#survivors have every fucking right to their anger

[inniave]

and another thing

even if kendrick *had* been molested, how does that make the allegations any lesser? kendrick has every fucking right to be angry about this regardless of his own history with the subject. like what the fuck????

[dootznbootz]

There's something so specifically infuriating when someone uses one of your experiences or your demographic in an argument, especially if said argument is about spreading hatred or is just so wrong. They "speak on behalf of the ___" to say such fucked shit.

"You're not thinking of the ___!"

"I literally am ___. You saying that adds nothing as you do not speak for me or for other ___. Shut up."

[mint-yooxgi]

Promises - Yandere!Kraken!Felix

Yandere AU & Kraken AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Felix X Implied Chubby!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,958

Warnings: Implied violence and shipwreck, kidnapping, Felix is a type of Sea God in this, mentions of past sexual relations. Tentacles. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Did I base the start of this drabble on the ending scene in Dead Man's Chest? Perhaps. Is this a bit tamer than the others. Maybe. Either way, I still hope you like it! I've been slowly easing myself back into writing, so I'm happy with what I've been able to do. Plus, I just fucking love the banner I made for this hehehe... Anyways, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

The Thirteenth of The Feral Drabbles

They thought they could keep you away from me.

They really thought they could keep you away from me.

It’s laughable. I thought it was a known rule for sailors not to anger the sea, but alas. Here we are.

The frantic screams and shouts don’t deter me for one second. I know what I came here for, and I’m not leaving without you. You’re mine. I warned them what the consequences would be, yet still they refused to give you to me. Even after we promised ourselves to each other! Can you believe that?

Oh, that sounds so harsh. It’s not like you didn’t also choose me. It’s these… these… things keeping us apart. They don’t understand our love. Think I’m corrupting you, or something.

Such bullshit. The only thing I’m corrupting is their ability to live.

They hid you on the third level, thinking you’d be safe within the deepest confines of the ship. Little do they know it’s the worst place you could be. It’s like they want you to get hurt, like they want me to kill you. Such things I would never do. 

Still, despite my anger as I tear this floating piece of wood apart, I’m careful. Your safety is my top priority, and I’ve already ensured that. Right now, you rest, cocooned inside a few of my tentacles. Magic surrounds you, ensuring none of their attacks have any effect on me or you. Like hell I’ll allow them to disturb you now. Besides, you passed out shortly after my assault started on the ship, but you don’t have to worry. I’ve got you.

I can still remember when we first met, how you told me you didn’t fare well with sea travel. Yet another offence they’ve made against you. I’ll never forgive them for their transgressions. Sinners need to pay, and I am here to pass my divine judgement on those that would call themselves ‘heroes’.

Do not fear, My Beloved. Once I finish smashing apart this pathetic excuse of driftwood, I’ll take you home. 

Where you’ve always belonged. 

With me.

These planks are so brittle, it’s almost laughable. Your captor’s pathetic attempts to defend themselves are cute, in a way. If not for the fact that every time I start to pull you out of the wreckage, more of them show up to try and hinder me. I don’t know why they’re so obsessed with protecting you now when they’ve never done so before.

I’m the one who always saves you. I’m the one who ensures you no harm. Not them.

No matter. They haven’t seen everything that I can do. My capabilities far surpass what their puny, closed off minds can comprehend. I’ve got magic beyond the darkest depths of the ocean, strength greater than the harshest of tides. There is no being, save myself, that could keep me away from you.

I don’t even know why they try.

Finally, I’m able to pull you out of that godforsaken wreckage and unleash my full wrath upon these wretches. The boat snaps like a twig as I pull the debris and all remaining survivors below the surface. 

None will survive. They don’t get to. I won’t let them.

Honestly, it’s kind of fun tearing stuff apart. I’ve always enjoyed making a mess of things. I only wish you could be awake to see just how strong your lover can be. After all, I’m doing this for you. I warned them about what would happen should they lay their filthy, traitorous hands all over you. I’m simply staying true to my word!

You know firsthand that I’m a very truthful guy. I would never lie to you, My Pearl. I would rather be slow roasted over an open fire than even think to deceive you.

Aren’t I so loyal?

Oh. Right. You aren’t awake to hear my teasing. Teasing which you seem quite fond of whenever I’m with you.

I think you just like hearing my voice…

That’s okay, Beloved. I will speak for as long as you desire me to. Besides, the feeling is quite mutual.

Gods- I can’t wait to see your face when you wake up in our home, and I get to tell you everything that I’ve done for you. Finally, we can be together, free of oppressive opinions and suppressive stares. Where I’m taking you, we can be ourselves, and the magic of my ocean will keep you safe. Eventually, when you’re ready, you’ll even become like me, too. 

Won’t that be incredible? Just thinking about it makes my whole body tingle.

Or maybe that’s just the change in depth.

I promise my home isn’t too much further out, and it’s in a safe area. You’ll be able to live here with me free of any restraints. I’ll be your comfort. I’ll be your guide. I will provide for you everything you will ever need. 

There is nothing stopping our love now.

I’ll even make sure that no sliver of the wreckage I just caused gets to you. The currents listen to me. They’re my friends, and soon they will be yours, too.

Either way, I’m glad that’s over, because now I can focus on you! I know that you’d be celebrating with me if you were awake, but for now, I’ll simply revel in this sweet victory alone. Having you safe in my arms is enough reward, and when you wake, the true celebration will begin.

Hmm, I wonder what we should do first? Should I take you to the reefs so you can see all of the colourful coral that I’ve grown just for you? Should I present you to the schools of fish that always seek refuge around my house? Get them to revel in your beauty? Or maybe I’ll worship you in the den of our own personal sanctuary, where nothing - no one - will be able to interrupt.

My Beauty.

My Beautiful, Beloved Pearl.

I’ll admit, there’s a certain ring to those names that I enjoy. It calls to me like the cavernous songs of the sirens. An enchantment I can never seem to escape: you.

Not that I want to. 

No. Never. Not since the very first time I laid eyes on you.

You’re addictive, you know that? One glance caught my attention. One melodic note of a spoken word, and I was hooked. Your eyes are deeper than the darkest sea, and I could swim in them forever. You hold me, transfixed, with your gaze whenever you look at me, and I never want it to stop.

Honestly, I can never grow tired of you looking at me. I want you to look at me, and only me. I want to be the first thing you see in the morning when you blink those glorious eyes open, and the last thing you see when you go to sleep at night. I want to wrap you in my arms and hold you close, whispering the sweetest words of all the worlds in your ears, and hear you do the same for me in return.

There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Beloved, and I will never hesitate to prove that to you. With me, you will never have to settle for less than what you deserve, for I will always give you every single thing your heart could ever desire.

Fuck- I can still remember the way your body trembled from the very first touch. The more I trailed my arms over your body, letting the tips of my tendrils caress your skin, the more your whole being warmed. You fit so perfectly in my hold, that I long to always touch you - to always be near you, and obey your every whim.

I am but your loyal servant, sent to worship the very depths of your soul. Your entire being calls to me, and I could bathe in your warmth for all eternity. Right now, it’s that warmth that I crave more than anything. That glorious nectar that seeps from between your legs beckons to me. One taste isn’t enough. I need to feel you flooding my every sense once more.

Sweet.

Addictive.

I could spend ages defining it, but nothing could ever truly put into words just how ethereal you are to me.

People always thought my existence was mere myth itself. Rumours and legends only meant to scare those away from pursuing adventure on the high seas. Nothing more than a fable to tell their children at night to ensure they don’t go off swimming in the bay alone.

They have always been, and will always be, wrong.

I’m as real at the tide, as sure as the sand that resides against the ocean floor. There is nothing in these waters as deadly as I am, and all those that oppose us will face my wrath.

Well, where we’re going, we won’t have to worry about being disturbed at all. Plenty of room for the both of us. Plenty of privacy. No one dares disturb that which should be left undisturbed. At least, those smart enough to.

That is, of course, unless I use my magic to let those sirens get a taste of their own medicine. Water echoes even the smallest of sounds, and yours should be heard for miles around. I can still hear your glorious voice calling out my name as you bathed me in your own sacred waters, and I want all to know that you are mine, and I am yours. For all eternity. 

I’ll admit… I’m addicted to you, and I can never get enough. Though, from the way I remember your hands clinging to me that night only days ago, I don’t think you can get enough, either.

Good thing we have forever to spend fully satisfying each other!

Ah… looks like we’re finally getting close to home. I can see the familiar drop off up ahead. Don’t worry, Beloved, there’ll be plenty of air for you to breathe inside. I won’t always have to keep you covered in a veil of magic. Though, I would always like to have an arm around you. Feeling your skin pressed against my own is a sensation unlike any other, and I long to never let you go.

Perhaps I should tidy up a little more before you wake. I always have way too much energy after destroying a ship. Something about adrenaline and all that.

Perhaps when you wake up you could even help me with it… You might be a bit tired and disoriented when you wake, but my magic can help with your exhaustion. You seemed to like that that last time I used it on you.

How else could we have gone as many rounds as we did?

Oh, you flatter me by pulling yourself in closer to me subconsciously when I shift into such a basic form. It easier to move around like a human within my home when it’s drained like this, and besides, I haven’t exactly shown you my entire true form yet. The last thing I want to do is scare you as soon as you wake up. You’ve already suffered the trauma of being stolen away from me today. I don’t want to make things worse.

There. All you need to do is rest now. 

In my arms? Well, who am I to pull away from My Pearl when you’re clinging onto me so tightly in your sleep? 

I truly can never say no to you…

Just rest, Beloved. This creature shall keep you safe, tucked away deeply in his heart for all eternity. Once you open those glorious eyes of yours, our own adventure will start.

Just you and me, forever. 

I promise.

[dee-writes-smut]

CLEMATISES (Chapter Seven)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader

SUMMARY Eris processes new revelations while in a secluded cabin, when he finally makes his choice he ends up running into his father and learning the truth about what happened after he left.

CONTENT WARNINGS murder, death, angst, betrayal, Beron being a douche as per usual, Lucien being fucking oblivious, sad Eris, mentions of labor, just some more depressing shit as always.

AUTHORS NOTE sorry for the shorter chapter, this is just bringing everything together and setting up for the main event! That's right, I'm making you wait to know if they're going to be okay, sue me. :)

SERIES MASTERLIST

The cold wind of the Autumn Court’s forests bit at Eris’s skin, his cloak barely providing warmth against the relentless chill. He had left the palace in a whirlwind of anger and hurt, unable to face the reality of your betrayal. Each step he took away from the life he had begun to build with you was like a knife twisting deeper into his heart.

He found refuge in a secluded cabin, a place he had discovered years ago during one of his countless escapes from his father's tyranny. The cabin was nestled deep within the forest, surrounded by ancient trees whose branches intertwined above, creating a canopy that seemed to shield him from the rest of the world. It was here that he sought solace, attempting to mend the fractures in his heart.

Eris spent his days hunting and foraging, his skills as a warrior and a survivor keeping him alive. The physical exertion was a welcome distraction, a way to channel his rage and despair into something tangible. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the memories of you. The way your eyes sparkled with life, the warmth of your touch, the sound of your laughter—it all haunted him relentlessly.

Nights were the worst. In the stillness, his mind would wander back to the moments you had shared. He remembered the first time you had laughed at one of his jokes, the soft sound of your breathing as you slept beside him, the way you looked at him with such trust and affection. Those memories were a torment, a reminder of what he had lost and the betrayal that had shattered his heart.

One night, as he sat by the fire, the flames casting flickering shadows on the wooden walls, Eris allowed himself to think about his father. The slap, the humiliation in front of the council—it was all too familiar. His father had always known how to break him, to strip him of his dignity and humanity. It was a cruelty Eris had endured for years, but it had never hurt as much as the pain you had caused.

The revelation that Lucien was the father of your child had hit him harder than any blow his father had ever dealt. Eris tried to process it, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He had always been closest to Lucien, had raised him and protected him as best he could. The memory of being forced to hold Lucien down while their father slaughtered Jesminda still haunted him. It was a betrayal that had cut deep, one that Eris had never forgiven himself for.

Now, to learn that Lucien was the father of your child—it was almost too much to bear. Eris felt a bitter, acrid taste in his mouth every time he thought of it. How could you not have told him? The betrayal was a poison, seeping into his veins and clouding his thoughts.

Yet, in his isolation, Eris began to see things differently. He started to realize that pushing you away had been a mistake. You had been his refuge, his hope for a better future, and he had let his pride and fear drive him away from you. The thought of you struggling alone, possibly in danger, gnawed at him day and night.

The image of Lucien, his brother, raising his child was a painful one. But Eris knew that Lucien would never intentionally hurt him. Their bond, though strained, was still one of family. And you—he had seen the way you looked at him, the way you cared for him. The love he felt for you was too powerful to deny, too vital to ignore.

On the twelfth night of his solitude, as he stared into the fire, something shifted within him. The anger and betrayal that had consumed him began to wane, replaced by a deep, aching regret. He knew he had to find you, to apologize and make things right. The realization hit him like a tidal wave—he couldn’t live without you. The love he felt for you and your child was too strong to let go.

With newfound determination, Eris packed his belongings and set out from the cabin. The journey back to the palace was arduous, the terrain unforgiving, but he pressed on with relentless resolve. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that you needed him now more than ever.

As he approached the outskirts of the palace grounds, the familiar sense of dread crept over him. He had no idea what he would find, or if you would even take him back. But he knew he had to try. For you, for your child, and for the future he desperately wanted to build with you.

His heart pounded with a mixture of fear and hope as he crossed the threshold of the palace, his mind racing with possibilities. He would find you, he would make amends, and he would fight for the life he wanted with you, no matter the cost.

Eris's steps echoed through the halls of the palace, the familiar corridors now seeming alien and hostile. His heart pounded with each stride, a mix of fear and determination driving him forward. He had to find you, to make things right.

As he turned a corner, he found himself face-to-face with Beron. The High Lord of the Autumn Court stood there, his eyes cold and calculating, a sneer curling his lips. The sight of his father, the man who had inflicted so much pain and suffering upon him, only fueled the fire of Eris's anger and urgency.

"Well, well, well," Beron drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. "Look who decided to return. The prodigal son. Have you come back to grovel, Eris?"

Eris clenched his fists, forcing himself to remain calm. "I'm not here for you, Father. I'm here for her."

Beron's eyes narrowed. "Her? Ah, you mean the pregnant woman Lucien tried to hide away in the palace. Pathetic, really. He always was soft-hearted, trying to protect those who don't deserve it."

Eris felt a chill run down his spine. "What do you mean, hide away?"

Beron chuckled, a dark, menacing sound. "Didn't Lucien tell you? He brought some woman here, claiming she needed protection. A waste of our resources, if you ask me. So, I threw her out. We don't need any more useless mouths to feed."

Rage boiled within Eris. "You did what?" he hissed, stepping closer to his father.

"I threw her out," Beron repeated, his tone mocking. "If she's foolish enough to get herself in trouble, she doesn't deserve our help. And as for you, meddling in affairs that don't concern you, it's high time you learned your place."

Eris's vision blurred with fury. The thought of you, vulnerable and in need, being cast out into the streets because of his father's cruelty was too much to bear. He felt a surge of power, raw and untamed, rise within him.

"You've gone too far, Father," Eris growled, his voice trembling with anger. "This ends now."

Beron laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "And what do you plan to do about it, boy? You think you can challenge me? You are nothing but a disappointment."

Years of abuse, torment, and humiliation flashed before Eris's eyes. The countless times he had been belittled, the pain inflicted upon him and his brothers, the loss of Jesminda, and now the suffering you had endured—all because of this man.

Eris's anger reached its breaking point. With a roar of fury, he summoned his fire, the flames dancing around his hands. Beron's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly masked it with a sneer.

"You think your fire can harm me?" Beron taunted. "You're weak, Eris. Always have been."

Eris lunged at his father, his flames blazing with an intensity he had never felt before. Beron tried to counter with his own power, but Eris was driven by a force beyond mere magic—a deep, primal need to protect, to avenge, to end the cycle of cruelty once and for all.

The fight was brutal, a clash of wills and powers that shook the very foundations of the palace. Beron fought back fiercely, but Eris was relentless, his determination unyielding. For every blow Beron landed, Eris struck back harder, his flames scorching through his father's defenses.

In the end, it was not just Eris's power that won the battle, but his resolve. With a final, devastating blast of fire, Eris overwhelmed Beron, the flames consuming him completely. Beron's screams echoed through the halls, but Eris did not relent until his father was nothing but ashes.

Breathing heavily, Eris stood over the remnants of his father, the reality of what he had done sinking in. He had killed Beron, ended the reign of terror that had plagued his family for so long. But there was no time to dwell on it. He had to find you.

Ignoring the stares of the palace staff and the whispers that followed him, Eris continued his search, his heart heavy with the weight of his actions. He had to find you, to make sure you were safe. Nothing else mattered.

As he raced through the palace, his mind was filled with thoughts of you—your smile, your touch, the love he had realized too late. He prayed he wasn't too late to make things right, to save you and your child from the fate his father had so callously decreed.

And then, as he turned a corner, he saw a familiar figure running towards him. Lucien, his face pale with worry, his eyes wide with fear. Eris's heart clenched at the sight of his brother, but there was no time for reconciliation now.

"Eris!" Lucien shouted, skidding to a halt in front of him. "You have to come quickly! She's in danger!"

Eris's blood ran cold. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice hoarse with urgency.

"She's in the alley, near the east gate," Lucien panted. "She needs help, Eris. She needs you."

Without another word, Eris took off, his heart pounding with fear and determination. He would find you. He would save you. And nothing, not even the memory of his father's cruelty, would stand in his way.

Eris and Lucien raced through the palace halls, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The urgency in Lucien's voice had ignited a fire within Eris, and his only thought was to reach you as quickly as possible.

As they sprinted, Lucien glanced sideways at Eris, his brow furrowed with confusion and worry. "Eris, why didn’t you respond when I called out to you earlier? I saw you in the streets, but you just kept walking. I thought something was wrong."

Eris's mind raced, trying to recall the moment Lucien was referring to, but it was a blur. The past weeks had been a haze of anger, regret, and self-imposed isolation. "I didn’t hear you, Lucien," he said, breathless, his tone tinged with frustration. "I’ve been… dealing with things."

Lucien's eyes flashed with a mix of concern and exasperation. "You didn’t hear me? Eris, I shouted your name. You looked right at me, and then just walked away."

Eris shook his head, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "I was lost in my thoughts. I had to get away, to think. Everything with her, with you… it was too much."

Lucien’s expression softened slightly, but the urgency in his voice remained. "I understand, brother, but right now she needs us. She’s in labor, Eris, and we need to get to her before it’s too late."

The words hit Eris like a physical blow. Labor. The baby was coming, and he wasn’t there for you. His heart pounded harder, and his pace quickened. "I won't let her down," he vowed, more to himself than to Lucien.

TAGLIST

@purple-writer8 @defnotlucienvanserra @cherry-cin @julesofvolterra @mirandasidefics @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @littlestw01f @skylarkalchemist @babypeapoddd @daardyrnitta @talesofadragon @thecraziestcrayon @asaucecoveredsomething @starryhiraeth @darling006 @rosewood-cafe @saltedcoffeescotch @dumblani @paleidiot @rcarbo1 @yourmomsushi

[threepandas]

Bad End: Soldier A

I'm pretty sure you know the story. Everybody does. Chosen Hero, Demon King, they fight, save the day, yada yada. Everybody supposedly lives happily ever after. Everything sunshine and roses. Puppies and farting rainbows. But... but it's NOT.

It's really fucking NOT.

I used to love reading stories like that. They were escapism. Grand adventures in a terrible, grey, slowly crushing hellscape of a world. But... but, FUCK. At least there weren't drauger! No demon wolves or skeleton soldiers! Or the FUCKING little flying bastards. God. I HATE those ones the most.

They have sharp, needle-y little claws and teeth like a SHARK fucked a TREE THRESHER. And they scream. Just... yowl and yowl in this ear splitting high pitch like they're trying to DEAFEN you ON TOP of trying to rip you apart.

That life was peaceful.

I was a fool to wish for anything else.

I am not the Chosen One. I'm not even a supporting character. I remember this bullshit little yarn, and I? Am NO WHERE fucking in it. I am just... just some rando, in this struggle of demons and Gods. The child of Some Dude. We... we had chickens. Fat, happy, lil hens.

I remember being ENTRANCED. I had lived all my life, before, in suburban sprawl. So chickens? Strutting around and chasing bugs? Tiny me was hypnotized.

It saved my life.

I half wish it didn't, some days.

That I died, sudden and without the chance to truely comprehend, along side my family. That my neighbors eldest hadn't seen me by the coop. Grabbed me desperately as he ran for his life. Our entire FUCKING village...

There were six survivors.

I was one of them.

And it's... it's all just? FLAVOR TEXT for the Chosen One's tale of Glory. A reason for why she's so NEEDED. So BELOVED. Look how AWESOME she is! Saintess, because when are they NOT? Hero, because it's all about HER. A god damned LOVE STORY thrown in, because THAT'S important, while people are suffering! Dying!

Are? You? KIDDING ME!?

Legends speak of a "Hero's Party". I know damn well it's true. That it WILL succeed. But FUCK that. FUCK waiting for her to "be ready"! To gather allies and turn from some sheltered little rose, into the warrior we ACTUALLY NEED. It's my world too. I was the one who had to help dig out survivors! Tend to the wounded! Fight off swarms! Hold back the dead!

I...! I was the one who had to LOOK PEOPLE IN THE EYE and... AND-!

B-Because sometimes? SOMETIMES?! Those bites DON'T HEAL. Can't heal! They are filled with so much demonic power, that the only thing they CAN do is corrupt. Fester. Poison. Sometimes you're already DEAD and nothing short of the oh so precious SAINTESS could possibly save you.

But she's not HERE... is she?

So you have a choice.

If you're lucky? It's JUST a limb. A chunk of flesh. But more often then not... well... The lucky ones have time to say goodbye. The unlucky ones get to be twisted and used against their friends. Their family's. And if you care. If you CARE AT ALL? You put them down before that happens.

Because they wouldn't want that.

It... it feeds a HATE in me. An ANGER.

No, that's not right... it's more like? It feeds...

A RAGE.

An ugly, burning thing. That's hollowed out my chest. Wrapped around my bones. Fueled by the memories of every innocent I failed to save. By the fear and the suffering, that just keeps dragging on and on and ON. An endless slog that seems designed to break men down. Destroy us.

I feel like it's killing the humanity in me. The kindness I once had. Like I am burning away everything but purpose. And will have nothing left when I am done. IF I am ever done. It... it used to scare me.

Now I am to angry, too tired, to be afraid.

Let me die. I do not CARE. So long as I TAKE THEM WITH ME. Burn them ALL. My brothers in arms, my sisters of war, those that fight and fight and FIGHT? They feel the same. We didn't fucking WAIT. Refused to watch the slaughter. Gaining ground only to lose it, losing ground only to claw it back.

Holding the line.

We can't actually KILL him. We know that. Only the Saintess can actually fucking END this nightmare. But his monsters? Those still fall too steel. And if we are to die regardless, why NOT in defense of our homes?

We've managed to push a path, deep into the Demonic lands. A spear point to stab the heart of HIS damned empire. We... we can hold it. MUST hold it. At all costs. For that flimsy, weak willed, half trained NITWIT of a child. So when she FINALLY gets off her ass and stops making goo-goo eyes at her trainers? She can come and finish the job.

Then get crowned queen of forever or something.

I don't know, I don't CARE. I'm going to buy some damn chickens. Fill a yard with them. Honor my parents and be the best damn farmer this world has ever SEEN.

Another crash against our shields. Screams as someone's arm breaks. As someone else is savaged through a crack in our barrier, as something probably gives. I slam my spear forward. Vital point. Vital point. Ignore the strain. The way your arm feels like a giant is stepping on it. Like some is trying to rip the shield from your grip. Hold... HOOOOLD!

Go for the eyes. Aim for the throat. Kidneys. Arteries, arteries, heart! The spear is wretched from my grip. I shout for another. Reach blindly, trusting my countrymen. I feel the grip of another one pressed into my hand. I slam my spear forward.

The fight goes on.

For hours.

It was some sort of ape-bear chimera things this time. But bigger and with spikes. No ones quite sure if they're in the "fucked up monstrosities" book yet. I'M certainly too dead on my feet to check. I sit an eat some fucking soup. Mmmmm, rations soup. Technically edible! My favorite flavor.

In the distance, sits the Demon King's fancy ass doom castle.

Any closer? And HE might be inspired to actually "deal" with us. I can't wait for the day it-An explosion of noise from the command tent. Everyone's heads whip around to stare, alarmed. But... but that didn't sound... BAD shouting. It takes us a long, long moment. It had honestly been YEARS since some of us had HEARD such a noise. But...?

W...was that?

Excitement?

I passed off my soup to a newbie. He honestly needed it more anyway. Told him to eat. Then got up and headed for command. Something was happening. As I got close, the flap was all but ripped open. A commander, actually? Smiling!? What the fresh hell?

A commander looking for someone. Spots me. Waves me over and in. I jog over. The tent is practically HUMMING with excitement. And there, on the tabke with the war map? Is an old, OLD dagger. Very... magical girl, in design. Flourishes, sparkling, and lovely dispite being what must be... what, centuries old? Worn to hell and back? What IS that?

It's the weapon of a previous Chosen One.

A Holy Blade.

Holy Shit. HOW. Where?! Where AND HOW!? I thought the royal family snapped all those fuckers up too show off! If not them, the Temple! I'm met with seni-hysterical laughs of disbelief.

A PRIEST stole it.

Nearly DIED doing so. Temple's probably FURIOUS. Gonna come to get it BACK, most likely. We're gonna have to move FAST. We're gonna only get ONE chance at this. I nod. Ready for whatever command needs me to do. Hold off some holy knights? Punch a priest? I'll get... SUPER excommunicated, but? Fuck it. If it saves lives.

No.

No they need me to wield the blade. I'm sorry?? WHAT.

It's apparently Maiden Locked. Fucking... Maidens Only! Got lucky? No holy weapon for you! Married but a virgin? Weaponless! Oh, fffffuck yooooou, creepy perv deities. There are LIVES ON THE LINE, in this, a GOD DAMNED WAR, and you LOCK the import weapons behind "mint condition pu-"!!!

The commander cuts of my, frankly, VERY understandable rant.

Hands on my shoulders. Looks me in the eyes. Will I Do This? I would have to take the knife and sneak behind enemy lines. Into the demon kings castle. And try to get the jump on him. NO ONE would be able to go after me. Help WOULD NOT be coming. If I fail... that's it. Game over. The demons would have me.

I laugh.

It is... not a cheerful sound. Not like it once was.

Is it even a choice? Of course I am. Frankly? I hope it hurts. I hope it's slow. Hurts every second and feels like eons. That he BURNS from the inside out. I'm gonna make him EAT IT.

Waiting until night would be suicide. They get stronger at night. Can blend in to the shadows. But they're cocky. They won't expect an attack just before that. So twilight is when I'll strike. Afternoon, when I head out. I... I leave my gear behind. Say my goodbyes.

I'm not the Chosen One.

Just some farmer's daughter with a grudge.

It don't think I'll be making it back. Don't really expect to even succeed. But by the gods... I plan to HURT him. Every piece we chip away, is one the soul behind us doesn't have to fight. I do this not for me. But for the child who will never know the FEAR that I did.

I will die so they don't have too.

The castle is dark. Humming with power I can FEEL but can not understand. Grand and sweeping architecture. Great windows that should let in far more light then they do. A blood red carpet upon bone white floors. The walls are black. It... some how merely stepping inside, seems to suck all color but red from the world. All heat.

I see no one here.

But I hear whispers.

I tighten my grip around the weapon. The only thing that feels WARM. These hallways are designed to make you feel small, I can tell at a glance. I refuse to give in. I am a farmer. A soldier. I do not CARE about your damn castle! I dig deep into my memories, keeping to the walls, and try to remember where the hero found her foe.

I trace the path in my head. Cut out the lost wandering as best I can. Right slightly, then forward, I think. If I am wrong, I can double back. Follow the book's path exactly. I move slow. As quite as I can.

Still... I find no one.

No servants, no gaurds, no resistance of any kind. Something like fear sighs like a specter down my spine, cold and vague. Something is not right. I do not let down my gaurd... but the longer it persists? The worse my paranoia grows.

Finally. The throne room. Magnificent beyond measure, in blood red and monochrome. Rare touches of gold glint and catch the eye. Stained glass giving it all a surreal scene from high above. The runner at my feet plush enough to render my foot steps silent. It is red... so very, very red.

The Demon King leans against one fist, resting on his throne, magnificent and beautiful like a statue brought to life. Carved of pale ivory and obsidian. Just as feeling as stone. A monster. Living testament that what's inside counts most of all. For inside him? Is nothing but a void. A malicious PIT.

I will see him dead.

On silent feet, I sneak forward. Only to freeze at the foot of the stairs to his dais, my eyes locked on his face. Horror seeps through me.

An amused smirk.

"Oh don't stop NOW, you're so close." Breaks the silence. Golden eyes open, lazy and entertained. "By all means. Try."

My grip on the dagger felt almost painful, for how hard I was gripping it. He... he wasn't even bothering to move. Didn't even see me as a threat. F..Fine. Fine then! If it was a mistake on his part or NOT, I would TAKE IT. Any chance. Any chance at ALL.

The pressure of that gaze felt immense. But I tilted my head up, put my shoulders back, and moved. One step. Then another. Up the stairs. Onto the dais. Forward, slowly. I paused, just beyond his immediate reach. Not that it was anything like real safety. I stared. Shaking. Knowing I was shaking and unable to stop.

He sat splayed. Reclined and leaning against his fist, robes rich and arranged just so. The very picture of indolent decadence. It was deceptive. I KNEW it was. A trap. But to get too him... I had to step closer. My eyes moved from the splay of his legs back up to his face. His smirk had grown teeth. I... I refused to run. I would finish this.

I stepped forward. Between his long legs, feeling distinctly like I was balanced over a bear trap, and lifted the dagger. I refused to hesitate. Wait to see if he changed his mind. I slammed it forward. Right through his heart. Glaring, as I looked him right in the eyes. The blade HISSED. Like acid meeting stone.

He laughed.

Grin full of unhinged glee, a vice in the shape of a hand clamped around my wrist, and the world SPUN. I slammed against the floor, the Demon King straddling me, at the foot of his thrown. He loomed. Behind him, above me, shown a magnificent window the lit him from behind. Like a halo.

"You didn't even HESITATE. You'd rip my heart out, if you could. Wouldn't you?" He says. Almost an whisper, nearly a groan, filthy with something that terrifies me and shouldn't BE there. "I KNEW I sensed something. KNEW you were out there."

I desperately try to push the knife deeper. Use everything I can to... to just-!

All I want... All I NEED? Is to see it come out the fucking OTHER SIDE. Please. Gods, PLEASE! End this! I'm gritting my teeth. Snarling. This BASTARD. I HATE him! I HATE HIM!

"Ah~ That's it, little one." He groans. Not even bothering to hide that he's apparently getting off on this. I'll kill him. I'll FUCKING KILL HIM! "Good~, that's right. Just like that. Give IN~♡ I'll take SUCH good care of you. I've always wanted a little pet. Focus it all on me. Give it ALL to me~"

My brain feels like it's on fire. My lungs filled with ash and flame. I hate. I hate and hate and HATE! I can't think. Something is... wrong? Wrong! The blade hurts to hold. Like it's rejecting me. No. NO! I HAVE TO KILL HIM! I may not be the Chosen One but-!

It finally becomes too much. The pain of holding the blade out weighing my hate. It's like ACID. My hand spasming away like I was trying to touch a hot stove. My palm is an ugly red. Wounded.

In one fluid movement, my wrist is released, the blade pulled free, tossed aside, and my wrist recaptured, before I can claw his fucking eyes out. I grit my teeth. Fangs grinding togeth-... wait.... what?

I stare at my hand.

At the black talon like nails where normal nails were, just this morning. And feel... horror. My... my teeth feel weird. My eyes hurt. Sides of my head too.

"Got you~"

He throws his head back in a triumphant laugh. The sound echoing like a nightmare. Even as I watch, the pigment of my skin is changing. Draining away to something even. Something almost too pale. Unnatural.

"I'm so glad you've decided to join me, darling." My hands are slammed down on either side of my head. His face inches from my. Eyes burning with something terrible. "I haven't had a bride in SO long~ following your progress has been FASCINATING. And now! Oh little thing, I get to KEEP you all to myself. Make you GOOD for me. Learn every inch of you. You should be excited, darling~"

"I'm going to make you a Queen."

[datura-tea]

okey dokey! i just finished the fallout show! some Thoughts under the read more

tl:dr, the (bethesda) fallout vibes were definitely there. i liked it as a show on its own merits but as a part of the series canon... i'm mad, and that anger is kind of overriding the little i liked about it. overall maybe 2.5/5 stars and im being generous

things i liked:

visually, it's stunning - i could see scenes already being made into gifsets - the color grading is pretty good; even in dark scenes i could see and understand what was happening

the sets are soooo good!! costume design was alright too

title cards were fun and cute

they did some interesting stuff with the cultures of both vault 33 and the brotherhood of steel

they used the sound effects from the games :)

i liked the wastelanders!!! big npc and random encounter energy. i kind of want a whole show of just them. for example i love the marketplace and settlement in filly; it feels very lived in

the background characters weren't just young thin able-bodied conventionally attractive white people :) there's so many elders, which i loved!! ma june and barv were cool. i love gruff old lesbians

lucy!!! she was already kind of weird and a little off-putting even in vault 33 ("what's your sperm count" as an opener to the husband she was just arranged married to is WILD) and i like that. she's sweet and bullheaded and surprisingly competent :)

maximus is kind of an ass, but is also a pathetic nerd and brotherhood dickrider who actually doesn't really know anything. kind of a girlfailure

the ghoul was pretty cool too!! i liked him, though more for his prewar story than the one he has post-apocalypse

lucy's brother norman kinda grew on me. "i lack enthusiasm for every job that i do here" so relateable. also short king <3

THE DENTIST THAT BUYS TEETH. never thought that would be a Thing but now that i think about it, it makes sense

the monsters that we have were cool!! wish there had been more of them

MATT BERRY IS IN THIS!! i just really like him so i got excited :))

maximus and lucy's "wanna have sex?" talk LMAO

vault 4's various mutations!!

those giant unwieldy fuckass duffel bags that brotherhood squires lug around hahahhahahaaha

vault 4 and its genetic experiments because its main conceit is that it was ruled by scientists who hybridized humans. it's exactly the right amount of fucked up i want in a vault

i like that the protagonists regularly get captured and eat shit

FRED ARMISEN IS ALSO HERE

haha hacking minigame :) also chatting via terminals (and im assuming pipboys?) is canon now

they're growing crops in the wasteland + bustling trade + livestock + pets yay

robobrain was cute

things i was just ok with:

dane, the they/them brotherhood of steel aspirant who was fucked over so maximus can get their spot as a squire LMAO what a waste of a potentially cool character

IT'S SO FUNNY that there's yodelling whenever the ghoul comes into the scene ????? WHY

fight scenes.... pretty good but someone definitely had the bloody mess perk (i don't do well with gore so ew yucky). also lots of [VATS NOISE]

pipboy was not used as much as i thought it would be

cousin stuff... i get it, i guess in a vault you'd have a lot of cousins and not a lot of choice, so some incest would probably happen

the ghoul being vault boy's inspiration?? not sure what to feel about that tbh

the casual dismemberments... and equally casual attaching of limbs... not even prosthetic limbs.....

the vaulties eating good healthy well-balanced meals. giving out caviar in the welcome basket. kinda 50/50 on it

the vault 31 - 32 - 33 subplot couldve been more fucked up

have brotherhood knights always been celibate or did i miss the memo

there are regular chickens and... deer? for some reason?

the ghoul's design. it's fine in action but mostly it's meh

the vault 4 cult for moldaver

vault 4 as a refuge for shady sands survivors. im mad about it but like. i get it

that guys "elixir" (some altered jet??) fixing everything about thaddeus' foot instantenously AND GIVING HIM HEALING POWERS???

things i did not like:

lucy's plot premise is very much fallout 3 redux

lucy and maximus as a ship is very meh and kind of forced and not compelling. go give us nothing!!!

wilzig's head as a macguffin that everyone is after... ehh kind of just okay as a plot device

also the ghoul randomly eating that other ghoul???

the squire who bullied maximus calls himself fat but he isn't fat?? not even chubby??? hello????? just got a soft face

water chip being fucked feels very fallout 3 also but they kind of dropped it?

they definitely named cooper howard after todd. as tribute probably, which he doesn't deserve

fiend = cannibal now?????

maximus recognizing vault 4 as a cult but not recognizing the brotherhood as one lol

vault tec evil capitalism vs hollywood communists storyline was kind of basic. and bland. and weak

the enclave could've been established + explored better

no geckos or any other west coast-specific monsters

showing me ncr ranger armor when the ncr is gone

ghouls have healing powers?? WITHOUT RADIATION??

things i hated hated hated:

the ghoul needing drugs to combat the Disease That Turns Ghouls Feral

feral ghouls being basically zombies :/

IN EPISODE FIVE. THEY REVEAL. THAT SHADY SANDS. WAS BOMBED. THE ENTIRE NCR. WAS BOMBED. IN 2277. THE YEAR OF THE FIRST BATTLE OF HOOVER DAM

BASICALLY RETCONNED FNV?? IM PUTTING MY EARS IN MY FINGERS AND GOING LA LA LAAAAA

VAULT-TEC DROPPED THE BOMBS ???? BIG MT + MR HOUSE BEING IN ON IT????

THE BIG STUPID FUCKING REVEAL IN EPISODE EIGHT?? THAT THE OVERSEER BOMBED SHADY SANDS BECAUSE HIS WIFE DIDN'T WANT TO GO HOME WITH HIM??? FUCK THAT???

the brotherhood being the main faction of the west coast now. booo!! booo!!!!

the fucking last shot of new vegas being a burnt out husk. probably foreshadowing that hank is going to house's body but. UGH I HATE IT

to summarize: it came out strong! and stumbled hard falling face fucking first at the finish line. i would have liked it a lot more if it did not shit on the west coast as much as it did. because what the FUCK. if it was set literally anywhere else and left the ncr alone i would have liked it more, because on its own, as a self-contained story, divorced from the rest of the fallout series canon, it's not bad!!! it's fun, there's some good bits, it has the ~vibes~ but - and this is a big but - i don't know what it's trying to say. it's all very surface level and the very vague themes i picked up on are not really reiterated in the plot

it's like... the bits that make it fallout are there. vaults. the brotherhood. ghouls. a dog named dogmeat. but there's something lacking. it's like your usual sci-fi post-apocalypse show with a fallout veneer. idk. i like it for what it is but also i hate it for what it's emblematic of. that's all

[ashintheairlikesnow]

ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

-

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

[mara-xx217]

Fear and hunger, like I don't mind monster (? If crow or guard or poket cat) and all but what about Pav from Termina??? :3. ;33

With Pav x reader if you don't mind, like I hope you don't mind me blabbing and all but I imagine Pav got curious and got the attention from reader but they(or she I don't mind) didn't notice and all , Pav be like Mine and he thought after the festival am gonna make them mine or something like that lmao

I've been thinking about him for a while and I've been liking him more and more. So here's some headcanons for him and a fem!reader as the Festival takes place!

Warnings for general Pav toxic-ness and shitty behavior

Day One - Day Two

Pav isn't sure why you have caught his eye. Maybe you remind him of someone from his past, from the village that the Kaiser had raised so long ago. Maybe you were just cute to him, maybe you looked like a particularly easy target to him-

He's got some serious shit to do. He can't be flirting with every dame that he crosses... though it's not like there are many left in Prehevil, or at least those that aren't hideously deformed or raving mad.

Fuck it. He's a dead man and he knows it. Might as well have fun while he still can.

Pav is the most obnoxious courter and he fucking knows it. What better way to get a lady's attention other than to be the loudest, most flamboyant man on the battlefield?

He's kind of vile... Leering at you, catcalling you, whistling like the wolf he is. You didn't know what you were hearing at first, so you pretended as though you couldn't hear him at all. For all you know, it was one of the mad villagers losing their minds.

Being ignored isn't in Pav's style, so he will directly confront you and anyone else that might be in your presence and Gods forbid if there's a lad with you, because he will be squaring up for a fight.

Get used to being called 'his good girl', because that's exactly what he'll call you. Over and over again. Maybe it makes you blush a little... Or maybe your face is red from annoyance and anger. All of it is good for Pav.

"You're so pretty when you are furious with me, radiant one~"

He will threaten you with his gun, regardless of the fact that he has little intention to kill you. It's an extension of his person, as a solider, as a survivor...

Becomes unbelievably frustrated with the fact that you do not engage him like Abella or Marina does. No shouting, no 'fuck you's', no attention given to him whatsoever. What, do you think you're too good for him?!

Maybe you're right-

He can't stick around for long... He'd like to chase your skirt all damn day but he can't. There's... unfinished business he needs to attend to. He can't afford to fuck it up, even for a pretty little woman such as yourself...

Day Two - Day Three

He... failed...?

Waking up on the train, Pav is... disappointed that he is still alive. The shame of failure burns worse than the wound across his chest. He's nearly forgotten you, your face, your nice, nice ass in your pretty little skirt...

He's... surprised that you were on the train with him.

Pav isn't the cocky bastard that you met earlier in the Festival anymore. He's subdued. Quiet, almost... thoughtful. He avoids your gaze and has an expression equivalent to that of a kicked dog.

"How... do you feel?"

"..."

He rolled over and went back to sleep. Daan might have been the one to initially doctor his wounds but you were the one that continued to keep him alive.

Why? Well...

Pav was rather pathetic in your eyes. He was compensating for something, though what you weren't exactly sure of. He was dangerous and worse he was obnoxious.

But he was still human, and learning that he had attempted to assassinate the Kaiser had shifted the feeling of disgust that you had towards him into something more akin to pity.

Pav won't talk to you much. He's a wounded beast and you and him both know that he's due to die at any moment.

But it doesn't really stop you from making the last hours he has left at least bearable... More so than any of his time in the damn Bremen army has ever been.

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine, @memoryofheather, @horny-3

[lvstfv1]

— '' Stop Waiting ,, ♫.*

> re6!aeon

✦ [ the ending we've all needed. ] ✦

✦ [ fluff, angst ] ✦

word count :: 1,428 words

not proofread !

'Let me breathe for once,' she cursed in her mind, the thin leather sticking to her sore legs, reflecting the orange light of the sunset as she struggled to fight for her life; time was running out. She almost had enough. The metal sleeves of machine gun bullets flooded the ground with ringing noises filling the scene along with crackling sounds of the fire caused by this atrocious disaster. Alone yet again, she had to keep going, and so the attacking continued under pressure.

He chanted once again, never ending, like an irritating piece of gum stuck under her heels. "You'll be mine," too bad, she was born in a fucked up world like this one. She was born to live like an independent woman, with the potential to have a powerful yet peaceful job, and a nice living environment with her family in China. In spite of that, only forced to fight for her own peace, and the corrupted world's. The unwanted criticism from everyone pushed her back, but not too far away to fall off the edge.

Just as everyone expected, Ada had no one to rely on. No one at all. The only person that would remember her, would only be those few, most already gone to be remembered. She had thoughts of them, kind of as a motivation to keep her going, knowing that she does not want to lose any more lives she shared a memory with.

She wasn't the easiest to be knocked down, was she? Ada was agile and had inevitable mercenary skills most of her life. She had no one to rely on. That is a constant reminder for her. To remember the fact that she was alone, and at the mean time, the fact that she was a survivor. She had that slight sting in her heart everytime she thought about her lonliness, regardless, she was exceptionally used to it by this age.

Revisiting the situation, a simple spray of bullets removed her from her cloud of thoughts, the fog fading away, and instead, plain darkness right infront of her eyes. Ada was knocked down. Darkness lurked her head, her exhausted form collapsing on the end of the bridge.

Silence filled her ears, only a light ringing inside of her ears.

Who could come and save her? Barely anyone knew her and her true intentions. She was hunted by the BSAA, and a bad reputation diffused amongst the population. Ada wished she had lived a normal life. The only person who could remember her, did. He always had. Not Simmons, not Chris. That someone she had barely hung out with, yet knew the best of her.

"Ada!" That voice echoed in the distance, the unconscious spy laying almost lifelessly on the ground. The man's eyes widened in agony. A bolt out of the blue, Leon never knew she would fall this hard. Fall in what way? Every way. A risky jump from that perished elevator, his partner, Helena watching in anxiety.

'Come on.. get up,' Leon repeated with panic in his mind before actually reaching out, hesitant. "Please be okay," he prayed with his heart, holding onto Ada for dear life as he fired with anger at the sickening monster. She felt it. Emitting warmth, a strong body, at last shielding her body as it absorbed the uninterrupted bullets, rough, thick hands carrying the weight of her delicate body. "Ada.." He muttered with growing fear and hurt.

Come on, Leon. He'd missed out on her his entire life. It wasn't his fault entirely, as Ada distanced herself from Leon, because she knew she could never get his trust back, seeing his growth for almost fifteen years. How? it was just that they suffered that horrendous night in raccoon city together, and since then, they were stuck together. What an event, making two mutual pining folks lingering onto each other's presence for over a decade. It all happened too quick.

Ada could not comprehend the situation. Being as intelligent as she was, a cold joke, seeming to warm up their interaction more. "I was just resting my eyes," Leon thought it was foolish that she tried to build herself back up when he could be the one protecting her now, especially after years with Ada unconditionally being his guardian angel. It was the time for him to repay. Although in the end, we understand their way of loving and who would end up saving each other before one of them leaves again.

Ada had always thought, she was incapable of loving. Growing up in an environment where she had to stay mysterious for her own good, she handled her emotions well, well enough until that night. The thought of hurting Leon projected back to her a little too extremely, exposing that vulnerable side of her that she never even knew had existed. Betraying missions after missions to make it up to him, although he didn't really notice them. Yet, he understood. Leon definitely did.

Simmons, his obsession with Ada only turned her stomach. So many choices she could've picked, why Leon?

As he hung over the edge of the bridge, that hand that just held her getting demolished by the stomach-churning antagonist of the century. "Can't always get what you want, Simmons," a sharpened rod of metal piercing through his cracked body as he fell forward, landing to be wrecked by the vigorous flame. A smirk lingered on the corner of Ada's plump lips, satisfied and relieved.

Leon chased after Ada on the other side of the building as she pulled a smooth getaway, with her grapple hook, that had been durable for ages.

"Ada-" He immediately grabbed her arm firmly, not allowing her to move away, his shiny eyes with a glimpse of hope as his eyebrows locked together.

Her head tilted down as she stopped her movement. She broke the silence with a scoff, full of emotions buried deep under it. "You know I can't stay." Ada finally had a proper response, but the last thing he wanted to hear.

A slight curve on his chapped lips, reminding him of when he pushed Ada away on their second meeting. "Ada-" Leon called out, bluntly blocking her way, his mind full of hope that she would get his meaning. She didn't mind, an intrigued expression on her pretty face. "Hm?" Her arms crossed infront of her chest. She was anticipating.

Hesitation filled Leon's facial expression. It seemed like he was struggling with making the right decision. 'Come on Leon. Haven't you seen what I've done for you for all these years?' Ada's eyes spoke, eyebrows began to close together as the air got denser.

Ada had distanced herself and shut herself down for too long, not begging for his attention yet she beginning her own radiation. Leon was the spark she needed to fill that hole of darkness within her, although, she knew she didn't deserve him at all.

"I don't want to see you for the last time."

His shaky voice seemed to hit a nerve in her body, a strong one. Eye contact was lacking, air stiff and tense, bodies frozen as the world kept quiet around them, only the crackling of the fire could be heard.

They finally made a decision to face each other. 'So cute,' she whispered instinctly to herself. His teary eyes seemed to wetten her own pair too. Leon gulped loudly, holding himself together so he wouldn't shatter like he did as a rookie; although that part of him was still in there, somewhere. Maybe younger three years, but hes a vulnerable puppy at heart, courageous government agent at sight. It was overwhelming for the both of them. How could Ada reject this offer? She wasn't exactly working for anyone now. She didn't have to run away, did she? Her heart was racing, breaking her scale of being the spy she was. It could change their lives, 'it' referring to the decision she had to make after desolated events between them.

A gut wrenching feeling festered within her. Ada never wanted to distance herself away. Lovers was all she wanted to be, despite her distancing away during every interaction between them. She knew what she wanted.

"Mm." She hummed willingly. Not exactly an exciting tone, although she knew damn well how much joy and relief she was in.

Sore and awkward arms wrapped around each other's torso in an instant, tears drenched their shirts. Warmth was spread amongst them, as all that could be heard were their joyous sobs and hearty chuckles.

[sawyer-is-eepy]

as a punk, its the least fucking punk thing to call someone a poser. what 90% of anti-endos want is for endos to stop calling themselves systems (its a medical term) and to get the fuck out of our spaces. calling yourself a system (short for system of alternate states of dissociation) when you dont have did/osdd is ablist. ablism is NOT punk. listen to actual fucking trauma survivors instead of circlejerking every other ablist around

hi, sorry, i've mostly got it okay but i don't have my glasses right now and can't see very well. trying to still type properly but it's a bit hard, so i'm sorry for any typos ! ^^

i get why anti endos are wanting a space thats exclusively for cdd systems, but terms can change and adapt and evolve(and they are!) the thing is, more and more research is being done on endogenic systems and a lot of said studies are referring to endos AS systems. medical studies and such!

plus, not trying to say you're lying or anything because i can't prove you wrong, but i'm, not even entirely sure system was ever ACTUALLY just exclusively for cdds because it's just that previousloy, there was no research on endos so maybe now that more stuff is coming out about them? but if you do have stuff about the original usage of the term i'd be glad to check it out! i

and about your spaces, again i do understand why youd want a space sepcifically for traumagen/disordered systems. but the thing is, a lot of times those spaces completely exclude a lot of traumagen systems ANYWAYS!! yall exclude proendo traumagen, and exclude traumagenic systems that aren't disordered! and because a lot of those spaces have become "haha funny lets just h\ate on endos and fakeclaim a ton of them!" and also putting "proendos dni" on a lot of your posts you exclude anyone who could benefit from resources and/or potential friendships, as well as fakeclaim "real" systems! you create spaces that are filled with hate and anger so people don't feel safe expressing themselves.

tumblr is usually better about fakeclaiming stuff from what i've seen, but literally everywhere else(ESPECIALLY reddit tiktok and yt) are all incredibly hostile toward endos, and often how that manifests itserlf is fakeclaiming literally any system, ever. INCLUDING traumagen ones.

my MAIN issue with anti endos is how yall want a safe space but your spaces are so filled with hate and you consistently bar yourself from actually ever receiving any criticism. you create echo chambers, basically

safe spaces are no5t places for people to post hate without having to get called out. safe places are not for you to go "there's no science to back endos!" and then ignore any attempts to share science behind endos by saying "youre invading our spaces! you broke the dni!"

youre right, ableism is VERY not punk! but you claim to protect trauma survivors when you ignore the proendo traumagens and the endos WITH trauma!! what about the endos who had to go through trauma and want to speak about their trauma but are silenced because its "sCiEnTiFiCaLlY ImPosSiBlE!111!!11" ? what about the traumagenic systems who just waant a space to be able to communicate with other trauma survivors but they arent listened to because they support something else???

you create hateful spaces, we're gonna call you out on that bullshit.

i'm sorry about the endos who invade other tags but i feel like this time it's at least a little justified.

edit: i can see slightly better now so i fixed some of the typing errors. sorry if i still missed any

[soapybutt17]

Coldest Night

Summary: What if your worse nightmare has come to life?

Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Simon "Ghost" Riley. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. John "Soap" MacTavish.

Word Count: 1,702

Chapter Warnings: Angst. Character Death(s). Life threatening injuries. Mentions of blood loss. Mentions of violence. Major Spoiler for MW3.

A/N: To the anon that sent me the request, just know that i know you had good intentions, but i am not over mw3 and what they had done to my boy Soap and now i'm just down right sad again. didn't go into too much detail for soap's part cuz the wound is still fresh and my boy did not deserve what happened to him. :'(

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Request are Open || Join My Taglist

John “Soap” MacTavish

The day that you had learned Soap was KIA, you had fallen to your knees in the middle of the base and had sobbed your heart out. Johnny had always had a special place in your heart. Out of the three, you had worried about Soap the most knowing how his tendency to act brashly had ended with him more injured than he needed to be.

You mourned his death worse than anyone else in the base. You were the one that had to make the call to his family, letting them know about Soap’s passing. How it had been so hard for you to hold the tears as you listened to his parents crying through the other line. You still held a level of professionalism as you explained to his family the next step that was needed to be taken and you would be helping them all throughout wherever they may need you.

Early on, a part of you would begin to blame each and every single one of the boys. They had made a promise to you that they would keep an eyes on each other. But they broke it, you had unfortunately displaced most of your anger towards your husband, who’s already filled with guilt knowing Soap had died under his command, Soap had died saving him from Makarov.

But slowly but surely you began to heal, learning that you should not have blamed anyone of the boys for what has happened—especially your husband. The man was already plagued with his own guilt, Survivor’s guilt as the therapist you had forced all three of them to take had explained. You had your own guilt, knowing if only you had been there for the mission, you could have made difference. But at the end of the day, there was no use thinking of the what ifs. It was about learning to move on.

It was in Soap’s death that you and your husband have decided to retire. The fear of having to lose either Gaz or Ghost haunted you both. It was no a decision either of you would be willing to make any longer. You couldn’t in your conscious allow another meaningless death because of a war be on either of your hands.

Even as the years has passed since Soap’s death, you had never forgotten the man and all the memories that you had shared with him in your time as part of the Taskforce. You were still mourning just as much as your husband, but it was slowly but surely getting better. It had also become your mission of constantly checking up on the two boys, proud that they’ve gotten themselves promoted as Captain and Lieutenant respectfully. They had both deserved it, more than either of them would believe, Soap would have been their number one support should he still been alive to witness it all.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

“Don’t you fucking die on me, Riley!”

Even as hard as you try to keep the wound covered, Simon was losing so much blood that you were slowly but surely doubting if he would be able to make it. It was stupid of him to take the bullet to save you. Completely and utterly stupid of him to do this to you now when he finally has a life to live.

“You deserve to live, you’ve got the Captain and the little princess waiting for you back home.” Simon gasp, even as hard as he tries to be strong, pain was very well written on his masked face.

Your hands dug further onto his stomach where the bullet wound resides. All of your medical training has faded from your mind as panic continued to settle. Tearing your sleeves off, you placed it onto his stomach, hoping it would add to the gauze stopping the wound from bleeding further out.

“You fucking deserve to live too.” You snapped, radioing back up again. A single tear was shed as you were given an ETA of an hour.

Simon might not make it in an hour.

“I want you to promise me something, Rookie.” He coughed, his shaking hand slowly pulled off his mask revealing his pale face, and blood loss was slowly but surely manifesting. “Promise me that you’ll bury me in my home town, not as Ghost, but as Simon Riley.”

You sobbed, knowing what his request had entailed. His past that had once haunted him all throughout his life and his career. He was ready to leave it all behind and live and die finally as the man behind the mask.

“Bury me with me Mum and brother.”

“Okay.” You nod, sobbing now as he clasped onto your hands pulling it away from the wound on his stomach.

“Thank you for being the Mum I thought I could never have again.” He whispered cupping your cheeks with his bloodied hand before his hands fell and his eyes closed.

Death had taken him from you and all you could do was sob, shaking him awake, ignoring the voice of your husband and the rest of the team that had grown concern that your sobs would notify their enemies of your whereabouts, but it truly didn’t matter. You’ve lost Simon, your boy. The man that you had loved like he was your own, and the man you had promised your husband to protect when you had agreed to go on this mission with him.

You had failed Simon, just as much as you had failed to keep your promise with John. You would never see yourself ever stepping back onto a mission again after this. You had vowed to yourself never to because of it.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

“How is he?”

It’s been three days of no sleep for you. You had refused to leave the confinements of the cold plastic chair that was situated outside of the hospital room where Kyle was in. No one, not even your husband could coerce you into leaving your place outside of the room.

John, Soap, and Simon had begun taking turns in giving you food, coffee, or change of clothes. But nothing could truly make you leave your position until you were sure that Kyle was stable and as far away from any sorts of danger.

But you should have expected something like this to happen. A mission gone wrong would always end with someone getting compromised. You were thankful that it was just an injury—as severe as it had been for the past few days, it was better than dealing with a funeral and paper works that come along with it.

You were still shaken up after you’ve been notified that Kyle was compromised. You dropped everything and made your way here in the hospital. All thoughts of work and your obligations were placed in the backburner until you were certain he was going to be alright.

“Stable.” The Doctor’s single word had washed all the relief onto your body. It was all you needed to know.

“Damages?” You inquired.

“Broken collar bone and hairline fracture to the skull, but they will heal. What I want him to focus more on is healing the few bullet wounds to the stomach he dealt with. We were able to remove most of the bullets and fragments, but we will not be certain about any underlying damage until after he wakes up.”

You nod. In the years of knowing Kyle, you know he would be able to get back from this, but knowing the damages that he had to endure because of this mission, there was this fear that just doesn’t seem to leave you. What if there was something wrong that would change his life in a way that no one would help him with.

“When will he be able to wake up then?”

“When he is good and ready.”

You nodded, thanking the doctor for the update. Slumping back onto the chair, you sighed resting your face onto your hand. Only now did you feel the fatigue and lack of sleep finally get to you.

“How are you holding up, Darling?”

Looking up, the sight of your husband was a welcome comfort for you in this very moment. He sat beside you with his arm immediately wrapping around your shoulder. Only now did you also come to realize the shiver that run through your body at the lack of coat.

“Better than Kyle is.” You muttered.

“He’s gonna be alright.” John’s reassurance did nothing to you in the moment, but you held onto it still. Every single reassurance that was given to you, you would take.

“I hope so,” You muttered. “He was supposed to be on drill duties next week.” You hoped a little humor could ease away your worries.

“And he still will when he wakes up.” John reassured with a chuckle. “I’ll make sure of it, My Love.”

“What if he doesn’t come out of this the same way?”

“Then we will help him adjust to the civilian life should it be the choice he makes for himself.” He answered immediately. “We will not know for sure, but whatever happens, it is our duty and our responsibility to make sure all three of those Muppets are well taken care of whether they still work for us or not.”

You nodded understanding very well what he was trying to say.

“I just can’t stop worrying about him. I don’t know how he’s doing right now and what he’s feeling.”

“I worry about him too.” John admits sighing. “But we will resolve nothing if all we do is worry about him and the other two.”

You nodded. Only now did you realize that for the past few days, your husband had allowed you the time to take it all in. How one member of your team being compromised as Kyle was right now would not be the first time that it would happen and you were certain it would not be the last.

You had your duty just like John did. With Kyle now in the clear, it was only time for you to regroup and deal with the mess you’ve left behind in the base.

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 24

read on ao3! (117k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 4.9k

Chapter 24: 'Safe and Sound'

Juliet's POV:

“Horses” 

The word left Juliet’s mouth in a strangled whisper, and it would have been lost in the wind if Joel hadn’t been standing so close. His head shot up, instantly recognising the shapes moving rapidly towards them.

“Get behind me,” he roared, gripping her arm and twisting Juliet behind him. It all happened so fast, she didn’t even have time to argue. Joel’s protectiveness was ingrained within him, whether Juliet liked it or not. 

To her right, Ethan started to pull out his gun but Juliet shook her head. This time, Ethan listened to her quiet warning and slowly released the gun back into his pocket. He held her frantic gaze for another couple moments before facing forward again. 

Within seconds, they were surrounded. Joel started to move in different directions, desperately  trying to pull Juliet out of the way. But the horses, and the people on them, covered every escape angle. They were trapped. 

Ethan stumbled closer to her as the horses continued to herd them together. Juliet’s head whipped around, her hair flying around her face. Her heart was thumping against her chest, terror sparked in every vein. She wanted to pull Joel behind her, to protect him instead. But there was no time. 

“We ain’t lookin’ for any trouble,” Joel called when the horses stopped moving, and the men upon them pulled out their guns. Slowly, he released Juliet’s arm and raised his hands in front of him. Juliet did the same, with Ethan following their movements. 

“We’re just passin’ through,” Joel continued, keeping his voice clear and steady. 

“Drop the guns!” one of the men shouted back. 

Ethan scrambled for the gun in his pocket and Juliet cringed, terrified that they would read his quick movements as a threat. Carefully, Joel slid the gun out of his back pocket and bent to the ground, placing it on the grass with one hand still raised. Joel was obviously familiar with this kind of situation.

They didn’t ask for her gun. Sexist, fucks, Juliet thought. 

But she wasn’t ignored. One of the men spotted her, his eyes narrowing. “You,” he barked, gesturing with the gun in his hand. “Take five steps back.”

Joel stiffened and Juliet stopped breathing. If she moved, what were they going to do to Joel? He didn’t dare turn around, but Juliet noticed his body start to angle towards her. She stared at the back of his head, watching as the breeze rustled through his hair and tried to calm her racing heart. 

“How ‘bout we just talk this through?” Joel reasoned, raising his voice.

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up?” the man instantly replied, impatience coating his words. Juliet could feel a pulse of anger building under her skin, but she knew when it was time to back down. 

“Okay, easy,” she relented, stepping backwards away from Joel and closer to Ethan.

Joel’s head whipped around. His eyes were wide and blazing. Juliet just nodded, letting him know she was okay, that they would get through this. They had done it before, together. They would do it again. 

“You been near infected?” the man demanded, tightening his hand around his gun. 

“There’s no infected out here,” Joel ground out when his stare returned forward. Juliet could hear the deep frustration in his voice; the crushing fear of not knowing how to get out of a situation. Juliet played a million scenarios over and over in her head, trying to figure out who to shoot but there were so many of them. 

“The hell there ain’t,” argued the assumed leader of the group. 

As Juliet shifted her stance, the wind attacked again. This time, the gust blew against her open jacket, lifting the flannel shirt beneath it. The cold wind was biting and her skin instantly pebbled. But that wasn’t what caused a chill of horror to spread across her body. 

The man on the horse closest to her perked up, lifting his gun higher. “This one’s injured!,” he called, alarm shining on his face. His horse responded to his panic, rearing up with a strangled whine. 

Juliet dropped her hands to hover over her stomach, where the thick bandage, once hidden behind her flannel, was now exposed. She didn’t dare touch it, though. She didn’t dare draw more attention to it. Instead, Juliet bit down on the inside of her cheek and steeled herself for a fight. If they thought she was infected, none of them were getting out of here alive. 

There must have been at least ten men, saddled on horses, surrounding them, and every one of them turned their weapons on her. Blood rushed in Juliet’s ears, drowning out the sound of her ragged breaths. 

“Wait,” Joel bellowed, raising his hands higher. Juliet wasn’t sure, but it looked like there was a slight tremble to his fingers. “There’s no infection,” he insisted, his voice desperate. “Just a burn.”

Despite her terror, Juliet flinched at the reminder. 

Beside her, Ethan was frozen, staring at Juliet’s stomach with an open mouth. Juliet squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the bullet which would finally end her life. But it didn’t come. Instead, she heard the strange, sudden sound of barking and growling. Blinking rapidly, her eyes settled on a dog being led by one of the men. 

“If you’ve been infected, he will smell it and he will rip you up,” cautioned the man, still aiming his gun towards Juliet. “Last chance for a bullet,” he taunted.

Juliet wasn’t infected but it didn’t stop the instinct to run from gripping her mind. But she didn’t. She steadied her feet, raised her hands in front of her again and let her eyes fall closed. Maybe if they realised she wasn’t infected they would let them go. There was no land to fight over, they had just been passing through. Juliet repeated those thoughts over and over again as the dog drew closer. Its snarl was vicious and bloodthirsty, she could imagine its teeth ripping into her skin, damaging her already frail body beyond repair. 

Seconds passed. 

The snarls stopped.

Juliet opened her eyes, slowly with intense caution, and looked down. At her feet sat the dog, completely changed from the ferocious beast she had built up in her mind. It looked up at her with big brown eyes, panting softly. Juliet let out a shaky breath and looked to Joel. 

The horror hadn’t left his face. 

“You just bought yourself ten more seconds,” the leader reluctantly announced, shifting to lower his gun slightly. “What are you doin’ out here?” 

Joel turned back around. His anger was showing now, Juliet could tell in the way he titled his head and adjusted his stance. “I’m just lookin’ for my brother,” he answered in a cold, dark voice. “That’s all, nothin’ more.” 

Ethan was the first to notice when a horse, and its rider, from the back of the group moved forward. His hand went to his pocket, hovering over his gun. Juliet caught his eye, before focusing on the new threat. 

But this rider was different. It was a woman. She had dark skin and dark hair, almost hidden behind a scarf raised above her mouth and a hat similar to the ones worn by the men. As she made her way to the front of the group, the rest of the men sat up straighter, following her with their eyes. Juliet had been wrong… this was their leader. 

Juliet stood up straighter herself, adjusting her shoulders and holding her breath again. The inside of her cheek had started bleeding with the force of her bite, but she swallowed it down, letting the hot metallic taste ground her. 

When she reached the front, the rider focused entirely on Joel. Even from beneath the rim of the hat, Juliet noticed the way her eyes scanned Joel up and down. “What’s your name?” she demanded. 

“Joel,” he replied after a moment, confusion bleeding into his tone. 

The woman’s eyes widened, and she turned behind her towards the rest of her men, nodding slowly. The men instantly lowered their guns. 

Juliet gasped in surprise, her eyes shooting to Ethan. He looked at her in shock, eyebrows raised as his eyes darted between Juliet and the woman on the horse. 

As Joel lowered his hands, Juliet realised what was happening. 

She knew his brother. She knew Tommy. 

…………………………………………..

Juliet rode into Jackson with her arms wrapped tight around Joel and her fingers curled around the front of his shirt. 

They shared a horse, surrounded by the men and the woman they found was called Maria. Ethan was behind them on his own horse. Juliet tried to share with one of the other men but Joel just grunted, wrapped his strong hands around her waist and lifted her onto his horse, careful to avoid brushing against her still healing wound. 

As they journeyed closer to the town where Tommy apparently lived, Juliet leaned closer into Joel until her face was flush with his back. Despite the chill, Joel was a furnace and Juliet allowed herself to sink into the comfort of their close proximity. The shock of knowing that Tommy was truly alive, and not just a symbol of Joel’s hope, was overwhelming.

Juliet tried not to let her fear paralyse her, but they were headed into an unknown situation with unknown people who had unknown motivations. As they closed in on Jackson and the sight of the tall, forboarding fence came into view, Juliet felt her skin begin to crawl. Her fingers curled tighter around Joel’s shirt and she pressed her face deeper into his back.

She didn’t want to hide or bury her head in the sand. This wasn’t her father’s community. Juliet knew that. But the fence looked so similar, and the dread that settled deep in her gut felt so familiar. 

Joel must have felt her body’s response to their surroundings as he turned his head to the side, and brushed the side of his jaw against the top of her head, the best he could while riding the horse. Juliet would have smiled and her heart would have skipped a beat if she were anywhere else, or anyone else, but his touch still helped to ground her. Joel was with her. They would be okay. Everything was okay. 

Juliet kept her head pressed against Joel’s back as the gate opened with several shouted orders and their group gradually entered the town. Juliet expected Jackson to be cloaked by a heavy silence where the only sounds that dared reach above a whisper were old windchimes and the cries of hungry babies. In her father’s community, no one was vocal in their joy, not that there was any joy to be felt in those dark, ghostly streets. 

But in Jackson, there was laughter. 

Juliet opened her eyes and pulled back from Joel’s warmth, blinking slowly. Surely she imagined the sound. Laughter was rare in this world, so rare in fact that she couldn’t remember the last time a laugh left her own mouth. But sure enough, when Juliet’s eyesight cleared, she looked around and saw children outside wooden buildings, huddled in warm coats with pink rosy cheeks and bright smiles to match their giggles. 

Juliet’s clenched fingers loosened as shock coursed through her. Her brain couldn’t keep up with the wonders she witnessed - couples walked by holding hands, staring up at their group, waving to the man who almost shot her only an hour ago. No one had a haunted look on their face, no one had dark purple circles under their eyes, no one cringed when they heard the horses approach. They did stare, however, at Juliet, Joel and Ethan, but not out of fear. Rather, the residents looked surprised, and intrigued. Some even smiled at Juliet as they passed. Juliet was too shocked to return the gesture, she wasn’t even sure if she could anymore. 

As they made their way down what appeared to be the main street, Juliet sat up straighter and turned her head back and forth to take everything in. There were so many people and everyone had a job and a goal, there were little projects going on everywhere she looked. Some men piled firewood, some cut the firewood. There were groups of children being led by what appeared to be a teacher. Juliet had been too young to experience it, but from the books she’d read, this must have been what the old world was like. 

Moments later Joel pulled the reins on the horse, halting it immediately. Juliet’s eyes shot to the back of his head, then whipped around them to search for danger, for whatever had spooked him. But after an achingly long second, she realised that he was entirely transfixed on someone across the street, standing on a platform held up by scaffolding…

“Tommy!” 

Joel’s call was almost frenzied. His hands were cupped around his mouth as he released his brother’s name, numbly claiming his attention like a man in a trance. Before Juliet could react, Tommy turned and Joel slid off the horse, hitting the ground with a thump. But Joel wasn’t caring, he just started jogging; his steps were off balance and frantic until he reached his brother and captured him in a bear hug. 

Juliet’s mouth dropped open. Joel’s show of affection was sudden, intense and completely unrestrained. From her view on the horse, she swore he was shaking. The brothers gripped each other with a desperation she felt she had to look away from. It was too intimate, too personal for her to witness. From just one interaction, Juliet could tell how deep their bond ran; how thick their shared blood flowed. 

She glanced at Ethan, who had stopped his horse beside her own. He watched Joel and Tommy with an unguarded, wistful expression. Juliet felt her eyes begin to fill with tears as she glanced back at the embracing men. There wasn’t much to celebrate anymore, but this reunion was a glimmer of light in a sea of darkness. He’s done it. Joel had really done it. He’d found his brother, against all odds. 

“What the fuck you doin’ here?” Tommy asked when they pulled apart, a huge grin splitting his face. He had an accent like Joel, thick in a warm southern drawl. 

Joel released a weighted breath, his hands were still gripping his brother’s shoulders. “I came here to save you,” he answered with a laugh while looking around, as though realising how unnecessary his concern was. 

Juliet watched this interaction with the hit of a smile approaching her mouth and tears glistening in her eyes. As the brothers leaned in for another hug, Juliet found Ethan’s eyes again. He smiled at her. It was a small smile, nervous but hopeful. As a tear rolled down her cheek, Juliet allowed her mouth to curve in response, matching his gentle gesture with one of her own. They still hadn’t spoken of the words they had thrown like daggers at each other only the night before, but their matching smiles called a truce. 

As they sat on their horses, watching Joel and Tommy embrace, Juliet wondered if maybe there was still space for joy in the world. Maybe here in Jackson, she would find it.

……………………………………………

Getting off the horse was harder than getting on. For starters, Joel was preoccupied, so Juliet had no one to lift her down. And the strain of their bumpy ride had aggravated her wound, sending sharp bolts of pain across her entire stomach. Juliet groaned under her breath as she attempted to twist her body, holding tight to the saddle. 

She had one leg off the horse when Joel caught her.

His hands wrapped around her ribs, pulling her back down against his chest as he eased her other leg off the saddle. Juliet’s body electrified as it slid down the front of Joel’s. When her feet were planted firmly on the ground, a flush had consumed her entire face. It was maddening how comfortable Joel now was with touching Juliet. Where, for years working beside each other, Joel would flinch back anytime she drew near. Now, he struggled to step away from her. 

Juliet blew out a breath and turned, separating herself from Joel. She looked up at him, marking the openness of his expression and the way his eyes widened as he let his gaze drift down to his hands which still hovered around her waist. Joel released a long breath and straightened, turning his head just as Tommy and Ethan approached. 

Juliet quickly took another step back, widening the gap between herself and Joel, and willed her burning cheeks to cool. 

“Who’s this?” Tommy asked as he stopped beside Joel, gesturing towards Juliet with a tilt of his head.

Now that he was close, Juliet could finally get a good look at him. His hair was longer than Joel’s and darker, almost devoid of any grey hairs. Tommy was obviously younger but he held himself with an authority which expanded beyond his years. 

Juliet looked to Joel and then to Tommy, waiting for an introduction. But Joel looked speechless, his lips had parted and the muscles in his throat moved as though he was desperately attempting to speak but just couldn’t. 

When Joel continued to say nothing, Juliet stepped forward and reached a hand towards Tommy. “Juliet,” she said. Tommy blinked, staring down at her hand, before grasping it firmly with his own. “And that’s Ethan,” she continued, pointing behind Tommy once they let go. Tommy turned, greeting Ethan with a nod and a tight smile. 

“Well, you’ve been busy,” Tommy marvelled, eyeing Joel. 

Joel’s stare had locked on Juliet again. At the sound of Tommy’s voice, he shifted his stance and curled his hands into fist. Gone was the joyous reunion, gone was Joel’s soft side. His cold stare and tense features had returned. 

“She needs a medic,” Joel muttered in a low voice and Juliet stiffened, her eyes cutting to his vacant face. She was injured, yes. But her burn was healing fine, she didn’t need anyone to look at it. 

“Joel -” she attempted to interrupt, but his hand snatched her wrist, sealing her protest back within her. Juliet gasped as her eyes instantly caught sight of his scarred fingers curled lightly around the sleeve of her jacket.  

Tommy followed her gaze, focusing on his brother’s hand with raised eyebrows before he cleared his throat and nodded at Joel. 

“We can do that. Follow me,” he said with a hint of confusion in his voice as he turned and began to head along the main street. Ethan walked beside him, already attacking Tommy with questions about the town. 

Joel’s fingers slid from her arm and he gestured for her to follow the men, but Juliet held her ground, staring up at Joel with a furrowed brow. “Why’d you do that?” she hissed.

Joel rolled his eyes and began walking, running a hand over the bottom of his face. Juliet released a frustrated groan and rushed to catch up the best she could.

“I’m fine, I don’t need anyone poking and prodding at me,” she continued as they walked together. 

After a long moment, Joel sighed. “You’re not fine,” he maintained. 

“But -” 

“I don’t wanna hear it. You’re gettin’ that burn looked at and that’s the end of it,” he ground out slowly, with such force to his voice that Juliet struggled to come up with another argument. 

Instead, she resigned herself to silence; admitting defeat. She knew that Joel was just being protective and she didn’t resent that. But the thought of someone seeing what her father had done to her… a cold sweat broke out along the back of her neck as she swallowed rough. 

………………………………

The medic’s office was a small wooden building near the end of the main street, before the town descended into rows and rows of houses. They had passed a bar on their way and what looked to be some sort of community centre. With each building they passed, Juliet’s mind flashed back to her father’s town and the memories still housed in her mind of her own experiences in such similar buildings. But they weren’t similar. Not really. When they had passed the bar, there weren't just stone-faced old men who licked their lips as she passed, as though she was some sweet, illicit treat that they could never touch. No, in Jackson’s bar there was singing. As they walked by, she looked in and saw a group of men and women huddled close, gripping their glasses and singing some old country song. 

Another wistful smile grew on her face at the sight. Until they reached the medic’s office. Then her smile twisted, darkening until all that remained was a scowl.

As Joel pushed through the door, a rush of heat from the fireplace in the corner hit Juliet in the face, worsening her already burning body. Her fingers began to tremble and she had to push them against her trousers to stop the shake. Then Joel closed the door behind her, sealing them in. 

“Charlotte!” Tommy called, as he rubbed his hands together over the fire. 

Juliet nearly flinched at the sound but calmed when she felt Joel’s presence behind her. A long breath released from between her teeth as she clenched her jaw. 

The room was fashioned into a waiting space, with multiple arm chairs dotted around. Ethan fell into one of them, sighing as his body relaxed beside the fire. Juliet almost laughed at the sight. Ethan always was the confident one. Despite spending his entire life in one town, Juliet was unsurprised that he adapted so quickly to another. 

“Tommy? That you?” a sweet voice replied from one of the back rooms and a woman appeared. She was young, around Juliet’s age or maybe a little older. She was tall, too, with long blonde hair gathered in a tight bun at the top of her head. She wore a long grey cardigan which she wrapped around herself as she stepped into the waiting room. “Thought I heard your voice,” she laughed, then her eyes widened at the sight of three strangers filling the room. “Wanna introduce me?” 

Tommy chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he nodded to Joel. “This here’s my brother, Joel,” he said, his voice still coated in shock, as though he was still processing the fact that his brother actually stood in front of him. Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. 

“Juliet and Ethan,” Tommy added after a moment. Ethan lifted his chin towards Charlotte and Juliet gave a small wave. She felt awkward, Juliet couldn’t remember the last time she introduced herself to someone who wasn’t actively trying to kill her. 

“Charlotte’s an excellent doctor. She’ll sort you out,” Tommy said softly to Juliet, smiling gently. Juliet swallowed and steeled herself. Maybe Charlotte wouldn’t ask questions, maybe she’d just clean her burn and leave Juliet without reopening the aching wound in her soul. “Doctor’s assistant,” Charlotte corrected with a good-natured eye roll, then started walking backwards, turning towards one of the backrooms. “This way!” she called behind her in a far too chipper voice.

Juliet blew out a breath, rolled her shoulders and followed after her without so much as looking at the hulking man behind her. 

………………………………………………………

Juliet lay on a low table, padded with a thick blanket. But she could barely feel the fabric beneath her. Joel’s jacket and her flannel shirt lay on a chair in the corner of the room, leaving her top half exposed as she shivered on the examination table. The heat from the fire didn’t quite reach the room she was in and goosebumps formed over her skin.

After she had rubbed something on her hands, Charlotte walked over carefully, as though she knew not to make sudden movements lest she risk startling Juliet.

“Relax,” she soothed. “Just gonna take a look at this,” Charlotte explained in a quiet voice as her fingers reached for the stained bandage covering the majority of Juliet’s stomach.

Juliet’s muscles locked up and she drew in a sharp breath, but Charlotte still hooked her fingers under the bandage and pulled, carefully releasing the adhesive. Then there was silence.

Juliet squeezed her eyes shut tight. Shame fell over her like a dark veil. She didn’t dare take another breath. Juliet just waited for Charlotte to cover her burn or run out the room in disgust. But neither happened. Instead, Juliet listened as the doctor’s assistant tugged over a chair and sat down beside Juliet’s shivering body.

What had happened to her bravery? Juliet could take down men twice her size but couldn’t handle her wound being looked at? She wanted to shake herself. 

“You know,” Charlotte said, interrupting Juliet’s racing thoughts. 

Juliet blinked, opening her eyes to stare at the white ceiling. She didn’t have it in her to meet the woman’s eyes just yet. 

“When I got to Jackson, I couldn’t speak.”

Surprise shot through her. Charlotte seemed so energetic and confident, she struggled to imagine a more timid, mute version of her.

“I had seen too much when I was too young and I wasn’t able to talk about it. So, I just stopped talking altogether,” she continued, her voice cracking on the last word. “It hurt too much, to try to describe what had happened to me. And I didn’t think I’d ever find the words.”

Juliet listened intently, hanging onto every word as the goosebumps began to fade from her skin. 

“Then I met Doc, and I found out I had a knack for medicine,” she said with a laugh. “I thought that maybe if I could help other people like me, people who’ve seen things too dark to talk about, then maybe I wouldn’t feel so shit about myself,” she explained, looking down.  

Charlotte let her words hang in the air before she continued. 

“So I’m not gonna ask you about the brand on your stomach, or the bullet wound on your shoulder. Because I know you’re not ready to talk about it,” Charlotte added. Her voice was firmer now, more purposeful. 

“But when you are, know that I’ll be here to listen,” she declared, then stood, pushing back the chair and moving over to a table against the wall lined with various jars and boxes.

Juliet hadn’t realised that she’d started crying, dripping warm tears onto the blanket around her face. Her cheeks burned but her embarrassment had eased. Rather, she felt like a spotlight had been placed over her deepest, darkest fears and insecurities and Charlotte was inspecting them with a microscope.

But she wasn’t afraid anymore. Juliet knew that she wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened to her. 

Like Charlotte, she just didn’t have the words yet. 

Juliet cleared her throat and inhaled a deep breath and, as the air rushed from her lungs, she felt her anxiety dissipate.

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

Charlotte just nodded with a small smile when she walked back into view, a fresh bandage in her hand. 

……………………………………………

When Charlotte had finished and Juliet had changed back into her clothes, carefully pulling on Joel’s jacket and inhaling that smoky pine scent, she headed to the door. Juliet turned, nodding at Charlotte before gripping the handle and opening the heavy wooden door.

Without looking, Juliet stepped through the entryway and into a hard wall. Her hands instantly reached up in front of her, shielding her face from crushing against it.

But it wasn’t a wall.

“Joel?” she murmured when she realised what had happened, blinking up at him as she tried to take a step backwards. Joel was faster, though. Before she could move, Joel had circled his hands around her upper arms and tilted her body back until he could see her face. 

His eyes were black as they scanned every inch of her expression. What he was searching for, she didn’t know. But her skin burned all the same. 

Then his hand reached up and his rough thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away the single tear that remained on her skin. The line in between Joel’s eyebrows deepend and Juliet watched as his jaw clenched.

The look in his eyes plunged Juliet back to that night at the gas station, when the rain had poured down around them but all Juliet could focus on was the heat from Joel’s fingers as they caressed her face. 

God, that felt like years ago. Joel had looked so angry back then, so full of rage and resentment towards her. But now, she realised that his dark look was hiding his terror. He had been worried about her. 

Warmth spread around her body when she finished reading the expression on his face. Juliet would have to get used to his deep-rooted protectiveness. 

She wondered what would happen to them if they ended up staying in Jackson, where threats were limited. What would happen to that fire that simmered between her and Joel? Would it burn out or spread until it costumed everything in its wake? 

As she traced the lines on Joel’s face with her frenzied gaze, and watched as his throat moved in response, Juliet realised she already had her answer.

______________________

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby @http-paprika @weeping-werewolf

[ranna-alga]

I think about this conversation between Ellie and Tommy in TLOU2 a lot, particularly this line, because what if it was Ellie that died instead of Joel?

(Disclaimer: this text will make absolutely zero sense probably since I put very little thought into it and there are likely some plot holes. You can choose to dislike it or not but this is all hypothetical so let me have my depressingly whimsical wonders here)

Imagine it this way: Joel's death scene pretty much plays out the same way as it does canonically, except that the roles are reversed: Joel is the one who is pinned down and forced to watch Ellie be brutally murdered in front of him. Perhaps, in whatever way, Abby's group discover that she's The Immune Girl™ that Joel killed almost the entire Saint Mary's hospital for - the reason why Abby's father was murdered. If she's here, and is still as close with Joel as Abby may assume, then he couldn't be that far (say that members of the group saw Joel and Ellie moving together for a while before taking separate directions for whatever reason or something). The plan was to originally kill Joel, but Abby can't help but think: why do they get to live a picture-perfect life with each other as father and daughter, when he was the one who robbed me and my actual father of that life and she was the reason my father was in that position in the first place? How can he commit the sin and live without consequence after? Knowing that Joel would be looking for Ellie, the attack on her would start and continue even when Joel finds her and is made to watch - a sort of 'you took away the thing I cared about the most in this world, so now I will do the same to you and make you feel the pain I felt' message to Joel from Abby.

This would have been the second time he watched his daughter die. The second time he lost the one thing he lived for. The second time he's failed - as a protector, as a survivor, as a father. He had only four years with her, two of which was lost due to her anger towards him for what he did at Salt Lake City. And only the night before her murder did she confide in him about possible forgiveness, only for that to be taken from him? For her to be taken from him? After everything he did for her to ensure her safety, even if it meant the cost of her trust in him. Every part of him that died alongside Sarah was brought back to life slowly but surely thanks to this girl who stole his heart in only one year after two decades of being an empty shell of violence and resentment towards the world and himself.

His biggest fear came true - losing Ellie, failing her too - and it happened right in front of his eyes, just like Sarah.

Remember when it was heavily implied that both Tommy and Joel had a very violent and vicious past during the early years of the apocalypse where they were their darkest selves? Joel would have likely reverted back to that in this scenario. Absolutely nobody in Seattle will be safe. That man would turn that militarised city into a fucking ghost town, no doubt about it.

As for Tommy... Would he have been the same? Would he also want vengeance for Ellie as much as Joel did? Or would the pain of having another niece die + watching his brother descend into bloodlust and resentment again be simply too much to bare? Could he tolerate losing his brother and not get him back this time ever again?

It took twenty years after Sarah's death to find solace in life thanks to Ellie. He can't wait another twenty for another one - he can never go back, never again. He failed to save the lives of those he cared for (Sarah, Tess, Sam/Henry) and he feared the same for Ellie. But at least they made it into Jackson, their new home, alive and safe. But now? What more does he have to live for? How much more stronger would his self-hatred become for failing again and again and again where he can no longer see the light Ellie brought to him?

Knowing now that the surgeon he killed was Abby's father, he probably thinks it was an error to kill him instead of just knocking him out so that this WLF ambush costing Ellie's life wouldn't happen. But one thing he's certain he doesn't regret? Dooming humanity of a cure, because taking both of his daughters away from him proved Joel's decision to save Ellie from the Fireflies: to him, humanity didn't deserve to be saved, not anymore.

TLDR; I may be aromantic asexual but I'm still a proud Joel Miller simp who loves the thought of Joel in the bloody Santa Barbara appearance Ellie had in the canon TLOU2. No shame.

[midnightanxietytm]

Hello! This is the same asker who requested for the Lion Narinder hurt/comfort. I hope you have been doing fine. So, do you take more than one request from the same person? I would like to do so, if you don't mind. My request, if you choose to take it:

Sheeps, were traditionally taught to sing since they were wee lambs, but ever since the Bishops started to hunt them down, the tradition of singing has been sparse, but in return, as defiance, the Sheeps instead start to sing their last song, a funeral requiem, as they go down swinging, refusing to be silenced without a fight. So the Lamb, survivor of the last pocket resistance, would hear their guardians voices for the last time too be singing as they fight a doomed fight against the Bishops's followers as they were escaping.

When they were resurrected as a Vessel for Death, they sing a lot during their crusades, especially when they're near death. Narinder is especially intrigued by the singing. One wouldn't expect such a foul-tongued, crass, angry Lamb to have such a sweet, mellifluous voice that carries so well as it rings in the air.

I hope this doesn't bother you. May your month be easygoing. Eat your vegetables and drink water regularly.

a/n: I do remember you! And this time you've touched on a headcannon I already had for lamb's funeral rites.

Song is The Parting Glass by Celtic Woman

Warning: Descriptions of death by poison (briefly but better safe than sorry)

Songs of a past life

The dreadful drag of their axe against the ground is a stark contrast to the soft melody that they sing.

Narinder observed all of his Little Lamb’s crusades, and they always sang. Narinder found it weird but also delightful; that they never flinched when killing, to the point of singing while doing it.

Their lyrics changed often, sometimes cheerful, sometimes pensive, always somewhat familiar to Narinder, but he never cared enough to find out.

Until the first battle with Amdusias.

It wasn’t their fault, really. Narinder at least wouldn’t really blame them, he was patient enough, and the Lamb had lenience to make some mistakes.

They were poisoned by one of the worms right before encountering Amdusias, but they hadn’t noticed it in time, not until their movements were already sluggish and their brain was starting to give out. They barely managed to flee, if only to not give Leshy the privilege of seeing them killed by his disciple.

The Lamb fell against the trunk of a tree, breathing heavily and clutching their fading heartbeat. And they sang.

“Of all the money that e'er I had I spent it in good company

and all the harm that e'er I did alas, it was to none but me

And all I've done for want of wit to memory now I can't recall

so fill to me the parting glass goodnight and joy be to you all”

This one Narinder remembered, painfully so. His vessel's voice carried the softness instilled upon them by a thousand lambs before them; a song to comfort the dying, soothe the mourning, rest the soul. A song that every lamb sang as they were brought to the blade, the only song he heard for a millennia as each of his protected ones met their fate.

“So fill to me the parting glass and gather as the evening falls

And gently rise and softly call goodnight and joy be to you all.

Of all the comrades that e'er I've had they're sorry for my going away

and all the sweethearts that e'er I had they'd wish me one more day to stay

but since it fell into my lot that I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and I'll softly call goodnight and joy be to you all”

Their voice was so sweet, nothing like the bitter ichor of their enemies, but alas, they weren't past the third verse when his body gave out, and they reached His realm. They sat upon the gateway, clearly still shaken for a good few moments.

“Fucking dammit!” They yell out as soon as they recover, Narinder chuckles, There you go, that’s the Lamb I know, he thinks. “Damn poison ruining my streak! I was so close!”

“Cease your anger, my vessel, death no longer means the end for you. Soon, you can be back twice as strong…” He says, voice rasping. “No need to sing funeral rites either, for you can simply rise again.”

The Lamb, in turn, takes in a big breath, and exhales loudly, though their face remains in a frown. “I quite like our-… the funeral songs.”

“Do you now?” Narinder bends down carefully, chains rattling loudly as he gets down to his vessel’s level. “Finish it, the one you were singing.”

They smile up at him and start from where they had left.

“So fill to me the parting glass and gather as the evening falls

And gently rise and softly call goodnight and joy be to you all

Ah

But since it fell into my lot that I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and softly call good night and joy be to you all

Fill to me the parting glass and gather as the evening falls and gently rise and softly call goodnight and joy be to you all.

Fill to me the parting glass

And gather as the evening falls and gently rise and softly call goodnight and joy be to you all goodnight and joy be to you all.”

…

The Lamb turns in their bed and contemplates their lover; the evening sun entering through the windows casts shadows upon Narinder’s face, but he doesn’t seem bothered. His beauty is still godly, and their wounds still hurt.

They softly kiss his face, stand up from the bed, and leave his shelter.

But since it fell into my lot that I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and softly call good night and joy be to you all

I loved making this, thank you for the ask! I hope you have a good day every day!

[theflagscene]

Not to be that guy, but Night wasn’t actually to blame for the car crash that caused Day’s TBI that lead to him losing his eyesight. Night got fall down drunk yes, Day was his designated driver but he didn’t have to go, he could’ve sent a cab/uber/car to get him. But they clearly were close enough that he wanted to get his older brother home without getting him in trouble with their mother, so they were brotherly once. Night was near passed out in the back of the car, Day was chastising him for being a brat and getting drunk and having Day chauffeur him around again. A little argument that sounded like they had many times before, so this was nothing new. Whilst no doubt annoying to Day, not really that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things.

But when Night started to dry heave in the backseat, Day was far more concerned about the possibility of a mess in his car instead of actually worrying about his brother being sick. He was so worried about his car’s interior that he ducked his head below the console to look for a plastic bag for Night to vomit in, instead of maybe just pulling over onto the shoulder of road or finding an exit to locate a gas station. No, he took his eyes completely off the road and leaned over the centre console to dig around the passenger side area looking for a bag. Which led to him either swerving into oncoming traffic or not seeing another car swerving into his lane, but Night saw it and screamed in terror, which alerted Day to his massive fuck up.

The car crash was completely Day’s doing, Night wasn’t even in the front seat. Day could have very well killed himself, his brother and whoever he hit in the other car. Like I was saying to @negrowhat, Day should be happy all that happened was that he ended up going blind from his injury, instead of ending up in prison for vehicular manslaughter.

Trust me, I understand survivors guilt, too damn well. But the fact that Day is torturing Night to the point that even Night blames himself for what happened, it’s just unfair. Yes, Day is in pain, he’s angry, he’s lost everything and he feels like Night is taking over as the golden child, which Day used to be. But it’s not like Night asked for this, he was proud of his baby brother, he didn’t need to be the golden child, he was perfectly fine boasting about his talented nong to other people. But now Night has been painted the villain and by Day himself, Night’s self-loathing for getting drunk that evening and the ‘if only’ thoughts are driving him to the point of allowing Day to basically use him as an emotional punching bag.

Day has every right to feel as upset as he does, trust me, as someone who is slowly going blind themselves, and from a car crash too - although I was not the driver, I was in the backseat - I completely understand where he’s coming from. His whole life has changed, people are treating him differently, his entire future has shifted, people talk to him like he’s a small dumb child that needs a pat on the head and to be pitied. But none of that is Night’s fault, Day’s anger is so damn misplaced. Day doesn’t just need Mhok in his life, he also needs a damn good therapist!

[sysmedsaresexist]

We Aren't A Mistake.

Getting it out of the way right now, I don't believe that plurality should be pathologized. I agree with that statement. The idea that having the presentation of multiple selves is somehow inherently medical is actually already covered in the DSM as not-a-thing, and there's plenty of understanding in medical fields that the mere existence of a weird brain thingy is not inherently disordered.

However. I think OP is forgetting a few very, very vital facts.

First and foremost, there was a very legitimate (and still is a fairly legitimate, if quieter) call to demedicalize DID. The issues with this are numerous, but I think it best to hone in on the fact that pushing for plurality to be completely depathologized is... rough, particularly for those DID systems who don't understand what's happening to them.

Just imagine: you're young, you've discovered that you're plural, and you're struggling. But everyone around you is saying that it's possible to be plural without trauma, and yes, that is accurate, but what about you? You don't remember any trauma, but you're struggling. And everyone around you says, "If you pathologize the existence of your plurality, we do yourself the injustice of implying the existence of your other selves is a mistake."

I don't know about you, but I would never admit I had DID if that's what I had. And that's an issue when admitting it is what got me to actually recognize my abusers as what they were.

And this is where we get to my second point: What in the ableism??? Because now you've turned from "Plurality shouldn't be pathologized" to "Pathological plurality is inherently a mistake."

How have we slipped back into the disordered = broken world so, so quickly? Have you maybe considered just. Trauma processing? Have you considered acknowledging that traumatized people are survivors who can continue to survive, who can thrive, so long as they get the support they need -- which, yes, for some CDD systems, means pathological approaches to their plurality.

When you post things like this, you inherently push CDD systems away from the care and help they might desperately need. I should know, I was pushed away by shit like this constantly, leading to years and years and years of further abuse and further trauma.

Disordered isn't bad. DID isn't anger and hatred and misery. And for fucks sake, traumatized alters aren't mistakes. They're survivors. They're your brain saving you, doing its best to prevent you from getting hurt, protecting you with every single neuron it can spare, however it can.

Don't post this sort of thing if you don't understand that people are people, not fucking mistakes, regardless of what's happened to them.