against the cement of the tunnel. You grab your backpack, thankfully still here with your bow and arrows, and begin to move.

Then you see it, a glint of metal in the grass. Your breath catches as you stagger forward, fingers wrapping around it before you even register what it is. Ellie’s pistol. Your grip tightens around the handle, stomach twisting. She wouldn’t have left this, not on purpose.

Your breath comes quicker now, uneven, your pulse thrumming against your skin as you turn, eyes lifting toward the skyline.

The hospital stands in the distance, stark and still against the gray sky, its windows shattered, its walls stained. They had to be there, didn’t they?

The wind is sharp as you move forward, pushing through the lingering dampness clinging to your skin. Each step is heavy, sluggish, but you force yourself to keep moving, the weight of exhaustion trying to drag you down. The hospital looms in the distance, cold and silent. 

You keep your grip firm on Ellie’s pistol, fingers tightening and loosening as you scan the building for movement. Nothing. No signs of people except the lights glowing in the upper windows. No signs of Joel or Ellie. But they had to be here. They had to be.

The place is too quiet, too still, but that only sets your nerves on edge. Then you hear the voices.

You freeze, pressing yourself behind an abandoned car near the entrance, listening.

“…can’t reach anyone upstairs.” A man’s voice, low and tense. “All units should be responding, but I don’t know what the hell’s going on up there.”

“There were gunshots. You think it’s them?”

“I don’t know, but keep your eyes open. If they’re here, we put them down.”

Your pulse spikes. Joel.

He’s still inside. He’s fighting. Why is he fighting? What went wrong?

You duck lower, peering through the broken-out window of the car. Two Firefly soldiers stand near the side entrance, rifles ready, scanning the area. They’re blocking the way you were planning to go, and you know you aren’t strong enough to take them both in hand-to-hand combat. You barely have the strength to hold yourself up, let alone fight someone trained.

But distance. Distance you can work with.

You ease Ellie’s pistol into your waistband, keeping your breath steady. If you miss, you’re dead. If you alert the other Fireflies, you’re dead. There’s no second chance.

Carefully, you pull your bow from your shoulders, fingers brushing over the few remaining arrows. Not much left. You grab one, nock it, draw back.

The first man drops before his partner even registers what’s happened. A clean shot, straight through the throat. His body crumples soundlessly to the ground.

The second turns, eyes going wide, mouth opening to shout—

You loose the next arrow before he gets the chance, and the thud of his body barely makes a sound.

You don’t wait to see if anyone heard. You run. More voices crackle over their walkies, static-filled and frantic.

“ —we need backup now! He’s got the girl—”

Gunfire erupts from inside the building, but you keep moving, ducking low, keeping to the perimeter as you round the building. You’re almost to the parking garage when something grabs you from behind.

A thick arm wraps around your throat, yanking you backward, your vision tilting as you struggle. Your lungs seize, hands clawing at the arm crushing against your windpipe. He’s strong, too strong , and panic explodes in your chest as you thrash, kicking wildly.

Then you remember your knife.

Your fingers scramble for the handle strapped to your hip, yanking it free and plunging it backward, twisting the blade deep into his thigh.

The man startles, his grip loosening just enough for you to tear free, stumbling backward as you gasp in air. He’s still moving, staggering, reaching for you, so you don’t hesitate. You grip the knife tighter and slam it into his throat.

He gurgles, then slumps to the pavement.

You shake out your trembling hands, yanking the blade free, wiping the blood on your jeans. Your breaths come sharp and ragged, but you don’t stop to dwell on it. You won’t let the haze that had covered you for weeks in guilt come over you now.

The parking garage entrance is open, a long ramp sloping downward into the dark. You slip inside, sticking to the walls, careful to avoid making noise. The air is heavy, thick with the scent of oil and damp concrete, the overhead lights flickering dimly.

Somewhere above you, voices echo.

You follow them.

The stairwell is narrow, the metal steps cold beneath your fingers as you climb, moving slowly, cautiously. The closer you get, the clearer the voices become.

Then you hear him. The voice you would follow anywhere, even if it was into the dark.

Your stomach knots as you reach the top landing, peering through the crack in the door. He’s there, moving steadily, his arms wrapped around Ellie’s limp form as she wears a thin, blue covering, holding her close to his chest. Her head rests against him, her body slack, and something deep inside you twists so hard it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

Then you see the gun in the woman’s hand. It’s trained on him, steady and unwavering.

She stands just a few feet away, her stance firm, both hands gripping the pistol as she keeps her aim locked on Joel.

Your breath catches, the weight of the moment settling over you like a vice, pressing down on your ribs, squeezing your lungs. You swallow hard, moving to switch your bow for Ellie’s pistol, gripping it tightly in your hands as you desperately try to work out your next move.

“It ain’t for you to decide,” Joel growls.

“It’s what she’d want,” the woman says, circling him. You push deeper into the shadows, but she doesn’t see you, her gaze is locked on him, “You can still do the right thing here.” the woman says, holding her hands up, the gun beginning to point away from him.

And then you step out of the shadows, and pull the trigger. The shot rings out, splitting the air like a crack of thunder.

The woman stumbles, a sharp, gasping breath hitching in her throat as the bullet tears through her shoulder. She lurches forward, her pistol clattering to the ground as her hands fly to the wound, crimson blooming against her shirt.

Joel jumps back, and you can see the panic flare. He’s ready to fight anyone who comes in his way. He shifts away from Marlene, gripping Ellie tighter to himself, and grabbing his own gun and pointing it out from under her knees.

He twists around to face the threat, and his gaze lifts and meets yours.

For a long, few heartbeats, he doesn’t move. He just stares at you like he’s seeing a ghost, like he’s trying to convince himself you’re standing there, real and breathing. His chest rises and falls in ragged, uneven breaths, his arms locked around Ellie, his body trembling with something too big for words.

Your name slips from his lips, barely a whisper, his voice hoarse, breaking on the syllables like it physically hurts him to say it. His knees threaten to buckle, like his body is giving up on him, but he forces himself to stay upright, forces himself to hold onto Ellie because he has to.

Your eyes narrow on him, had he thought–

“What the hell is going on?” you whisper, stepping toward him, heart hammering.

Your eyes drop to Ellie, her small, limp frame cradled against him, her face pale beneath the flickering parking lot lights. Panic claws its way up your throat as you reach for her, your hands hovering over her body, searching for signs of injury.

“She—she’s okay,” Joel breathes, like he can barely believe it himself.

“She’s not supposed to be.”

The voice comes from behind you, sharp and raw with pain.

You turn to see the woman on the floor, her hand clutching her bleeding shoulder, her face twisted in something between agony and fury.

“He’s killing everyone,” she rasps, glaring up at you.

Your stomach tightens. You look at her, then at Joel. He shakes his head immediately, a storm building behind his eyes, anger and pain clashing so violently across his face that it scares you.

“He’s stealing her because he’s a selfish animal,” the woman spits, voice cracked and ragged. “He’d rather save her than the entire world.”

Joel only looks at you.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice desperate, pleading, willing you to listen to him . You swear you can almost see tears in his eyes now, “Please. They were going to kill her. You have to understand.”

Your breath catches. Your throat feels tight, dry, like the walls are closing in around you. “Kill her?”

He nods, but the woman speaks before he can.

“It’s what she would’ve wanted, Joel, and you know it,” she says, her voice raw. “She would’ve wanted to save everyone, even if it meant sacrificing herself for it.”

Your head spins, everything shifting at once.

Ellie…Ellie would’ve had to die to create a cure?

You look down at her again, at her peaceful, unconscious face, your hands tightening into fists at your sides.

Disbelief and desperation crash into you like a tidal wave. You’re not entirely sure who the whirlwind of feelings is pointed towards at the moment. Joel was taking her. Taking her from her life’s purpose, from what she was meant to do, what she had fought so hard to become. They were going to make a cure. They were going to save everyone.

But to do that, they had to kill her.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you look back at him. His grip on Ellie is ironclad, his knuckles white where they clutch at her shirt. His jaw is clenched, his entire body coiled so tightly you think he might snap apart.

And suddenly, you see it.

The way his breath shudders, the way his fingers tremble against Ellie’s skin, the way his eyes shine with something close to madness—he couldn’t lose her.

Not again. Not after Sarah. This wasn’t just about Ellie. It wasn’t just about a cure or a choice. This was about a father who had already buried one daughter and refused to bury another.

Your stomach twists. Your chest tightens. You don’t know what to feel.

But you know what to do.

“Get her in the car,” you say, pointing to the truck behind him.

Joel doesn’t hesitate.

He moves, carrying Ellie toward the vehicle, his arms still locked around her. You don’t look at him. You don’t let yourself think.

“No!” the woman cries from the ground, her bloody hand reaching toward you, desperate, grasping at anything . “Please, don’t—”

But Joel doesn’t let her finish. He sets Ellie down and turns, moving so fast you barely register it, “You’re just gonna come after her.” he says with eerie quietness.

Then the gunshot shatters the silence, and the woman’s body jerks, then slumps, her outstretched hand falling limp against the blood-slick floor.

Joel exhales, shoulders heaving, his grip tightening around the gun as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His chest rises and falls in sharp, ragged bursts, his head tilting back as he drags in a breath like he’s trying to steady himself. But there’s nothing steady about him right now.

He turns to you.

His eyes are wild, his face drawn tight with something raw, something too big, too heavy to carry alone. The way he looks at you sends something sharp through your chest, something painful, something close to grief.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice breaking, barely more than a whisper as he reaches for you.

And then his arms are around you.

It’s not gentle—it’s desperate, crushing, pulling you so tight against him that for a second, the air is knocked from your lungs. His fingers dig into your back, gripping you like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real, that this isn’t just another cruel trick of the world taking from him again. His breath shudders against your hair, his whole body trembling with something he can’t name, something he doesn’t even try to hold back.

“I thought—” His voice catches, cracking in a way you’ve never heard before. “I thought you were gone.”

Your chest clenches. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say. So you don’t. Instead, your arms wrap around him, pressing your face into his chest. He’s warm, so warm, his heart pounding hard beneath your cheek, his entire body still coiled tight like he can’t fully let go. Your fingers fist into the back of his jacket, holding him just as much as he’s holding you.

Neither of you move.

Then you hear more voices. They cut through the moment, distant at first, but quickly getting closer. Heavy boots against pavement. Shouting. Orders being given.

Joel stiffens, his arms tightening around you for just a second longer before he pulls back, his hands lingering on your arms like he doesn’t want to let go. His eyes dart past you, his expression shifting instantly, something hard and determined settling over his face.

“We gotta go,” he says, voice low, urgent.

You nod, stepping back, wiping a shaky hand to your tear streaked face as you turn toward the truck. Joel is already moving, carefully setting Ellie’s legs up in the backseat, his jaw tight as he checks her over one last time. The sound of approaching voices is growing louder, closing in fast.

Your fingers fumble as you grip the passenger door handle, heart hammering as you climb inside. Joel slams the driver’s side shut just as he twists the key in the ignition, the truck sputtering to life. Thank god it runs.

Joel is throwing it into gear suddenly, the tires screeching against the pavement as you speed out of the garage. The hospital vanishes behind you, swallowed by the night.

Joel’s hands grip the wheel, knuckles tight, his eyes locked on the dark stretch of road ahead. The truck hums beneath you, the only sound cutting through the thick silence that’s settled between you.

You sit stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, still chilled to the bone, but you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or from everything that just happened. Your fingers twitch against your thigh, your mind racing in circles, trying to grasp the full weight of what you just walked into.

Joel exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face, the muscles in his jaw twitching. His body is wound tight, like he’s still ready for a fight, like he hasn’t let himself breathe since the moment he ran out of that hospital with Ellie in his arms.

You glance at her now, curled in the backseat, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths, unaware of what’s just happened. Of what Joel has done to keep her here.

The road stretches ahead, endless and empty.

Whatever it is, whatever he’d done… it would change everything, but it wouldn’t change this.

You shift slightly, leaning toward him. For a moment, he doesn’t react, his mind still miles away, lost in thoughts you can’t begin to unravel. But then, after a beat, he exhales, his grip on the wheel loosening just enough. His arm lifts, hesitates, then opens to you.

That’s all you need.

You move into him, pressing against his side, wrapping your arm around his middle. He’s warm, solid, the heat of his body seeping into your frozen skin, grounding you like it always does.

Joel sighs, the sound low, tired. His hand comes down to rest on your back, wide and steady, fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt like he needs the reassurance that you’re really there.

“Joel?” Your voice is small, uncertain.

“Hm?” he grunts. Then, like he only just realizes you’re talking to him, he pulls in a breath, his palm splaying flat against your back, holding you closer.

“Yeah, baby?”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of what you’re about to ask settle thick between you. The warmth of his body, the way he’s holding you, it almost makes you want to let it go. To pretend, for just a little while longer, that you don’t want to know the answer.

But you need to hear him say it.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

His body stiffens against you. His eyes flicker down, just for a second, before returning to the road ahead. His grip tightens just slightly against your back, and you can feel the shift in him, the way he withdraws just a little—not from you, but from the moment.

You don’t let him retreat.

“I want the truth,” you say, firmer this time. “I can handle it.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw working, but he doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches between you, tense, filled with all the things he isn’t saying.

Then, slowly, he leans his head down onto yours. His breath is steady, but the weight of him resting against you feels different than before—like an apology, like a confession without words.

“I know you can,” he murmurs, voice rough, low.

You wait, holding onto the warmth of him, listening to the hum of the tires against the road, waiting for him to speak again.

When he finally does, it’s quiet.

“I saved her,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

But somehow you know that’s only the half of it. 

You watch him for a long moment before you say: "From the beginning," 

The road stretches endlessly ahead, bathed in the soft light of morning. Hours have passed in near silence, the weight of everything settled heavy in the truck. Your hands grip the wheel now, your body aching from exhaustion, but the need to keep moving outweighs it.

Joel sits beside you, his posture slack but tense in ways only you would notice. His head rests in his hand, elbow braced against the door, his eyes a thousand miles away like he’s trying to keep his thoughts from spilling over. You glance at him, and he exhales deeply, the sound barely audible over the hum of the truck.

Then, a rustling from the backseat.

Your breath stills. Your fingers flex around the steering wheel.

Joel hears it too. His head lifts immediately, eyes flickering over his shoulder before shifting back toward Ellie, something raw and bracing settling in his expression.

Behind you, Ellie stirs. She groans, shifting sluggishly against the seat.

“The hell am I wearing?” she mutters, her voice groggy.

Joel turns in his seat, his voice softer than you’ve heard in days. “Just take it easy,” he says. “The drugs are still wearing off.”

Ellie blinks sluggishly, disoriented, her limbs heavy from whatever they pumped into her system. You can see it in her face, the confusion settling in, the questions forming.

“What happened?” she whispers.

The air in the truck shifts. You knew it was coming, knew the second she woke up she’d ask. But hearing it out loud so soon sends a sharp twist through your chest. Your gaze flickers to Joel. He’s looking down at his seat, his fingers twitching before he forces himself to sit forward again, watching the road like it might give him the right words.

Then, he speaks.

“We found the Fireflies,” he says, voice steady, measured. “Turns out there’s a whole lot more like you, Ellie.”

The words settle like a stone in your gut.

“People that are immune—dozens of them,” he continues, pausing briefly. “Ain’t done a damn bit of good… They just—”

He hesitates. Just for a second.

Then he turns back to her, eyes softening, but his voice firm.

“They stopped lookin’ for a cure.”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, inhaling through your nose before focusing back on the road. You can’t bear to look at her, can’t bear to see the way she processes it.

She turns slowly, facing the rear of the car, her back now to both of you.

You swallow thickly, shifting in your seat, the weight of it pressing harder into your ribs.

“We’re headed home now,” you say, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Joel looks back at her, something unreadable in his expression. A long silence stretches between you all, the hum of the tires on the road the only thing filling the space.

Then, his voice—low, almost inaudible.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

But Ellie doesn’t turn back.

The car hood slams down with a sharp metallic clang, echoing through the empty stretch of road. You scoff, wiping your hands against your jeans, smearing grease and dirt into the fabric. The truck had held out for as long as it could, but after hours of hard driving, it had finally given up on you.

“Looks like we’re walkin’ the rest of the way,” you say, shaking your head.

Joel comes around the front, glancing at the road sign half-covered in ivy. Jackson City, next right. The paint is weather-worn, but the words are still clear enough.

“Should be a straight shot through, anyway,” he says.

You nod, adjusting your pack as he takes the lead, stepping off the abandoned road and into the thick woods beyond.

The transition is instant; gone is the cracked pavement, replaced with the uneven, damp earth of the forest floor. The trees are massive, their trunks stretching high into the afternoon light, patches of blue sky barely visible through the tangled branches. A mix of pine and bare oaks crowd the space, the ground littered with dead leaves, rotting wood, and scattered patches of bright green moss. The air is cool, crisp with the lingering bite of winter, but there’s a freshness to it, the first hints of spring creeping back into the world.

As you walk, the sounds of civilization disappear entirely. There’s no hum of an engine, no wind rattling through empty cars. Instead, it’s just the woods, the crunch of boots against damp leaves, the distant rush of a river cutting through the valley below, the occasional rustle of a bird taking flight from the canopy above.

The trek is slow, the terrain uneven, but Joel moves with ease, pushing past overgrown ferns and low-hanging branches like he’s done this a thousand times before. You follow close behind, stepping over fallen logs, climbing small rocky slopes, your boots sinking into the soft patches of dirt still thawing from the last snow.

After a while, you find yourself walking alongside Ellie.

She’s been quiet for most of the trip, but when she finally speaks, her voice is so soft, so uncertain, that you almost don’t catch it.

“Were you there?”

At first, you don’t react, thinking she might not be speaking to you at all. But when you glance at her, she’s already looking at you, waiting.

There’s something in her expression—not just curiosity, but something deeper. A challenge. A plea. Like she’s giving you the chance to be honest before she even knows if she can trust the answer.

Your breath tightens in your chest.

You shake your head. “When we went underwater in those tunnels, I think I almost drowned. I don’t really remember much.” You keep your voice light, simply recalling everything that she knew, like the weight of this conversation isn’t pressing into your ribs. Stepping carefully over a patch of exposed roots, you sigh. “Then I woke up and the two of you were gone.”

Ellie listens. Hard.

Her boots scuff against a patch of damp moss, but she keeps her gaze ahead, her fingers curling into the sleeves of her jacket. You can feel her hanging onto every word, studying the way you say it, the space between the things you do and don’t tell her.

Your hands ball into fists at your sides as you glance up at Joel ahead, weighing the right words.

“I found you when Joel was already getting you into the car,” you say carefully. That much is true. And right now, the truth—or at least, parts of it—is all you can allow yourself to give her.

Ellie nods slightly, absorbing it. Then, after a pause—

“Did he tell you what happened?”

You hesitate for just a second before nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I met…” you pause, not even knowing the woman’s name that you shot, “I met a someone there. She was with him.”

Ellie’s face shifts with recognition, “Marlene?” she asks. “She knew my mom too.”

You glance at her, watching how carefully she’s watching you.

“Must’ve been her then, yeah,” you say, choosing each word with painstaking precision. “Joel said she was—is—the leader of the Fireflies.” The correction slips out, accidental and you hope she doesn’t catch it.

Ellie doesn’t press you further.

Instead, she just nods, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as she steps over a fallen branch. Quiet again.

The two of you keep moving, the only sound between you the rustling of wind through the leaves, the distant trickle of a stream winding somewhere nearby. The trees seem to stretch on forever, the mountains looming in the distance, their peaks still dusted in winter’s last snow.

Joel remains ahead, moving with a silent focus. And Ellie stays beside you, thoughtful, distant.

You don’t know if she believes you.

You come up upon a crest in the hills, where the trees thin out, and the view opens wide. Below, the valley stretches out beneath you, Jackson nestled safely between the mountains. Smoke curls from chimneys, dotting the landscape with the unmistakable signs of life.

Joel exhales beside you, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little as he takes in the sight. His voice is softer when he speaks.

“You know, I used to take hikes like these with Sarah all the time,” he says, his eyes still on the town below. “I think you both would’ve liked her.” There’s a pause, a faint, almost wistful breath before he adds, “She would’ve liked you.”

Your eyes find his, and you can’t help the small, warm smile that tugs at your lips. He’s letting you in. Talking about Sarah like this, openly, with both of you, it means something. A comfort settles deep in your chest, softening the sharp edges of the last day and a half.

“Yeah,” Ellie says, her voice quieter. “I bet we would’ve.”

Joel nods, his gaze lingering on the valley a moment longer before he moves forward, leading the way toward the dam. You follow, stepping carefully over the uneven terrain, the cold, damp earth soft beneath your boots. Small streams snake through the land, feeding into the massive dam that marks the entrance to Jackson.

It’s close now. You’re so close.

But then—

“Hey, wait,” Ellie calls softly.

You and Joel stop immediately, turning to her.

She stands there, hands fidgeting together, her shoulders drawn tight, her face etched with something so raw it makes your stomach drop.

She sighs, almost more of a groan, rubbing her hands over her face before finally speaking.

“Back in Boston...back when I was bitten. I wasn’t alone.”

Your brows furrow as you listen, feeling something shift in the air, something heavy.

Ellie keeps going, her voice steady but distant, like she’s pulling the words from somewhere deep inside herself. “My best friend was there. And she got bit too. We didn’t know what to do so… she says, ‘Let’s wait it out, y’know? We can be all poetic and lose our minds together.’”

She pauses, swallowing hard, her fingers curling back into fists.

“I’m still waiting my turn.”

Joel takes a step closer, his expression tense. “Ellie—”

But she isn’t done.

“Her name was Riley, and she was the first to die.” Her voice hardens, gains strength, even as pain flickers behind her eyes. “And then it was Tess. And then Sam.”

The words drive a splinter deep into your gut.

Tess.

Your breath catches. Your mind reels, searching through old conversations, through Joel’s words back at Bill’s, in the kitchen, arms crossed, walls up. He hadn’t told you the truth. He never told you she died. But what had he said? Your brain tries to search for it, for what he told you that had happened, but for all you know it was a made up story.

You glance at him now, looking for something, for anything, in his expression. But he doesn’t look at you. His eyes stay on Ellie, his jaw clenched tight.

Ellie lets out a slow breath, eyes burning.

“None of that is on you,” Joel says firmly.

Ellie shakes her head, frustrated. “No, you don’t understand.”

Joel folds his arms over his chest, his voice gentler now, but still steady. “I struggled for a long time with survivin’,” he tells her, his expression softening. “And you. No matter what, you keep findin’ somethin’ to fight for.”

His arms unfold, his fingers brushing over the broken watch strapped to his wrist. Ellie shifts slightly, already turning away, but he isn’t done.

“I know that’s not what you wanna hear right now, but it’s—”

“Swear to me.”

Ellie’s voice cuts through his, stopping him in his tracks.

She turns back, eyes burning into his, demanding,“Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.”

Joel shifts on his feet, and you watch him carefully, your heart pounding hard in your chest.

And then he looks her in the eye and says: “I swear.”

The silence is thick, stretching too long. Ellie’s eyes flicker to you, searching, waiting.

Your throat is dry, your pulse hammering, but you force yourself to nod.

“I promise. ”

It feels like acid on your tongue.

Ellie doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Then, after a long moment, she nods.

“Okay,” she says.

[fortemelody]

AHHHSHFBTKFNTLFKGNFMDM SONIC 3 TRAILER SONIC 3 TRAILER SONIC 3 TRAILER IM LOOSING MY SHIT RN

here’s some things i noticed/wondered/loved:

- i think in that scene where tom is on the ground yelling for sonic, he is wearing a special forces suit. maybe he upgraded from cop to working with gun?? if so i think that’s a really good use of his character actually! he wanted to save a life and raise a family above all else yes, but he still got his previous dream of doing more serious cop work!

- shadow just. has a big ass portal?? like holy shit he’s just suckin the life outta earth and ig that’s one way to do it (or maybe it’s just a ring and i’m stupid idek)

- i’m sure we’ll learn more about this in the actual movie so i’m not too worried, but i’m super confused at the very beginning scene. apparently sonic didn’t change his heart…but he did tho? like he learned what being a true hero meant in the last movie. tbh i feel like that’s enough but hey i’m not against more character development for our boy so!! (also that bit where he’s like “in my lungs” was actually really funny to me, ben schwartz’ awesome delivery caught me off guard)

- GERALD ROBOTNIK ALIVE HUUUUH?! tbh i would’ve preferred if maria was alive, i feel like that would be an interesting dynamic. but also ig that would make it harder for shadow to learn anything so i totally get it. anyways i’m just glad they’re putting a little twist on the story, it keeps it interesting. they already sorta did that with the knuckles and iblis thing actually! (even if that show sucked ass and although that probably wasn’t intentional 😭)

- even tho bro only got like… 3 lines, i really think keanu fits shadow. he’s very soft spoken in comparison to the rest of the case which feels nice. also he’s like the “really bad” guy so ofc he’s not gonna be yappin on and on like sonic or robotnik and he’s gonna take things uber seriously.

- where was my girl maddie :( i think she was only in like a singular frame. hope shes in the movie a somewhat significant amount. i heart pretzel lady!! could live without wade tho like pls im so sick of his bowling soap opera 💀

- FAT ROBOTNIK FAT ROBOTNIK FAT ROBOTNIK!!! after fucking 3 movies they finally fulfilled jim carrey’s wishes!! let the man get creative like please i love jim carrey sm aughdfhfnfmschxj. also love how we got so much stobonik content within that short scene like jesus come get y’all’s food

- shadow at one point says something along the lines of “when we’re done, there won’t be anything left.” maybe i’m reading WAY to into this but what does the “we’re” part mean?? is he working with others? i feel like this is either gonna be team dark or some new movie exclusive character(s). edit: someone made a valid point that he’s actually probably referring to gerald (look at reblogs!)

-CHAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lowkey wonder if the room therye in is like an amusement park or somethin like that

- no sign of amy :( but honestly my prediction now is that she’s gonna be the post credit scene teaser cus they always do a new character reveal there. first tails, then shadow. and honestly now i think it might be better that way so shadow can have a chance to breathe and show his story in full. i’m pretty sure i vaguely remember colleen (tails’ VA) being kinda mysterious about amy’s appearance when asked, and also the fact that it was confirmed that this isn’t the end of the movie franchise/universe. but ig we’ll just have to wait and see!

so sorry i stated this yesterday morning to give my initial thoughts but then got busy and completely forgot to post/finish it. and today i started (and am close to finishing) a very long edit of the trailer, so be on the look out for that too!

genuinely i feel like this movie is gonna somehow be even more record breaking than any of the previous movies and i am so here for the hype 🙏

[the-s1lly-corner]

Prompts 2 17 22 w/ Alastor

i want alfredo so bad guys im sorry i dont know what to write in these notes theres so much going being written at once that my brain is DRY i dont know what to yap about!! prompts: sick, back from the dead, moving in together notes: gn reader, can be a sinner or hellborn reader, short and sweet, written on computer, assume any traditionally romantic prompts for al are queer platonic and/or he is tending to his partners romantic needs, reminder that aro people can still date we just got no attraction WOO YEAH BABY! its called a spectrum for a reason (coming from an aroace) cws: mentions of general sickness stuff, vomit

SICK

he doesnt really.... get sick... so youre likely the one hes going to have to take care of until you recover... which is whatever, he makes sure youre all nice and bundled as well as at least having some water or food

hes not going to hover over you, though, hes a busy guy whos got stuff that needs to be done. whether or not you eat your soup is up to you. if youre in a particularly bad state maybe he'll have someone else keep an eye on you- whether it be one of the people he can just. yoink up from his shadow (such as husk, the workers that fix the hotel, ect), or simply having his shadow do the work... though... maybe having the shadow work isnt a good idea...

doesnt like vomit. his smile may be stuck but you can tell hed grimace if he could

BACK FROM THE DEAD

honestly if you came back from the dead- assuming hes also still alive on earth- hes going to be... fascinated. how did you do that? even if hes not going to be all over you in an obvious way to figure out just how you did it.... hes going to be keeping his eyes on you

hes more so interested in that than the fact youre back- you know. his friend and life time partner? its a little... cold... but thats alastor, you had an idea of how he functioned before you dedicated your life working with him

..unless you werent his friend and rather his dinner... is this... an infinite food glitch?/j

MOVING IN TOGETHER

well if youre moving into the hotel... you probably have your own room! so hopefully theres no need to step on each others feet! but prior to the hotel?

hes very particular about his living space. he needs his space, and he needs it to be a certain way otherwise youre going to have a tense and unhappy overlord in your company... best to let him take the reigns if youre the one moving in... hes a lot more tolerable if hes the one moving in with you. though... the odds of that are low and even lower if its something permanent. moving in with you feels like a forfeit of control in a way and he doesnt much care for that

only thing that is off limits to you is an office type room. thats his space and his space alone. you might not even be allowed into it. he needs somewhere to go to be alone, if he doesnt want to go out

[literallynharmonia]

hate the ultimate guide. heres a few reasons why.

reused art: I understand how hard it is to make art, especially at that calliber of detail. I'm an artist, I get it. but the charm of the original ultimate guide was that we had these hand painted, unique pieces of art of these characters, it showed a little personality too.

How stale and lifeless the art is: This is a complaint that I've had with the current western artist for years, the art is just... boring. the colors are pretty, yeah, like wow hyperrealistic cats. cool. but what else? can we see their personalities? what's the book gonna be like? the old covers had that charm, but not these ones. at all. (also is that even... i could not tell that was runningnose and littlecloud. i mean. runningnose has water in his snout, thats not what cat snot looks like but go off. he just looks a little soggy ig, not in a perpetual state of sick.)

Lack of Personality: this is a different complaint I promise. I dont like how the art seems to take away the personality of every character so theyre staring stoicly at the camera. some of these characters arent all that stoic. I never liked the firestar art in the last hope because I deadass thought it was mapleshade until someone told me it was firestar. firestar isnt this scary, stalky cat in the shadows. not to normal people at least. if i can mistake your main character as one of the villains in your cover art that isnt fucking good. I don't want to see these cats staring bug eyed at the camera, I want to be able to tell what they're like JUST from a glance at the art. Who is that- harestar?? why doesnt he look nervous?? he looks almost noble here, which is the opposite of who he's supposed to be, he's a wuss and a loser and i love him for it. like girl that is NOT mudclaw thats some random cat i saw at the shelter once, WHERES HIS ANGER? WHERES HIS FUCKING RAGE??? RISE RISE RISE RISE RISE RI

the Characters are hard to recognize, even with the title cards: Who are these cats. who. who the fuck are they. I can recognize a few cats, sure, but thats if I can pick out a defining trait. Squirrelflights tail, Scourges Collar, Ravenpaw's white chest, those are things that are explicitly told to us that these characters have, but everyone else??? WHO??? Like that was supposed to be leafstar?? HUH?? Wait that's supposed to be Oakheart? I cant even tell if hes red, its so YELLOW OUT I CANT FUCKING TEL WHO HE IS. Sagewhisker is described with yellow eyes, yet she has blue ones in the ultimate guide (i dont usually get pissy about eye color but not only are these cats supposed to be distinct from each other but i really like sagewhisker and i would die for her, yes i will gatekeep her from the artist fucking fight me), Bluestar is barely recognizable, i didnt know who half of these cats were before i read their nameplate. thats not a good thing.

Red mapleshade. Why she red. WHY SHE RED.

Leafpool. I didn't even know that was you at first but man they did you dirty.

sol. dude that is not sol no matter how much you stretch it- why is he a tabby?? hes supposed to be a tortie, why does he look like lionblaze?? and even then he doesnt look that lionlike, even though hollyleaf literally thought he was when she first saw him like what?? HUH???

mothwing. why she anger. also why she not fluffy

squirrelflight. i always hated her SE art but seeing the whole thing makes me angrier. like she isnt not accurate to canon or anything i just... hate it. i hate it withe very fibre of my being. ALSO WHERE IS HER PERSONALITY I WANT TO SEE HER BEING ENERGETIC NOT STARING 😐 AT THE CAMERA FUCKING HELL-

yeah, so im not gonna buy this book. i dont even want to know how they wrorte any of the female characters to make them somehow evil or how they somehow make a completely irridemable male character a sweet uwu baby. and everyone has talked about the ableism to death so im not going to beat this clearly still living horse, im just gonna let you find it yourself.

[emilinqa]

what do you think about the search for spock

LOLL thank you for asking. i wasnt expecting someone to actually send me an ask when i said that but youve opened pandoras box. so.

i think the thing about the search for spock that makes it stick in my head so bad is that in reality its like. a mid movie. its okay. it falls short in almost everything it tries to do but it hits the emotional highs and lows and looks good which means it gets by just fine. it's one of those 80s movies where you get about an hour in and realize oh okay the plot is happening. like this is it. TMP suffers a little bit in this way too but its also why i find myself thinking about it much more than the "good" movies.

the curse of tmp and tsfs that particularly riddles me is that i think they have some really interesting things going on conceptually that never come to fruition-- not necessarily at fault of the movie because they're ultimately minor and i dont really know how they would explore them in greater ways-- but that i find personally very compelling. i've said this before but i yearn for a star trek space horror movie so deeply and im not gonna punish either tmp nor tsfs for not being something they're not trying to be but i think the horror elements of both movies are really untapped in terms of fan exploration/meta/content. the spock/mccoy stuck in the same body mind meld thing is played mostly for laughs (because it is a good bit. and very funny) but honestly i find the fact it like. physically makes mccoy sick and absolutely freaks everyone the fuck out like good for haunting reasons.

THIS SCENE in particular i think hits the mark on the weird creepy aspect of mccoy being partially posessed by spocks katra

it also helps its shot and lit clearly with some horror influences in mind; the way bones is sitting creepily in the chair while spocks voice speaks through him, enshrouded in shadow, etc.. of course the movie has to split itself between the ship and what's happening on the genesis planet but i really would have loved some more of these moments where spock is Haunting the enterprise and its freaking everyone the fuck out. there is that bit later on where bones actually speaks in spocks voice on the bridge and kirk turns around like wow bones that was really cool never do that shit again that was freaky as fuck and its mostly just funny but the implication that spocks actual voice can be spoken through mccoys body is something im thinking about. really bad.

i really enjoy the ways the movie shows kirk is so deeply haunted by the death of spock (i mean, the movie opens with him saying "the death of spock is like an open wound" so.) and obviously by extension, mccoy, who is stuck with spocks literal soul in his brain the whole movie. the mind meld scene with sarek is also a really good moment which is also just shot and lit well. are you sensing a theme here. im easily swayed by pretty colors.

this in combination with the weird gross regenerative process spock's body is going through on the genesis planet is very compelling to me. i was talking to a friend about this recently and he brought up that he was imagining that spock and the genisis planet had kind of a symbiosis; that he could feel the terror and disaster of the planet even outside of the biological regeneration process his own body was going through which i thought was fascinating. especially because of all the moments during the series where spock would mind meld with a being everyone else was unable to comprehend as a life form. theres something there.

its not really explored in the movie, and really not in depth in any of the further movies, but i also think spock losing his memory after being rejoined with his body is an interesting addition to the themes of rebirth and memory. the rift created between everyone who remembers spock before and wants to allow the New Spock to be the man he wants to be, but they're ultimately haunted by the lives they all had with him before. kirk having spent a whole life with him, only to lose him, gain him back, and then have spock not really remember what they had before. kirk trying not to resent him for it, spock knowing it doesn't make sense to be hurt that kirk wants him to be something he can't, etc etc. its good stuff.

tldr they should send me back in time so i can make the 80s star trek horror movie ive always wanted.

[luckybitch1]

since ive been back home i try to get along with my mom but i cant. we just dont get along. when i go out with her i try not to speak or to show any emotion, it just happens naturally. i go out with her to make her happy and to do the right thing i guess knowing that she wont be around forever. i have this perspective that the past is the past i know why we cant have a relationship and i just dont hold it against her anymore because i dont know. i just stopped. i realized one day she is who she is and i really cant control that or that i was born to her and not someone else, somewhere else. it feels surreal sometimes because i tried so hard to run away and erase all of it. to be honest i wanted to erase myself and disappear. i wished i was someone else. i dont know what i wish now.

it will feel so good when i move away again and i hope this time around i truly will find home somewhere else with someone. but for now i dont have a choice. im trying to be responsible and not to hastily act out of fear again. i want to do things responsibly, do things above board and trust my gut even though its going to take longer than if i just got another service job, saved as much as i can, and left to get another service job. you could say im being pragmatic since this way i have options for a while longer and can pursue graduate school again, this time what i actually want to do with what i know now about making a living. again not just out of escapism like last time. my perspective was so different. i wanted to just burn out like a star out of loneliness and despair. now i want a life..

it makes me lonely to be here. ive been so lonely forever, i come from a hostile house full of lonely people, a lonely family, all i ever knew was hate and isolation. its root rot. i miss my little dog and i dont want to lose anything else

when i was going to sleep last night because i wasnt distracting myself on purpose my mind just wandered into my feelings and thats the key i found this month, my loneliness. i see how it weighs me down and makes me sick and crazy. i see how it tortures my father. i see my mothers guilt and denial and i want to turn away

its not supposed to be this serious all the time. the only reason it all feels so awful is because im surrounded by loneliness and have been for far too long. when you find light it touches every corner and the shadows are nothing but depth in the picture

i wish i didnt keep my head bowed. i wish i didnt feel anxious and sad around my mother, i wish i could be above it. but i just dont connect with her and when im around her, i feel so drained and tired, it shows even in my eyes. once it was so simple to just leave and never look back but now i cant ignore the guilt i feel because i pity them both, whether or not they deserve it. my soul is wasting away the longer im here. how do i preserve myself until i can go? and how do i go without feeling death closing in on my life like an unwatched pot boiling over

im trying but its not good enough. im not energetic, im not clever, im not focused. im dragging a burden im too weak to shoulder and all i can think is though i cant face this alone i cant reach out i just dont want to everyone in this whole world is a stranger to me and i dont want to be touched.

its a nice cool day. my dog is in the grass listening to the wind. theres no one in this house but me, him and in another room, my mother

[alchemist-shizun]

I was waiting you've been waiting ... MYATB final ep live reaction!

Somehow even later than last night, not only did I work for 6 hours again, I have guests over, but with no further ado let's begin!

first off i am terrified, somehow, even if im sure everything will be fine

STARTING OFF STRONG WITH THE HUAIBAO FANCAM. Does anybody look at first episodes Xiaobao expressions and how much of a genuine happy and warm smile he had, and now it's been SO LONG since we've seen one. Healthy happiness where are you?

Also. If I had a nickel for each time a danmei character falls off a cliff i'd be fucking rich let's BE REAL

lil meowmeow ...

XIAOBAO IS LOOKING FOR THE PENDANT SOMEBODY HOLD ME BACK

IT'S SOMEONE ELSE'S BLOOD XIAOBAO NO WORRIES this is so funny to me

Su Yin it's your turn for some character development come on I believe in you I know you won't disappoint me COME ON

My main question is why make him suffer so much things can be fixed so easily. so easily. oh my god.

Internally I'm also laughing a bit because Su Yin is just saying THIS MAN RUINED YOUR LIFE AND U WANT HIM BACK JUST HOW GOOD WAS THE DICK TELL ME. TELL ME

look at him, moisturized, in his lane, i dont know how the rest of the meme goes but you get it

OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. YOU NEED TWO PEOPLE WITH STRONG INTERNAL FORCES. OH MY G O D u mean to tell me both Huai'en and Su Yin need to help him, this makes my ot3 mind go insane. This is beautiful, thank you Que Siming, again, he fixes everything, he is insane

NNNNNNNNNNnNnNnim goinG INSANEEEEE SIMING'S LIL be careful TO JINBAOOOOOOOOOOOOO STOPPPPPP IM SO SOFTTTTTTTT WEEPS WEEPS WEEEEEEEEEEEEEPS.

A few words for Xiaobao in this scene because holy shit. My boy is wholly desperate he'd do anything just to let Huai'en live, his feelings have been a mess for so long but he still finds it in himself to care about him so deeply he's better than any of us

This entire drama has been either of them in bed suffering and the other watching over, beautiful

holy fucking shit they FINALLY kissed. I'm going insane. THEIR HANDS!! THEYRE SO SOFT. Huai'en looks so cute after being kissed, they're so I'm so insane. my children.

i love my sick wife (literally either of them)

THEIR LITTLE SMILESSSS THEYRE SO SOFT AND VULNERABLE I WILL CRY

"swear to god if u and i become like this i give you permission to kill me" the most homophobic gay ever

I think he might really be one of my favourite characters I swear. Give an award to his actor. he is so disgusted by everything I love him

OH WOW OKAY. BATH TIME? Oh my god Su Yin and Huai'en. Here we go. My immediate response is "just kiss about it" but I don't think they will. Their tension would bleed out so easily

OOOO ZHAOCAI'S A MEANIEEEEEEEEEE

huaibao: having a small moment. Su Yin: THIS AINT ABOUT YOU!! i love them all, good god, he is hilarious, his jealousy is visible from three hundred miles

The healing process is so interesting to watch, I could just stare at them work for hours

WHY IS THIS GUY STILL HERE. WHAT. Thats a lot of food for a prisoner. TELL HIM LI GONGXIANG. HE IS SO AWESOME. God I ucking hate this guy.WHY ARE THEY LEAVING HIS CELL DOOR OPEN

HAPPY LITTLE THINGS

"Who am I to be mad at you?" I KNEW ITTTTTT I KNEW YOU'D CAVE SU YIN I LOVE U. WOOOOOOOOO

Heeeeeeeeere comes the cocklockkkk

MY TRIO OF WONDERS TWT <3 MAN the best dumbass trio ever

this is so fucking funny those two are lounging and there the others go being dramatic

im going to cry over su yin and xiaobao's bond again? yes. i am.

Thank u for calling that man a freak xiaobao

SHAOYU?? also this is the first time I see some actual help for starving people, that's a nice touch.

That was the stupidest interaction ever thank you shaoyu

oh he knows. he knows.

XIAOYU EXTERIOR DESIGN PASSION

THE SHADOWS MOVED IN WITH THEM ZHAOCAI NO LONGER ALONE. Also the matching headpieces!

THEY SAVED HIM TWT SHADOWS MY BELOVEDSSSSS

HUAI'EN IS SO HAPPY ABOUT BEING HIS WIFE

xiaoyu istg- HFAHAHAHA SHES DOING IT ON PURPOS. WE'RE ALL LAUGHING AT THEM LIKE ZHAOCAI

PLEASE IM NEARLY CRYINGNFDSAJAHAHAH

HE CANNOT BE JEALOUS ABOUT SU YIN AFTER HE PROPOSED FSJ

NOOOOOOOO WDYM THATS IT??????? NOOOOOOOOO THEY BARELY GOT USED TO EACH OTHERS SMILE. AND NOW IT'S OVER TWT NOOOOOO well that was a wild ride

I dont know what it is about danmei novels and NOT SHOWING ME THEIR WEDDINGS!!! I WANT TO SEE THEM!!

Anyway. WE REACHED THE END. WOW. Insane. Incredible work to all who worked hard to give us our first uncensored Chinese bl, may it pave the path to many more! I had fun waiting for episodes each week, hadn't felt this elated in a long time. I'm sad I cannot look forward to more, but I might get inspired and create some art or fics for this series, who knows owo the actors are too pretty to pass on.

I'm extremely glad we got that Su Yin acceptance arc I have been mentioning, Shaoyu hasn't gotten more bearable but ig he has to mature yet. Xiaoyu was an icon all episode, I must admit, Zhaocai has found his new partner in crime. I also dearly missed Jinbao and Siming as soon as they left :( their energies were something stupendous. I also liked that Huai'en did not go back to see his foster father, he didn't give him the fucking satisfaction. As it should be.

I'm not smart enough to make much more introspection so I think this is where I'll leave it! Come talk to me if you too have nobody to discuss this series with lmao, askbox is always open. Time for a deepdive into the tag now. I hope I see more of this soon!

A big pat on the back to all those of us who suffered to this day. WORTH IT WORTH IT.

HAVE A GOOD NIGHT

[moronicmoros]

hey.

Name’s Jin. That’s my name. im 23, neurodivergent, and probably something else but idk yet

As description says, I got bored and wanted to.. start posting stories about me and my friends??? share some things?? ~~~~OOC STUFF UNDER CUT~~~~~~~~~

This is a blog for an alternative universe version of Jin Shirato from persona 3!!! (He lives a semi-normal life here and is just some guy.)

Basic info about this AU: No strega experiments, no Personas, NONE of that. Jin was in the same orphanage as Takaya, Chidori and Izumi (last name shadow cry). Said orphanage was corrupt like REALLY REALLY bad, poor management all around, abusive, etc. An absolute CESSPIT. Anyways Izumi got adopted, the others ran away, and then they met up again later on in life. Chidori (who goes to Gekkoukan) lives with Jin and Takaya in a shared apartment place (they pick her up from school sometimes if she’s sick)

STUFF ABOUT THE MOD: Hey! I’m Max! I’m 17! main blog: @orthodoxolivine (I like alliteration did you notice)

Ask Rules: Jin is gay. He likes men. also trans because idk how to write a cis male lol NO NSFW

also don’t be weird

-I will NOT start an interaction with ANYONE from normal Persona 3, HOWEVER, I am not opposed to it. Just don’t wanna fuck with the timeline or whatever if you don’t want me to. I ESPECIALLY want to interact with normal versions of Strega. (Sees is cool too but like imagine just being some guy and seeing someone who looks, sounds, and has the SAME name as one of your close friends only to find out that they kill people and are also said friend from ANOTHER DIMENSION???)

[rhythmsquid]

Tuesday January 14th 2025 - On The Subject Of KondemningYourSoul / Love Fool

Somehow I'm kind of tearing up, Iim suprised surpsid , ive been sweating all day, and maybe my eyes were a little wet over the course, im suprised im not dehydrated, or maybe I am.. I'm a sickly sort.. I'm a lovefool, I'm really head under heels and congealed blood and fat. My head aches constant, I get some sense of terrible overwhelming pain, flashing of tormenting images in the brain, things I want to see , wnd things I don't, like I'm young again, the mind drifts to places I wish to not go. I constant miss that girl again, I don't understand myself. I miss her , And i miss Her, and then I miss you, and I miss me. Taking a nap, taking a close at the eyes no longer can help, if ever, for these things chase me everywhere I go. Dreams strike at my soul, sickness plagues my peace. Beautiful women, purity in faces, professional curiosity and improfessional unprofessional nonconfessional gaze and impressionable chants of love and taste, hungering and loathing.. My body jolts against the uncomfortabilities of my own skin, I'm no better I'm no worse. I'm in haze, old me return, new me resolve, retribution of spirit, fall short, fall falls short, losing my time .. The tantalizing land of wonder und dreams, drape of shadow which follow my every move, nothing now seems so bright or magnificent, 15:50, put down in mind, wake up 5 hours later when I was busy wishing I never would have. I don't feel up to par, five strokes from the goal and fifty yards from my heart, watch it walk away and feel self slip like some kind of evilous number.. my head hurts still and it's a day later , i feel unreal , UGH . This is the kind of thing called dissociating, this isnt some playground fucking term. This is Hell, this is horrible. I want to be me , I want to feel me, and I can't do either. This isn't fun. This isnt hashtag hash it out with a friend or family, I can't explain it, I can't fix it. Therapy couldnt cure this sickpy feeling, I know because I'm not a fool, and I know the kinds of things these cognitive behavioral bullshit shrinks pull. I have much to write, but it doesn't come out right. I'm having stiflings in the work, the month long stiflings, of the dystopian future and such. 33.8431° S, 151.2843° E Take a leap across the gap in my heart and head. I feel like I'm you, how many times must I write it, before I shall forget I ever knew a relation between you and I? 26-DEEPJOY-88 bpm Ramble and rate, the thimble thunder and debate, sixty six percent six feet under such sexual sequences of soulless abandon, work and work keep on working and living in a place you dont love. Educate me and birth me here, force me to die here, I want to die to take myself somewhere else. I slip through your arms, slip through my own hands, slip like to clay, but all over my arms. Compress and say , Oh dear do I hope to find someone dear some day. I hate the way you look at me, I hate the way you talk to me, pain is all that wakes this ugly fool, half a woman half a hound, good for nothin men all throughout my life, and I'm something half-pint short from just another one of them. Sweating like a pig und living like one too, ayuda me, por favor, lo siento por mi poor favours

Love feels like some kind of lie, for I fail to feel it more often than not. I said I wanted to go to a funeral only because I hate my home and hate this scenery, I feel only slightly bad for the natural passage of what we call time, this thing we call aging, the final passage of this horrid survival, this horrid life. Put on a sad face, or a mourning one, block out the face of multitudinous facial warpings, the faces of a face of another, How can I say how much you mean? When I know not what that might mean, what do you mean? And so I wish I knew, struggle and stry, stray and strawberry, I like to imagine I once knew the taste of you, but I know the truth, that I know not even of how you smell, no fragrance nor scent, not even sweat nor stench.. I pretend instead I may have once felt your blood, and I do so with my own, with my pen, it belongs not to me, and neither do you. This world is not ours, and we are not long for it, sometimes I hope we meet again, in someone else, in ourselves... But I can't be sure I will ever get my own flesh back.. maybe you could say th3 same. I won't pretend I'm you, but I won't pretend either that my mind doesnt trick me, doesnt lead me to wonder sometimes if I'm not so unlike you. Does it get better for women like you? Did it? And how about fools like me? If it never gets better for you, then surely I cannot expect it either.. 10:47 January 15th 2025

[virtie333]

hello there! i noticed in your most recent ask you stated that you used to train raptors and parrots for a zoo. as someone who’s incredibly interested in that career, i was wondering if you had any tips or tricks for getting started?

i’ve been consistently volunteering at a local wildlife shelter, and im working to join the education program they have so that i can begin to work with their raptors. is there anything else that people interested in this career can do?

thank you!

I'm going to be honest with you, I got very lucky to get into the world of birds. When I applied for a summer job at the small zoo in the Black Hills, which actually specializes in reptiles, my desire was to work with the miniature horses they also raised. I spent my first summer giving pony rides to kids!

However, the area we gave rides looked over the weathering area, the place they kept the raptors, and I would see the person run back to get the eagle they used as the final bird for every show. When they asked me that winter if there was any other department I was interested in, I told them the birds. I spent my winter break getting introduced to them and spent the next four summers working with them.

My boss was a falconer and a licensed wildlife rehabilitator. All her staff were temporarily licensed as well, so we could handle all the raptors. We performed shows (that's Skyler above, a Harris' Hawk), took care of sick and injured raptors, and took care of the parrots that were on display in the Sky Dome.

Moche, the blue and gold Macaw I helped raise from a baby, is still there, almost 30 years later.

I'm going to assume you live in the U.S. (or at least North America)?My suggestion would be to keep volunteering, keep getting whatever experience you can. If you know of a licensed rehabber in your area, volunteer to help them. If you can find any falconers, ask to shadow them as they care for, train, and hunt their birds. The more experience you get and the more professionals you can use as references, the more likely you'll be able to find a job in the field.

Are there any zoos/theme parks nearby? The smaller the zoo, the more likely you'll be able to get a position with limited experience, as I did. Obviously, the bigger zoos and theme parks will want professional experience. My boss worked for Bush Gardens before she came to us, and she is now the Education Director at the Minnesota Raptor Center.

If all else fails, just study up on falconry as much as you can and find one to apprentice under. Every state has different laws, and since North American Birds of Prey are protected federally, they have rules, too, but it's definitely a reachable goal.

I hope any of this helps! When I graduated college, my main goal was to work with horses, but I ended up working as a vet tech for 18+ years. I was the designated 'bird lady' at the clinic for all those years, as none of the vets had a huge amount of bird experience, so they always made sure I was their tech for bird appointments. I don't get to work with them much now that I'm at a boarding kennel, though we have boarded one or two in the past few years.

I miss it and them very much, but I will always have the memories.

[madame-fear]

I have said this about Shadow And Bone with season 2, their writers room (and Netflix and their marketing for it) and I will say it now about HBP MAX and Ryan Condal and their writers room.

THEY SHOULD LET ME IN THE WRITERS ROOM BECAUSE I CAN FIX THIS. I COULD TAKE DAEMON OUT OF HIS LUIGI'S HAUNTED MANSION ERA OR AT LEAST MAKE IT LESS...WHATEVER THAT WAS. AND NOT GIVE EVERYTHING JACE DID TO SOMEONE ELSE😭.

I am just that one 'let me in' meme okay lmao

I COULD TAKE DAEMON OUT OF HIS LUIGI'S HAUNTED MANSION ERA

THE WAY I LITERALLY SNORTED AT THIS BECAUSE OF HOW TRUE IT IS AHAJKSKDID MY MAN IS LITERALLY LIVING HIS OWN HAUNTED MANSION ERA AND I ALREADY GREW SICK AND TIRWD OF IT????? like okay WE GET IT,, this madnesd should have stopped when we got him banging his own mother LMAOOO 😭😭

Also Daemon is getting his ass haunted by almost every dead character in the show but I haven’t been given a single CRUMB of ghost/hallucination Luke... Imagine my outrage, bestie 🙄🙄

GIRLIE I AGREE WITH EVERYTHING YOU SAID I bet that you and I could do a much better job inside HOTD than all the rest of the characters,, when will this madness end??? ALSO I FEEL LIKE JACE IS NOT BEING GIVEN THE PROPER ATTENTION HE DESERVES IM GOING MAD AHHSHDJ AHHHHH 😭

[atinyniki]

teaser 'good enough' : one.

background info: main character is maya. aalia is maya's little sister. maya and aalia sleep in the same bed. HUGE TW.

a/n: this is kind of very sad btw... its not a fanfic though ! its a story. i hope the finished product will be as good as my actual fics.

teaser wc: 890

TW: suicidal themes, mentions of abuse, trauma, neglect, mentions of a miscarriage, loss of a loved one

two decades later, yet everything has changed. maya’s grown a lot now, trying her best to use her trauma for good. 

she’s become mildly successful with her writing, but as time went on, she’s lost motivation. 

she’s lost the support of her family. she’s lost her friends. and now it feels like she’s lost the one thing that makes her happy.

so she thinks about it. for the first time since seventh grade, her sick mind puts those terrible thoughts into her head. no one wants her, so why is she here?

she walks into the bathroom, the one she’s used for the past four years, looking for something. just something that could help her do this.

until she’s called for bed.

aalia yells out for her, so she stops herself, stepping into the bedroom after getting ready. she wants to leave, but she can’t.

but it would be so much better without her, wouldn’t it?

they both lay down in the bed, but maya makes a mistake. a mistake that she has made one too many times, clearly. aalia slaps her in the face, unamused by mayas stupid attempt to ‘tickle’ her. 

but it was truly unintentional. she couldn’t say anything else, only shutting herself up and laying down.

and she thinks about it once more, ending it all. but this isn’t right. so she takes out her phone, typing out a number into her search engine.

988.

she clicks on the chat option, filling out the required information. and then she gets a response.

his name is asher, she finds out.

this is crazy, why had it even gotten up to this point? asher asks what’s wrong, as his job entails. and then it all pours out.

that’s okay though, right? isn’t that the point of this entire website?

minutes pass, and mayas already started crying. she tries her best to hide it for her sisters sake, but these messages aren’t helping at all.

and then she confesses. she confesses something she has never confessed before. something she had never even thought about until now.

maya: in 2007, my mother was due for a baby boy. he was stillborn. his name was manik. when she told me, i felt guilty. i felt guilty for giving my mother all these complications, so many that she couldn’t bear another child. she had always wanted a boy. maya: in fifth grade, i made a journal dedicated to him. i’d talk to him every single day through there, just to tell him how sorry i was that i couldn’t be enough. and how i know that he’d be so much better than who i am now. maya: i think it’s changed me a lot, even though i didn’t think about it until now. every time i don’t live up to my parents’ or sister’s standards, i just feel guilty. i don’t know how to deal with myself anymore.

yes, that was a lot to get out. but it’s something she has never gotten out before. of course there’s going to be a lot of hidden feelings about it. she didnt even know how much it was affecting her until she spoke about it.

asher: im sorry this is being placed on your shoulders. you don’t deserve that. it’s hard to walk in someone’s shadows all the time. 

and the words from fifth grade come back to maya. she thinks about what her mother said after she found the journal. no comforting, of course not.

‘you’re a good writer’

and she is, which is why she started her blog in the first place. but over the holidays, she’s lost motivation. that’s not okay. 

writing is the only think that makes maya feel like she’s worth it. so what will happen now that she’s lost the one thing that makes her happy?

maya: my mom read the journal one day, because i failed to hide it. instead of comforting me, she told me that i was a good writer. and i believed her. i started writing on a blog about things id like in life, something i hadn’t thought much about before. i love writing a lot. maya: but now it’s just so scary. i’ve lost all my motivation. i’ve lost my ability to do the one thing i love and now i feel worthless. i’m nothing without my writing, without my ideas.

then comes a sudden wave of sadness, something she’s never felt experienced before. not because of this.

asher only does his job, comforting her through this process. maya is grateful for him of course, he’s an amazing person. then, asher suggests something.

asher: maybe you could try writing as a way to get these feelings out? it helps to you to journal some things, in case you have no one else to tell.

and then it hits her. an idea. motivation.

asher gives her some resources, and she finally ends the chat about twenty minutes later. she opens her files, quickly checking the screenshots of her conversation with asher.

she thinks about what to write, what she should name it. and then she thinks about herself. who is she?

who is she to her family, her friends, the world? and then she figures it out. she’s the girl who will never be worth it.

she’s the girl that will never be good enough.

[orphantheism]

Thursday 15th May, 2025

i feel so small in the shadows of these churches. the frequency of your voice is just something I can't deal with. I wish I could. you're just so loud, and my ear drums are so weak. I feel like im going to break down crying every time the beat changes. the bass drum sounds like internal bruising. I dont feel in control of my actions. I'm living life in third person. no amount of nicotine can steady my hand. I need something stronger. I'm not made to be awake during the day. I'm nocturnal. I want to crawl out of my skin and find a better home. one without as many cracks and creaks and leaks. you got sick your second week of full-time work and the government won't give you money to pay rent. you're not made for capitalism. your beautiful bones and beautiful brain weren't made for this. but you do it anyway because the capitalist grindset is all you know. what has working ever got anyone? all my idols didn't go to college or dropped out. no one ever made history working minimum wage. I'm doomed to be small text in a newspaper no one will ever read. mercy killings don't make headlines. I won't be a martyr because I'll finish the job before my adversaries get the chance. the only thing i know is that i will not be missed. these dark thoughts are a dark cloud over my head that stays with me even when my eyes are all blown out and glimmering from the toxins in my skull. homegrown, artificially inseminated, what's the difference? It's all man made in the end if you catch my drift. I speak too often in the voice of someone else. I haven't seen myself in ten years. if I passed that girl in the street, would I even recognise her? does she respond to her own name anymore? not the one her parents gave her, but that secret name she only calls herself? she's not me. I stole her vessel and peddle it for pleasure and medication, and therapists who think writing shit down takes away the pain. it doesn't, by the way, for what it's worth. I've been writing my thoughts down since I learned how to hold a pen, but nothing helps. it never feels like blood letting. the pain found a home in my rib cage when I was seven, and it hasn't left me since. my baseline is total numbness. running hands under hot water to try and feel something. the gravestones look like rows of seats at concerts you went to when you had the money to feel alive. I'm not an easy person to love, but I'm even harder to hate.