#the canon is full of colonizers

[intersectionalpraxis]

back when i realized that it was mandatory to take british literatures I and II in order to get my degree.

i found one of my old papers recently, and it brought up some residual feelings. i can attest i hated every minute of it -especially the Professor

[communistkenobi]

Would you be willing to dunk on speak more on mainstream feminist theory you're reading? And/or share some of the non-juvenile feminist theory you've read?

(Note: I will try to link to open access versions of articles as much as possible, but some of them are paywalled. if the links dont work just type the titles into google and add pdf at the end, i found them all that way)

If there’s any one singular issue with mainstream feminist thought that can be generalized to "The Problem With Mainstream Feminism" (and by mainstream I mean white, cishet, bourgeois feminism, the “canonical feminism” that is taught in western universities) it’s that gender is treated as something that can stand by itself, by which I mean, “gender” is a complete unit of analysis from which to understand social inequality. You can “add” race, class, ability, national origin, religion, sexuality, and so on to your analysis (each likewise treated as full, discrete categories of the social world), but that gender itself provides a comprehensive (or at the very least “good enough”) view of a given social problem. (RW Connell, who wrote the canonical text Masculinities (1995) and is one of the feminist scholars who coined/popularized the term hegemonic masculinity, is a fantastic example of this.)

Black feminists have for many decades pointed out how fucking ridiculous this is, especially vis a vis race and class, because Black women do not experience misogyny and racism as two discrete forms of oppression in their lives, they are inextricably linked. The separation of gender and race is not merely an analytical error on the part of white feminists - it is a continuation of the long white supremacist tradition of bounding gender in exclusively white terms. Patricia Hill Collins in Black Feminist Thought (2000) engages with this via a speech by Sojourner Truth, the most famous line from her speech being “ain’t I a woman?” as she describes all the aspects of womanhood she experiences but is still denied the position of woman by white women because she is Black. Lugones in Coloniality of Gender (2008) likewise brings up the example of segregationist movements in the USAmerican South, where towns would put up banners saying things like “Protect Southern Women” as a rationale for segregation, making it very clear who they viewed as women. Sylvia Wynter in 1492: A New World View likewise points out that colonized women and men were treated like cattle by Spanish colonizers in South America, often counted in population measures as "heads of Indian men and women," as in heads of cattle. They were treated as colonial resources, not as gendered subjects capable of rational thought.

To treat the category of “woman” as something that stands by itself is a white supremacist understanding of gender, because “woman” always just means white woman - the fact that white is left implied is part of white supremacy, because who is granted subjecthood, the ability to be seen as human and therefore a gendered subject, is a function of race (see Quijano, 2000). Crenshaw (1991) operationalizes this through the term intersectionality, pointing out that law treats gender and race as separate social sites of discrimination, and the practical effect of this is that Black women have limited/no legal recourse when they face discrimination because they experience it as misogynoir, as the multiplicative effect of their position as Black women, not as sexism on the one hand and racism on the other.

Transfeminist theory has further problematized the category of gender by pointing out that "woman" always just means cis woman (and more often than not also means heterosexual woman). The most famous of these critiques comes from Judith Butler - I’m less familiar with their work, but there is a great example in the beginning of Bodies That Matter (1993) where they demonstrate that personhood itself is a gendered social position. They ask (and I’m paraphrasing) “when does a fetus stop becoming an ‘it’? When its gender is declared by a doctor or nurse via ultrasound.” Sex assignment is not merely a social practice of patriarchal division, it is the medium through which the human subject is created (and recall that gender is fundamentally racialized & race is fundamentally gendered, which I will come back to).

And the work of transfeminists demonstrate this by showing transgender people are treated as non-human, non-citizens. Heath Fogg Davis in Sex-Classification Policies as Transgender Discrimination (2014) recounts the story of an African American transgender woman in Pennsylvania being denied use of public transit, because her bus pass had an F gender marker on it (as all buss passes in the state required gender markers until 2013) and the bus driver refused her service because she “didn’t look like a woman.” She was denied access to transit again when she got her marker changed to M, as she “didn’t look like a man.” Transgender people are thus denied access to basic public services by being constructed as “administratively impossible” - gender markers are a component of citizenship because they appear on all citizenship documents, as well as a variety of civil and public documents (such as a bus pass). Gender markers, even when changed by trans people (an arduous, difficult process in most places on earth, if not outright impossible), are seen as fraudulent & used as a basis to deny us citizenship rights. Toby Beauchamp in Going Stealth: Transgender Politics & US Surveillance Practices (2019) talks about anti-trans bathroom bills as a form of citizenship denial to trans people - anti-trans bathroom laws are impossible to actually enforce because nobody is doing genital inspections of everyone who enters bathrooms (and genitals are not proof of transgenderism!), but that’s actually not the point. The point of these bills is to embolden members of the cissexual public to deputize themselves on behalf of the state to police access to public space, directing their cissexual gaze towards anyone who “looks transgender.” Beauchamp points out that transvestigators don’t need to be accurate most of the time, because again, the point is terrorizing transgender people out of public life. He connects this with racial segregation, and argues that we shouldn’t view gender segregation as “a new form of” racial segregation (this is a duplication of white supremacist feminism) but a continuation of it, because public access is a citizenship right and citizenship is fundamentally racially mediated (see Glenn's (2002) Unequal Freedom)

Susan Stryker & Nikki Sullivan further drives this home in The King’s Member, The Queen’s Body, where they explain the history of the crime of mayhem. Originating in feudal Europe (I don’t remember off the dome the exact time/place so forgive the generalization lol), mayhem is the crime of self-mutilation for the purposes of avoiding military conscription, but what is interesting is that its not actually legally treated as “self” mutilation, but a mutilation of the state and its capacity to exercise its own power. They link the concept of mayhem to the contemporary hysteria around transgender people receiving bottom surgery - we are not in fact self mutilating, we are mutilating the state’s ability to reproduce its own population by permanently destroying (in the eyes of the cissexual public) our capacity to form the foundational social unit of the nuclear family. Our bodies are not our own, they are a component of the state. Situating this in the context of reproductive rights makes this even clearer. Abortion access is not actually about the individual, it is the state mediating its own reproductive capacity via the restriction of abortion (premised on the cissexual logic of binary reproductive capacity systematized through sex assignment). Returning to Hill Collins, she points out that in the US, white cis women are restricted access to abortion while Black and Indigenous cis women are routinely forcibly sterilized, their children aborted, and pumped with birth control by the state. This is not a contradiction or point of “hypocrisy” on the part of conservatives, this is a fully comprehensive plan of white supremacist population management.

To treat "gender" as its own category, as much of mainstream feminism does (see Acker (1990) and England (2010) for two hilarious examples of this, both widely cited feminists), is to forward a white supremacist notion of gender. That white supremacy is fundamentally cissexual and heterosexual is not an accident - it is a central organizing logic that allows for the systematization of the fear of declining white birthrates (the conspiracy of "white genocide" is illegible without the base belief that there are two kinds of bodies, one that gets pregnant and one that does the impregnating, and that these two types of bodies are universal sources of evidence of the superiority of men over women - and im using those terms in the most loaded possible sense).

I realize that most of these readings are US centric, which is an unfortunate limitation of my own education. I have been really trying to branch into literature outside the Global North, but doctoral degree constraints + time constraints + my own research requires continual engagement with it. I also realize that most of the transfeminist readings I've cited are by white scholars! This is a continual systemic problem in academic literature and I'm not exempt from it, even as I sit here and lay out the problem. Which is to say, this is nowhere near the final word on this subject, and having to devote so much time to reading mainstream feminist theory as someone who is in western academia is part of my own limited education + perspective on this topic

[karttaylir-darasuum]

a resource page for all your clone related needs

some tips on how to unwhitewash the clones in your content: 1 2 3

a folder of literally, like, 100s of photos of tem for all your reference needs

avoid racist, ableist, & otherwise negative stereotypes when writing about wrecker: 1 2

types of clone troopers

trooper weapons

technical sw terms

every canon named clone up until 2020 (images and names only)

ever canon named clone up until 2021 (images, names, battalions, & jedi officers)

every canon named clone up until 2023 (names and battalions only, no images)

assorted clone lore: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

reader inclusivity (has fic resources + poc moodboard images)

some links + videos about māori culture you might find useful if it's relevant to your works: 1 2

a post regarding the western colonization of hawai'i (while tem is māori & aotearoa is very distinct from hawai'i, they fall under the polynesian/pasifika family and it's important to recognize how the two both continue to be negatively impacted by colonization today)

disability inclusivity

māori, mando'a, and huttese dictionaries

star wars and clone specific fic dividers: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

some things to keep in mind as we're celebrating characters played by and modeled after a māori man:

you can find the full pdf these are sourced from + more information on the subject here

if you're like me and you want to see some māori films that have māori cast members from the star wars universe, here's a list with free watch links where available:

tem's māori-focused films: once were warriors, what becomes of the broken hearted?, river queen, rain of the children, mahana/the patriarch (i'm also fond of a tv show he did called adventurer)

whale rider (keisha castle-hughes, aka queen apailana & emerie karr)

hunt for the wilderpeople (julian dennison, aka clone cadets deke & stak in tbb s3)

[tanadrin]

Imagine that a century or two from now, the eastern half of the United States is conquered by the Canadian Empire, its intelligentsia deported, its land colonized by Canadian immigrants, and its remaining people mostly gradually absorbed into a Neo-Canadian identity. The West reorganizes, developing a new political and cultural center, and comes to regard itself as the "true" United States, with the remnant culture of the East (by now much changed by Canadian rule) as representing an unchanged tradition stretching back to the time of George Washington. The holdout western half is subsequently conquered by the Reformed Mexican Empire, and while most of the population remains in situ, its elite is taken to Mexico City. There, for three or four generations, they do their best to maintain their distinct American identity, focusing on the American "civil religion," the distinctive political ideals and cultural features that mark them out as Americans, and come up with a new way of interpreting their history that allows America to be a perennial idea, something not directly physically tied to the territory of the United States, which no longer exists. They compose a body of historical works based on Washington Irving's rather fabulistic approach to early American history, the half-remembered popular versions of the stories of Columbus and the Pilgrims, the First Thanksgiving, even the Revolutionary War. They don't have access to the original texts anymore--let's say this is all taking place in a post-Collapse North America where long-range travel and communication is difficult and a lot of history has been lost--but they do their best. They append to these books, or include in their text, of history a copy of the Constitution, big chunks of the United States Code, and Robert's Rules of Order.

Subsequently, the Empire of Gran Columbia invades, conquers southern and central Mexico, and its Emperor lets the captive Americans go home. They return north, mostly to California, find that the version of American history and civics that is remembered there isn't the same as the version they have (not that the Californian one is correct--the Mexican Empire has suppressed English-language education and high culture in its Aztlani provinces), and set about reforming and reorganizing the Western States (as they're now called) to be more in line with the forms they brought back from the exile. In the meantime, other bits of important literature start being kept in libraries next to copies of the received histories: some bits of early American literature, like Hawthorne, the Song of Hiawatha, some highly abridged Herman Melville, Thomas Paine--heck, even some John Locke, and quotes or fragments from Shakespeare. Some traditionalists now argue the capital of the United States has always been located in San Francisco, and that Washington, D.C. only because the capital later, under the influence of Eastern heretics.

In the following centuries, the Western States retain their independence for a time, but eventually become a secondary battleground for a lot of other empires--the Mexicans, the Canadians, the Pan-Pacific Federation, and so forth. American culture remains distinctive, insulted in part by its unique traditions, though now everybody speaks Future Spanish, and only learns English to read the old texts. In this period additional material, including later compositions, continues to accrete, forming a distinct body of sacred American scripture, although it does not exist in a single canonical form. Attempts to reconcile distinct sources, like more literal and historically-grounded accounts versus the simplified narratives of figures like Irving, produce hybrid texts that sometimes are full of internal conflicts.

Oh, and through all this, some institutions of American government like the Supreme Court still function, although their rulings only apply to Americans, and there isn't much in the way of a federal bureaucracy.

Finally the Great and Sublime Brazilian Potentate conquers most of the Americas, sets up an American client state that roughly coincides with the heartland of the old Western States (California, Oregon, most of Washington and Nevada), and allows the Americans to elect their own President (subject, of course, to Brazilian approval). During this period, an apocalyptic street preacher from Los Angeles claims to have inherited the authority and power of George Washington, and is executed by the Brazilians; his later followers point to the prophecies of Emperor Norton, and out-of-context bits of a Quebecois translation of Moby-Dick and some Mark Twain stories to say no, really, he was George Washington. Inexplicably, a version of this religion becomes the dominant faith of the Brazilian Empire before it collapses. But long before then the American state in California fails, crushed when it tries to revolt against Brazilian rule; the remnant Easterners likewise dwindle down to only a few hundred souls living in a village in Alexandria, Virginia. Centuries from now, as the descendants of the descendants of the Brazilians colonize Mars, they will point to the sacred Americanist scriptures, the Neo-Americanist narratives of their prophet's life, and the letters written by the early leaders of Neo-Americanism, and say, "all of this was written by the spirit of George Washington, and is free from contradictions." Meanwhile the remnant Americanists, who have been writing about Americanism and how it applies to their everyday lives in the centuries since, and whose commentary has formed around the copies of the last editions of the U.S. Supreme Court Reporter (SCOTUS managed to outlast the final American state by a hundred years or so) plus the thoughts of the remaining Americanist community in Mexico, continue to regard their traditions as the unbroken and unaltered practice of American culture, politics, and ideals as they existed since the Revolutionary War.

This is, as far as I can tell, approximately how the Bible was composed.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

hi! sorry if you've answered this already, i tried to search your blog and didn't find much, but we all know the tumblr search function is...uh...but i'd be deeply curious to hear your thoughts about Stephenie Meyer's "The Host," specifically re: treatment of the issue of souls' colonization and possession of other species...and obviously, since i'm asking you, an animorphs blog, this, my curiosity is definitely coming from a place of comparison to animorphs, but that doesn't have to be your focus!

from the posts tumblr's search algorithm did grant me, i gather you see it as wanda unlearning the colonizer's propaganda stance she takes at the start of the story, which i agree with!

but i guess every time i read it, i really can't help but feel...unsatisfied? with the way it actually engages with the horrors and colonization of it all?

sort of like, okay, The Host is this one very individual YA romance story in a sci-fi setting, which is obviously different from a heavily-Star-Trek-inspired middle-grade series about guerrilla warfare and is going to grapple with these issues differently...but still! i don't leave feeling satisfied with how it engages with consent of "host" bodies the souls are in, and i don't feel satisfied with how it engages with the souls' systemic behavior!!! but i can't really put my finger on why, and i just...was curious, i guess, whether this was something you had thoughts about.

(full disclosure: i'm asking you specifically because one of my HUGE points of existential dread on my first adulthood reread of The Host was how Jodi never wakes up, and her boyfriend just starts implied-dating the soul who's in her body? or how kids who are infested from birth are just...gone, and they were like "well sweet we can just put Wanda in there, this is a perfect solution!" and that I think hit me so hard in comparison with having read Eleutherophobia--which is, by the way, a masterwork of fanfiction that wrecked me, overwrote canon a little bit in my brain, and I think fundamentally changed how I see the possibilities of writing and narration, so, you know. thank you for that!)

(also like, i know there's different worldbuilding where it's implied most hosts just...go away...but do they actually? because Mel and the Seeker's host are still there, which kind of implies to me that it's more of a problem than the souls want to admit?! and even outside humans, all the memories, and compulsions toward certain behaviors are still there! what makes a person in this universe of Meyer's?! it's kind of fundamentally horrifying?!)

apologies for this extremely long ask, haha, and i hope you're doing well, love your blog, your writing, and all your thoughts!

Oh my god, ALL OF THIS. I thoroughly enjoy the first 98% of The Host. It's a romance novel about consent! Where the characters have to struggle to resolve the plot in a way that gets the permission of everyone in the love quadrangle to boink everyone else, and spends over 500 pages doing exactly that! It's anti-imperialist as fuck! It's got an amazing supporting cast, like every Stephenie Meyer novel! The imagery is unparalleled in its richness and coolness, because Stephenie Meyer! I've written fan fiction about it! I have an extremely normal relationship with Kyle O'Shea!

And then Sunny. And then Wanda's unnamed second human host.

I think that Meyer, either because of romance genre conventions or pressure from publishers, felt she had to write a happy ending. But the book does such a good job of setting up an unresolvable moral dilemma — either Wanda gets to be with Ian, or she does the right thing by giving Melanie's body back — that there is no path to a happy ending. If Ian did as Wanda asked and sent her in a jar to some other planet, romance fans would feel cheated. If Doc did as Melanie asked and let Wanda stay in her body, then the book's anticolonial message would be for nothing.

But resolving it through PARASITING A KID IN A VEGETATIVE STATE? What if Doc makes Wanda a nice robot body? What if Wanda stays in a jar, but Ian finds a way to join her in the jar? What if she and Melanie set up a time share? Uuuuuugggggghhhhh. The Host was THIS CLOSE to being the best anticolonial novel ever written, and then falls on its face inches from the finish line.

Which, aside, is the reason I don't think Animorphs would ever work with a happy ending. "Happy" for the protagonists would never be morally okay in the bigger story.

[the-great-fusilli]

I’m pro-delulu and I too believe in shipping characters that don’t canonically end up together BUT… I will never get behind Zutara (my mind changes often, but rn no🙅🏽‍♀️.)

Maybe it’s because I don’t take colonization and eithnic clensing lightly, or maybe it’s because I disagree with the “Katara is like Aang’s mom” statement. Either way they should not be end game. People often bring up how Zuko helped Katara release a lot of pent up emotions concerning her mother’s death and who killed her, but the Fire Nation (his people) were responsible for that death. And up until that specific arc Zuko was upholding the beliefs of those people.

“Zuko doesn’t need Katara to be his mother like Aang and the rest of the group do, they’re on equal footing.” Except Aang and the rest of the group don’t need Katara to be mother either. People just view Katara as a maternal character because of her personality and that’s the only role they’ll acknowledge her having in the group. Katara’s mother showed her a love so deep and protective that she died so Katara could live, so of course the trauma of losing her mother in that way at such a young age would cause her to take on the role her mother had. Whether it be because of obligation, or simply because that’s all she knew.

Aang and the other characters have also experienced a lot of trauma, but Aang was raised by monks. He doesn’t need a mother figure because he’s never experienced gender roles in the way the other characters have. His idea of a family is being shaped as the show progresses because aside form Monk Gyatso, they are the first family he’s had. He’s curious, fun-loving and light hearted because that’s how Monk Gyatso raised him to be, not because he’s an irresponsible little 12 yr old without a mother. His people were eradicated, so Katara doesn’t raise Aang she guides him through grieving the loss of his people. A loss she knows all too well.

Toph is blind and her family is overly protective. They don’t give her the space or freedom to be her own person or earth bend. Another experience that Katara knows all too well. Her grandmother never let her leave the southern water tribe or water bend so she gives Toph the same thing she gives Aang. Sokka is Katara’s brother… he also experienced the loss of their mother except Sokka is a boy. He’s been made painfully aware of gender roles because he watched their father leave to fight in the war instead of staying to help him and Katara. He decided he needed to be more like his Father instead of his mother. So all the responsibility of taking care of the both of them fell on Katara.

Katara and Zuko are not on “equal footing” before he leaves the Fire Nation. He’s a prince from the Nation that has been inflicting pain on her family, her people and the world for 100 years…(he literally calls my good sis “water tribe peasant” meaning at some point he believed she was inferior because he had royal blood.) He has changed now of course and I love both Zuko and Katara, but them being end game makes no sense to me.

Aang and Katara to me are like 2 halves that make a whole. I’ve believed they were soulmates since the moment she broke him out of that Iceberg. She felt a higher calling, not only to be a water bender fighting for her people, but also to be apart of something bigger than herself and have the freedom to do so. It is not a coincidence that in the moment where she feels her biggest emotions and showcase her strongest bending at that time in her life, she broke THE Avatar out of an iceberg he had been in for 100 years. It was FATE. Katara helps Aang grieve, gives him a family, teaches him water bending and teaches him that the world may be counting on him, but the amount of death and pain he sees is not his fault. Aang helps Katara finally step into her full potential, he gives her the things she’s been longing for… freedom, fun, a chance to master water bending and put an end to the war. Some of Aang’s own words were “Why would i choose cosmic energy over Katara?” He had an opportunity to master the avatar state land directly in his lap, but instead he chose her.

IM TEAM KAANG TIL I DIE

Also I think personality wise Zuko and Katara are too much alike for my liking. They’re both sassy as hell, sarcastic, stubborn momma’s babies, who resent their fathers a lil and went through hell for a couple years because of their siblings (+ losing their moms.) In some ways they ARE opposites (especially their bending & colors,) and i agree they have character development arcs that fit together like puzzle pieces…BUT they are more alike than they are opposite. I don’t have a problem with people who just like to see them together but pls stop with the justifications bc no.

[jaystephevents]

JaySteph Weekend 2024

August 9-11

“The Summer of AUs and Feelings”

Official Prompts List

Friday - Stargazing | Soulmates AU | Wistful

Saturday - Swimming | Fantasy AU | Fascinated

Sunday - Heat Wave | Historical AU | Enchanted

💜❤️💜❤️💜 Event Info 💜❤️💜❤️💜

❤️ Your work must be brand new and JaySteph-centric. Your JaySteph can be platonic, romantic, or NSFW. We don’t allow JaySteph-poly ships in order to keep the focus on our rarepair’s relationship with each other, but side poly ships are fine.

💜 You only need to use one prompt per day, but you may use more if you wish. You can participate for as many or as few days as you want.

❤️ You can interpret the prompts as broadly or as wildly as you want. It’s ok if “swimming” has nothing to do with the water, for example, as long as your work relates to the word itself. Swimming in guilt, swimming in sweat, swimming in flashbacks … it’s all ok!

💜 Almost all types of fanwork are accepted. Fanfic, fanart, playlists, mood boards, edits, incorrect quotes. Be sure to read the Rules and FAQs before beginning to create. (I will update those links shortly but you can find them on desktop in the page tabs).

❤️ Your characters can be any race, religion, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, trans, and you can add in any extra AUs you want. (We do suggest you consider the why’s and value of making one of the few fleshed-out canon females male if you’re thinking of writing male!Steph, but you’re allowed to do it.) The only thing we don’t allow is poly-JaySteph so that the focus stays on our rarepair interacting with each other.

💜 We will have an AO3 collection for fic posting (you can also post art here, we’ll list directions closer to the event). And, we will reblog your Tumblr posts for your work or make posts for your AO3 works if you don’t want to make your own.

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Add your work to the AO3 Collection JaySteph Weekend 2024

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[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

How greatly do the characters from the original show differ from the comic? I've noticed that Rose is a lot less jovial in the comics compared her appearances in the show. Canon rose also carries this air of naivety even in tense situations, whereas comic rose is a bit more level headed

They're definitely different, but in a way that I hope would... make sense? For the difference in their lives as it diverges from canon.

Actually, people are always quick to tell me that I seem to characterize Rose differently from the canon show. And I don't deny that! But I think the reasoning behind that is solid, or at least I hope it is.

1. The First Divergence

First - this Rose didn't just fall in love with Greg and then evolved from there. She met Greg once, lost track of him when he left on his way to stardom, and then their paths aligned again when he came back to Beach City a much more broken individual.

They still connected heavily, like the first time, but their love wasn't merely a whirlwind of feelings and misunderstandings. This time, it was more tenuous - Rose had to struggle to understand Greg not only as a human being, but as someone who was recovering from a disillusionment, having fallen through the atmosphere and burned up... like a comet.

Their mutual understanding stemmed not only from a past they wanted to forget, but also from a past that hurt them deeply. It wasn't better or worse... but it was a different facet of it.

2. What You Don't Know Can't Change Ya

When Steven FIRST met Rose, before she knew who he was... she was arguably MUCH sillier and 'naive'. (I would argue that Rose is not really naive so much as she is aggressively positive.)

The change in her overall characterization came about after Steven poofed her (a bit of a reality check) and when he began to question the gems about the colonization of earth, which made her a bit more morose. I feel like that's not entirely uncharacteristic, given how much it still weighs heavily on her mind.

3. Knowledge is a Curse

The REAL pivot in Rose's personality came at a specific plot turn.

When Steven brought Earl back to the Temple for the first time, and Rose recognized her, and subsequently connected the dots on who HE was..... she kind of lost it.

All the safety, anonymity, all the work the Crystal Gems have put in before this point, all became pointless in the blink of an eye. Her power was barely enough to protect her friends the first time. Now, she was reliving her worst nightmare, but in high definition.

I don't think it's clear in this shot, but Rose isn't looking at Steven. She's looking at Earl, who picks Steven up and pulls him away after her.

All at once, the past which she has been avoiding for so long has come back full-force, and for all she knows, she has no gems with her, and she isn't even sure if White is about to reveal everything she has worked so hard to hide, right before wiping the planet she loves clean off the maps - successfully and totally this time.

She had a bit of a crisis during the time Steven was sleeping, is what I'm saying.

It is at this point that Rose's personality changes significantly in the AU, and it is THIS personality that is most often sited as being 'different' from the canon show (the 2 minutes we got of Rose being Rose on tape - the video she made specifically for Steven.)

Rose becomes quieter. She stops smiling.

She observes more than she speaks. And when she does speak, she's usually confused and upset, especially at first, when she expects a White-level evil villain revenge/punishment plot around every corner.

And even after, when she calms down........ she realizes that the situation is even more complex.

But she can't even do that, because Steven doesn't know ANYTHING.

That puts the onus of protecting the secret on HER. She realizes that for the first time, she has power over White Diamond. The power to hurt... or the power to be kind.

In the end, we know which one she choses. And that's not out of character either, I'd hope. If we watched the same show, it won't be.

4. Little Diamond to Big Diamond

And it isn't as simple as 'Rose is more mature now'. But that's definitely a part of it.

The other part is that she really DOES have things continue to... happen.... that threaten the safety of the earth and the gems over and over again, and Steven is consistently not as powerful nor willing to take a strong stand as she expects him to be.

And even when she DOES show her earlier, sillier side, it's usually very promptly followed by a reality check.

She can't really take a break! She is constantly reminded that her worry-free time on planet earth is no longer for contemplating growth and plants and spending time with the Crystal Gems. The war is back on her doorstep. Again.

...and she is NOT any better prepared to deal with it than she was 5000 years ago.

So yes, this AU's Rose is a bit more... serious? But I don't think it's that far of a deviation, considering the pressure she's under. And I don't think it's unreasonable to say that she's still well within the realms of canon.

Then again, I get the feeling that the people who think I mischaracterize Rose severely expect her to be 1) stupid 2) selfish and 3) annoying.

People may have forgotten that the first time we see Rose... was the final version of her. And she has come a long way since the flashbacks we get at the end of the series.

And now that she's here... she still has further to go. 👀

[cr-ok]

If The Gravity Falls Zodiac were in a Tarot System

CW: a very long and completely unnecessary post that has nothing to do with canonicity and everything to do with my “x reader” garbage.

⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎

In this hypothetical reality, early colonizer groups brought tarot into Gravity Falls and developed the Gravity Falls Zodiac (GFZ) system. It is suggested a standard GFZ deck is a combination of the colonizers' tarot systems and the cryptic cave messages some tried to make sense of.

In the present day, no one really remembers how the GFZ system came to be, never mind what the symbols represent. Most people use the symbols to decorate their homes because they like the art.

⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Mechanics

The cards are suggested to be based off of systems developed in Europe, such as "Tarot of Marseilles"; however, the cards' meanings do not change with their positioning, such as "upright" or "reversed". When a card is drawn, all possible interpretations are present.

Although the cards' meanings do not change with positioning, their purpose can. To manifest the interpretations of desired cards, people place their cards on axes and position the cards to face northwest. In the early days, it was common for cards to end up in woodpecker nests.

⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Major Arcana

Similar to the old systems, the GFZ's major arcana is intended to tell a story about "the Explorer", or the first card. As a whole, the major arcana is representative of the traits and roles the Explorer will need to take on during their journey.

The Pinetree (The Explorer) The Explorer starts their journey when they reach a point of unending perplexity. The Explorer is full of energy and excitement, ready to uncover the mysteries of their world. They soon learn the world is a cryptic and unforgiving place, making them susceptible to paranoia. The Explorer can find themself paranoid of just about anything and everyone: their friends, themself, and their own home. It is said that those taking on the Explorer's role will only make progress in their journey when they learn to trust their company.

The Ice (The Level-Headed) When accompanying the Explorer, the Level-Headed becomes the voice of reason. The Level-Headed is skilled at keeping composure, even at the most stressful times of their life. Despite appearing so calm, the Level-Headed is often stressed out, and tends to avoid situations that would add to the stress. When traveling with the Explorer, the Level-Headed teaches them that there is no reason to worry, even in moments of uncertainty.

The Question Mark (The Curious) The Curious joins the Explorer, completely indifferent about the destination. The Curious's inquires often focus on the journey's value as opposed to the journey's conclusion. The Curious's spirit of adventure is capable of frustrating others, if not themself, for their short-sightedness. When traveling with the Explorer, the Curious teaches them to appreciate the journey, not just the milestones they reach.

The Shriner (The Fearless) The Fearless may push the Explorer to take control of their journey. The Fearless usually spend years of their life learning how to think fast and continue pushing on. The Fearless tend to get by with cunning tact and sly wit, but are prone to appearing untrustworthy, even in times of sincerity. When traveling with the Fearless, the Explorer learns that their own cowardice and disregard stops them from living life to the fullest.

The Sixer (The Author) The Author guides the Explorer, but only when the Explorer is ready to have a deeper grasp on the world around them, outside of the journey itself. More often than not, the Author is calculated and insightful; their head is filled with years of knowledge and experience. The Author's insight is often esteemed by their community and peers. In an effort to gain more praise, the Author is susceptible to acting without care for themself and those around them. When traveling with the Author, the Explorer learns to keep an eye on their ego, cautious to not lose sight of those they hold close.

The Emo (The Repressed) When crossing paths, the Repressed does not welcome the Explorer with open arms. The Repressed is put off by the Explorer's adventurous spirit. Especially when dealing with younger Explorers, the Repressed tends to take the excitement out of new experiences. The Repressed's tendency to constrain themself usually grants them with a keen sense for weakness, both physical and mental. When traveling with the Repressed, the Explorer learns to embrace themself unconditionally.

The Pentagram (The Communicator) The Communicator attempts to join the Explorer when there is something to gain. The Communicator tends to make powerful alliances with just about everyone they meet; however, without their alliances, the Communicator is rendered completely powerless When traveling with the Communicator, the Explorer learns to trust their intuition, even when everyone is against the Explorer.

The Shooting Star (The Creator) In a way, the Creator acts like a foil to the Explorer when traveling alongside each other. The Creator is deemed to be one of the most powerful major arcana. The Creator tends to stay active at all times, constantly finding new approaches and solutions to the journey. It is suggested the Creator stays active because they lack a sense of self-fulfillment and would rather fill the void through external means than do internal work. When traveling with the creator, the Explorer learns their greatest companion is someone to whom can support the Explorer as much as the Explorer can support them.

The Llama (The Warrior) There is a point in the Warrior's life in which they feel as if they have no other option but to travel with the Explorer. The Warrior swims in power: skill, money, connections, reputation, and just about any other arbitrary measurement of privilege you can think of. Despite their power, the Warrior often renders themself powerless, under the impression that they lack control over their power. When traveling with the Explorer, the Warrior teaches them that their potential goes beyond the privileges bestowed onto them.

The Glasses (The Reader) The Reader crosses paths with the Explorer when the Reader learns everything they could possibly want to know. For years, the Reader's mind has been open to new ideas. With every passing hour, it seemed as if life was testing their ability to take in new information. Despite the Reader's open-mindedness, there is only so much the frontal lobe can stomach. The Reader is prone to letting the world's chaos swallow them whole, losing all sense of reality in the processes. The Explorer may have difficultly traveling with the Reader, learning that both knowledge and ignorance come at a hefty cost.

⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Minor Arcana

The minor arcana consist of four sets of suit cards. Each suit is said to represent the journey's core characteristics.

Each suit contains the numbers one through ten. It is rumored that Christian numerology was used to interpret the meanings of minor arcana. It is also rumored that, in the early days, some decks included negative thirteen, or a "lucky card", in each suit.

[Deer] Teeth - Control Not much is known about deer teeth. Some suggest it's an interpretation of a painting found in a cave. Others speculate early hunters displayed deer teeth in their homes to assert dominance. Regardless of the reason, most modern designs omit the teeth altogether for creative purposes.

[Unicorn] Hair - Protection In the old days, unicorn hair was known to be one of the most powerful materials, often used for protection. Eventually, unicorn hair also became the most difficult material to attain, prompting people to look for alternatives and forgetting about unicorn hair altogether. It is suggested that unicorn hair became a less-commonly used when the unicorns grew tired of granting protection to those whom are unworthy.

Jack-O-Melon - Companionship Gravity Falls is inherently peculiar, even to the untrained eye. Some found the peculiarities charming, and eventually started a tradition known as "Summerween". Eventually, the tradition caught on and became a time to rest with those they care about and embrace abnormality.

Little Bearded Men (Gnomes) - Anti-Sanity People in Gravity Falls, both early and present, are put off by the sight of gnomes. Some are so disturbed by the gnomes, they wish to forget them entirely. All cards with Gnomes use negative numbers.

⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ This is Relevant To

The Tragedy

[punkeropercyjackson]

Afro-dominican Percy Jackson headcanons but by a black dominicana cause y'all write him like an oreo

His name is actually short for Perseo and his middle name is Isadore.Percy is a nickname given to him by Sally so he took it on willingly instead of assimilation but also gringos are always pronouncing Perseo wrong,including monsters and that only encouraged him to not use it in full

Sea green eyes but also darkskinned,4d textured hair,thick lips and a big nose.He's 6'4,his gray streak naturally faded to white and he has a wide variety of hairstyles per book:Baby dreads(TLT),wicks(TTC),twists(TLO),afro(for most of SON because he dosen't remember what styles he likes),dreads(SON finale),adds beads(MOA)and long locs(Tales of Dead Seas)

He calls Sally Mamí,obviously???

His favorite dominican food is blue flan

Third gen inmigrant and monoracial(lightskin Percy with loose hair is fake,that is a NIGGA 100%)

Sally had him grow up on Discovery Kids

Trilingual-Fluent in english,spanish and greek

Haircare and skincare king

Uses nigga enough that it's a common aspect of his vocabulary

All his durags/bonnets/beads are blue

Huge Pokemon fan(It's a latino meme that we love anime based things)

Sally taught him exactly zero latino machoism or black toxic masculinity and he's actually transfem bigender and femme.She uses she/he and a bunch of neopronouns and her womanhood is extremely afrolatina with her mannerisms and tastes(doing black woman hairstyles and makeup on herself,her favorite Disney Princesses are Tiana and Brandy's Cinderella,post transition she learns she deserves to be high maintenance and tons more things)

He listens to Mcr,D'Angelo,Meet Me @ The Altar,Rihanna,Megan Thee Stallion,Ice Spice,Lo-Fi beats and hiphop

He's demisexual and his type is princess-y black women(Perseus' wife was Andromeda,the princess of Ethopia afterall and names have power in the Pjo world)

Bro is romantic-He's a guygirl so that automatically gives him an advantege with rizz but she's autistic so that boosts it by 100+ points.No regards to social norms,just unfiltered kindness and acts of service that would kill any other nigga to even think of.Also i'm obsessed with the idea of her calling his s/o 'Strawberry Pop' because i'm a Demeter Kid

As per canon he's punk but i'm not boring like Rick so i do a deep dive into it.He uses 'Punkero' for himself too and he's crustpunk,afropunk,seapunk and solarpunk and he knows how to diy things that don't even exist,uses an emulator and only phone and secondhand bought games on anti-capitalist principal,defaces public property,did a lot of research after finding out punk is an actual culture and not just an aesthetic that was surprisingly easy to focus on and starts dressing punk too as he slowly finds the right thirft stores and learns to make clothes.He throwns black/dominican influences in his outfits and in Tods he gives himself that multicolor mermaid hair where you keep your og hair tone still for that Ocean Girl swag

She's a Latino Memes Queen OBVIOUSLY but her favorites are cat ones and she's also huge on energy drinks(cotton candy bang stan just like me fr fr)and legos(i'm pleasently surprised at how many lego shows fans are latinos).White people jokes are her jam also and Luke's colonizing fascist ass got the worst of it before he killed his ass

He is 100% Nico and Hazel's mom and dad,as per canon.Nico is black too because it fits perfectly and Hazel's got black hair and brown eyes because fuck exoticification so it gives them a special connection and La Residencia Jackson is a bit of a cultural melting pot because of it.Dominican flag hung on the wall behind the couch,even more hang gesturing and loud inside voices than normal,New Orleans cuisine and everything inbetween.Percy calls Hazel 'Mamita' and Nico 'Papito',do eachother's hair,they hang out almost 24/7,he radicalized them so now Hazel's pastel goth punk and Nico's goth punk,there's a lot leaning against him for emotional support or even just out of younger sibling/child love,Percy guilt-trips Poseidon into giving him money for Nico's meds and aids and helps Hazel out with girls,beach days with them are made straight up tropical with Percy's powers and they're every white man and Karen's worst nightmares combined as one big happy familia with Sally as the topping who seems easy to speak over but Percy said herself she got her rebellion against shitty people from her

Percy Jackson is NOT Peter Parker.C'mon now,don't fall for the boyloser propaganda and be real-We all know he's Hobie Brown and that his Spider Variant is an older Spiderpunk.Speak the truth with me

[timomoe]

What are your thoughts about the split between the immortal personification as an individual and the immortal personification as a symbol of the state? I read your post about Sweden's (the character) cruel behavior in the past and can't say I agree with it. I think there should be a clear separation between the actions of the state and the personification. It's more reasonable that a personification is a representative of the culture and people, not a state's authorities alone. It's also vulnerable to historical bias when certain sources can cast historical events in a very positive or negative light, for instance the idea that Swedish authorities were exceptionally cruel to Finland, which is unusually negative and not a fair representation of the relationship between them in my (Swedish) experience.

Besides, making the personification carry out the actions of the state also means that the fictional character affected real-life historical events. The unfortunate implication is lessening or excusing the actions of the real people who planned and carried out those events.

See, the thing about this is that while Sweden is a personification of the people, and I typically think of nations as such, they're still people. People who can and probably have fallen prey to propaganda, lies, "re-education" in Sweden's case, and other such things.

To be more specific, I'll share more of my hcs regarding him with you.

I like to think there's a 50/50 split between a nation first being a human, dying, and becoming a nation, and a rep just appearing one day. Sweden was the former, born around 900.

He was a very weak and sickly child born to the old Norse - and this is a very bad thing. You may know that Spartans would abandon sick/weak/disabled kids to die, but did you know that the old Norse did the same thing? When Sweden was about 4, his parents abandoned him in the woods, and he died. And then he came back, as he was "chosen" to be the nation of Sweden. His parents then tried to get rid of him 3 more times (abandoned him in the woods one more time, and threw him in the ocean twice).

No one really knew what to make of him or what to do with him. Was he a god? A demigod? An evil entity? Half jotun? No one really knew, so they kept a distance between him and the rest of the group. They kept him busy with menial labor they didn't want to do.

Sweden went unwanted and unloved by his people for the ENTIRE TIME he was a child. And then the kingdom of Sweden properly formed, and he was taken to live with his royals. He was fed there, clothed well, given medical care, education, everything he could ever want. And he began to internalize the idea that he owed his existence to the royalty, NOT the people, as the people had been his biggest antagonists since the day he walked back out of the forest and back to his family. And the government took full advantage of this. Who wouldn't want an undying soldier to do everything they asked?

I would also like to note that I explicitly (/lh) stated that Sweden's cruelty and Finland's abhorrent treatment were not due to any exceptionally horrible history between the two; while Sweden DID colonize Finland, it wasn't as nasty as my out of context headcanons would lead you to believe. As said in that post, Sweden's cruelty towards Finland came from their personalities being exactly opposite, Sweden being hungry for control and dominance, being under intense pressure, and Finland taking the blame or covering for mishaps by other nations in the house, making Sweden believe that he was simply the worst behaved and most in need of a harsh lesson.

As a side note, we also have characters being forced to do things by their government canonically (such as mass killing as a specific example, Russia participated in Bloody Sunday, despite not wanting to) so to me it also seems correct that a government would also take advantage of a young and frightened boy and try to turn him into a soldier fit for whatever purpose they need him for. Even if they are a representative of the people, the government can still force them to do what they want, and probably could make them believe that they do represent the government.

Note that your last point is specifically why I never mention what events, what battles, or other such things Sweden is involved in. It does separate them a little. And I understand that this sort of thing isn't for everyone, and that's perfectly fine.

[duketectivecomics]

[ID: An edit by @redroseworks advertising Duke Thomas Week 2023. The background consists of two panel edits of Duke in his Signal costume facing outwardly from the left and right side respectively, and a third Duke in the center in his civilian clothes facing the viewer straight on. There is a dot overlay on these panels and they are broken up into triangular comic panels. The dates and themes for Duke Week are listed in text boxes spread throughout, & are listed in further detail in the post below.]

Once again, it’s

Duke Week 2023!

Further info for this year’s Themes, Rules & Guidelines are under the cut! Be sure to spread the word!

Themes for 2023 (Sept 24th-30th):

Day 1 - Rebellion

From his rough start with Dr. Thompkins, to his rocky team-up with Black Lightning & the Outsiders, Duke’s always been quite the Rebel! Here’s a day to commemorate our Rebellious Rockin’ Robin!

Day 2 - Civilian Life

Duke’s time as a vigilante is full of intrigue & adventure, but what about his time outside of the mask? This day is all about exploring Duke’s civilian identity!

Day 3 - Fav Quote

From his introduction in Batman (2011) all the way up through his more recent appearances in Batman: Urban Legends, there’s plenty of quotes to pull from Duke. But which ones stand out among the crowd? Which ones have resonated the most with you? (And here’s a link to our Duke Reading guide in case you want a refresher!)

Day 4 - What is… Normal? (Meme/Free Day)

A free day for folks to share general Duke work, or of course, memes! This past year I’ve seen an influx as well with more general batfam fans questioning just how ‘normal’ or ‘sane’ our favorite bat is. And to that, I want to invite y’all to come on over and find out!

Day 5 - DnD, Wizards & Knights (oh my!)

One of Duke’s oldest special interests! He’s always been a bit of a fantasy nerd. This day is all about celebrating Duke’s hobbies of fantasy gaming and reading!

Day 6 - We Are Robins (Of the Future)

We’ve celebrated the We Are Robins of the Middletown collective before, but this year we’re predicting where they could go! Duke’s first team will always be an important part of his past, but how could they fit into his future?

Day 7 - Sun vs Moon

And to finish out this year’s Duke Week, we end on another note of duality. Duke’s a bat who operates mainly during the day, and occasionally is called upon at night. The bright sunlight of day may reveal something different about our hero compared to the cool moonlight of night.

Rules & Guidelines:

Tag your posts with “#dukeweek2023” &/or “#duke week 2023” for the event. For Best results use it as one of the first five tags & “@” this blog too. If the work is not reblogged here w/in 24 hrs, feel free to send it directly my way by DMing it to me!

Any medium of fanwork is allowed! Whether it’s fic, art, edits, mixes, meta, or more! In this same vein, multiple works for the same day are also allowed, provided they’re on-theme!

HOWEVER, No NSFW! The character is a minor at this point in canon and we want this week to be as inclusive to fans of all ages as possible.

Fics & ficlets that are posted on tumblr will also need a Read More cut to be up for reblogging. Use the : read more : function (no spaces before the colons) & press enter/return to add a cut to your fic! If linked through Ao3 or other fic websites, no cut is needed. Please provide adequate warnings as they apply to your fic, thank you!

Reposted/stolen art or edits will not be accepted or tolerated.

Got any questions about the event? The ask box is always open! (& remember to reblog & spread the word! Let’s have a GREAT DUKE WEEK!)

[sirdindjarin]

Never Let Me Down Again - Joel Miller x Reader (Part One)

While searching cross-country for his brother, Joel stumbles across Ellie and you, her older sister. Persuaded into letting you two tag along, Joel is reminded that there are some good things left in the world.

A/N: This is a non-canon (timeline is fucked with), highly indulgent story. Based on Pedro Pascal's excellent daddyness in the HBO adaptation of The Last of Us. Also, I'm from the South so I get to make fun of it and beautify it.

Masterlist ->

AO3 Link♥

RATING: Mature - sexual pining, cursing, gore, canon-typical violence, blood, death of an animal (rabbit).

TAGS: Age Gap (reader is mid-twenties, Joel is mid-forties), Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Angst, Fluff, EVENTUAL SMUT, Happy Ending.

WC: 10.5k

Before the world ended, many a weekend had been spent sleeping under the stars, smelling the heated smoke of a campfire, and listening to your father tell stories of his wild childhood.

But now, in this diseased world, the quiet woodlands around you feel more like victorious kingdoms. 

Eight years ago, nature began a war, successfully colonizing mankind. Neither cities nor the country were safe, but at least the wilderness was fairer: a chance at freedom controlled only by fate and capability. 

You’ve grown to like this area, as far as you can like anywhere that isn’t fortified and full of supplies and weapons. Determining which QZs or communities weren’t run by a violent government or another type of evil had been too risky. You had her to think about. 

The scope of your rifle trains on a furry patch of gray and tan. The rabbit's fluffy head snaps up, preternaturally aware of the danger. As you breathe into the squeeze of the trigger, a bronze shape shifts into your field of vision. You relax your finger and adjust the scope to identify the intrusion.

A man. His hair is downy, a mixture of mahogany and gray, similar to your previous, smaller target. He, too, has a gun pointed at the doomed rabbit. He seems to feel the attention of your firearm as his gaze pinpoints you.

The man has guarded eyes the color of coffee. With a powerful build only broadened by his thick tawny jacket, he's imposing. But his unkempt hair, full lips, and strong jaw tug at your sensibilities.

You recognize the look of hunger on his face; the memory of that feeling ghosts through your gut in empathy. Your weapon lowers, and you tip your head toward the animal, signaling to the stranger.

The man returns your gesture in gratitude and fires. You back away, gun still at the ready, as he advances to retrieve his dinner. Being nice didn't mean that you had to let your guard down.

       ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"You bitches," the elderly woman shrieks. "Where's our fuckin' eggs?"

Your hands point skyward as you stare down a shotgun. It’s an antique double barrel. Your grandfather had one like it. You wonder where it is now.

Lightning fast, you kick out to the left, hooking Ellie’s leg, indicating she should get behind you.

"No, ma’am. We didn't take any of your eggs. We came up here to ask you honestly for some." You try to explain, backing up a step. Ellie’s hands are tense on your back, ready for whatever you tell her to do.

The small farm sits in a holler near the base of a mountain; a half day's walk from your failed rabbit hunt. It wasn’t much anymore - the barn had long ago fallen to splinters and the pens contained no livestock.

However, a handful of chickens cluck around in the front yard. Neither you nor Ellie could believe the sound as you approached the old, single-story farmhouse.

Your excitement quickly dissipated. Sickles, rusted farm equipment, and bleached bones you hadn't the time to identify were strung around the front porch. Mason jars filled with suspiciously-colored liquids lined the railings.

"Bullshit. We ain't seen not a single livin' person outside of us in years, and my eggs go missin' the same day you selfish brats appear? Pfft." 

What remains of the woman’s stringy hair flies about as she spits in the dirt. It was hard to believe she’s had a roof over her head all this time. Her once-white nightgown is splotchy and torn. The shotgun is too heavy for her, shaking in her frail arms.

“‘We?’ Ten bucks says she's living with a dead body," Ellie quips under her breath.

"John, get out here!" The woman calls over her shoulder.

"Lady, seriously, we'll just move on," you try again.

"JOHN!"

The silence of the woods had been disturbed by the woman’s accusations and was now replaced by the intimidating thumping and squeaking of a large man's footsteps on bowed, rotten wood.

A bear of a man, roughly mid-fifties (though it was hard to tell through the beard trailing to his chest and the ball cap on his head), stands in the doorway. In his right hand gleams a hammer.

"We like to save bullets," the old bitch sneers.

"Listen to me, lady, we did not take anything from you!" 

John steps slowly off the porch, his eyes trained on you. It was almost ridiculous. Did these people really think you would stand there while a man beat you to death with a hammer? You'd take a shotgun blast over that.

The problem was Ellie. The gun was a double-barreled shotgun which meant the woman only had two shells. If you could get her to fire and miss twice, both of you would have time to run. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Under the cover of a pine tree, Joel Miller squats, watching the scene unfold. With three eggs in his hand, he feels mildly bad about you being blamed for their disappearance. Especially since he recognizes you as the girl who gave up a rabbit for him. 

Joel hears the woman call you thieves and shakes his head. Honestly, the old woman should be on-her-knees-grateful he didn’t take a whole fuckin' chicken. As he watches, he notices that she can barely hold the shotgun. 

They’ll be fine. 

His knees crack as he straightens and turns to leave, but then the shrieking echo of her calling for a man makes him pause. Joel didn’t like the odds so much anymore. He sees the look on the gun-wielding granny’s face and concludes that something far worse than justice for egg theft had fermented in these hillbillies' minds.

Joel's sharp eyes examine you. He can see the gears turning in your head, the plan forming in your mind. Gut feelings and snap judgments were important when they were the difference between life and death. Joel had become adept at both. Joel’s snap judgment was that you were capable. Smart. He figured you probably would be okay without his help, but his conscience grabs hold of him. 

He owed you.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"A’right," a man's low, smooth voice commands. "No need for all this."

Fear drops a weight in your stomach. The voice came from behind you and you don't dare turn. Now you’re outnumbered. And if this man also has a gun, it’s truly game over.

You swallow down the crushing dread, trying not to cry. Guilt and desperation stab at you over your failure to protect your sister.

But as you look at the homeowners' faces, you're confused. John’s lip is curled into a snarl, and his mother shakily moves the gun back and forth between you and the newcomer.

You decide it's worth the risk. You rotate, and from your peripheral, you somehow recognize the figure stepping out from the twilit woods.

How is that possible? Everyone you've ever known - or even heard of - is dead.

"Put it down," the man's southern accent is clear. 

You try to place it subconsciously. The Carolinas? No, his accent is too soft on the vowels. Georgia, maybe?

Slowly, the old woman hunches over the gun as if to set it down, but instead pulls the trigger in the direction of the mystery man. The recoil sends her stumbling. The sound explodes in the clearing, conjoined by the concussion of the newcomer's firearm discharging. The shotgun clatters to the ground, along with the old woman. Blood pools in the grass around her head. 

John roars and charges the man who killed his mother. Dropping your arms, you cage Ellie behind you. John races past, single-minded.

Your savior calmly stands several yards away with a rifle in his hands. To your utter shock, it’s the man from your earlier rabbit hunt. 

How the fuck? 

He’s as unmoving as the surrounding mountains despite Big John barreling down on him. The man from the woods fires one shot. John drops to the ground with a sickening thud and a winded moan. Shot in the gut, he has a few moments to live.

"How're y'all keepin' chickens alive out here for eight years?"

"Fuck you, boy," John chokes up blood, sputtering. Then his breath rattles once, twice, and stops.

The scruffy stranger reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tan egg. "Haven’t had an egg in..." He retreats from that memory.

You snort good-naturedly, "Well, I was going to say ‘Nice to see you again,’ but that dampens my gratitude."

“Owed you for the rabbit, too” he explains. 

"What's he mean by that? What rabbit?" Ellie inputs.

You ignore her and laugh. “Why didn’t you take a whole chicken?” 

“What’m I gonna do with a live chicken?”

“Eat it.”

“Well, that wouldn’t have been very nice of me, would it?” He mutters, toeing John. “Sure would like to know how these idiots survived all this time without bein’ raided, though. This place isn’t that hidden. We both found it.” 

His suspicions were starting to sprout in you, too. “Maybe it wasn’t just those two. We should check the house. Might be good stuff in there.” But after the way this family looked and acted, you knew you were unlikely to find anything besides toads collected in jars.  

The brown-eyed man nods, "Yeah, guess so."

“What’s your name?” You inquire.

The man simply looks at you.

“So I can call if I need something.”

He sighs, hesitating.

“Joel,” he answers, his voice quick and deep. It suits him. Strong, fitting somehow. 

“Alright, Joel.” You give him your name. “Let’s get it over with - I’m getting the creeps out here, and I doubt it'll be better inside.” 

“Fuck me, I guess?” Ellie chimes in again now that a bit of trust has been established.

Joel looks at her, shocked, but addresses you: “She always talk like that?”

“Yeah, pretty much. You keep watch, El.” You point to the stump of a fallen tree. “Get comfy.”

The interior of the house is precisely what you expected. Dirt, decay, bugs, and stains cover every surface. Mold decorates several corners of the ceiling, and at least two walls have water damage, causing the old paint to swell and burst. The living room is cramped - a time capsule of trash litters the floor. You gleefully point out a crushed can of Vanilla Pepsi. 

“They released that like a month before it all went to shit,” you remember. “I loved that soda.” 

Your mind wanders, no longer seeing the house. Ellie was only six back then. You, just seventeen. You’d taken your younger sister out of school early. You’d bought that same soda and driven to a park, watching Ellie be a kid on the playground. 

How incredible the difference a few hours can make. It was painful to remember your parents, and you tried not to. When you left the house that morning, did you say goodbye properly? Did you hug your mom? It’s been too long to remember with certainty. 

An impatient voice slams you back into the present, “Can’t be cryin’ over trash all day.” 

You paw at a lonely tear with your sleeve. “You know damn well I wasn’t crying over trash.” 

He’s got his back to you as he leans to dig through a cabinet in the adjoining kitchen. In the center of the floor, an old rug makes a squelching noise when he steps on it.

“Can’t be cryin’ over that now, either,” he says with a glimmer of empathy, moving through the kitchen with a practiced sweep of his rifle. It reminds you that he, too, has a tragic backstory. Everyone does. 

You inhale deeply to collect yourself and regret it. You quickly pull the collar of your flannel over your nose. A sickly sweet smell permeates the place, as if the house itself were decomposing.

The floorboards, once a pretty oak, are black and squishy. The walls are yellow and the black-and-white photos framed down the hallway wall make the place seem even older than it is. This house is condemnable.

You sweep the other rooms, all of them in nearly unlivable conditions, and find nothing besides two equally disgusting beds. But it was strange. How were these people thriving? They must have friends. A compound nearby, a trader, some smuggling friends, someone.

You step out from the last bedroom and back into the long, yellow hallway. 

Joel stands in the living room, backlit by the open front door. He’s staring at a piece of paper in his hands like it’s a map to Atlantis. It might as well be.

“You good?” You ask as you advance on him, curious about his find. 

He looks up and his face, while unsmiling, is excited. “My brother’s on a damn beach.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

In the east, the sun rises over the hill. You’re awoken by the bright heat on your cheeks and eyelids. To your left, among the trees, you can hear fabric rustling and buckles snapping together. Joel must be packing up his gear. He’d slept as far away from the two of you as he could after making your deal. 

In the dying light of the previous evening, you had offered to watch his back and help procure food if he’d let you tag along to his brother’s camp.

Joel had let slip that this brother of his was a “joiner; joins every ‘good’ cause he can find” and whatever he was up to typically meant his location was safer than most. After aimlessly wandering for the last several years, you figure a destination would be good for Ellie. 

Groggily, you sit up and unzip your sleeping bag. Ellie’s arm is thrown over her face, yet to awaken from the natural alarm clock. You groan as you stand, your back not as young as it once was. Catching his attention, Joel lifts his pack and stomps toward you - or, maybe he’s just a big guy and I’m not used to staring at a man when he walks, you think amusedly.

He clears the tree line and asserts, “Need to go. If you’re still comin’, we’re gonna be slow, an’ it’s already a ways.” 

You disagree, “We’re not gonna slow you down. We both made it to that place,” you wave at the chicken coop down the hill, “at the same time, buddy.” 

“Technically, I got there first,” he argues. 

You suck your teeth, unwilling to battle technicalities this early in the morning. You move over to your sister and gently shake her arm.

“I didn’t sleep at all,” she moans.

“Yeah, El, welcome to life. Get up.”

She glares up at you, huffing, and rises from her makeshift bed. 

Joel stands with his hands on his hips, watching impassively. From under the curtain of your hair, as you squat to roll your bag, you take stock of him.

The lines radiating from the corners of his eyes and across his forehead tell you that he’s older than you by at least a decade, probably two, but the wavy, graying hair, solid build, and confident demeanor only add to your interest. His pack looks bulky and burdensome, but he carries it on his shoulders as though it weighs nothing. He’s hardened but kind enough to have felt in your debt. His red, faded plaid shirt is snug across his torso and his biceps. His hands are strong and capable. 

As you study his hands, you notice he wears a watch. It looks old, its face cracked, but your brief once-over isn’t enough to be sure. That would be odd if so.

Why wear an old, broken watch?

Maybe it was broken recently and he hasn’t noticed. But Joel didn’t seem like the type of man who wouldn't notice something like that, nor would he keep items of no use to him. Your eyebrows furrow. 

Maybe it’s sentimental.

You absentmindedly touch your necklace and your heart aches for him. That makes more sense. You have no proof besides a quick character study of the man, but you’re sure he wears that thing for the same reason you wear yours. 

Joel's mind swells with impatience, nearly telling you that he’s leaving without you several times despite it taking you less than five minutes to pack. As he opens his mouth to speak his mind, you rise from your squatted position. 

Since you'd already been staring, you make eye contact with him. Your warm smile brands him. Joel blinks twice, his bad mood disarmed. He has no idea how long it's been since someone genuinely smiled at him.

“Uh,” Joel clears his throat, “Okay. We’re goin’ east.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It has been silent for several hours at this point. Hiking uphill was strenuous no matter the athletic ability, and talking was out of the question. Your head hangs as you focus on your two feet crunching upon the dead leaves and brambles. Dead twigs scratch at your boots. 

You might’ve been embarrassed about your lethargy if Joel hadn’t been worse. His legs actually stomp, determined to get where they're going. He had been ahead when you first started this morning, but now he was level with you. You couldn’t blame him. He was in excellent shape, but this was exhausting. 

“Wanna - take a break?” You push out the words between breaths. 

From under his hooded eyes, he throws a sidelong glance at you, unsure if you’re mocking him. He looks over his shoulder at Ellie. She throws him a thumbs-up. 

“She’s a baby. We’re not,” you tell him. 

He snorts and you want to believe his lip twitches. “What are you - twenty-two?” 

“No,” you answer. He snorts again in disbelief. You continue, “I haven’t been twenty-two in a while.” 

“It was, like, a few years ago,” Ellie interjects. Her face is amused. She knows.

“A few years is a long time out here. Especially on my poor back.” You glare at her.

Due to the incline of the earth, you plant your legs to keep yourself from tumbling down the hill. Joel follows suit, sitting down where he’d been standing. You take a swig from your canteen, the cold water almost painful to your parched throat.

Joel paces his breath. His heart begins to slow and his body relaxes before his peace is ended by Ellie.

“So, Joel, what’re you doing out here? So far from your home… of…?” 

Her arms are propped on her knees, her chin resting on her folded hands. It isn’t a polite question though she asks it with innocence. She's as curious about him and his accent as you are. 

It was rare to meet someone out here that wasn’t an automatic enemy, so Joel couldn’t blame your sister too much for asking. He’s still irritated by it. 

“I'm transporting cargo.”

“What cargo? Something cool?”

Joel motions between you and Ellie.

“No, dude, I mean where are you from and what were you doing before you ran into us.” She sounds exasperated.

“Nothin' for you to be worried about,” Joel answers with honesty and finality.

Ellie holds up her hands in surrender, “Hey, I was just curious. We’ve never met a man like you out here is all.” 

Joel wants to let that go in one ear and out the other, and he doesn’t comment on it, but internally he feels a spasm of some long-forgotten emotion. A man like him? A smuggler, a criminal, a murderer? Sure she has. 

             ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A few, long days later, Ellie tries again.

"Georgia?" She quizzes. She gets no answer from the wall of Joel's back. She tries again:

"Florida?"

Joel snorts. "No." 

"Texas?" You finally guess.

Joel freezes his face to prevent giving anything away, but that's his biggest tell. Walking near him, you can see his mouth twitch, too.

"Ah. So, a cowboy," you say slyly. "The best kind of southerner." 

Joel scoffs, not wanting the praise. "Wasn't no cowboy."

"What'd you do? If you don't mind me asking."

"I do mind." He successfully shuts you up.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“I’ve always liked North Carolina,” you offer to no one in particular. 

It’s been five days of walking in this new triad. Joel sighs. You and your sister talk so much. He refuses to acknowledge the part of him that would 've enjoyed the banter.

As the three of you plod along, the wind picks up and the Carolina pines creak in response.

“You’ve never been here before,” Ellie accuses. 

All you can see is Joel’s broad back as the two of you follow him down the empty road, but he might’ve shaken his head at the petty argument. 

The freeways and interstates were impossible to walk down due to the number of cars, but these state back roads were almost pleasant. Few people had evacuated this way, but occasionally you'd pass a long-abandoned car.

“I know, stupid. I saw pictures.” You might be her guardian, but you’re still sisters. 

“Hey Joel, have you ever been here before?” Ellie goes over your head.

A single head shake. 

“Is the beach nice?” She continues.

Joel stops, half-turns, and looks over his shoulder. One eyebrow is raised as he deadpans, “You wan’ me to tell your fortune, too?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “But you’re old. You were around before. Surely you know more than she does.” She jerks her thumb in your direction. 

Joel’s eyes flick to you, then he abruptly turns back around. He hoists his bag higher onto his shoulder and continues walking.

“I was basically an adult on outbreak day, Ellie.” You mouth at her: What the fuck are you doing? 

Why do you care? She mouths back, I think you like him.

She punctuates her statement by pointing at you, then his broad back. She curls her arms as if she were in a body-building competition. Your cheeks flush.

He - is - helping us! You wave your hands dramatically, semi-mocking her and instantly feeling less mature for the motion.

Oh, yeah, out of the goodness of his lil’ heart? She looks incredulous. 

Maybe! Your eyes widen, trying to convince her.

You could believe it. Sure, he had a rough exterior, and you doubted he’d be throwing his ass on the line for you again, but he was decent enough to give one or two shits.

Ellie belts one short laugh, easily mistaken for a cry of alarm which causes Joel to whirl around sharply. His large, dark eyes dart behind and to either side before he realizes you’d just been communicating between yourselves. He says nothing, his expression once again that of a disappointed parent.

“Sorry. Thought of a… great joke.” Ellie bites her cheek to quell the laughter in her throat. 

Your younger sister is a horrible liar. Ellie had been banned from all diplomatic jobs required for survival. If it required white lies, good lies, or bad lies, the job fell to you. 

Joel grimaces, “Well, keep it to yourself.”

Ellie salutes with her first two fingers; Joel turns away once more, only partly curious as to what you’d been talking about. It made him miss his brother. Made him miss laughing with his brother. The kid sure was a pain-in-the-ass right-fighter, but god, he loved him.

A few hours later, Ellie catches you admiring the fit of Joel’s jeans. In your defense, his red flannel had ridden up underneath his backpack like a velvet stage curtain. His brown leather belt lined the edge of his deeply-tanned skin. The colors look so warm - he looks so warm. It’s such a pathetic thought and you feel an insane desire to giggle. You clamp a hand over your mouth, and Ellie slaps you on the arm.

“You’re so obvious,” she whispers. “Are you okay?” She’s half-serious, half-mocking, but at the mention of it, you do a mental calculation and realize something. 

“No, I’m losing it. I’m gonna need to find some water. Been a couple of days,” you frown. 

Joel must've heard you because he stops and pulls out his map.

“Says there’s a creek running just south of us,” he leans against the first car (crashed and unusable, of course) you'd seen in nearly an hour. He nods toward the woods, tapping the map against his thigh. You grab Ellie by the hand, and trek in the direction he’d indicated. 

While you’re gone, Joel interrogates the map. How in the sweet fuck did he get this lucky? If he had to guess, he’d say that Tommy had either given those hillbillies this map in case they needed to find him (Tradin', maybe? Or to give them a place to retreat to?), or they had stolen the map from someone else who had it for the same reasons.

It didn’t matter, really; all Joel cares about is that Tommy’s name and handwriting had circled a spot near the coast. At least a ten-day walk, probably more; he sighs. 

Joel lifts his eyes to the moody sky. The breeze cools the sweaty, tan skin of his throat. Joel closes his eyes, allowing himself a moment of calm. 

Projected on his eyelids, he sees you lowering your gun amongst the trees, allowing him to have the rabbit. You’d been there first. Food wasn’t something people compromised on and yet… you’d had mercy on him. A stranger. 

His eyes fly open and he shakes his shoulders, unhappy about the squirming feeling inside him. 

Since he'd met you the second time, you’d talked more than he’d heard anyone speak in over a month. 

“Our parents used to take us into the woods and announce that we had to ‘Fend for ourselves.’ It was a fun exercise - at the time. We learned how to fish and hunt and gather berries or mushrooms or edible plants, and it was always this big adventure. We’d pile everything next to our campfire and my dad would say-”

“Eatin’ goooooood t’night!” Ellie finished the story in your father’s inflection, a tinge of sadness around the sound. You’d nudged her shoulder in camaraderie.

 Joel had yet to smile or talk about himself. The two of you asked enough questions, but he did his best to ignore them. He was completely confused as to your gaiety. 

You hadn’t lost as much of your social nature as you believed. Joel supposed having your sister by your side constantly would go far in preserving your pre-outbreak self. 

He’d been on his own too long. That was another reason he hadn’t denied your suggestion to follow him to the coast. The accompaniment of two unreasonably optimistic people caused him anxiety, but having experienced companions he could trust (and, inexplicably, he did feel that he could trust you) would always be invaluable. 

Joel had formed another snap judgment about you: you’re naive. He couldn’t understand how that was possible, though, and he almost felt guilty for even thinking it. You have survived with the added pressure of a dependant for eight years in this shit sandwich of a world. How could you have done that if you were naive? 

But his own eyes saw your willingness to give up food, your honesty in trying to ask for eggs, and now your blind trust in his guiding you three.

You needed an objective partner. He was willing to be such temporarily, and wherever Tommy was would be a safe place for you and your sister. 

You return a little while later clearly unhappy. Ellie, fighting a self-conscious smile, brings up the rear. She’d taunted you more about your infatuation with ‘your savior,’ as she’d called him. Which, of course, he wasn’t. Technically, he was the reason you’d gotten into trouble in the first place. 

You'd explained to Ellie that he was like a new toy. Different, interesting, and unthreatening. 

Well, sort of. 

You ring out the ends of your hair as Joel asks, tilting his chin up, “What happened?”

“Accidentally tipped her into the stream,” Ellie answers, patting your elbow apologetically. “I was just trying to nudge her as a joke but -”

“I slipped on the moss.” You finish for her. Since you were able to catch your fall, you hadn’t been soaked, but you had fallen on your knees and part of your hair had swung into the creek bed.

Joel lowers his eyebrows. You could’ve been hurt, or come down with pneumonia had you gotten your clothes wet. Spending winter nights in sleeping bags wasn’t the haven you wished and doing it wet may have killed you.

Joel eyes Ellie. Her cheek is twitching as if she’s nervously biting the inside of it, and her hands twist in her lap as she plunks down on the ground. 

She feels bad. Good. He was assessing a threat. If the kid was so wanton about causing problems, he’d re-evaluate this deal. But no: Just a kid actin’ like one. 

“Sun’ll be down in about an hour. Might as well set up shop here.”

“That's cool with me - it’s a nice view,” you can’t help but observe. And you’re right. The old state highway curves around and down a small, rolling mountain. Old farms divvy up the valley below like a patchwork quilt. 

Uncaring about the cliche, you’re struck by the sight. So many people spent their lives looking for a purpose. Thrills? Surviving? Power? You may be young, but you saw the answer every day, and you see it now. Your eyes drink in the blue ridges of the hazy mountains and the safe greenness that was alien to so many who sequestered in the QZs. 

Your head turns a fraction to see your sister stand and quirk her lips. Her hands land on her hips as she squints into the distance, thinking the same thing you had been. Beauty and love.

Your irritation is erased as if it had never been. Still smiling, you turn to Joel and ask, “Alright, you want to start the fire or set up the tent?”

Joel is staring at you. His face, so often canyoned by worry lines, was open to you now. Wide, coffee-colored eyes shine as he wonders who you are. How you could be so untroubled. 

But the look disappears the instant you register his curiosity. His brow drops and he grunts, “I’ll set up the tent.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The next morning, your vision is filled with a utilitarian-green canvas ceiling. This tent belonged to your parents. It was one of your prized possessions, only pitching it when necessary, or whenever safe enough.

Later, you would convince yourself your cold, wet hair had been what led you to whip out the tent that night, not the inherent security of Joel’s presence. He, of course, had remained outside the tent despite it being just big enough to squeeze the three of you. You wouldn’t have let him inside, anyway. Trusting a man only went so far when it concerned your baby sister.

A crackling sound licks your ears and you smell smoke. You fight your way out of your sleeping bag and unzip the tent.

Joel is tired. He’s wearing his heavy jacket in the chill of the morning, and the biting breeze tussles with his already windswept hair. His eyes meet yours and he thins his lips in greeting. His lackluster "good morning" notwithstanding, he looked simultaneously soft and rough - in your opinion, exactly how a man should. 

He looks so fucking good. Your stomach somersaults in response. Wonder if I’d be this easy if the world hadn’t died, you laugh at yourself.

"Caught another rabbit. Here,” Joel leans, plucking a small piece of cooked meat from a roasting stick. 

You stride over to him and take the hot food from his outstretched hand. Sitting down next to him, your warm fingers graze his cold ones. Joel leans back, retreating a short distance. 

“Mmm, been a while since I’ve had rabbit,” you nod your head in thanks and plop the bite into your mouth. It burns your tongue for a moment, but you let it, imagining that it’s heating your entire body. 

“Can’t say the same,” he replies, then can’t help but ask: “Why’d you do it?” 

It’s been gnawing at him ever since. Joel’s concluded that you’re a good person. Too good, in fact, and you had your sister to think about. How could you put him - a random man - over your reliant sister? You were a walking dichotomy. Happy when this world is unhappy, kind when this world is unkind, trusting but alive.

“You were hungry,” you answer simply, shrugging. Humanity is rare now, and therefore precious. 

That doesn’t satisfy him in the least. “And you weren’t? And…” he doesn’t want to use Ellie’s name, it feels too friendly. “Your sister?” 

This time you turn your face to look up at him. He’s so much taller, so much larger than you, even sitting down. His chin is licked by the orange glow of the flames. The sun has started to rise over the mountain ridge behind him, recoloring his jacket from brown to gold. 

Apocalypse or not, he's fucking hot. You had the answer to your earlier thought. Dwindled pool of men? Who cares when he looks like that?

“We had food. I’d found a few houses a couple of days before and we still had, like, two or three granola bars and some berries.” You turn your face away to the view beyond your encampment. 

Joel blinks twice in disbelief. A couple goddamn granola bars?

“You need to be a better guardian,” he reprimands you.

Your head snaps to him, a look of shocked anger coloring your face. “What?” 

Joel looks down toward the valley where your eyes had been peacefully resting a moment earlier. “You can’t think about other people when you have her to worry about.” 

“I’ve kept us alive for almost a fucking decade, Joel. I know what to do.” You sneer his name and stand. 

“Listen, I appreciated it. You backin’ off the bunny. But I’m just saying, that girl’s gotta be your priority. You have to be your priority.” 

Joel doesn't know why he cares. Or at least, he wants to pretend that he doesn't know. He clamps his lips shut. 

“Thanks for the advice,” you say acidly, “I’d love to see you raise a kid through this.” 

You watch as his jaw ticks, as he looks away at your words, but you’re too angry to analyze that at the moment. 

“Teaching her that we can still be good people is almost as important as surviving. I don’t need to justify myself to you, but I'll warn you, in case you think you can take advantage of us: I’ve killed for her. I have done awful, horrible things. Things I see at night when I try to sleep. Things you’d probably be proud of.”

A statement meant to hurt him.

“But you go ahead and judge me from your fucking high horse.” 

Joel’s eyes never meet yours, but they involuntarily trail after you as you disappear into the tent, zipping it shut with as much violence as possible.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel doesn’t apologize. Neither one of you speaks during the trudge down into the valley. The silence is broken only by the breathing and grunting of descending a steep hill. You glance back at your little sister and she grins at you. The answer to Joel’s question was so obvious. How could you sink into despair when you had her? You answer her grin.

“Oh, good, I thought maybe I snored too loud or something.” 

You laugh, “What?”

“You’re acting all,” she scrunches her eyebrows, “pissed. I haven’t seen you this mad since that guy in Philadelphia last year.” 

“That guy was twice my age and I was downright angelic to him,” you grimace. 

“You never told me what he said about me,” she pushes. 

You stop and look at her, certain that Joel had kept walking. That was fine with you. He could keep going.

“What that motherfucker said was so vile, I’m not going to dirty my mouth by repeating it.” 

“Dude... you stabbed him in the balls. I saw that. So violence is fine for me to see, but I don’t get to know the dirty joke that made you mad?” Ellie asks, genuinely curious. 

Joel’s sonorous voice answers from right behind you, “Violence is necessary. The only reason we’re all still here. As a kid… no, you shouldn’t have to get used to it, but that’s not an option anymore. Perverts, you don’t have to get used to - so you shouldn’t.” 

Your head turns sharply to look at him, taken by surprise. He backed you up. His explanation isn’t entirely articulate, but Ellie seems to understand. It’s also the longest he’s spoken to her. He catches your eye briefly, then continues down the road. Ellie grabs for your hand.

What’s going on?

She mouths, seeing too much for your liking.

Nothing.

Your eyes are wide, convincing, as you reply. You once read that liars tend to make too much eye contact, or none at all. Looks like you’re the former.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The ear-splitting crack of a firearm echoes through the sparse valley. Two dilapidated houses sit on either side: one next to the road and nearly destroyed by fire; the other, a pale blue, one-floor ranch style, sits on a steep incline slightly back from the road, and from its living room window comes the flash of a muzzle. 

There is no need to think. Your brain automatically identifies both the location of the shooter and your closest cover. Your hand clasps around Ellie’s wrist and you sprint to the right, up the burnt stone steps, and into the blackened house. 

Some timbers still stand, and some crumbling walls as well, but your goal is through what used to be the kitchen and down behind the back of the house’s foundation. As you skirt around a piece of drywall in the kitchen,  a bullet blasts into it, sending powder and small chunks into the air. 

A short scream escapes you in surprise, but you yank Ellie down the back steps and behind cover. Joel is there a heartbeat later, his weapon already in hand. He sits back against the concrete slab, his face alight with frustration.

“Damn,” you tell him like this is a minor inconvenience, though your heart is hammering like a carpenter. 

His eyes fall to the gun in your hand and a deep chasm appears between his eyebrows. No, you glance down, he wasn’t looking at your gun but at your arm. A red substance? Blood? 

Your head whips to your sister, but she’s looking at you with concern. Your head snaps back toward Joel. 

“I’m shot?” You ask breathlessly. Then - bless those adrenaline chemicals, they did their best - then, the pain waves over you, through you. Your arm burns as your nerve endings erupt. That piece of shit had shot you through the forearm. 

Joel examines the bloody mess, then his calloused hand rips a strip off his undershirt and loops it around your arm. You grind your teeth to bear the pain as he tightens the fabric, but darkness offers to take you away from it anyway. Joel ties it off and the darkness retreats.

The bullet’s path hadn’t gone through your arm but across it, cutting a gaping trench in your flesh. That’s good. No digging for gold necessary. The shots continue at a slower rate, intentionally keeping you three pinned down. 

“It’s not that bad,” Joel drops his head to steal your attention, his eyes intensely boring into yours. “Hey, listen. It’s not bad. Can you wiggle your fingers?”

You shake your head, eyes filling with tears before you even try, the pain so all-consuming. But your fingers curl when you command. 

“Guess so,” you groan.

“Right. Not that bad,” he cannot let you panic now. “You’re not a lefty, anyway. You can shoot?” 

Inhaling, you nod. Words were an unnecessary use of energy. His eyes continue pouring into your own for a moment, willing you strength.

“This is my valley!” A man’s booming voice announces. He sounds much closer than the seventy yards between the two houses. “We're not going to no concentration camps!”

Joel finally looks away from you and slowly raises his head over the edge of the concrete foundation. A tall man around Joel’s age stands in full view. Based on the man’s pronouncement, he doesn’t seem to have a complete grasp of reality. 

Joel thinks about answering. He thinks about telling the man that you three meant him no harm, that you were only passing through. Joel doesn’t feel like killing today. 

But then he looks down and his eyes snag on your face. He feels your pain, sees your terror, and it wrenches something loose in his chest. 

You’d done nothing wrong, you were innocent and this man just shot you. You could still die from an infection or blood loss. This man might’ve just killed you. Joel’s jaw sets so angrily that you hear his teeth grit. 

As his thoughts catch up with him, Joel’s rifle fires twice. One bullet tears through the shooter’s center of mass. Joel watches the man stumble, fall. If he strained his ears, he could probably hear the man’s last pained breaths. 

Instead, he stands and rushes through the burnt debris, taking shelter behind a small tree before deciding the shooter is alone. You call after him quietly, unhappy he went alone. He cautiously starts up the driveway. You groan in resolution as you force yourself to your feet. 

Heavily breathing, Joel kicks away the gun from the now-deceased man and busts through the ripped screen door. It’s incredibly dim, and the air is heavy. Bedsheets cover the windows and Joel’s eyes aren’t as young as they used to be. He notices the house is relatively clean. The baseboards are layered in dust, but there is a decent couch, blankets folded in a neat pile, and books neatly lined up on the shelf. Joel turns the corner to the hallway and, finding it clear, slowly treads down the carpeted path. 

The bathroom door creaks once as he pushes it open with his boot. A blue shag rug, gray walls, and a clean sink greet him, but his attention focuses on the medicine cabinet. He strides forward, his gun in one hand as he searches through the cabinet. 

Ibuprofen. Helpful.

Tums.

Nail clippers.

Saline solution. He snatches the clear bottle from its dusty place, a satisfied smirk.

Menstrual pads? Could be helpful if this fucker ain’t got a goddamn bandage. Er, maybe helpful anyway?

But then Joel sees the red cross. He picks up the white case, cracking it open just to check. Yep, bandages. You were going to need stitches, too. 

Needle an’ thread; he turns away from the cabinet.

“Joel?” You ask soberly, standing out of view beside the doorway. You didn’t want to startle him and have him shoot you, too. His stomach lurches at the tone of your voice. He chalks it up to you getting the drop on him. 

“Yeah. Y’alright?” His boots clomp to the doorway and he tilts his head down to see you in the gloom. 

“Did you check the whole house?” You’re staring at the last door on the right and Joel doesn’t wonder why. A notepad is strung up next to it, and a pen is taped to the wall. A list of times and dates is scrawled down the cover page, and instinctively you know that there are many pages similarly marked. 

“In the bathroom,” Joel indicates behind him with a commanding whisper.

“No, I’m here to cover you,” you look at him like he’s stupid. 

Course. The fuck’s wrong with me? Joel moves forward. 

You take a position diagonal to the door, your right hand directing your weapon while your left arm is cradled to your chest. You ignore the throbbing, biting pain as best you can, and what you can’t ignore, you hope sharpens your senses. 

Joel twists the knob and kicks the heavy, wood door open so violently that it nearly swings back on itself. His flashlight casts a ghostly white pall over the room. You see nothing but a dresser from your position, so you move forward, following Joel into the room. It’s a master bedroom. Spacious, dusty, cold. 

Tomb-like, you observe.

The body on the bed confirms your thought. Joel’s flashlight trains on the corpse, and it’s clear that it had been an infected woman. She’s been dead for several months, probably nearer years, as the fungus grows throughout the bedroom. You slowly back out of the room in horror. 

Your eyes catch on the paper hanging next to the door:

November 4th, 2009 - I couldn’t stay away. I’m not sure she’s gone.

November 5th, 2009 - I think she ate a little bit today. Fed her roast beef and mashed potatoes.

November 6th, 2009 - She smiled at me today. I’m so relieved.

On and on, this man had cataloged his descent into madness. Daily, he had been visiting his wife. Feeding her, hoping she’d heal from the infection and return to him. How had he not managed to get infected? Your stomach heaves. 

Joel appears and gently clutches the upper portion of your uninjured arm to haul you out of there. His fingers accidentally brush the side of your breast and Joel fights down the sick thrill he feels.

“C’mon.” 

He guides you to the front porch and sits you down on the steps. The body of the man next to your looks unbitten, uninfected. He must’ve kept her in that room alone until the infection killed her. 

The two of you take a moment to breathe in clean air. It’s quiet. The sun is hidden behind the clouds now which casts the valley in a gray shadow. Ellie pops her head up from across the road.

Standing over you, Joel can’t help but like the way you look up at him. His imagination takes him by surprise: your soft skin under his calloused hands, your legs hooked around his waist, and the way you might tell him his own name. 

Fuck, you’re as perverted as the guy she stabbed. Joel grumbles something unintelligible to you and heads back inside the house.

Ellie’s sneakers slap on the pavement as she runs up the driveway, “Oh, god, are you okay?”

You manage a smile, “Yeah. Don’t go in there, though. It was disgusting. Guy shat everywhere.”

“I mean your arm, dumbass.” 

“It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be,” you lie again. 

Joel, exiting the house with the medical supplies, hears your lies with satisfaction. Maybe his earlier words had been unnecessary. Ellie was lucky to have you.

“I need to get that wound cleaned out but it’s gonna hurt like hell,” he explains. “You sit behind her,” he suggests to your sister and she eagerly positions herself to support you. 

“This is helpful of you considering we’re just cargo,” Ellie mutters. 

Joel ignores her and addresses you, “’m serious, it’s gonna be a bitch.”

“You think I’m such a wimp,” you feign offense.

“No, I don’t,” Joel states, opening the bottle of saline. He unfastens the makeshift bandage made from his shirt and, without warning, pours some of the bottle’s contents onto your wound. 

A strangled howl escapes. You force your body to confront the pain, then try to accept it and lean into your sister. Your breathing is ragged. Ellie wraps an arm around your middle, comforting you with a squeeze. 

“’m gonna stitch you up now. You’re still losin’ blood. It’ll hurt.” His face drops to a thoughtful frown. “Might be better if you don’t fight it,” he advises, giving you permission to lose consciousness.

You clench your teeth in preparation. Your right hand grasps Ellie’s arm around your waist, and this time, Joel waits until you’re ready. You meet his dark eyes and nod. He carefully takes your elbow in his left hand. Then he pierces the needle through your skin. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The pain in your arm has subsided to a constant throb as your body restores itself. The wound was deep and would eventually leave a thick white scar. But for now, you keep it clean with the saline Joel had found. 

Four more days pass, and in that time Ellie wears Joel down even further. On the rare occasion when you three had traveled down a freeway, Ellie rescued a tattered book full of jokes and puns from a vacant car. 

Having known the girl her entire life, you’re not sure you’d ever seen her as happy as she was now. The first day she found it, she must’ve read four full pages aloud. 

Joel had put a stop to that. 

You’re grateful to Joel for his presence, but her happiness outweighs his opinion, so you encourage her. Was Joel amused or irritated? It was hard to tell. Sometimes you were certain that he always felt them together.

“Knock knock.” 

You oblige, “Who's there?"

“Amish.” 

“Amish who?”

“Really? You don't look like a shoe.”

That one earns a snort from you. “Not your best work, El.”

She dives back into the book, trying to get away with one more for the day, “Joel, your turn.”

“No.”

“I found the perfect one, I swear,” Ellie promises.

“No.”

“Knock knock.”

Joel swivels his head to glare at her. 

“C’mon, Joel,” she pleads. “Knock, knock.” He doesn’t budge.

“Who’s there?” You undermine the stoic man, smirking.

Ellie bites her lip to prevent her laughter, “Cargo!”

Joel makes a disbelieving scoff, “Wow.”

You snicker, enjoying Joel’s defeated face before you continue the joke: “Cargo who?” 

“No, car go ‘beep beep’.” Ellie delivers the lame punchline with gusto. 

Joel sets his hands on his hips and stares at the ground. He fights the tug of his cheek, then, in a moment that cements Joel in your heart, he shakes his head and huffs one, tiny laugh. 

"That was so fuckin' stupid."

“Ha!” Ellie whoops victoriously, a sound so pure that you start to laugh with her. “I told you.” 

Joel shakes his head more fervently. “I didn’t laugh. I snorted.”

“Same shit,” she retorts, still grinning.

“You get two of those a day, kid.” Joel holds up two fingers and resumes his path. 

          ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Two weeks after meeting Joel, or, if you went by Ellie’s timeline, ten chapters in her book later, the sound of the ocean fills your ears. Crossing the flat farmland of the piedmont was the worst part of the journey as there had been no landmarks, no wind, and scarce game. 

Now, there's a breeze you’ve never felt before. Your senses are full of the smell of salt, the whooping call of the few remaining gulls, and the clouds flitting by as though they have places to be. Your and Ellie’s wonder at the coast was not lost on Joel. He, too, feels lighter for the soaring sensation of the oceanside.

Ellie sits on a bench outside of an old tattoo shop. Your eyes scan the storefronts along the abandoned beachside tourist trap. This wasn’t a huge area. Probably a spot that only the locals came to, which is why the souvenir shops looked like they’d dried up several years before the outbreak. 

Joel has the map fully unfolded on the hood of a car. His palms are flat on either side of the document as he hunches over it, fully engrossed in determining the exact location he was supposed to find; and while he’s distracted, you are on high alert. 

In the best-case scenario, there are decent people waiting for you. At worst, there were infected around. Either way, you needed to be looking out for other bipeds. 

To Joel’s consternation, you weren’t seeing anything except old blockades, boarded-up windows, and trash that had yet to decompose blowing down the ghostly street. 

“Think there’s any decent food leftover in those restaurants?” Ellie asks having never eaten seafood.

“That would be a no,” you chuckle. “Seafood doesn’t keep long. And it stinks.”

“It kinda stinks out here sometimes,” Ellie observes.

“That would be what they make seafood out of,” Joel pipes up for the first time since breakfast, unintentionally mimicking your words.

“That’s what fish smells like?” Ellie’s eyes bug out of her head. “People ate that?” 

“So, their camp, settlement, compound - whatever the fuck it is - is at the end of this town. ‘Bout two miles that way,” Joel tilts his head. 

“So, go east more?” You joke. “When do we get to see a different needle on the compass?”

Joel bites the inside of his cheek, refusing you the satisfaction of a smile. “When we split up, I guess.” 

Joel pretends not to notice when both of your faces steel shut at his words. Better to let you two live your life somewhere safe where someone decent will watch your backs. It’d be best for all of you. He turns back to his map, pushing the two of you from his mind; he stares at the circled location trying to decipher what his brother would be doing here. 

  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

There’s nothing here. A day later, you’ve explored the length and breadth of the beachside town. There are no signs, no maintained fortifications, and no people. At one point there had been, though. Some walls had been erected between a few alleyways, creating a warren-like hideout. But they were empty. Joel had grown increasingly angry as the search went on. No one spoke. 

The discovery (or lack thereof) was disappointing for you and Ellie, but devastating to Joel; he went missing for most of the afternoon, returning just before sunset. Curiously, he seemed to be in a better mood.

After ensuring that no one had overlooked anything, you and Ellie follow Joel out onto the sand behind an ice cream shop. Ellie wouldn’t have mentioned it for a while to be mature, but she’d been dying to see the actual beach all day long. 

Joel sits on the soft, clean sand. A dune covered in beachgrass at his back, he relaxes. Clouds float by, and though it’s mostly sunny, the winter air is chilled further by the steady wind. Ellie continues out to the water, while you stand next to Joel. Thinking only of body heat, you lower yourself onto the sand as close to Joel as you dare.

“I’m sorry.” 

It feels inadequate. There are only a handful of reasons Joel’s brother wouldn’t be here and only one is hopeful.

“All this way. Two weeks of walkin’, and now I’m gonna have to go back out there,” Joel grumbles. 

Oh, okay. Optimism? He clearly wasn’t giving in to the idea that his brother could be dead, which relieves you. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find him. You’re the type of person who finds what he’s looking for,” you smile fondly at him. 

Joel’s heart spasms again. He wishes you’d stop smiling at him, and at the same time, he wishes you’d only ever smile at him. 

“Is our deal over?” He wonders. He hadn’t fulfilled his end yet, but the way you were talking made it seem like your partnership had ended.

“I’m not going to make you drag us cargo all over the United States.”

Joel smirks. “Technically, I ain't held up my end.”

“You and your technicalities. Technically,” you mock him, “I owe you. You’ve saved my ass twice now.”

“First time doesn’t count. I got you into that,” Joel actually laughs this time. It’s short and low, but you’re suddenly out of breath. His cheeks and eyes wrinkle when he grins, and he catches you staring. His grin fades.

A gust of icy wind blows by as you hide down in your thick flannel. You turn your attention from the captivating older man beside you to watch Ellie trying to skip rocks into the waves. She notices you and holds up both hands in a “What?” gesture. 

You shake your head and chuckle at her.

“She’s a good kid,” Joel agrees. 

Would this man ever cease to surprise you? He’s just spent two weeks walking and being tortured by Ellie’s joke book, with a single goal in mind - only to find the goalpost has moved; and he’s being friendly? 

“I’m pretty fond of her,” you reply. 

A lull in the conversation leads to a comfortable silence as you enjoy the sea air. 

Eventually, Joel speaks again. “’m sorry I said those things. It wasn’t my place.” Joel is turned away from you, looking out over the waves.

Though it’s been almost two weeks, you know which words he means. “I know I seem silly to you. Too frivolous and… optimistic, I guess, but I have and will always put her first.” 

Joel doesn’t reply. He’s tempted to deny your first and second statements, but he feels too exposed already. For fuck’s sake, he had been almost sad about the prospect of going your separate ways.

“Guess I’m easily pleased,” you muse.

“What?” Joel doesn’t know how to take that, but he knows the way he wants to take it.

“You know. The meaning of life and shit?” You wave your hand to indicate everything.

“Oh. Did you two plan this?”

“We - what?” 

“Ellie gave me a spiel earlier ‘bout how we need to find reasons to keep going or fightin’ or whatever the hell she said.” 

“She did?” you laugh. “I taught her well. I mean, what’s the point of this? Just surviving? Eating your next meal? Creating power-squabbling communities that end up getting people killed? Ration cards in the QZs? That sucks.”

Joel looks into the sand as if it has the answer. “I think most people lost their reasons a long time ago.” 

And you’re still staring at him as he checks his watch. His old, busted wristwatch that’s been telling only one time for eight years. 

“Yes, you’re right,” you agree, “but there are always other reasons. Sometimes it’s a bunch of small reasons combined with big ones, like the beauty of the earth and my sister for me. Or sunrises, or,” you indicate the waves rolling in front of you. “But there are always reasons. You find them if you look.” 

Taking more bravery than the first time you met an infected, you place your hand on Joel’s wrist, letting your thumb stroke once over his skin. He’s as warm as you hoped, and it makes you want to cry. You knew Joel’s coldness was a front. It’s his defense. 

Joel becomes a statue. It’s the first time you’ve touched him and his first thought is that he’s glad he took his jacket off. His second thought is that you should not feel so comfortable with him. You both needed to be able to separate without lingering emotion.

But, damn, this is like starin’ at the sun. Even when I look away I see her.

“Sorry.”

You remove your hand, not wanting to cause him distress.

“Ellie is right. People need reasons to continue fighting. Otherwise, you end up fighting for the wrong things, or giving up.”  

“You two are gonna love my brother - sound jus’ like him.” 

He earns another laugh from you. “Your brother sounds like a good guy.”

“He’s nothin’ like me,” Joel snorts good-naturedly.

“Well,” you murmur, “that’s not a point in his favor.” 

Joel hums in his chest. “Mm. It’s not?” 

Maybe lettin’ go once wouldn’t be so bad. She’s so... so - Joel realizes he’d leaned into you at some point. 

Your face bravely tilts up to study Joel’s reaction when you shyly shake your head. 

In disbelief, you watch as Joel’s eyes fall to your lips. Your heart pounds in your throat. His side is touching yours now and the contact radiates heat throughout your body. The world could end a second time and you wouldn’t notice. 

“I think it’s been too long since you’ve known a good man, because I sure ain't the standard,” Joel’s warning is coated in his thick accent. 

“I know a good man when I see one. That’s why I gave him my rabbit,” your voice is barely above a whisper, but Joel is so focused on you that he catches every inflection. 

“Hey, I’m hungry.” A teenager’s voice cuts the tension between you and Joel like a scythe. 

Both of you jump, heads jerking up to see Ellie standing much closer than you thought. 

“Um, I think Joel found some edible stuff from a general store.” You unwillingly turn back to him, “Is there enough to split? If not, I’ll take her foraging.” 

Joel’s looking out across the ocean again, refusing to meet your eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, there’s plenty.” 

Too close. Get a fuckin' grip. Joel watches you stand and walk Ellie back to the store you’d set camp in. He can’t help but watch as you walk away.

Wouldn’t be a one-time thing. I’d never leave. 

You think he’s a good man. Is it your naivety? Or do you mean that in spite of everything you can assume he’s done, he’s still capable of good?

Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. 

Joel rips himself away from his daydream and from his pocket, he pulls the piece of paper he found earlier. Written in the NATO phonetic alphabet leftover from Tommy’s military days, the note is directed at Joel. Tommy’s handwriting is cramped and terrible, and it makes Joel grin.

If, by some crazy chance you’re reading this, J, we left. Sorry. Got wind of a group in WY that’s doing some real good. Leaving this note as a long shot. Miss you, man. 

™

He had found it in the store Tommy knew Joel couldn’t pass up. It was a cramped music store featuring acoustic guitars in the window. The shop set back a little from the main thoroughfare which kept it mostly untouched. The note had been taped to a guitar just like the one Joel owned a decade ago. 

It’d been eight years since Joel had cried, and he wouldn’t now, either, but he felt a sting. Wyoming is a long fuckin’ way. He felt frustrated at having walked for two weeks in the wrong direction. A brief, petty thought to abandon his goal of finding his brother crossed his mind - but it was one born of exhaustion and anger. 

The map he carried was an East Coast map. He’d have to find a map of the country, but by his estimation, he was in for a two-month walk minimum. A list of supplies began scrolling in his head, and he itemized everything.

The southeast had been less plundered than the rest of the US, so it’d be worth it to scour the outdoor supply places. Grocery stores were all but ransacked instantly, so he’d be less inclined to check those unless one seemed particularly promising.

You and Ellie. He swallows. He hadn’t forgotten - just had been avoiding it. Should he ask? You always had the opportunity to part ways at any moment, but did he dare extend the offer? 

Two months of puns from the kid. Two months of sufferin’ them as cargo. He looks at his hands to distract himself from a smirk.

More mouths to feed. It’d be nice not to be alone. He pushes this thought away in search of one he can work with.

More eyes, more hands. The older sister’s smart. And brave. She doesn’t even complain about her arm. And the kid… Kid’s a flat-out liability but she’s got her own charm.

Joel quiets his mind and lists the pros and cons. He makes his decision.

Continue->

[enigmaticxbee]

XF AU - Fic Recs

When the world was unrecognizable and upside down, there was one thing that remained the same. You... were my friend, and you told me the truth. Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant... my touchstone (or, alternate universe and canon-divergent fics):

Contemporary AUs:

A Companion Unobtrusive by @slippinmickeys - She needed a roommate. He needed a room.

The Annapolis Grant by @slippinmickeys - Fake relationship! Scully hires Mulder to pretend to be her boyfriend.

Aprons and Scrubs by @lokisgame - Scully’s a doctor and Mulder runs a bar.

Five Years and a Lifetime by @monikafilefan @slippinmickeys - One night stand AU. Five years later, Scully and Mulder work at the same pediatric hospital, and Scully's four year old daughter bears a striking resemblance to the picture of a dark haired girl that sits on Mulder's desk...

Skin by Annie Sewell-Jennings - In a world where Mulder and Scully have never met, fate intervenes and brings two worlds colliding in the city of Charleston, as a vicious murderer reigns and a storm approaches.

Sinners Come Down by aster_risk - Six years into her marriage to Daniel, Scully meets Fox Mulder at a bar one night, and they get talking and fucking over alcohol and self-pity.

In the Best Interest of the Child by @mldrgrl - When tragedy strikes, Mulder is forced to take guardianship of his young niece, but the matter is complicated by the arrival of a sister-in-law he's never met.

Historical AUs:

By the Dim and Flaring Lamps by @sunflowerseedsandscience - Civil War AU. Captain Mulder befriends Private Scully who’s hiding a secret…

The Countess and The Earl by @slippinmickeys - Regency Romance!

Old Growth Forest by Andrea - Mulder and Scully travel back to frontier times

Rocky Mountain Interlude Part 1 and Part 2 by Jacquie LaVa and Tess - Mulder and Scully travel back in time to solve the case of a Colorado mining ghost

The Science of Sex by @if-the-seascatchfire - Masters of Sex AU. Mulder and Scully are doctors in the late 1950s who undertake a years-long study about human sexuality, and as part of the research, they also have sex with each other - you know, for the science.

Out of this World:

The Magician by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Jennifer Lyon - Fantasy series where Mulder and Scully travel to another world full of magic (one of the first fanfics I ever remember reading!)

Out of the Little Grove by @slippinmickeys - Crossover with His Dark Materials (a mashup truly made just for me, my 13 year old self would have been over the moon)

Blinded by White Light by @dashakay - Post-colonization. What are we, but the sum of our memories? A classic.

Julia and Gabriel by Mish - Post-colonization. A new identity, a new, dangerous society, an unchanged heart and soul. Gave me Hunger Games vibes for some reason (although written years before that was published)

Canon-Divergent: Pre or Early Series

Eleventh Hour by Rachel Anton - Mulder travels back in time to find college-aged Scully and change everything.

Belphagor’s Prime by Prufrock’s Love - When Scully disappears Mulder travels back in time to a pre-X-Files Scully for help.

In Another Life by @mldrgrl - What if there was no conspiracy? What if Mulder was just a regular FBI Agent? What if Scully was just a bureau pathologist?

How They Met by @peacenik0 - After an encounter at Scully’s FBI academy graduation party they must determine how to deal with their past and their undeniable attraction to one another when partnered up.

One Week at Quantico by CrossedBeams - What if Mulder had been teaching at the Academy when Scully was training…

Paging Dr. Scully by @mangokiwitropicalswirl - Mulder keeps ending up in Dr Scully’s ER.

Only One Choice by @sisterspooky1013 - Scully was never assigned to The X Files.

The Way Things Are by Sukie Tawdry - A season 1 one night stand changes everything. Baby-fic.

Departures & Arrivals by anarchybeauty - After the X Files are closed in 1994, Scully moves on. Two years later, she runs into Mulder in an airport.

Right Hand Return by humphreywrites - Scully is returned from her abduction with a baby, no memories of anything prior to her captivity and some PTSD.

12 Rites of Passage and 12 Degrees of Separation by Anne Hayes - mytharc story written very early in the series run.

parent_1 by @markwatneyandenesemble - It’s 1996, Mulder’s been off the X-Files for three years, and not speaking to Scully. They’ve almost moved on with their lives. Almost.

Canon-Divergent: Mid Series

A Different Place by @myownsuperintendent - When Mulder successfully brings one of the Samantha clones back from the farm with him in Herrenvolk, she must learn to adapt to a different life.

Once More With Feeling by skinfull - While on a stakeout Mulder is shot in the head and loses his memory.

Iolokus by rivkat and MustangSally - Mytharc AU. Painted across the barren and desolate reaches of Texas, the shadows of the Project put additional pressure on Scully and Mulder's already fragile relationship. After a hostage crisis raises more questions about the Project's breeding program, Scully begins her own investigation, leaving Mulder to choose between saving her and saving himself. Pretty disturbing but fascinating, a classic.

Arizona Highways by Fialka - Mytharc AU. Visions of Melissa lead Our Heroes on a case confirming the existence of a series of Emilys. But does Melissa really have a message, or is it all in Scully’s head? Another classic.

Heuvelmans' On the Track by @mashnotesofthemythopoeic - post-FTF mytharc AU, truly a ride you’ll never forget.

The Leap and Landfall by Ambress - Scully has a one time opportunity for motherhood, given to her by the Kurt Crawfords.

All That Is Dark and Bright by @malibusunset-xf-blog - Emily lives AU.

Five Years and One Night by Shalimar - Scully leaves the X-Files post-Emily but gets drawn back in when Mulder discovers Emily wasn’t the only child created.

Cubed by Louise Marin - Mid-season 6 Scully does a little body-swapping of her own. Can she and Mulder make it back to each other? Do they want to?

The Boy on the Beach and Tonight We're Gonna Party Like It's 1999 by @cecilysass - One moment she was sitting in the chair. Her chin up, her expression ice. And the next moment she was gone. Fantastic exploration of the Samantha storyline.

Canon-Divergent: Late or Post Series

40 Weeks by @malibusunset-xf-blog - What if the IVF attempt in Per Manum had been successful?

Mobius by L.A. Ward - Post-Requiem while investigating the disappearance of a physicist, Scully finds someone she didn't expect - Mulder. But is it her Mulder?

By the Wind Grieved by Karen Rasch - Mulder is returned several months post Requiem but he doesn't know who he is or what Scully and he are to each other. Together they must reclaim the past before their enemies take away their future.

Deadalive AU by @markwatneyandenesemble - Mulder is returned but is missing several years of memory.

The 13th Sign and 7 Days in May by Prufrock’s Love - Post-Deadalive. Mulder saw no reason for life, death, sex, Armageddon, or emotional dysfunction to stand in the way of true love.

Hurricane Season by rah and beduini - Post-Existence week at the beach with the Scully family and baby Wim.

Terra Firma series by @malibusunset-xf-blog - Post-Existence domestic family drama, a classic comfort read for me.

2008 by MystPhile - With the quest at an end, the X-Files closed in the year 2000. Our heroes went their separate ways. In 2008, they meet in Bloomingdale's and the past, present, and future are explored.

Dr. Scully's School for Exceptional Boys by Prufrock’s Love - More than a decade had passed. Mulder had no reason to hole up in his apartment alone, wearing a Three Dog Night T-shirt with dried mustard on the hem and blue jeans that had seen better days. He wasn't "saving himself" for anyone. Especially not Her. Though she remained epically, beautifully, brilliantly kick-A-S-S.

Machines of Freedom by Amal Nahurriyeh - post-IWTB. The end of the world is coming. And they're doing everything in their power to stop it.

North of Zero by @slippinmickeys - Post-IWTB, post-colonization. The bombs have fallen. The aliens have come. What’s next?

Canon Parallel AUs:

I've got you under my skin by cuits - In a universe where soulmate identifying marks exist and affect a part of the population, would Mulder and Scully's relationship evolve any different? Unfinished but complete through Existence so it still ends in a satisfying place.

Half-light by skuls - Mulder and Scully get a second chance.

The Family G-Man by Neoxphile and FelineFemme - A double tragedy strikes Mulder the week before Christmas of 2003. What if he could go back and change things, save the son one lost and give the other the family she wanted? Could it keep them safe?

[xf-cases-solved]

reblog for science. original post here: x

[randomfoggytiger]

Shoulda Woulda Coulda: Create a Cohesive Canon by Eliminating the Mulder-Scully Baby

How can one reconcile the unnecessary traumas of Scully's pregnancy, the insane adoption decision, and the bonkers revelation that Jackson isn't really Mulder and Scully's son?

I posit a rewrite:

Scully and Mulder are enjoying their happily ever after post Je Souhaite when they get a call from Billy Miles. Requiem, Bellefleur, full-circle, abduction. No pregnancy.

Scully and Skinner and Doggett and TLG do their best to find Mulder, but he still winds up "dead". This Is Not Happening rolls into Deadalive rolls into Three Words-- more time to explore Mulder's PTSD and Scully's trauma without a pregnancy. Both feel Kersh's boot on their necks; and, having paid their dues, turn the files over to Doggett and Reyes, choosing freelance consultation and subterfuge while healing and weeding out the last Consortium remnants.

Something something Mulder's arrested and framed and sentenced for a crime he didn't commit, something something escape and exile.

I Want to Believe unfolds: Scully relives the pain of her cancer and the death of her daughter through Christian while Mulder clings to the familiarity of the FBI. Near death, reconciliation, vacation. Now free, they redouble their efforts to stop Colonization.

2012. No Colonization. Mulder has nothing left to keep him going, having tied his identity tightly to the Truth since he found the files. Depression. Scully splits, his distance and her old pain points driving them apart. Temporarily.

Something something mytharc, Mulder and Scully are needed back at the FBI. Through their investigations, they trace everything to *insert bad guy* and his attempts to find and capture a remnant of the Parenti project: Jackson-- either an enhanced hybrid created from Scully's ova or the missing fetus Mulder found during the Emily arc. Scully wants to save him like she hadn't Emily; but, in the end, accepts that Jackson doesn't want to be a part of their lives and lets him go. Mulder and she lay more ghosts to rest along the way; and if there must be a Finale child, they adopt a reoccurring kid whose parents are slaughtered during Season 10 or 11.

The End.