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inkbybambi · 7 months

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bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k rating: e warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any! notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

he's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. you weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"i don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"i wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.

he trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.

six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.

he rushes into your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side and not the trigger. the front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. he almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.

curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded through your hair as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.

he knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. you jump just a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.

"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "i didn't mean to wake you."

and you hadn't. you thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.

"'s'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "you okay?"

the look he receives damn near breaks his heart.

he learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. more than once.

they never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. they didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.

"i had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "it didn't change anything."

something shifts after that.

he starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. the bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects simon's books. you give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your "continue to watch" queue.

he doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. you sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down and you start the series from the beginning.

nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. you don't understand why. you were getting better, you cry in simon's arms after a particularly rough night.

"sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently carding his fingers through your hair, tucking you under his chin.

"make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.

he starts sleeping in your bed.

he's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. he presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.

he starts taking the balaclava off at night.

a morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.

"g'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. a flash of heat snaps through you.

"morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.

his fingers are in your hair, thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. he cradles the back of your head as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.

the sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.

he nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. you mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.

"fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"say please," he rumbles.

"simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.

you're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.

he usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. he eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.

but you? he feels feral with need.

"it's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, right above the mark he sucked into your skin, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. he's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.

you claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.

"it's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.

he grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.

"feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.

you make a strangled noise low in your throat. it's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.

the stretch feels so good, though. your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.

"fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."

he swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.

"think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. you would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.

"yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.

for a man of few words, simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.

"never had a cunt this perfect." "fuckin' made for me." "can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "no one else can have you." "you're mine."

and you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.

you mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him just as much as he's marking you. you'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.

"simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his legnth and thighs.

"that's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. you feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.

"wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, wanting to give you matching marks. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.

you grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. he feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.

the way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.

no one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.

but simon? fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.

"baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. the slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.

"cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.

he fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.

you stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.

simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "y'alright?" he asks. you swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.

he slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. you push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.

"fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.

he spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.

time bleeds together.

his contract renews on the twelfth month.

he heard rumors that price might switch him out for another guard.

you're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. price has two separate folders prepared. a sharp look from simon is all price needed to know about how he feels. the tongue lashing you give your higher ups has price raising his eyebrows, and simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.

he wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.

ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and i didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.

you grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.

his hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.

"don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."

eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.

he's meticulous, prepared, tactile.

there's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.

he makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.

he's like a shadow, or a guard dog.

you've never felt more secure. more protected.

until —

he doesn't know how it slipped past him.

he let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. he admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. you look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.

he hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. his eyes, though. his eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.

you look one second too late.

simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.

"stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.

you can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.

simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.

"you okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.

"fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.

"you're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "i'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.

you grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. you gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.

"simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.

he looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.

fuck.

at least it wasn't you, he tells himself.

nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.

while he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.

the hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. he hated it then and he hates it now.

price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while simon recovers.

you've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. the nerve.

twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. some of them in your writing, the others in his. the keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.

"why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. you're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. never dreaming he could hear it like that.

a lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.

he laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.

twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.

you smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.

it's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large german shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.

he feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. he touches his own subconsciously.

you set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.

there's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.

riley.

#ink by bambi #simon riley/reader #simon riley x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon riley/you #simon riley x you #modern warfare imagine #modern warfare fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #mondern warfare smut

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urdepressedslut · 10 months

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You’re Mine, Sunshine (masterlist) ♡

♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader (Mob!Au Bodyguard!Au)

♡ Series Summary: Bucky gets picked by a very rich and respected man to be his daughter’s personal bodyguard. The Father warns him that it won’t be an easy job, that she is a brat and difficult to deal with. But what happens when Bucky meets you and you’re the complete opposite?

♡ Series Warnings: mentions of amputation, dark themes, violence, death/death threats, talk of parent death, fluff, angst, stalking, daddy issues, anxiety attacks/panic attacks, abuse, depression, depressive episodes, PTSD, dry humping, hints to smut, (warnings to be added as new chapters are released)

Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine ☀️

(SERIES ONGOING)

Last Updated: 9/8/23

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | SERIES 18+

⇨ Chapter One

↳ After Pierce interviews Bucky for the job, he warns him of you. Bucky is starting to rethink his decision, but when he meets you... you're not what he expected.

⇨ Chapter Two

↳ Bucky takes you home, and later finds you in the library. You both get to know each other a little better, but Bucky is hesitant.

⇨ Chapter Three

↳ Bucky has a surprise meeting with Pierce, getting informed about your secret admire. Meanwhile, Bucky tries to keep things professional, he’s hesitant to cross the line when you need him.

⇨ Chapter Four

↳ You don’t know what to think of Bucky after he took you to bed last night. Bucky can’t continue to keep the stalking situation hidden from you. Something is found on your doorstep.

⇨ Chapter Five

↳ Getting to know each other better doesn’t go according to plan. Bucky has to comfort you and fix the mess he made. Will you forgive him?

⇨ Chapter Six

↳ Bucky receives a morning visit from Steve, with the news about what was in the box. Bucky continues to think about what he should do. Should he tell you the truth about your stalker?

⇨ Chapter Seven

↳ Bucky finds you making a mess in the kitchen, attempting to bake and offers his help. The two of you get to talking and some reveals about each other begin to come out. Will he finally tell you about your stalker?

⇨ Chapter Eight

↳ After a surprise visit from Pierce, tension arises as he threatens Bucky of his job. Pierce wants to have a talk with you and it doesn't go very well.

⇨ Chapter Nine

↳ After the events from the other day, you try and cope with the reality of what happened. The world is a lot less colorful than you remember. Bucky helps comfort you after you realize you have no one left.

⇨ Chapter Ten

↳ Someone comes knocking at your door in the morning. Bucky answers and is surprised with who he finds. Are they going to help them or hurt them?

⇨ Chapter Eleven

↳ The tension can't be ignored anymore between you and Bucky. Steve shows up and he's not alone.

⇨ Chapter Twelve

↳ Reality is hitting you as you, Bucky, Steve and his men all venture off to a secret safe house only Steve knows about. The events from the last couple of days are starting to hit you with a sickening force, leaving you weak and crippled.

⇨ Chapter Thirteen

↳ Your dreams consist of random memories of your parents, but are they really random? Despite the past days of hell—you still find it difficult to resist Bucky. You two spend a heated morning together, devouring each other while you still have these moments.

#bodyguard bucky barnes #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #marvel cinematic universe #reader insert #sebastian stan #buckybarnes #fluff #angst #protective bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #beefy bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bodyguard au #mob au #mini series #bucky barnes fanfic #masterlist

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seuonji · 9 months

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彡on a variety show w your svt bf!

๑ idol!svt x idol!yn secret relationship series! no storyline, just fun.

one ๑ two ๑ three ๑ four ๑ five ๑ six ๑ seven #mlist

notes ๑ variety show 'my alcohol diary' has mentions of drinking & getting drunk.

your group plays esports (valorant, leave of legends, apex, etc) against svt as a hybe special!

wonwoo gives you a look when you both sit at the end of your respective tables, you on the right, him on the left making you two sort of beside each other.

as you both play, the host points out that your skills are extremely good. your group member brings up the fact that recently you’ve been spending a lot more time gaming in your free time to which wonwoo rests his head on his hand to cover his smile knowing that he’s the reason you’ve been gaming more. the host adds on that your play style is a bit similar to wonwoo giving both groups chills. “perhaps it’s what’s adapted after a long time of playing,” you calmly respond.

on the other hand with soonyoung— he keeps messing up, at one point he shot one of his members, “the keyboard isn’t following what i want to do.” and you’d fr just face palm yourself. the host mentions, “even yn is getting tired of your antics.” “what antics!? im really trying.” you hope he can make it when technology evolves further. after filming you meet up with him. “wasn’t i cool earlier?” he asks. “i think my baby cousin can beat you.”

jeonghan would be such a menace in this scenario cause omg he would target you. like if he spots you he will not stop shooting and chasing until he gets you— your group member watching all of this go down would try to shoot jeonghan yet somehow he’s dodging and still hunting you down— “let me breathe!?” jeonghan shouts at your member. “you’re not letting ME breathe?” you shout back.

๑

random play dance! (random song is played and you have to dance the correct choreography)

beforehand you'd ask seungkwan to help you with the dances but he was not about to help you out while you were in a different group! until in one of the rounds where you looked lost, seungkwan comes to the front and dances clearly as a way to help you. "you're helping the other groups! get to the back," competitive seungcheol would shout. "sorry i got excited," seungkwan laughs it off. being fr tho how does that man know that many choreographies.

i imagine seokmin/mingyu would whisper to you, "i got you, just follow me," and then he would be one of the first to be eliminated.

vernon keeps on looking at you and copying your dance— you can’t help but laugh at his facial expressions when he doesn’t know the dance but also somehow he’s surviving.

wherever you are in the arena, chan always ends up beside you.

๑

youngji's program 'my alcohol diary'

you’d go alone to promote your groups album. your episode was relatively short— they covered it up with 'yn got drunk super fast' but actually, whether you have a high tolerance or not, in the end when you got drunk, you just kept on gushing about your boyfriend. (bf can be any member)

when youngji asked you to teach her the dance of your song you went through it step by step until a certain part, “oh soonyoung choreographed this part and i gave it as a suggestion and it made the cut to the official choreo,” you said with a big smile. // “my boyfriend likes this part,” you danced the bit then nonchalantly continued to teach youngji but she’s standing, there still in shock of everything she’s heard.

after filming, your boyfriend would pick you up and take care of you till you sober up.

the next day youngji would message and reveal something to you.

yn: im so sorry for the short episode run-

youngji: if it makes you feel better, seungcheol/soonyoung/mingyu/minghao talked about you way more than you did about them.

๑

chinese whisper game as a mini game (there’s a given word/phrase and the word is passed on through all players, last players needs to shout it out word for word)

you’re standing in front of jeonghan/minghao and he keeps on blowing into your ear before he starts actually saying the given phrase—

but if it was the noise cancellation version (have to read lips or body actions to get the word/phrase)

seungcheol pouted at you when you couldn’t understand what he was saying which a lot of viewers found weird since he would usually only do that with his members.

you almost hug jeonghan/joshua/wonwoo when he got the word correct—

jun/wonwoo/jihoon keeps on giving you high-fives every round.

you consider choking soonyoung when he can’t get the word correct for shit.

you and minghao/chan kept on bickering over the way he would execute the word. the staff and your members would be more interested on how you guys fight rather than the word being finally passed over to the last person.

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sundrop-writes · 4 months

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Sundrop's Criminal Minds Masterlist

Lessons For A Genius - Capsule Series (Temporarily Complete)

Note: This is a Capsule Series, so each fic can be read as an individual oneshot. There is no overarching story, and no specific ending.

Lesson One: Slick Silicone - Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Friends With Benefits. Smut. Despite being a genius, Reid still has a lot left to learn about life. (Mostly sex related.) And he definitely wants to learn from you. His first lesson? Well, a linguistics lesson turns into a hands-on demonstration with a very special toy. (17,200 words.)

Lesson Two: Magic Metacarpals - Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. (Pining) Friends With Benefits. Smut. After receiving his first lesson, Spencer is eager to learn more for you. So you teach him the next logical thing - how to pleasure you in return. (26,300 words.)

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes - Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Fake Dating. Hurt and Comfort. While undercover inside the Separatarian Sect, you and Spencer realize something important: you can’t live without each other. (8,200 words.)

Push and Pull - Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader - Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut, Sexual Tension. When investigating Viper, Emily doesn't fall for his tricks, and in fact - spends the night teasing him by showing more interest in you. Little did she know, she was driving you insane in the process. (2,800 words.)

The Perfect Brat - Dom!Elle Greenaway x Dom!Fem!Reader x Sub!Spencer Reid. Co-Workers with Benefits. Smut/PWP. Spencer acts up, so you and Elle put him in his place. (2,900 words.)

Loverboy - Bratty!Virgin!Spencer Reid x (Dom)Fem!Reader. Co-Workers with Benefits. Smut/PWP. You try your hardest to make Spencer's first time a good one. (3,100 words.)

Black Suit - Dom!Emily Prentiss x Sub!Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. After a particularly hard case, Emily takes you home and helps you unwind by showing you exactly where you belong. (2,900 words.)

From Your Lips - Jennifer Jareau x GN!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut, Hurt and Comfort. After JJ is attacked on the Hankle farm, you take the time to check on her and distract her flustered mind. (3,000 words.)

Figure It Out - A Criminal Minds Casefic. Fem!Reader x Gen!BAU Team (Platonic). General Casefic, modelled after a Criminal Minds episode. Angst, Mystery, Hurt and Comfort. When the team takes a case in your hometown - a secret that you have been trying to hide for years comes to be known with a vengeance. (18,000 words.)

Meddle About - Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Morgan calls you Reid's 'Mommy', and you don't think much of it - but Reid can't get it out of his head. It accidentally slips out of his lips, and you like how it sounds coming from him. (6,300 words.)

Pathetic - Dom!Elle Greenaway x Switch!GN!Reader x Sub!Spencer Reid. Established Dom/Sub Relationship. Smut/PWP. Spencer gets punished again - in a very creative way. (2,600 words.)

She Keeps Me Up - Dom!Jennifer Jareau x Sub!Fem!Reader. Established Dom/Sub Relationship. Smut/PWP. JJ is very protective of you - and very possessive of you. When an UnSub leaves a tiny scratch on you, she feels the need to remind you exactly who you belong to. (3,100 words.)

Careful (Series - Complete) - Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst, Fluff, and Smut. When you and Spencer broke up, he tried to forget about you. He pushed all of those feelings for you down - until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being hunted by a man who kills single mothers. (57,400 words.) | Series Masterlist | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six (Finale)

Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Autistic!Reader Headcanons

Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss Kink Headcanons

Random Spencer Reid Headcanons

JJ Being Protective Of You (Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Autistic Reader)

The Scale of Dominance and Submissiveness in The Criminal Minds Characters (Headcanons)

How would Spencer react to you teasing him with a lollipop?

How would Spencer react to you fainting around him?

How would Spencer, Emily, and Elle react to getting proposed to?

How would Derek, Emily, and Spencer react to your daughter being clingy with them?

Note: This last fic links off to AO3. I'm probably not going to edit it and post it on Tumblr - it's going to live on AO3. So if you want to read it, you can do so at this link.

Burn The Witch - Spencer Reid x (BAU)Fem!Reader. Mutual Pining Co-Workers. Heavy Angst, Smut, Casefic. (Series - Complete.) You weren’t sure which you regretted more: acting on your feelings for Spencer, or writing them down first. But there wasn't much room for regrets when a psychopath was waving a gas can in front of your face and telling you he intended to turn you to ashes. (69,900 words.)

#sundrop writes #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader

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thankskenpenders · 4 months

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Sonic Prime Season 3: Final episodes, final thoughts

Well, here we are. The final seven episodes of Sonic Prime are out on Netflix, concluding the story of Sonic's adventures in the Shatterverse. I've previously shared my thoughts on the first and second seasons, which I was pretty mixed on, but there were still glimmers of hope. The fluid animation, Shadow being fun in all his appearances, Nine being fairly interesting as a jaded alternate version of Tails, etc. There was enough to make me believe that after some highs and lows there was still the possibility that this show could end on a high note - or at least a decent note.

This did not happen.

Sonic Prime's final season sucks. The ending sucks, and the road to get there sucks. It's left me wondering what the point of all this even was. There are still moments I like that I'll try to highlight, and the animators and voice cast are still clearly giving it their all, but these efforts sadly don't outweigh the overwhelming mediocrity of the story. I would barely even recommend other Sonic fans who are on the fence go out of their way to finish it. I won't begrudge people who got more out of this show than I did, but I think overall I just really, really dislike Sonic Prime.

...The problem, of course, is that all other discussion of the show has been overshadowed by needlessly hostile arguments over its place in Sonic's canon. So we've gotta talk about that, too.

(This post will contain full spoilers for Sonic Prime.)

The show's out of ideas but they've gotta stretch that shit out to hit the 23 episode mark somehow

Season 2 ended with the big twist that Nine decided to betray Sonic and Shadow, taking the Paradox Prism for himself so that he could go turn the empty world of the Grim into his own little paradise, since he doesn't believe he'll fit anywhere else. Nine has made himself the true big bad of the show.

The main impact this has is that now, instead of fighting endless identical Eggforcer bots and members of the Chaos Council over and over, the good guys and the Chaos Council have to fight endless Chaos Sonic-style robots sent by Nine while he goes "grrrrr I need Sonic's energy to stabilize the Paradox Prism." This continues for six whole episodes until the series finale, when the show decides it's time for Sonic and Nine to quickly make amends, fix everything, and send Sonic and Shadow home.

That's pretty much the whole season.

I cannot emphasize enough just how much of this final season is just fight after fight after fight against Nine's bots, and how fucking boring that gets. The season feels like one long, drawn out final battle that did not need to be nearly this long, but Nine had his big heel turn 2/3 of the way through the show and we've gotta fill up the rest of the time somehow. The novelty of the bots being based off of Sonic's friends (including the Chocobo-sized Birdie from the jungle world) really wears off quickly when they're just used as generic, silent mooks that the good guys have to fight by the dozen like it's the climax of an MCU movie. The first episode of the season with Sonic and Shadow fighting the new bots is pretty good, especially because Sonic and Shadow's dynamic is one of the few redeeming aspects of this show's writing, but after that it just gets boring. Three full episodes in a row are spent showing all the characters fighting robots in an empty wasteland while Nine scowls next to a big beam of energy. I found myself missing the in-your-face attitude of Chaos Sonic so much. He truly was one of the best parts of this show.

While the cast is busy fighting all these robots for what feels like an eternity, various things of varying levels of interest happen. There's a halfhearted attempt to have some kind of rivalry between Shadow and the main Grim Sonic throughout the final battle, but it completely falls flat because Grim Sonic has no personality whatsoever. It's like Shadow beefing with an above-average Egg Pawn. (Actually, no, that would be funny.) There's also a death fakeout with the two other versions of Tails, where they make a makeshift bomb and throw it a little too close to themselves on the battlefield and seem to get vaporized. If they had actually died there they would have had the funniest, most pointless deaths in the entire franchise.

I also realized at one point that they were trying to do the Avengers girl power fight thing with the three versions of Amy fighting a bunch of Rouge bots. This was very funny to me. Actually, so much of this is just following the tired MCU formula to the letter. Fighting over a macguffin, two armies just kind of running at each other and clashing in a big empty field, constant one-liner quips instead of actual jokes, the need to take out key targets to make the whole enemy army disappear, a villain who has a point but has to randomly hurt people so that there's an excuse for the heroes to fight him. When combined with how shit the multiverse stuff is, this whole show really is just Man of Action tackling some of the most played out storytelling tropes in modern pop culture in the most bland way possible. What a bunch of hacks.

By far, the one truly fun thing that happens in this protracted final battle is when a giant robot based on Big appears. It doesn't have arms or legs, but it can swing itself around to use its tail like a giant mace, and it can also shoot Froggy-shaped missiles out of its mouth. I wish the rest of the show was even half as fun as this. Again, Sonic Prime has just enough good moments to make you mad that the rest of the show isn't better.

The thing is, all this repetitive (but well-animated) action and the thin excuse plot would be totally serviceable if I just gave a shit about the characters involved. But I don't. I don't care what happens to the pirate version of Amy who goes "arrr." I don't care about what happens to Hipster Eggman. And unfortunately, by the end, I didn't really care about Nine, either.

Nine as a villain

It's hard to criticize the story here without it coming off as a broad condemnation of the tropes at play. The thing is, I like many stories that try to do similar things. I love clashes between heroes and villains that are really just fantastical exaggerations of more personal conflicts. I love stories where a tragic, sympathetic villain lashes out at the world as an expression of the pain they feel, and a compassionate hero just has to get through to them. I eat that shit right up. Undertale is my favorite game ever made. Shit, I love other Sonic stories that do these exact things. And Sonic having to fight an alternate timeline version of Tails also has so much potential for drama!

So I can very easily imagine a version of the show where all this works for me. That just isn't the version we got.

Like I said last time, Nine's motivation is just too sympathetic and understandable for his sudden turn to supervillainy to make any sense. He just wanted to start over somewhere where he can be happy after a childhood filled with bullying and loneliness. Nine betraying Sonic and stealing the Paradox Prism to go make his own world? That tracks! Especially since we don't even know if Nine will still exist if Sonic goes through with his plan to restore his original world! But trying to kill everyone in New Yolk City by tilting the world 90 degrees, intentionally targeting the civilian population because it'll get to Sonic? Nope! Sorry, that's a bridge too far. I don't buy it. He's jaded and antisocial, but he doesn't strike me as cruel. Writing in an excuse about him needing Sonic's energy to fix the Prism does not make this make more sense.

This was really just one of those conflicts where it felt like everyone should stop and talk it out. Instead we got six episodes of fighting before one of Sonic's many, MANY attempts at reasoning with Nine throughout the season finally works. This isn't me pulling some Cinema Sins bullshit where I complain about characters in a work of fiction not always behaving rationally - the real problem is that it's just so damn repetitive waiting for this conflict to resolve. This could have been wrapped up in two or three episodes and instead it takes seven.

A brief aside about that weird Dorkly-ass Sonic Advance 3 flashback scene hacked together with mismatched sprites where Gemerl happens to be present, presumably just because he's a part of the sprite for the Sunset Hill boss, and seeing him briefly makes me remember the extended cast from the games and how much I wish they had just made a cartoon about them instead of a bunch of stock characters wearing the skin of Sonic's friends, but then Gemerl just explodes with the boss machine at the end while Eggman is shown to get away so I guess Gemerl just dies in this flashback

Yeah that sure happened huh

The ending

Despite having a final battle that felt like an eternity, Sonic Prime is a show that just kind of... ends. And that ending is weird and haphazard.

The understanding I had was that Sonic's normal world had "shattered" when the Paradox Prism was destroyed, and from those remnants these new worlds were created. This is why they use terms like "Shatterverse" and "Shatterspaces" and why there's shattered glass/crystal/whatever imagery everywhere. This is a broken, fragmented version of the real universe. Right? Right?? Isn't that the entire premise of the show? And therefore, if the universe has been shattered, then fixing it means putting all the shattered pieces back together. Which I would assume means that the Shatterspaces cease to exist.

So, in the ending... Sonic's world seems to just exist as another Shatterspace. Restoring the Paradox Prism doesn't seem to combine the worlds or anything, it just fixes the broken portal to Sonic's world that exists alongside all the others. So... what exactly was the point of all the shattered glass symbolism?

Things only get more confusing as the ending progresses. Shadow brings Sonic through the portal before the draining of Sonic's whatever energy makes him disappear, and they're transported back in time to right before Sonic broke the Paradox Prism. Only Sonic seems to remember what happened (Shadow might remember, but he doesn't say anything), and with the Paradox Prism never shattered, it's unclear if the Shatterspaces exist now.

I'm not particularly hung up on the time loop ending. It's very much in line with all sorts of classic morality tales like A Christmas Carol or It's a Wonderful Life, where the flawed protagonist goes through some kind of magical experience and then returns home with a new appreciation for the people in their life. It's always been pretty obvious that was the type of story they were telling. I'm more bothered by the fact that there's no time whatsoever spent on whether or not the other worlds and the characters in them continue to exist. Sonic seems to act like the worlds will go on without him before he leaves, but it's not like we get an ending scene that shows how the other worlds are doing, so they really truly might as well not exist anymore. Sonic just wraps up the adventure from the first episode when he gets home, and before he can explain what happened from his perspective he's interrupted by a mysterious energy wave from off-screen and it's off to the next adventure.

(Despite this odd cliffhanger ending, the show is extremely over and not coming back. I have to imagine this is just a "the adventures never end" type ending and not a hint that more shit is going on with the Paradox Prism.)

This ending is also a terrible resolution to Nine's whole arc, despite him being the driving force of so much of the show. The way I see it, there are are three possible fates for him:

The Shatterspaces continue existing, and things go as Sonic expects them to go. Nine is allowed to make the Grim into his own little utopia, and everyone else leaves him alone instead of punishing him for all the trouble he caused. Instead of finding love and acceptance so he can heal from a lifetime of bullying and loneliness, Nine is allowed to run away, isolating himself from every other living being in the multiverse, and live alone as the god of an empty world with only his own creations as company. Sonic was his only friend, and he's gone forever now.

The Shatterspaces continue existing, but because of the time travel ending, most of the events of the show never happened. Sonic never helped defeat the Chaos Council, so they still control New Yolk City. Nine is back to living in this dystopian city with no friends. He never met Sonic.

The Shatterspaces have been erased. After fighting so hard for his right to exist as his own person and not just a "wrong" version of Tails, when the timeline is altered, he just... stops existing. Along with almost every other character in the show.

Do I even need to explain why these are all unsatisfying?

Misc. thoughts

I skimmed over this, but a lot of the final season is just spent seeing Sonic's friends bicker with the Chaos Council and then Sonic has to beg them to get along to save the universe. It gets old.

We also never really got an explanation for why the Chaos Council exists. They can't have come from other Shatterspaces because there ARE no other Shatterspaces. If the original Eggman was just split into five guys or time travel was involved or whatever, it never comes up. I can live with this, but it seems like an odd omission for a children's show that's constantly bogged down in technobabble explaining the mechanics of its extremely small and finite multiverse.

I have no idea where Shadow was for the first part of the final battle. I figured Nine must have captured him off-screen after Sonic first left the Grim, but Shadow was just... hanging around until his cue in the script, I guess?

Sonic saying "help a brother up" to Shadow was funny

Hipster Eggman pointing to one of the few nameless extras who tagged along for the final battle and going "Who are you? Seriously, does anyone know who this is?" was the only funny thing he did in the entire show

Mangy Tails randomly pressing buttons on the Chaos Council's generator like a curious animal and managing to improve its output was cute

Rusty Rose randomly realizes that the Birdie in her chest actually isn't being used as a power source, and that the Chaos Council was just... using that to manipulate her, somehow? I don't really know how that works but whatever

The Sonic Advance 3 flashback uses the actual boss music from the game, but they can't use the real Sunset Hill theme because they didn't wanna pay Masato Nakamura for using the Green Hill motif, I guess

To my fellow fans of bad games: did you know that Man of Action wrote the story for the bizarre Square Enix game The Quiet Man? The one where the lengthy FMV cutscenes play out with muffled audio and no subtitles because the protagonist is deaf, so you can't tell what's going on? And you had to do a New Game+ playthrough to actually hear the audio and understand what's going on? The worst-reviewed game of 2018? That one? I only learned that recently and it blew me away

So yeah, that's the end of the show. I didn't like it, and I don't think I liked the show much as a whole. I am far from alone in this sentiment, but the reasons why people dislike the show... those vary a bit.

The canon conundrum

More than anything else, it seems like most other discourse surrounding this show has been consumed by one talking point:

How can this be canon? Why is it canon?

I want to state very clearly up front that I, too, am a person who's noticed and complained about the inconsistencies with the games in Sonic Prime. Some of the characters are a bit off - or, you know, completely unrecognizable when discussing the writing of some of the AU counterparts. I think it's lame to say Sonic and friends all live in Green Hill and act like that's the entirety of their world. That sort of thing. But if Sega says it's canon to everything else? Sure. Fine. There's weirder shit in the canon.

Really, most of this can be explained away pretty easily. The show was written at a time when Sega was still figuring shit out and there were looser restrictions. Why does Sonic act a little more immature? Probably just because Prime is aiming for a slightly younger audience than the games or the IDW comics. (And also it's, y'know, written by Man of Action, who people have accused of only knowing how to write one kind of protagonist for years.) Why do Sonic and friends live in Green Hill? Because that's the most recognizable location from the games, and the game world doesn't get enough screentime to justify modeling multiple different environments, so they just focus on Green Hill. Why is this considered canon to the games? Because this is the first Sonic cartoon that outright references events from the games as things that have happened to Sonic in the past.

But announcing early on that Prime would be canon certainly let fans' imaginations wander. It was one of the few things we knew about the show before it premiered. People wondered if characters from the games and comics who had never made any appearances in Sonic cartoons might get their time in the spotlight. We wondered if it would tie into the lore or any existing storylines in interesting ways, like the IDW comics do. But above all else, we hoped that its canon status would mean that Sonic Prime would finally be the Sonic cartoon that was faithful to the source material with no catches. We've literally never seen the actual world of the games brought to life in a TV show. Sonic X came the closest, but that still took its liberties. And so hype built for this Canon Sonic Cartoon.

And then it actually came out, and after a brief intro in Green Hill based loosely on the games, it spent most of its running time focusing on things like "what if there was a version of Eggman who was a bratty teen who just wanted to play video games?" The disappointment among fans is understandable. I am disappointed. Look at how much I've bitched about this aggressively mid cartoon.

Some fans, however, came up with an elaborate theory about the series. You see, when asked about the show's place in the game timeline during a live Q&A, Ian Flynn (who only served as a consultant on Sonic Prime and did not write any of it) said this:

"I cannot answer because I know the answer, and you haven't finished watching the show yet."

A couple days later, when answering another question about Prime's place in the timeline and also about a writing discrepancy, he said this:

"As to where it fits on the timeline, I can't speak to it because that would spoil the show to a degree. So you're just gonna have to wait 'til it's done. Towards the other point, I don't know how much I can say, so it's probably better that I not comment. That's a really dissatisfying answer, I know, I'm sorry, but my hands are kinda tied on that one."

I feel the need to quote Ian directly here, because these very basic statements about how he can't talk about behind the scenes shit or anything from unreleased episodes was GREATLY misinterpreted by the fandom. People clung onto Ian's claim that we had to keep watching like a life preserver. Some took it as Ian saying that the ending would explain everything. Finally, we'd have a definitive answer for every little discrepancy and the apparent differences in worldbuilding. An explanation for why Sega and the producers repeatedly insist this show HAS to be canon.

And to these fans, the only explanation that made any sense... would be if the ending of Sonic Prime pulled a Flashpoint.

As this theory explained, the Sonic we were following in Sonic Prime wasn't the Sonic we know from the games and the IDW comics, and likewise the world he comes from isn't really the game world. This is a different Sonic who fights a different Eggman in a world that's literally just Green Hill. It was a hint that something was off all along! But in the end of the series, this Sonic would sacrifice himself to merge all of the Shatter Spaces together and form a brand new world, and that would be the more visually diverse world of the games and comics. According to this theory, Sonic Prime was canon because it was a new origin story for the entire franchise.

I want you to really stop and think about how asinine of an origin story this would be. Really drink this in. The idea that there was another, slightly different version of Sonic who went on a kinda shitty multiverse adventure and then sacrificed himself to create the real Sonic that we've known since 1991. People convinced themselves this made more sense than the simple explanation that a different team of writers got some stuff wrong and Sega didn't make them change it. Interviews where producers talked about drawing on Sonic's "mythology" (ie: they reference the games in the show) were taken very literally - they must be saying that Prime's story is mythological in nature, and that this show would be integral to the games' mythology. Why bother making a show that's canon if it's not going to be crucial to that canon, after all?

The final episodes dropped, and none of this happened. Because of course it didn't. It was all Sherlock fandom-level copium. But fans were left confused by the lack of a grand reveal of where Sonic Prime fits in the timeline, believing they had been promised this, and they turned to Ian for an explanation. Ian's answer:

It doesn't matter, b/c Prime wipes itself out. It's sometime after Advance 3*, but otherwise, it's moot. I didn't want to sour anyone's expectations or investment by spoiling how Prime resolves, that's all. If you enjoyed it, awesome. Savor it. If you didn't, then you can safely ignore it. Simple as that.

* About a trillion people have um, actually'd Ian to point out Orbot and Cubot briefly appear in the show, but if we're really being pedantic here we don't actually know how long before Colors Eggman built Orbot and Cubot, so it wouldn't be fully accurate to say a story featuring Orbot and Cubot couldn't be set before Colors. Either way, a story set anywhere around Colors, or at any point later than that, could still be described as "sometime after Advance 3." Advance 3 is just the most recent game that has specific in-game events referenced in the show. Yes I can feel myself morphing into the nerd emoji before your very eyes

Anyway, this is the latest reason Ian is getting death threats on Twitter. This time it's over a show he barely even had any input on!

I'll cut to the chase. It is truly wild to me that people are getting this heated over canonical inconsistencies in a series as historically inconsistent as Sonic, to the point that they think threatening Ian is justified. The aesthetics of the entire world Sonic inhabits change every other game. Sonic Chronicles may no longer be canon due to the Penders lawsuits, but it was canon at one point, and it took huge liberties with Sonic's world, moving Green Hill off of South Island and reinterpreting Station Square as a tiny outpost in a snowy alpine forest region. Characters' personalities change from writer to writer and based on what Sega wants at the time, with some being WILDLY different across different games. One game Sonic will be stoic and cool, the next he thinks "Baldy McNosehair" is the funniest thing ever. Sega's STILL trying to figure out what Amy's personality is supposed to be. We still don't have the explanation for how the two seemingly contradictory backstories for Blaze can fit together. There have been multiple huge, sweeping retcons, and retcons to those retcons. Sonic Forces claims that Classic Sonic is from an entirely different universe than Modern Sonic, and the plot only makes any sense if that's true - otherwise, Modern Sonic would have already known Eggman was going to beat him and take over the world when he did, because his younger self had already lived through that war. All of that makes no sense in the newly reunified timeline, but Forces is very much still canon.

For fuck's sake, we're talking about the series where Eggman blew up half the moon and then it looked completely normal in every other game after, explained away as "the moon just rotated so we can't see the destroyed side from Earth." This has never, ever, ever been a franchise where everything lines up perfectly with no issues. It's not that serious.

The real core problem with Prime isn't that things don't line up 100% with our current understanding of canon, or that Sonic's characterization means this can't be the real Sonic, or anything like that. The problem, as I've been saying this whole time, is that the story is bad. None of these discrepancies would truly matter if the story was better. They'd just be nitpicks. The fact that Sonic and friends live in Green Hill would be the farthest thing from my mind if the drama was more engaging, if the villains were better, if the jokes were actually funny, if more of the alternate universe counterparts of Sonic's friends had more than one generic character trait each, if the multiverse was more creative and varied, if the final seven episodes of this show didn't devolve into the third act of an MCU movie and then just arbitrarily end, if Nine's character arc actually had a satisfying conclusion instead of ending with either isolation or nonexistence. Maybe we'd be seeing people talk about more than just whether or not it should be considered canon if the writing was any good.

"Canon" is not real, and it sure as hell isn't worth sending people death threats over. It's a storytelling tool. Real human beings decide what does and doesn't go into that canon, or how much they do or don't want to draw on past stories, when creating a new story. Serving that canon is secondary to creating a story where the emotional truth resonates with the audience. And Sonic Prime failed to do that. That is its true failing.

And finally, to close out...

Since people will ask, here are my current ranking of the Sonic TV shows, now that Prime is finished.

Sonic Boom

Sonic SatAM

Sonic X

The Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog

Sonic Prime

Sonic Underground

Yes, I'd say Boom is my favorite. It's far from my ideal Sonic cartoon, but it gets a lot of points for being as funny as it is. But the top four are all shows I'd say I like, more or less. They all have their pros and cons.

So now, uh... I guess let's hope the live action Knuckles show coming to Paramount+ is better than the underwhelming synopsis of "Knuckles helps deputy sheriff Wade train in the ways of the echidna warrior" would imply? Maybe we'll get lucky?

#tkp post #other media

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celtic-crossbow · 1 month

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 20

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Graphic depictions of illness; allusions to major medical procedure; accidental violence (m on f); allusions to child abuse

A/N: Finally. I make no excuses and a lot of apologies. Daryl is going through it right now but it's not just my normal whump. Reader gets to find herself again. I say that as vaguely as possible but you'll see at the end and in coming chapters.

A day and a half. A full fucking thirty six hours. The group still hadn’t returned. While it was logical to be concerned for their safety, you just couldn’t seem to look any further than the man on the bed no more than a foot in front of you. His fever raged and his breathing deteriorated, shallow rattles and painful fits of coughing. Still, those were less distressing than the moments he would wake, not remembering where or when he was.

During one such episode, you had been a peer from school. An innocent girl who had followed him home one day to catch crawdads in the creek behind his house. His one friend that he had to hide in the crawlspace until he could get his father to beat on him instead of looking for you. He didn’t have any friends. You were special, he said. The bruises were worth it.

Of all the ways to get Daryl to talk about what had happened to him, this wasn’t what you had expected.

To make matters worse, he had become violent, waking in a rage that no one could understand. He was swinging punches and trying to leave the bed, Lori holding you away from him while Hershel of all people tried to subdue him alone. It was the grating of his own voice against his throat that had brought on the coughing, the force of which had eventually tired him out.

You had appreciated the concern but had asked Lori not to come between you and Daryl again. Though she had retreated in a huff, Carol later assured you that she was only concerned for the safety of you and the baby. She wasn’t angry and she wasn’t judging Daryl for something over which he had no control.

Things were quiet at the moment. You hummed and carded your fingers through the archer’s hair. He had been sleeping without interruption for a little over an hour, but his breaths were seeming even more labored.

You were beyond exhausted. Two or three hours of sleep, barely eating between bouts of nausea, you were nearly to the point of being confined to that sickbed right alongside Daryl.

“How’re the patients?”

You didn’t lift your head, only your eyes. “Baby and I are fine. Daryl sounds worse than when you were here earlier.”

“Let’s take a look at you two and then I’ll examine Daryl.”

There was no point in arguing. You didn’t have the energy. Sitting up straight in the chair, your back protested from the time spent bowed over the edge of the mattress, but you continued the journey to relax against the backrest. Your hand never released Daryl’s.

Hershel motioned toward your sweater in a silent request for permission and received a mumbled knock yourself out in reply. Baby Dixon was still for the moment after hours of kicking and rolling and seemingly trying to fit a foot between your ribs. The veterinarian smiled gently upon removing the stethoscope and rolling down your sweater. You were grateful for the small gesture, likely would have left it up if he hadn’t taken the initiative.

“Heartbeat’s strong. Seems to be doing just fine according to my limited knowledge. You really should get some rest yourself. Eat something, drink more.” His stethoscope was already nearing Daryl’s chest when you noticed it; the twitch of a hand before fingers curled into a fist.

“Daryl, no!” You weren’t meaning to hurt the old man, inwardly wincing when you heard the thud of his body hit the floor. You were just quick enough to shove him out of the way, Daryl’s fist barely grazing your cheek instead. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s Y/N. You’re sick.” You kept your voice soft, right next to his ear, holding him firmly in a way he couldn’t escape in his weakened state.

“Hershel! Y/N!” Carol and Lori burst into the room, Beth just behind them. You heard the girl begin to cry and tend to her father but the other two were quiet.

“Where—dunno—can’t think—”

“I know, Daryl. It’s the fever.” He was coughing into your shoulder, his skin hot and dry where it touched yours. “You’re safe. I’m here. Thumper’s here.” The archer made a sound in his throat and by some miracle, you knew what it meant. Otherwise keeping your hold on him, you fumbled for his hand and pressed it firmly to the side of your belly. “Feel that? You woke them up too.” Your lip was wobbling, your voice threatening to do the same. “They just want their daddy to rest now so they can too. How ‘bout it, hmm?”

You pulled back slowly, steeling yourself for whatever it was you would see in his eyes. You almost whimpered when there was nothing short of exhausted recognition.

“D’I hurt—”

Your cheek burned and felt wet, but you shook your head. No, you wouldn’t tell him while he was like that. “I tripped. Face-planted. You definitely would have laughed.” He didn’t believe you, that much was obvious, but thank heavens for Thumper and a well placed punt straight to Daryl’s palm. His reaction was sluggish, head bowing to watch his hand rub circles over that spot.

“Hey, kid. Go…easy on…your mama.”

“How about you go easy on their mama too and drink some water for me?” With your hand behind his head, you slowly guided him to his mountain of pillows. “Just a bit, okay?” He gave no answer. His palm continued to caress your bump. You wondered if he would still be so affectionate once he realized you weren’t alone in the room.

With one hand raising his head slightly, the other tipped the cup to lips. He didn’t drink as much as you’d hoped but it was something. His eyes were closed but his fingers remained steady, curling and straightening over where you could feel the ripples of movement. It was as if they could sense one another. Daryl was calm, only the cough moving him at all. The baby’s movements were gentle waves below his hand.

You didn’t dare move, allowing him the comfort he likely didn’t even know he was seeking. If you were being honest, you were relaxing a little as well. With a sigh, both tired and contented, you slouched but stayed next to him.

“Is he okay?” You asked, finally rolling your head toward the others. Beth and Carol were getting Hershel to his feet, Lori pacing behind them with an expression you just didn’t like.

“I’m perfectly fine.” The man answered for himself, patting Beth’s hand so that she would release him.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered, risking placing your hand over Daryl’s. When his fingers went still, you gently guided his palm back and forth over your belly.

“You did nothing wrong, Y/N. I should have been more—”

“He’s going to seriously hurt one of us.” Lori interjected, continuing her pacing. You shot her a warning look, eyes narrowing when she shook her head. “I understand this is out of his control, but this is Daryl and out of all of us, he’s hardwired for violence.”

“Lori, you should go.” You spoke quietly, not willing to disrupt any rest the archer might be getting. You could only pray that he hadn’t heard her careless comment.

“We should just take shifts to come check in on him. You could rest and eat, we’d probably hear him cou—”

“Are you seriously suggesting I leave him alone up here?” Where the anger was coming from, you had no idea. Maybe it was the exhaustion or the concern for Daryl that was constantly eating at you. It hardly mattered, you’d made it clear that she was crossing a line. Your tone was dripping with venom. “Carol.” You beckoned, eyes remaining on Rick’s wife. “Please, take Lori downstairs before I say or do something I would definitely regret.”

“Come on, Lori.” You heard Carol say quietly, a heated glare continuing between you and the other woman as she was led from the room. Once the door closed, your anger dissolved as quickly as it had materialized. “Beth—Hershel, you know—”

“We know he’d never hurt any of us on purpose.” The girl said in that sweet southern tone of hers. “You neither.”

“Having two expectant mothers in one room with enough charged energy was just asking for an explosion of some sort. Now don’t you stress yourself over it any further.” As he neared, Hershel squeezed your shoulder. “Think you might be able to keep him from becoming agitated long enough for me to take a listen?” He lifted the stethoscope.

You nodded with a sniffle, wiping away a tear. “Yeah. If you can go around, I have an idea.” The old man rounded the bed while you crawled up beside Daryl, gently pulling him onto his side and against your chest. Once situated, you pulled his hand back onto your belly, and though he didn’t move it, you felt him relax a little further into you. “Daryl.” You whispered into his hair. “Hershel’s gonna listen to your lungs. The stethoscope is gonna be cold but your skin is hot from the fever. I’m right here. And it’s just Hershel.”

You carded your fingers through his hair while Beth leaned over you to clean the cut on your cheek, hands just as gentle as her father’s. There wasn’t so much as a flinch when the cold instrument pressed against the archer’s back. You paid attention to the his reactions—or lack thereof—but you also watched Hershel and the way his expression fell. It was then you knew he would tell you nothing good.

“His right lung is full of fluid. It’s hindering his ability to breathe normally. The cough is still productive?” You nodded slowly. “May I see?” Well, that was disgusting but Beth carefully pinched one edge of a cloth and carried it to Hershel. You didn’t care to have that ick on your fingers.

Your attention turned back to Daryl, his weight heavy on your side, chest rattling, cheeks flushed, and lips pale. When would the group be back? Were they okay? Should you plan to leave?

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?” You didn’t look up from stroking the archer’s cheek until your name was said again. The expression you were met with was grim. You had your concerns about the pink frothy liquid that accompanied the mucus. Fuck. You should have told Hershel immediately. “What is it?”

“If I don’t do something about the fluid in his lung, it is possible he may—for lack of a better term—drown.”

“When they get back—” He cut you off with a shake of his head.

“This can’t wait that long. We don’t know if—we’re not sure when they’ll return. I need to see if I have anything that I can use. What we were able to grab from the farm was extremely limited and even that has been cut in half with being on the road.” Hershel was mentally running through inventory as he began to leave the room with his daughter in tow, turning but not meeting your eyes. “I’ll need him awake for this.”

Start waking him up now. That’s what he meant. You were horrified. You had no idea how to thoroughly explain to Daryl what was going to happen, because you didn’t know. Why did he need to be awake? ‘Oh, you’re going to drown slowly if we don’t do this now.’ How badly would it hurt?

“There’s a—time an’ place—to be pullin’ on—a man’s hair an’ this—ain’t it.”

You sputtered out apologies and let go immediately. “I didn’t even realize—I’m so sorry.” He wasn’t even looking at you, half lidded eyes blinking slowly and staring toward the wall. Your tight grip returned but this time on his bicep, pulling him more snugly into your side but easing when he buried his face against your sweater to cough. Gross, but what could you do? “Daryl. Do you think you could try to—”

“Heard the—the old man. M’awake.”

The two of you laid in silence, not necessarily uncomfortable but with the looming fear of what was to come and if could even possibly help him. Your fingers ran a trail up and down his arm while his hand splayed out over your belly, eventually sliding around to your side to shift you toward him. Face to face, you could now clearly see the exhaustion, the way the illness was slowly tearing him down, and the resignation in his eyes.

“I’m scared.” The words slipped from your tongue unbidden, and though his expression didn’t change, he brought a fiercely trembling hand to your cheek, hot against your skin.

“Me too.” The admission shocked you to your core. Daryl always strived to be strong for everyone. Hell, it was what led him to his current position in the first place, trudging on while ill just to make sure you and the group—mostly you—were fed. “Didn’t fall.” His thumb barely brushed the bruised cut on your cheek. “M’so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He opened his mouth, presumably to speak but quickly turned his face into the pillow to cough harshly, the force rocking his body hard enough to jar your own. You twisted to reach for a cloth, shushing him when his hold grew tighter, openly displaying his discontent at the thought of you moving away.

With gentle swipes, you wiped his face and then the pillow, folding the fabric before laying it above your heads for easy access.

“I don’t wanna do this without you. Thumper needs their daddy. And,” you swallowed, face crumbling and tears stinging your waterline, “I need their daddy too.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Why the hell was he comforting you when he was the one being ravaged by an illness that would have been easily remedied in the old world? You really were weak, dependent. Where was the headstrong woman that had shown no fear on her own during the first days of the turn? “Stop—stop lookin’ at me—like m’already dead.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, pulling away abruptly to cover a fit of barking coughs that left him groaning, face lined with pain while he gasped and heaved to catch his breath.

You had no chance to offer him any sort of comfort before there came a knock and Hershel entered, Carol at his heels. “We have what we need. Well, what can be used in place of what we need.” He held some sort of thin tubing, a syringe, and a plastic mixing bowl, while Carol carried a mostly empty bottle of whiskey, some gauze, tape, and a knife. Even with your wide eyes displaying a naked fear, Daryl never turned to look. “Is he awake?”

“Get it—get on with it.” He grumbled, weak but to the point.

Hershel merely shook his head with that fond smile he had developed toward your group since the farm. “Carol, could you sanitize the knife?” Seeing her pour a portion of the liquid over the blade made your stomach turn, or maybe it was your own illness rearing its ugly head to take advantage of your weakened state. Regardless, you looked away, finding Daryl’s eyes on your own. “First, I’ll need to find the right spot. You’ll have to be completely still for this, son.”

“Yeah, okay. Got—got it.” The archer wheezed. In your peripheral, you could see the veterinarian’s arm moving, pressing and counting the ribs in search of the correct site. Daryl was rigid, his eyes squinted but remaining open and focused on you with the occasional flitting down to where your swollen belly pressed against him. His hand fisted into the fabric of your sweater on your hip.

“Okay, I’m going to—”

“Just do—just do it for christ sake.”

The old man was still behind him for a moment, long enough to draw your gaze to his. He nodded, a silent request for you to do what you could to keep Daryl still and compliant. Drawing your eyes back to the dull blue that was watching you with such intensity that you felt crushed under the weight, well, that must have been enough for Hershel to continue.

Daryl made a noise in the back of his throat, the slightest spasm of pain indicating that the knife had pierced his skin. Hershel and Carol were moving behind Daryl, communicating through whispers and gestures while you felt Daryl’s arm begin to shake, your sweater pulling tight against your body.

“It’s okay. You’re doing so good, Daryl.”

His eyes suddenly clamped shut, your sweater rising away from your hip when he twisted his fist. The seconds felt like minutes that felt like hours of watching him tremble with fever, weakness, and restraint. Finally, there came the blessed sound of liquid hitting the bottom of the plastic bowl.

“Catheter is in place as best I can tell. We’re getting fluid. Don’t hold your breath, son. Nice and slow.”

You could tell he was trying, each breath a wheeze laced with pain. Slowly, you moved your hand from his arm to his face, just brushing your fingers over the stubble on his cheek. “We need to start thinking of names, you know. Thumper is cute but the baby isn’t a rabbit even though they feel like one sometimes.” Daryl’s eyes opened, tears pricking at the pinched corners. You knew he couldn’t answer you and so did he, probably couldn’t even if he tried. “I try to picture what they may look like. I hope they look like you, big blue eyes and maybe even a permanent scowl so that when they smile, it’ll be the most beautiful thing we’ve ever seen.” You thumbed away a tear that escaped down across the bridge of his nose toward the other eye.

When his throat spasmed, you thought maybe he was going to be sick but then he began to cough, loud and agonizing and dry. Your wide eyes found Hershel’s, the calm in the old man’s gaze fizzling out your terror.

“It’s okay. Just keep him still. The coughing forces out more fluid. It’s almost over.”

As painful as it was for Daryl, it was agonizing for you to watch him suffer with no way to help him. “It’s almost done. You’re doing great. Stay still and stay awake. Can you look at me?” He answered with the smallest of nods, an almost imperceptible movement. Carol moved closer to Hershel. It was torture to not know what they were doing out of your sight but at the same time, an immense relief. The zip of tape being pulled and torn was surely a sign of the procedure coming to an end.

But it was when Daryl drew in the deepest breath you had heard in two days that you felt yourself relax, truly and utterly just drain of tension, placing your forehead against his. “It’s over. Just rest now.” You focused on his even breaths, just the slightest wheeze, the barely audible rattle. He was limp against you, his hand still tangled in your sweater but no longer holding on. The archer was exhausted and sleep had claimed him almost instantly.

“Hershel?” You need not ask anything. He knew.

“It won’t last long, but it buys us some time. The incision was deep but small. I will examine him in a little while, make sure it stays clean. In the meantime, listen for any struggles with breathing. Let him rest.”

You nodded, your forehead brushing against Daryl’s. The used supplies had been gathered and the old man had already made his way downstairs. You caught Carol’s eye as she started to close the door.

“An hour.” You stated flatly.

“What?” The other woman stepped back into the room, her brow drawn.

“I’m giving them one hour. If they’re not back, I want the list and I’m going. There won’t be a discussion.” No room for argument. “You sit with him while I’m gone. You’re the only other person he really trusts.” She looked as if she might object, but when her shoulders relaxed, you knew you’d won. With a nod, she left the room.

Without Daryl’s desperate attempts to breathe, it was so quiet, a sound you welcomed and reveled in so deeply. Hershel had opened a doorway and you’d be damned if you’d let it close. Moving your arm below his to wrap around him, low on his back to avoid the incision, you used the leverage to pull yourself as close to him as you could with baby Dixon barring the way. The archer didn’t stir. Pressing your lips to his forehead, you felt the fever still burning hot, only fueling your determination to get what he needed if the group failed to return.

“I don’t care what you say or what you think. I don’t care why you think I shouldn’t.” You spoke softly, a near whisper. “I love you. And I am not losing you.”

Of course you had fallen asleep. Daryl was resting comfortably, albeit still feverish. You were cozy beside him. You felt safe while simultaneously feeling like you were guarding him. It had been more than an hour, that much was certain. Hershel hadn’t given a timeframe regarding how long the treatment would help Daryl and you were taking no chances. It was time to take things into your own hands.

As fate would have it, just as you began to disentangle yourself from Daryl, there were frantic footsteps on the stairs. Fuck. Daryl was too weak to move if walkers had wandered into the area. The door burst open without a knock, revealing a breathless blonde teenager wearing a brilliant smile.

“They’re back!”

You stared. It was all you could do, your voice had seemingly decided it was in just as much shock as you were. Besides, she had already disappeared, leaving the door wide open. A sob worked its way up your throat but you blocked it with your teeth, looking down at Daryl as he slept.

He would be okay.

The glare you had fixed on Hershel settled the maybe you should wait outside argument rather quickly. You weren’t leaving Daryl to be manhandled should he wake up confused.

A herd had blocked their direct path back. Of course one had. Because the world was cruel and unforgiving and the dead were always hungry and always looking for a life to take.

Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog were bringing up supplies while Maggie assisted her father with Daryl��s care. An IV was started immediately, after carefully searching for the perfect vein due to his state of dehydration. They didn’t have the cannulas to waste. Fluids were started right along with a bag of something called Azithromycin—an antibiotic, Hershel had said. They had scored several bags of each, along with a few other things that could be used for injuries or illnesses. But when they brought up the oxygen tanks, you could have sobbed.

The nasal cannula placement was what finally woke Daryl, bloodshot eyes scanning the room before you saw the first signs of panic. “Ssh. It’s okay.” You slid your hand under his and squeezed his fingers softly. “They’re back. Just let Hershal do his thing, okay? And then I’ll chase them all out. I promise.”

You were so relieved to see his usual scowl shift into place, even if it was somewhat diminished. “Fine.” He rasped.

“Good. Now, since I have your attention—don’t touch that—” you swatted his hand away from the cannula, “take these pills.” Hershel wanted around the clock alternation of acetaminophen and ibuprofen every four hours to get the fever under control.

With an utterance of something containing the word bossy he let you place the pills on his palm and tossed them into his mouth, swallowing them dry while you sat there offering a glass of water. There was a look shared between you that would have been amusing had either you had the energy to laugh. “Thanks.” He whispered, his hand shaking when he accepted the water. He only took a couple of sips but you wouldn’t hound him just yet. The fluids were going and he likely would take a while to feel like doing much of anything.

“We’ve done everything we can do for now. Just need to keep an eye on those bags and hang new ones when they’re empty. Keep giving the fever reducers and, son, try to drink when you feel like. The sooner you’re taking in fluids on your own, the better.”

“Leave that oxygen right where it is too.” Maggie added in a no-nonsense tone.

Daryl’s nod was sluggish, his chin almost staying on his chest during the gesture. The commotion, everyone moving, even while he did nothing more than take a couple of pills, had left him running on fumes. As promised, you were up, hand on your lower back to rub away the ache there as you used the other to shoo everyone out of the room.

Absolutely nothing was stopping you from crawling under those sheets with him and sleeping for four glorious hours. You had asked Carol to keep an eye on that. Thank heavens he was lying in the middle of the bed. The side with the IV needed to be avoided.

Actually lying down with the intention to sleep, knowing Daryl was receiving the help he needed, you were just done for, already drifting off and somewhere between awake and asleep when you felt Daryl’s knuckles brush against yours. You took his hand without a second thought.

“Are you sure about this?” Carol asked, standing with you in the doorway of the bedroom. She was nervously glancing back and forth between you and Daryl. Aside from a few bouts of those harsh, barking coughs, he had slept the entire four hours and barely woke enough to choke down the pills before being pulled right back under.

“I’m sure.” You secured your knife in the sheath on your thigh and wiggled Daryl’s gun holster a little to the side so it wasn’t gouging into the bottom of your belly. Your rifle was long gone and you weren’t about to alert anyone else to your plans by choosing a different weapon. So with both your bag and Daryl’s crossbow on your back, you were ready to head out.

“You don’t have anything to prove, Y/N. We’ve lived off less. There’s a little jerky left and we have some cans—”

“I’ll be fine, Carol. I’m only going to be a few hours and hunt small game. If I happen across a doe that I can lift, I’ll take that chance, otherwise, it’ll be squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, or opossums. Yum.”

“What do I tell him if he wakes up and asks for you?” She shifted nervously.

“The truth. We don’t lie. If he tries to come after me, knock him out or barricade the door.”

She followed you to the top of the stairs but not down, staying close to Daryl as she had promised. “You really don’t need to go.”

“I do. I’m the only other hunter in this group. I won’t have him trying to go out sooner than he’s ready to make sure there’s enough.” You paused on the bottom step, staring at the door and then toward the kitchen where everyone else was gathered. Chewing your bottom lip, you climbed up two more so she could hear you without alerting the rest. “If I’m not back before his next dose, I’m headed west. That’s where they can look.”

Carol looked so stricken and unsure so you offered her a smile, as she always did for you. Finally, she conceded. “Okay.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon angst #daryl angst #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #pregnant!reader #sick!daryl dixon

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sturridges · 25 days

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‘The Sandman’ Season 2 Episode Titles and Episode Count Revealed

The Sandman Season 2 is set to have 12 episodes, and Netflix may release them as two volumes, with six episodes each. The news comes via a profile update on Independent Talent for director Jamie Childs, who will serve as executive producer for the new season.

Netflix has yet to confirm this, but in recent years, the streamer has released anticipated seasons of TV series in two volumes. Stranger Things received the two-volume treatment, for example.

Then, we have the titles for six episodes of The Sandman Season 2. For those who know the comics, these reveal a good amount of information regarding where the second season is headed.

Here are the episode titles for the second season of The Sandman. We have only six of them so far, and with 12 in total, we think these could be Vol 1.

In no particular order:

The Song of Orpheus, named after the special issue of the same name. Needless to say, this one will focus on Ruairi O’Connor’s Orpheus

More Devils Than Vast Hell Can Hold, referencing the issue A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Brief Lives, named after the issue of the same name

Family Blood, likely referencing “spilling family blood”, something Dream seeks to avoid

The Ruler of Hell, referencing Gwendoline Christie’s Lucifer. Or perhaps Hell will have a new ruler? We won’t spoil.

Season of Mists, named after the comic collection of the same name. Previously mentioned Odin, Thor and Loki are most likely to appear in this episode.

The second season of The Sandman still has no official release date, but we’re not expecting a return in 2024. Indeed, it was left out of Netflix’s 2024 slate reveal in February, and 2025 seems to be the most realistic release schedule. Despite that, we’ve already had many casting reveals for season 2 so far, with more to come (more this week, in fact!), and filming is expected to wrap by August 31st, 2024.

(source: What's on Netflix)

#the sandman #sandman season 2 #the sandman spoilers #news

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awsok · 7 months

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okay. let's talk about shin, sabine, and whatever the hell is going on here:

i've been trying to figure out this moment, and why shin responds like this. because it feels like a change, right? the shin of episode 1 would be thrilled to have permission to hunt down and kill sabine. but here, she's clearly protesting the order (indirectly, because she can hardly outright say 'no' to thrawn).

on one level, this is definitely at least in part because the order is coming from thrawn. orders from baylan are fine for shin: baylan is her master, and by this point in the series it's obvious how much she respects him. but thrawn? baylan told her finding thrawn would bring them power, but instead both she and baylan are being treated like his underlings - this is not what shin thought they were signing up for.

but if this were solely about thrawn giving orders, i'd expect shin's reaction to seem irritated or offended - she's hardly a stranger to anger, after all. but i think it's fair to say that shin's response here can be best characterised as alarmed? she's clearly surprised that they aren't letting sabine go, and more than that: she's not happy about it.

so then, i thought maybe that this was about honour - that shin was so disturbed by this, because it is dishonourable for baylan (who has made a point of insisting on keeping his word to sabine) to break their agreement. (and i know it may seem counterintuitive to assume that shin cares about such a jedi-like concept as honour, but judging by the way baylan speaks of the jedi and shin's padawan braid, he probably instilled her with their values if not their morals.) but then i remembered where episode four left off (which is indicated by the show to be a most a day or two ago):

this takes place literally immediately after sabine has made a deal with baylan. if shin cares enough about honour for it to override her hatred of sabine in episode six, it doesn't make sense for her to disregard honour (even in the heat of the moment) to try and kill sabine in episode four.

so if this isn't about thrawn (not entirely), and it isn't about honour (probably not at all), what is this about? what has changed to make shin go from homicidal obsession to protesting seemingly on sabine's behalf?

sabine, of course.

(by which i actually mean: shin.)

let's talk about The Look!

shin staring at sabine is nothing remotely new. shin staring at sabine without a homicidal glare or a mocking smirk? that's extremely new. this scene makes me crazy (i'm trying so so hard to keep the shipping goggles off and to be objective guys). it may not seem like much at first glance, but this is a dramatic change of behaviour for shin. she's looking at - no, observing sabine in a completely neutral and open way. there's no hostility in this gaze, no judgement, not even fear or conflict. just: observing. and she's doing so openly as well - not just that she isn't disguising herself - she turns to face sabine, as if to give sabine a better look at her. as if to let sabine observe her right back.

why??? why is shin doing this??

um. well. i actually don't know.

i can't make any remotely certain assumptions about what has changed since they left seatos. maybe shin has done a lot of introspection. maybe she feels like she's seen a different side of sabine. maybe they fucked on that spaceship.

the only conclusion i do feel it might be safe to make is this:

i don't think shin sees sabine as an enemy anymore.

i don't know when exactly that changed, i don't know what exactly caused it. but it's true. and if shin and sabine aren't enemies anymore - what are they to each other? what will they become?

tl;dr - shin doesn't want to murder sabine in cold blood anymore. also i think they should hold hands.

#wolfwren #um so this got long. like nearly 700 words long.#what can i say they make me crazy #shin hati #ahsoka series #sabine wren #star wars #baylan skoll #also i tried really hard to stay objective and focus only on what canon gives us #shipping and fanon are fun but sometimes the restrictions of canon are More fun #plus i wanted this to be more about character analysis than shipping fodder y'know?#*#100 #ahsoka #*meta

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thetriumphantpanda · 5 months

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Delicate - Chapter Two: Maroon

3.7k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

summary: despite some last minute reservations about meeting Joel, you throw yourself into the date, but it doesn't go according to plan.

A/N: Ahhhhh oh my God - @hellishjoel and I are so excited to bring you the second chapter of Delicate! We're having the best time with this little pairing already and we hope they manage to worm their way into your hearts just like they have with us! We're taking turns in posting the chapters of this - so please make sure you're following both of us to keep up to date!

warnings: mentions of being a single parents, rom-com vibes, foul language, a bestie who is nothing but trouble, Joel being terrible at dating in general, a lil smattering of angst, mentions of food & alcohol consumption.

There’s a flow of peace that settles across you when the door to Noah’s room clicks shut. You love him, he’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and he keeps you afloat every day, but these moments, when he’s finally asleep and you can stop thinking for a minute, are the moments you crave each day.

You settle down on the couch, mug of tea in hand, with the TV playing quietly, just for background noise more than anything, as you pick up your phone for the first time that evening. There’s a few emails, mainly about shopping sales and holidays that you think you should book but never do - those are quickly deleted to stop any temptation of spending money on something that isn’t essential. There are a few messages from your mom, just confirming that she’ll pick Noah up from school tomorrow, what she’s planned for them to do and what she’ll feed him. You shoot a message off in reply that it all sounds good and that he’s excited for some quality time with his grandparents, because it’s true, and then you set your phone down on the coffee table and try to ignore it for a while.

You finish your tea and queue up a few episodes of a show you’ve been meaning to catch up on - something mindless that people at work always seem to talk about. So mindless that it actually sends you to sleep. You wake with a jolt a few hours later. The house is still quiet, which means Noah hasn’t decided he’s still got too much energy and needs to burn it off by jumping on the bed or pulling some of his toys out. You sigh, checking the time to see it’s almost midnight.

You gather your stuff, put the mug in the sink to deal with in the morning before trudging up to bed. There’s a moment at the top of the stairs, where you think it would be so easy to flop down on the bed and forgo the rest of your responsibilities, but you’ve got your mother’s voice in the back of your mind, something about wrinkles and pores and how bad it is to sleep in your makeup, so you turn left into the bathroom, cover your skin in serums and creams and then finally, just after midnight, you fall into bed.

Knowing it’s bad to look at your phone this late at night, once you’ve set your alarm, you click open the godforsaken Hinge app that Dixie had insisted on setting you up on. So far, after six months, you’d been on a fair few first dates, three second dates and had a God awful one night stand, but nothing had been sticking, no-one seemed to be exactly what you were looking for. You’d promised her that you’d try though, so as had become a nightly ritual for you, you set about giving away your daily likes, not really paying a huge amount of attention until he pops up for you. Joel. 45. From his first profile picture, the exact kind of man you’d been searching for. Rugged, handsome,

Of the few photos he had on his profile, he was often donning a flannel or a simple short-sleeved shirt that curved around his biceps and broad shoulders. He always wore the same tilted smile, with dazzling eyes and dark hair with licks of silver. He was a handsome lumberjack of sorts.

He looked to be an outdoorsman, at least two of Joel’s pictures were of him hiking a trail accompanied by a young girl, surrounded by greenery and tall rocks with the sunshine peeking through the branches. His face was glowing and tan from the light, his handsomeness so natural. Beautiful, even.

Joel’s “Typical Sunday” consisted of a black coffee in the morning, followed by making burgers on the grill for him and his family before settling down to watch a Dallas Cowboys football game. That was a typical Sunday for a man, but it showed how he liked to unwind and that he was a family man.

First, the mention of a family, plus that beautiful young woman in almost all of Joel’s pictures - a daughter, perhaps? Older than your own boy by quite a few years. He must have been on the younger side of having children if any of these assumptions were even correct. But there was something about knowing he also had a baby to be thinking of felt familiar, comforting, as they would always come first.

And it turns out that talking to him is pretty easy too. He’s charming, a slight insomniac like you, and from what you can tell from the slight back and forth you managed to have before you go to sleep, able to flirt a little with you too. It’s why when he asks to take you out you say yes without hesitation, it could be fun, he could be the one, who knows?

Mornings are always chaos. Half-eaten bowls of cereal on the table, a mug of coffee made with the best of intentions but sat to go cold, a rush of getting Noah dressed and in the car with everything he needed for school and then the annoyance of getting stuck in traffic on the way to drop him off, all coalesce to make you stressed as you help Noah out of the backseat.

“Remember granny is picking you up this afternoon okay?” You ask, bending down to kiss his cheek as he fiddles with the straps of his backpack.

“I know, mom.” He groans, using the back of his hand to wipe the kiss off his cheek.

You smile, ruffle his hair a bit, because no matter how much he might protest, he will always be your baby, “Behave for her, okay?” You warn lightly with a smile, “She’ll bring you back home tomorrow.”

Noah spots some of his friends across the playground and steps around you to make his way into school. You turn, hold your hand up in a wave and shout at him to have a good day. Noah turns, walking backwards to look at you, waving right back.

“Have a good day, mom!”

Underneath the way he’s growing up, he’s still the sweet little boy you knew you could raise on your own. You sit back in your car, picking your phone up to make sure you’ve got enough time to go to the store and stock up on some groceries, when you notice a notification from Hinge. It’s Joel.

Just checking you’re still okay for tonight?

For some reason, you sit and stare at it for a few minutes, fingers itching to type something, to confirm, but there’s that usual seed of doubt that appears after all this time that makes you want to tell him something’s come up, you’ll have to reschedule. After months and months of trying to find someone, to failed first date after failed first date, you wonder if it really is worth it, no matter how good of a match Joel Miller seems on paper. Is he really going to be worth getting dressed up for? You sigh, type out your usual message of I’m sorry, I think I might have to reschedule, when the screen is filled with the face of your best friend, trying to call you.

“Hello?”

“Hello sexy mama!” Dixie’s voice immediately soothes you, “How are you this fine morning?”

“I’m okay,” You speak softly, plugging the phone into the car so you can speak to her as you drive, “Just dropped Noah off at school.”

“How is my favourite man?” She asks.

“Yeah, he’s good, he’s staying with my mom tonight so I think he’s just pleased to be away from me for a while.”

“It’s like the universe read my mind!” Dixie exclaims on the other end of the phone, “Do you want to go out and get wine drunk tonight?”

You stutter for a second, because you could, you could cancel with Joel, go out and drink cheap wine and dance with your friend, but before you can say anything, Dixie picks up on your hesitation.

“OH MY GOD!” She all but screeches, “Do you have a hot date tonight?!”

You grumble a little, because how is she always so attuned to you like this?

“Yeah, although I don’t know if I’m gonna go.”

“Why not?”

You sigh again, “I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore?” You offer.

“Girl, get outta here with that attitude!” She chastises, “Is he hot?”

You grumble a little again, but you can’t deny it, Joel is hot, “Yes.”

“Well then,” You can hear her clap her hands in the background, clearly having you on speaker so she can go about her business, “If he’s hot, then there’s no harm in it, forget me and my wine, go out, drink wine with your hot mystery stranger and get fucked, girl!”

“Dixie!” You screech, “I’m not fucking him.”

“Whatever you say, girl!” She shouts down the phone, “If you cancel, I’m kicking your ass, okay?” You sigh, once again, something you’re getting more and more used to these days, “Have fun and be safe!”

And then all you can hear is the dial tone from where she’s hung up on you. You think about it all the way around the grocery store, she wouldn’t know if you did cancel, would she? But you’ve known her long enough to know she’d sniff a lie out of you in seconds. So, when you settle down at your desk, you pull out your phone and send Joel a reply to confirm the plans you made last night, and then spend the rest of the work day trying not to work yourself up about the whole thing.

You don’t think that the anxiety of waiting for a date to show up will ever get easier. Stood just inside the doorway of the restaurant Joel had chosen, you’re chewing at the skin around your thumbnail. Did you dress right? Do you look okay? When he turns up will he look like his pictures or not? Will he lean in for a kiss on the cheek? Do you give him a hug? You’d like to think of yourself as a seasoned pro at this now, but those first few awkward moments always made you anxious - there was no second chance at first impressions.

You needn’t have worried about Joel though. When the door opens and he stands in front of you, he is exactly the man you’d studied on that app. Taller than you, broad and big. Scruff, peppered with gray across his face, though it’s neatly kept, just like this hair, although more unruly, it’s still peppered with grays and it suits him. He’s wearing dark jeans, and a flannel that you think must be saved for best. You step closer, open your arms. Joel leans down, and does indeed press a kiss to your cheek, one of his wide palms pressed lightly on your lower back as he hugs you back a little.

“Nice to meet you, Joel.” You smile when he pulls away.

“You too, ma’am.” He smiles back at you, and you can tell he’s nervous.

“What have I told you about that?” You tease as you step towards the hostess, Joel giving her his name, you hope the slight teasing will put him at ease, you remember just what it was like when you started dating for the first time, and as much as you want to have a good time, you want to make sure Joel is having a good time too.

She picks up two menus, leads the two of you to a table at the edge of the restaurant. Joel pulls your chair out for you, pushing it gently under you as you sit down. The light is low, and there’s a thrum of chatter across the whole restaurant as you open the menu, glancing your eyes over the choices.

“Do you want to share a bottle of wine?” You ask, finger skimming the list of wines available.

Joel nods, “Sure thing, darlin’.”

You smile, looking down at the menu, deciding you much prefer darling to ma’am, especially in that sweet southern drawl of his. When the waitress returns, you both order food and a bottle of wine, which is quickly brought to the table, uncorked, with the dark red liquid poured into two glasses. The waitress leaves the bottle on the table as you raise your glass, Joel following suit, clinking them together before you take a sip.

You’re watching as he does the same, a smaller sip than you, and then watch as his nose crinkles and he coughs a little. It makes you laugh, putting your glass down to cover your mouth a little.

“Dunno why I said yes,” He shakes his head, “Fuckin’ hate wine.”

You can’t help but properly laugh now, hoping that it puts him a little at ease. You reach over the table, lay your hand on his wrist just a touch, “What would you prefer to drink?”

You don’t miss the way he subtly drags his wrist back from your touch, covering it by scratching at the skin on the side of his hand, but you don’t let it bother you. You’re a touchy person, it’s what makes you feel at ease mostly, but that doesn’t mean it works for Joel, so you fold your hands back in your lap.

“Usually beer,” He mumbles, flagging down the waitress as she walks past to ask for just that, “Or whiskey.”

“I don’t mind a beer,” You offer, trying to make light conversation, “But whiskey makes my throat burn.”

He doesn’t offer much of a reply apart from a short hum from his mouth, his attention moving from you to the room around you, letting the table fall into silence. You look down at your lap, trying to think of things to say whilst you wait for your food.

“So, Sarah, right?” You ask after his daughter, it’s something the two of you have in common at least, “You must be super proud of her, medical school is incredible.”

“Yeah,” He says simply, “She’s a very smart girl.”

You expect him to ask after Noah, ask him a little about what he’s like, maybe what his favourite subjects are at school or whether he’s in any sports clubs or anything, but he doesn’t offer anything else to you, doesn’t ask any questions.

There’s a lull in the conversation, saved by the waitress dropping your meals in front of you, fresh tomato pasta with chicken for you and steak and mashed potatoes with asparagus for Joel. You swirl your fork through the pasta, scooping some into your mouth as Joel cuts into his steak. Your eyes are trained on him, watching how he eats - it’s one of your big tests, table manners, and to be fair to him, he passes with flying colours - sure he eats a bit fast, but it’s nothing off-putting, and he seems to be able to use a knife and fork properly and chew with his mouth closed, which is a far cry from the last person you’d been out with.

“You look really good tonight,” You offer, setting your fork down for a moment, “The flannel is very Texas.”

You think in the dim light you can see him flush a little, and you’ve not said anything that isn’t true, he does look good. Fucking great actually. Joel finishes swallowing, takes a swig of his beer.

“Thank you,” He tips his head towards you, “You look nice too,” He brings his hand up to his face to motion, “Rosy cheeks.”

You try not to let your disappointment show, it is a compliment after all, so you put all your focus back down into your meal, the two of you finishing your food in a rather awkward silence - you willing Joel to ask you something, to start a conversation, anything really. You watch as Joel pushes the asparagus around his plate after eating two of the spears, finishing off his steak and potatoes but leaving the rest of the greens.

When the waitress comes back to clear your plates, she asks if you’d like the dessert menu. You look to Joel, who tips his head in a way to say it’s up to you, but this has quite possibly been the most excruciating few hours of your life, so you drain your glass of wine, tip the last of the bottle into the glass and sit to wait for the bill.

“Listen,” Joel starts, dragging your attention from the bottom of your glass to him, a look of slight regret on his face, “I ain’t too good at all this,” He tries to explain, “It’s been a long time and I’m a little rusty.”

You kind of want to wring his ass for it a little, but underneath his apparent disinterest, you can still see the nerves of the guy who first walked through the door, and you get it, you think you’d been similar when you first started dating again, but you don’t think you’d completely lost the ability to think of a single question.

Joel insists on paying the bill and you don’t fight him for the privilege of splitting it - you think it might upset some of that southern chivalry he has and for someone else they’ll love that. It’s a silent affair as you both stand up, gather your things.

“How are you getting home?” Joel asks, holding the front door open for you.

“I can just grab a cab,” You smile, “How about you?”

He points to a truck, “Only had one so I can drive home,” He explains, “Do you mind if I wait with you for your cab?” He asks, “I’d feel better knowing you get in one safe.”

“Of course,” You smile, “The hostess called one for me, so it shouldn’t be long.”

There’s another lull in conversation, thankfully your cab arrives quickly, saving the silence from falling into awkwardness again. Joel beats you to the door, opening it for you.

“I would say it’s been nice meeting you,” He speaks, “But I feel like I made this real difficult, and I’m sorry for that.”

Going to step into the cab, you stop, leaning down to put your bag in the back seat, pausing a little before you turn back around to him, meeting his eyes. They’re striking, dark brown and beautiful, and trying to tell you just how much he knows he’s messed up. It makes your heart sink because you feel that sadness too, knowing he had so much promise, that he understood you in a way you thought other people didn’t, without even needing to talk to you, he’s a single parent, he gets it, like other people don’t. It frustrates you, makes your breath catch in your throat and your eyes glass over.

You bring a comforting hand to his shoulder, “It’s okay,” You add a smile at the end, “It takes some time to get used to this all again, I was the same,” You look down at your shoes, “It’ll get easier each time you do it, I promise.”

His head dips, regret flashed across his face, like he wishes he could go back and do it all over but better this time.

“M’sorry, again,” His tone is low, morose even, then he dips, presses a soft kiss to your cheek, “Get home safe.”

You flop down on your bed, hand running over your face, wondering at what point it had gone wrong. He’d had so much potential, had seemed like he could be so right for you, so what went wrong?

No sooner have you sent the ‘home safe’ message to Dixie, do you feel the soft vibrating of your phone. You answer, put the phone on loudspeaker and set it by your head.

“So, how did it go?”

You groan, “He had so much potential Dix,” You let out a pained noise, “I don’t know where it went wrong?!”

“Oh honey,” She coos down the phone, aware more than anyone how much you wanted to be done with dating and finally have someone you could spend time with, “What happened?”

“I don’t even know!” You exclaim, “Like, I could tell he was nervous, and this was his first date in years, but it was like he’d never spoken to a woman in his life, it was so hard!”

You can hear her sucking on her teeth on the other end of the phone, “Are you being too hard on him?” She asks, “You always say the cocky men are no good because they’re rehearsed, maybe he just needs time to warm up?”

“Dixie, I’d need a flamethrower to warm him up!”

That gets a giggle out of her, “Mama, listen to me,” She goes into serious mode now, “Not everyone is as seasoned as you at this, and if this was his first date in years and he comes face to face with you? Of course he’s going to be nervous, you can’t write him off just for that honey.”

That’s when your truth really hits out, “But what if I spend all that time warming him up and it’s a waste of time? He could turn out to be no good for me and then I’ve wasted so much time instead of trying to find the right person.”

“Honey, respectfully, you’re forty, not at the end of your life, I promise that maybe spending some time trying to unravel someone a little instead of writing them off immediately might actually be worth it.”

“I don’t know, Dix…” You trail off.

“Just sleep on it, okay?” She offers, “See how you feel when you wake up before you send him the ‘thanks but no thanks’ message.”

“Okay, I promise.”

The two of your say goodbye to each other, you stay led on the bed for a while before you push yourself up, plug your phone into the charger, noticing the notification from Hinge when your screen lights up. You can see it’s Joel’s name that sits on the front screen. You sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed, weighing up whether to read it or not. Deciding that if you do read it, you’re likely to make a decision against what Dixie told you, so you leave the notification sitting there, get yourself ready for bed and then will yourself to sleep without going over every second of the date wondering what you could have done differently.

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complete-clownery · 3 months

Text

I just want them to be friends 🐵

Btw i'm watching the whole series rn, after episode 14 I have a vague idea of whats going on but I dont understand a word, not to mention I sped the whole thing up to get it over quicker so its funny af

~SPOILER~

But yeah so far im at episode 30 and ik it doesnt make a whole lot of sense since we didn't see Jade Rabbit and Macaque interact that much, but in my head in the begining of the series they became really good friends after the "ears incident", but after Wukong left, bc of Macaque declinening mental health they just sowly fell further and further appart and jade rabbit didn't understand why was this and could only see her friend's worsening condition and do nothing about it (and this happened in thd course of 7 years cuz even tho in the series it doesnt seem that long in the book Wukong was away for 7 years, and I'd like to think thats the case here too)((I mean maybe a bit longer than 7 years cuz there was also that vilage he spent maybe 5(???) years in learning human behavior and language but im too lazy to search it out of my book, so +/- 10 years))

Also I think even tho Macaque was mad and was a jelous little bitch, Wukong leaving only made things worse for him, feeling betrayed even more and left behind on top of all that other shit that was going on inside his head

Its so funny to me how every Six Eared Macaque adaptation is getting majorly fucked up (he got posessed in both series lmfao)

Oh and obviously I have transed their gender, I think maybe nobody noticed or educated them (cuz (other head canon) he was adopted by the monkey clan since in the original book (jttw) hes also a celestial primate just like the stone monkey, without parents) so everyone thougt they were a boy for some reason, but everyone was really suprised after puberty began to hit Macaque

Tho that didn't made the clan treat him differently cuz nobody really cared and Macaque doesnt give a flying fuck about it either

I also think it would be funny, when Wukong returned he would notice Macaques chest and just casualy ask him how did he got those (he wasnt really educated on the subhect either) and Macaque would be like: "no idea. You didn't get any?" and both of them would be really confused

Later Jade Rabbit gave them a little lesson about it

So yeah even tho I dont understand this serie at all i think its cool af, enjoying it a lot 😎👍

#clown does art #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #liu er mihou 2009 #sun wukong #jade rabbit #mei hou wang 2009 #monkey king #monkey king 2009

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yelena-bellova · 1 year

Text

Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Road Trip

Plot: Joel, Y/n and Ellie continue to make their way cross country, and Joel and Y/n’s truce is heavily tested.

Warnings: tlou ep.4 spoilers, language, insinuation of killing, mention of a p*rn magazine, guns, (16+)

Word Count: 7.1k

A/N: This chapter feels like filler, but there’s still lil’ nuggets that will come into play later. Thanks to HBO for throwing that curveball of a Friday episode, now I gotta hustle to get the next chapter out within two days 😂

As always, this series is 16+ and I will not be tagging anyone who does not have their age in their bio. Gotta look out for younger eyes 👀

I hope you all enjoy this one and prepare for the next one because….anyway, enjoy!

———————

June 2nd, 2002. Austin, Texas.

——————

Joel and Y/n had gone out for three weeks, equaling a total five dates. Between their respective work schedules and Joel being a parent, they had to get creative if they wanted to see each other. They’d meet on their lunch breaks or, if they were too busy, Joel would stop by the hardware store in dire need of help finding something and only Y/n could possibly help him. It gave them a good twenty minutes or so to wander the aisles together.

On a particularly slow Tuesday afternoon, Y/n was doing inventory. Joel and her had made plans to grab coffee on his way home and she was counting down the hours till he came through the door.

A small voice broke her out of her daydreams, “Excuse me?”

Y/n turned and met the face of a girl, no older than maybe thirteen. She had dark skin and a head full of curls pulled back with a scrunchie. She looked slightly out of breath, but determined.

“How can I help you?” Y/n asked curiously.

“Are you Y/n?”

She confusedly furrowed her brows, “Yeah…”

The girl huffed with a grin, “Okay, good. I asked, like, three other people where you were and they had no idea.”

Y/n awkwardly smiled along with her, “C-can I ask how you know my name?”

“Oh,” the girl snapped back to the current conversation, “I’m Sarah.”

“Sarah…” Y/n repeated, wracking her mental index of high school friend’s kids, before it hit her. Her eyes widened, “Wait…Sarah…Miller?”

She nodded, “Yeah.”

Y/n’s body locked up, to say she was surprised was an understatement. Joel had told her that he wanted to wait a while before introducing her to Sarah. He hadn’t had a serious girlfriend since Sarah’s mom and was trying to figure out the best way for them to meet. Y/n hadn’t taken any offense, she’d supported it, actually. She’d never dated anyone with a kid and she wanted to do everything as close to perfect as she could.

“D-does your-“ Y/n braced herself against her inventory cart, “Does your dad know you’re here?”

Sarah’s mouth twisted, “Not exactly.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/n replied, suspicious, “And not exactly means…?”

“Not at all,” Sarah nervously smiled.

Y/n gathered the little oxygen left in her body and laughed. “How did you get down here if you’re by yourself?”

Sarah shrugged, “I took the bus.”

“Ah,” Y/n nodded, “And you ride the bus alone without your dad’s permission a lot?”

The girl gave a guilty smile and balanced on the heels of her Converse. It was all the answer Y/n needed.

“So, why are you here?” Y/n asked, feeling like she was doing something wrong.

Sarah sighed, “I got tired of waiting for my dad to introduce me to you. I’ve asked him, like, ten times and he keeps saying no. I knew you worked here so…I figured this was the only way I could meet you.”

Y/n couldn’t help but be a little touched, and also terrified. She was more nervous about impressing Sarah than she had been Joel.

“I mean,” Y/n rubbed her forehead, “Yeah, I knew your dad was waiting to introduce us but…I didn’t realize his daughter was a secret mastermind.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Sarah smiled, resting a hand on Y/n’s cart, “So…you’re dating my dad.”

Y/n nodded, “Seems that way, yeah.”

“Well, he really likes you,” Sarah replied, “Like, really likes you. He’s in a way better mood than usual.”

“Is he now?” Y/n inquired.

“He’s smiling all the time, he’s cooking,” Sarah’s face turned serious, “Which never happens ‘cause he kinda sucks at it. He’s even singing.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, “Singing?”

Sarah nodded, “Uh-huh. Just under his breath, but still…”

Y/n was trying hard to restrain her grin, but Sarah was making it difficult. It was nice to know Joel was as uplifted by their short time together as she was. She’d practically been floating down the aisles.

“He’s just never this happy and…” Sarah shrugged one arm, “I really wanted to meet whoever was responsible.”

“Well,” Y/n smiled, “Your dad’s pretty great. And he loves you, never stops talking about how well you’re doing in school and in soccer…”

Sarah’s posture visibly improved upon hearing the compliments.

“Look, my dad’s never going to work up the nerve to let us all hang out together,” Sarah began to explain, “But the county fair’s on Friday night, me, him and Uncle Tommy are gonna go and it would be really fun if you came.”

Y/n inhaled deeply, a family outing. Was she ready for that? Were her and Joel at that point?

“I don’t know, Sarah,” she hesitate, “I should really talk to your dad first.”

“No,” Sarah urged, taking hold of one of Y/n’s hands, “He’ll just get all squirmy and frown and say that it’s not time yet.”

Y/n thought for a second, “He does frown a lot.”

“A lot,” Sarah chortled, Y/n joining in soon after, “Just think about it. Please?”

Y/n was between a rock and a hard place, or rather, the guy she was dating and his crafty daughter. She wanted Sarah to like her and they were already a step in the right direction. She didn’t want to blow it.

“Okay,” she relented, “I’ll think about it.”

“Yes,” Sarah cheered under her breath, still holding onto Y/n’s hand. “I gotta go, the bus is gonna be back any minute.”

As she moved to go, Y/n took a step forward. “I-I really don’t like the thought of you on the bus by yourself,” she objected, “Why don’t I drive you?”

“But you’re working,” Sarah replied.

Y/n gestured to the empty space around them. “I think they’ll survive without me for twenty minutes.”

Sarah gave a small smile, she was getting to spend more time with the woman she had a million questions about. Sneaking around had paid off substantially.

“Come on,” Y/n removed her apron, draped it across her cart and pulled her keys from her pocket, “You can tell me what your dad’s been singing on the way.”

The two girls headed out of the store, giggling to themselves as Sarah did an impression of her father humming old country tunes to himself while washing dishes.

—————————

Later that afternoon, Joel arrived to pick Y/n up for their quick coffee. When he arrived, she was nowhere to be found. After asking around, and finding out she had stepped out momentarily, he decided to wait at the empty checkout line for her.

Y/n walked back into the store with a new spring in her step. Sarah had not only spilled a lot of dirt on Joel, but she had talked about herself a lot. Y/n felt like she’d already been able to make a connection.

Joel spotted her before she did him, waving a little to catch her eye.

“Hey,” Y/n greeted, apprehension taking over.

“Hey,” Joel replied, his smiling fading the closer he got, “What’s that look?”

“What look?” Y/n asked, unaware of how nervous she appeared.

“You look like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar,” Joel smirked, taking her hand lightly into his, “What’s going on?”

Y/n sighed, she’d been trying to figure out how to broach the subject of Sarah all the way back to the store. Joel’s gentle touch was only heightening her nerves. “Why don’t I drive us to coffee?”

Joel squinted in confusion, “Okay…”

The two of them drove off in Y/n’s old Toyota, but she waited until they had their drinks in hand and were walking down the main street to start talking.

“So Sarah came by today,” she blurted out.

Joel nearly choked on the sip he’d been taking, “My Sarah?”

“Uh-huh,” Y/n nodded, anxiously holding the cup close to her chest.

“H-how’d she get down the-“ Joel began to ask before pressing his lips together and shutting his eyes, “She took the bus, didn’t she?”

“Yep,” Y/n answered.

Joel sighed, he was already starting to find grey hairs across his head. Sarah was going to turn the whole thing silver before she was 16.

“She said she was tired of waiting for you to introduce us so she was going to do it herself,” Y/n retold the story.

“Yeah, sounds like her…” Joel replied with a loud sigh, “Look, I know you wanted to meet her-“

“Yeah, but I was perfectly fine with waiting,” Y/n was quick to say, “You said you wanted to do this the right way.”

“Yeah, well, the right way was decided for us,” Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “So what’d you two talk about?”

Y/n smirked over her coffee cup, details of the conversation still fresh in her mind. “Girl stuff,” she answered, quickly taking a drink.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Joel asked with an eyebrow cocked.

“She, uh, she invited me to the fair this weekend,” Y/n changed topics, “With you guys.”

“Ah,” Joel nodded, he didn’t know whether or not to thank Sarah for speeding his relationship up. Lord knows, he was too nervous to do it.

Y/n held a hand up to Joel, “But I didn’t give her an answer. I wanted to talk to you first.”

With the obstacle of Sarah’s approval out of the way, there was nothing to stop him from saying yes. And he didn’t want there to be, he was just used to using excessive caution around his family that anything else felt unnatural.

“You should come,” Joel answered, turning to Y/n with a shy smile.

Y/n inched back a little, placing her hand on Joel’s arm, “Are you sure? Joel, I don’t want to insert myself anywhere.”

“How can you insert yourself somewhere you were invited?” Joel replied, settling his hand over Y/n’s, “Come.”

Taking a deep breath, Y/n knew that this was a big step for them. Joel’s daughter was his world, and Y/n was being given the privilege of being a part of it.

She blew out her cheeks, “Okay.”

Joel’s smile was earnest, rubbing his thumb over the back of Y/n’s hand.

“If all goes well, I won’t have to hide you so much,” he said.

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re doing that great a job,” Y/n chuckled at Joel’s confusion, “Johnny Cash?”

Joel’s face turned sour, “Can’t believe she told you ‘bout that.”

“Hey, I thought it was a cute story,” Y/n held her hands up in surrender, “Your daughter thought it was a laugh riot.”

Joel lightly rolled his eyes, letting them rest afterwards on Y/n’s face. A stray bit of hair had fallen in her face, thanks to the breeze, and Joel brushed it away, cupping her cheek.

Joel and Y/n had made the decision that they wouldn’t take their relationship any further without having Sarah’s approval. They had yet to even kiss.

“If this works out,” Y/n started, “You’re not gonna be able to get rid of me.”

“Who says I want to?” Joel muttered, their close proximity allowed him to lower his voice.

They both knew if they stayed in the moment a second longer, their wills could cave. Y/n shoved her coffee cup between their mouths, allowing them both a breathy laugh.

“Come on,” Joel reached down and clasped Y/n’s hand, “I gotcha for a little while longer.”

The two of them walked off into the Austin evening, savoring every short second they got together.

—————

2023. Somewhere in rural America.

Joel, Ellie and Y/n had been driving for one day and no one had yet to end up in a body bag. A win if ever there were one.

That wasn’t to say they hadn’t come close. Joel and Y/n’s truce was an uneasy one and with the promise made to Ellie that they’d get along, their arguments had phased to thin lipped smiles barely concealing their disdain for one another. Still, their guns had stayed in the holsters. That was progress.

Joel pulled over at an abandoned gas station somewhere, needing to refuel. Ellie headed off to the bathrooms while Y/n and Joel went about setting up the siphon.

As Y/n handed Joel a rag, she noticed the state of his hand. It was still healing, and after using it so much in one day, it was beginning to shake.

48 hours ago, she would have let him suffer, but in the interest of a truce…

“Here,” she scooted closer, taking the siphon into her hand.

“I got it,” Joel protested.

“I know you do,” she placated him, gently prying his hand off the device, “Now move.”

She inched him out of the way and took over attaching the device. Joel crouched next to her in the dust, he felt useless if he wasn’t working.

Footsteps signaled that Ellie was coming back. She glanced over the abandoned car at Y/n and Joel.

“We have to do this every hour?”

“Gas breaks down over time,” Joel answered, “This stuff’s almost water. Back in the day, we’d drive 10, 12 hours on one tank. You could go anywhere.”

“So where’d you go?” Ellie asked.

Y/n continued working, bouncing the memories off that threatened to stick in her mind.

“Pretty much nowhere,” Joel answered, it was technically the truth, but so there was unclaimed life resting in his ‘pretty much.’

Y/n huffed a large breath into the siphon, the gasoline dripping into their canister.

“Nice,” Ellie complimented, “How does that work?”

“It’s a siphon,” Joel explained as Y/n monitored their levels, “It’s when liquid…travels against gravity because pressure-“

Ellie nodded smugly, “You don’t know.”

“I know it works,” Joel quickly replied.

Y/n smirked and looked over her shoulder, “Please teach us more about physics, professor.”

Joel frowned at his ex before turning his attention back to a walking Ellie, “No wandering.”

Ellie thought a moment, “Okay,” she went into her backpack, “This is your fault then.”

She whipped out a small paperback that made Y/n shut her eyes in exhaustion. “Oh, sweet Moses, not that book…” she muttered.

Joel started to speak, “Wha-“

“‘It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope,’” Ellie recited, “‘It’ll still be stationary.’”

Joel blinked, Y/n let her forehead rest against the car.

“‘No Pun Intended: Volume Too’ by Will Livingston,” Ellie held up the book to Joel, “Volume Too. Look, you get it? Too? Like t-o-o?”

Joel mumbled something under his breath and got up.

“‘What did the mermaid wear to her math class?’” Ellie asked her captive audience, building tension in the silence, “‘An algae bra,” she laughed, “Like algae bra. ‘I stayed up all night-“

“No,” Joel shook his head, like that word carried an ounce of power with Ellie.

“‘Wondering where the sun went,” the girl continued, “‘And then it dawned on me.”

“Feel free to wait in the truck,” Joel suggested, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Well, Y/n thought it was funny,” Ellie retorted, she’d tested the jokes our on her watcher back in the QZ.

“I laughed at one out of, like, fifteen, Ellie,” Y/n grunted as she got to her feet, “That’s not the win you think it is.”

“Okay, but just know,” Ellie held up the book again, “You can’t escape Will Livingston. He’ll be back. There’s nothing you can do to stop him.”

Ellie took her backpack and her jokes and walked back to the Chevy, leaving Joel and Y/n by themselves.

“You get that book,” Joel started, trying to break the silence, “I’ll roll down the window.”

“Oh, that’s not even the worst of ‘em,” Y/n replied, wiggling the toe of her boot into the ground, “But they make her smile. Like I’m in any position to put a stop to that.”

Joel glanced over at Y/n, taking a temperature reading of her once again. It was hard to see so much of the person you’d once loved with your whole heart mixed with who they’d become. Every once in a while, he got flashes of his ex-girlfriend in the light she used to radiate. But something inevitably came through and blew out her flame. More than often, all it took was his mere presence.

“We should be good,” he said, changing his train of thought and kneeling down to pack up the siphon.

Y/n took the gas they’d collected and carried it back to the truck. Heavy as it was, she wasn’t about to ask Joel to help her. She’d lived through twenty years of their dystopian hell-space, a gas can wasn’t about to best her.

Once the truck was filled up, Joel and Y/n hopped in the front seats with Ellie sitting in the back.

“Must’ve been some truck,” Ellie commented, staring out the back window at the fleet deserted vehicles.

“Yeah, they used to stick big-ass plows on them and clear the roads for their tanks and such,” Joel said.

Ellie spun around in her seat, “I wanna see a tank!”

“You will,” Joel replied, “Tanks, choppers, all that stuff. But they’ll fight the wrong enemy. Just scattered around now.”

By now, Joel was background noise to Ellie as she dug around the back of Bill’s truck.

“I got somethin’,” she announced proudly, waving another cassette tape in between Y/n and Joel. “Here, does this make you all nostalgic?”

Joel took the tape from her, it was Hank Williams. Y/n and him shared a sideways glance, if Ellie had any musical knowledge, they’d have been insulted.

“This is actually before our time,” Joel handled the cassette.

“Great,” Ellie settled back in her seat, unamused.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not good,” Y/n stated, watching Joel pop the tape into the player and adjust the volume.

The speakers flooded with the warm sounds of the country legend. Something about it made both Joel and Y/n relax into their seats a little more.

“Oh, man,” Joel mumbled to himself, briefly closing his eyes and letting the music wash over him.

“Yeah,” Y/n absentmindedly replied, staring out her window.

“Got somethin’ else,” Ellie announced, the sounds of magazine pages flipping behind Joel and Y/n, “It’s, uh, light on the reading, but it has some interesting pictures.”

Y/n and Joel peered into the dashboard mirror, catching a graphic cover. Their protests overlapped.

“Oh, no, no, no, put that back.”

“Ellie, don’t read that.”

“That’s not for kids, Ellie.”

“There’s nothing you need to see-“

Ellie opened up the centerfold of the x-rated magazine, her jaw dropping at the sight, “How would he even walk around with that thing?”

“Ellie,” Y/n unbuckled her seat belt, flipping around in her chair and stretching into the backseat, “Put it back.”

The girl slid to Joel’s side of the truck, too far away for Y/n to reach. “Hold you horses,” she argued, “I wanna see what all the fuss is about.”

While Joel watched nervously through the mirror, Y/n was not so easily defeated. She kept clawing at the air, trying to rip the magazine out of Ellie’s hands. Ellie turned away just enough so Y/n’s fingertips barely touched the paper.

“Why are all the pages stuck together?” Ellie asked.

“Uh,” Joel elongated, unsure of what to do, “The-“

“I’m just fuckin’ with you,” Ellie burst into laughter, reaching past Y/n and slapping Joel’s shoulder with the magazine.

Y/n slid back into her seat, moving as far away as she could from Joel’s shoulder.

Ellie unrolled the back window, the whipping winds blowing through the truck. She tossed the magazine out with a grin, “Bye-bye, dude!”

Y/n sighed and put her hand to her temple, nearly laughing at the absurdity of the moment.

They drove for most of the day, answering Ellie’s occasional question, but mostly sitting in silence. Somberness would fall over the truck whenever they passed by some piece of the old world, ruined and rusted by time. They drove by an abandoned amusement park, a rickety coaster still standing. A sign for what used to be a Love’s truck stop. A bridge that had collapsed at some point in the last two decades. To Ellie, it was a lost future. To Joel and Y/n, it was the world they didn’t know if they’d ever see again.

When the skies grew began to grow dark, there wasn’t much driving left for them to do.

“All right,” Joel announced to the truck, “That’s enough for the day.”

One part of their agreement was that Y/n would trust Joel’s ability to get them to Wyoming. Her rebellion against his every word made her want to argue that they could go a little longer, but she was trying to keep up her end of the deal.

Joel pulled off the main road and drove them into the nearby forest. They set up camp deep enough that they were hidden, but close enough to the road to escape quickly, should the need arise. Joel and Y/n took care of preparing dinner, using a portable stove and cutlery they’d taken from Bill’s house.

Eventually, they all sat down to a lukewarm meal of ravioli. Ellie practically inhaled it while Joel and Y/n tried to make it last.

“Slow down,” Joel cautioned.

“This is slow,” Ellie replied with a full mouth, “What am I even eating?”

“That is 20-year-old Chef Boyardee ravioli,” Joel answered.

“That guy was good,” Ellie complimented, stuffing another piece in her mouth.

Joel stared down at his meal, “I actually agree.”

Y/n swirled a piece around her plate, “It’s technically food.”

“How long are we staying out here?” Ellie inquired.

“I figure I sleep tonight,” Joel answered, “And drive tomorrow, all day, all night, and get us to Wyoming by next mornin’.”

“You know I can take a shift, right?” Y/n asked, Joel’s stony silence served as his reply, “Ah, so you do know and you’re choosing to ignore it.”

“In the interest of gettin’ us there the quickest, it’s better I drive,” he stated.

“Yes, navigating a highway,” Y/n retorted, taking a sarcastic tone, “That’s men’s work.”

“What happened to getting along?” Ellie smirked as she watched the exchange.

Joel and Y/n glanced over at her and backed down. They had to watch themselves.

“So can we start a fire?” Ellie changed the subject, “I’m freezing.”

“Now, why am I gonna tell you no?” Joel replied shortly.

Ellie shrugged in defeat, “Because Infected will see the smoke.”

“No, fungus isn’t that smart,” Joel said, “This is too remote for Infected, anyway.”

“People?” Ellie came back with.

Joel nodded.

“So what are they gonna do? Rob us?”

“Oh, they’ll have way more in mind than that,” Joel answered, never once looking up from his plate.

Y/n had lived a vastly different life than Joel had, post apocalypse, but she knew the horrors people willingly committed against each other. Being cold for a night was the ideal.

Once the sun set, the three of them rolled out their sleeping bags, another courtesy of Bill and Frank, and set up for the night. Y/n laid her head next to Ellie’s, while Joel stayed on the complete opposite side of them.

Ellie took a whiff of the inside of her bag, “Actually smells kinda good.”

“Well, that would be Frank’s then,” Joel quipped.

“If mine smells like gunpowder,” Y/n held her sleeping bag up, “I’m gonna assume-“

“Bill,” Joel took no time in answering.

Y/n nodded, “Copy that.”

Before they could lay down for the night, Joel and Y/n made a point of each checking their shotguns and laying them at their sides.

Ellie and Y/n nestled into their accommodations beside one another, Ellie pulling something out of her backpack before switching the lantern off and turning on her flashlight. Y/n’s back was turned, or else she would have put a stop to what was about to happen

“Joel?” Ellie eventually called out, “Y/n? Joel?”

“What?” Joel jumped to attention, he still moved with the urgency of a father.

Y/n turned over, “What is it?”

“Can I ask you a serious question?”

“Yeah,” Joel said for both of them.

Ellie sighed deeply, “‘Why did the scarecrow get an award?’”

Y/n and Joel both looked over at the same time to shoot Ellie a glare. She kept a straight face as if she really needed the answer.

“Because he was outstanding in his field,” Joel answered.

Y/n groaned, “Oh, God, there’s two of you.”

“You dick,” Ellie laughed, “Did you read this?”

“No,” Joel turned over, smirking only to himself, “Now go to sleep.”

Ellie victoriously smiled, having successfully chipped away at a little bit of the ice man’s exterior.

“Admit it,” Ellie whispered to Y/n, “You like them.”

“I will smother you in your sleep,” Y/n mumbled into her pillow. She’d never admit to cracking a smile.

They had just settled back into the sleepy silence when Ellie spoke up again, this time truly serious.

“Those people you said…there’s no way anyone knows we’re here, right? No one’s gonna find us.”

Joel and Y/n both stiffened, they could only guarantee so much. Where they were was as close to safe as they could get. But that wasn’t something you told a scared kid who wouldn’t admit to being scared. You gave them hope, confidence.

“No one’s gonna find us,” Joel confirmed.

“Okay,” Ellie accepted the answer and flipped over.

Y/n lay on her back, staring up at the stars. Her paranoia had softened the longer she survived, but laying in the middle of the open woods with a big flashing red sign above that read ‘FREE KILL HERE’ was resuscitating it.

A few feet away, Joel was feeling the same thing. He couldn’t pretend like he was fearless leaving himself completely vulnerable. And now that he knew Ellie was nervous, it only woke him up further. He eyed the shotgun, calculating in his head how little sleep he could make the drive on. If he counted on Y/n to take one of the shifts, they could still make good time…

They both unzipped their sleeping bags at the same time, turning to one another in the dark. No matter how hard they tried, they were on the same wavelength.

Y/n sighed, “You take the first shift?”

Joel’s nod had a heaviness to it, “Yeah.”

Y/n settled back onto her side, this time facing where Joel was heading to take up his post. She fell into an uneasy sleep, only after keeping watch over Joel until her exhaustion forced her to stop.

——————

It was a few hours later, Joel eyelids were beginning to droop. His ears were beginning to ring. He needed sleep.

After doing one last scan of the area, he walked back to their campsite. He came over to Y/n’s sleeping bag, ready to wake her, but stopped.

He stared down at her, her lips slightly parted, her hair framing her face and her lashes fanned across her cheeks. The frown she carried throughout the day faded in sleep, softening to a content expression as if she was between the bliss of unconsciousness and the evil of the waking world. It was the most at peace Joel had seen her in the last few days.

He couldn’t bring himself to wake her up.

She’d be mad at him in the morning, he knew it. She’d berate him for thinking he didn’t need her and probably make a crack about him falling asleep at the wheel. That was fine, he thought as he went back to his post, he’d take it. Anger and nostalgia were waging a battle within him, and right now, he was allowing his wistful memories to win.

——————

Y/n woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and the rustling of something in their truck. Seeing that Joel wasn’t in his sleeping bag, she grabbed her shotgun and bolted upright. The barrel of the weapon found Joel, packing up the truck, cocking a brow at her.

Y/n exhaled and set down her gun, running a relieved hand over her face. “You didn’t wake me up,” she said when she came to fully.

“I had it covered,” Joel said softly, not wanting to wake Ellie yet.

“I didn’t ask that,” Y/n replied as she stretched, already annoyed with him. She rolled out of her sleeping bag and got to her feet. “Well, I’m driving this morning. I’m not ending up dead just because you’re stubborn.”

Joel didn’t look up as he tied his sleeping bag up. Right on cue.

“Coffee’s on,” he changed the subject.

Y/n felt like Joel knew that would distract her enough to move on. He wasn’t wrong. She reached over to grab her backpack, feeling around for her travel mug. Her hand graced the plastic butterfly she’d taken from Joel’s apartment, freezing as she did.

Grief, much like heartbreak, had to be danced around. If you got too close, self destruction would swallow you whole. Y/n collected her thoughts and led them back to where she was, quickly finding her mug and zipping the pack up again.

Ellie rolled over, awake finally, and sniffed the air. She scooted over to where Joel had the coffee boiling and carefully opened the lid.

“Ugh,” she gagged, “What the fuck is that?”

Joel turned to her, “You don’t like coffee?”

Ellie grimaced, watching the bubbling brew a second longer before throwing the lid back down and rolling back onto her pillow.

“Uh-uh,” Y/n shook her head, nudging Ellie with her boot, “Up and at ‘em, come on.”

Ellie stuck her middle finger out, “Fuck you, man.”

“Up,” Y/n repeated, tugging on the bottom of Ellie’s sleeping bag.

The girl moaned and sat up, glaring at Y/n, who went to pour her mug of coffee. Whether it was the first sip of caffeine shifting her mood or she simply was making an effort, she wasn’t sure, but when Joel walked over with his mug, Y/n poured it for him.

“Thanks,” Joel mumbled, “Why don’t I drive for three hours, you take over after?”

“Two,” Y/n countered, “Those bags under your eyes make you look like you’re in a fucking Tim Burton movie.”

Joel sighed, remembering the truce. “Fine.”

Y/n and Joel finished packing up their supplies and the three of them were back on the road in minutes.

“Is that what the Starbucks in the QZ used to sell?” Ellie asked, eyeing Joel’s mug.

“Well, there’s was a lot fresher than what Bill saved up, but yeah,” Joel answered, “This is what they sold.”

“The world used to run on this stuff,” Y/n added.

“Smells like burnt shit,” Ellie mused, smirking over at Joel.

Joel, straight faced as could be, raised his mug and took a big slurping sip. Y/n bit down on her lip to keep from rewarding him a laugh.

“Eyes on the map,” Joel ordered.

“76 west and then 70 west for, like, ever…” Ellie read, Y/n had taught her how to navigate directions and she was still getting the hang of it.

“Where in Wyoming did you say your brother was?” Ellie asked Joel.

“Last contact came through a radio tower close to Cody,” Joel answered.

Ellie scanned the map, “Cody. Cody…Cody…ah, man. That is deep up in there.”

Y/n peekd over Ellie’s shoulder to take a look, “Do you know where he would have gone other than there?”

“Odds are he’ll be near a settlement,” Joel answered, “Probably close to another city out there. Ain’t too many of ‘em in Wyoming.”

The second part of his reply was meant more for Ellie. She was getting a crash course in geography.

“Chee-Yen,” she read off.

“Cheyenne,” Joel corrected, he’d studied that map so intensively that he could have found his way around the state blindfolded.

“Chey- really?” Ellie double checked before reading again, “Cheyenne…Laramie…Casper? What’s his name?”

“Whose name?” Joel asked, avoiding the question another five seconds.

“Your brother,” Ellie replied.

Joel paused, “Tommy.”

A wave of nostalgia crashed around Y/n, hearing his name made her think of cheap beer and belly laughter.

“Younger or older?” Ellie continued to question Joel.

“Younger.”

“Why isn’t he with you?”

Joel sighed, stretching his neck out slightly, “A long story.”

“Is it longer than 25 hours? ‘Cause I think that’s what we got,” Ellie asked, turning around to Y/n, “Do you know?”

“No, I don’t,” Y/n clocked Joel in the dashboard mirror, “And if I’m risking my life to find him, I think I deserve to know.”

Joel met her eyes in a fleeting glance, she was backing him up against a wall.

“Tommy’s what we used to call a “joiner,” he began to explain, “Dreams of becomin’ a hero. So he enlisted in the Army right outta high school. A few months later, they ship him off to Desert Storm,” he allowed for Ellie’s confused gaze, “That’s what they called that war, it doesn’t matter. Point is, bein’ in the Army didn’t make him feel much like a hero. Cut to twelve years late, outbreak happens. He convinces me to join a group makin’ their way up to Boston, which I did…mostly to keep an eye on him, keep him alive.”

Y/n’s stomach turned, she wasn’t just hearing about what had become of Tommy…she was hearing about what had happened to Joel after they broke up. Gaps she’d wanted filled for twenty years.

“It’s where we met Tess,” Joel continued, breaking for a sip of coffee, “And that whole crew, we, uh…well, for what it was, it worked. And then Tommy meets Marlene. She talks him into joinin’ the Fireflies. Same mistake he made when he was eighteen,” Joel’s tone turned bitter, his voice quivering an almost undetectable amount, “Wants to save the world. Pipe dream. Him. Fireflies, all of ‘em…” he didn’t dare meet Y/n’s eyes, “Delusional.”

Y/n lifted her feet up and hugged her knees, she knew the remark was meant for both her and Tommy. And while her anger with Joel hadn’t lost its momentum, she let him continue. He needed to get it all out.

“‘Course last I heard, he quit the Fireflies too,” Joel went on, “So now he’s on his own out there, and…I gotta go get him.”

The car was washed in a somber silence. Only one of them was brave enough to break it.

“If you don’t think there’s hope for the world,” Ellie said, “Why bother going on? I mean, you gotta try, right?”

“You haven’t seen the world,” Joel said, a little wistful, “So you don’t know. You keep goin’ for family. That’s about it.”

The five words pierced through Y/n’s heart, the wooden arrow splintering inside the chambers. Each syllable was like taking a knife to the carefully placed stitches around her soul.

“I’m not family,” Ellie said, blissfully unaware of the situation surrounding her.

“No,” Joel agreed, “You’re cargo. And I made a promise to Tess. And she was like family.”

Numbness set in and Y/n rested her head against the window, focusing on the rolling fields of rural America. If Ellie wasn’t in the car, she would have let herself go off on Joel, but it wasn’t the time.

“What if you don’t find him?” Ellie asked the man.

“I will,” Joel replied,

“How do you know?”

“I’m persistent,” Joel stated before switching gears, “You got up pretty early, if you wanna grab more sleep.”

Ellie scoffed, “I’m not even tired.”

Within a few minutes, Ellie was beginning to doze off. Y/n gently tapped her shoulder, gesturing for her to climb into the backseat. She helped pull her through and Ellie settled against the opposite window.

Joel drove them for an hour in silence before Y/n couldn’t stand being still anymore.

“Pull over,” she told him, “Let’s switch.”

Joel was tired enough to listen to her, stopping the car in the middle of the road. They unbuckled and got out, meeting at the front.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Y/n said once they were face to face, “About Tommy, about the Fireflies…all of it.”

“You wanna prove me wrong, have at it,” Joel replied, disgruntled by the whole idea.

“Tommy wanting to be a hero is him wanting to help people,” Y/n kept going, “To fight. To do the right thing. When has that ever been a bad thing?”

Joel nearly scoffed, “Maybe when it gets him killed.”

“If he’s still here after all these years, maybe you need to stop looking at him like he’s some idiot kid. You don’t get to judge the people who are trying to get some of this,” Y/n spread her arms out to the wide open space around them, “Any of this back. It’s a hell of a lot more than you seem to be doing.”

Joel rested a hand on the truck’s hood, “Maybe I don’t feel the need to waste my time on a pointless cause. Last time I checked, that was all the Fireflies ever accomplished.”

“At least I’m doing something,” Y/n fought back, “I’d rather spend the rest of my life on a pointless cause and go to sleep with what’s left of my soul than sell it to the devil and not recognize my own damn reflection.”

Joel felt the last part of her sentence push into his gut like the tip of a spear. She was hitting too close to home without knowing it.

“‘Keep going for family,’” Y/n repeated, practically spitting the last words, “When was the last time you fought for anything?”

Joel reached out, grabbing Y/n’s arm roughly as she turned away and spun her around. If she hadn’t dug her boots into the asphalt, she would have fallen right into him.

“You don’t know what I’ve fought for,” he growled, his eyes boring into hers.

Y/n’s chest rose and fell rapidly with rage, inching her face closer to his to show him she wasn’t afraid of him. “Neither do you,” she seethed.

Their breaths mingled in the few inches left separating their mouths. Neither one of them were making any real threats, there was simply too much tension between them to ensure a safe car ride. They needed to let it out.

Joel realized his fingers were digging into Y/n’s arm, it had happened when she had moved closer to him. Habits were tricky to break, but the body didn’t hold grudges like the mind.

The close proximity wasn’t lost on Y/n, but she was able to free herself from it before muscle memory took over. She yanked her arm out of Joel’s grip and took the keys from his other hand, stomping around to the driver’s seat and getting in. Joel unhappily followed, and their wordless journey continued…

—————————

Joel caught maybe thirty consecutive minutes of sleep while Y/n drove them. It wasn’t that she was a bad driver, he just wasn’t used to not being in control of a situation. He gripped the map tightly as they drove into downtown Kansas City.

Surrounding them were rusted abandoned vehicles, but the tunnel in which they needed to go through was blocked entirely by a semi. Y/n brought the car to a halt, glancing over at Joel knowingly.

“Wait here,” she told Ellie, who had just woken up.

Joel and Y/n got out, Joel grabbing their shotguns from the backseat. He handed hers over and the team took calculated steps towards the tunnel. Joel crouched down to get a peek at the open road waiting on the other side of the mess. The semi was parked that way deliberately.

Joel walked back to the truck, Y/n only a step behind him. They got back in their seats seat, Ellie squeezing over the glove compartment.

“Where are we?”

“Kansas City,” Joel answered quickly, taking the map from her. The three of them studied it.

“How far back do we have to go to get around this?” Ellie asked.

Joel traced their route with his fingertip, Y/n tugged the map closer so she could study it too. There weren’t a lot of options if they had a prayer of getting to Wyoming within their time frame. They could either go back, costing them a few more hours, or take their chances passing through the city.

Y/n sighed, everything she was about to say went against what she wanted to say….

“It’s your call.”

Joel was honestly surprised that she had relented so quick. “Screw it,” he muttered, “Head back ‘round the tunnel, get on the next ramp. We’ll be back on the road, minute tops.”

Y/n put the truck in reverse and backed them up, swinging around a shoulder of road that would take them into the city.

“You guys are my eyes,” Y/n said as she navigated the first set of streets,

“Tell me where to go.”

“Look for any signs,” Joel instructed while Ellie read the map.

They drove for about five minutes, having gotten no closer to finding the open road.

“Where the fuck is the highway?” Joel complained.

“I can’t tell from this,” Ellie let her hand fall against the map, “I’m all turned around.”

Joel was trying to help Ellie navigate while also keeping an eye peeled for potential threats. “Well, don’t look at the state map, look at the inset,” he directed.

Ellie groaned, “Well, I don’t know where we are in that either! This is my second day in a fucking car, man. I mean, I think we’re heading north?”

“I don’t even see any fucking signs,” Y/n mentioned.

“It’s gotta be the right,” Joel said, shaking his head, ”What the fuck?”

“Y/n stop,” Ellie exclaimed.

Y/n threw on the brake, bringing them to a halt in the middle of the street.

“Is that the QZ?” Ellie asked, her eyes wide as she peered over Y/n, “Where the fuck is FEDRA?”

Joel and Y/n got a look at where the Quarantine Zone should have been, zero military presence. That was unfathomable.

“Hey,” a voice called, their attention was drawn to a man limping towards their truck, “Please help.”

Y/n and Joel’s blood ran cold, they knew exactly what was about to go down.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Joel told Ellie, throwing his on as well.

“Aren’t we gonna help him?” Ellie asked innocently.

Y/n said a silent prayer to anyone who was listening for survival.

“No,” Joel answered, looking to his ex, “Drive. Now.”

Y/n pressed her foot down on the gas pedal, the “injured” leaping out of the way. The man cried something out she couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in her ears.

“Y/N!” Ellie screamed.

Y/n was too busy driving to see what Ellie and Joel were watching, but the message was received when a large object got dropped on their windshield. Y/n swerved, Joel reached over to steady the wheel as she regained control. In their mad dash effort, they didn’t notice the strip of nails ahead of them. The truck shook as its tires began to deflate.

“Fuck!” Y/n yelled, “What do we do?”

“Hard right into that building,” Joel shouted, there was another guy in their path, “Now!”

Instincts ignored, Y/n pulled to the right, holding her breath as they smashed through the glass windows of the nearest building.

——————

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rancidpancakebatter · 2 months

Text

For Him - [P.P.]

Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader

Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

Word Count: 7.0k

Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.

Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending

( Masterlist )

A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob.

Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious.

It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out.

Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth.

You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know.

Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.

To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue.

The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk.

He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves.

Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response.

He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him.

Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness.

Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake.

Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend.

He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live.

“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again.

“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow.

“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten.

“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment.

“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you.

“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you.

“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some.

“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head.

“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”

To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour.

How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing.

“(Y/n), what’s going on?”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.

You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare.

You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own.

“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.”

He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist.

“I’m sorry.”

You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind.

“Why? What-? Did you do something?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious.

You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much.

“What did you do?”

You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.

You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own.

You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.

You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right.

You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal.

And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.

You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t.

You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it.

He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”

He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them.

If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right.

Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you.

Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far.

So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough.

You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow.

Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave.

You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off.

“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions.

You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone.

You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other.

“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”

That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger.

“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth.

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”

He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller.

“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”

You laugh, though there’s no humour in it.

“I was worried.”

His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking.

Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.

“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”

You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt.

The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn’t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.

Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.

Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.

You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”

You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.

You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.

Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.

Then you scream.

It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.

You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.

You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.

You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.

Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him.

But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before.

He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it.

You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew.

That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you.

He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did.

He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be.

He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain.

He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her.

He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from.

He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said.

He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you.

He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long.

All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.

He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand.

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later.

He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead.

It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear.

It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him.

The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him.

You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries.

Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward.

Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this.

It hurts, god, it hurts so much!

His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer.

“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!”

You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return.

But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?

You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.

Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak

But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.

He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.

Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.

Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to.

“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was.

Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid.

Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him.

He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements.

“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”

The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took.

Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.

“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”

You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.

He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.

He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.

“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go.

It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here.

But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse.

“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”

You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence.

Love.

You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?

Love.

Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.

You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.

“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.

You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.

You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.

You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.

You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.

You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”

You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks.

“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”

The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.

“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”

You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door.

Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background.

He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right.

You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him.

“I’m sorry,” you began.

He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off.

“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.

“It’s okay-” he begins.

“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”

Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.

“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”

Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Tough luck.”

You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”

He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.

“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”

“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.

“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”

His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?

“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”

He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away.

But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for.

You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful.

You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.

“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.

Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.

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