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Yearling - Ch. 37: Pieces

Mitchum sends you to where he wants you as Joel questions Cody. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-36 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and several steps beyond that. Fairly graphic torture (not of reader.) Mention of past sexual assault, not described. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 6k

A/N: As with the last chapter, I want to state, real quick, that Bambi is NOT going to be sexually assaulted again. This is a highly triggering subject and, given the situation she's in, I understand if folks are bracing for it. That's not going to happen. The threat of it is there but it's not going to happen.

We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. This character returns THIS CHAPTER. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter

They were talking about you like you weren’t there.

You’d been used to that once but it had been a long time since you’d been just a thing, separate from that life about as long as you’d suffered it. You had forgotten just how much you hated this part of being a prisoner. You’d internalized so many of the more acute horrors that the smaller things had slipped away, but the change from human being to livestock was sharp. You didn’t have much in you to fight against anything - still barely able to stand - but it seemed what little there was faded quickly just listening to the men talk about you as though you were some unruly animal.

“Take her back to the main camp,” Mitchum said, taking your arm and turning you around so he could look you over. “She’s good on a horse, don’t let her near the reins. Don’t be stupid enough to think this one won’t take off just because she’s down some fingers, she’s a feral thing. That fucking moron… Get her there and don’t fuck her, understand? She’s mine and I gotta make sure she’s broken in right. Been wild too long, gonna have to start from scratch.”

He took your chin in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his own.

“Gonna bring you back where you belong,” he said. “I tamed you once, I can do it again.”

You didn’t say anything, all your energy going in to keeping yourself standing. You tried to think about something, anything, beyond how close Mitchum was to you again, every alarm bell your body had ringing. Where his fingers were on you burned and your heart raced, the blood loss and fear making your head spin.

The only thing that could be worse than being this close to him again was Savvy and Ellie being this close to him. The thought that you’d saved them from this was a small comfort. You hoped they made it back. You had to believe they made it. You weren’t sure you’d have the strength to keep going otherwise. They made it, they made it back to Jackson, they were safe there.

But the men were talking about Jackson, too. Like it was something they could take. What’s worse, they sounded confident that they could do it. It was something that had seemed impossible when you were within the walls, everything so strong and permanent. How could the will of men destroy something like that? But now that you were here, back in the grip of what terrified you, it didn’t seem so impossible anymore. Jackson was just people, too. Good people, strong people who had decided to survive and work and love alongside each other but people all the same. It doesn’t take some act of God to destroy a person, just one other, determined person can do the job.

You couldn’t handle considering that, not when the only things in the world that mattered were dependent on Jackson to be safe. You had to believe that Jackson could withstand whatever came its way, that Ellie and Savvy had made it back, that they would be safe within its walls and would never have to face men like Mitchum and Cody again. They made it, they made it back to Jackson and they were safe. The whole city was.

You thought it over and over again in your head, a mantra of sorts, as they brought you to a horse and forced you on its back. You were too out of it to grab the reins immediately, a man mounting up in front of you before you could think twice about taking control of the animal.

“Better not try anything back there if you know what’s good for you,” the man snapped before making the horse move. You just tried to stay upright and tried to think of ways to escape once you were strong enough to run. You had to resist the urge to try now, every nerve in your body on fire and driving you to run or fight. But you couldn’t. You’d never survive a fight right now and you’d only be able to walk a mile - maybe two - before you’d collapse and then they’d have you again. You needed to save your strength or you’d never get out.

You tried to remind yourself that you’d done all this before. You’d survived what they did to you and made it out. You’d lived and built a life and found your daughter and protected what mattered. You’d done it once, you could do it again. You just had to survive.

You focused on the people that you wanted to survive for - Savvy and Ellie and Joel and Maria and Tommy and William and Julie and and and - and tried to settle into the sway of the horse as it walked.

Time was strange like this, pulling and warping. It seemed like it was dark longer than it should have been when the sun started to rise and then, when the men stopped for a break, the sun seemed higher than it should have been. You drank water when it was offered. You watched for a chance to steal a horse - the only way you thought you’d be able to make it far in that moment - but didn’t get one.

The light hadn’t yet taken on the soft, hazy quality of evening when you reached where you were headed. It was an unfamiliar place, a small subdivision - maybe two dozen houses total - with mountains at its back. There was a guarded perimeter, men in cowboy hats who gave the men you were with a nod as they rode in.

They brought you to the center of the neighborhood, to a house that was small but looked to be in good repair, two men stationed outside.

“Down,” the man you were riding with ordered. You obeyed, sliding off the horse and stumbling, head spinning. He dismounted more smoothly before grabbing you by the collar of your shirt - Joel’s shirt - and hauled you for the door, one of the guards meeting him there. He took a padlock off the front door before opening it and shoving you inside, past a small living room with a sunken sofa and a kitchen with counters covered in a thick layer of dust. He forced you down a hall to a bedroom. You were almost positive it had been a little girl’s room once but it had been stripped of all forms of childish comfort. There were two twin sized mattresses on the floor, tucked into corners on opposite pink walls. There had been carpet once, you were sure, but it had been pulled up, just the plywood below remaining. There was a bucket at the foot of each bed and some drywall had been pulled away near each bed, exposing the frame of the walls, chains wrapped around a stud near either bed.

“On the bed,” the man ordered, shoving you toward it and making you stumble. You more fell onto the mattress than sat on it but it didn’t seem to make a difference. He approached you and you went to kick him, not about to let him just take what he wanted without a fight, but he caught your boot, giving you a sharp shake when he did. “Just making sure you don’t run. Sit still or this will hurt a lot more than it needs to.”

He pulled your boot off before you had a chance to respond and tossed it near the door before picking up the chain. It was thick and heavy, no cuff on the end. He wrapped it around your ankle, tight enough that it cut into your flesh a little, and put a padlock through the loops to hold it in place. He gave it a testing pull and it didn’t budge. He nodded.

“Recommend you rest while you can,” he said, dropping your leg. “Mitchum’s back in a day or two, don’t imagine you’ll have much while he’s here.”

He turned to leave and you looked to the other mattress. There was a smear of blood near the chain that was still bright red, like it hadn’t dried yet. There was someone else who had been here, someone recently. The door closed and locked and you stretched out on the bed, trying to force your body and mind to still enough that you could rest.

It didn’t work very well. You faded in and out of consciousness for a while - you weren’t entirely sure how long but you were fairly certain night had fallen. The window in the room was covered with yellowed newspaper but you were pretty sure you’d seen light coming through it earlier in the day. It was dark now.

It took you a moment to realize what had pulled you back to consciousness. There was a scuffle outside your door, the sound of someone being wrestled inside. You shot up, scrambling to find something you might be able to use as a weapon but came up empty, the room stripped of anything that could be a tool and your mind still working slowly. You were still down a lot of blood.

The door opened and you braced yourself to claw and bite but the man there paid you no mind. Instead, he shoved a tall, broad young woman in, one with a blonde fishtail braid that hung down her back. Something inside you twinged at the sight of her, a distant alarm bell ringing. She was familiar, you couldn’t see her face but you knew her. You could feel it.

The man forced her onto the opposite mattress and all but threw the chain around her ankle before locking it into place.

“If you’re fuckin’ smart, you’ll behave yourself,” the man backed away from her, panting for breath with a cut on his cheek. “If you weren’t one of Mitchum’s favorite toys, I’d kill you myself.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, lifting her head from the mattress, her teeth bared in a snarl. Your breath caught, the fingers from your intact hand groping for the chain attached to your ankle, your best hope for a weapon.

You did know this woman - almost more of a girl in spite of her size and strength, she couldn’t be much older than Ellie and definitely young enough to be your daughter. You didn’t know her name or where she was from or why she had tried to murder your husband but you knew her, knew how she looked when she was filled with rage and desperate to kill a man. Knew how she looked as she beat Joel until he was bloody and half dead. Your grip on the chain tightened.

The man left and you weren’t sure if the two of them had said anything else, the high pitched whine that had taken over your ears only just beginning to fade.

She seemed to notice you then, straining to sit up, her eyes wide at first but narrowing when she reached your face.

She recognized you, too.

“You,” she was still panting for breath, leaning against the wall at her back, sneering at you. Watching you. “I should have known they’d find some other fucking way to torture me.”

You watched her back, ready to defend yourself in case she made a move.

“I could have said the same thing about you.”

***

Joel wasn’t aware of much.

There were gunshots but they were of little consequence. The screams didn’t register, either. Neither did the sweat on his neck or the pain in his back or the pull in his leg that had been there ever since he was shot by the girl who wanted him dead.

He could feel your blood on his hands, though, and the feel of your fingers in his pocket and hear the thud of his heart and he could see. He could see Cody on his horse but he could see how you’d been afraid of him, too. That day in the stable when Joel held you and you were so scared you could barely stay standing. He could see how it would have happened, how this man would have cut away pieces of you. How scared you would have been, how you would have fought anyway, how you would have screamed.

All Joel really knew in that moment was that he needed to hurt this man. He needed to take every ounce of pain from his body until there was nothing else left inside of him and he needed him to know, as he died, that he was dying for you.

Cody tried to dodge Joel as he threw himself at him, the horse stutter stepping away as Cody tried to pull it back while also grabbing his gun. But he wasn’t fast enough, Joel’s hands closing around the edges of the man’s jacket as he yanked him to the ground, Cody’s gun flying into the trees.

But Cody was not a small man and his thrashing weight threw Joel off balance, the two of them sprawling to the forest floor. Cody was younger and more agile and got to his feet first, pulling his knife free from his belt, lunging for Joel. But Joel was ready for him, kicking him in the gut so hard that it knocked the wind out of him and sent him stumbling back. He got to his feet, too, Cody leaning against a tree, knife out as he caught his breath.

“You’re not gonna get her back,” he panted, a sneer on his face as he watched Joel. “She’s with him now and he’s not gonna let her go so easy this time. And when he’s done with her, don’t think you’ll even want her back.”

There was commotion at Joel’s back but it barely registered.

“I should have fucking killed you when I had the chance,” Joel said, watching him closely. “She was too good to you. She’s always been better than anyone left fuckin’ deserved, least of all you.”

“And she should’ve known what I gave her when I let her go,” he said, standing up a little straighter now, breath caught. “Instead of being an ungrateful cunt.”

Joel roared and threw himself at Cody, the other man striking out at him with his knife. He nicked Joel’s shoulder with the blade but he barely noticed it, the blow not really hurting so much as being filed away as information, things he would need to contend with at some point when Cody’s blood was cold on the ground.

Joel threw a punch, catching Cody on the jaw and he stumbled for a moment before lunging at Joel, striking out with the knife again but falling short and following up with a clumsy fist after. Joel caught his hand and twisted it, the other man giving a sharp yelp. Joel liked the sound, the evidence of his pain soothing the gnawing desperation inside him.

But his satisfaction was short lived, the knife slamming into Joel’s shoulder making him seize up for a moment. He was aware that it should hurt, that there was metal inside him now that didn’t belong, but all it did was bring everything into sharper focus. This knife was probably the one that had drawn your blood, too. It seemed right that he should suffer it with you after he’d failed at doing what he’d vowed to do.

The split second of the shock of the stab passed quickly and Joel drove Cody back into the tree, slamming his back into the trunk of it and knocking the air out of him, his head hitting the bark with a sickening thud. Joel didn’t relent. Instead, he punched him across the face, one arm holding the man in place as he hit him again and again.

This satisfaction held longer. Cody’s fingers scramble and clawed at Joel, trying to find purchase somewhere they could pull him away from his singular mission but that was impossible. Joel’s physical body didn’t matter to him anymore, not without you, and every small hurt was swallowed by the drive to destroy.

“Joel!” Tommy’s arm looped around Joel’s neck, pulling him back from Cody who slipped down the tree trunk, his hands limp on the blood coated leaves, his chest still rising and falling, eyes blinking as he stared into space. Joel strained to pull away from Tommy’s grip but his brother held him firm as he panted for breath. “Joel, you can’t kill him yet, we need information. We kept one of the others alive but we need information or we’ll never find her. He’s alive, we need him to stay a live a little longer.”

Joel slumped forward in Tommy’s grip and his hold on him loosened, starting to feel his body again. His knuckles hurt and were slick with blood. Joel wasn’t sure how much was Cody’s and how much was his own. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder and he reached back with his other arm, flinching as he did, before taking hold of the knife and pulling the blade free. He heard Tommy wince as he did and Joel brought the weapon around in front of him, holding it up for a moment. His blood was slick over half the blade, the edge serrated.

“You cut off my wife’s fingers with this?” Joel panted, squatting down to be on Cody’s level, holding the knife up. His own voice sounded odd to him, so normal when everything was so wrong.

“Wait, what?” Ellie stalked over to him and Joel glanced up at her. There was a cut on her cheek and her eyes were wide. Joel turned back to Cody and reached into his pocket, gently pulling your fingers free before setting them on Cody’s stomach. “Motherfucker!”

Joel barely registered the sound of Tommy wrestling Ellie away, too focused on the man in front of him to worry about anything else.

“Did you cut off my wife’s fingers with this?” Joel said again, voice flat.

Cody struggled to swallow and Joel took hold of his jaw, yanking his head around so he was looking right at him.

“Answer the question.”

Cody blinked a few times before taking a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

There was a rattle in his voice and blood on his teeth.

“Good.”

Joel took the knife and thrust it into his thigh, just over his knee. Cody screamed and squirmed uselessly under him and Joel waited, keeping constant pressure down on the blade, giving him no relief.

As he quieted - gasping for breath, eyes wide and bloodshot - Joel pulled the knife from his leg and wiped the blood on his jeans.

“Gonna hurt you like you hurt her,” he said, picking up Cody’s hand from the ground. He started trying to pull it away, heavy breaths shifting to hyperventilation, but Joel held firm, forcing the hand down to the man’s thigh. “What, you afraid of me usin’ your knife the way you do? That it? Can’t be that bad, can it?”

“No,” he panted. “No, please, I’ll give you whatever you want, I’ll…”

Joel lined the blade up with the smallest knuckle on Cody’s pinky and cut through it in one devastating push, the man screaming and writhing and trying to pull his hand into his chest to comfort himself but Joel didn’t let him.

“You’ll give me what I want?” Joel asked, putting the knife at the next joint down. “But what if what I want is my wife? What if what I want is your pain, hm? You give me that?”

He cut again, the blade meeting more resistance this time. Joel pushed through it, the knife cutting through the denim of his jeans on the other side of his hand as he screamed again. Cody closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree and Joel resisted the urge to beat his face in. He had to leave him alive for a little while longer.

And besides, he couldn’t take more pain from him if he was dead.

“No, you don’t get to fuckin’ pass out on me,” Joel stabbed the knife through his hand, pinning it to his thigh before grabbing his hair by the fistful, bringing his head forward so it was only inches from Joel’s own. He could smell the blood on his skin, clearly see the trails of salt on his cheeks. “You get to be awake for this. Doubt you ever let her pass out, did you? Not about to do you any favors. Now, you focus on me, understand?”

Cody managed a nod. Joel dragged the blade through is palm, between the webbing of his fingers, cutting a path through the delicate bones of his hand and the thick muscle of his thigh as Cody begged and screamed. The wound at Joel’s shoulder ached. He couldn’t bring himself to care about either thing.

He held Cody’s hand in place again and gave him a second to quiet and catch his breath before lining the knife up at the base of his pinky.

“Please,” he panted, eyes so desperate as they met Joel’s. “Please, I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Joel asked, brows raised. “Can’t survive what you did to her?”

Joel cut, separating the bloody remains of the finger from Cody’s hand and casting it aside. Cody’s screams were growing hoarse and Joel ground his teeth. He still needed answers from him and he needed to be able to talk for that.

He pulled the knife away, holding it firmly and watching as the other man caught his breath.

“I can make this easier,” Joel said after a moment. “You tell me where she is? I kill you. Quick. Maybe not painless but not as bad as this. You’re not leavin’ here alive. Should have killed you in Jackson months ago. Hell, should have fucking found you years ago and killed you then but I didn’t. Not about to let you go again. But it’s up to you if how I kill you is for you or for me, if it’s fast or if it’s slow.”

“I…” the wet rattle of Cody’s breath was sharper now. “I can’t… I can’t trust you to do it quick…”

“Yes you can,” Joel said. “You tell me where my wife is? I’m gonna go get her. Not gonna want to waste more time here with you. It’ll be quick if you just tell me.”

Cody’s eyes searched Joel’s for a moment, like he would find some kind of answer in them. Joel didn’t need to see his reflection to know that the only thing Cody would find in his gaze was the hollow, desperate pain of your loss. There wasn’t anything else left in him to see.

“I traded her,” he said. “To Mitchum. Met… met him about 10 miles north east of here but he won’t still be there. I don’t think he’d keep her with him - he never did before, always… always had her at his base…”

“And where’s that,” Joel asked when he trailed off. Cody’s neck went limp and Joel grabbed his chin again, giving him a sharp shake and forcing his eyes to spring open. “Stay with me, focus right here. Where is Mitchum’s base? Where would he take her?”

“Little spot,” he panted. “Just… a bunch of houses, don’t know if it’s got a name…”

“Tommy!” Joel called without even glancing back at him. “Need a map.”

It took a few seconds before Tommy appeared, handing Joel a wrinkled and worn map.

“Point to where it is on this map,” Joel said, releasing his bloody, four fingered hand. “Your buddy over there know where it is?” Cody nodded, shaky, once. “Good. You point where it is. He’d better point to the same goddamn spot.”

He handed the map back to Tommy and kept Cody in his sights, watching as his skin grew pale and his head listless and limp. There was a scuffle and scream behind him, loud enough that Cody shocked back to full consciousness with it.

“Sounds like your friend don’t know what’s good for him,” Joel said, taking Cody’s bloodied hand and forcing it to his thigh again. “Or what’s good for you.”

“No,” he shook his head, his eyes so wide. “No, please!”

“Tell him to cooperate,” Joel said.

“Do what he says!” Cody screamed. “Just do it, please!”

Joel pressed the knife to the base of his ring finger and cut. He was almost surprised at how easy it was to force the blade through the bone and sinew. He could barely feel the strain of it as Cody screamed below him. The knife sank a bit into his leg as it cut through the last of the skin and Joel picked the finger up, holding it in front of Cody’s crying eyes.

“She scream like you?” Joel asked, turning the piece of his captive slowly before them both, the wet of his blood catching the light like the fractures in the glass of his watch. “You like hearin’ it like I like hearin’ you?”

“Please,” Cody managed, voice ragged and hoarse.

“Why’d you do it?” He asked, lowering the severed finger but keeping it firmly in his grip. “You already took her, already were handing her over to that… animal. Why’d you need to hurt her, too.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Joel thrust the knife into his upper thigh, inches shy of the man’s crotch and he gasped, mouth open in a silent scream. He was wearing out, inching closer and closer to death.

“Don’t give a shit about your sorry,” Joel said. “Why. Tell me.”

He gave Cody a second to start to recover from the pain before twisting the knife, making him seize again.

“Tell me.”

“She tried to run!” He sobbed, collapsing back down again. “She… she tried to run, killed two of my men. And she never… never appreciated what I did for her then…”

Joel just nodded slowly. You’d been able to try to run, at least before Cody took your fingers. You weren’t so scared that you couldn’t move, weren’t so beaten that you couldn’t run. That was a good sign. You were a survivor. He had to remember that. You’d survived before. You would now, too. You would still be alive for him to find, for him to save, and he would save you. If it was the last thing he did, he would save you.

“Joel,” Tommy was at his side and it was quiet at his back. “Same spot.”

“Good,” Joel said. He carefully picked your fingers up from where they’d fallen in the leaves at Cody’s side and tucked them away in his pocket again before getting to his feet. Ellie was at his side, her rifle in her hands.

“I want to hurt him,” she said, her voice flat.

Joel looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since they’d found Cody. There was a darkness in her eyes that terrified him in its familiarity. It was the look she’d had for a split second when he’d found her after David had taken her from him. It was sharp and vicious and demanding and Joel wasn’t sure she knew how to come back from it.

“Will hurtin’ him help you?” Joel asked as gently as he could. She looked up at him, that sharp look still in her eyes.

“He hurt my mother,” she said, a hint of barely contained rage on her face. “I need to make him pay.”

He considered her for a second, trying to think clearly as he looked at the young woman who had once been the girl he’d shepherded across the country. In so many ways, she was still that little girl, one who he’d protected and failed at protecting, one who he had saved and had led to her near demise.

Would this be any worse than anything she had already suffered? Would it hurt her any worse than the things that Joel had allowed on his watch before, when he hadn’t been good enough to take care of her the way she deserved? Would it be, somehow, any more terrible because he allowed it?

Ellie was so like him in so many ways, ways that terrified him when he thought about it. There was a passion in her that so easily bloomed into rage and he knew what it was to keep that stifled and smothered. He knew, too, what it was to take it out on another human being, even one who deserved it.

He adjusted his grip on the knife and held the handle out to her. She went to take it but he pulled it back for a moment.

“Can’t kill him,” Joel said. “Understand?”

“Joel…” Tommy said at his back, but Joel just held out his empty hand, silencing him.

“Understand?” He repeated, watching Ellie closely.

She hesitated a moment, watching him back with those sharp, dark eyes.

“I understand,” she said, taking the knife from him and turning to Cody. She cocked her head, examining him cooly.

“Please,” the man whispered, looking up at her.

“Which fingers did he take?” Ellie asked, not looking back at Joel.

“Outside two,” Joel said, a twinge in his chest as he said it. “Her wedding ring with ‘em.”

Ellie nodded, her grip tightening on the knife before lowering her knee to pin Cody’s wrist of his intact hand to the ground.

“I told you I was gonna fucking kill you,” she said, her voice dangerous as the man tried weakly to pull his arm away from her. “My dad told me not to do that. But I am going to make you fucking pay.”

She slammed the knife into his hand with a sharp, angry cry, more hacking at him than cutting, striking him again and again until she was splattered with blood and Cody had screamed himself to silence. Joel’s stomach twisted at the sight of it, the satisfaction at knowing Cody’s agony twinged with an ache of his own at the sound of Ellie’s pained scream.

“If you’re just gonna let her fuckin’…” Tommy snapped, nudging Joel roughly to the side and stepping around him to wrap his arms around Ellie from behind, forcing her to still. She quieted then, no longer screaming and just sobbing instead. “It’s OK baby girl. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up…”

“No!” She tried to shake him loose but he held firm. “I want him to hurt! I want to make him hurt, I want him fucking dead, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve to live, he doesn’t…”

“I know,” Tommy said gently. “I know. But you hear him? He’s passed out, you’re not gonna make him regret this any more than he already does and Joel’s gonna finish him. He’s not gonna live, OK? He’s paid for it, he’s hurt for it, it’s OK baby girl.”

The knife slipped from her hold then, lying beside the mangled flesh and bone that had once been Cody’s hand. His pinky and ring fingers were completely gone.

“C’mon,” Tommy said again. “Gonna get you cleaned up, let Joel finish the job, then we’ll get movin’. You’re OK.”

He pulled her gently to her feet and gave Joel a deadly look as he passed, Ellie gathered against his side as he led her away.

Joel knelt and picked up the knife, every inch of it splattered in blood now. He didn’t care. He took Cody’s chin in his hand and gave his head a sharp shake and the man gave a sharp gasp before trying to cough but choked on his own blood instead, his eyes opening slowly. He couldn’t even lift his head now, his eyes the only thing it seemed he could really move.

“Wanted you to be awake for this,” Joel said, his voice a deadly calm. “Wanted to make sure you felt it. Wanted to be sure you knew why you were dying.”

Joel thrust the knife into Cody’s side, burying it fully between two ribs and twisting it there. His eyes went wide and his body thrashed as much as it could but it was a useless endeavor. He started gasping for breath, the gurgling sound of him starting to drown in his own blood overwhelming the sound of the woods around them as Joel pulled the knife from his side.

“You could have lived, you know,” Joel continued. “Could have spent the rest of your years anywhere but Jackson, never would have looked for you. She asked me not to look for you, to just leave you alive. Felt like she owed you somethin’. Maybe she thought you’d been a good man once, long time ago. But you and me, we know the truth. You were never a good man, never had it in you to be good. You didn’t deserve her mercy so you ain’t gettin’ mine.”

“You…” he gasped and choked. “Promised…”

“Promised what?” He asked. “To make it quick for you?”

He didn’t give Cody a chance to respond. Joel just shrugged.

“I lied.”

He thrust the knife in between the same ribs on the other side, twisting it and pulling it free before wiping the worst of the blood on Cody’s pants and getting back to his feet. He put his hand in his pocket, the one that held the pieces of you. He traced your wedding band with his thumb, feeling your cold skin below his touch. How many times had this flesh laced with his? How many times had it tangled in his hair or squeezed his arm or touched his cheek?

He held it himself now, trying to keep the pieces of you warm as Cody drowned in his own blood. His dying breaths were harsh and rasping and desperate, the last gasp of his mortality clinging to this life as though there was anything but pain to be found for him here. As if there was anything he deserved beyond pain. Just before the light left his eyes, Joel picked Cody’s fingers up off the ground and opened his mouth, forcing them inside. He stood back again, watching as he tried to take two quick, shallow breaths around them before going completely still.

“Joel,” Tommy said from behind him.

Joel looked down at Cody’s body for a moment longer. This man had hurt you, raped you, taken you. He was dead now, at Joel’s hand. There was justice in that. He spit on his body all the same.

He turned to find his brother and daughter standing side by side, Ellie’s eyes still sharp but rimmed in red, her cheeks puffy. Both of them were wet, Ellie no longer splattered in blood.

“We should move,” Joel said, stalking toward Cody’s horse. Tommy just watched him as Joel mounted up, the horse pawing at the ground for a moment as he got settled. He looked back at his brother. “If you ain’t got the stomach, Tommy, I’ll do this myself…”

“I’m comin’,” Tommy said, going to another horse and mounting up, too. “Just hope you don’t get lost in the process.”

Joel didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That the man he had the potential to be had left when you did? That, without you, there was nothing left to lose?

He didn’t need to say it. Somehow, he was sure, Tommy knew.

Instead, he nudged his horse forward, starting on the path given to him by the man he’d left in pieces on the ground.

A/N: So Joel is pretttttttty damn feral at this point. I'm not sure I've ever written a Joel quite this unhinged and that's not even accounting for the fact that the juxtaposition between Jackson Joel and Feral Joel is pretty harsh. He's just gone, at least for now.

There are just three chapters left of this fic now (I think, the way some of this chapter flowed means it may grow to 41 chapters but I don't think so)! Next chapter is going to be a big one, one that's been building for the whole of this fic and I'm so excited for it. I hope you are, too!

Thanks for being here through this INSANELY lengthy journey both in word/chapter count and in time. It feels like we've been with Joel and Bambi forever and that's because we kind of have been - almost a year now! I hope you've enjoyed the ride. I know I have.

Love you!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc

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writers-potion · 1 day

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um i just followed u a bit ago but i want you to know that you really motivate me and that people who say mean things are just. a sad sight. i dont see the point in being a dick, but i guess they have their own lives...

anyhow, i reallty like your writing tips and i was wondering if you had any tips on how to get started when your feeling low?

thank you!!

Writing When You Really Don't Feel Like It

Hey! Thanks for supporting and liking my posts :)

Here are some ways I use to motivate myself when I don't feel like writing.

Reading lighthearted fantasy/romance/comedy to clear the air. Every writer is a reader, and reading has the power to make me want to write my own story. The key here is to just read something for fun - the less useful it is, the better.

Write autobiographically. Open a fresh doc and write about a character that's just...you. Rant about the nitty gritty bad things and people you hate. Feeling better? Close the doc (don't delete it because who know it can be your next great novella) and go back to your project!

Use writing as a procrastination tool. When I find myself not wanting to write a particular scene, I leave it and wait for my exam period to roll around. My motivation suddenly peaks when I'm writing with the delicious guilt of knowing that I should actually be studying.

Use a word count tracker. It helps to visualize the progress you're making every day by using Excel, a digital to-do tool, or crossing out dates in your calendar. Once you have a streak going, you'll find yourself not wanting to break it.

I don't know what made you feel low, and I do hope that you step out of it! Writing is honestly tiring and frustrating at times, but nothing's worse than a story stuck inside you, untold. Don't let your heart choke on it.

Happy writing :)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram!

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2

💎For early access to my content and priority questions, become a Writing Wizard

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lukall705 · 2 days

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Can we make NOT romanticizing and normalizing Yandere and pretty much any type of toxic or unhealthy relationships a thing, i'm so tired of trying to find chuuya fics just to see "Yandere chuuya x reader!!" Shit come up, like no chuuya wouldn't rape and beat the shit out of me if i tried to break up with him.

its so annoying when a ship w two character is toxic and people just call it like "Toxic Yuri!!! 🥵🥵🥵🥵😍😍" like its a good thing and that its hot. I hate how 'normal' its become to have unhealthy relationships is, its not hot that your bf or gf doesn't let you have friends of the same gender, its not hot that they make you tell them where you are at all times and its not hot that they try to control your life.

Can we normalize calling out weirdos who post shit like "I want a gf who would lock me up in her basement" "Stalking him to make sure he isn't cheating or talking to any other girls" "Killing any girl that tries to come near him>w<!!!" You're admitting to wanting to commit crimes! Being a yandere isn't hot, kidnapping, murder, stalking ect isn't hot!

And i have a feeling this might also start an argument like the post i made about incest writers🤦‍♂️ i dont wanna see anyone even trying to excuse this type of shit

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golbrocklovely · 3 days

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complicated // colby brock (pt. 2)

A/N: hilariously when i first drafted this, i was gonna make it a lot meaner/hate fucking like, with a lot of jealousy thrown in. but damnit, bridgerton has foiled my plans again and has really turned me into a lover lol so i made this a little bit softer than originally planned. hope yall like it regardless, and please let me know what you think :) see yall with another fic real soon !

prompt: time has passed since you and sam hooked up, and all seems well. except now… colby is upset with you for some unknown reason. || fem!reader x colby brock

trigger warning: SMUT, angst, jealous!colby, possessive!colby, he's still really sweet tho, you guys were out clubbing so... tipsy/drunk sex, mentions of: baby, good girl, darling, cursing, quasi-public sex, could almost get caught, lots of teasing (both sexually and non), mentions of colby having seen you and sam hooking up, sweet ending :)

word count: 3066

~~~~~~~

The morning after Sam and I had sex was awkward to say the least.

We both ignored each other, which was easy since Sam and Colby had many calls and business related things to do. And I, being their assistant, had my own tasks at hand for the following week to start.

But when Sam and I were finally able to sit down and talk about it, it went surprisingly well.

We came to two very important conclusions: one, while we had fun, we weren’t going to ever do it again. We cared too much about our friendship to let sex ruin it. Plus the spark really had only been there that night.

And two, we were to never tell Colby.

Everything seemed good for a while. Life got back into the swing of things; Sam and Colby were traveling, I was handling the business side while they were gone. Normal, boring life occurred.

But all the while, I had this strange feeling. Maybe it was due to the fact that Colby had grown cold towards me, almost standoffish. He sometimes would keep to himself, that wasn't unusual; but his demeanor around me became stiff, almost like he was upset at me.

I wanted to confront him, ask him what was wrong, but it never felt like the right time. When the right time finally did come, it was during a couple days stretch where the boys had off. One night when we went out and both came home empty handed, I decided to finally ask him.

His answer was not at all what I was expecting, but in a way it was the one I wanted to hear all along.

I wanted the truth and now I was finally getting it.

~~~~~~

“No way. I cannot believe you used to run away from cops for a living.” Nicole, Sam’s new… friend, said as we walked into Sam and Colby’s house.

A playful look rested on Sam’s face as he nodded. “Yeah, and we did it pretty well.”

“Up until you got arrested.” I chimed in, smirking.

She gasped. “Oh my God, you got arrested? For what?”

“Breaking and entering. And fake ids.” Colby explained.

“Woah woah, the fake ids were just a you charge, Colby.” Sam replied defensively.

“And that was the first and last time Sam and Colby were separated ever again.” I quipped.

Colby turned to look at Sam, a faux-pained expression on his face. “I just can't quit you.”

“Me neither, brother.” Sam sniffled, pretending to hold back tears. The both placed hands on each others' shoulders, giving a tight squeeze.

Nicole glanced back and forth at Sam, Colby, and me, amused. “You guys are so funny. I have been having such a blast all night.”

“I'm happy to entertain you for as long as you'd like.” Sam lowered his voice to an almost sultry tone, moving to her side.

She bit her lip, looking into his eyes. “Maybe you could do that alone? Upstairs, perhaps?"

Sam gave a cheeky look at me and Colby, "I'll see you guys later."

Nicole giggled as she pulled Sam up the stairs, Sam following suit as he whispered something to her and snickered. I peered over at Colby, waiting for Sam's door to shut before speaking. "Well, she seems nice."

“Yeah she's sweet.” Colby agreed, pulling out his phone. He began to walk to the kitchen, and I followed him.

“So... what do you plan to do the rest of the night?” I asked.

He mumbled. “Might order some postmates, then call it a night.”

“Exciting.” I deadpanned, slightly annoyed at him. I changed the subject, thinking that was the cause, “That new club we went to was a lot of fun. The live music was so cool to hear.”

“Yeah it was.” Colby didn't look up, continuing to scroll through his phone.

I sighed, exhausted. “You know, you've been acting this way all night with me.”

“Like what?” He exhaled, finally looking up.

“Short. To the point.” I stated.

He shrugged. “I don't feel like being social.”

I scrunched my face at him, “It was your idea to go out tonight.”

“My social battery ran out really fast then.” Colby blinked, frowning.

“It's not just tonight though. You've been like this for over a week at this point. I thought maybe it was because of work, but....” I trailed off, unsure.

He pursed his lips, “What?”

“You're icing me out. What did I do?” I questioned, stepping towards him.

He moved back, shaking his head. “I don't want to talk about this.”

I followed him. “Well I do. So talk.”

“Okay, if you really want to talk…” He rubbed his eyes for a moment, finally speaking. “Do you have something to tell me?”

My heart stopped. “What?”

He repeated, his eyes icy. “Do you have something to tell me?”

I sucked my teeth, knowing exactly what Colby was referring to. “...I'm gonna kill Sam.”

He chuckled darkly, “Oh, no no. Don't get pissed at the guy that told me what happened.”

I huffed, “We promised each other not to tell you.”

“He folded real quick on that.” Colby crossed his arms, leaning against the counter.

I stared up at him, puzzled. “When did he tell you?”

“A couple days after it happened.” He informed.

I groaned, spinning to yell towards the stairs, “He really went behind my back and just flat out told you. What the fuck, Sam?!”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Colby argued.

I turned back, “Oh, c'mon Colby. You know why.”

“No please, do tell. I would love to hear why.” He jeered.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. “Do you think I want to tell one of my best friends 'hey just so you know, me and your other best friend, who is also my friend, fucked'? Of course not!”

“Why? You shouldn't feel uncomfortable doing that. Since you did it so publicly, in this very room, might I add.” He shot back.

My eyes widened for a second. “He told you we fucked in the kitchen?”

“No. He's too nice for that.” Colby stepped towards me, almost looming over me. “Do you remember a couple months back when we thought someone was trying to break into the house, so we got extra security cameras installed?”

I crossed my arms defensively, “What does that have to do with this?”

“We didn't get the cameras installed just outside the house. We also got some installed in the common areas. One in the living room....” He leaned down, whispering. “And one in the kitchen.”

“You're kidding.” My breath hitched involuntarily.

“Any and every movement that happens in these areas gets recorded. When Sam told me you two fucked, I thought he was joking. But I checked…” His voice fell off, an almost smirk coming to his face.

I stuttered, “Y-You-?”

“You really know how to put on a performance.” Colby spoke condescendingly, staring into my eyes with a mischievous glint.

I scoffed, putting space between us. “Fuck you.”

He rolled his eyes, “You wish.”

I glared, exhaling harshly. “You know, you're acting like a jealous boyfriend.”

“Really?” He sassed.

“Yeah. Why the fuck do you care if I slept with Sam? You've never cared about who he hooks up with. But you suddenly care when it's me?" I scowled.

“I care who he hooks up with.” He argued.

I placed my hands on my hips, “Name me literally one girl he's gotten with within the last month or two. Any of them.”

“Nicole is upstairs with him now.” He remarked sarcastically.

I narrowed my gaze, “She doesn't count.”

“Sorry I don't memorize all of their names. I don't need to really remember them since I'm not the one sleeping with them.” Colby bickered, turning away from me.

I thought for a moment, a realization appearing in my mind, “Any time I've almost hooked up with someone, you've always been so aggressive towards them afterwards. But now since it was Sam, you're angry with me.”

“I'm upset because you didn't tell me. Instead, you wanted to keep it a secret from me. That's why I'm pissed.” He rebutted, facing me once more.

“But what's the difference between Sam telling you or me telling you? You've known basically since it happened, why are you still holding it against me?” I sneered, “Unless, of course, you're jealous.”

He queried angrily, “Jealous of what, exactly?”

“You're jealous I didn't sleep with you.” I hissed.

He shook his head, his voice faltering. “Give me a break, Y/N.”

“No no, be honest Colby. Why else are you pissed? You found out a week ago, and have held it against me just because I wasn't the one that told you. You found out regardless, so what is there to be pissed about?” I searched his eyes, but he tilted his head away from my glare. “It's none of your fucking business who I sleep with, whether it's Sam, the guy down the street, or a random guy at the club. You're not my boyfriend. I'm allowed to fuck whoever I want to!”

I spun on my heel, but Colby's hand gripped my wrist, spinning me back to him. My eyes locked with his for a brief moment as he grabbed my face, kissing me deeply. I shuddered a breath, taken aback by how passionate the kiss was. Colby wrapped an arm around me, pulling me against him, as his other hand pulled on my hair lightly.

“You're right, Y/N. I hate how fucking right you always are.” He nipped at my lips, a low groan leaving his mouth. “Do you know how frustrating it is seeing you with other guys? Seeing them put their hands on you, when that's all I can think about doing?”

“Colby!” I gasped quietly, our mouths meeting again. He pressed me against the counter, the spot feeling eerily similar on my back.

Was this the same spot as-?

“I shouldn't have been a dick to you, I'm sorry. But I will never apologize for wanting you all to myself.” His voice came out in an almost growl, “I want you to be mine, and mine alone.”

My mouth fumbled over my words, my hands gliding up his back. “W-Why didn't you just say that? Why now?”

“Seeing you fuck Sam in here weirdly was the wake up call I needed,” he chuckled bitterly. “I thought that maybe all this time I was just overly protective but no... I am jealous. I don’t want to see you with anyone else ever again.”

Colby's hand lifted up my leg, wrapping it around his waist. He slowly inched his fingers higher and higher until he was under my dress, tickling the lining of my underwear. “Let me show you how badly I want you. Please.”

My knees almost buckled at the sound of his voice. The desperation. I nodded, unable to form words, and his hand slowly slid up more until he pressed his palm against my sex. I squeaked unintentionally, a smirk coming to his face. He rubbed slow circles into my clit, my back arching instantly.

“You're already soaking through your panties... Fuck me.” He grunted.

I bit my lip, “Seeing you jealous is honestly kind of a turn on.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Oh really? You like making me jealous? You like me being possessive of you?”

“I like hearing you admit you like me, so if that does the trick…” I trailed off, teasingly.

He pressed harder into my clit, a moan ripping through me when he did. He moved his mouth down, sucking on my neck in time with his movements.

My hands snaked down his torso, touching every muscle on my way to his belt. I clutched the buckle, loosening his belt from his pants. I slipped my hand inside, cupping his growing bulge. He gasped, grinding his cock into my hand.

He closed his eyes tightly, “Fuck baby, that feels so good.”

My cunt clenched at the sound of his voice, needing him deeply. “Please Colby. Fuck, I want you so badly.”

“I need you too, Y/N.” Colby exhaled harshly, “Spin around for me.”

I glanced at him for a moment, shocked by the hunger in his eyes. I turned around, placing my hands on the counter. The cool surface felt like ice against my hot skin, the hairs on my arms standing on end. I heard a package ripping, Colby sliding a condom on that he grabbed from his wallet. Suddenly his hands were on me, pulling the skirt of my dress up until it rested above my ass. He rolled my panties down, his hands massaging my thighs on their way back up.

“You ready for me?” His voice dripped with an aching need: me.

I breathlessly sighed, “Yes, please.”

He pushed my legs open, the tip of his cock teasing my entrance. I mewled at the feeling, backing my hips up until my ass hit his crotch. He groaned, his one hand gripping my hip while the other rested on my back.

Slowly he glided his cock inside of me, both of us holding our breaths as he did. I stretched around him, his size bigger than what I was used to. He filled me up more and more, my eyes fluttering in ecstasy. His body relaxed against mine once he was all the way in, a shuddering 'fuck' falling from his lips.

“Move, Colby. God, please!” I begged.

His hand moved around me to cover my mouth jokingly. "Shh, you can't be too loud. Don't want Sam and his girl to know what we're doing."

I rolled my eyes, knowing that they were lost in their own world and would give no shits about us fucking in here. Colby smirked against my skin, kissing and nibbling my neck and shoulders. His hand drifted back, running through my hair, tugging lightly. His hips began to move in low thrusts. I bit my lip to not moan loudly, but it was so hard. He felt like heaven, and way better than all of my dreams had imagined.

“God, you feel amazing, Y/N.” Colby whispered lightly, “So wet for me.”

I gripped the counter, holding myself into place as he bucked into me. I moved my hips in time with his, meeting him with each thrust.

His hands cupped my hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into them. “You are fucking gorgeous, baby.”

I hummed a moan, my head lulling back. Colby's hand collided with my ass quickly, slapping it. I let out a small shriek, surprised by the impact.

“Colby!” I giggled, looking over my shoulder at him.

He grinned, his dimples appearing briefly. “Can't help it. Wanted to do that for so long.”

“Really? So you've been staring at my ass all this time?” I questioned.

“Oh yeah. Every chance I get.” He raised his eyebrows smugly.

“Perv.” I joked.

Colby laughed, sliding all the way inside of me and stopping. He pressed me against the counter, his hand drifting down and rubbing my clit. “And you're just like me.”

My eyes almost rolled back into my head from the pleasure. “H-how?”

“You're letting me fuck you right in the same spot Sam fucked you in. They could come down any minute and catch us. You want that to happen, don't you?” He grunted, his voice sounding like pure sex.

His fingers on my clit made it hard to think, let alone respond. I stuttered out a curse. His lips were against my ear, “You're mine from now on, you hear me? No one will ever touch you like this again besides me. Say it. Say you're mine.”

“I-I'm yours.” I whimpered.

“Again.” His hips started back up, fucking me harder against the counter than ever before.

“'M yours.” I slurred, my orgasm growing closer and closer.

He slapped my ass again, “Tell me one more time, darling.”

“I'm yours! Fuck Colby, I'm yours!” I exclaimed, unable to hold back.

“That's my good girl! Fuck yourself on my cock. Do it.” Colby demanded.

I bounced on his dick, his fingers still rubbing my clit over and over again. I was panting, unable to hold back any noises that escaped my throat. My hand slid down to his hand on my clit, pressing him more into me. I gripped his wrist, my nails digging in.

“You close baby? You gonna fucking come for me?” He cursed, his thrusts picking up speed.

I cried out, “Pleaseeee Colbyyy, I wanna come!”

His other hand wrapped around my throat, lightly squeezing for a second. He taunted, “Shhh, you can't scream, Y/N. Even though I know you want to."

Colby pounded into me harder, guttural moans and the sounds of our skin slapping together filling the room.

His voice was hoarse, hungry. “I'm close, darling. Ffffuck you feel so good!”

I desperately whined back, white knuckling the counter as my high grew near. "I'm gonna fucking-!"

“That's it, Y/N. Come for me. Soak my cock and come!” Colby thundered.

My body exploded into an orgasm, my vision blurring. I cried out in ecstasy and pleasure, my hips bucking helplessly around his cock. Colby picked up his pace, thrusting into me passionately. His husky groans echoed in my ear as he came. His hands dug into my skin, his fingers curved as he rubbed my clit through my orgasm. I shook against him, my body finally relaxing against the counter as my pleasure subsided a minute later.

He rested his forehead against my back, spreading lazy kisses and licks across my shoulders and neck. I smiled, catching my breath slowly. His hands moved, softly caressing my skin as he stood up. He picked me up off the counter, spinning me back to face him. Resting me back against it, his body still against mine. His eyes scanned my face, taking in every detail.

“Hi.” He whispered sweetly.

I grinned, “Hi.”

“You okay?” He asked, lightly brushing my hair out of my face.

“Never better. You?” I giggled.

“I'm great.” Colby pecked my lips, pausing briefly. “I wasn't kidding when I said all of that, you know."

"I believe you." I breathed.

"So... you're still mine, right?” He murmured.

“Of course." I lowered my gaze bashfully, "And you're mine?”

He nudged my face up, our eyes locking. “Absolutely.”

<< part one ||

#colby brock #sam and colby #colby brock x reader #colby brock smut #colby brock fic #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock one shot #colby brock oneshot #colby brock angst

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dunmeshistash · 2 days

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I’ve been seeing a lot of complaints abt lack of diversity in dunmeshi since the animation. What do u think abt it? Like I get wanting representation and giving black and brown ppl more characters to relate to would be absolutely fabulous, but I also feel that the western fandom are sometimes too entitled with things like that. I even see some ppl completely discrediting the whole show just bc there wasn’t a black character? This was meant for Japanese ppl. Most mangakas don’t expect their work to be animated initially unless they are already hugely successful and therefore don’t expect to get a major international audience, so the representation they put in will inherently be more relevant to Japanese ppl. But then again Japan does have a small but still significant black population, especially in the big cities so it’s still sth reasonable to ask for. Just, u know, not sth to discredit the whole show for especially considering the medium I think.

I must preface this once again by saying I'm just some guy™️and I'm not gonna say if it is or isn't good representation cause that's subjective. Rather I'll try to explain what I think about people's reactions (cause that's interesting to me)

I understand the complaints about the lack of diversity, and I don't think "this was made for a japanese audience" to be a good argument since the basis of the story and most of the characters are based on western fantasy. So most of the characters aren't even japanese, so it wasn't really a case of relatability.

I believe the arguments of lack of representation dungeon meshi suffers probably comes from a backlash to the overwhelming praise it gets, I think some people (me included sometimes) get a little too overexcited and overpraise it, especially when it comes to the representation.

We compare it to other anime and I think for that we kinda exaggerate on how much representation there actually is, cause most anime has none. So I guess some people dislike that the "bare minimum" is being praised as if is revolutionary, it can be frustrating for someone that wishes for good and real representation for themselves when they see the safest representation ever being praised as something out of the ordinary. I guess anime fans (ME INCLUDED) are like battered partners as soon as we get someone that treats us like human beings well we think they're god lmao.

The internet hates subtlety and critical thinking tho. So "It's not as good representation as you're hyping it up to be" becomes "this has shit representation" and people ignore that it IS a step on the right direction, especially when it comes to anime.

I think dungeon meshi is pretty cool representation wise for what it is tbh, especially when it comes to character design. Ryoko Kui is a master of representing varying people of all shapes and sizes, and I can tell as an artists she makes an effort with what she draws.

Why the main character are the most convetionally atractive well built ones, Why her drawings outside dungeon meshi are so much more diverse than dungeon meshi itself etc is things we can only guess 👍 (remembering that yeah, she doesn't really draw black people even outside dunmeshi)

Anyway once again I just think nuance is the ideal, it doesn't need to be "the best representation ever" nor "the worst representation ever" it is what it is, there's good things about it, bad things about it and okay things about it.

#Plus everyone is racist and you need to make a conscious effort to stop being racist #specially if you live in a mostly homogeneous country #I might be dark skinned but only recently (like in the last 5 years) have I started drawing more dark skinned characters #america is much farther in cultural awareness than many other countries #which isn't an excuse more of an explanation to why its rare to see good representation from anime #dunmeshi complaint

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miley1442111 · 15 hours

Text

(part 6) choices on the court- a.donaldson

----------------------------

a/n: this is kind of a bad and i hate it but i need to post it to make the next part make sense so sorry that it's awful the next part is actually good i promise :) i'm posting them together but like... it just makes sense in my head ok sorry :)

summary: the confrontation where you find out about a few things. (dw there are more parts after this :))

pairing: art donaldson x reader, patrick zweig x reader

warnings: angst, feelings of disappointment and depression, hurt, cheating, sexual content, etc. +

----------------------------

Art felt like his world had been crashing down around him for months even though he was getting what he wanted. He had Tashi (despite their break-up that lasted a week), he was going pro, and he had all the deals and things he wanted. But he didn't have you. He felt like a lonely idiot, and he lost a lot of enjoyment for things. Tennis was a job, not a passion. Seeing you on the courts, watching you work was the highlight of his days, thank god he had the Nike deal.

But it nagged at him. You were fucking Patrick. You were fucking Patrick even though he'd know about his infidelity and not told you, just like Art hadn't. What was so special about Patrick?

----------------------------

You stood on the court, Art on the other side.

“You’re fucking Patrick?” He tried to keep his tone even, but he knew he failed by the way you served the ball.

“Why do you care? You got Tashi, you got what you wanted,” you hit the ball back and forth with so much strength Art narrowly hit it back.

"I never said I have anything I want," He hit the ball back.

"So what do you want? Two girls at the same time?" you scoffed. "Just admit that you're contented with your life and move on, it's fine Art, I'm happy for you and Tashi just like you should be happy for me and Patrick."

"So you and Patrick are a 'thing' now?" Art missed the ball, then served it back to you with a ridiculous amount of force. The tension on the court was aplpable, certain words being punctuated by the slap of the ball against your rackets. You were both angry. Though, he had no right to be. He'd cheated on you. He's the asshole.

"Yeah, we are," you shrugged. "Just like you and Tashi are a thing."

“I don’t want Tashi! I never wanted Tashi!” He shouted back, dropping his racket and ultimately ending the game. “I wanted- I want you.”

“Then why did you fuck her?” you asked mockingly, laughing in his face. “Oh yeah, because you’re a fucking asshole who never cared about me!”

“I care about you!” He shouted back. “I care about you enough to tell you that Patrick isn’t good for you!”

“And how would you know that? At least he doesn’t cheat on me!”

“It’s not like he’s completely innocent either,” he scoffed. “He watched. He watched me fuck Tashi.”

Your heart broke for a third time. How could you be so stupid.

“What?” you asked, lowering your voice. You noticed Patrick out of the corner of your eye and Tashi entering from the other entrance. “Is that true? You three all knew and none of you told me?!”

There was silence on the court.

“Fucking answer me!” you screamed.

“Yeah. No one told you,” Tashi answered.

“Great. Y’know, keep me out of your weird fucking threesome bullshit from now on, please? It really shouldn’t be that fucking hard, considering you all seemingly hate each other. Just keep your heads out of your cocks, alright?” You shouted storming off the court.

There was a silence over the court for a few moments.

Then;

“Fuck you!” Art screamed.

“Oh fuck me? Fuck you!” Patrick laughed. “You broke her heart, all I did was break her fucking hymen!”

“Fuck both of you! You’re both assholes!” Tashi shouted from the bleachers.

The boys looked at each other. “Fuck us?” they said in unison.

“You’re the one who pitted us against each other for your attention, then made our careers about you,” Patrick commented.

“ Tashi, you’ve been awful to her. You tried to sabotage her biggest match,” Art mentioned.

“Fuck you,” they said in unison once again.

----------------------------

Three months later…

“Hey,” You smiled, feeling giddy from the copious amounts of alcohol you’d consumed.

“Hey,” Art smiled back, just as drunk as you.

You’d gone back to your dorm. You’d kissed him. It felt good.

“I’m so sorry-” he tried to apologise for well… everything. But all you wanted was to have sex and pass out.

“Shush!” You hushed him and giggled, pulling off your t-shirt and bra. Art’s eyes widened, then he smirked. His lips latched onto yours as you undressed yourselves and landed on his bed. You laid back as Art took his time kissing you. Your lips, your face, your neck, your chest, your stomach, all the way down to your core.

“Art,” you moaned. “Please.”

The haziness of the alcohol was getting to him and he was beginning to feel much too tired, but he’d be damned if he let another chance with you pass him by. “What do you want, baby?”

“You,” you moaned breathlessly. “You.”

A sense of pride blossomed in Art's chest. You wanted him. You were with him. Here, he wasn't second best to Patrick, nor was he controlled by Tashi. He was with you. His dream girl. "You have me, baby."

----------------------------

You’d felt so stupid when Art wasn’t there in the morning. Why did you trust him? Why did he do that?

Why, why why?

You two didn’t talk again. Well, not until about eleven years later.

----------------------------

art donaldson masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

people who asked to be tagged :)

@fkaams

@emily-b

@yourmommycallsmemommy

@hrtsj1m

@januarycolor

#art challengers #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art challenge #art donaldson #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #challengers movie #challengers 2024 #zendaya #tashi duncan

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spacebaby1 · 12 hours

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Hii I saw your post where you said you wanted ansgt ideas for sukuna. You can make one where sukuna acts like she despises you (when in reality she loves you but can't stand the idea that I love you) you have never understood but you don't care. And one night you show up at her house in the early morning because the situation at your house had gotten violent (reader's father is abusive). Sorry this is very long 😭

This is about to hit home for me! I live for protective Sukuna. Enjoy!!

Your father had a ticking temper ever since your mother left him; one minute he'll be laughing and talking the next he'll start screaming and throwing things. Today wasn't different but what made it worse is that your classmate Sukuna wouldn't stop bothering you all the day. You didn't know what to do; thinking about how your father got mad last night at you for being a minute late with his dinner or deal with Sukuna bothering you, either ways you just ignored him.

When you got home you father wasn't there which was a relief and you prayed that he should just sleep somewhere out at his friend's house which he did sometimes and you were happy that tonight will be the same. You were in your room going through you instagram when a text popped up on your screen. It was Sukuna and him sending some hateful text which you ignored and went on scrolling om your phone.

It was around 3 am when you heard the door open and shut making you jump at the loud thud and you phine ringing made you flinch; Sukuna was calling, probably to annoy you and you didn't answer. Few minute later you heard shouting and screams of your father and things being thrown on the wall. Your heart dropped and immediately you ran downstairs trying to stop your father from throwing things around at your mothers framed picture. He grabbed you by the hair making your phone fall from your hand and accidentally answer to Sukuna's call. Sukuna was about to go off on you probably to mock you when he heard your painful screaming from the other side of the call, "what the hell you yelling like that?" He tried to not panic when you didn't answer but kept on screaming and crying because of your father grabbing your hair and hitting you, "P-please stop, you're hur-hurt-" you cried but your father kept screaming at you and holding you by the hair. Sukuna's heart dropped when he heard your father voice.

Jumping out of his couch Sukuna rushed out of the door and ran towards your house which was few hours from his.

He could hear the voices of your cries when he approached your house and thanked God that the door was unlocked. Sukuna rushed inside the house pushing your father away causing you both to fall. "You son of a bitch!" Sukuna picked your father by his collar and punched him till he was unable to stand. Sukuna rushed to your side as you were struggling to get up from the pain in your head while crying, "hey, hey. Let me see," Sukuna gently looked at your head and saw you bleeding a bit, you looked at him and he saw your brushed face and bleeding nose. He felt rage as he got up one more time to kick your father over and over until you cried for him to stop. Immediately Sukuna stopped and sat next to you, "Come on, I'll take you to hospital. Can you stand?" You shook your head still sobbing. "It's okay sweetie, I got you." He picked you up carried you out of the house.

Sukuna stood by your side as the nurse patched you up, he was angry and bitting on his nails. The cut on your lips, your bloody nose and the mark on your cheek made him want to go back and bear your father once again, "take this painkiller, it will help with the headache. Nothing to be worried about but we need you to stay here for the night, we need to do few checkups in case of broken bones or muscle fracture, okay?" The nurse told you as you nodded feeling your eyes heavy.

"S-sukna, you should go home, it's la-"

"The hell I'm not!" He sat beside you on the bed looking mad but not at you and you knew that. You placed your hand over his, "Thank you, Sukuna." You whispered laying your head on his shoulder to which he just hummed only to hear your soft snoring; you fell asleep on his shoulder.

Carefully he laid your head on the pillow and went to shut the door so the outside noise won't wake you up. He came back and sat on the chair next to the bed but he couldn't get comfortable. His feet accidentally hit the bed making you flinch in your sleep and you groaned in pain and was about to cry in your sleep when Sukuna jumped off the chair. Caressing your head softly, "Shhh, sorry sweetheart. Shhh go back to sleep." He whispered.

You moved to your side, holding on to his hoodie, and slowly calmed down, eventually falling asleep and holding on to him tightly. Carefully he got on the bed beside you and held you close, making sure to not hurt you as he kept on caressing your hair softly, "you don't need to worry anymore, I'm here, I'm so so sorry baby," he whispered placing a small kiss on your forehead, "I'm here for you, I'm gonna kill that man with my bare hands if he dare to touch you." You sighed in your sleep and snuggled closer to him.

#soft sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna protective #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryoumen x you #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fanfic #sukuna ryoumen #sukuna angst

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http-paprika · 21 hours

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BLUE / simon riley

my very, very late submission for @glitterypirateduck simon "ghost" riley challenge. this was heavily inspired by the new billie eilish song of the same title because I thought it fit him so well. i used the prompts "face touching", "the heat goes out and it's freezing", and "a confession is made"

simon ghost riley x female reader / 1106 words / contains angst, alcohol, and smoking

WITH every patron that hurried into the bar, cold and snow blew in with them—leaving those even in the darkest corners of the bar chilled and draining down more liquor. The drink spilled through her veins, warm and potent as she waited another hour, shrunk away in the shadows with her cost pulled tight. Simon wasn't coming, she knew better than to keep waiting for him.

Finishing her glass of whiskey, she lets it sting her throat the same way the tears in her eyes did. With remorse, she sets the glass down and rises from her chair. Through the crowded bar of happy couples and friends, someone's celebrating a birthday, another girl is sobbing in the corner with her friends trying their best to comfort her. The whole room pulses with life, feelings, love, and hate and she can't seem to find herself amongst the crush of emotions. Dull, apathetic, and removed as she slinks out of the door and into the blue moon night.

Winter still holds a fierce grip over Manchester, spilling white flurries in the air as she walks down the quiet streets with a cigarette to warm her from the cold. If he were there, they'd be sharing the smoke and she'd be warmed by the blushed haze that always befell her when their hands brushed exchanging the cigarette.

Her hand fumbles with her phone, the bright, blue light warning her of how late it was. But even with the early shift she had in the morning, she loiters along her route imagining he’ll be waiting by her flat like Simon would sometimes do. Giving her the delusion that he cared enough to come looking for her, even if he couldn't be bothered to grab drinks with her.

Despite all logic telling her not to bother with a call, she finds the number that she's left a hundred voicemails for. Sounding desperate and pathetic with every call as she tries to convince him into calling her back.

“Hi, Simon. It's me… again. I'm just calling to check in, I haven't heard from you in a week and I just want to make sure you're alright. Okay, I'm going to go, I'm at my flat. Call me, please.” The sound of the voicemail being replayed causes her to cringe, maybe he'd never hear it like he never hears the rest. Maybe he's got a new number, that was the type of thing someone as shifty as Simon would do. But she can't find reason in his sudden absence, no foreseen notice of a deployment or mission. No text to tell her he'd be unavailable. Nothing.

When she rounds the gate into her apartment complex, she can see in the low light of the second-floor walk, the lone figure waiting in front of her door even though he had the keys. Burly hands shoved into the worn pockets of his jacket with head tilted down as she climbed the stairs to join him.

She didn't need to see Simon’s face to know that he was thinking. Always thinking about the past he refused to tell her about. One that she could only dream up, trying to picture what had happened to turn him into the man he was. The man who she desperately tried to get over, but couldn't move on from.

“I waited for you. It's the third Wednesday of the month, or did you just forget?” She asks, stubbing out the cigarette on the melt railing. The frame creaks as her fist tightens around it in frustration. “Simon?”

“Was busy with work, forgot to call.” He shrugs, pushing his hood back and shaking out his dark blond curls. A rough, wartorn face that she'd memorized like the back of her hand. It was so enticing to her, mesmerizing with his pale lashes and dark haunted eyes. The type of man that kept her safe at the bar and kept her up at night in stress.

“You're always busy.” She holds back a scoff, knowing arguing never got anywhere with Simon. He'd go silent with every accusation she'd throw, leaving her intimidated and guilty for yelling. Even if she knew he deserved it.

“It can't be helped. Times are tough.” Simon responds, his eyes trailing over her as she moves to unlock the flat. Fumbling with the lock like she did with the phone until his hand reached out and steadied her grasp. He leads her into the apartment like it was his own, with an empty place on the coat rack for his jacket, and a spot next to all of her shoes for his boots. An indent left throughout her home for whenever he'd find it in him to return.

“Would you like a drink?” She asks, still feeling the need to play hostess as if he were a stranger visiting for the first time. At the edge of her seat waiting expectantly for a response and reaction.

“Sure.” He shrugs, pulling off the cloth mask as she shuffles into the small kitchen. Tiny enough that when he joins her there's tension as she tries not to bump into him. Pretending like she wasn't up the night before craving the warmth he gave, the firm touch of his hands, when her space heater died.

“I am sorry, love. I'll be there next time, I promise.” Simon apologizes, watching as avoids his presence like the plague. She chewed the inside of her cheek, knowing that she'd accept this apology like she'd done before. Knowing full well he never changed, and she’d never ask him to.

He reached out, sensing her indifference, and cupped her cheek in his calloused hands. That touch always turned her into mush, clay for him to mold to his will and whims. She knew it was pathetic how easily she swayed for him, knew that her friends always criticized her for being so weak-willed. But how could she possibly say no to him when he always came back, even if it was days late? Wasn’t she better off with him than trying to find someone else to love, wasn’t the heartache worth it?

“You could do so much better than me, sweet girl. Sometimes I wish you would.” Simon confesses, his voice low and full of regrets. He turns his head down towards her, wrapping her close in his arms, taking the glass of water out of her hand, and setting it down.

Her mouth opens to speak, but no words form when she realizes she’s just as guilty as him. She’d never change, he’d never change. Together, they’d stay unmoving, frozen in the longest, blue winter.

#glitterypirateduck #cod challange #ghostchallenge #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #ghost #fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley

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loustat-0 · 2 days

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Your answer about why Louis and Armand stay together brought something that always made me wonder about the show. Louis is jealous in the show so how come he would not be of Armand and Daniel in the 70s? Is it a way to show that Armand is not the love of his life (unlike Lestat)? Did he have his memories changed too? Has the writing just changed from season 1 to 2? What do you think?

This one will be a long one too . So please bear with me 🙏🏻

1. I hope no one attacks me for this but I didn't buy the " love of my life " of Louis at all . And as we can see even after Lestat is supposedly dead Louis can't get over him no matter how much he tries . On the show in Paris it seems like Armand is Louis's way of distraction from Lestat even though it doesn't work all the time . Not that Louis isn't attracted to Armand no , he's gay on the show and he has quite specific taste in men but Armand is also different feeling from Lestat so he's actually looking to any vampires who aren't like Lestat at all because he's trying so hard to forget him so Armand is that person at least that's what Louis thinks . And he thinks he has a common feeling with Armand about getting hurt by Lestat .

2. And in my opinion Louis isn't the love Armand's either he's his way of having new feelings and trying a new kind of love after a century but a century after Lestat . So Armand also want to forget Lestat and he also resents him and he could be after Louis to get revenge from Lestat . For all we know Lestat could have possibly arrived in Paris even before Louis and Claudia . So Armand knows about them . Even if they arrived in Paris earlier than Lestat did Armand still knew about them and I'm sure he suspected them being Lestat's fledglings . It's still love for Louis and Armand they were together a long time but what if they BOTH tried so hard to forget their relationship with Lestat that they quite became performative love to each other ? Both of them showing a part of themselves that they hated in Lestat?

3. I don't know much about Armand and Daniel possible history on the show yet But according to the the devil's minion chapter in the 3rd book Daniel is the love of Armand's life , someone who accepted his as he was adored him for his beauty and evil , although they had a rough start but they remained a couple for years . A relationship Armand cherished more than anyone else and possibly more than even Lestat because at the point of the book Lestat was in danger in the concert but Armand found Daniel and stayed with him and protected him and then turned him . Unfortunately in the books it doesn't last too long though they separated until the prince Lestat book where they became a couple again but Marius was there too .

4. I don't think Louie would be jealous over Armand's relationships because it seems like in the 70s they're in an open relationship even before that Armand and Louis brought out other men to their relationship and Louis had possibly sex with those men and Armand probably did too and then Armand killed them or probably erased their memories of being with them and left them on their own . EXCEPT FOR YOUNG DANIEL . He probably did something to his memories but it seems like both Armand and Louis kept a close watch on Daniel too . But I think Armand is mostly pretending that Daniel was like another men they had fun with and played with him like a pet and left him to be with Louie . Armand might be jealous and possessive of Daniel though , remember when Louis offered to turn Daniel in Ep 4 in season 1 ?

5 . So I don't think Louis cares about monogamous relationships anymore maybe because the show is going to go into poly direction . OR maybe Louis only have that feeling for Lestat . That fire , that burn , that jealousy . Maybe he's not jealous over Armand's and Lestat and Nickolas relationship because he doesn't know how deep they actually were . He thinks they were both a passing thing for Lestat and maybe he's deeply hurt by that what if he was that too ? 😢

6. I'm not sure who do you mean by having his memories changed too . But if you're talking about Louis and Daniel yes their memories are probably changed or I better say tampered with .

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #loustat #amc interview with the vampire #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #iwtv spoilers #lestat x louis #louis x armand #loumand #armand x daniel #armandaniel #lestat x armand #lesmand #armandstat #iwtv theories #iwtv theory #iwtv speculation

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armpirate · 19 hours

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Anti-romantic || JJk | Ch. 19

Pairings: Boxer!Jungkook x fem!reader || Enemies to lovers, neighbors

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, curse, illegal boxing, violence

Warnings: fuckboy!Jungkook x reader, smut, dirty talk, curse, mention of tarot and fate

Summary: Jungkook had always been carefree when it came to love. He always believed he was worth sharing himself with everyone, and thought it was selfish of him to ever think of keeping himself exclusive to just one person.

And maybe that was exactly what got him into the big problem he was in.

A curse that kept him away from love didn't seem an issue for him. The fact that his ex-girlfriend thought he'd be affected by the idea of the girls he slept with running away from him after sex was ridiculous. She actually did him a favor, and took a burden away from him.

At least that was what he thought at first.

He had never found himself thinking of the possibility of repeating with neither of his hook ups, because they disappeared before he was able to even think about it. But when he makes the mistake of sleeping with the sexy neighbor that lives in front of him, he finds himself hoping to get the chance for a second round every time their paths cross.

Y/n hated him the second he set foot inside the building by the way he started making her life a miserable mess for no reason. Sleeping with him was a big mistake she wasn't thinking of repeating. At least not until he came up with the excuse that she rejected him for a curse. Not only she thought he was annoying, but she was also convinced he was crazy.

There was no way she could take him seriously.

Aprox. time of reading: 13 minutes

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

Those four days were like hell.

It didn't matter how many times they came across each other on the common landing, or how he tried to smile at her every time their eyes met. Her answer was always the same: silence. Putting all of her strength to simply ignore him and just be as friendly as she could, while trying to fight that side of her that was urging her to make a comment that'd unchain the bickering between them like it had been happening since he moved into the building.

She was convinced she needed to get out more. It could be that sudden need only came from the fact that she could be feeling lonely, which was a relief for her. At least that was better than even thinking of her liking Jungkook somehow.

Her steps were stopped as she approached Donna, Alma and Jackie, regretting her decision on getting closer to them as soon as she was getting herself to do it. She had already tried many times before, and it was always the same thing. It wasn't that she didn't like them, she just wasn't able to click with them, there wasn't anything they could have in common. But being fair with herself, there was nothing she had in common with the group of friends she hung out with when they were able to.

—Oh, Y/n —Donna called her from afar, lifting her hand to motion her to walk to them—. Come sit with us. We're taking a sip of coffee.

As usual...

One thing about Donna, Y/n would never find her at her desk, she was always in the cafeteria or somewhere in the resting areas of the office -which made her wonder how she managed to write her articles, and do her research when she never worked in her workplace.

Not like it mattered, but it just made her curious.

—Look who's joining our dark side —Jackie giggled, smiling so wide that she could see her light pink gums.

—Well, I'm quite busy usually —Y/n answered, carefully sitting on the free chair in front of Donna—. I'm currently working on some coverages, I'm also still working on my article...

—Oh right, the one you couldn't tell anyone about? —Donna interrupted her, smiling.

—Yeah, that one —Y/n nodded.

—How long has it been since you started working on it? I guess they should be hurrying you up to publish it —of course she was going to drop that type of comment.

—Well, I'm taking my time. I've had some problems getting inside the biggest issue...

—Maybe you should change it and write about something else —Y/n's tongue was trapped between her lips when she was interrupted by Donna's advice filled with poison—. It's just an advice from a more experienced colleague —she tried to justify when the other two glanced at her.

—Don't drop it —Alma encouraged her—. Were you given a due date?

—No, no —her head shook—. I was even told to take my time to make it as perfect as possible.

—Then that's it! —Jackie clapped— Take it easy. And if you need help, just tell us. I'm good with photographs, so if you ever need a good shot, just let me know.

As much as Y/n was grateful for Jackie's kindness, she couldn't imagine her and her colorful clothes among the type of crowd that was formed by those boxing parties.

—Yeah, we're here to help —Alma seconded—. I know we didn't get close, but we love to help and enlighten you whenever you need it —she assured, placing her hand over Y/n's—. And Donna can also help you, right?

—Right —she forced a smile—. Of course.

There was no lie in admitting Donna was forced to say she was going to help, when at first she just wanted to mock Y/n -for some reason she didn't care about-, but there also was no point in focusing on that when two people she never gave a chance to were being so nice and good to her after barely spending any time together, despite sitting two desks away.

After that, she was able to look at the rest of the day in a different way, she felt happy, her mood went through a high boost after talking with Jackie and Alma, and not only because they encouraged her to go on with the article -which she had no idea how she'd continue writing after she dumped Jungkook. She also felt like a whole new possibility was opened after speaking to them, like she had a new place to go to whenever she felt like work was getting to the best side of her. It made her feel like she drew a safe line between them and her because she felt attacked, when they both were accepting and friendly.

It was amazing the effect one small detail could have on the other things. She didn't care about how crowded the subway was, or how tired she felt to walk back home, she just didn't mind it.

Just like she didn't mind finding Jungkook waiting for her in front of her door, while he stared at her doormat.

He was going insane.

Jungkook couldn't understand what was happening, but he was sure he couldn't go on that way. If anyone else had told him before that he'd be looking for someone else's attention, waiting for the exact time to meet up with her, he'd have cackled in the loudest way possible.

It was so bad that even Jimin noticed the change in him.

Normally, his attitude was chill and careless. Their dynamic worked because his friend was too emotional, and Jungkook was the one that lacked that sense. His nickname as they both grew closer together was Iron Man, but those few days he walked around like he was missing something.

He kept checking his phone, for no logical reason -because the only times Y/n had texted him was to tell him to lower the volume or shut up. But he still looked every once in a while, thinking her message would find its way into his device.

He was missing her, and he just couldn't accept it. Jungkook needed to solve it all out before it went worse, and the only way to sort it out was to have her going back to her petty responses and bad looks. He was convinced the only real problem was the fact that he wasn't the one rejecting her. That was it.

—What are you doing there? —she sounded tired, dropping the smile that adorned her face the second she set foot outside of the lift.

—I need to talk with you.

—Again? —she sighed— What is it now? They'll come to check your router? Will the plumber show up?

—Seriously? I come to speak with you and you only think that I want something from you? What image do you have of me?

—The image that you earned with passion —she answered immediately after.

Jungkook looked away, tilting his head as he tried to find the words to speak. Sentences were mixing together, the sounds were rolling around his tongue, and he was sure that he wasn't going to be able to form a proper phrase while she looked at him that way.

—Okay, then —she finished, turning to her door to open it.

Jungkook stopped her from closing the door behind her by speaking again, placing his palm on the exterior door knob, earning another exhausted sigh from her.

—You can't ignore me.

—Excuse me? —she chuckled, raising both of her eyebrows at the order.

—We're neighbors, you just can't act like I'm not living next to you.

—Unfortunately, it's a reality. That's why I have no other choice but to pretend you aren't there.

—I know I've done things wrong, but... let's make it up?

—No —she firmly said, crossing her arms on her chest.

—Is this because of the article? I told you I was going to do it.

—It's not because of the article, it's because of the way you dealt with the whole thing —she confessed—. You just can't ignore people when you don't want to do something, you speak with them. That's what adults do.

—So would you have accepted my decision if I had told you that I didn't want to help you? —he fought back— You mean you wouldn't have acted annoying and petty about it.

—No —she answered again—. I probably would've get mad. But I would have been on the wrong because I can't force people into doing things I want —she explained—. That's not the problem now, because you always find a way to make me mad and make it valid.

—Y/n...

—Didn't you want me to leave you alone? —she cut him off— I'm leaving you alone. Live your life, do your things... But don't bother me or I'll make you regret it —she threatened, pointing her index finger at him—. Get lost now.

—How can you tell me to get lost?

—Well, like I've just done it now —she shrugged—. It's a two-word sentence, pretty simple to say and understand.

—Okay, I'll tell you why I didn't want to do the article.

—That's literally not what I said —she mumbled.

—... but you can't judge me.

—Too late —she rested her arm on the door frame.

—This goes back to some time ago —he exaggerated the move of his hand—. An ex, that wasn't really an ex, cursed me. She promised I wouldn't have a stable relationship, and it had been working until now. I went to a tarot reader, and she confirmed everything that was happening, until she told me that a woman would come to break the curse. She said that I'd fall for her after she appeared, and told me that it'd be made through some work. You showed up in the middle of nowhere, you're the only woman who's still in my life when the rest of the flings disappear the morning after, and you're the only one I was going to do some work with.

Y/n completely lost the plot of the story at the mention of a curse. She couldn't believe he really believed she was going to fall for such a lame story. But it was even crazier that he spotted her as his savior, or the person that would break the curse. What fairytale did he escape from?

—So I wanted to avoid you, because I didn't want that change to happen —he continued—. I'm really happy with the way my life is going right now, okay? I don't need anyone to put everything upside down.

—Wow, you're really creative with excuses —she tilted her head—. Ever thought of leaving boxing and becoming a writer?

—I'm telling the truth.

When she was going to speak, he sighed loudly, throwing his head back while causing her eyes to open wide in surprise to the sudden sound coming from him.

—Okay... —she smiled nervously— So how does that curse break? With a real love kiss? Maybe a magic spell? Oh, I know, the power of love!

—It doesn't seem like you're taking it seriously.

—Look, I don't know what excuses you've made up to get girls to forgive you, and I have no idea how they could've worked, but all of this is a bit too much.

—I'm being honest.

—Sure you are —she shrugged.

—And it's also an explanation why you reject me every single time.

—Because your attitude can't be a valid explanation to you —her eyes squinted at his comment.

—It now makes sense!

Y/n just couldn't go past the fact that Jungkook did in fact believe the story he was telling her, and even was able to find some sense in something that seemed to be taken out of the wildest fantasies he could've read about -if he had read any book at all. At first she just thought he was recurring to his long list of excuses to justify his actions, and that only made her angry, with the only wish to crash the door against his face while he spoke. But the longest he went, the more she was convinced that the man in front of her needed psychological help. Urgently.

—You're scaring me a bit —Y/n admitted, looking around for the nearest exit to ask for help in case she'd need it.

—It's weird you slept with me a second time, but I guess the curse works differently since we see each other every day? Now it's one of those moments where I wished Carly didn't block me so I could ask her —he kept thinking out loud, moving his eyes away from her and losing the focus of the conversation.

—That many blows on your head have officially fucked up with your sanity —she mumbled, seeing her neighbor having a full on conversation with himself—. Instead of wasting money on a tarot reader, why don't you pay for a good therapist?

—Y/n, it's serious. My ex-girlfriend went crazy after I cheated on her —Y/n scoffed at that detail—, which isn't relevant now, and she cursed me before leaving my house. What was what she said? —his eyes moved to the top of his head as he tried to bring back the exact words Carly used— Something that I treated people badly, and that I was going to suffer the same thing or something like that.

—Are you hearing yourself? How do you pretend me to believe you, for fuck's sake? —Y/n insisted, controlling her big wish to roll her eyes in front of him.

—How many times have I lied to you?

—Do you really want me to answer that question? —her ironic tone was challenging, making Jungkook regret that question almost immediately.

—I promise I'm telling the truth.

—Okay, let's say I believe you. What do you want me to do with that information? —her lips puckered, before she continued speaking— Everything's okay, and everything you do is valid, only because you were cursed for not being able to keep your dick in your pants?

—But...

—You were cursed because you are a fifteen year old trapped in the body of a twenty six year old, and you aren't able to keep a woman exactly for that reason.

—Well, look who's talking, are you going to call me immature? You?

—Are you going to attack me?

—No, I'm saying that someone that drills a hole in a wall, because of a little noise, can't speak of others.

—A little noise?

—You're just as immature as me, but you disguise it with that serious facade thinking you're fooling anyone. Spoiler alert: you don't.

—Spoiler alert? See how you're a horny teenager? The only reason you don't want to commit to a relationship is because you have the Peter Pan syndrome.

—Here comes the smart ass with her bit of information taken from the short research she does for her articles... And what if I have the Peter Pan syndrome?

—You're nearing thirty, as much as it hurts you.

—I know, and do you know how attractive that is to women? I'll be a bomb when I turn forty.

Y/n rolled her eyes again, almost giving up the argument because there was no way any bit of common sense would kick inside his brain.

—I can't believe I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you right now.

—Because you like me, as much as it hurts you —he mocked her—. And the only reason you're willing to believe the curse thing is because you want to give me a free pass.

—No, the only reason I'm pretending I believe you is because I don't know if you're going to have a psychosis and do something crazy.

—Look who's coming up with an excuse now —he chuckled.

At that point her hand was tickling, reviving how it'd feel if she crashed her palm against his face. She could lie and justify herself by saying she did it in her defense because her neighbor's brain wasn't working right, which at that point wasn't really a lie.

—You could only wish. At the end of the day, I'm not the one scared of falling —she defended herself.

For the first time, Jungkook was the one nervous and speechless, opening his eyes a bit wider and parting his lips to speak, but not letting a word come out from them.

—You're sure because you haven't spent enough time with me.

—That means I'm so attractive that you fell for me barely spending any time together?

—No, that's not what I meant.

—But that's what you said —she rushed to say, keeping him from going on speaking.

—I'm sure that if I spent more time with you, I'd probably end up sick of you.

—Yet you had the chance, and you didn't take it. That's a bit contradicting —she fought back.

She left him stuck, between two options that he couldn't escape. One was a lie, and the other one was the brutal truth, and he was still fighting to confirm what belonged to each one of them.

—Don't worry though. There's no way I'd ever spend any more time with you than what we already did.

Y/n shouldn't have tempted the universe that way, and dragged it to a challenge that she wasn't going to like.

Not even a second after that sentence left her filthy lips, a huge noise interrupted their casual bickering, making them wonder what was happening.

Taglist: @jk97bam @ttanniett

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lucyfrostblade · 14 hours

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Hi! Just saw your reblog and I'm so interested in your thoughts on Fig and Kipperlilly being similar, and was wondering if you'd share?

Yes! i am always down to talk about my two favorite fantasy high characters but before we get into it, some assumptions I have made about FHJY that aren't explicit in the text but I won't necessarily be justifying here:

(under the cut)

Kipperlilly was in some form or another manipulated by porter

Kipperlilly truly cared about Lucy, and to a lesser extent the rest of her party

The biggest and most obvious similarity between the two is the anger they feel. When we first see Fig she's a deeply angry kid. She hates her mom for hiding the truth of her parentage and for wrecking their family the way she did. And while she forgives Gilear much faster than Sandra Lynn, she also starts off incredibly angry at him.

Her anger is very justified, and it's centered around the ways the adults in her life mistreated her. Sandra Lynn by hiding the fundamental truth of who she is from her for so long, and Gilear by, before the start of the series, saying that she isn't a Faeth anymore.

Our introduction to Fig is her taking that anger out on both Sandra Lynn and Gilear, and she does almost immediately see the error of her treating at least Gilear the way she does.

Brennan: You see a little tear forms in his eye and you see he says, Gilear: I know that I said some hurtful things when I first found out. Fig: Yeah, you said, “You're no longer a Faeth,” and guess what, I'm not. I'm just Fig now. Gilear: Fig, I'm sitting here with beans on my shirt. Fig: I know, I saw you ate one on the ride here. Gilear: I was hungry, all right? I've put on some weight. You ever heard of a fat elf? You ever heard of it? I've never seen a fat elf in my life and I'm here with a bad comb over and beans on my shirt. Fig: Okay, fine. Gilear: And I'm reaching out to you. Fig: I'm sorry, Gilear, I'm sorry that I got angry at you. You're just some random man, I shouldn't be mean to you.

But for almost the entire season, Fig does not forgive Sandra Lynn. She's still so angry with her that she struggles to see Sandra Lynn as a complex person right up until episode 15 "Family Fires", is unsure as to whether or not Sandra Lynn is a good person worthy of saving:

Emily: Because I am undecided on my mom. Because at first, I felt like I, oh maybe she's a good person, but now I maybe feel like she's part of this ruby plot. Brennan: Go ahead and give me an insight check. Emily: (rolls) 14. (emotional acoustic guitar music) Brennan: (sighs) Your mom has never lived up to the standard you put on her of making your life good and perfect. She never was able to protect you from all harm and suffering in the world. And maybe that's not fair. And she's probably just a person, and those photos make it look like-- Emily: She's a complex person. She's allowed to be. Brennan: Yup.

So anger, and in particular the ways it can make someone lash out, is something that Fig is intimately aware of, something that she has had to fight to control herself. The difference is that the adults in her life helped her, they supported her. Gilear, Sandra Lynn, and Gorthalax all gave her the space she needed to be angry but also helped her move past that.

Kipperlilly didn't have that. To our knowledge she only had Jawbone, someone who only knew her through Aguefort and evidently did not know how to help her in the ways she needed.

There's also the matter of Porter who, in the third episode "After the Afterlife" singles Fig out when she audits barbarian class:

Porter: Let's see what everyone else in the class, [players laugh] what do other people, what do other people kind of think? Like young lady, what do you think about rage? Fig: What do I think about rage? Porter: What do you think about it? Fig: [sighs] Well, I kind of think it's inevitable, 'cause, I mean, like, people really let you down left and right. Porter: Yeah! Fig: So you're always gonna feel rage. It's just a matter of whether or not you use it productively or just whether or not you control it or it controls you. Brennan: A small tear forms in the corner of his eye. Porter: That's exactly right. That is exactly right. That is amazing.

He sees something in her. Porter sees the rage within her, and he encourages it. But more than that, Fig's perspective that "you control [rage] or it controls you" highlights another contrast between Fig and Kipperlilly. Fig learns to control her rage, while Kipperlilly literally gives control up to the shatterstar. But they still have that same rage, just on the opposite ends of expressing it.

We also know that Fig cares deeply about her friends, and that prior to the start of the series, her former friends abandoned her when she started to grow horns. She was alone when she came to Aguefort. She was isolated from her peers and from her family. She found the Bad Kids, and she is utterly devoted to her friends. She'll do anything for them.

But Kipperlilly? Brennan said in an interview with Caitlin Tyrrell that the Rat Grinders didn't know each other before forming the party. We don't know how the party formed really, but we know that she picked out the name the High 5 Heroes.

I think the High-Five Heroes part of it is sweet, but there's actually something even a little bit sinister to it to me, of being like, "We're the High-Five Heroes." And you're like, "You've pitched a name; we all just met. We don't have anything going yet." ( source )

He calls it sinister that she insisted on the name, but I can't see it as anything other than said. It speaks to me of a kid so desperate for friendship that she's willing to force inside jokes for just a hint of that. She doesn't want to be alone, and Fig might've put up a better act, but she didn't want to be alone at the start of Freshman Year either.

The difference is who they found. Fig got the Bad Kids, people who love and care about her. She had support from her friends and from her family. Kipperlilly was emotionally in a very similar state as Fig but with none of that support, and even had people who either couldn't support her (Jawbone) or wanted to encourage this isolation and rage (Porter).

Kipperlilly is Fig if the first day of school went different, if she ended up with people who didn't understand her like the Bad Kids did and if she couldn't get the support she needed from the adults in her life.

#kipperlilly copperkettle #figueroth faeth #fig faeth #dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #does this make any sense #it's very clear in my head but i worry i rambled #or drew conclusions from no where

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alottiegoingon · 9 hours

Text

hc!friends to lovers

shauna shipman x gn!reader

summary: going from friends to lovers with shauna

warnings: mentions of jealousy, shauna being slightly toxic when it comes to her feelings, fluff, no nsfw but characters are always aged up, not proofread

୨୧ being friends with shauna shipman was like having a second shadow, she was always glued to you. you didn't mind, you liked having her always by your side

୨୧ shauna always knew she had feelings for you since the day you met but would rather die than admit that

୨୧ she got accepted into brown university which means that shes really smart so you had your own personal tutor

୨୧ "this is so easy, i can't believe you don't understand that," she mocks you, a smug grin on her lips. you were friends with shauna for long enough to know that she wasn't the most extrovert person in earth but she loved to tease you over small things

୨୧ "not eveyone is as smart as you, shipman!" little did she know that you were hiding your aced tests under your bed while putting on your best show to pretend you sucked at math just to listen to her

୨୧ even if you weren't much of a extrovert, shauna was worse. she would cling to you in parties like a lost puppy and would panic if had to stay by herself for a few minutes while you grabbed drinks or said hi people

୨୧ however, that didn't mean that she didn't praise some alone time.

୨୧ shauna seems to be a lonely girl and a people hater (shes just like me fr) and she would always be reading something. when she was alone, she was also busy girl with her most loyal friend; her pencil

୨୧ she would write about you on her mf journal 24/7!!! it didn't matter if it were good or bad things, she would go from cursing you and your entire family to calling you beautiful words and rant about you being the love of your life

୨୧ very very very jealous. can kill someone just with her angry gaze if they look at you in the wrong way or act too friendly (only got worse after you started dating)

୨୧ shauna would never, ever discuss her feelings, so if she felt jealous, angry, or upset, she would become a ticking time bomb, unpredictable and ready to explode at any moment

୨୧ would 100% say the meanest and cruelest words to hurt you on purpose, looking into your soul. my girl has some anger issues ok...

୨୧ she regrets all of it later but is sooo embarrassed to apologize, stuttering and struggling to look you in the eye. it's not like you could stay mad at her when she looked so cute...

୨୧ being friends with shauna had a great advantage; she had a car. you had made her your personal driver and she would always find a way to complain

୨୧ "i'm not your butler, you know," she rolls her eyes after agreeing to drive you to the mall. and then at the beach. and at the bookstore and the movies and the ice cream shop

୨୧ she was always making disapproval noises and acting annoyed but you knew she enjoyed driving you everywhere when she would act pissed if someone else did that

୨୧ "are you gonna sleep at school tonight?" shauna asks as she notices you not following you to her car. she was so used to drive you home that it was a natural thing already

୨୧ "you're so funny," you taunt her. "you're free today. lottie's going to give me a ride to the mall. i need her help to buy new clothes."

୨୧ "oh, okay," she forces a smile. "good, cause i hate driving you all the time. that's great," and its just shauna and her sad brown eyes against the world on her way home to write horrible things about you two and draw lotie with devil horns and a mustache

୨୧ in the classes you shared, she always sat by your side and paid no attention to them. she was too busy staring at you

୨୧ if someone was being annoying by always asking dumb questions, she would be so stressed. constantly bitching about it with whispers in your ear. but then if you asked the professor why the sky's blue she would be the first one to keep an eye on everyone and see if any of them was mocking you

୨୧ during mari's birthday party, shauna decided to play seven minutes in heaven with you and a bunch of "stupid drunk weird idiots" (more like forced to because she didn't want you to be out of her sight)

୨୧ coincidentally, she turned out to be your partner for the game. panic flashed in her eyes, and her cheeks flushed crimson as she heard her name paired with yours

୨୧ "we don't have to do this if you don't want to," you whisper, you and shauna exchanging awkward looks inside the closet

୨୧ "it would be so weird, don't you think? we are friends," a sheepish chuckle fell from her lips. yet, she takes a step closer

୨୧ "so weird," you nod, your fingers brushing against shauna's by chance, yet she made no move to retreat. instead, she timidly intertwined her fingers with yours

୨୧ "but spending seven minutes locked in here seems like a bit of a waste. it's just a game anyway, right?" her words incresed your heartbeat, your gaze flickered to your entwined hands as shauna drew nearer, her nose was inches away from touching yours

୨୧ "and it would be just a one time thing. and for the sake of our friends too, we don't wanna ruin their game," you agree, adding to her comment, lips grazing against each other

୨୧ "you're right," she murmurs, her hot breath tingling against your skin

୨୧ judging by her shaky voice and unsteady stance, it seemed that the scary shauna shipman was more nervous than you. offering her a reassuring smile, you reached out to stroke her cheek, drawing her closer until your lips met in a tender kiss

୨୧ thank god because she would not have the courage to kiss you or ask you out, only if it happened during a fight and she was so full of anger that would just force you to shut up by crashing her lips into yours

୨୧ it soon became clear that it wasn't just a one time thing. no questions asked, kissing shauna shipman became a habitual affair and, just like that, you were dating

୨୧ if shauna was jealous before, she was a green eyed monster now. extremely protective and would make it obvious by always touching you in some way. a hand over your body, a caress on your face, kissing you like she was about to devour you in front of everyone and holding hands were just a few examples

୨୧ shauna could be shy in the first weeks but then she would call you pet names like sweetheart or baby (like when she called lottie sweetheart in that episode 😔)

୨୧ and you were completely fine with that cause calling her sweet and cheesy pet names ever was your thing; honey bunny, cupcake, pumpkin, sunshine, buttercup, the list was endless

୨୧ your favorite part about it was to watch shauna's cheeks getting rosy in a matter of seconds whenever you affectionately called her those names in front of your friends. she'd act all shy but the moment you left to grab some food, she would tell the others to fuck off

୨୧ shes just a girl 🎀

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #shauna shipman #shauna shipman x reader

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akingdomscrypt · 21 hours

Text

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Five

Paring; Graves x m!reader (slow burn)

WC; ~8.8k

Summary; where was Graves in all those months he was gone? What brought him back?

Warnings; just some general internal turmoil, brief imagery of death, implied human trafficking when including the context of past chapters, a lot of self doubt/feelings of betrayal. Tame compared to my usual stuff tbh

A/n; I hate dialogue. Also the moon phase mentioned in the beginning is what it would have been in-game for that mission too :3

---"I'll crawl home to him"---

You arrive a few hours later, according to the ticking clock above the bed—knife still embedded into the plastic face and all, he hadn't bothered to remove it, even after all this time—and at that point Phil had started to believe Venn had chickened out. That, or she just didn't bother telling you.. perhaps she had forgotten. All were of an extremely low probability. He should know better by now than to doubt her.

Even now, only a few weeks later. You looked so.. so drastically different. Phil takes stock, compares your current form from when he had last seen you all those weeks ago—had it been weeks? Phil didn't even know what day it was.

Drifting. Up, down, and across every inch of your concealed form. Something foreign pulls at the hardened strings of his heart—strands of silk toughened up by years upon years of repressed emotion and poorly dealt hands—at the sight of you. Standing tall and confident, as if he can't see the strain buried in your shoulders from the effort of holding yourself up, keeping yourself from crumbling to dust right before his eyes. And he swears you've lost weight, a noticeable difference in the amount of muscle mass wrapped around your bones, even under all that clothing.

When his gaze meets yours, taking a peek into the torn and frayed patchwork of your soul, all he can feel is the stinging reminder of you wishing him dead. Telling him you'd hoped he'd died all those months back; suffocated by his own lungs.

And it's like the past decade of getting to know you, watching you open up, never happened. Wound so tightly, that all that progress is dumped right down the drain; he isn't sure if he'd ever be able to tear down those walls again. Not this time. He scrambles brick by brick to reach the top, but you're too fast, replacing those crumbling stacks with bolts and iron at an alarming rate.

He can't see over the wall anymore, it's too high to reach, too steep to climb. And he fears he may never have the honor of reaching that softer center ever again, barred by thick metal and scathing words.

“You wanted to see me?” Hell… you even sound different. Cool and collected on the surface, but there's an edge there that tells Phil you're not as put together as you are trying to appear to be.

“I did.” But now that you're here, he can't remember the script he'd spent the last week constructing, so delicately, in his mind.

“Well,” you drawl, lifting your arms and gesturing widely. Dropping back down to your sides with a dull smack. “I'm here.”

Are you? Phil doesn't think so. Not really.

Your eyes are the only thing on display, and just a year ago Phil wouldn've prided himself in the fact that he could read you so well. But not anymore.

He can't see that lighthouse shining through, guiding him through the night. There's nothing there. The lamp has run out of oil, and the keeper died months ago.

You're right here, and yet Phil has never found you to be so out of reach.

Who would've thought; his savior, and the one who had damned him to the fiery pits of hell, were both the same man. It felt almost poetic.

Phil thinks he had made peace with his death. Sure, this hadn't been what his younger self had imagined when the topic of death was brought up; still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, believing himself to be near invincible.

He had never been particularly religious, even after being forced to sit in those church pews and listen to some old man drone on and on about shit his child brain didn't care to make sense of. Bored out of his mind, but only sitting still, behaving, because doing the opposite meant taking over his younger sister's chores for the rest of the day.

Phil still couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was some sort of fucked-up retribution or some shit like that. Paying for the sins he'd committed within his lifespan, and so on.

And he wasn't just speaking of the blood that permanently stained his hands, no, he was thinking of you. Always you.

You and those endless pools of warmth that made up your eyes, always a slight glimmer in them when you looked his way. You and those rough, work-hardened hands, always so soft and gentle when you handled him. Like he was something delicate, something to be cherished and protected. Him the altar and you the devoted worshiper knelt before him, praying for the mercy of a god who never answered your calls.

And that laugh. Like nothing else he had experienced before, a blessed thing he was granted the honor of witnessing. Of having directed his way. So rare, but so carefully captured and sealed away in Phil's heart when he heard its boisterous sound.

The main reason Phil had never really connected with the religion he was raised into was, even though they were the same people who preached about community and loving thy neighbor and whatever the hell, they were also the kind to shun and exile those they deemed unworthy. Those who didn't fit into the cookie cutter shapes chosen for them before they'd even taken their first breath.

He had completely dismissed his family's religion entirely when, after one of the members of his church discovered him getting a bit too cuddly—nothing more than an innocent hug that lasted a few seconds longer than it should—with one of his male classmates, they were outcast from the very same church he'd practically grown up in. And Phil would forever be thankful for having parents who stuck up for him to the very end, he doesn't think he'd ever seen his dad so thoroughly pissed off than when going after a churchgoer who'd slung a few cruel choice words at a younger Phil.

And Phil can't help but feel he knew this was how it would end when he made the decision; like some cruel method of justice.

So, while he no longer considered himself aligned with any specific religion, Phil still held onto that deep-rooted fear of something. Of damnation and redemption. And in that moment, as his heart began to slow and stutter in his chest, when his head felt too heavy to hold up, and the simple task of breathing caused his chest to burn, he did something he hadn't done since middle school. Something he never thought he'd do again.

He yearned for forgiveness; begged and pleaded until black swallowed up his vision whole.

Phil doesn't remember when the world had gone dark; doesn't think he had even fought against the pull. Willingly, had he responded to the siren's call through the waves crashing in his ear, a sound so alluring he would never even consider resisting, one that held a certain likeness to your voice.

What he does remember is the sudden gulps of stinging ash in his lungs, shocking his system into alertness, and the touch of oddly cool hands pulling at his shoulders. Hard, sandy earth beneath him, but he can't look up, can't peel his eyelids open and take a glance at his savior when those hands disappear. Only to wrap a pair of arms snug around his waist and continue dragging him over jagged stones and bits of metal.

It's not until Phil abruptly feels a lot cooler than he did moments ago that he's finally able to force his eyes open, a gasping breath kick-starting his heart back into motion.

And when he looks up, dazed and more than a little out of it, what he sees nearly steals his breath away once again.

Smoke wafting off your uniform in waves, dancing with the remaining embers still shining bright in a sea of black like stars in a night sky. It should be terrifying, but it's not.

Because Phil cannot see how the material clings unnaturally to your body, his brain is too fogged up still to notice the torn patches in your clothing. Blood stains the dark fabric into a deeper shade, trickling from gouges in your skin and dripping onto his.

All he sees is that perfect, unmarred face of yours. Mask pulled down and out of the way as you pant for breath; the flesh warmed a more intense reddish tone than usual, but Phil didn't register that, unable to yet comprehend that what was once untouched would soon become scarred and disfigured within the next few hours.

And with the setting sun positioned behind you, glowing almost like an angel's halo to frame your head, he had never been so enraptured by the sight of you as much as he was in that moment.

It's clumsy and uncoordinated, taking a few tries to even get the limb to function, but he manages. Reaching up to gently cup the jaw of his savior, his guardian angel, to feel that familiar warmth against his skin.

Only to have his wrist snatched out of the air by your still gloved hand, the hold a little tighter than normal, held for a second before being dropped carelessly onto his chest. And Phil doesn't have the energy to lift it again.

“You breathin', sir?” Comes your once angelic voice, now sounding like someone had shoved a saw blade down your throat; scratchy and not at all the soothing rumble he was used to, a strange shiver alighting his nerves at the sound.

All Phil can muster up is a strained, grunt-like sound in response. But that seems to be more than enough for you as you stand back up from your crouched position, sigh, and look over the ruined training grounds.

There's a hard set to your jaw, and Phil begins to feel something akin to fear. An emotion he doesn't think he could recall ever feeling around you if he tried.

“Good enough.” You huff, leaning back down to wrap your strong arms around his waist. Dragging him like a ragdoll to a more secluded, out-of-the-way spot just outside the remains of the designated training area.

He can't fight it, can bring himself to move or speak or do much of anything, really. Laying limp in your hold and letting himself be hauled away.

Phil considers that whatever method of exfil you had prepared must be this way. He doesn't remember making any plans like that with you and the others. But why else would you take him here?

Those hopes are crushed when you prop him against a fallen log, the remains of Alejandro's base now just barely out of sight, then pull away.

“This should be fine,” you mumble to yourself, cold gaze studying him briefly before darting back to where you two had come from. “Mhm. They shouldn't patrol this far.”

“-nant?-” Crackles through your radio before Phil can muster the energy to ask you what you meant by that. The feed is distorted, the device had probably been damaged sometime during the fight, but it's clearly a panicked voice speaking on the other end. “-Lieu-en-t? Are- y- there? Pha-nt-m?-”

“2-3,” you respond, voice level. “I'm here. Problem?”

“-N-o, no problems, sir-” Kip, 2-3, says. A little calmer now that he has heard your voice. Phil watches the scene through blurry eyes. “-We got- he's- Viper is stable-”

“For now.” You mutter bitterly, switching the radio back on to reply with, “Give me a sit-rep, 2-3.”

“-V-enn’s got ‘em lo-aded up-” a pause. “-a quarter left, sir.”

A quarter left. Even in Phil’s muddled up state, he knows what that means. It meant three-quarters of the soldiers he had taken with him were dead. Too many to feasibly count. So many bodies left unidentified, in enemy territory.

“-How-re yo-u and the- c-mander, Lt.?-” Phil would've said something if he could. But his vocal cords are paralyzed and his tongue feels like it's constructed of pure lead.

“I’m breathing.” You joke, your slight amusement is obvious even in such a bland tone. At least to Phil it is.

“A-nd,” if Kip notices, he doesn't mention it. “-and the commander?”

You spare one glance down at his slumped, barely breathing form, gaze shut-off and distant, and a cavernous pit of dread opens up in Phil's stomach.

“KIA.” You grunt, eyes narrowing down at Phil. And he may as well be, to have you look at him like that.

Kip doesn't respond and you click your radio off. And it's as easy as that, as if Phil, your co-founder, your friend, you lover, meant nothing to you.

You turn and leave, and Phil doesn't even possess the ability to call your name.

The next time he wakes, Phil doesn't think he's been colder in his damn life. And he's done his time in deep dive operations in the frigid hellscape that is the wilderness of remote foreign bases just past the Bering Sea.

It's dark, stars and the illumination of the moons’ waxing gibbous all the man has to light his way.

For a prolonged moment Phil doesn't even consider pushing himself up from his current pathetic, slumped over position against the decaying log. Would it even be worth it? He had nothing but the singed clothes on his back to call his own, not a weapon he can use in sight. Not even a pocket knife up his sleeve or a heart nestled in his ribcage.

Phil has experienced his own fair share of betrayal within his lifetime; ranging from small, nonsense instances with his little sister, to slightly bigger ones like with the church; then there were the more prominent, glaring ones that stuck out like a sore thumb. From before he started this damn company, freshly enlisted, and only a year later when he met you.

With shitty, high ranked officers who didn't give a single fuck about what happened to him or his squad—not that that had changed much after being taken under the watchful eye of General Shepard. Freezing to death in bumfuck nowhere Russia, or nearly drowning in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic Ocean.

You had been there for every single one. Such a constant in his life; a steady, unmovable force by Phil's side no matter what happened. Even before he'd fallen for you, before you became more than just a friend. Like two peas in a pod, you two.

There was no you without him, and vise versa, the soldiers you two worked with knew it too. They were always sure to throw in a teasing jab now and again, asking the typical “trouble in paradise?”, when you were spotted away from each other for more than a few hours.

So forgive Phil for being a bit melodramatic, because, out of all the people on this godforsaken planet, he never expected such a thing from you.

Maybe he should have. He wouldn't be on the verge of catching fucking hypothermia in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country.

Phil tries to think back, to push past the pounding in his skull to recall even a moment that would have given away some sort of clue to your betrayal before it happened. Maybe he could've prevented it if he had just looked closer.

But no. There's nothing. If anything, Phil recalls you being a bit more.. clingy, before this whole thing started. In your own way, of course; he's pretty sure you would rather be caught dead than let someone catch you hugging him or, heaven forbid, holding his hand.

Your neediness manifested in standing just close enough to him that any shift in stance or movement caused your shoulders to brush together; getting up in his personal space and staying there.

Maybe that was it? Maybe you had been so unusually affectionate because you'd planned on betraying him. And Phil was just too blinded by the sudden influx of your undivided attention to see it; he's starting to consider that that may have been your intention all along.

To distract him with your attention, to hide your true intentions under the guise of gentle words and adoring eyes.

Phil gives it a few more minutes, shivering his ass off against that damn log, before he finally gives in and decides to stand. He wasn't dead—yet—and by staying he was nothing more than a sitting duck in shark infested waters—which was a weird saying, wasn't it; how could the waters be infested when that was a shark's natural habitat?

Traveling under the blanket of night provided him with the highest chances of survival, even if it meant he was constantly on the verge of freezing to death. Under the dark, star speckled sky, he was, for the most part, safe from the prying eyes of enemy soldiers. It would be much more difficult for them to spot him under the protection of a waxing moon than, say, the full, all-encompassing concentrated power of the fucking sun.

So he gets his hands under himself, weakened arms trying their damnedest to force him to his feet. Phil takes a moment, leaning against a strong, tall tree that was luckily rooted right beside its fallen brethren.

The last time he had put anything in his stomach was yesterday (?) morning before they had been so rudely interrupted by the 141 boys knocking on their—or, really, not theirs at all—front door. And after an afternoon like that, all his energy was beyond drained. It's a surprise Phil was still standing—not that he was exactly doing a very good job at that—, though, to be fair, he wasn't new to going lengths of time without proper sustenance. It was a byproduct of the job, of the life he led, after all.

Phil can't do anything to rectify his current hunger right now, so he has no choice other than start getting some miles between himself and the wrecked base next door.

Signing, he looks down, spotting a small dagger lodged into the tree he'd been resting against before. Huh, at least you hadn't left him completely defenseless.

Knife secured in his boot, Phil begins the long trek to who knows where. It's not like he could just make his way back to company HQ, now could he? Not when it was so damn clear he was an unwanted face there.

The chipped watch on his wrist reads o-five-hundred, giving him about an hour until sunrise. Phil has already made pretty good progress, if he did say so himself. And the Vaqueros base has long since faded from his view; leaving Phil to now wander aimlessly through the harsh Mexican terrain; traversing over dry, crumbling rocks through a sparse forest, avoiding sudden drop offs and twisted roots on wobbly legs.

Phil had detoured around the broken city of Las Almas, a certain brand of discomfort crawling up his spine and settling heavy across his shoulders at the mere thought of passing through the ruined city. The barest glimpses of it he'd gotten bore the harsh reality of cobblestone roads still bathed in watery crimson, the familiar color splattered over everything within reach; streaked over stone walls and staining the clothes of bodies still laying cold, face-down in the streets.

One look at the carnage left behind and he'd nearly doubled over from the sheer force of the sudden churning of his stomach. Expelling the bile building at the back of his throat would only end in the burning of his esophagus from his empty, acid-filled belly. There were likely valuable resources left behind in the town, something to aid him in his solo travels, but he quickly dismissed the idea at the sight.

He'd rather skip this city and continue to walk with nothing to his name but the clothes on his body and the knife in his boot then be forced to face that massacre.

Phil hopes, come morning, the very same people he'd stabbed in the back take the time to ghost over the town and dispose of the mess he'd left behind. To reap the souls of those innocent civilians and treat their bodies with much kinder hands than his own Shadows had.

Phil was really getting tired of waking up to people dragging his ass around.

Well, judging by the way, at least this time around, there were no sharp rocks digging into his spine and the fact that this ride was.. quite bumpy, it appeared Phil was being carried this time. What an improvement.

And while he should probably be very concerned as to who, or what, exactly, is carrying him from point A—aka, where he'd likely had passed out again—to point B, the man can't bring himself to care. He doesn't have the energy for it.

Instead, he's in a bit of a daze. Wondering how in the everloving fuck this damn country jumped from near freezing in the night, to scorching hot temperatures that could rival the damn devil. All Phil remembers leading up to this is him cursing the damn sun with his whole chest, feeling like his freaking skin was melting off, then somehow finding himself face-down in the goddamn sand—when had he made it into the damn desert??

And now he was here.

Being carried to God knows where, still sweating profusely under his clothes—how his body still had the capability to sweat when he was already so dehydrated, was beyond him—and too tired to do anything more than lay there.

Phil must've drifted off again at some point, because when he wakes again he's no longer moving. Instead he's flat out on his back, a hard surface beneath him not unlike the old bunks he'd slept on when he was a newbie, and his entire body feels like one giant ass bruise. An all encompassing ache that traveled from the base of his skull to the tips of his toes—as if, now that he was finally resting, his entire body had collectively agreed to seek revenge on his overused muscles.

Distantly, he can hear the chatter of a man and a woman speaking in hushed voices, muttered Spanish drifting from somewhere to his left.

Every instinct that had been ingrained into him screams at Phil to launch himself up and either attack or make a run for it. He does neither, too exhausted to even move or open his eyes, much less to try and stand.

He ends up dancing on the fine line between consciousness and slumber while the two strangers talk, presumably, about him. Lingering in that peculiar space where you're not quite awake, but you're not sleeping either; able to hear and feel, but not aware enough to get up and move.

Phil chose to use that time to attempt to listen in, see what all, if any, of the words he could catch. He wasn't going to pretend to know more than he did, as Phil really only knew the more simple Spanish phrases from his time in highschool when it was a required course. He picks up the usual filler words, a few pronouns, something that sounds much like ‘the American’, and the suppressed voices briefly increasing in volume, rushed, before quieting. Then silence.

With nothing to stimulate his brain, Phil once again falls into a fitful rest.

Power? Is that what this had been about? In all the years Phil has known you, he never would've thought of you as the type. But could that have been what you were after the entire time? And all these years you were just biding your time, waiting for the best time to strike.

How could he have been so blind, how did he not see this coming? The person closest to him, a man who knew more about Phil than any single other person to exist. He should've seen this miles away before it hit him like a fucking freight train.

This is why you had to turn on others before they had the chance to flip the blade on you first—a lesson Phil had learned oh-so long ago. After all this time, how the hell had he forgotten that?

Which is why, the second Phil has the capacity to, he bolts upright and does his best to regain his bearings. A little dizzy, body shaky, limbs trembling from a lack of nutrients, but no longer in the fetal position at least. As aware as he physically can be.

Somewhere between blinking away the blur obscuring his vision and forcing himself into a fully seated position, Phil hears the two voices again

Faint at first. Then growing louder. Closer.

Phil's eyes, still unfocused, dart around his surroundings.

A room. Closed off with only one door, and a window too small for his body. Below him is some sort of flimsy cot placed in the corner furthest from the exit, one that's metal frame squeals with the slightest movements.

Getting distinct now, one woman and one man, just as before.

Phil's hand shoots down, patting his boot; heart rate skyrocketing when the man realizes the knife is missing. His crutch, the only thing he'd possessed to defend himself beyond his own bare hands. It was gone.

They'd taken it from him.

Closer, closer, closer still. The door opens, hinges creaking as a tall, heavy set man walks in; black, cropped hair and a well kept mustache are the first things he notes. And Phil can immediately tell that, even if he were standing, there's no way this guy wouldn't tower over him.

That is a problem. Not because Phil hasn't taken on much large men than himself, but because he usually managed such a feat when fully put together and decidedly not when half-starved, dehydrated, and barely conscious.

While the man approaches Phil with a certain air of caution, the woman, on the other hand, stays behind. Leaning against the doorframe, watching.

But not afraid, no, there's nothing to hint at fear in her intense gaze. Long, dark hair pulled up and tied in loose updo, arms crossed tight over her chest, and mouth set into a firm line. And still she appears to be more curious, or concerned, than fearful; perhaps a bit heedful, but that's as far as it goes.

The man, surprisingly, seemed much more on guard than his counterpart. To be fair, and give the poor guy some credit, he was the one tasked with coming closer to Phil. And Phil, in all honesty, was not of the.. low-risk variety.

Not that the two would know that, all identifying parts of his uniform were either torn or stained, but it's always safer to be wary of strangers. And given Phil's appearance—dirtied, bloody, and cowering like a caged animal ready to strike at any given moment—he obviously wasn't just some random guy who they'd stumbled upon.

Come to think of it, Phil wondered what they thought had happened to him, or why he was out there—wherever he was when they found him—in the first place.

Beyond that, who were these people? Why did they bring him here, why not just leave him, a complete stranger and possible danger, where they'd found him instead of risking their lives carrying Phil to their home? At least they'd been smart enough to check him for weapons, for their sake.

Which begs the question; were these people just plain stupid, or did they trust enough in their own abilities to put him down if need be?

“So,” the man begins, now within a few feet of where Phil sits. Spine straight, chin lifted, and arms crossed much like his partner; posture firm, aiming to appear confident. “You military?”

Oh, what could have possibly given that away?

“Sorta.” Comes Phil's stilted reply.

To Phil's great unsettlement, the man smiles. Only a tiny thing, a barely twitch at the corner of his mouth before it's gone.

“Where am I?”

The man hesitates, and the woman chimes in with a few uttered words of Spanish again.

“Not too far from the border, a few hours most.” when Phil doesn't respond, the man continues. “Name's Eric and this,” he tips his head slightly in the woman's direction. “Is my wife, Sofia. We have.. decided to help you back onto your feet.”

Another murmur, then Eric corrects with an, “if you want.”

Lovely. Now it didn't sound as much like he was being held hostage.

“Y'all want to.. help me?” Phil asks, skeptical as he flicks his gaze between the two. Trying to decipher any double meaning, any sort of threat veiled under these too-good-to-be-true words. “...And why would you do that?”

“My wife was a field medic, and me a soldier,” he begins. “We know what a person looks like wounded.. not only physically.”

Oh, so they wanted to be some sort of great savior or some shit? Give Phil some weird form of therapy? He didn't need that, he didn't need anyone's pity. Especially not these strangers who knew absolutely nothing about him.

Eric must sense something off about him, because he immediately rushes to continue. “Like it or not, we are your best option. You go out there? Try to get home in the state you are in? You will die before the sun sets.”

Phil wasn't quite sure he'd be opposed to that.. but the man had a point. He couldn't seek his revenge if he were dead, now could he?

“I won't stay long.” Phil asserts, sitting up a bit straighter with a challenging glint in his eye.

“Of course not,” Eric agrees easily. “Just until you are better. Maybe a few days, yes?”

Phil shouldn't, he should get up, tell these people to go fuck themselves, and get as far away as he possibly can. Even if that means, come morning, he’ll have succumbed to the elements- “Okay.”

“Okay.” Eric offers a smile and Phil isn't quite in his right mind, but he swears that man, this complete stranger, has some of the kindest eyes he's ever seen.

A few days turns into a month, and a single month becomes four. Phil learns a lot about the couple he's been staying with.

Learns that Eric was telling the truth and that they both had met in the field; apparently the man had been outright refusing treatment so that his fellow soldiers could get it first, claiming it to be nothing more than a light scrap. According to Sofia—from what little Phil could gather with the language barrier; though narrowed eyes and flailing hands are pretty damn telling no matter the language, Phil supposed—it was most likely a lot worse than Eric let on.

Only when Eric had conceded and pulled down the collar of his shirt to expose the long, jagged scar that began at just below his collar bones then traveled further, larger than the tugged down fabric could show, did Sophia give a satisfied hum. And Phil could tell from the gentle way she looked at Eric as he spoke, this woman wholeheartedly adored that man—he had to look away after a moment, feeling out of place, like Phil was intruding on something not meant for his eyes.

Phil also learns that the couple is very active in their little community, often volunteering for social events and making whatever donations they could to the local church, and more specifically the program involved directly in helping children in need.

The two had discovered many years ago, after they left the service, that neither were capable of having children. And while it did put a strain on their relationship for some time, the couple loved each other too much to let that fact tear them apart. Instead, they dedicated their time and whatever leftover funds they had into helping provide for the few orphaned kids in the area.

They even had some adopted children of their own, ones now grown and dispersed around the country; attending college and creating families of their own.

At some point, Phil had been baffled by how utterly good these people were, he couldn't believe how lucky he had been to be found by such genuinely kind people, ones who knew nothing of him or his crimes. They would hate him, surely, either cast him aside or turn him in to local authorities. Who would then hand him over to federal.

He was a criminal on the run, something that had taken Phil a while to come to terms with.

A thing he had realized on the very same porch steps he was setting on right now in month two. Eyes on the horizon as the hot, late spring sun faded in an array of nostalgic warm tones of red and orange, of yellow and pink. Dressed in clothing a few sizes too big; the ones he'd donned when he had arrived far beyond salvageable.

A small, child sized soccer ball rolls to his feet. Bumping against the toe of his boot, quickly followed by little feet stomping over to where Phil sat. Picking it up, Phil cradled the ball in his palm, offering it to the boy running over to him with a soft smile.

One of the orphaned kids; has a sister only a year younger than himself, something Phil knows not because the couple told him, but because he'd started doing some volunteer work himself—with Eric and Sophia’s encouragement. It helped keep his mind wonderfully empty, able to concentrate on the now rather than past or inevitable future.

It also helped remind Phil why he'd even joined the military in the first place, what his younger self had aspired to be all those years ago.

Phil had been able to reflect on a lot over these past seven months. Given the opportunity to think on why he did what he did, who he wanted to be. And, most importantly, you.

After months upon months of denial, cursing your name before he went to bed each night. Reminded of you by the absence of a warm body curled up behind his own; the lack of a soft, rumbling voice murmuring a sleepy goodnight before you'd fall asleep with your face tucked away in the place between Phil's neck and shoulder. The gentle puffs of your breath ghosting over his skin and the secure weight of an arm draped over his waist, luring him to join you in the depths of dream land.

Always making him feel so warm, so safe, in that perfect in between, just after the sun set and right before it rose again. For a few hours you were his. For a few fleeting hours he had you all to himself; he had someone.

Someone more than the names of all the men he'd killed, ingrained permanently in his psyche no matter how hard he tried to ignore it; something more than a pen and himself up against stack after stack of paperwork containing nothing but political bullshit Phil couldn't care less about.

For that brief time Phil had belonged.

But now.. now he had nothing.

He wasn't a commander here, wasn't a soldier. Phil didn't have the responsibilities he'd had to manage back home at base anymore. He should probably be grateful, it was a stressful life.

But.. but he still wasn't quite.. anybody. He was nothing but the stranger who'd appeared in town out of nowhere. Who was silent and kept to himself, who barely even left the residence he'd been so lucky to be offered a place in. Not unless he was doing some volunteer work here and there.

He had nothing; he was nothing. Phil used to hold the reins of dozens who'd act solely with his interests at heart, and now he didn't even have an army to command. He wasn't anyone anymore. Not here.

At least, if he went back, he'd have something. Something more than this endless repetition of kindness he didn't deserve. You'd hate him, surely, after what he had done.

To you, to your friends, family, fellow soldiers. Phil was supposed to be a leader, someone who those under his command looked to for guidance. Someone dependable, someone trustworthy.

It was, again, sometime ago on these same steps, where Phil had the grand revelation that maybe, just maybe, you hadn't betrayed him. You were just doing what you thought was best for yourself and the rest of the company. It was in everyone's best interest—except his.

Phil had pushed you too far, stretched you too thin. Even though he knew how fragile delicate vulnerable-

Even though he knew damn well how you used to be, the cavernous depths of your own mind Phil had single-handedly had to drag you out of kicking and screaming several times over.

Phil knew all of this, and yet he still did it. Never considered the consequences his actions would have on you—or the others, but you were more important—, never stopped to consider your own feelings on, well, anything. On what your opinions were for improving the company—even though you two had built it up from the ground up, together—, or what applications to accept, or whatever it was that you two had going on that was surely more than friends and co-founders did with each other.

He'd pushed and pushed and pushed- and Phil had broken you.

Snapped you in two.

So, at the very least, if he went back, Phil would have someone to hate him. Anything from you was better than being nothing. Even if it were hatred; he just needed to be someone again.

Just needed to belong.

“You can't stay here.”

Phil turns his head slowly, the sun now barely a sliver as darkness overtakes the sky. Stars begin to join the moon in illuminating the town.

“I'm sorry?” He asks, spotting Eric standing on the porch behind him. A somber sort of expression painting his features.

Eric sighs, rocking on his feet briefly as his hands move to tuck into his pockets, seeking warmth as the lack of sunlight drops the temperature by several dozen degrees.

“I don't mean- I am not kicking you out,” the man clarifies, looking off into the distance. A bittersweet smile gracing his lips. “But you are not happy here, are you?”

It's a rhetorical question, and Phil, too, turns away, looking back towards the sky, mouth pressed into a thin line. The sun had disappeared completely, and Phil instead looked to the moon.

Now a completely different phase from that fateful day where you'd abandoned left him against that log. So long ago, and yet Phil swore he could still smell the smoke burning his nostrils and scorching his throat.

He was lucky to have not borne many scars from being trapped in that tank; he didn't want to know how you'd fared.

“You miss them.”

“What?” The words break Phil out of his trance, brows furrowing, but he doesn't turn back around.

“I don't know if it is a family or something else,” Eric continues. “But you miss them. This is not the life for you; you still carry that.. spirit I only remember having during my time in the army.”

“I can't go back.”

“Because you think they will not take you?”

“I,” Phil barks a hushed, humorless laugh. More of an exhale of air than everything, bitter and leaving a foul taste on his tongue. “I do not belong with them anymore, sir. They don't want me, I can promise you that.”

“So grown,” Eric chides, coming to sit on the same step Phil was on. “And yet still so damn naive.”

It's not cruel, but it does have Phil opening his mouth in protest, only to snap it back shut again with a huff.

“You don't know what you're talking about.” He grits out, mouth forming a small pout, an ache of something opening up in his ribcage. A void, once full, overflowing, almost, but now so, so empty. Starving.

“Did you even consider, maybe,” Eric continues on with the same patience he'd had all those months ago. “..they miss you, too?”

Phil swears his heart stops just then, slow, stuttering to a halt before ba dum.. ba dum.. it gradually starts back up again. A frog leaped, lodging itself in his throat, suffocating him, echoing the beat of his heart.

Eventually, he manages to croak out, “They don't.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

And Phil doesn't have anything to say to that, so he doesn't. Continuing to gaze up at the moon as if it held all the answers to his problems. Wondering if, maybe, you were looking up at it too.

“I will not pretend to know what you are going through,” Eric hesitates. “What you are running from. But.. but you cannot stay here, it's killing you. Sophia and I can both see it.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Phil forces out. “you don't understand. He is stubborn, he is childish, and he is- he was. You wouldn't understand.”

“You are talking about this man like he's dead,” observant, are we? “And yet he is not, is he?”

You may as well be. “No.”

“Then maybe it's not too late.. maybe..”

Phil could feel hope sparking in his chest at the man's words, and he immediately crushed it between his fists.

“It is.” Phil says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “It is too late.”

A sigh. “But you're right. I can't stay.”

The distant sound of a coyotes’ howl and the rustling of leaves fills the space between them as the conversation lulls to a stop. It's peaceful out here, much more so than any base Phil's stayed on, and even before that, far quieter than a house full of gentle chatter wafting in from the living room, or the sounds of childish glee from his sister's bedroom when she had a few friends over. Drifting down through thin but sturdy walls; both a perfect ambiance to listen to while he did his homework at the dining table.

Nothing compared to the heartwarming sound of your laughter. Of your soft, rumbling voice; always so quiet, even when just chatting in his office or while overseeing the Shadows honing their skills in the courtyard.

Quieter than his family, but louder than the silence between you two when you would give him the cold shoulder; a sea of rage hidden neatly within a show of blank stares and empty words.

He misses you.

You didn't do anything wrong.

Why did he break you? When did he break you?

Was it just the incident all those months ago? When he'd forced you to shoot down people who, just the day before, Phil had told you to treat like family? Like brothers?

Or was it something far before that? Something you had been holding on to all this time; keeping caged within your heart instead of taking it out in him.

He wishes you had taken it out on him. Maybe then he wouldn't be considered KIA by his own people, men and women and all alike, whom he—and you—had practically raised as his own?

Anyone who tried to proclaim that Phillip Graves didn't care about his soldiers, his Shadows, was just flat out wrong. A piece of his heart, of his soul, had been ripped out of him when one of his squads died in that botched mission Shepard had sent them on. Ambushed by Russian PMCs. Now that had been one very dreaded set of paperwork; writing down the names and cause of deaths for people who he knew, his friends.

He hadn't even been able to tell their families what had happened to them when they came knocking on his door. No closure for any of those grieving relatives, phone calls day and night. Endless sobs and askings of why, why can't you? And my baby gave their life for your cause, but you can't even do me the honor of explaining why they're buried halfway across the world instead of with their family?

“Where will you go?” Phil had been so lost in thought, he'd entirely forgotten Eric was still beside him. Five months ago and that would've never even been a possibility.

He was losing his touch. Would he even be useful back home?

After all these months, surely not.

When the silence drags on a little too long to be comfortable, Phil murmurs a delicate, “I don't know..” then, “maybe I'll go back after all.”

Phil does, in fact, not go back.

Instead he finds himself staying at an apartment complex just a few cities away. Like a coward.

Phil had left that night, before the sun rose again, and without saying goodbye to the couple who'd let him stay with them for a little over four months. He's only left a little note as thanks.

Also, like a coward.

But Phil decided to embrace this sort of cowardice, at least for now. It's not that he couldn't just go over to the ol’ base, pop in and say hello to the people whose lives he had ruined- of course he could!

He could do it right now if he wanted. He didn't want to.

Phil could just pack up his shit—it had been fairly easy to retrieve his emergency fund, held in one of the many banks he had an account or two with; for security, of course—and skip over to that familiar town, take a few turns down some back roads and bam! Back home he would be.

Back home.

…

..would it still be home?

What if his Shadows hated him now? What if you'd turned them against him? Couldn't even stand the sight of him? Would they kill him then and there upon first sight?

Or would they detain him, torture him maybe?

Either way, Phil couldn't risk it. It's been a few weeks since he left Sophia and Eric's residence, and he's no more motivated to go back to you his old stomping grounds today than he was all those months ago.

He can't imagine which would be worse; seeing that look of disgust, of simmering hatred in the Shadows’ eyes or your own.

Phil tries to keep his mind blissfully blank every moment of his waking hours. Preferring more to spend his time sleeping, but when he could not do so anymore, when his legs ached with the need to move and his stomach rioted in the name of it's hunger, he would have to get up.

Reading, listening to a radio, sometimes even adding the background noise of the old TV in the corner of the living room whenever Phil needed to complete a simple task such as eating or another.

As of right now, he was doing just that. Only this time.. this time it doesn't work. Swirling around the remaining bits of cereal in the now sweetened milk, gaze drifting up from the little floating pieces to the window before him instead.

Thinking. Thinking of you. Because there wasn't any time where Phil wasn't thinking of you. Even with all these distracts, meant to keep his mind off his old life, off what he used to have, off you.

It didn't work. Not when it came to you.

Wondering what you could be up to right now. How you were faring commanding an entire army of your own—or however many were left—, how you were handling all the politics that came with such a job.

When you two shared ownership, Phil was always the one to handle the people, scheduling meetings and dealing with generals and such.

It's been months, surely you were handling this fine on your own. You didn't need him, there was no reason for Phil to go back. Nothing more than his own selfish reasons.

A little over ten months now, it has been. Phil shouldn't bother you. You were dealing with it perfectly fine, he'd bet.

There was not a single excuse for him to assume you didn't have everything under control, for him to swoop in like some sort of savior.

Sure, you'd always been a bit.. off kilter. But who wasn't in this line of work.. right? It was only to he expected after what you had been through, or what little you had told Phil.

He knew you didn't like crowds, didn't even like talking for that matter, hated interacting with the stuck up higher ups most of all, of course. Everyone did. But Phil knew you could also reign yourself in if need be.

Well, that was unless something threw you off center. It would have to be something huge, something life-changing for you to really-

Oh, fuck.

The metallic crash of his spoon bouncing off the ceramic bowl and clattering against the floor doesn't even register in Phil's mind. Not even the sweet milk that goes splattering everywhere pulls him away.

He'd broken you. He'd left you alone. Left you alone with her.

Fuck staying here, lying to himself and avoiding any and all subjects that reminded him of you. Reminded him of what he had lost.

Maybe if the event almost a year ago had never happened, and even if Phil had still been removed from your day to day, it wouldn't have been a possibility.

But you were broken. Shattered. Vulnerable.

And for someone like you; that was a concoction that spelled nothing but bad decisions.

Phil left a few hours later. A single stuffed backpack and a rental car all he took with him in his haste.

He hoped he wasn't too late. Hoped he hadn't broken you too much.

Maybe you were able to resist her offer.. maybe there was still a part of you left that knew it would bring nothing but your own destruction.

Maybe.

Standing before you now, with those empty eyes and stiff posture, Phil knew something was off. More than he had assumed before. Sure, he knew you were a bit fucked, had always been a bit fractured, but Phil had cared for you all the same. Knew there was something more to you beyond that rough, off-putting exterior.

But now, the way you covered yourself head to toe, the little twitches and fidgets you tried so hard to conceal—but Phil had been able to identify them then, and he still could now—, now it was obvious. There was no hiding it.

“You're..” Phil begins, hesitant. “Different.”

You scoff, something in those clouded depths flickering. “You've said that before.”

“No, no, Phantom-” he winces, noting the way the name has your right hand—concealed in a glaringly different glove than the other—twitches, fingers curling slightly in one, quick movement, at the name. Your head ticking a bit to the left.

“You are.. not yourself.”

“Is that all you had to say?” You grit out, gaze narrowed, voice more a growl than the gentle rumble Phil was used to. “You called me down ‘ere again to tell me I'm “different”. As if it hasn't been almost an entire fucking year since you last saw me.”

A step closer, another fidget. “People change, Graves. Just because you can't, too caught up in your own damn ego to care, doesn't mean others don't.”

Phil can think back on that little insult later, pick another time to lick his wounds. Right now he needed to know. Needed a confirmation.

“Just tell me-” he doesn't care if he sounds like he's begging. He needs to know. “You told her no. Please, for Christ's sake, tell me you said no.”

Phil can hear the way your breathing hitches briefly, see the way you try to shift your posture impossibly straighter. “I don't know who you are referring to.”

A part of Phil shrivels up and dies in that moment, frozen in time as you basically confirm what he already knew. What he knew and yet so desperately hoped he was wrong about. Hoped and prayed you'd be strong enough.

He was wrong.

“Oh, Phantom,” He breathes, right when his body kicks back into motion again. Unable to hide the pure, unfiltered grief in his croaked out words. “What.. what have you done?”

Phil never gets to hear your reply, because right then there's a frantic knocking at the door. Panicked or enthused, Phil cannot decipher.

It catches you both off guard, heads snapping to the person who hurts through the entrance. Not bothering to wait for an okay to come inside.

“Alik? What the fuck are you doing here?” You snap, glaring at the newcomer.

1-5 comes to a halt right in front of you, breathing heavily from the exerting of running from wherever the hell he'd come from. Phil feels himself stiffening, waiting for something, anything to happen.

“Sorry, sir,” Alik pants. “But this couldn't wait.”

“Spit it out.” Phil cuts in, seeing how you tense and ready to go on one of your rare—or maybe not rare anymore—tangents.

1-5 barely spares Phil a glance before locking eyes with you once more, unflinching.

“Viper,” he says, chest still heaving. A single word, a single word that bore so much weight within its five letters. “He is awake.”

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