#the trauma and the pain and the grief around it is very very real

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

Sacrifices series: Chapter 3: Face to face with a monster

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word count: 8k

Series Summary: After closing the Darkhold, Wanda struggled to find her place in the word. Until she met you that is. And in you, she found hope. But the past has a way of coming back and she’s faced with an impossible choice once again. A choice that’s going to break her heart. Chapter summary: Finding the layer, doesn't mean she's captured the monster, who was terrorizing the city and Wanda needs to see you at least once, before she has to go back to her hunt, but it seems the sorcerer has plans of his own...

Warning: angst!; emotional trauma; Hurt - No Comfort ; Blood, human sacrifice, gory details of a mutilated body, dark magic... violence, possession, manipulation; That should be it, but in case I missed anything, please let me know. Also, Reader will be making a very small appearance in this chapter, but she has a significant role to play in the future. Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3

Wanda dropped the piles of books in her trunk, closing it with a loud thud as she looked at the building in the distance. She could see agents coming in and out, carrying objects, while others were escorting people out. Even from afar, she could see those people were scared, worried where they’ll live next, how they’ll afford it. They held their children close, protective, even in their fear. So brave. She knew what it was like to be displaced, to have your whole life ripped from you, to watch it all crumble down in an instant. She knew how much courage it took, to make the next step, and the one after that… She didn’t know how she’ll interview all these people tomorrow. She didn’t know if she’ll be able to carry the burden of their pain and grief as well. Yet, there was no one else to do it. Only she knew what to look for, what to ask… Only she knew how to get the information that even they didn’t know they could have.

The prospect of invading so many minds, of taking on so many lives filled her with pain. All she wanted was to curl in a ball, her head in your lap. She wanted to feel your hands run through her hair, soothing and soft. She wanted to feel you close once more, to have you fully wrapped around her, until she could forget that this ever happened. She wanted peace. She wanted what was stolen from her. But she couldn’t have any of it back, until she defeats this monster first… Even after being in his apartment, after coming so close to him, she had no idea how to find him. He had left no clues as to his next move, or his plans. None that she could see. But the agents will go more thoroughly through his things and have a report for her by tomorrow morning. Perhaps they’ll find something. Until then, she was free to go home and rest. But the compound, with its grey walls felt nothing like the cozy home she had with you. Her room never felt as welcoming as the shared bedroom she had with you. It was all so empty without you. She found no joy in cooking now, since she had no one to share her meals with. She found no joy in walks, since it always reminded her of the days she’d take you and Bella out to different parks to walk and play… Even her sitcoms brought little comfort. Yes, no one got hurt in them, it wasn’t that kind of show. But the real world was nothing like a sitcom. People got hurt every day, they were hungry and poor and lived on streets with nothing but the mercy of strangers to help them face the next day. There were so many in pain. When she remembered that, it was always so hard to fight back the inner voice that told her that she could fix it all. She was the Scarlet Witch after all. She was born to rule the world. It was her birthright. Her destiny. She could make sure that no one got hurt ever again, that no child was ever orphaned, no one ever had to leave their loved ones, no one had to get hurt. She could do that. Wanda could feel the magic rising within her, the raw power of chaos opening up doors for her that were closed to everyone else. She could do anything. She could win this fight with the snap of her fingers. She could erase evil from this world. And they would all thank her for it. Those poor people that she watched get evacuated. They would all be so grateful. They would worship her, just as they were meant to…

Wanda shook her head, blinking a few times, until her eyes focused once more. Red whisps of magic were swirling around her, her blackened fingers moving through the air. She was casting. Not that she knew what. But she knew she needed to get her emotions under control. Keeping the darkness at bay was much harder, when it promised everything she ever wanted. She could have Pietro back. Her boys. And her parents. She could win you back too. If that didn’t work, she could always make you forget she ever left… “No!” She shook her head in defiance. She knew better than to listen to those thoughts. She crawled her way back from an emotional hell, fighting such thoughts. She knew better than to trust them. With a final glance towards the grey building, that seemed to stand like a hungry giant over the people below, she got into her car and drove away. She was done for today. And now she could finally see you. She could finally drive back to your house, she could see you again, hear your voice… She could feel human again for a few minutes. The redhead drove slowly, her windows rolled down, so she could breathe in the fresh air. She needed to get the stench of that place out of her nose, out of her hair and her clothes. She felt dirty. And she almost felt bad for making her way to you, covered in such filth. Then again, it’s not like she was going to knock on your door. Then again… Why shouldn’t she? Why should she deny herself this one thing, this one kindness, when she has sacrificed so much already? What was to stop her from knocking? From walking in… Who could stand in her path, should she choose to pull you in her embrace. Who had the power to stop her? She could kiss you again. Taste you and feel you, like she’s been dreaming of. She could…

“No!” She almost screamed, hitting the breaks. It was just in time too, a pedestrian was crossing the street, standing frozen in fear of her approaching car. She was seconds away from hitting him. She almost didn’t stop. She had barely even seen him. It took the man a moment to get a hold of himself, before he ran the rest of the way to the other end of the street, looking back at her with fearful, yet angry eyes. Wanda couldn’t blame him. But she also couldn’t quite bring herself to care. She could tell that something was wrong. She wasn’t usually like this. Distracted, careless, cold. She didn’t have such dark thoughts either. Not usually. She was much better at controlling them. She studied calming techniques, meditation, she went through every enlightenment course she could find, looking for a way to keep herself in check, but it was especially hard this time. There was just this voice, in the back of her head, a low murmur that had found its way in and just wouldn’t leave her alone. How long has she been hearing it? This voice. Why was it trying to get her to come to you? Except… That’s not quite what it wanted. You were just a suggestion. A means to an end. A way for her to give in. Yes, that’s what it wanted. It wanted her to give in. Wanted her to unleash her powers. Wanted to set the Scarlet Witch free. It wanted her to use that magic inside. It wanted her to let all that chaos loose and never stop.

The honking of cars behind her startled Wanda out of her thoughts and into motion. She sped away from the spot with a heavy heart and she contemplated if she should even come see you tonight. It was dangerous in her state. It was almost reckless, tempting herself like that. Especially with how off she’d been feeling and acting. It would be a mistake… She was once again pulled from her thoughts, when she saw something strange out of the corner of her eye. She was driving past some neighbourhood, all the houses framing the road. But something was wrong. She could feel eyes on her. She could see old ladies in their kitchens, looking out the windows, mothers with strollers, not even looking at where they were going, too busy staring at her… Men, who openly followed her car, as she drove. And then something else. A man with eyes so black, there was no white left in them and a face so sunken in, it looked stolen from a cadaver. A man, who seemed to smile at her, as if seeing an old friend, before he turned away from the road and walked away. Wanda hit the brakes so hard, she almost hit her head on the steering wheel from the force. She felt shaken, like she had witnessed something important, something she should be better at naming. Like she was walking in the dark, her eyes closed, allowing herself to be led. She realized that this place was not her usual route to your house, that she’s never even been here. Just as she realized that whoever this man was, he knew to expect her. He had felt her presence here, known of her arrival, he was watching her, before his eyes ever fell upon her… But how? She pulled the car over and locked it, using her magic to seal the trunk, just to make sure that the books inside wouldn’t “disappear” while she was chasing whatever this was. She had to walk a little, to reach the spot she first saw him, and she looked around nervously to see where he might have went. The eyes of strangers followed every step she took, not even considering to hide their actions, yet none of them approached her. Wanda could almost smell that same sweet, yet repulsive smell she had first felt when she entered the building she was inspecting. The one where He used to live. It was faint, but unmistakable and a strange sense of longing washed over her. A desire to breathe in deeply. To let herself be intoxicated. The voice in her head salivated at the prospect. Hungry.

She decided to ignore it. Pushing back against the low whisper, that told her to give in. Instead she started to walk in the direction she saw him turn. Beyond the first street, the houses started to look poorer, the yards smaller, the windows covered. She could see dogs sometimes, uneasy and nervous, barking in warning, but never really getting close. They were scared. Just like the people who lived here. But scared of whom? The sorcerer? She couldn’t tell. As she walked, the voice in the back of her head, the one she knew to be the witch within, kept warning her. There was danger here. She could feel it. There was darkness too. And the eyes that followed her on the street, seemed to watch her here too. It made her feel surrounded on all sides.

“It’s a trap.” Her inner voice warned. She could feel herself tensing up, readying for a battle, all her senses on high alert. Her magic was just at the tip of her fingers, making her eyes glow that deep scarlet she knew so well, yet there was no one around. At this point she almost hoped someone would try to make a move. Give her an excuse to release all that pent up energy inside, yet no one did. Eventually the street came to a sudden end, a single entrance to a building signifying her only way forward. The door had a padlock and a rusty chain to keep out intruders, runes covering the links in protection. “Pathetic.” Wanda laughed bitterly, the words loud enough to be heard if someone was nearby. That same energy she felt swirling just beneath the surface suddenly came forth, pouring out of her in a burst and shooting forward. It crashed against the building, taking the whole door and parts of the surrounding wall with it, a loud bang ringing in her ears as it fell to the ground. Dust flew everywhere and she waited for it to settle, not wanting to breathe any of it in, before she finally walked forward. The ridiculous chain was still in takt, the runes glowing a dull grey. She laughed humourlessly once more, stepping inside the building and looking around, her steps echoing off the walls. “One chain?” She called out in a challenge. “I can take down the whole building.”

Her voice rang clearly in the large space, that seemed to have been a factory or a storage hanger once, but no response actually came. There was just silence, mixed with that sweet, yet repulsive smell again. “It’s too easy.” Her inner awareness warned, a low hiss in her ear that she felt an almost compulsive need to swat away, even if it was coming entirely from within. Met with no response, Wanda walked further inside, studying the building wearily. In all honesty, she was getting impatient with this whole charade. She didn’t want to be here, playing hide and seek with a psychopath. She wanted to be at the house with you. She wanted you in her arms again, wanted to have you in a tight embrace and breathe you in. Wanted, no craved your warmth against her stiffened, aching muscles. She explored the floor, impatiently walking around, being met with nothing but decay and ruin. There was nothing but old junk, dust and the unmistakable signs of rats and pigeons taking over the building and claiming it as their own. It looked abandoned. But she wouldn’t be here if it really was abandoned, would she? He wouldn’t try to put protective runes, if there wasn’t something important here.

With that in her mind, Wanda summoned her magic, using it to propel herself in the air. From above, Wanda could see that there was nothing special in this room and she moved quietly into the next, passing through a small hallway, only to find a man hunched over a pot, stirring the content inside. He had his back to her and for some reason she felt the need to sneak closer, even though it was impossible for him not to know she was here, considering all the noise she made. “Welcome, Miss Maximoff.” He said, without turning, “I’ve been expecting you.” The greeting startled Wanda for a moment, making her stop mid-flight, before she moved forward, flying over him and the strange liquid he stirred, murky and  filled with bits and pieces of something she couldn’t see clearly enough to name. What she could recognize however was that distinct smell that she felt ever since she left his apartment. That repulsive, yet attractive smell that urged her to breathe it in deeply. That is, until she came closer and Wanda realized that the small objects Wanda was observing, were actually eyes.

“Isn’t it poetic? Stolen eyes, to grant you stolen sight!” He said with a small giggle. “That’s what you used that poor man’s eyes for?” Wanda asked, her voice shaking. She tried not to look at the ugly pot, filled with the murky liquid or to picture the man on the wall, with his empty sockets and a gaping hole in his chest. “Poor man?” The Sorcerer laughed. “He was hardly an innocent.” He hinted. “He liked to watch. In fact it’s all he wanted.” The man continued, words slow, as if explaining to a child. “Do you know how many women they forced, just so he could watch?” The Sorcerer asked, raising his hand, so he could make an obscene gesture, that imitated self-pleasure. It made Wanda sick to her stomach. “So you killed him?” She asked. “How noble.” Her voice was mocking and full of disgust. “I thought it was rather poetic in a way. He liked to watch. And thanks to him, I now see everything.” He said in a smooth voice. “Everything?” Wanda scoffed. “Aren’t you a bit full of yourself?” “I saw you coming.” He retorted in that same calm demeanour. “The all-powerful Scarlet Witch.” He said with a purr. “If you wanted to see me, there are far easier ways.” Wanda replied. She wanted to bait him, wanted to know his plans, while she still had him here. She knew that if it came to a battle, he may not survive. Once she unleashed her powers there was no telling what will happen and she needed to know why he did what he did. Needed to know if there was a greater power behind him. Truly, she needed to know why he did all these terrible acts. Needed to know if he was the monster that he was presenting himself to be. “But this one is rather effective.” He smiled at her. “I saw you look into my apartment. Saw you take things that don’t belong to you.” He accused. “How did you see me there? I was alone.” Wanda narrowed her eyes. “All living things need to eat and drink, Miss Maximoff.” The man explained. “And once they do, they’re mine to use.” “That’s disgusting.” She spat, her hands balling into fists. “Oh, don’t play innocent now. You’ve studied magic. I believe one Agatha Harkness had a very impressive collection on the subject. You’ve read her books. You know there is always a price to be paid.” He spoke patiently, as if he could somehow convince her that he was right. “Well, perhaps not for you…” He trailed off. “With control over pure chaos, you don’t need to pay that price, do you? But the rest of us… We still have to follow the rules.” “Trust me, I’ve paid…” Wanda growled, the control over her emotions fraying. “I’ve lost more than you can imagine.” “Ah, yes, of course.” He nodded slowly. “You and I are kindred spirits in that regard.” “Never compare yourself to me.” Wanda spoke through gritted teeth, the urge to hurt him growing stronger. She could hardly hold herself back, desperate to end all this. She felt so tired.

“But it’s true.” He argued, raising his finger in the air, signalling for her to be patient. “I too lost my parents very young.” He began, taking a step closer to her. “And the world is rarely kind to orphans, Miss Maximoff. Had to go hungry, dressed in the rags others gave away to the orphanage. Had to go to school in them too. Other children are hardly kind to their peers.” He lowered his head for a moment, countless cruelties passing through his memory and flooding Wanda’s thoughts. “But I found an escape.” He continued. “I found that knowledge truly does give you power. I found my first real spell when I was 16. It was just a stupid trick. Turning sugar into salt.” He laughed humourlessly. “It was useless for more than a prank, but it opened my eyes. There was real magic in this world. I knew it now. I had the proof for it. My history teacher was stirring it right into her coffee! So I looked. Researched spells and grimoires, travelled on foot, or hitchhiked to chase down any lead for real magic wielders, looked for amulets and enchanted objects. I built my collection, knowing that one day, I’ll use it to make the world better!” He exclaimed, coming to the culmination of his little speech. “But then I found something better. I found the cult of Salvain. I thought it was nothing more than a cult to a non-existing God, but I went to the forest of perpetual silence, where his followers live. It wasn’t easy, trust me, but I made it there.  Have you ever experienced mind-numbing nothingness, Miss Maximoff? Have you ever been in a place so quiet, that every sound is swallowed, to a point you can’t even scream, because nothing actually reaches your ears? It was horrible. I was lost in there for days, walking aimlessly and praying for death to mercifully take me. I was dehydrated, hungry, never met another soul… And just when I thought I would die, I heard him. I heard his voice.” He said with fire in his eyes, his face betraying real emotion for the first time. “He’s been speaking to me ever since. Helping me. Guiding me. I let him inside me and he saved me. He showed me the way to salvation and he’s going to save everyone.” He explained with what appeared to be genuine excitement and appreciation, his words hanging in the air for a long moment. “You’re actually insane…” Wanda finally spoke, her head tilting to the side. “Oh, but I’m not.” The sorcerer said with a grin. “He’s here.” He said, closing his eyes in bliss. “He knows you.” He whispered teasingly, stepping closer still. He was just a few feet away now, giving Wanda a chance to take a closer look.

Underneath the grey skin and sunken eyes, underneath the painfully thin, bony face, he was actually a young man. So young. More a boy, than a sorcerer and a monster. But there was very little of him left. She could see the corruption of dark magic spreading over him like a disease. It was probably what ate away at his mind. “Don’t you want to speak to him, Miss Maximoff?” He asked, his big eyes fixing her in a predatory way. “He’s been waiting to speak to you, you know.” “How about this…” Wanda started. “You surrender yourself quietly, and I’ll talk to him.” She suggested, hoping to be able to contain him without having to hurt him. Despite his seemingly docile appearance, he had managed to kill several people already. She couldn’t be sure what he was actually capable of. “I won’t resist.” He told her gently, hands raising in the air in a gesture of surrender. “You shouldn’t resist either. Can’t you feel him calling you? He’s been talking to you for a while now.” Wanda thought of saying something sassy in return, but the words died down in her throat, before she could utter them. The sorcerer leaped forward, grasping her head on either side, his long, bony fingers digging into her skin. “Just listen!” He hissed, before a blast of red magic pushed him away from her and he fell to the ground. She heard him gasp from the impact, his right hand clutching his side painfully, but when she looked at his face, he looked amused. “He told me you wouldn’t just hear us out.” The sorcerer said bitterly. “But thankfully, Salvain has a solution for everything.” He giggled “What did you do?” Wanda growled, her teeth bared. This was the confession she was waiting for. His next sacrifice, his next victim, his plans. Once he gave those away, she could be done with all this. “You don’t feel it yet?” He asked with a raised brow. “You have a strong mind. Pushing him away all this time. But even you can’t resist him forever.” “What are you talking about?” She asked, feeling a bit dizzy as a wave of that horrible smell hit her nostrils again and she had to put her hand to her mouth and nose just so she wouldn’t gag. Instead of a response, he waited, circling her now, though he kept a safe distance. His watchful eyes seemed to never leave her and she was once again feeling dizzy from the way he circled her. It was almost like vertigo, but it came with the unpleasant return of that nagging voice in her head, that wanted to seduce her. She could stop all this right now. She could just blast him with her magic. He had attacked her once, had he not? She could claim his death on self-defence and leave all of this behind. No one had to know what happened. There were no witnesses, no cameras…

No! She had to shake the thought away. This wasn’t her way. She could easily immobilize him and let S.H.I.E.L.D deal with him. She didn’t need to hurt him. She was not going to become a killer. But the Scarlet Witch is a killer, a thought flashed through Wanda’s mind. And even though it seemed like it came from within, even though it had her voice, she finally realized that it wasn’t. There was a presence in the back of her mind, a voice that whispered in her ear, disrupting her thoughts. “Now you get it.” The sorcerer smiled, smug and self-satisfied. “How are you doing that?” Wanda hissed at him, fighting the urge to slap his smile away. She could easily knock him down. He seemed so weak, so fragile… It would be so easy to just… Wanda shook the thoughts away again, starting to get angry at this stupid game they were playing. “I’m not doing anything.” The man in front of her responded. “I have no power to influence you.” He told her softly. “Ordinary humans are easy, but you…” He shook his head. “You’re strong. I had to find a way to help you hear Him. ” “What did you do?” Wanda asked again, her voice shaking so much it sounded like a growl. She was losing her patience. Each second that passed between them felt like an eternity, fraying her nerves. Why not just be done with him? Whatever he planned would simply be left unfinished if he were to die… No, he could have accomplices, acolytes… She couldn’t afford to leave this unfinished. Not when so much was at stake. “I only helped you open your mind to him. That’s all.” He said with a surprisingly gentle voice. “I’m only helping you see. That’s what he wants as well. For you to see the good he can do in this world.” He said with a look of longing in his eyes. “He can do anything. Give you anything. You just have to let him come through…”

As the sorcerer spoke, Wanda’s vision slowly started to blur. The dizzy feeling she’d been fighting, suddenly overtook her and she felt like she was fainting. Except that wasn’t quite it either. It was more like she was being pulled underwater, supressed so deep within herself that she no longer felt one with her body. She was floating within her subconsciousness, a passenger in her own body. Her clothes were slowly changing, her comfortable pants and soft sweater that she wore suddenly fading and being replaced by her old suit. The boots and tights came first, her magic working its way up, red swirling around her and weaving the tight corset into place, her old cape flowing down her shoulders… Magic weaved itself in the places where the suit had torn, glowing… Then came her crown. It glowed in the same scarlet as her magic, surrounding her in unnatural light that looked both terrifying and regal. She’d never seen herself like that. She always felt like Wanda. But this was the Scarlet Witch. This is the destiny she kept rejecting.

“Why fight it, Wanda? This is who you were meant to be.” A voice creeped up on her, ringing all around her. She turned frantically to look for the source, but there was no one. The sorcerer was still in his spot, staring in awe of her, a deeply unsettling smile on his face. “Show yourself.” She challenged, sounding more scared than she liked, hoping to draw out the voice. “If you want to see me, you’ll have to invite me into your world.” Salvain said in a low voice. “Invite you, huh? So you need someone to let you through.” Wanda retorted, feeling some of her confidence return. Whatever entity this was, he couldn’t move into the world on his own. “Not just anyone, Wanda. I need you. Gorden over there was a good servant. He did as he was told, performed the rituals and cast the spells, but he’s not strong enough. His body is failing. He can’t pierce the veil and let me in.” The voice explained in a monotonous tone, as if talking about the weather and not a life. “But you can.” He said, a trace of a smile in his tone. A trace of urgency. “And what makes you think I will?” Wanda lifted her chin defiantly, her lips trembling in barely-contained anger. “Because I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted, Wanda. I can bring back all your friends. I can bring back Vision… You can have your brother back! Your parents too. Your boys! I can make it so they never, ever died. I can make sure they never do again.” He said seductively, his voice bouncing around her skull with all the weight of his promises.

“I tried that!” Wanda hissed, her fists balling at the memory of Westview. “It doesn’t work. It’s not real.” She shook her head. “As powerful as you are, Scarlet Witch, you’ll always need your magic to sustain them. But I… Once I’m in this world, I can bring them back, make them real… I can make anything you want real… You can have your whole family back. I can give you back Vision. Or Y/N. Or even both?” He chuckled. “Both of them, so willing and loving… You’ll want for nothing, Wanda.” “No!” Wanda growled, but to her surprise, her body moved. Her fingers glowed, whisps of magic swirling around them slowly. “It seems your counterpart disagrees.” Salvain purred. “No! You can’t do that!” Wanda’s eyes widened, filled with panic. “I’m not doing anything.” He chimed in, amused. “You are doing this.” He explained. “It’s ok, Wanda. I understand. Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you so utterly exhausted of having to fight for a modicum of peace? For a place in the world? For even a crumb of love… Aren’t you angry? At all the injustice in this world? At the people who turn a blind eye to suffering, to poverty, to strife? You can make it stop! You’ve always had the power to stop it. You can rule this world… But you don’t want that, do you Wanda? I understand… I can help…” “Stop it!” Wanda screamed, her voice bouncing around in her head. She could see more of her magic seeping out of her, now a hurricane of red that swirled around her, building and waiting to be unleashed. The sorcerer, Gorden, was on his knees, awe-stricken at the feet of the Scarlet Witch. His bony face looked even more sickly in the red glow of her power, yet he seemed so at peace. “It’s too late now, Wanda.” Salvain sounded almost smug. “It has already started. Gorden laid the path, now you will open the door and soon… I will walk in the world…” Wanda listened to his words, the terror inside her building at the prospect of what was coming. She had never heard of this entity, had no idea of his powers and if he could truly influence reality the way that he claimed. She hardly knew if that voice in her head was real or if this was all in her head and she was about to unleash her powers upon the world and destroy it. She only knew that she needed to regain her composure and her control over herself if she wanted to stand a chance against him. She focused her thoughts, ignoring his voice and the endless tirade that served no other purpose than to hurt her further and she tried to gain back some of her control, but every time she did, she felt herself being pushed away, her path blocked by an invisible force.

“It’s useless Wanda. There’s nowhere to go…” He chimed in, making her eyes snap open in annoyance. Her power was building, crackling in the air around her like a storm, the pressure in the room growing. If she unleashed that, she would rupture the veil between worlds, creating a passage for him and God only knows what else and she wouldn’t be able to stop any of it. “You’re not in control anymore.” He reminded gleefully. The words bounced around Wanda’s head, heavy and mocking in their finality. The magic that swirled around her now rose to filling the whole warehouse, thundering and waiting to be unleashed. It was almost time and she wouldn’t be able to stop it. She would once again fail. She would fail to protect you, to protect all the innocent people of this world, she would fail herself and her legacy… She would once again be a monster. With that realization Wanda broke down, falling to her knees and letting the tears that she’d been holding back for days finally fall freely. “I’m sorry…” She sobbed, her head bowing down in defeat. “Don’t be sorry, Wanda. You’re doing exactly what you were meant to.” Salvain said with a surprisingly gentle voice, as if talking to a child. “I wasn’t talking to you!” Wanda shouted suddenly, looking up. The Scarlet Witch was now floating, the magic and particles of dust swirling around her. She was getting ready to unleash it all. “I’m sorry I rejected you. I’m sorry I pushed you down and treated you like a disease to be cured. I’m sorry, that I pretended like you weren’t here all this time…” Her words died down into sobs, as she looked through her own eyes, a prisoner of her body now taken over by another. “I’m sorry I made you feel like this all this time.” She whispered. Wanda shook with sobs, her heart beating wildly in her chest, her thoughts a frantic mess that she could hardly distinguish anymore. She thought this would be the end. And selfishly, she regretted that she’ll spend it away from you, when suddenly a red glow illuminated her face and a gentle hand rested under her chin, urging her to look up.

There she was. The Scarlet Witch, in all her glory, was standing above her, her features unreadable. Salvain’s voice had quieted down, pushed aside by the presence of the witch. “I’m so sorry.” Wanda whispered again, her face wet with tears. She wasn’t sure how this moment was possible, both of them face to face, as her body continued to float into the air, magic crackling and threatening to be unleashed at any second, but as she looked at the face of the Scarlet Witch, she didn’t care. “I should have never neglected you.” She whispered at the witch, her green eyes full of regret. “It’s not just me you were hurting.” The witch said gently, her tone a stark contrast to her stronger, more defined features. “This rift between us, hurts us both. We were never meant to be separate. You and I are one, Wanda. The divide leaves vulnerable.” She explained, her strong hands helping Wanda to her feet. “We can only do this together.” “But…” Wanda looked confused. She was still in the air, or her body was, summoning more magic, the walls of the warehouse groining with the force of it. “We are meant to rule the world, Wanda. It is our destiny.” The witch reminded seriously. “Do you really think I’ll give away our throne?” She tilted her head, a sly smile starting to play on her lips. “So you have a plan.” Wanda questioned, an eyebrow rising. “No… We have a plan.” The witch corrected, her smile growing. She offered Wanda one of her hands, their palms touching. The feeling was electrifying. Wanda felt a surge of power pass through her, making her gasp. Than the Scarlet witch moved closer, their faces so close together, their noses almost touching and a warmth spread over her, a kind of relief that made her muscles relax. She allowed the witch even closer, her counterparts free hand wrapping around her waist in a gentle, confident motion. The softness in the other woman startled Wanda. She always saw the witch as ruthless and merciless… Thought of her rough and unforgiving. She always resented her for it as well. “Those were the traits you needed.” The witch suddenly said, a knowing look in her eyes, when she saw Wanda’s confused expression. “That’s not all that I am.” She said, her eyes softening once more.

She guided Wanda even closer, their bodies making contact and making Wanda shiver. The witch’s presence gave her this inexplicable sense of surety. Then calmness. And with it, a deep sense of belonging. And then a longing for more. Her hands wrapped around the witch’s shoulders, as if they were partners in a dance, strangely close and intimate in the bubble of privacy the Scarlet Witch had made within their mind. Their breathing synched together, their eyes locked and for a moment Wanda had the strangest urge to kiss the other woman, to run her hands through her hair and down her back and she felt that desire reflected in the features so identical to hers. On instinct she closed her eyes, lips parting slowly as she leaned in, their foreheads touching for a brief moment, before she tried leaning in even further, only to find the space empty. Wanda opened her eyes to find herself alone and she blinked a few times, questioning if this wasn’t just a figment of her imagination, before she felt that same sense of surety wash over her, her mind opening up and expanding to accept the witch within herself and allow her to merge, just as they were always meant to. Her mind’s eye suddenly opened to the universe as the knowledge and power of the Scarlet Witch bled into her, connecting them, until they were whole. As they merged, Wanda felt more powerful, more alive, more confident than she ever had been in her life. She could finally sense the real, raw strength of chaos magic and she opened her eyes to find herself back into her body, the center of a hurricane of magic that swirled around her and threatened to tear down the whole building.

Without wasting too much time, she focussed her strength, guiding that magic into a single point in the floor, feeling the vail between our world and the next start to bend under her strength. The ground shook and groaned, but gave way to her will, a portal starting to open, rimmed in scarlet. Beneath her Gorden had recovered from his stupor, stopped staring at her in awe and moved closer to the portal that formed, arms open in welcome to the God he had been serving all this time. Wanda sensed the approach of something powerful, something monstrous, as it neared the portal she was holding open and she braced herself for the moment he would pass. He paused some distance from the portal, the world on the other end black and filled with nothingness, before he surged through it. He passed smoothly, landing on the dirty floor of the warehouse, the portal closing shut behind him. Dazed by the strength the journey had taken, he didn’t seem to notice the trap of the Scarlet Witch and started to stand, feeling carried by weak, almost trembling legs. He looked around, winded, breathless, his eyes landing on Wanda, who used her powers to land on the floor softly, her red eyes staring at him. “You made the right choice, Wanda.” He started to say, his voice coming out rough and distorted. It sounded nothing like him, he realized and with a distrustful gaze, started to look down at himself.

That’s when he saw it. The skinny legs, frail frame, bony fingers connected to dry, vainy hands… And a whisper… Except this time it wasn’t the distant voice of a far-away acolyte, but a voice inside his own head. The voice of Gorden Shaw… Salvain felt himself smothered in Gordon’s body, so weak, so frail… A mortal shell too fragile to contain his strength. He had but a fraction of his abilities here and he wanted to free himself from the uncomfortable confines this body provided, but he seemed unable to leave, rattling inside his cage like a wild animal, before his eyes landed once again on Wanda. “How dare you!?” Salvain roared, realization painting Gorden’s bony face. “Release me, at once!” He demanded, his voice a growl. “I’m not holding you.” Wanda smirked. “You cannot exist in this realm without a body and yours didn’t make the trip… I’m afraid you and Gordon will have to share.” “You tricked me!” He exclaimed, enraged. “I did nothing of the sort.” Wanda retorted calmly. “Creating a passage isn’t easy and the veil has many layers. I lifted enough for your consciousness to pass through, but your body… Alas, that was left behind.” Wanda explained, summoning her magic, so she could show Salvain the image of his abandoned body, a mindless heap on the ground where he had passed through the portal. “If you don’t return back to it soon, I’m afraid it would die…” Wanda said with a mocking pout on her lips, the whisps of her magic fading. “You foolish girl!” Salvain growled, low and dangerous, his hands balling into fists. “You should have done this the easy way.” He snarled at her. Before Wanda could realize what he meant, a ball of energy formed into Gorden’s hand, now Salvain’s, and it shot toward her, barely giving her time to block, before it hit her straight in the chest. Another followed, than another, magic raining down on her as he gave her no time to do much more than protect herself from his attack. He groaned and grunted with the effort of it, breathing shallow. “If you would not welcome me, Scarlet Witch, you will fear me!” He exclaimed, sending more balls of energy her way, before he used his abilities to lift her off her feet and fling her across the room. Wanda tried to cushion her landing against a wall, but still groaned when she fell on the floor, feeling several bruises form on her knees, but she pushed herself to stand upright, summoning her own powers and throwing a few energy blasts his way. He blocked them, teeth bared, grunting from the unfamiliar feeling of being inside another’s body. In retaliation he looked around, lifting pieces of metal, wood and brick into the air and sending them flying toward Wanda, who tried to dodge them, but hissed when a sharp nail flew passed her, tearing the flesh in her forearm.

“Aren’t you tired of this charade, Wanda?” He asked with a note of challenge. “Pretending to care about all those ridiculous mortals out there? Pretending to be moral, when I know what’s inside you. You wanted to kill Gorden. You want to kill him still. Be done with all this, so you can walk away and find your little girlfriend. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? Why not just go do that? Or maybe I’ll go find her, once I’m done with you. Show her some real horrors.” He smiled, crooked and ugly. The mention of you and the clear threat he made had Wanda’s blood boiling. Gordon’s features, if sickly before, had now turned wild and monstrous, his eyes bloodshot, his mouth wet, like a rabid animal, cheeks even more hollow now. Salvain’s presence and the energy it took to sustain him, as well as the magic he used to fight Wanda clearly took their toll and the thought of this thing making its way to you made her sick to her stomach. “I would never let that happen!” She spat, gathering her strength and summoning her magic. She levitated in the air, the scarlet whisps of her magic surrounding her once more as she rose higher and higher, her form almost reaching the ceiling, the ground once again trembling, as she made it all crash down.

She watched the rubble start to fall, the ceiling and walls of the warehouse collapsing, chunks of concrete and metal piling over one another, a cloud of dust and a thundering crash sounding around her as she watched Gorden’s body disappear from view. A part of her regretted the unfortunate end of his life. A part of her recognized his suffering and the inner turmoil he must have felt. Another part of her felt glad. Felt relieved he was gone… Or at least she thought he was. Very few could survive the collapse of a building. But S.H.I.E.L.D would have to confirm that. She saw their black cars from the air even now, saw a few helicopters heading in her direction as well, some government, but some of it was the press. Of course, reporters would want to capture this, even if they weren’t sure what they were filming. It would be golden none the less. Even she knew that. After all, the Scarlet Witch was hovering in the air, a collapsed building on the ground… She’d be on the news and the first page of every newspaper and magazine for weeks! Wanda was about to float down, try to give them less of a show, when a sudden rumble sounded from the rubble and a deep feeling of dread settled over her. An unnerving thought crept its way to her, causing a shiver to pass through her body. The confirmation of her fear came in the form of a chunk of concreate that flew towards her head and narrowly missed her. But it wasn’t what scared her most. What she feared came after.   In the center of the ruined warehouse stood Salvain, his arms outstretched as more rubble started to float in the air. He seemed to be taking the whole building, forming a hurricane of dust, bricks, metal and wood, as well as anything left inside. And when that was all gone, he started to tear pieces of earth and rock too. “You should have walked away, little witch.” He shouted over the sound of wind, releasing his hold on the flying objects and hurling them in the air. Some were aimed at Wanda, but some flew astray, passing close to the helicopters that now hovered over the scene as well and it took everything in her to try and stop them all, a magical barrier forming in front of her and the nearby helicopters, but she still saw pieces of rubble falling to the ground, scaring curious onlookers, who had gathered to watch the fight, despite S.H.I.E.L.D’s efforts to keep people away.

In the chaos of it, she felt torn. There were so many innocents around. So many people who would get hurt, should she allow him to get the upper hand. The carnage seemed to amuse him, his lips outstretched into a sickly grin. She couldn’t protect everyone. Not like this. She could hear shouting, the cries of women and children as they ran from the falling debris, helicopters whirring around her… It was all too much.                                              *             *             * With a flick of Wanda’s wrist, a wave of magic surged through the air and although your TV could hardly do it any justice, you could see that it was a powerful blast. A deafening silence came first, the panicked sounds of people fading into utter stillness. Then came a red glow, seemingly bursting from Wanda’s chest and expanding, dipping the whole world into a scarlet hew. You watched with bated breath, your eyes glued to the screen of your TV, your heart hammering in your chest. This was the first time you’d seen Wanda since she left, and the apparent danger she was in did very little to help your anxiety. You could recognize the old warehouse, not too far from where you lived and the thought that she was so close, yet so far, made it feel hard to breathe. Then came a third wave of magic. This one however was a dull grey. It shot through the air in a cluster, like the pellets of a shotgun and everything you saw, was the way they found their target, right in Wanda’s chest, before everything went dark.

#lesbian #writing #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch #sacrifices #magic

[thislilstangirl]

the courtship of princess shuri

should we talk about the courtship of shuri?

let’s be real, namor is gambling a lot on shuri accepting any type of proposal. he’s showing her his home, he’s being vulnerable about his trauma, and he is risking the wrath of wakanda with holding her ‘hostage ’.

so why shuri? i got three reasons- the mythical, the political, and the romantic.

firstly, it’s because she’s his mirror image. not to bang on the same drum but wakanda forever is extremely mythic. i’m comfortable in believing some soulmatism is at play here. despite never meeting her before, he recognises something that is within himself. and he is drawn to it. like two halves of the same soul trying to stitch itself together again. despite being princess and god king, they are mythic equals. they burn with the same fire.

secondly, she’s the princess of wakanda. if there was anyone who would be the best person to strategically seduce it would be her. why? because he overhead both the queen and princess on the beach. while the queen was reaching for peace, the princess was reaching for anger. he knew which one to charm. winning over the heir to the throne would a massive win for his kingdom’s strategic interests. a defence alliance would be inevitable and he would have achieved protection for his people. it’s straightforward politicking. and this hope of an alliance drives him through the entire movie. he’s blinded by it.

thirdly, he’s intrigued by shuri. i have no doubt that he knew of shuri before they met on the beach. it’s not the biggest reach that he would be aware of the princess who’s a scientific genius, scoffs at tradition but is also ready to go into battle to protect her people. i think this reason is solidified during her visit talokan. her compassion, empathy and sense of justice, even in the midst of her grief, threatens to bend him slightly. you see him pause and bargain with her. the more he’s around her, the more he wants her to stick around.

i think all three reasons are correct. it’s a mixture of hope for an alliance, meeting a mythic equal, and shuri’s attractive characteristics which makes namor pursue her and this ‘courtship’.

and how did her court her? well:

he gives her a beautiful talokanil gown that is dripping is jade (one of the most valuable stones and has many connotations with love). it was specifically made for her. his symbol is also embroidered in it. he is also dressed to the nines, regal- he wanted to dress up for her. which makes sense. he wants to impress her.

he gifts her a valuable family heirloom. the bracelet is gorgeous, but also was the symbolic promised made to his mother that namor would be king. he’s openly trusting her with an object that holds so much history and it’s a gift of gratitude. what is he thanking her for? her openness, understanding, empathy? she has obviously left a stunning impression on the god king.

he tells her the story of talokan. knowledge is power and it’s a scene of both trust and vulnerability that he lets her know the history of his people. and he emphasises the why over the how. he needs her to understand why the protection of his people are so important to him.

he makes her one of the only people from the surface to see talokan. it isn’t clear whether he planned this from the start or if shuri’s eagerness made him throw caution to wind. again he remarks how he was blinded by hope, so maybe the latter. he is also very proud to show off the sun he gave to his people. a scientific genius seeing an underwater sun that he built?! yeah, he knows what he’s doing

maybe most importantly, he listens and offers her understanding when she is opening up about her pain. he talks about his fears and vulnerabilities too. as a god, he is constantly grieving the lives of tolakanil who age normally. he is unable to answer her questions, but gives advice from his ancestors and alludes to the fact she could still be a great leader, even if she feels broken.

and let it be known that namor was written to be seductive. ryan coogler says as much. coogler also lists the key principles that they couldn’t change about namor, a few of these things being his charisma, confidence and hitting on other people’s wives. simply, namor was written to have that seductive swagger and charm that could win over people.

and it was working. at the end of their little moment, shuri has a greater understanding and respect towards namor and talokan. she accepts him putting the bracelet on around her wrist when she could have easily refused. she truly admires what namor has done for his people. this is the guy who threatened wakanda with an army the first time he met the queen and wants to kill riri williams. and shuri let her guard down and allowed him to charm her. but not to the point of throwing away her own sense of justice. something namor tries to bargain with but has no such luck.

but even after shuri is ‘rescued’ it’s still so telling that shuri keeps wearing the bracelet until someone brings attention to it. namor is literally caressing the shell he gave to wakanda after shuri leaves. he teases and calls her princess in the midst of battle. whatever they had didn’t just die when she left talokan. only there’s no time to dwell on it when war comes knocking.

it could have been different namor remarks after everything. after attacking wakanda, killing her mother and finally stabbing shuri onto a rock. it’s interesting that’s what his mind goes to. their unofficial ‘courtship’. and he doesn’t seem victorious in that moment. just deeply disappointed. the hope he had cruelly taken away from him.

shuri revives that hope. with a spear at his throat, she is reminded of her time in talokan, of namor’s smile, at his love for his people. she draws parallels and sees herself in him. it’s what brings back her from the brink of eternal war. and she offers an alliance on her terms.

so the question is, was the courtship a success?

namor seems to think so. or at least he knows this isn’t the end. he believes princess shuri will inevitably be back for his help soon enough once the world turns on wakanda. and then the control would be back in his court. i can’t help but think he has other reasons besides politics as to why he wants shuri to turn to him. the lonely god craves an equal. but these reasons might get him into trouble with namora.

it is clear that the ‘courtship’ of princess shuri was not a failure, but warm up for next game between panther and feathered serpent which namor is eagerly awaiting. i don’t believe shuri could be so easily charmed this time round, but i’ll never underestimate a relentless god who has found his mythical equal.

#i love looking at their dynamic like this #wakanda forever spoilers #wakanda forever #namuri #namor x shuri #shuri x namor #meta #marvel #mcu #black panther #nashuri

[eatommo]

Like Real People Do [d.d]

Summary: You and Mando have a history of broken hearts and are both looking for a place to land in the galaxy you live in, but you'll always have each other.

A/n: Not beta'd! mistakes are my own! and look a Hozier song to a Pedro fic what's new! I love this. I hope you do too! 6.2k

Cw: Canon typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, use of weapons, mutual pining, discussions of loss, discussions of war, brief mentions of grief, Reader is from Alderaan (trauma that comes from that), the reader has some of my tattoos because we love a self-insert, broken glass, pubic hair?, unprotected p in v, mentions of marking, hickeys, mentions of oral sex m/f receiving, fingering, the helmet stays on, breeding kink if you squint, as always touched starved Din, themes involving depression and loss, takes place post season 3 but has a flash back to season 1, I probably missed something but let me know!

It had been ages since you’d seen him. You’re not sure how many rotations, but not a day has passed that you didn’t think about him.  But there, just passing the entrance to the trading post, his shiny beskar helmet flashes over the crowd.  

You put your head down, looking at the spare parts you were hoping to auction off for some measly credits at a holiday festival for some caf and to help you hopefully buy some piece of junk craft to get you off this dusty and dry planet.  

Maybe you’ll be lucky and you can slink away, and evade an awkward reunion all altogether.  You found an outcropping and a small table covered in different smoked meats and small roasted animals.  

You try to sell the fact that you look busy while you think about the last time you spoke to him.  Your conversation about the rebel symbol marred into your skin with black ink, Cara had done it herself, and you’d helped her put the very same symbol on her cheek. The pain felt good, it mirrored the grief that felt immeasurable and it almost felt like a release of all of the terrible thoughts of your family’s final moments.  Had your family suffered? Did they even know what was coming for them?  

You were young and had just gotten off the planet in search of something greater, a higher purpose. Something to believe in, and the empire stole everything you’d ever known in one simple explosion. 

It had handed you a purpose, for a time. Working with the rebellion, standing with your Princess, and fighting and punishing the Empire for the loss of Alderaan.  Cara and you were hiding out on Sorgan after leaving your post as shock troopers. You were in the fresher when they started to tousle outside, you expected some gruff Klatoonian who she sharked in a bet, as it often was.  Instead, she lies on her belly, a blaster pointed at a chrome-covered Mandalorian, who is lying on his back with a weapon drawn.

The only thing that holds your attention is a little green baby holding a cup of soup, mirroring your amusement waddling up next to you.  

He coos, looking between you and his companion like he expects you to save him.  “Sorry bud, I’m with her.” 

An aggravated harsh pant cuts you off, “Stay away from him.” The blaster shifts to you, but you raise your hands and keep an even temper.  He looks between the two of you, who clearly have no intention or idea what he is in possession of, and offers to buy the two of your dinner.  

He didn’t speak much at first, but as you and Cara drank away a flagon of spotchka and you shared your interest in his ship, having to grow up around the rebel's fleet and wanting to see such an old military craft, he offered to show you.  

“It’s a short walk, the kid is falling asleep in your lap anyway.”  You look down at the little wrinkled green monster, blinking slowly with his massive eyes as you stroke his ears, you can’t help but fawn over him.  

“I can’t believe they’re hunting a baby.”  Whispering, as you feel the warmth of his tiny body, heartbroken at the idea of an imperial remnant looking for children.  

“He is older than I am.” His surprisingly playful voice almost startled you, he’d been quietly walking by your side as you carried the little guy nestled into your chest.

“He’s” you struggle to find words, but you can feel an energy emanating from the little creature in your arms “magnificent.” 

The Mandalorian hums lowly, agreeing with you.   There’s a pause for a few moments while you look over at him, “Did you find a lot of purpose? With the rebellion?” 

It's your turn to be broody, “For a time.” Suddenly feeling subconscious you speak a little bit more quietly, “Just waiting for the next thing to believe in I guess.” You sigh, gazing down into the dark black ink just above your rebel stripes, “It feels like I could keep fighting forever, but hearing all this, seeing such a small child threatened by the same evil as I was, it feels like I already have.” You’re not sure if he understands you,  or even what side of the war he stood on.  

“You feel like there’s reasons to fight.” He looks down into the baby drifting to sleep in your clutches.  “But afraid that you have no fight left.”  You half expect him to be criticizing you.  Mandalorians have lost almost as much as you have, but are warriors by nature and have fought and continue to be feared across the galaxy as mercenaries and bounty hunters.  His voice is soft, and understanding, as if processing his words himself. 

 You spot the ship ahead, falling silent in your admiration you trudge through the leaves and sticks that have fallen from the ship clearing its landing.  The ramp hisses as it falls open to welcome its pilot, but you stop outside to admire the twin engines and their decades-long wear and tear.  

Walking around the ship to admire her heavy laser cannons and her yellow markings.  He watches you with a quiet but proud silence, as you eventually shuffle up the ramp to set the little one into a floating pram.  Your eye catches a glimpse of a carbonite freezing chamber, and a little anxious butterfly seems to stir in your belly, how much do you trust him?  

“I always thought I’d die looking for a bounty when I got too old, too slow, or just in plain luck.”  You turn heel to face him, heartbeat clipping unsteadily in your chest, but you raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.  He hesitates and sets himself on top of one of the shipping containers. “But protecting this child has made me dream of a life I never thought I could fight for.” 

You can feel your body soften at his confession, cursing yourself for thinking lowly of a man whose been nothing but kind and trusting of you.  “I’m sure it's lonely.” You take a small but calculated breath, “He is lucky to have you.” The smile is soft, and you try to reassure him despite yourself. 

He looks at you standing but a few steps away from him, and nods, “I’m just as lucky.” 

The bustle of the holiday market slows to accommodate him, traversing through the stalls as all shapes and sizes scurry out of his way.  You swear to yourself, turning away and buying some meat you can’t afford.  When you hear your modulated name fall out of his mouth like a prayer, soft and delicate.  He steers around the crowd, veering right into your path as a child walks in front of you blowing bubbles from the straw of a festive drink.  

The Mandalorian approaches you with purpose, his walk deliberate and commanding as if everyone in the vicinity answers to him.  “Mando.” you smile briefly, warmth heating your cheeks, and the never-fading crush you have on this man skipping around your belly.  “Hi.” 

His gaze stays fixed as he reaches for your arm, touching a patch of ink that not only is new to him but you completely forgot about.  His glove runs over it and when it doesn’t smear it might’ve made his knees buckle. “The Crest.” 

You peer into the helmet, glad to have him near you again, and realizing how much you missed hearing his voice, a rush of blood washes over your cheeks again.  “Yeah,” you fumble around doubting your reasons for getting that tattoo in the first place, “I’ve been adding a couple of ships that are important to me.” 

You hear a small noise but are unable to determine the emotion behind it, “I was hoping to see you on Nevarro,”  your heart rate picks up in your chest, and of course, his helmet picks it up, “the last few times.” 

“I’ve been moving around, looking for something new.” There’s a sleepy squeal coming from his satchel, “is that?” He swings it around to the front and opens the top of the bag to reveal your favorite green forehead. “Handsome man! I’ve missed you little mudscuffer.” 

Mando chuckles under his breath as you pull the baby from his confines and offer him a piece of the meat you just bought. He swallows it down greedily.  “I swear he eats. He just woke up.” 

You smile and give him a playful look, “Is daddy feeding you enough munchkin?” You hand the baby another strip, Mando is glad you don’t see him adjusting his pants as the word daddy slips between your lips innocently, “Don't worry I’ll get you something sweet too.” 

Mando rests his hands on his hips, and shakes his head in mock defeat, “He’s not gonna want to leave.” He follows at your back as you carry the child through the marketplace, sometimes letting his palm rest on your back to keep close to you.  

He would not be one to admit but seeing you carry the child around reminds him of the times on Sorgan, of the weeks you spent together and his floundering inability to court you.  Even now the way you look at him has him hiding behind his beskar helm like a foolish schoolgirl.  

“He doesn’t have to, are you here for business?” You cast a look over your shoulder, “He can stay with me while you take care of whatever you need.” You find a stall selling some fruity overpriced drink for the planetary holiday. 

You look into your bag, coming up just a few credits short, and cursing at yourself.  Starting to walk away, “I’ve got it.” He cuts in front of you while gripping your shoulder and standing over the top of you, handing more than enough credits to the man in exchange for two drinks.  

Yet another blush creeps into your cheeks, “No need to spoil me.”  You offer the child his drink and he snatches it away from you eagerly with a screech.

“I want to.” That causes your brows to knit together and a deep ache below your belt to settle and warm. 

You sip away at the luxuriously sweet drink, wishing you could at least share it with him. “I have a room at an inn,” you offer, “or we could go back to the Crest, and catch up.” 

You lean against one of the walls so that you don’t accidentally traverse even further from his bounty.  “I don’t have the crest.” 

Your drink turns to ash in your mouth, “What? Is she in disrepair? I’m sure Karga-“ 

“It’s rubble on the planet Tython.” He’s sad, of course he is, but his hand finds the mark on your skin again, and you can’t help but mull over the memories, the connection you shared on that ship eviscerated. 

“I’m so sorry.” You let your head hang low, remembering how many conversations you shared hoping he’d invite you aboard as crew.  “I loved that ship. I mean not as much as you I’m sure.” 

He chuckles, thumb brushing over the silhouette as he speaks, “You don’t happen to know how to rewire an N-1 starfighter engine?”  

“I’m sure I could look at it, but I don’t think I’d be much help. Where the hell did you find one?” You’re a bumbling mess, wanting so eagerly for him to scoop you off this planet like he had before, but also knowing your heart couldn’t bear to watch him leave a third time.  

“I didn’t think so but I have no idea what you’ve been up to and-“ he pauses, stopping himself to watch you take a sip of the drink after licking some whipped cream off of the straw.  

“And?” You prompt him to continue, but he stares between you and the child who have matching bright red tongues and are both sporting some whipped cream out of the corners of your mouths.  

You catch a hint of strain in his voice, “We can rest at your place for a while. He’s due for a nap.” You squint at him a little, easily reading his stiff body language and the change of subject.  

At the word nap, the baby babbles away while chewing on the straw of his drink, “There’s a lot of sugar in this, so we might have to wait it out.”  

Mando lets out an exasperated sigh, “What have you gotten us into.” You’re both sitting on the floor of a modest single room with the little one taking turns climbing up and over the two of you.  

“You bought it,” raising your hands in defense, smile splitting ear to ear,  “I was going to split one with him.”  You reach out to try to grab his surprisingly quick body but he darts away with a giggle.  

“He’ll crash, eventually.” You could hear him talk about the baby for hours,  to sit with him and watch the two of them play together always felt like a treat on its own. “Get down from there.” 

“He’s fine, this place is a dump anyway.” You smirk over your shoulder as he climbs up onto your bed, rolling around and giggling half to himself while chewing on the mythosaur skull pendant around his neck. 

“How did you end up here?” Your face falls a little, but he’s kind, and soft, and you can tell he doesn’t want to pry but his curiosity is getting the best of him.  

“I was tracking a bunch of smugglers, the republic got word that they were hauling children to Canto Bight, and exporting them maker knows where.” You continue, trying to keep your breath even, “Cara had asked me as a favor, but I had a run-in with a group of pirates who saw my stripes and stole my ship.” 

“Does she know?” He shuffles closer to you, folding his knees in so that he can run a hand soothingly across the skin of your leg.  

“I don’t know,” You clear the tightness in your throat, “At least I don’t think so.” You find the words pouring out of you as if he is comforting you into realizing something you’ve been fighting for a long time.  “I don’t think I can fight like this anymore, and I don’t know how to tell her that.” 

He is quiet, giving a simple solemn nod, before pulling the rising phoenix from his back, and laying it on the floor.  He scoots closer to you, settling next to you as you both lean against the foot of your bed.  His beskar shoulder plate is cold on your cheek, as you lean against him, seeking reassurance you haven’t felt in so long.  

Silently a tear falls down your face, and as if prompted by his little superpowers the baby, climbs into your lap nuzzling your cheek and touching your face gently with a warm hand.  There are a lot of things this child is capable of, things you can’t begin to understand, over a lifetime that is marred with more violence and confusion than you will likely ever know existed. When he touches you, you can feel his pain and loss, but he also shares with you a joy and unfathomable curiosity over the smallest things he remembers.  

“I can’t take you on the N-1,” his voice startles you out of your stupor with the baby, “but if you’ll give me a few days, I’ll be back to pick you up, and you can stay with us on Nevarro until you find somewhere else, something else to do.” 

Your breath is shaking, and you’re not even sure the last time you felt safe enough to cry.  A small piece of you wants to run because that's what you've been doing for these last 10 or so years of your life.  Running from the Empire, running after them, and then running from yourself.  “I don’t think I could.” 

“Why not?” he reaches for your shaking hand, setting his gloved hand on top of yours, driving the energy in the room with the ease of piloting a speeder bike.  

“You’re a family, he has a routine, you’ve settled into this beautiful life that you’ve worked tirelessly for.  I couldn’t impose.” You try your best to sound strong like you’ve got a plan ahead of you, and the idea of not being around the two of them doesn't make your heart ache. 

He hums, and for a moment your cry is less of confusion and more out of pain.  His hand is gone from yours, and the lack of his warmth feels like a slap into reality, as you pinch your eyes shut to stop yourself from being embarrassed even further. 

You jump.  There's a much larger warm hand caressing your cheek, and turning your head into the dark stare of his visor.  You can see the tanned skin of his wrist as he turns your face slightly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “It is the greatest mistake of my life leaving you on Sorgan.” 

You sniffle, the words sorting through the emotional fog of your brain, searching the blank emotionless canvas of metal for a hint of human connection, a flutter of an eyelash, anything.  You can’t find anything, until you hear the faint sound of his breath from beneath his mask, stuttering and insecure, his chest rising and falling like he’s fighting a battle with his own emotions.  

You feel it again, a swell in your chest of love and admiration and then you feel the tiny claws digging into the skin of your bicep. You look down at the tiny man as he steps between where your chests are separated by mere inches, “Could I have her come and get us?” You’re quiet as a loth cat, voice heady and rough. “I don’t think I could watch you go.” 

He lets the little one settle into his lap after a moment, this time you can hear relief and a half-broken smile in his tone, “Let’s just wait until he falls asleep, I’ll go to the ship and send a transmission.  I’ll come back with his pram, and then where we go. You go.” 

You clear your throat again, wanting so desperately for this to be real and aching to touch him.  “Okay.” your voice barely makes a squeak, he pressed the cold beskar helm to your temple.  

Wondering if he feels as raw as you, you place your hand on top of his suppressing the need to comment on how large it is, and tangle your fingers with his.  You stare at his hand, tanned and massive and warm. Human. You fold your legs in on themselves and shift your body so that you may properly look at him. 

The glove sits in his lap, and he looks so imposing in this tiny half-furnished room, polished and chrome in the dingy and ill-lit space you've called ‘home’ for these last few cycles.  You take his other hand, and look up to see if he’s going to stop you, but he is still and silent, so you slip the glove off his hand.  You trace from the tip of his middle finger, down his palm and up towards the pulse point of his wrist. 

He shudders beneath your touch, thankful for the mask to hide the crimson flush of his cheeks. He’s never had the opportunity to enjoy a tenderness like this, to feel his pulse quicken and the nervous butterflies he’s heard described during love stories on a holodrama.  It’s terrifying, he feels like he could vomit, but the way your delicate fingers trace circles over the palm of his hand makes him want to run his hands over every last inch of your body until he knows it inside and out like his blaster. 

The child settles into his lap, leaning his head against your arm as his head and eyes grow heavier with sleep.  “Why don’t we walk to your ship together?”  

Your eyes are bright, and he can tell by your posture that you feel better, but he can’t stop the audible grumble, not ready to let you or even your hand slip from his.  He nods and swallows harshly to clear his throat, “Alright.”

You walk across the market again, and the crowd parts before the two of you except this time you are holding onto his hand, and rather than trying to avoid his gaze like every other soul walking the market, you cling to his him trying to suppress the smirk curling the corners of your mouth.  

Nevarro has changed so much, you spend the first few days just getting accustomed to the new layout of the town.  Dropping the child, ‘Grogu’ (it took a while but it grew on you) at school, and then going to spend time in the market picking up some rations and some of the seasonal veg you’ve been coaxing into the little one’s belly.  

The domestic bliss that comes with living with Mando is both welcome and intoxicating.  You’re awake at odd hours of the night, talking and sharing stories about Jawas and your run-ins with Ewoks,  and sharing your dreams and hopes for the galaxy.  

He shares stories about Mandalore, about visiting there for the first time and bathing in the healing waters, about Bo Katan seeing a Mythasaur alive. All things you heard about as a young child, and symbols that brought hope and purpose to the entire creed were real and were aiding to heal the planet and its inhabitants. 

Then there were times when you both laid on the floor, watching the little one interact with a metal sphere, using his magic to hover it just out of your grasp and giggling himself to a peaceful sleep.  You’d lay together, wrapped in the comfort and protection of his house, and stare at the little man as he sleeps occasionally peaking into the reflection of yourself in his helmet, and blushing when you catch your own heart racing.

You want to tell him how you crave to be with him, how addicting his presence and his mind are to you, but you’re afraid.  Afraid to move too fast, to step over his barriers, but also knowing that each second without knowing the softness of his mouth is torture. 

The first time you see him in his sleep clothes, a plain dark green shirt with three buttons on the top and loose-fitting black canvas pants, no metal aside from his helmet, you choke on your cup of Jawa juice.   He’s large even without the metal beefing up his silhouette, his back broad and the fabric thin enough for you to see his muscles move as he opens a drawer for silverware. Even treating yourself to a glimpse of his waist and the way it tapers to his ass and hips.  

It’s become more common, in fact when he gets home, he almost immediately strips out of the armor in favor of something more casual and comfortable.  

Tonight the energy is different. The kid passes out early and you’re soaking a pot you used for dinner in the sink when he emerges out of his room.  You hear his footsteps, but they’re muted and soft, he’s barefoot. As you glance over your shoulder as he offers you a glass from his bedroom you see he’s in briefs, (the house is admittedly warmer as the seasons change) but the shock is plain as day as you turn so quickly away the glass slips from your hand and shatters on the floor. But the image of his chest spattered with hair that trailed down his soft belly and into the top of his black undergarments. 

You both are silent for  a moment, hoping the noise isn’t loud enough to wake the baby, in his silence you swear, “Kriff, don’t move I’ll get a broom.” You shy away, looking to the ground for a safe path.  

He cuts you off arm darting in front of you to halt your movement,  “I’ll get it.” His hand comes to rest on your hip stalling your movements with his warm palm. 

His other hand reaches out and before you can grumble in discontent he's lifting you onto the counter. You sit there, flustered with your hands tucked between your thighs as he fiddles with the control of his helmet flicking through to see which would help him find the scattered pieces of glass the best.  

It's moments, but it feels like an eternity as he searches for a broom, sweeping the glass into a neat pile before discarding it into the bin silently.  He settles between your legs, silent as a mouse.  

“I'm sorry.” You smile sheepishly, struggling to maintain eye contact as he hovers in front of you, inches separating your face, and if it were any cooler you would’ve fogged the front of his mask with your breath. 

He chuckles dryly, “Don’t be, I’ll take it as a compliment.”  His posture is full of confidence, but also comfortable and relaxed.  You long to touch him, to run your hand over his chest and abdomen, to feel the muscles shift in his back as he- “Mesh’la?” 

You blink yourself out of a daze, “You should, you’re so handsome.”  He braces his hands on the counter next to your hips and leans ever closer.

“Yeah?” His voice is hot like a pant, stroking a fire in the room that neither of you are able to ignore any longer. 

“Yeah.” You smirk at him, emboldened and smoothing your hands up the strong plains of his arms, squeezing lightly around the muscles of his biceps.  You let your foot run across his calf, urging him closer to your body, his hands find your waist, firm but careful as his thumbs stroke the skin just below your breasts.  You curse yourself for even bothering with a bra band.  

“I like having you here.” His head tilts, you can almost see the gears turning in his brain as he continues, “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He uses his strength to pull you a little closer to him, so with each breath your chests touch and your core is flush to his abdomen.  “Having you in my kitchen, sitting on my counter looking so pretty, so-” He swipes the hair off your shoulder exposing your neck and throat, “edible.” 

Any chance you had of playing it cool is gone, you want nothing more than to bend to his will.  His hand disappears from your side, and he tangles it in your hair, using it to fix your eyes to his through the helm, as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.  You feel completely safe, but there’s something about him thats dangerous, hungry even, and it makes your skin damp with sweat.

He sounds like he’s in agony, like each passing moment without consuming you is torture, and you ache for him in a way that astonishes you, embarrasses you, not even sure that you could stand on your own two feet.  

“I need you.” He whispers, breath uneven almost a growl, “Tonight. Now.” He reaches between your legs, letting his fingers ghost over you ever so gently, as if asking, no begging, for permission.

You swallow hard, his helmet tilts, admiring you, and you hardly manage to stutter a yes.  Part of you expects him to be quick, tearing at your clothes and taking you right here in the kitchen. 

 He doesn’t.

 He goes slow, letting the crest of his helmet fall to rest on your forehead, taking his time to caress your hips, tracing up your sides and taking your shirt with it.  His hands are warm, but bring goosebumps to your skin as he touches you, hands squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipple.  You keen, pressing desperately against his hands.  You lean in, placing a kiss to his collarbone, gentle and moving slow so he may stop you if he wants, but he drops his shoulder and tilts his head to expose his neck.  

You kiss his collarbone again, letting your tongue dart out to taste his skin, he’s vibrating beneath you. Trembling as you kiss the hollow of his throat and nibble at the skin of his neck.  You run your hands down his chest, basking in the intimacy and living for the scent of his skin.

He lifts you in a fluid motion, whisking you out of the kitchen and into his modest bedroom.  Laying you on the bed, he runs his hands down your legs and removes your pants.  You blush, unable to hide your arousal but noticing the prominent tent in his briefs, your mouth waters and you get to consider getting on your knees for him briefly.  

He’s faster than you, and not thinking about himself.  Ripping your underwear from your body and running the tip of his index fingers through your folds. “All this for me?” He circles your entrance, gathering your slick before brushing across your clit with leg-shaking precision.  

You chase his touch, the pleasure coating your tongue and fogging your brain even more than you can put into words. You beg for him to get closer, to press your bodies together until you weren't sure you'd ever part.

You're expecting to feel shorted by the absence of his mouth on yours.  No taste of him, and not getting to hear his words directly from his mouth, but his touch is consuming.  Like he's worshiping and waking each cell with caresses and adoration that's as palpable in the air as his sheets were soft on your back.  

There are noises, words you think, that he is muttering between each supple squeeze and tease, words you've heard him say before but their meaning is only now defined by his actions.  

Love.  He loves you.  You can feel it in the heat of his hands as he spreads your legs apart and admires the way you part for him, and he sinks two fingers into your fluttering pussy, pushing up and stroking something dangerous. 

His erection is nestled against your leg, and he shifts his hips with every twist of his fingers for a few moments, pressed between your bodies he feels a glimmer of relief with a groan, as much as he wants to bathe you in attention, he thinks that if he waits any longer his heart might give out before the best part.  “Mesh’la,” he twists his fingers as if to be sure you're listening, “Please.” 

“Yes,” you nod, swallowing harshly as he slips free of his underwear, cock springing free of its confines.  You gawk, unabashedly, as he did to you just moments ago. He's large, intact, leaning slightly to his left, and the skin is tanned brown, slightly darker than the rest of his body, thick and weeping out of the brilliantly flushed pink tip, the base adorned with sparse but dark hair that trails up to his navel deliciously.   When he steps between your legs and lets it rest on your abdomen to press your forehead together again, you feel its heady weight against you and stoop so low as to beg, “Please.”

You're echoing each other's moans as he grinds against your folds, coating himself in your slick before sinking into you in a single brutally slow thrust. When he bottoms out, you do your best not to squeak as the girth of his member breaks you open, it doesn't hurt, rather it feels like you've both waited an eternity to come to this very moment, euphoric and fulfilling the needs of your body and soul.  

He grinds his pelvis against yours letting his hand shift to cup your cheek, staring at you, he hopes somehow you can sense it. How he is barely able to stop passing between the pout of your lips and the deep pleading look in your eyes, begging him for the same thing his heart is calling for.   He could weep, having finally shorn the armor to dedicate himself to you, because the truth is, all you needed was to ask. He would've dropped his creed, everything he had achieved, and the meek life he'd planned for himself to grovel at your feet for the rest of his human life.  

Devotion, that's what it was called.  He had felt at many moments of his life that he was in the right place, blessing along his journeys that started out as miracles, friends, familial bonds he didn't think he deserved.  It felt misplaced, the little blessings that had entered his life so quickly that he swore they had to have been accidents. It had taken losing the child and abandoning you on that god-forsaken planet, for him to reflect, and to realize that the life he deserved was not determined by some blasters and an army, nor his home planet.  He had the life he wanted in his palms once, and watched it slip through his fingers with the charred remains of his ship.  His grip tightened instinctively, twisting the sheet in his fist. 

It was you.  You were the representation of all of the things he wanted but never thought he deserved.  A family, a place to call home, and you even had committed something as passing as his ship to your skin with a permanence that scared him.  

Here your skin was warm, surrounding him, nurturing him, squeezing him, and his mind was trying so hard to be a person, not a machine, loving someone else for the first time.  

He found the words, he said it to you, over and over with his pelvis angled just right as he ground his hips into you.

He was throbbing inside of you, you could feel the slick slide and pulse of him with each thrust. The pleasure was so intense you were whimpering and mewling beneath him, wetness smearing onto your thighs and running on the sheets below.

You've had sex before of course, and now you seriously doubt you've been doing it right. You kiss at the hollow of his throat, and in response he hunches over you, arms on either side of your head, animalistic yet praising affirmations go straight to the building heat in your core.  

You let your hands, come up to his back digging your nails into his skin.  He moans in shock as his thrusts grow more frenzied, spurred on by the bite of pain at his back.  He reaches between you and circles your clit with his thumb, pulling you headfirst into your orgasm.  You're body goes taught and relaxes all at once, the pleasure blinding you as your vision goes white and each tilt of his hips makes you stutter out an overstimulated moan. 

The fluttering of your sex around him would be enough to send over the edge but as you catch your breath you begin to beg for him to finish inside you.  He does, still feeling you shivering through the after waves of your own, as he groans and revels through the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, complete with curled toes and a knuckle-popping grip on the sheets.  He’s still looking at you, the rise of fall of your chests bumping into each other and your breath fogging the front of his helmet so much that when you kissed right over his eye, he could see the imprint of your lips for just a passing moment. 

“I can’t believe we waited so long.”  You chuckle, all smiles but looking as dazed and spent as he felt. A shiver coming over him as the small sounds cause you to tighten slightly around him as he softens, his body incredible sensitive. 

“I’ll spend the rest of our life making up for it.”  You note the sound of him speaking through the grit of his teeth, and do your best to lie still, not wishing to be parted just yet.

Months later, you’re married in a private ceremony in front of friends and his brothers and sisters of the clan.  It's quick, and everything you had expected of a warrior’s wedding.  You get the mudhorn symbol tattooed into the skin nestled behind your ear, wearing it proudly and with your vows you are made a family, a clan of three in front of all the important people you care about. 

You’d be remiss if what had you most excited isn’t the filthy promises he’s made to you about that night, taking his helmet off and kissing you everywhere he can for as long as he wishes.  Promising to leave a mark over your new clan sigil as he marks the rest of your body for him, as you’ve done to him many times over. You get to admire his face and the most handsome man in the galaxy who kneels before you with reverence and vows to take care of you with more than just his words. 

#pedro pascal #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin #eatommos 🗞️ #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian smut #din djarin x reader smut #din x reader #pedro pascal fanfic

[tightjeansjavi]

Slow Hands | Chapter 10

“the lone moose”

A/N: disclaimer before we get into this chapter, this is a very emotionally/mentally heavy chapter that might not be suitable for everyone. The main topic of this chapter and the next is focused around Joel’s attempted suicide and Tommy’s C-PTSD. This content maybe triggering for some, and if that is the case, please do not read if you feel triggered. Warnings will be marked appropriately. Take care of yourselves first. And as always, a huge thanks to my beta @angelofsmalldeath-codeine 🤍

~word count: 6.9k~

Summary: the wolves of Jackson are lurking

Pairing | Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: !DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! thoughts of suicide, semi-graphic depictions of attempted suicide, brief moment of stigmatizing suicide (Tommy’s reaction) canon-typical violence, graphic depiction of an injury, semi-graphic depictions of childloss (and the trauma that comes with it) angst, grief, guilt, anxiety, heavy topics, anger, overwhelming emotions, C-PTSD responses, fear responses, no age gap, readers nicknames is Beanie (coffee beans) +18 minors DNI! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!

Slow Hands Masterlist

Two days had passed since Joel and Ellie took the steps together to make up. Joel already had a visible pep in his step, and a lightness in his eyes that Tommy hadn’t seen in his brother for over 20 years. Joel’s back still ached, but the pain was subdued.

Patrol was long and uneventful. The two brothers only had a handful of evidence gathered to present to Maria, but neither would give up hope. After untacking Tex and Timber, Joel and Tommy turned both horses out in one of pastures just outside the stables. Tess was grazing alongside the fence when Timber and Tex went to greet her.

A wave of melancholy washed over his features as he watched Tex and Tess nuzzle one another affectionately. He thought of you, of course.

“Hey, Joel?” Tommy asked alongside him with his arms resting along the wooden fence. “Y’wanna have a drink with me real quick at the Tipsy Bison before y’head home?” He rasped softly.

“I’d love to, but I promised Ellie we’d have a movie night tonight. Can’t go and let her down, y’know? How about tomorrow?” Joel suggested with a grin.

“Ah, movie night with the kiddo. Hey, I think that’s great that y’all are movin’ forward. Tomorrow sounds good.” Tommy responded with a genuine smile. It was a relief that he and Joel were growing close again. He missed his brother terribly.

“Yeah, and Beanie as well. I let Ellie pick out the movie. Think she said we were gonna watch Curtis and Viper 2.” Joel stifled a chuckle as he glanced down at the toe of his boots.

“Aw shit, that’s a good one! Well, you enjoy yourself, okay? Adios, big brother. See ya in the mornin.’” Tommy reached over and gave Joel a side hug before he pushed himself off the fence.

“See ya in the mornin, Tommy.” Joel mumbled to himself with a smile slowly creeping over his lips. Truthfully, he was rather excited for this movie night with you and Ellie. He couldn’t picture a better way to spend his evening than with his two favorite girls.

“Hey, Tex? Y’keep a good eye on your gal tonight. Y’hear? I’ll see ya in the mornin’, pal.” He spoke softly as his horse lifted his head from where he was grazing. He let out a snort in response as his tail swished away at the pesky flies.

The weight of Tommy’s letter in Joel’s pocket felt ten times heavier than when Joel first had written it. He thought about making a quick pit stop at the Tipsy Bison to give it to him, but tomorrow was a new day. He’d give the letter to Tommy first thing in the morning.

Ellie’s carved wooden fawn was tucked away in the inside pocket of his flannel. He brought it on patrol to show Tommy, and because he liked having a piece of his baby girl with him. Tonight he’d give her the gift, and to you, his precious star, something that twinkled like the night sky; matching charm bracelets. Two golden hearts dangling from the chains. Appearing brand new, untouched. The names Peggy carved into one, and Steve into the other. Lovers from the past, and now lovers in the present.

He couldn’t wait to see the look on your pretty face when he would present the bracelet to you. He said one last goodbye to the horses. He’d pass by your home en route to his own as he usually did every evening after patrol. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until he noticed a figure looming in the distance. He squinted his eyes through the harsh rays of the setting sun. He approached the figure with cautious steps.

As far as he was concerned, no one ever hung around your home like this. It raised suspicions immediately. His boots crunched under loose dirt as the figure stopped their pacing and seemed to pause in thought.

“Cody?” Joel’s tone ran cold, edged with a sharp suspicion as his footsteps stopped a foot away. A balmy breeze sifted through his salt and pepper streaked tendrils.

The younger man looked around for a moment as the gears in Joel’s brain began to work on overdrive. He knew Cody, or so he thought. He believed Cody was a good man. They shared many meals, conversations—

“Have y’seen Beanie around by chance?” Cody asked casually as he ignored the obvious suspicion that Joel was facing.

Joel’s hackles raised on instinct as he watched Cody lean up against your fence with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Haven’t seen her since this mornin.’” Joel responded flatly. He knew right then and there that he had to play this cool for the time being. He didn’t need Cody knowing that he was onto him.

“Right. Well, thanks anyway, old man.” Cody muttered the last bit as he turned on his heel to walk away.

“What’re you doin’ hangin’ around her place anyway? Y’know I could have you—”

“Reported? Yeah, sure you can. What would you even report me for, Miller? Cody scoffed. “All you had to do was not get yourself involved. Coulda just kept your nose out of things, but that’s not how you play your game, right?” He turned to face the older man once more just as a distinctive crash was heard from inside of your home.

Joel moved quickly, but Cody was quicker. Stronger, and trigger happy.

Cody was pouncing on the older man like a predator does to their prey. They tousled in the dusty dirt before Cody had him pinned down. His fists rained down on Joel’s face and the pained groans only seemed to spur Cody on further.

“Just had to go and get yourself involved with that fuckin’ cunt, huh?!”

Joel tried to fold his arms over his head to block out the swift punches to his face. Cody was ruthless, and Joel wasn’t as strong as he once was. Years ago he would have snapped Cody like a toothpick, but his age was beginning to catch up with him and this was the result.

Through gritted teeth Joel attempted to use his weight to throw Cody off of him, but it was no use. “I’ll fuckin’ kill every last one of you. I’ll rip you limb from fuckin’ limb and scatter your remains to the wolves—”He growled.

“Yeah? And how do you propose you’re gonna do that, Joel? Y’ain’t the one with the upper hand here, old man! You’re not takin’ this from me! Imagine how proud he’ll be when I not only bring in the moose, but your precious Beanie too.” He sneered conceitedly.

That’s all Joel needed to get a second wind of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He growled between his teeth as he used what little remaining strength he had left to force Cody off of him. He was reaching for his concealed pistol tucked in his belt loop under his shirt, when Cody kicked it from his grasp just as the two men inside of your home came rushing out.

“Jesus! fuck, Cody! What the hell are you doin?’ This wasn’t part of the plan!” The one man, a burly fellow with scarred tissue from third degree burns that covered nearly half of the left side of his face yelled urgently. Through the rushing of blood, and pain stabbing every inch of Joel’s face, he recognized this man too. He recognized the man next to him as well, smaller in stature, but stocky. Alex and Oliver.

“Fuck the plan! I’m not gonna waste this opportunity!” He sent the heel of his boot right into Joel’s gut causing him to double over into the crimson speckled dirt with a pain ridden grunt. “Well?!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Was she in there or not?!”

Alex and Oliver slowly looked over at one another before their shoulders simultaneously slumped inward. “No, but—”

“FUCK!” Cody snarled out of sheer frustration. He couldn’t let him down. He was told he couldn’t show up empty handed. It wasn’t an option.

Just as Joel’s fingers weakly grasped the handle of his pistol, that lay only a short arms distance away, Cody sent his boot right into his face. There was a sickening crunching sound of bone matter and cartilage being crushed as Joel’s body stilled. He was knocked out cold from the impact as blood leaked down his face and soaked into the dusty earth beneath him.

Neither men moved as Cody began to pace in contemplation. He paid no mind to the consequences he would face for his actions.

“Cody, we need to get the fuck outta town right fuckin’ now! If anyone sees—”

“And show up empty handed?! Fuck no.”

“Cody, she wasn’t there. We have no fuckin’ clue where she could be. C’mon, let’s just go back and regroup before someone shows up and finds Joel layin’ in a pool of his own blood.”

Cody ignored his counterparts as he continued to pace in a tight circle. He suddenly stopped when the lightbulb went off in his sick mind. He turned towards the two men, with a smirk that could only be described as sinister, “Angie.”

Ellie was curled up against your body with her cheek pressed gently into your shoulder. Her eyes flickered towards the windows in the family room. She watched the last bit of sunlight dip behind the horizon as a warm summer breeze blew through the beige curtains.

Joel should have been home by now.

She waited with alert ears for the sound of the front door to squeak open any minute now. It never came.

She shifted against you before your gazes met. “Beanie, he should have been home by now.”

You understood full heartedly that this movie night was important to Ellie. This was the first time that she and Joel were going to be spending some quality time together after everything they had gone through. This was a big deal.

“Kiddo, I’m sure he’s on his way now. Maybe he and Tommy just got caught up in something?” You wanted to reassure her and yourself that Joel was in fact on his way, and maybe he was just running late.

“Beanie..he—promised. What if he’s ditchin’ me? God, this was so stupid.” She went to bury her hands in her face, but you stopped her.

“Ellie, he’s not ditching you. He would never do that to you. He loves you. I’m sure he’s just running late is all.” Your own fears began to crawl up into your subconscious. What if something was wrong? What if something had happened?

Ellie wanted to believe you, she really did, but her own fears were making an appearance as well. It didn’t help the fact that her last conversation with Joel had been about his suspicions of Lucas..

“I’m gonna go check the stables, okay? You stay here. Lock the doors.” Ellie was up from her spot on the couch before you could even attempt to stop her.

“Ellie,” you started, voice wavering from the building nerves, “be careful, okay?”

The teen looked over at you with a small, yet confident grin, “Always am.” Her face twisted back to a serious one as she tucked her gun in her hoodie pocket. Joel surely would have scolded her if he had seen it.

You listened to the soft click of the door opening and closing. Your eyes drifted over to the unoccupied spot on the couch where one of the pillows was smashed down. Joel’s spot. .

Please. Please just be running late.

Please be okay, Joel.

Tommy found himself reminiscing on the good ole days as he nursed his glass of beer. Condensation dripped down the outside of the glass like tear drops on cheeks. The noisy chatter that encircled him was drowned out by his thoughts. Joel had always been the protector, the planner, the guardian. And as a young boy, Tommy viewed Joel as his hero. His own beacon of light through the darkness. And when Sarah died? It all changed. He was angry. At the world. At himself. And now, here in this peaceful community, he was getting to see those small glimpses of the old Joel that had laid dormant for so many years.

The Joel that he knew and loved so deeply.

He left his glass half empty as he said his goodbyes to some of the patrol guys, and the barkeep before he walking towards the door.

He was heading in the direction of the home he shared with Maria when he noticed a mass laying just outside your home. He thought that his brain was playing a cruel trick on him, and the approaching dusk might have also played a role in what he was seeing.

Gravel and dirt particles crunched beneath his heavy boots as he started his approach. As he drew nearer, he was able to make out the outline of a body. And, oh—god

Tommy remembers the moment he heard the shot ring through Joel’s house as if it had happened just yesterday. While he gathered supplies in the garage, his big brother was upstairs with the barrel of a revolver pressed against his temple.

How could Tommy not have known? How could he have missed the signs? The indications that Joel was thinking of taking a drastic measure to end his life. How could he have missed it?

“Joel!” A younger Tommy Miller yelled in fear. He threw down the tool box in a haste. Tools of all shapes and sizes clattered to the concrete in a harsh crescendo.

“Joel! Please, no. Please.” He chanted weakly under his breath as his feet carried him up the staircase. He stumbled on the top step as a wave of nausea made its presence known.

“Joel!” He yelled again, more desperately than the last. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his brother so soon. He couldn’t. Not when just days ago they laid Sarah to rest. He couldn’t do this without Joel.

Sweat pooled at the back of his neck the closer he drew to the ajar opening of Sarah’s bedroom. He held onto the wall for support as his knees began to inevitably buckle from the dread crawling up his throat.

“Joel.” He croaked, “please. Please be alive in there.”

With a shaky breath, and through a mess of tears, Tommy pushed open Sarah’s bedroom door.

“I missed.” Joel murmured in disbelief. Disappointed that he couldn’t just do one thing fucking right. He couldn’t just follow through with his promise. His final wish to be with his daughter. His baby girl.

His palms trembled as his dull brown eyes flitted down to the revolver still in his grasp. He paid no mind to the blood slowly trickling from the right side of his head. Just a graze. Missed completely.

“Joel, what the fuck did you do that for?” Tommy wasn’t sure if he should laugh, cry, yell, all of the above? “You’re bleedin’, brother.”

“Oh.” Joel responded flatly. He brought his fingers up towards the right side of his head. He hardly flinched when his fingertips dragged through the flowing blood. He brought his hand back down to his eye level, fingers soaked in crimson. Then, the ringing started. Tommy’s voice started to sound fuzzy from the right side. “I flinched, Tommy. Thought I could do it. I was so sure—”

“Joel. Stop it, please.” Tommy nearly begged his brother as he cautiously moved in closer.

“I wanted to die, Tommy. I ain’t have anythin’ left to live for.” He refused to make eye contact with his brother purely out of shame.

“Killin’ yourself ain’t gonna bring Sarah back, Joel. Its fuckin’ selfish that you—” His words were bitter, jaded, sharpened with intent to harm. “I fuckin’ need you, Joel. I need my big brother to keep us alive. Is he still in there?” He pointed to Joel’s chest, symbolizing his heart.

When Joel finally brought his chin upwards to face his brother, the look on his sunken features shattered Tommy right down to the core. A broken man, father, brother. The same man that helped Tommy with his homework. The same man that taught him how to ride a bike. The same man that Tommy viewed as his hero. Where was he now?

“He died along with her.”

“Joel!” Tommy felt his voice get lodged in his throat at the sight of his older brother laying motionless in the crimson stained dirt. Panic began to swell and fester like an untreated wound the second his eyes landed on Joel’s handgun just an arms length away.

“No. No. Please— what happened, Joel!” He sank to his knees alongside him. “We were just—talkin’ about how much you were lookin’ forward to the movie night with Ellie and Beanie, remember? You said that you would see me in the mornin’, dammit!” He yelled, slamming one of his fists in the dirt before he took a shaky inhale. “Remember?”

He wouldn’t hurt himself, would he? The thought flashed through his mind briefly. He remembered finding Joel in a pool of his own blood after Sarah died. Tommy brushed away strands of Joel’s hair that were congealed together with blood. His brows furrowed intently when he found there was no bullet hole in Joel’s skull before he pressed his middle and pointer finger right against Joel’s pulse point.

Please. Please. Please still be in there, Joel.

When the faintest pulse was detected, Tommy let out a visible sound of relief. His big brother was alive, but Tommy knew he had to act fast.

“S’alright, big brother. You’re alright. Gonna get you fixed up.” He murmured to himself just as he heard approaching footsteps.

“Tommy?..” It was Ellie. Her voice wavered at the sight of her uncle and father on the ground. “J—Joel?!” Her eyes were wide with oncoming tears brimming when she locked in on Joel’s unmoving body.

“Tommy, wh—what the fuck happened?!” She blinked away her tears just as Tommy stood up from the ground. “Is he fuckin’ dead, Tommy?!”

“Ellie, I don’t know what happened. I was on my way home and—found him like this. He’s alive, kiddo. He’s alive, but we gotta get him to doc right away.” Tommy never felt like he was all that great at taking on the protective role, but his niece needed his comfort and reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

Ellie wasn’t listening to a word Tommy was saying. All she could focus on was Joel’s bloodied face and still body. Her emotions were consuming her entirely before she felt Tommy’s warm embrace wrapping her up. She let her tears soak into his shirt as she clung to him for dear life.

“Ellie, I know you’re scared, kiddo. But I need ya to be strong for me, and for Joel. We gotta get him to doc right now. I need you to help me carry him okay?” He spoke in a soft tone, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “He’s gonna be just fine. Your old man has always been a fighter.”

She squeezed her uncle tightly before pulling away from his embrace. She wiped what remained of her tears away on the sleeve of her shirt. “I’ll—I’ll take his legs?” She questioned rather than suggested. Seeing Joel like this, bloodied, weak, on the verge of—

“Ellie, he’ll be okay.” Tommy firmly reassured her again. He bent down over his brother and gently hoisted him up under his armpits while Ellie lifted him up by his legs.

Joel felt like dead weight, but his brother and daughter’s determination helped them power through the dull ache and strain in their muscles.

Tommy hated hospitals just as much, if not more than his brother did. The pungent stench of bleach, the droning hum from the overhead fluorescent lights. It was unappealing, cold, and overall a dreadful experience. But out of all of the late night visits to the ER after another bar fight, this by far was the worst of all to see his brother unconscious, dried blood crusted on his skin. Yet appearing peaceful while Doc checked his vitals and any signs of internal injuries

Ellie was seated next to her uncle nervously fidgeting with her fingers. Her leg was bouncing up and down frantically, until Tommy gently placed his palm over her knee in an attempt to soothe her.

“Well, he might have a bit of bruisin’ to his ribs, and his nose is definitely broken, but it’ll heal. There’s a chance he might be concussed, but I won’t know that for certain until he wakes up.” Doc said while tucking his clipboard under his armpit.

“I’ll stay here till he wakes up. Don’t want him wakin’ up alone.” Tommy said with a slight nod in Doc’s direction.

“I’m staying, too.” Ellie was defiant, of course. It was in her nature, and she couldn’t fathom not being by her dads side—

“Ellie, I’m gonna go and find someone to walk you home, okay? One of the guys on patrol..maybe a couple, given the circumstances.” He needed to make sure his niece got home in one piece, first and foremost.

Ellie clenched her fists, lips pressed tightly together as her eyes met Tommy’s in an intense stare. He could see residue of dried tears on her cheeks, and fresh ones beginning to brew like an oncoming storm. “Tommy,” she started, voice low, yet stern. “I’m not fuckin’ leaving him. I’m not. You can’t—”

“Ellie, I know you want to stay here with him too, but somethin’ about this ain’t right. You and I both know that there’s been some suspicious activity happenin’ as of late. Joel is goin’ to be okay, kiddo. He’s as stubborn as a mule.”

Her lower lip wobbled under the bright fluorescent light. She wanted to be angry at her uncle for telling her what she needed to do, but he was right, and there really wasn’t another second to waste. “Don’t you dare even think of leavin’ his side, Tommy. Don’t you dare.” She wiped her eyes along the back of her hand before making the final decision to get up from where she was sitting.

“I won’t, kiddo. I promise.” Tommy reassured her.

She walked over to the right side of the bed where Joel was lying and gently ran her fingers through a few stray curls that were stuck to his forehead. Dried sweat, dirt, and blood littered his hair and face. She leaned down, whispering something while she pressed her lips to his temple, squeezing her eyes shut.

Please don’t die.

Tommy left the room to give Ellie a bit of privacy. He flagged down a nurse in the hallway and quickly explained that he needed someone to ensure Ellie safely got home. It was decided that two patrol members would escort her home.

When Tommy returned, he was with Jesse and Liam waiting outside the open doorway.

“Ellie?”

Her head snapped in the direction of Tommy’s voice as she quickly wiped away the remnants of her tears.

“Jesse and Liam are gonna make sure you get home safe. Okay, kiddo?”

“Sure.” She muttered. Agreeing with her uncle didn’t mean that she had to act happy about it. Despite her feelings, she made a point to hug her uncle before she left the room.

Don’t leave him. She reminded him.

Sunlight warms his skin, birds chirping in the high treetops, a soft breeze rustles through his hair, kissing his temple. He knows this place, where he stands. It’s—

“baby girl?” He chokes out, stumbling forward in an uncoordinated motion.

She’s there. She’s alive. She’s got daisies in her curls.

“Dad?”

He nearly drops to his knees right at the spot where he and Tommy dug her grave all those years ago. He stops in his tracks as she turns around to face him. She’s wearing the same clothes that she died in, except there’s no blood. No bullet wounds. She’s untouched. Bright, glowing under the rays of sunlight.

“Are you really here? C-can I hold you? Are those daisies in your hair? Baby girl, I’m so sorry.” The words tumble past his lips like an avalanche of word vomit. His heart lurches in his chest, leaping from the confines of his ribcage.

Sarah’s feet carry her swiftly to her father before she’s wrapping her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly with her cheek pressed firmly against his chest. “I’m really here, dad.” She squeezes her eyes shut.

Joel’s arms wrap around her immediately, hugging her to his chest as tightly as he can, he’s trembling, tears blurring his vision, dripping down his cheeks and landing softly on her head of curls. He pulls away only to gently cradle her face in his strong, calloused, gentle hands.

She’s here. She’s alive. His baby girl.

“Dad..you—you remembered our favorite spot?” Her smile is beautiful, radiant, full of life.

“Of course I did. Our hikes, the fresh air. We—we loved it out here. I—I never forgot. Baby girl, I haven’t forgotten you. I—I think about you everyday. I’m so sorry. I miss you..I miss you so much.”

Her hands come to rest against the patches of his now graying beard. “Dad, you don’t have to apologize. I’m okay, I’m happy. I miss you too, dad. I miss you so much, but Ellie, she needs you. I’ll always wait for you, I promise. I’m always going to be right here.” She drops one of her hands from his face to then point to his heart. “I’m always with you.”

His face falls as his thumbs gently stroke her cheekbones. He’s not ready to leave, not yet. Not so soon. Too soon. He needs more time. Time. Time. Time.

Ellie.

“You—you would have loved her, baby girl. She reminds me so much of you. Her smile, her laugh. I see you in her. She’s—she’s my blessing. My second chance..my light in the darkness.” He sniffles, leaning down so he can press his lips to her forehead.

“And she needs you more than ever now, dad. She needs you. You have to forgive yourself, okay? Please promise me that one day, you will forgive yourself, dad. Promise me.”

“I promise you, baby girl. I promise. Daddy loves you, okay? He loves you so much.” There’s so much more he wants to say, so much more he wants to tell her, but there’s not enough time. He knows it.

“Dad, I love you so much. Tell Tommy I miss him too, okay? I’ll see you again one day, when the time is right.” She hugs him one last time as he buries his face into her mess of curls, holding in his sobs as more tears begin to fall.

“When the time is right, baby girl.” He murmurs.

—

“Well, brother. Guess it’s jus’ you and me now, huh?” Tommy wants to laugh, but he can’t. His emotions are all fucked. Everything is so fucked.

“That kid of yours really loves the hell outta ya. You’re like two feral cats.” He continues, forcing himself to stand and walk over to his brother's bedside. “And I know how much you love her.” He murmurs as he glances down at the nightstand where the contents of Joel’s pockets are laid out.

The two charm bracelets, the wood carving of a fawn for Ellie, and a folded piece of paper now tarnished with blood and debris.

“One of these for Beanie?” He asks while gently picking up one of the charm bracelets. “I’m so happy you listened to my advice and went to her coffee shop. I jus’ had this feelin’ that you two would hit it off.”

“You love her, huh? Like..really love her? I’m glad, Joel. I’m glad that you’re finally allowin’ yourself to love, and be loved. If anyone in this fucked up world deserves that, it’s you.”

He sets down the charm bracelet alongside the other before he picks up the wood carved fawn. One of the delicate ears had broken off during the fight, but it was fixable. “Ellie is going to love this when she sees it. You’ve always been..a giver, Joel.. Always thinkin’ of others before yourself. Puttin’ your heart out on the line. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, but I’m so grateful that you met Ellie when you did. You saved her, but she saved you just as much. Turned that cold heart of yours into somethin’ good again.”

He placed the fawn down gently before he eyed the folded piece of paper. “Y’still writin’ those letters? Have they been helpin?’ Y’know, I thought about writin’ a couple myself.”

Something in his gut tells him that this letter..is meant for him.

He swallowed the lump rising in his throat as he reached for the piece of paper and picked it up with trembling fingers. He sees his name written on the outside, and his vision goes blurry with tears. “You..were gonna give this to me tomorrow when we said we were gonna meet at the Tipsy Bison?”

He slowly sinks down along the side of the bed, unfolds the letter and begins to read it silently.

Tommy, this is the third letter I have written thus far, so hopefully this comes across the way I have intended it to. Ever since we were just two little boys scraping our knees up on the playground, telling each other secrets, and holding each other tight when mom and dad would argue into the odd hours of the night, I always found myself being protective over you. I ain’t even sure if it had anything to do with age, and more to do with the fact that it’s been instilled in me since birth that I'm a natural protector. I’d do anything to keep you safe.

I’ve never told anyone this, but the day you told me that you wanted to join the army, and make a difference in the world, I wept. I soaked my pillow with my tears that very same evening cus’ I realized I couldn’t protect you anymore. You were eighteen, and ready to take on the world. Selfishly, I didn’t want you to go, and I know that war changed you. I know what it did to you, and you were no longer the little boy hiding under the covers from the thunder and lightning. You were molded into a man right before my eyes, but you’ve always been my little brother, and ain’t nothin’ gonna change that.

I know you blame yourself for the night that we lost Sarah. I still remember the grief in your eyes. You tried so hard. So fuckin’ hard, and I’m so sorry for what I became after she died.

A stray teardrop fell along the thin paper as the word ‘died’ began to blur from the sudden moisture.

You literally had to pry her cold body from my arms because I refused to let go. Even when we dug her a shallow grave near the woods she loved to hike in, you had to stop me from crawling into that goddamn hole with her.

24 hours. 1 day since the outbreak. 1 day without his baby girl

“She’ll be happy here, Joel. She gets to rest in her favorite place.” Tommy murmured as he set the shovels down next to the grass covered earth that would soon be dug up to create a shallow grave for Sarah to finally be laid to rest. The younger Miller brother hid his grieving behind a stoic face. He didn’t want Joel to see how much pain he was in. He wanted to be the strong one for once in his life, especially since he blamed himself for Sarah's death. If only he had been there sooner. If only he had acted quicker, maybe she would still be alive.

Joel was unmoving as he held his deceased daughter, who had long since grown cold and stiff in his arms. She was wrapped in a sheet, as Joel couldn’t bear to see her unmoving eyes any longer. He had shed his last tears, as he watched his brother begin to dig a shallow grave. As the minutes ticked by, Joel was realizing that after Sarah was to be buried, he no longer would be a father, and the thought made him feel queasy. What did he have to live for if he was no longer a parent? What was the point?

“Tommy..” Joel croaked, “I–can’t let her go.” He choked up as the weight of the world was beginning to press down on his shoulders. He held Sarah close to his heart where his chin came to rest upon her covered head. “Tommy, we–”

“Joel, we have to let her go. Brother, please. She’s gone, and there’s nothing we can do to bring her back. I’m sorry.” He was. If he could go back in time and take Sarah’s place, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Joel’s eyes began to glaze over with fresh tears as he began to frantically whisper to Sarah as if she could hear him from the other side. “S’okay baby girl. You’re okay. Daddy has you, and he’ll see you soon. I promise. I’m coming for you, baby girl.” He pressed a firm, promising kiss to her covered head before he slowly lowered himself onto his knees along the edge of the hole in the dirt. He could feel stomach acid rise up his throat at the thought of the earth, and mother nature consuming his baby girl. He wanted to go with her.

Tommy watched with a heavy heart as he watched his older brother gently place his baby girl into the shallow grave. His own tears began to silently fall as images of a newborn Sarah flashed in his mind. He remembered the pure joy and love that radiated from Joel the moment he got to hold his daughter for the first time. No parent should ever have to bury their child.

As Tommy willed himself to begin shoveling the dirt he dug up into the grave, he watched in horror as his grief-stricken brother nearly had crawled into the hole. He dropped the shovel in a haste as he grabbed ahold of the underside of Joel’s shoulders and yanked him back.

The soul-shaking, torturous, anguished sound that cascaded from Joel’s mouth, was one that chilled Tommy’s blood. It could only be described as a grieving parent refusing to let their only child go.

Tommy still has nightmares of it.

I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t just fuckin’ pull myself together for both of us. I know how scared you were, Tommy. I was scared too. I was terrified. I was supposed to be the big brother then. The one who had all the answers. Who could come up with a plan at the drop of a hat to keep his little brother alive. Instead, you had to fill that position. You stepped into that role because I gave you no other choice. If you didn’t force me to leave that spot where she died, I would have rotted there with her. I never thought for a moment about the pain that you were feeling. I lost a daughter that night, but you lost a niece, and a brother all in one night.

48 hours. 2 days since the outbreak. 2 days without his baby girl.

It was Tommy’s idea for him and Joel to return home to gather up as much food and supplies they could get their hands on. Joel was apprehensive, but Tommy reassured him that they wouldn’t have to stay long. So, Joel reluctantly agreed. Their neighborhood was dead silent with no signs of life to be found. The bombs that the government had dropped only impacted the major cities, and left the small neighborhoods untouched from their destruction. It would have just been another day if it weren’t for the familiar bodies scattered in the street. Both Tommy and Joel avoided looking at the deceased body of Nana Adler as they crossed their front yard.

“I’m gonna grab what I can from the garage, and then I'll meet you inside? Grab a couple of backpacks and stuff it with clothes, and anything else you think we might need. Okay, Joel?”

The older Miller brother could only meekly nod as a non-verbal response. He was too focused on remembering that he had stashed a revolver in his office drawer for safe keeping. At least it would be quick.

Tommy was unaware, clueless to Joel’s plan to end his life. He knew his brother was mourning, but he never had thought about the drastic measures he would take to be reunited with Sarah.

As Joel ascended up the stairs, memories of his life before the outbreak leaked into his mind. A five year old Sarah running down the stairs to avoid bath time after playing outside all day. Sticky with sugary sweet syrup from a popsicle, and dirt and twigs stuck in her head of curls. Joel patiently demanded that she needed a bath. Well, Sarah had other plans of course and Joel would have to catch her first.

He could hear her gleeful giggles now; almost sweet music.

Soon, baby girl. I promise.

His footsteps were soft, and undetected as he padded down the hall to his office area. His hand grasped the handle as he slowly turned it and pushed the door open with ease. Everything was right as he left it. Blueprints for a new project he and Tommy were working on. A school paper from Sarah that she had left for him to proof read. A stale cup of coffee. Tommy’s note tacked to the corkboard that Joel kept from when they were kids. A life preserved in time. He reached for the note as he gingerly plucked it from where it was pinned. He folded it carefully before slipping it into his pocket. He wanted to have a piece of his brother with him, always.

Joel didn’t feel nervous as he opened the file cabinet drawer that contained his concealed revolver. He greeted it like an old friend as he grasped it firmly in his palm. The coolness of the metal diffused his clammy skin. He could do it here, he thought silently. No, he wanted to be closer to Sarah. To be comforted by her familiarity. So, he left his office and went straight to her room.

As he brought the barrel of the gun to his temple, he felt calm. He felt ready. More ready than he had ever felt in his entire life. He felt sorry for leaving Tommy to fend for himself, but he knew that his brother would survive, and he’d be better off without him anyway.

As his finger hovered over the trigger, he observed Sarah's untouched room. From the crumpled sheets along her bed where he had tucked her in for the very last time, her discarded backpack, her posters, trophies from soccer, and all of her photographs. Photos of her and Joel. Her and Tommy. She was the happiest kid ever, and that’s how Joel wanted to remember her.

As his finger gradually applied pressure to the trigger, he flinched. The bullet missed, and grazed the right side of his temple. His right ear was profusely ringing as he dropped to the carpet like a bag of bricks. He could faintly hear Tommy’s shouts and footsteps racing up the stairs as blood slowly trickled down his face.

Tommy, I was selfish. I was selfish for wanting to take my life and leave you to fend for yourself. My baby brother. The same brother I swore to protect till my last dying breath. I was a coward, Tommy. A weak, selfish, pathetic coward. I wanted to take the easy way out. The cheap way. I just hope you still don’t hate me for it. I hope you don’t hate me for putting you through the trauma and pain of almost losing me too. Sometimes I wonder if my attempted suicide triggered your thirst for blood. As if I am the direct cause for the carnage you partook in when we joined Tess and her raider group. Sometimes I wonder if all those times that we murdered people, that you pictured me on the other end of the gun. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the brave big brother that you always believed me to be. I’m sorry that even over twenty years later, I’m not me. I’m not the Joel that you looked up to. I’m not sure if I'll ever be that version of myself again, but I am ever-so grateful that I am still your brother. Your flesh and blood.

I hope that one day you’ll be proud to be my brother again. Till then, I'll always have your back.

-Your big brother, Joel. The one that held you when things went bump in the night.

Tommy isn’t even aware of how much time has passed while he reads Joel’s words over till they're practically burned into his brain. He doesn’t feel the shifting of the coarse sheets, or see Joel’s fingers twitch at his side.

“Tommy..” Joel croaks, voice hoarse and barely audible.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

I no longer have a taglist! Please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications!

#fic: slow hands #dead dove do not eat #tw suicide #tw sui attempt #tw canon typical violence #tw child death #tw ptsd #tw injury #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller angst #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #joel miller story #joel miller series

[thedo0zyslider]

When Scar hits that Succeed button, two things happen at once. The first is that the game doesn't end. Which is more disappointing than shocking, really, he truly didn't know if it would end or not when he hit the button. The second thing was that he remembered. Scar remembered a lot of things in that moment, four whole lifetimes worth of memories came back when he hit that button. And a lot of emotions came with those memories, like, a lot a lot.

The first is a lot of pain. A lot of pain and grief. So, so much grief, he hadn't even know someone could hold this much pain in them before now. But it's possible, and the choking sob Scar lets out proves that. He lets out more sobs after the first, unable to really stop them from happening. And the river tears that fall from his face, those are uncontrollable as well.

The pain he feels from the memories are for a lot of reasons. One of the first ones is the flower he wears, memories of desert heat and sand and llamas being the first to hit him. Memories of the very first creeper explosion, the war, everything. He remembers handing his one ally a bouquet of flowers, and then lying dead in a cactus ring not even a few weeks later. Heh, talk about whiplash....

The second pain, Scar finds as another sob hits him, is the strong pang of loneliness. One much like the sting he'd been feeling for this whole game. But this time it's different, it's the feeling that comes with experiencing true loneliness for the first time. This time around the lonley feelings had felt almost vaguely familiar, and now he can place why. Now he can remember the mountain and his dumb magic crystals and the sting of being left to fend for himself over and over and over again. And also the familiar sting of anger at everyone for just letting him be left like that. Alone and broken and hopeless.

The third reason is heartbreak. Bitter heartbreak, and also a sense of not really caring anymore. Then sense of being so deeply wronged, but being too jaded and apathetic to even care. Scar curls his fist at the memory, the cloth of his coat being nearly torn from how hard he holds it, and feels the bitterness of pure indifference to almost everyone wash over him once more; if only for a few measly seconds.

The fourth stab of pains, because they seem to be coming in rounds as he remembers each life, is strange. That life is happier. But this is a death game, so there is always pain that comes with it. There is a sense of strange alliances and the fourth death he can remember brings a sense of familiarity with it. A contrast to the very first that leaves something rather bitter in his mouth once again. Something with a slight hint of betrayal in it.

Thats where the memories and the grief stop, because he remembers the fifth life and the pain of it. There is nothing to remember, no pain he hasn't already gone through anymore. It’s real, it's there, and Scar can do nothing but cry and breakdown under the weight of it all. Above him, the Secret Keeper says nothing, just watches on with it's empty gaze, not caring a single bit for its victors breakdown.

Scar starts wiping at his eyes, hoping it would calm the stream now coming from them. It does not. Like how covering his mouth won't stop the sobs that bubble past his lips, and how clawing at his chest won't make the pain leave his heart. He thinks some of the tears are for the man he was, or the one he could've been; had these games not happened and spared all their players the pain.

At a certain point, Scar realizes he'd slid down onto the grass. His back is pressed against a block, the one that dammed Succeed button is on, and it's cool against his back. Cool against the wirthing agnoy inside and memories screaming loudly in his head. Cool and grounding against all the ugly trauma he's having to process all at once.

Eventually though, his crying does cease, and Scar can do nothing but stare down at his own hands. They feel sticky with the blood of many people, maybe versions of his friends long dead and buried; just like the many versions of him now are.

It's a little jarring, honestly, to be able to look at his hands and now know where all those scars came from. To remember. To remember why his arms and legs are coated in old the remnants of old wounds. Why there's an explosion scar covering his whole backside. Why sometimes his joints and certain parts hurt from being injured one too many times over, from taking too many awkward falls and bad landings. Some still aching from never having a chance to properly heal, and the wounds that caused his old deaths closed over and scarred like the rest of him.

After a few minutes, Scar tears his red gaze from his palms. He's tried of sitting here and crying. He's tired of an empty world. He wants to go home, to his friends. He wants to find people who also remember, who can help him; so he won't ever be lonely anymore.

He wants to stay sorry, if he can.

So Scar stands on shaky legs, and reaches out to press the Succeed button again. Just to test if anything else new will happen, or if, maybe, they will finally let him go home.

#ron.writing #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #gtwscar #secret life #sl smp #life series #life series smp #traffic series #trafficblr #traffic smp #slsmp #secret life smp #No shipping on this one me thinks #This isn't my best work but yk what I'll take it #Can u tell I forgot all of scars limited life the second I started writing 💔

[hero-deserves-to-be-happy]

Hero is doomed to be seen as "perfect" by the narrative because Sunny is an unreliable narrator who idolizes him and because Hero, himself, constantly and purposefully hides his struggles.

Since Hero has a more docile personality, doesn't like to be the center of attention, and is terrified of burdening others with his problems, we never really get to have the opportunity in-game to dive into his actual motivations and the depths of his grief and pain that he works incredibly hard to repress and keep hidden from everyone including Sunny (and, by proxy, the player of the game who is following Sunny's point of view).

As a result, we only see what Sunny sees: on the surface, Hero really does appear to be perfect.

More thoughts under the cut. (Warnings: OMORI spoilers and heavy topics including grief, trauma, and guilt)

After several segments of gameplay spent with the idealized "Headspace Hero" who is superhumanly perfect and adored to an almost outlandish degree, it almost feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy that we first meet "Real World Hero" when he jumps into the lake in the Faraway Park to save Basil and Sunny from drowning. Despite the fact that Sunny has already been shown to be an unreliable narrator given the fact that there are some major differences between some of the characters in Headspace and in the Real World (Aubrey especially), it is easy to ignore this when it comes to Hero at first because it is so understandable why Sunny sees him this way.

Hero is selfless, kind, compliant, docile, and generous. He consistently prioritizes the feelings of the other characters around him, is the first to try to understand where Aubrey is coming from (even though she just pushed Basil into a lake), and he doesn't even think twice before jumping into a murky body of water fully-clothed to save his friends. He jumps in (no pun intended) immediately to save the day, and so, naturally, from Sunny's perspective, Hero is still this amazing older brother figure he looked up to in his childhood.

Additionally, from the outside looking in, Hero appears relatively well-adjusted all things considered. He is incredibly successful and accomplished with a room filled with trophies and awards and has just returned from university where he is pursuing a difficult degree in medicine. Even if Sunny is just comparing Hero to himself, he would likely be impressed and amazed by the fact that Hero at least appears to be living his life and achieving so many things while Sunny has been so grief-stricken by the loss of Mari that he could not leave his house or do much of anything for the past four years.

There are some indications that Hero is not doing nearly as well as he seems (i.e. Kel's account of the one (1) fight they had after Mari passed away and the fact that Hero has never visited Mari's gravesite--refusing to visit even as recently as the 2nd day in the Real World), but these are easily overlooked by Sunny because Hero does not seem to exhibit any outward signs of trauma or internal turmoil or distress like Basil or Aubrey. Hero is very good at hiding his pain which means it is difficult for Sunny to see—which makes it difficult for us, who are following Sunny's perspective in the game to see it as well. We only get to see what Hero wants us to see which is, honestly, not much since Hero doesn't like attention.

Hero isn't a perfectionist in the traditional sense, but he wants to appear "perfect" to reassure his loved ones that they don't need to worry about him. Everything about the way Hero presents himself to the world screams, "I'm okay. Please don't worry about me." If he can really appear to be perfect, Hero believes he will never be a burden on anyone. It's all fake adjustment, fake healing, and fake happiness--fabricated because he's terrified of hurting or burdening anyone he loves with his struggles, but it's convincing.

In one of the most heart-wrenching scenes in the game, Hero drops everything to comfort Sunny at Mari's piano in the middle of the night. He does such a good job at supporting Sunny that one could truly believe that Hero really has found healing and made his peace with Mari's death...until Sunny returns through the door to find Hero crying alone. And that's the real Hero: the young man who buries his pain and pushes it aside in attempt to take care of everyone else. No matter how much he may hide his struggles, they're always there under the surface. Hero is always one piano, one visit to Sunny's old house, one mention of Mari away from tears. He just desperately doesn't want anyone to know.

Taking a step back to think about Hero's greatest strengths in this context, also reveals his greatest weaknesses. His selflessness brings with it a fear of burdening others which prevents him from really opening up to anyone. His generosity leads him to struggle setting boundaries. His complacency and easy-going nature can stem from an extreme avoidance to conflict of any kind which, in turn, makes it hard for him to advocate for himself and his own needs and to express his emotions, particularly negative ones.

It suddenly makes sense why the boy who seems to succeed at everything is only "most improved" when it comes to debate. He doesn't debate. He can't. He can't stick up for himself or express his own thoughts, wants, or desires. He will always acquiesce to someone else in order to keep the peace and make them happy, even if it's at his own expense.

Hero will always, always put himself last which causes him to bury his grief, suffering, and trauma so deeply that no one is allowed to see the pain he is actually in. Unfortunately, "no one" includes the game player as well. We get small glimpses of it, but it's so subtle and so buried, that, just like Sunny, it's easy to get caught up in this idea of "perfect Hero" and struggle to understand that there is so much more to him that just that.

#omori hero #hero omori #omori sunny #omori #omori analysis #omori meta #hero character analysis #omori spoilers #thanks for reading

[dykenav]

Idk if anyone’s talked about this but I think part of the reason the story of The Last of Us is so compelling is because it isn’t just “father and daughter duo must survive against all odds”, it’s “traumatized man and teenage girl must choose to become father and daughter to each other to survive despite everything it is going to cost them.”

Like obviously there are many stories about survival, many stories about love, many stories about family, and even many stories about adoptive or chosen family. But I think its somewhat rare to find a story that is centered around the process of a single relationship falling into familial love, specifically parent/child love. Parental love is most often depicted and assumed to be automatic, biological and instinctual. It is not often depicted to be a choice. Similarly, a child’s love for a parent is often depicted as purely arising from selfish need rather than genuine connection.

And that’s not to say that Ellie and Joel’s love for each other is not selfish, needy, and instinctual - because it definitely has those elements - but it’s by no means obligatory. So many of us get raised by parents who we don’t feel like actually know or even like us, but still love us because we’re their children. And as children we might feel like we don’t really get our parents, but we still love them because they’re our parents. There’s no real intimacy.

It’s also not automatic. It takes time - first they resist each other, then they begrudgingly rely on each other, and then they have moments where they recognize parts of themselves in each other. Ellie being darkly fascinated and inspired by Joel’s violence and toughness because she longs to be able to protect herself like that. Joel being slowly thawed by Ellie’s feral joy and juvenile humor, reminding him of what it was like to be alive and excited by life, and being in immense pain at the realization of how much innocence she’s had to lose to survive because he’s lost so much of it in himself. There’s a deep understanding and intimacy that develops on both sides as a result, despite both of them being intimacy-phobic and horrible at talking about feelings. (There’s also of course the shared trauma, which aside from the strong bonds that creates in and of itself, at the very least gives them an excuse to have these moments of understanding without being overly mushy about it.)

The love that they feel for each other is also not just something that naturally develops - it emerges from a series of choices they make that have immense consequences. Joel making a promise to take Ellie to the fireflies for Tess as her dying wish, knowing he won’t back out because that promise is all he has left of her. Ellie shooting that guy to save Joel and Joel finishing the job so she doesn’t have to, leading to both of them opening up about the past violences they’ve committed. Joel giving Ellie a gun and teaching her how to shoot, in a way consenting to the loss of her innocence and knowing he won’t be able to stop himself from worrying about her nor will he be able to stop her from looking up to him. Her decision to bring up Sarah knowing it will hurt him, him hurting her in turn, almost leaving and then deciding to come back, to continue, knowing he’s way past the point of no return, that the doors of grief have been blown wide open and there’s no coming back from this. Ellie deciding to stay with him as he lays there dying, telling her to go, finding a fucking needle and thread to stitch him up with, having no idea what she’s doing, starving for food as she waits for him to get better, when it would have been so much safer to leave like he told her, going through all of that hell with David, Joel fighting for his life to get to her - every choice they make escalates them further and further into commitment and devotion. The consequences for that devotion get bigger and bigger, and yet they still choose it.

This of course culminates to Joel’s final choice at the end, which was not really a choice so much as the natural consequence of every other choice that led up to it. Not only the choices they made to keep each other alive, but also the choices that led to failures. Despite the fact that neither likely would have survived on their own, they’re also permanently changed by each other in ways that are not all positive. Joel knows that loving Ellie means running the risk of failing her, over and over again, just like he failed Sarah; and that to protect her means having to commit larger and larger acts of violence to keep her safe. Ellie knows that loving Joel means running the risk of being abandoned if he leaves or dies, and sticking with him means uncovering a violence in herself she will never be able to unsee. But they both still choose it anyway. They choose each other over and over again, without obligation, despite harrowing, soul-shattering, world-ending consequences. Is it healthy? Definitely not. But that’s what makes it so fucking powerful.

To see this level of insanity-fueling, logic-defying love depicted between a chosen parent/child relationship is extremely unconventional and incredibly alluring. I think it profoundly challenges the societal delusion that romantic love is stronger than anything else, while also challenging the supremacy of family defined by blood. It also shows that both the beautiful, healing, and dark, violence-ensuing sides of love do not emerge as part of some mysterious and random force, but rather results from the continual choice to save one another and be saved; to see one another and be seen; to know one another and be known.

#tlou #tlou hbo #tlou meta #the last of us #tlou analysis #the last of us meta #joel miller #ellie williams #tlou spoilers #joel and ellie

[tartigglez]

If your event is still going on, can I have 💙 with Kazuha?

"ten-twenty"

・❥・TIME FOR MORE SHENANIGOOGLES HELLO ALL WELCOME TO "CAEL WRITES FOR CANADIAN JEAN" (i'm excited about posting)

・❥・kazuha x gn!reader

・❥・0.9k

・❥・(trauma) nightmares, tomo (kazuha's friend), grief, loss, crying, reverse comfort, physical contact, clingy kazu, lil l-bomb, just very soft but a little dramatic

・❥・i am sorry but i spent like,, way more than twenty minutes writing this bc i really liked the plan that i came up with and wanted to execute it in a way i liked xoxo, also this feels reminiscent of this

kazuha x 💙

your sleeping form was completely still as he shook, arm draped across his waist, fingers as still and steady as the gentle breaths which escaped your nose. quietly, almost unnoticeably, your hand began to shake, almost akin to the movements of a branch in a thunderstorm, which was what you were seeing in your own dream. mumbles of a voice were making their way through the wind, quiet drones… “please, don’t leave me… not again”, “don’t go like this, please…” however the one which would cut short the scene of the rain and the wind battering the leaf would be the shout, loud tenor piercing through your hearing…

“NO” 

the drawn out yell opened your eyes to the pitch black of your bedroom, in which the only thing you could feel was your love next to you, shaking and mumbling in his sleep. it was his voice which had weaved its way into your dream. of course, this was not the first time it had happened. 

kazuha often had dreams about his friend, killed by the musou no hitotachi all those years ago. it remains true that kazuha has been haunted by the wound left on his soul by the raiden shogun for all this time, and may always continue to be. 

you flicked on the bedside lamp, warm light filling the room, the shadows of kazuhas sleeping body -as well as your own sitting one- projected themselves on to the wall at the far side of the bed. just at this observation, his eyes opened, his breathing beginning to slow down.

next followed one of  the most painful sights anyone could imagine seeing, the love of their life crying at the thought of loss. the tears did not come slowly, nor calmly. he was obviously disoriented, eyes not meeting yours, not registering your presence. instead, his head was buried in his knees, which were now pulled against his stomach as he sat up. 

“hey,” you opened softly, “kazu?” 

you figured it was best not to touch him, he was clearly in shock, and although this dream happened often, it was never normally this bad. he turned to you, red eyes and puffed cheeks greeting you as his expression dropped, and he —within a split second— wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him. 

“you’re here,” he whispered, tears starting once again “you’re real” he spoke, shaking body gripping you like a stray kitten. 

“of course i’m here, darling” you said softly against his ear, “tomo again?” you asked, a hand slowly rubbing his back.

he shook his head against your body, burying it into the crevasse of your neck, seemingly inhaling your scent. “you” he spoke quietly. 

“me?” you questioned, still holding on to him tightly, grabbing the duvet to wrap it around the two of you, hoping it would slow his shaking.

“are you really here? please tell me this is not a dream…” he spoke, hoping and praying and wishing that you were not another figment of his dream, a symptom of his nightmare. 

“it’s not a dream, i’m right here, i've always been right here” you spoke into his hair, before gently kissing his forehead. this however, seemed to provoke an even tighter grip from him, an almost bone-crushing hug. you of course, reciprocated this squeeze for a moment before slackening again. Thankfully, he followed suit, mirroring you.

“please stay” he spoke against your skin, “don’t go anywhere.”

you giggled a little at that. kazuha wasn’t normally this outward with how he asked for commitment. generally speaking, he was poetic in all aspects of life, including his relationship with you. 

“i’m not going anywhere, don’t worry” you responded, pressing a kiss against his temple, then proceeding to move once again on to your back, head hitting the pillows with a gush of air escaping the fibres inside. you reached your arms out to him, gesturing for him to lay down on your chest. 

“may i?” he said softly, requesting permission despite the fact you told him it was fine on numerous occasions. you nodded gently, watching as he laid down slowly on top of you, the crown of his head placed just below your chin, his legs making their way to entangle with yours. 

there was a momentary silence between the two of you, which was not uncomfortable, nor awkward, it simply was. until he spoke once again.

“i’m scared,” he whispered, watching as your fingers tangled themselves into his silvery hair, calmly running through it, massaging his scalp.

“scared? you wanna talk about it?” you asked, careful with your tone, his head rising and falling slightly with each breath you took. 

“what if i fall asleep and it happens again? what if when i wake up, you’re not here?” he said sleepily, anxious voice still a little shaky. 

“if it happens again, i’ll be here to protect you. i promise that. i’ll be here when you wake up, and i’l-” you stopped mid-sentence, a gentle chuckle coming from you, realising he had fallen asleep. 

“i love you,” you whispered into his hair, turning off the lamp and closing your eyes, “forever.” 

sfw masterlist

taglist: @lioria @celestetalkstoomuch

© tartigglez, 2023. do not copy, translate or repost

#tartigglez 100 follower event #genshin impact #genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #kaedahara kazuha #kazuha x you #genshin fluff

[guavajaws]

I saw a very interesting post earlier talking about purple haze feedback and Fugio and honestly, I enjoy talking about these characters that I love so why the hell not?

I forgot who the poster was but in it they made a very valid point, if your takeaway from phf is ‘omg fugio’ real! Then you completely misunderstand the point. As someone who is a longtime Fugio shipper I completely agree but I wanted to put my takes on the story and what seems to make the ship so appealing for some people

Regardless no matter what way the wind blows, phf’s main task is to help peer into the mindset of Fugo who has been left to scramble and pick up the pieces of his feelings after his friends went to risk themselves against Passione. Through the entire story he wrestles with the very grief of loosing him and attempts to grasp and understand Narancia’s decision to leave and fight for Trish.

Ive seen that the jjba fandom tends disregards a lot of the highly traumatic situations that unfold in most of the protags lives and with that disregard the characters are reduced from three dimensional human characters struggling with their pain to two dimensional characters who’s suffering is pushed aside for the very core personality traits presented above the surface.

Fugo is ‘the angry one’, ‘the smart one’

All traits that do certainly apply to him but if you simply leave it at that, Fugo remains as what ive said, a two dimensional character.

What makes Purple Haze Feedback so great is that we see a character who has suffered and has been brutally beaten down by the world that has kept him from living any semblance of a normal happy life, find a way to accept his grief and to accept his pain by means of accepting and understanding his own anger. In the case of Pannacotta Fugo, anger is also a means of protecting people. Fugo bit the capsule and lived, even Murolo mentions out-loud that stands do not change unless the user has gone through change as well. He evolved and now PH is no longer the symbol of festering rage that it used to be.

After all of that id find it odd if someone’s only takeaway from the story is ‘fugio real!!’ However I do understand the appeal

People so often seem to forget the Fugo and Giorno’s stories are very very similar and they’re both victims of abuse. Giorno adapted to reading people and their emotions while Fugo would let his emotions out more often.

But I think the sweet part of Fugio is to be able to imagine two victims of their similar traumas being able to find so much to love about eachother and be able to heal together. Fugo being able to love Giorno on his own accord and Giorno not having a need for putting up walls around Fugo would allow for them to just BE, to exist in eachother’s company and honestly its a comforting thought.

#fugio #pannacotta fugo #giorno giovanna #purple haze feedback #golden wind #jjba part 5

[angelshizuka]

honestly… i LOVED movie!adrien. he just feels so much more /real/ than show!adrien (which i guess is the point if you weigh in senti stuff) and like… idk. he’s just a silly 14 year old boy who’s still got some residual trauma from losing his mom! maybe i’m partly projecting show!adrien onto him, but even the way he turns marinette down seemed like he genuinely felt bad for doing so.

part of me feels like show!adrien’s entire characterization is created around the basis of being a love interest for marinette, and instead in the movie we got to see him be more… realistic than that. he fights with his dad! he opens up to marinette about his mom! he has PAIN and he’s affected by it (unlike the show where it seems his mother’s disappearance has barely affected his day-to-day life even though in that universe he lost her way more recently than in the movie) and he has a hard time letting people in because of that pain (illustrated beautifully by the headphones) but he still takes the chance on his new friend group! ladybug inspires him to give the world a chance again! and when she rejects him he shuts back down, and puts the headphones back on, which again, is a very realistic response.

i think this movie would have been a solid 10/10 for me if they had cut maybe 1-2 of the songs and instead explored their lives/relationship at school a little more, so we got to see these themes a little more clearly, but i really don’t get the movie!adrien bashing like at all lol. it kinda makes me uncomfy that people are calling movie!adrien like a fuckboy incel when he’s just… a more realistic version of himself instead of this fantasy perfect boy that can do no wrong idk…

(i still love show!adrien btw i just wanted to dump this somewhere LMFAO)

Yes, yes, yes! This is exactly what I've been talking about!

I genuinely love show!Adrien, but the writing keeps fucking him over. His mother died recently (either 100 days or weeks before the 100th episode, I can't remember which one it was, but even 100 weeks is barely 2 years), yet he acts like it barely affects him at all, not even in private (because I totally understand acting fine around other people, that's how a lot of people grief).

Meanwhile with movie!Adrien we actually SEE the affects of his grief and it's a major part of his arc and the way he behaves throughout the movie. But godforbid a teenage boy griefing his dead mother and dealing with a neglectful father isn't a "perfect sunshine boy" who isn't allowed to grief (by the narrative).

And yeah, I genuinely love the movie, but even I can acknowledge Adrien needed 1 or 2 more scenes for his arc to wrap up better (but even with that it's miles better than the show and THAT is the problem, that even a movie with problems still did it better by a landslide).

Though I love both Adriens, the core difference is how I genuinely love the actual on screen movie!Adrien, while with show!Adrien I love the potential and the few good moments that shine through the bullshit, but they become rarer with every season.

Like, the whole reason I love show!Adrien is BECAUSE he can be a little shit just as much as movie!Adrien, and one of the reasons I hate his writing in recent seasons is BECAUSE they've been forcing him into the "perfect sunshine boy" role that people have been blindly buying into.

Movie!Adrien is imperfect, makes mistakes, acts irrational, is allowed to have his own emotions,, isn't always the "oh, so perfect husband material", he's his own person first and love interest second, and THAT is why I love him.

#ladybug and cat noir the movie #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug movie #miraculous awakening #miraculous the movie #miraculous movie #ml movie #ml movie spoilers #ml salt #ml writers salt #ml fandom salt #chat noir #cat noir #adrien agreste #emilie agreste #anon #ask

[warmmilk-n-honey]

Ok part 2 of my dadbastian vampire au...

Seb is actually surprised that Ciel survived the transformation since he's tiny and Seb has never known of another child vampire. Sebastian also kind of lucks out finding out that his new charge was the son of a wealthy nobleman, now he gets to live in a giant manor! Before he was just kinda hopping around mostly living in like the woods, he's a very skilled shape shifter and was kind of feral before he started playing at being a fancy noble.

Seb is an extremely old vampire and is therefore pretty dang powerful.

Ciel adjusts to being a vampire poorly at first, he is just a baby after all and he's still grieving his family and dealing with his trauma. He does start to enjoy his un-life a bit though as he realizes he can take out his rage and trauma on adults, he can make adults suffer and he doesn't have to feel like a helpless child anymore, he likes feeling powerful. He develops quite the sadistic side which Sebastian can't help but feel pride for.

Ciel has a hard time sleeping in his coffin at first because of nightmares :( (Even though these vampires are physically dead when they sleep they still can dream.)

Sebastian has to teach him to be an earl and a vampire at the same time and he realizes he has his work cut out for him. He's definitely teaching his son all the wrong lessons just like in the manga.

Ciel is by no means powerful by vampire standards since he's so young, and needs Seb to help him with hunting most of the time-they eat the intruders trying to attack the manor.

Ciel starts to act like he doesn't care about his dead human family and this revenge thing is just a game to him, but deep down he misses them a lot. He also acts this way when Madam Red dies, not only because he's the dysfunctional sonboy we all know and love, but because he feels like he should be more detached from humanity and in many ways he is. Ciel also has a soft spot for the Midfords, though when he saw them for the first time after he turned it was rlly difficult for him to not eat them. He especially wants to protect Lizzy and keep her from knowing his true nature.

Ciel is also extremely gluttonous for blood and his hunger is difficult for Sebastian to satiate, his love for sweets transferred to a to a love for fresh blood :)! He grumbles about being hungry all the time and Seb has to warn him about feeding on conspicuous victims.

Queen Victoria actually knows about Sebastian and Ciel's nature but doesn't rlly care since having powerful undead creatures at her disposal doing her bidding is nice for her. (I mean she employed a 10 year old, what's stopping her from employing a vampire? Also because John Brown may or may not be a vampire...)

Being the queen's guard dog also provides more food for our vampires, they have an agreement with Victoria that they are allowed to eat the criminals they subdue instead of turning them into to the Yard.

While Ciel enjoys parts of undead existence, he did not think through becoming a vampire and really just wants to die for real. He hates being stuck in the body of a 10 year old and it's a great source of angst for him. He has also not properly dealt with his grief and trauma, and being a little sadist isn't actually good therapy for him, who would have thought!

He openly resents Sebastian for turning him, which Seb's dismissive response is always "well you chose this.🙄"

Their relationship is quite toxic like it is in the manga, the differences being that Seb doesn't have to be fake nice since he's not playing the butler role, and that he does deep down begin to care deeply for Ciel as his son.

On the one hand Seb regrets turning Ciel because he sees how much pain he goes through, but on the other hand he does like having this little thorn in his side around. He's still kinda abusive tho and their relationship is complicated, Ciel has slit Sebastian's throat on occasion, y'know how it is, kids🙃

Ciel also deep down feels attachment to Sebastian as a parent, but he would never admit it out right.

Ciel is lowkey planning to off himself after he gets his revenge but Sebastian hasn't rlly told him how to do it, they are weaker during the day and direct sunlight hurts, but it doesn't destroy these vampires (neither does fire). Ciel thinks Sebastian won't tell him because he's an asshole and won't tell him important vampire information, but the truth is simply that Seb doesn't want his son to kill himself, and doesn't want his son kill him! (Ciel would never actually kill Seb if he knew how, but these two suck at communicating their true feelings so...)

Also in this au all of the reapers are actually vampires-so vampire Grelle! (side note I've always seen the reapers as sort of vampiric especially when you consider certain vampire myths that say people who commit suicide become vampires!)

#holy shit I didn't realize how long this became #haven't even brought up vampire agni still! #kuro #black butler au #au #my au #kuroshitsuji au #vampire au #vampire!dadbastian au #kuro au #dadbastian #black butler #kuroshitsuji

[mightymizora]

So @y-rhywbeth2 asked about Manva and views on motherhood after reading Blood and Bone, Bone and Blood

And I’m gonna use it as an opportunity to dive into a bit of Manva lore! Because reproductive stuff and parent stuff is really key to her.

It's going under the cut for length and for discussions of bodily trauma, bhaalist style incest and breeding nonsense, and some dub-to-non-con stuff.

Manva has a complicated relationship to the idea of motherhood (ha, what an opening sentence.) There's a great deal of thematic work around the idea of the mother in Blood and Bone, Bone and Blood and honestly there could have been a lot more in there that I ended up cutting. I'll come to that later, but let's start at the top.

Manva like most Dark Urge's that adhere to canon was not born but made, but unlike some in canon she also didn't have proper foster parents - she was left at the temple of Ilmater and due to the fact she didn't cry and had red hair (red being a sacred colour) and they had just taken in a woman who had lost her baby, they took her to be a gift to the temple. The woman nursed her, but then left again to rejoin her husband and left Manva behind. Manva grew up being told that she had been wetted with the tears of grief and swallowed the pain from her wet nurse. Everything in the temple of Ilmater conditioned her to understand taking on sacrifice, and she saw herself as absorbing the sadness of her wet nurse/mother figure so that she could leave and live her life again.

Then when she goes to the Bhaalist temple aged 13, after coming into her majority (getting her first blood which incidentally is when Sceleritas is born from her in a quasi birth from her period) she steps into a new world again, where she is told about her holy mission and purpose, and dedicates herself to it. But Bhaal does not rule with the carrot only. He is always keen to stir up competition in his ranks. "Grandfather" Sarevok tells Manva when she is still very young that should she fail, should she fall, he is tasked with filling her with the next generation of spawn, making her an endless vessel and it understandably fills her with fear, especially with the recent horror of Sceleritas crawling from her fully formed (I'm still undecided whether this is Bhaal's instruction, or a mind game, but for this purpose it doesn't really matter.) But it's also the first time she's ever considered sex, and with her understanding that she must take on great sacrifice, she also begins to slightly fetishise this fear. The idea of being desired and sacrificing her body in that way is a little sexy, even if the reality is not. Thanks, religious trauma. This is combined with her relationship to the then chosen, Torlin Silvershield, makes for a complicated time in her life.

Torlin is quite a traditional Bhaalist in a lot of ways. A man of means, connected and erudite, whose Bhaalist life is almost a fun club away from his real life. He is handsome and charming and belongs to a world that neither Manva or Orin understand at this point in their lives. He has his own family, his own life away from them. Both of them want to impress him and, vain man that he is, he indulges this. Eventually Manva wins out for his favour during her time as the Butcher of Baldur's Gate, but it is a bitter win; she wants him to be a mentor, a father-figure, and he sees the purest Bhaalspawn as a prize potential mistress, and his sexual attentions are devastating to her.

When he does lose his status, and when she can finally make decisions for herself, she decides to maintain her perceived celibacy (after all who needs sex when you have Bhaal's gift of ecstatic murder, and also the things she does to Orin in a fit of anger don't count.) She does right until she meets Gortash. And, I guess, she maintains it, as she does not allow anything that would risk getting with child, and he doesn't do anything to her that might risk her losing control of her strength and accidentally killing him. His desire for her is both tantalising and terrifying to her. He is a great risk.

Then Ketheric comes into the picture and all of these threads pull apart.

Ketheric can see the growing intimacy between her and Gortash, and he needles at it softly because he sees how ridiculous it is. These are broken children who are playing up for his attention, and it's pathetic to him. She's never really seen a person who loved their child before - Torlin was the closest, but he kept his children and life so far away from them - and she is fascinated by it. He would do all of this because he loves his daughter. All of it! He would become undead, he would sacrifice his very soul. She's envious, and wants his attentions as the father figure, but it also makes her think for the first time about what it would be like to choose to have a child. Around this time Gortash is also considering whether he will take a patriar wife pretty much only to have children and a legacy, and they are bringing back Isobel. It makes her have the first thread of desire for something truly for herself. Why do they get the opportunity to feel that feeling, and she doesn't?

I think, whether she realises it fully or (likely) not, that there is a part of her that would like a simple life that she has constantly been denied. The opportunity for love, and to nurture life, to feel secure and to feel seen. She has been a servant to others' needs her whole life, even before she knew she was the Bhaalsdaughter, and by the time she instigates the most toxic sexual relationship of all time with Ketheric (daddy AND daughter issues? literally pulling each other apart during and after? All of the damage caused by Bhaal, Sarevok and Torlin and the desire she cannot have sated by Gortash all coming out at once? Delicious) the strain of that and the desire for more is starting to show.

In the end, it is the Netherbrain that gives her that opportunity. The Brain reads her deepest desire and agrees to be the surrogate for her. The tadpoles will be birthed across the world, and she will be the all-mother to all the creatures it creates. Manva is part of her design, the co-parent, the nurturer of the end of everything, so that something may be born anew.

#okay this is long and rambling but! #manva warhelm

[dittydipity]

finally got around to finishing the finale of the ghost trick remaster. i've played and watched this ending more times than i can count but it's still so SO good.

all of my insane thoughts and overanalysis/overthinking under the cut

when the last portion/chapter of a game or book is called 'final chapter' or the title of the story.. GRRRRRRGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

when the four of them are discussing what to do and they're like "we might not be able to change your fate of dying" and yomiel is just. "i can accept that." 😭😭

^ HE SAYS WITH A SMILE. AUGH.

man no matter how many times i see it, yomiel getting flung back and impaled on the post never fails to make me flinch

ough.

These long, lonely ten years…

you were my one and only friend.

How about it?

Do you remember now...

*spotlight, the reveal*

...old friend?

SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING THROWING UP THE WAY THIS STORY IS TOLD

NOT TRAUMA KICKING IN 😭

he finally rember after so long of forgor...

and then the whole retelling of the story by sissel and yomiel where they narrate interchangeably without any indication of who is talking but you can still tell who's narrating hewioagljadsklfajds

Somebody, please reach a hand out to me... //

My body wouldn't move, but I still managed to reach out a "hand" to him.

ueueueue them finding the comfort they sought and needed in each other because at our cores, we all need connections..

catboy yomiel real and canon

Those ten years were very happy for me.

But they weren't happy for the man...

and there was nothing I could do for him.

^ LINE THAT PEOPLE DO NOT TALK ABOUT ENOUGH. god these lines hit so hard bc it's like. when all you want is for someone you love to be happy and you're trying your hardest and you're giving everything but you just don't know and you just can't understand that there just isn't any way for you to help, no matter how much you want to..

man just. imagine that when you finally think you're going to be free. that after so many years of limbo you think you're finally going to get what you've wanted. and when you get to the final steps of your plan, you find that your best friend, the only person keeping you afloat throughout this whole time, just died. because of you.

AUGHGGHHGHGHGGHHG GOD. GOD GOD GOD.

THE UNIMAGINABLE GRIEF AND REGRET. AND THE KNOWLEDGE THAT YOU WILL HAVE TO EXIST UNTIL THE END OF TIME WITH THESE BURDENS

jowd being the one to say this is so good. bc out of all the people, he might be the one that understands yomiel the most. yomiel's entire goddamn existence and everything he's believed and been forced to endure has finally been righted. jowd's own predicament and resulting fate change from this whole ordeal is also incredibly drastic, but that's what makes him the one who most closely relates to yomiel. yomiel's twisted, revenge-fueled desire to make jowd feel the same pain he felt turns into empathy and understanding.

I'M CRAZY. I'M CRAZZY

do you ever think about how, for the 4 of them (sissel, yomiel, jowd, missile), they have 20 years of memories overlapping each other in a 10y period? if not more, from all the rewinding and trial error of this one night? when they "return" to the new present that is born from this final aversion of fate, do they just find themselves in a completely different place in life, with a whole entire set of memories? do they just. slide "back" into place in this new timeline and replace the placeholder version of them that existed in those 10y that were completely changed, all of a sudden now with all of that version's memories and experiences?

how disorienting and confusing and discombobulating would that be, to suddenly have two completely different versions of the same period of time in your head

it's not as bad for missile, since he's only two years old when the events of the game happen, and so "only" has 2y worth of memories that overlap, but for sissel and yomiel and jowd...

and the fact that only the four of them will remember. sissel and missile are fine, as animals, but for yomiel and jowd.. how often did the people around them think they were insane, talking about things that never happened and knowing things that they shouldn't know, breaking down over things that remind them of this overwritten timeline

When we go back, our fates will no longer be interconnected.

It will be like we never met...

hiweoaghlkjadslkfjkl and in that new timeline, yomiel's one and only friend, the only being he could have called a friend in those years of limbo from the previous timeline, now has nothing to do with him.

and so before that happens, he has to apologize for everything he made sissel go through. even though sissel chose to stay by his side, it's only human nature to feel guilty for something you can't help. he needs this solace.

and sissel gives it to him.

all these four can do is hope that the stars will align and the gods that started this whole mess will allow them to meet once again

-> RAY. DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON RAY.

these have to be some of the most genuine, heartfelt lines in the game, alongside the thanks that yomiel gives sissel.

not me getting sad about ray's reluctance to even talk about himself. oh boy.

his reluctance to reveal just how much he messed up and failed. how hard he tried and how much he's sacrificed just to help his friends. telling this almost complete outsider how much of a failure he was and expecting them to understand his selfish, selfish reasons

can you imagine? waiting for 10 years to pin all your hopes and sacrifices on this stranger that didn't stop to give you the time of day the first time. and if they don't help you this time, everything would have been for nothing. having to just stand back and watch as everything happens this second time around because you can't risk messing it up this time.

doing all of this knowing that, whether things work out or not this time, you're going to disappear at the end.

Of course!

Because that's what doggies do!

🥺🥺🥺🥺😭

<EPILOGUE>

the wave of relief and satisfaction when reincarnation starts..

From just that single night as a human, I got a glimpse into their world.

And I learned something...

Their fates, their lives - they were all interconnected...

Somewhere, somehow, in some way.

And, now, this is MY new fate.

literally just in awe at this story.

the reveal of sissel's new fate w the next lines.. one of the most fulfilling, complete endings and feelings of closure i've ever gotten from a game.

It suits me just fine to curl up and watch...

...watch the strange and beautiful patterns of their lives as they unfold.

And it looks like...

...I'll have plenty to watch

here for quite a while.

and the credits song kicking in.. the way it's timed perfectly with the final reveal and snaps to the main theme in time with the end of sissel's speech. it's SO satisfying.

and the fact that the credits song is a remix of the main theme that we've heard so much throughout the game as a way to end each chapter with a sense of mystery, but this final time, it's triumphant. it's the same tune but this time we've solved everything. everything is going to be okay.

i love you ghost trick

#once again copypasted from discord ramblings #if you havent played or seen ghost trick DON'T LOOK #gt one of the games EVER. #.d #ghost trick #ghost trick spoilers

[three--rings]

You Should Watch Moonlight Chicken

Welcome to my formal rec of this show, which has stolen my heart so completely over the last few weeks.

What is it?

Thai BL series from GMMTV which has just finished airing (as of March 2, 2023). The characters all revolve around a chicken rice diner called Moonlight Chicken. It's got eight episodes a little over an hour each.

Couples:

Jim and Wen:

The main characters and couple are Jim (left above) and Wen (right). They meet when Wen passes out drunk at Jim's restaurant one night and they end up talking and flirting and then going home for a "no strings attached" one night stand.

Afterwards Wen is determined to attach strings but Jim holds firm to his "no complications" rule. Wen starts working part time at the diner in a not-at-all-sneaky plot to win him over.

Heart and Li Ming:

The adorable teen couple of Jim's nephew Li Ming, who he is raising, and Heart, a boy who has been extremely isolated since becoming deaf three years ago. They quickly develop a friendship and learn to communicate and it's heartwarming and adorable right up until it deal with very real issues of ableism.

Other characters:

Alan

He's Wen's not-quite-or-maybe ex. It's complicated. The show might be just as much about Wen and Alan as Wen and Jim, but theirs is a breakup story.

Gaipa:

He's a young friend of Jim, with a massive crush on him. Unrequited love and his relationship with his amazing mom is his focus. Standout performance from the actor.

Saleng:

The token straight. I felt bad leaving him out, okay? He's a good boy.

Okay but what's it ABOUT?

Life. Love. Relationships. Growing up, healing, building community and family even in the face of adversity.

Could you elaborate?

Okay look, the way the plot of this show was sold was "One Night Stand leads to complications when one of them already has a boyfriend?!? Drama!" Which is downright misleading. I showed up for messy gay drama and got a profound piece of queer cinematic art about the struggles of modern life and love and relationships.

This is honestly not your typical BL series at all. It really does feel a lot more like serious drama, queer film, etc than what we are used to. (I'm not saying it's ALONE...just rare.) It feels like a director/creator coming into their own and really stretching their abilities.

The cinematography is gorgeous, creating a quiet and pensive mood throughout. The acting is remarkable, excellent across the board with some real stand-out performances from the "side" characters.

The plot flirts with melodrama/soap opera turns but it always comes down on the side of grounded, realistic takes. I'll just say there are some moments that really hit me because they reflect experiences I've had in my life so well.

This show is very Adult to me. And by that, I don't mean steamy or sexy. It's really not, despite the first episode. It's a very chaste show, all things considered. I mean Adult in terms of These are Problems Adults Have. Dealing with the ending of relationships, getting over past relationship trauma, dealing with grief and loss, figuring out what you want in life, having to be there for your ex because they need you and you still care, etc. Just life, sometimes messy and painful, but ultimately beautiful.

If you can't tell I could go on for a while. But honestly, even if you're not a BL watcher normally, I recommend you give this a try. It's a feel-good show that will make you cry.

Okay where do I watch it?

Good news! The show is available for free on YouTube in its entirety! Just look for the GMMTV official channel.

Content Warnings under the cut to avoid potential spoilers but they will remain vague

Having sex while under the influence of alcohol but fairly lucid, cheating as a topic, breakups, ableism and parental neglect as a result, death of a partner, death of a parent, motor vehicle accident aftermath, age gap relationship(s)

#moonlight chicken #threerings' recs #threerings watches moonlight chicken #threerings recs TV Shows #long post

[lapinpuff]

☆My Full DHMIS Interpretation!☆

Hi guys!! Recently I re-watched the DHMIS show with my mum, a fellow fan. It made me remember that, last year, I was totally obsessed with theorising despite the very possible futility of all this, haha. I was always nervous about sharing this before, but I've had almost three years to let my interpretations of this wacky, wonderful show bake in the oven of my heart. I think I'm ready to decorate and share it here at last (✿◡‿◡)

(Disclaimer: This is all just my interpretation! Nothing here is confirmed or denied officially. Whatever you believe is just as awesome! :D)

Alrighty, here we go!

The basis for my entire interpretation is one core idea: Lesley is using the world of DHMIS, which I’ll be calling the felt world hereafter, as a very unhelpful coping mechanism. I do not see her character as actively malicious; the felt world is simply born from her mind and influenced by both her desires and subconscious. Her trauma and grief is thus continuously spilling into and corrupting the felt world against her will, causing its oddness and comedically overkill levels of gore that we all know and love. But why is Lesley’s mind so darkened?

To start with the basics, Lesley was likely, once upon a time, just a human woman with a son called David. This is a pretty unanimous starting point amongst theorists and I see why! Lesley herself is the only (ambiguously) fully human-like character to exist in the felt world. If she’s not human, she’s at the very least live-action. Ergo, she's significant. She mentions a son, and her anger or pain in this moment certainly suggests grief to me. I have almost no doubt that Yellow Guy represents her son. The D on his overalls for David, the gravestone bearing this name, his car-crash dream, Lesley's fondness for him which perhaps we can connect to the fact he has never truly died on-screen in the manner of Duck and Red...

Judging from the Mulhoven dream, I believe that Yellow's human equivalent was a young adult moving to the village. To me, Mulhoven must have been the actual name of the place, since it’s just too…realistic and not funny or dark or a pun. It sounds like a real place you’d find here in England. I believe David moved sometime after university. I say this age-wise because Lesley seems frozen at one age (she’d have died of old age otherwise, with how time passes in the series), and if this is around the age she was when David died, then her age makes sense if he was 25-ish. Also, Charged Yellow Guy very much reads as an adult to me, and seems to know a lot about both academic and distinctly mature domestic topics such as insurance. Uncharged Yellow, then, represents a younger, child version of David. I'd say Lesley willingly keeps him uncharged because this way she can pretend he's still her helpless child.

So David was moving to Mulhoven, and possibly Lesley was worried or reluctant to see him go, as most mothers would be. The idealistic, 60s era kind of dream YG has suggests that David had a very positive view of the village, and also that he had grown up around the 60s-80s; his childhood shows spill into his reborn puppet self's dreams. Despite David’s enthusiasm, Lesley worried, and unfortunately her fears came true when David was hit by a car and likely killed when moving in. Judging by Lesley's actions, obsession with control, the sheer bloodiness of her mind state, and the fact her name is the reg plate of the Transport teacher who spends most of his screen time as a car, I believe she was visiting David (perhaps as a surprise or out of spontaneous worry, or just to help him move) and was the one who accidentally hit him.

I at first had no clue what the bird represents in YG’s dream, but now I theorise it was a pet he was chasing. A parting gift from Lesley, maybe? I think David must have had a fondness for birds, leading to Lesley making Duck just for him in the felt world. Duck is also his fave colour (green!) and Yellow Guy seems awfully attached to him, as if it were meant to be. At the start of the felt world, Lesley probably did intend for Duck and Red Guy to serve as Yellow's best friends...maybe the aforementioned trauma looming over her mind's creation has even infected them, breaking apart her intended dynamic and encouraging the two to mistreat YG. If Duck represents that runaway bird, the one thing Lesley could truly use as a scapegoat for David's death, then of course she hates him. Of course she torments him, subconsciously or consciously, throughout the series. Some part of her sees it as a sort of revenge.

There's also the idea that this is why Duck is inherently a bit of a jerk in the TV show...maybe he was never meant to be a best friend. Maybe Lesley actually put him in there to be a punching bag, meant to be hated and tortured, meant to relinquish her self-believed guilt. She might not have expected YG to like him; seems like Duck is almost predisposed to cruelty towards Yellow, after all. When he did like Duck, Lesley kept him around. This is an interesting idea but I think I like the former more; Duck is just modelled after something David loved and Lesley hates.

Anyway, all of this is why I think Duck’s head is pasted over the pet in the dream. Red is probably the neighbour in the dream either due to actually being a stand-in for one of David’s neighbours or because, well, when you spend every waking second of your puppet life with someone, their face is probably going to slip into your dreams!

(Note: I saw a theory that "don't hug me, I'm scared" could have been David's last words as he bled out and Lesley tried to hold him but couldn't. And, like, that's so insanely, horrifically sad that I can't NOT include it here?! It makes a lot of sense too! Lesley's grief is so overwhelming that it even determines the title of her coping mechanism styled after a show. She cannot escape it, even in the title of her fantasy world. Gosh...)

Now, what happened after David’s death?

Well, I don't like to think the show is just a metaphor...rather a physical thing with metaphorical elements? I think the human world preceding the felt world (so, their version of plain old reality) is not quite our human world, so I'm ignoring logic here. I believe that the people in the attic room above Lesley’s room are responsible, judging from their framed significance and how Lesley talks about them with a hint of fear in cut storyboard lines.

There’s a good chance these things initially reached out to Lesley as she grieved and made a sort of deal with her: she could play out her fantasies in a world made directly from/influenced by her brain and her wishes, so long as she gave her entire life for it. Lesley agreed, of course, and became what she is in the show. The process of becoming the puppetmaster of such a world has, in a sense, immortalised Lesley, preventing her from ageing and keeping her in a human-puppet hybrid body (hence her stitches and exposed stuffing…perhaps she’s been neglecting self-care) so she can play forever. Be with her new son forever. I also think the stitches and stuffing could be, alternatively, a sign she was injured or almost died in the same crash that killed her son. Why did the higher-up beings do this for Lesley, then? Give her all she wanted and potentially bring her back to life?

It’s a good question. Perhaps the higher-ups, whatever they are, are just looking for amusement. Maybe we can go comedically surreal and they're demonic types or monsters stealing her soul or whatever, haha. Realistically, I think that if they're ever revealed, they'll be the actual show creators from our real world...bit of meta and all that! The aforementioned storyboards really do imply that Lesley is afraid of them to an extent...so it's her world, yes, but even she is just "dancing in chains", trapped forever as the puppets are trapped. This explains her emotional instability too—really, it's a total miracle she's not WAY worse after being trapped in an attic playing with dead-son dolls for decades or even longer. Gosh.

Onto the webseries, yay! Now, I could just dismiss this whole thing and say it's a separate universe from the TV show, and that the TV series just uses the same characters in a different way. Sure. It is plausible. But between the references the TV show makes to the webseries and the fact that the DHMIS writers are actual geniuses and I love them, I think there must be a connection. Somehow. And I think the webseries is, in a sense, an earlier version of Lesley's playground. A version where the series had to be filmed to be broadcast to the higher-ups (see Creativity, and Computers’ ending with the filming sets), until Lesley later made a world where these higher-ups, whatever they are, could simply live in the house above the rest of the puppets and her, able to observe or control it all easily.

I also suppose the cameras could be Lesley’s way of watching over the lot of them even while she’s not there to keep a direct eye on things…!

So why isn’t Lesley in the webseries? Even if the true answer is just “her character wasn’t implemented until the TV series”, I still think this could work into my interpretation. For example, in the early days just after she had become the puppetmaster (so to speak), Lesley likely needed to experiment just as all writers and creators do. To me, the webseries represents a sort of early draft, one of the many, many versions of the show created by Lesley to test out the characters, their dynamics, et cetera. That’s why everything is so different in the TV show, when Lesley has more of a final product. The stories are longer, the house is more of a house, the characters are less (lovably!) one-note, and even little details like their voices and designs have shifted.

Perhaps Lesley had multiple versions of her test/early worlds running at once and couldn't possibly man them all with her singular brain–so she created Roy.

I think Roy is one of two things: he could be a slapped-together, makeshift dad character for YG to replace Lesley (explaining his very odd behaviour and appearance if he was a rush-job), meant to serve as the guardian of the webseries world. Or he could be a mean-spirited caricature of Lesley's (ex?)husband, again explaining his gross behaviour and comically sloppy appearance if she wasn't too fond of him. Either way, she left him in charge of one of her early/test felt worlds, abandoned it so she could test out some more, and expected this to go well. It, of course, didn't, because Roy was born purely from herself—her grief, pain and hatred. He's literally concentrated malice. This made him a HORRIBLE puppetmaster, and he completely wrecked the webseries world, turning it quickly into a cycle of torture and gore.

Worst of all in Lesley’s eyes, I’m sure, Roy even seems to hate Yellow. He punishes him for absolutely nothing, and does so endlessly. Is this how Lesley saw her husband, as a monster who mistreated their son, or is this just the result of her disturbed mind? Her own repressed hatred of Yellow? Not that she actually hates him, of course not, but I think everyone can think of something they hate even about the people they love the most. It never bothers us enough to counteract the goodness. Imagine, then, if that tiny feeling—that worm of hate—was enhanced and distorted and bloated in the form of a cruel new body, made purely from your negative emotions.

The fact this was an early draft sort of world also explains the puppet trio having less nuanced personalities and acting more like puppet-show archetypes. The silly kind main character, the eccentric smarty-pants (Stingy from LazyTown anyone? lol) and the cool sarcastic big-brother type. They didn't even seem to have much if any malice towards one another in those days. In fact, they seemed to get along remarkably well considering the circumstances. Duck, the biggest bastard from the TV series, is a total silly sweetheart in the webseries! The worst he does is gently yell at Yellow once. They were all so different back then. Whether Lesley rewrote their personalities for more depth by the time of the TV show, or her trauma again infected them all and deteriorated Red's initial aloof, unshakable confidence and Duck's former kindness and optimism…that’s another question, and either option fascinates me!

Now what about the realistic world filled with Red Guys? My explanation isn’t as deep as some out there, I’m afraid. I simply believe this is another fake layer of Roy’s felt world, meant to trick Red into thinking that was all there was out there beyond the house–Roy added it in simply to keep him in line if he ever escaped. Red got out quite unexpectedly, it appears, so perhaps Roy had to throw together the Red Guy world in a rush by copy-pasting Red’s uninterested and near emotionless default form a few dozen times. Our Red, who has had a fair bit of character development in the webseries, is by that point too enthusiastic for anything resembling his former selves. Roy may have known this and could have been trying to coax Red into returning to the felt world–that, or the Red world served as a bland punishment for escaping at all.

I think the dumpster from the TV series’ Transport is similar–a sort of safety net layer to the felt world, there to break the rebellious psyche of the puppets every time they try to get out or disobey. By convincing them that there’s nothing but darkness and boredom outside of the felt world, they are conditioned to accept their felt world; note how Red is suddenly okay with his surroundings after Transport.

Either that or they actually did escape successfully in Transport, but coincidentally ended up in a rubbish tip in the real world and, due to their forced naivete, assumed the entire world was like that. Before they could even explore and realise this wasn’t the case, Lesley took them home. It’s a remarkably sad thought…still, I do believe this was just another layer of Lesley’s fake world, especially since she was able to seemingly drag them all back into the felt world so easily. In this case, the protests of the teachers and the satnav could be read as either genuine (maybe Lesley panicked–does she lose control over the trio the further they get away?), a warning, or another level of manipulation. Either way, Lesley gets her puppets home, spirits were successfully broken. Unless, as others have suggested, Lesley left that lot to rot in the fake real world and replaced them with copies. I personally don’t believe so, but again, perfectly on-brand nightmare fuel!

Back to the RG world, this is why Red was so easily able to clip back into the felt world when he wanted to. The second he openly misses his friends and their life, bam, he’s in the felt world (or the transitional space between them!). It seems it was always waiting for him to give up on his dreams and return to it. That’s also, presumably, how he could contact the other two via their phone–their worlds were just a skin away from one another. This is similar to how, in the TV series, Lesley shoots down their individual hopes of having a family outside of the trio with even more illusions/fake worlds (the RG photoshoot could be a recycled RG world), and completely shatters their hope in Transport, even if this was not all intentional. It’s all her subconscious working hard to keep everything in check…

Thinking about it, Roy seems, in this webseries, to have inherited mainly Lesley’s dark side and her obsession with control (which we can assume has loosened slightly by the TV show—maybe she thinks it’s more interesting if they have slightly heightened free will?), which explains his actions quite clearly. It explains why the teachers he sends are so cruel and quick to shut down anything that goes against them, for one. Whilst Lesley in the TV series only has loose control over the characters, likely because she likes it this way by that point, Roy is utterly hellbent on control, control, control. He literally has a control panel to summon the teachers and even Duck, suggesting he had Duck backups but simply didn’t want to use them since Duck was causing him trouble. Going with the second layer of meaning, this feeds the extended metaphor of art: a lot of creators will put too much emphasis on control and perfection before realising that, sometimes, you have to let things breathe in order to see them flourish; I think this is the lesson Lesley has learnt by the time of the TV series.

Roy, however, was unable to learn; he was a thoughtless vessel for misery. Perhaps he realised that he had screwed up the world he was in charge of. Perhaps Lesley at last watched the footage or checked in and was furious. Roy had, after all, put Yellow, Lesley’s favourite, in harm’s way again and again without mercy. I believe this situation, of being guilty or found out, is why Roy encouraged Red to pull the plug on their world and end the entire thing in what I can only compare to suicide. Hence the webseries’s ending—the trio we know has died, and the new world is just another one of Lesley’s created worlds for testing. She’s just switching up the designs this time, possibly as an apology for Roy’s behaviour—Lesley could be testing out a softer version of her world to see how it’ll go, unaware that her subconscious will make it all bleed and cry again, inevitably. Unfortunately, by the time of the TV series, Lesley has both perfected her formula and made it harsher. No more favourite coloured flesh for you guys!!!

On this topic, what exactly is that void with the control panel? It seems to show up again in Electricity, full of corpses and unused teachers, like some dump. I interpret this as a sort of beta/testing ground which connects every single felt world and loop Lesley has created. There’s a version of Duck dead on the floor and a television playing a seemingly happier version of him, likely both left over from other loops or test worlds.

There’s also some webseries teachers, abandoned and possibly waiting to be repurposed as kinder versions, as Lesley has already clearly done with the lamp, Colin and Tony. The meat guy seems to still be off his head and potentially dangerous, so we can assume he hasn’t been rewritten yet. It does seem like Lesley is actively making an effort to have nicer, safer teachers now. Well, at least kinder to Yellow.

The briefcase doesn’t directly hurt ANYONE unless you count the coin (and this is very likely allowed by Lesley because she seemingly hates Duck anyway lol), the coffin tries to get rid of Duck which Lesley probably sees as a kindness, then the lamp is a little odd but calm and sweet, and he at least attempts to be comforting…

The train is also harmless and probably one of Lesley’s earliest creations pulled out for the unscheduled, emergency lesson, judging by his age, condition and the fact that transport is like a comedically common theme for kids’ show episodes. If Time Child is a Lesley creation then he probably would have genuinely let the puppets have fun too. Then at last, Electracey is the most obviously kind of the whole lot–she’s downright adorable in her sweetness, and when she hurts Yellow it is quite obviously without any intent to harm.

The only teachers we can’t pinpoint as Lesley’s creations are the twins and Warren due to their designs and particularly odd behaviour. This may explain why they are the most actively malicious; they could be things Lesley accidentally created, due to her mind forcing dark, dangerous things into the felt world as a result of her emotional and mental state. As we see the twins in the dream sequence of Transport, it’s highly possible that they were Lesley and David’s actual relatives and the puppet versions are how Lesley’s mind remembers them or distorts them through her grief and slipping sanity. As for Warren…erm, no clue. He feels like he just wandered on set. My only guess is that he’s some side character gone rogue but Lesley found the scenario interesting enough to keep, haha!

So returning to the void…this explains the arts and crafts mess going on there. Lesley’s mind is processing the props she has and making new things too, ready to drop them into the world when needed. This is also why the intro scene fridge is the star of the famous fridge scene, rather than the kitchen fridge—this void is where Lesley keeps the parts needed for the intro sequence, ready to pop them out whenever a new “episode” starts. Because the void is a nothing space, a big waiting room, the characters are thrown here when the lights go out and she can’t watch them. They are likewise suddenly no longer confined to Lesley’s rules.

Note that every single scene in the entire show is either somewhat funny or somewhat disturbing. Now, the fridge scene could be read as slightly funny at a stretch, but it’s honestly just…unapologetically sweet. It is clear that this can only happen in the darkness, away from Lesley, away from the show, away from the rules. RG and Duck are literally breaking the rules of their very existence here. Plus, Electricity is almost objectively one of the most well-made DHMIS episodes. Every minute of the episode is crucial and well-spent, filled with fast-paced jokes, character exploration, huge lore reveals. Every second is timed and precious. They wouldn’t waste that precious thirty seconds on the fridge scene unless it would make the audience really laugh (it doesn’t), disturb them (it doesn’t)...or unless it was very significant. I’m sure you can guess where I lean! The emotional weight of the first fully emotional moment in the entire six episode series cannot be overstated, and it says a lot about how Lesley’s influence usually keeps the characters cruel and lonely and in pain, even though she likely doesn’t mean to do this to them. Without her, they can break down their walls so quickly.

Lesley’s influence going against her will is something we see again and again, actually. Her name is subtly slapped onto surface after object in this show, from the transport teacher’s reg to the credits of Grolton and Hovris. To me this again is suggesting the absolute influence her troubled mind is having on the felt world beyond her control, stamping her name on everything, even things which cause pain or confusion, as if to subconsciously confess to the world her shame and guilt. It’s good to note that the mention of Lesley in the Grolton credits claim she’s the script editor, which to me could be read as symbolism for her entire role in the TV series—she’s not really causing everything, more guiding and supervising and, well, editing what’s there.

Lesley just lets her teachers loose, sees where it goes, then edits the “script” that plays out in her own way through censoring and resetting if she doesn’t like the turnout. I doubt Lesley wants the trio to know about her influence, so the fact her name and even her face appear so often regardless again implies her mind is expressing her feelings of guilt and responsibility, maybe even in a cry for help…? I imagine a part of her wants to be free from the chains she and the trio are locked into together forever. I doubt she’s allowed to leave or die.

Then of course, as I’ve mentioned previously, my theory is that all the dark features of the show are unavoidable, unremovable effects of Lesley’s subconscious; her pain leaks into every aspect of her fantasy world even as she attempts to drown it out in bright colours and cheerful songs. I like to think her grasp on this has improved since the webseries, considering the very slightly less nightmarish existence the trio face now, but clearly she’s unable to get rid of this darkness. Food becomes disgusting piles of raw meat, reminding us of dead bodies. Grieving is rendered a parody—a funeral service describing David so very inaccurately, strangers mourning, offering food, offering replacements, when all Lesley wanted was David back…and “David” stays in the coffin, awake the whole episode, not unlike Yellow Guy’s existence now akin to a reanimated corpse. Everything, inherently horrible or sweet and innocent, is filtered through the same dark screen of unresolved trauma. The puppets are desensitised, and so is Lesley. How could they not be after seemingly endless loops?

Hang on. How long has this cycle been going, then? It’s one of my most burning questions. Personally, I believe the series as we have seen it takes place in the actual real-world present (2011-2022 so far) but Lesley has made it so her world, the felt world, won’t move or change. Likewise, she is immortal in this state. So she’s playing out a very weird, modern-blended version of the fifties or sixties while the world has moved on. Despite this, Lesley clearly knows about media and inventions that came out much later, so maybe she didn’t create the world until like a few decades after David died. Or, maybe, she can still see the human world…maybe even travel between it and her own.

Now, I don’t think David necessarily died in the fifties or sixties—I think this was more likely just a time in his childhood if we continue to say he was in his 20s or at a stretch early 30s when he died. This also explains why YG was like 40 then 50 in the pilot, although of course this was scrapped. Also explains why Duck is implied to be 31 in Time—that’s way too specific of a badge number to just be whatever they could grab at the last minute in Card Factory. Unless their weirdly specific ages are just another little running joke, which I’d appreciate too. Still, if we take it seriously, it adds up! Duck and Red were probably created a few years after YG in order to give him someone to talk to. Unless he’s older than them because he’s kept in a somewhat young body which Lesley counted as his age from the first loop, thus making him technically older than the other ones…

Ouch, my brain. I’m not the one to talk about this; I failed my maths GCSE.

Still, I think it makes sense! And I think this is why YG is trapped as a sort of half-adult half-child (I’m saying this an autistic girl, please don’t get mad…), and why Lesley keeps his batteries low and gross so he’ll forever be similar to a child. Also so he will never be able to figure out how to escape, if there is a way. I get the feeling that he cannot simply be replaced like Duck and seemingly Red…he’s more valuable to Lesley either way, because he’s her mind’s direct recreation of her son in puppet form. Or if you want to go the weird demon deal kind of route, YG actually contains his soul? I don’t know, hehe.

I think Lesley originally had him on full power batteries, but realised his awareness was difficult to deal with so let him run dry from then on, again exerting the small level of indirect control she allows herself over him. Under this assumption, we again can say that Charged Yellow represents adult David who moved away from Lesley and tried to make his own life before he was killed. I also believe this because he keeps the traits he has as Uncharged Yellow-–he’s sweet, caring even towards Electracey, and very curious, implying these are innate qualities. When charged, he just gains the ability to do something with this curiosity and articulate his thoughts. He really does read like a grown-up, freshly uni-educated Yellow Guy. Perhaps this level of human-inspired compassion is what prevents him from fitting in with Big and Bigger Duck/Red, who are constructs of Lesley who have been “enlightened” in the wrong ways—they have gained knowledge but lost their hearts. They can be filled with book-smarts artificially, but not with emotion or compassion; this can only be something they learn on their own outside of the spotlight, like in the fridge scene. It is not something Lesley can give them.

See, people joke about Lesley being a FluffyBird shipper and. Yes actually, that makes a lot of sense, and I’m totally serious! Though she definitely prefers YG and seems to dislike Duck to some extent, or at least neglect him, she often pairs him off with Red for the stories she gets the teachers to kickstart. This could be so she gets to observe Yellow on his own, or could be a natural consequence of her seeming fondness for isolating YG in general–the other two end up stuck together in the wake of this, so inevitably bond a little. It does seem like Lesley encourages this, fueling Duck’s subtle obsession with Red in the process—if we think darkly, perhaps this is another a way to torture Duck even more, since Red is comparatively aloof with him and seems to prefer Yellow most of the time. How sad…

Oh, and speaking of sad duck things, I think I’d be remiss not to cover Silly Sad Duck, that freaky little bonus track on the official album! I only just discovered it and it’s driving me bananas in the best way because I’m a huge Duck fan and any insight into his character makes me scream. To be blunt, I think this track is meant to be Duck being tormented by Roy or one of the teachers, either as he lays in the hospital bed all drugged up, or when he’s already been eaten and returned to the void. Note this void also seems to be stretching into the world in the ending of Electricity unless that’s just a visual metaphor for the loop or the transitions between loops…agh my head hurts…

ANYWAY this track really demonstrates just how much Roy hates Duck—again, if he was created from Lesley’s darker emotions, this makes sense if she hates him too. Duck is being relentlessly mocked for missing his friends, called silly…and his “voice” is so distorted. It sounds like a purposefully bad impression. To me it feels like he’s being controlled to speak and thus add to the mockery of himself, or he’s utterly drugged off his head, or the teacher/Roy is mimicking his voice to make fun of him. And then the ending…who is that?

My guesses: the cans coming to suck his guts out, the other two here to reunite for the new-colour loop or the TV show or some other loop, or maybe even just a teacher or Roy coming to torture him some more. This entire song establishes Duck’s love for his friends, even though he finds it tricky to express, and all in a way where he is mocked and belittled for daring to love. This is, like, insanely hate-fuelled mockery. There’s a quote from that one interview where Duck says he loves whoever loves him back. At his core, he is fuelled by love tied with ego. And both are being ridiculed in this track. This makes me a sad duck too.

To explain why I think this voice represents or even is Roy…well, that voice is just how I imagine Roy’s human equivalent would have sounded really…it’s a pretty similar accent to Lesley after all. They seem kind of posh, which makes Yellow’s Yorkshire-y accent even funnier. I say Yorkshire because I’m from there, but it’s probably more vaguely Northern? Just so noticeably distinct from Lesley’s.

I think I’ve covered most of my major points! AKA, gushing about this show because it’s my favourite thing ever made EVER! I could gush forever, so I’ll have to stop myself now.

Right then, to wrap this up, here’s a loose order of events I’ve constructed based on my interpretation…

One. David, Lesley’s son is hit by a car and dies. Either soon after this happens or some years later, she is given the power to watch over and, to some degree, control a world with a puppet version of him and his new puppet companions. Lesley begins experimenting with different versions of the world; drafts, so to speak, testing the power of her creations.

Two. The webseries. This follows one of the worlds Lesley created, left in the very incapable hands of Roy, who is a puppet caricature of her husband with very little human emotion beyond malice. Roy tortures the puppets instead of watching over and guiding them as Lesley intended him to do. Impatient, he ends up booting Red and Duck the second they question things: he kills Duck (and does this torturously, keeping him alive on a blood bag as his guts are removed) and throws Red out into a fake world. When Roy or Lesley decides this world is a failure, Roy encourages Red to destroy it by pulling their plug, and another loop begins.

Three. The pilot. Though scrapped, the pilot is still oddly canon since Clayhill is mentioned to have disappeared in Transport. We can assume that Lesley had been experimenting, but was ultimately unhappy with the tone or characters of Clayhill and decided to destroy it to try something closer to her original concepts. If I were Lesley I would have kept the horrible bowling ball joke though

Four. The TV series. It seems as if Lesley is at last satisfied with her creation, at least for the time being, and keeps the loop going in this one world contained in one funny pink house. In this world, Lesley is physically close to the puppets to keep a watchful eye directly over them. She seems to be having a problem with them gaining self-awareness, especially Yellow Guy, who actually meets her over and over. Still, this just continues in an endless loop, never going anywhere. Memories are dissolved as soon as they form, characters are reset like clockwork, and nothing ever changes. Lesley seems content, though it’s difficult to tell…

All done! Wow, if you read this far, you’re a star!!!!!!! THANK YOU <3

For those interested, I also have an in-depth Big/Bigger Boys analysis not too far back (I haven’t posted in a while!) and a handful of questionable fanfics which use my interpretations and slip into character analysis on my AO3 :D

LOTS OF LOVE! Stay sillyyy! 💕

#dhmis #don't hug me i'm scared #fluffybird #yellow guy #red guy #duck dhmis #I can't wait until s2 comes out and disproves all of this #LOL jk :3 #dhmis analysis #dhmis theory

[mr-nauseam]

The Case of Lonely Mothers p. 2

A study about the "similarities" between Mrs. Plinth and Mrs. Everdeen and their relationships with their respective children

Read only if you are interested in parallel Sejanus/Katniss. Otherwise just don't read it

For Juli (@julietasgf)

.

Remember I'm doing this for fun. I do not believe that such "parallel" between Mrs. Plinth and Mrs. Everdeen is something Suzanne put in the text with intention, I just notice a lot of coincidences in them

First part here

.

IV. The Conclusion

"You cannot fathom how much I've mourned, what thousands of years of grief has done to me"

(Rebecca Sugar)

Sejanus Plinth and Katniss Everdeen are two teenagers, lacking the skills necessary to navigate the world they live in. They survive as best they can, on their own

Why are them by their own if they are so young? Because they had no one

Their fathers, unable to communicate with them and to guide them properly, either because there is a great Incompatibility that prevents them from being on the same channel or something greater, such as death, creates a barrier between them that is impossible to overcome, are not a option

Their mothers would naturally be the other option to consider to be their guides - and in reality it is socially expected that they are the ones in charge of raising them, and not their fathers, with all that implies. But if they have no one, this mean that their mothers are neither an option?

The answer is yes, and we will now explore this further

Let's pick up where we left off: Mrs. Plinth and Mrs. Everdeen are women with previous stories of trauma, who are re-traumatized by an event of great magnitude that forever disrupts their lives (and their relationships with their children)

In Ma's case, it was the loss of home, of her family upon moving to the Capitol that plunged her into an eternal mourning of longing and sadness

For Mrs. Everdeen, it was the loss of the love of her life and the bleak future she saw before her that plunged her into catatonic depression and death mourning

Their pain ends up impacting and significantly altering their family dynamics

In the Plinth's case, Ma has many advantages that Mrs. Everdeen does not. First of all, her traumas do not have such severe effects on her body (catatonic state) and by having Strabo by her side, she has assured economic stability for her and her son, which alleviates many discomforts (they will never go hungry, they will always be warm), in fact, her privileged position within the Capitol saves her son from one of the most distressing and common experiences that parents live in Panem: the reaping ceremony, which represents the very real possibility of losing their children in a dehumanizing and cruel way

However, this does not prevent her depression, as her more fortunate position in certain respects still lacks important pillars for Ma person

Ma is isolated in a very particular way. Outside of her husband and son, she has no one to talk to, not only that, she lacks the ability to be vulnerable with another human being, as the people around her are hostile to her at every turn

While I don't believe Ma has suffered more than a few incidents of discrimination that were overly explicit verbally or physically, the Capitol is still a world of many delicate social rules, guided by microaggressions and a constant passive aggressive attitude, which makes for a very stressful environment, which for someone like Mrs. Plinth who could never adapt to the ways of the Capitol must be as overwhelming and stifling as it was for Sejanus, if not more so

For she had the responsibility of taking care of him, and having to deal with Sejanus' own trauma and xenophobic experiences (he suffering from bullying for example), placed her in a very complex decision to deal with

Which ended up causing her to become unable to handle it properly or ideally: Making her ends up becoming very dependent on Sejanus. He is her reason for staying in this world (and that may not sound so bad but it is a lot of pressure)

She don't do that with intent - in fact I would like to say that will is not something that intervenes in this analysis- but who else does she have?

No friends. No family. No community. No home. And full of emotions (sadness, frustration, homesickness, etc). She also many emotional needs that cannot be satisfied by anyone

I must say. Her relationship with Strabo doesn't seem to be bad but we know he may not be the best person to go to when it comes to her grieving for her home (he had a very strong opinion about this matter). In the text they seem to have talked about it (the mention of Strabo opining that for Sejanus' children the situation will be better), it's just that his comfort is not in tune with her emotions

But she had Sejanus and he suffers in a similar way to Ma. He can understand her and offer her the comfort she needs. They are each other's unconditional support -for Sejanus has no one to be completely vulnerable with either

The problem is that Sejanus was comforting his mother since he was 8 years old

Ma has been Sejanus' mother, she has been able to be. I'm not deny it, she's not in Mrs. Everdeen situation at the end of the day, but I don't think it's such a stretch to say that she has unwittingly forced Sejanus to meet her emotional needs

If we go with this assumption it is not strange to see why Ma Plinth could not teach her son to survive in the cruel world he was born into. For she does not know how to live in it either

Ma navigates the Capitol in the ways of the district. She doesn't fit in, she mismatches. She doesn't know how to make friends. She doesn't know how to stop the scorn of the people she lives with - or the people she left behind.

She doesn't have the tools so she can't pass them on

Mrs. Everdeen is a difficult case, and while her neglect of Katniss - and to a lesser extent of Prim - is undeniable, her circumstances were too harsh to expect her to get through them without a support system

I reiterate here something I already mentioned: willpower has nothing to do with these stories. It's not a question of if they would have wanted to / if they would have tried harder. Plain and simple, circumstances overcame them or at least impossibly - severely limiting their actions.

And this is essential to understand especially when we talk about Mrs. Everdeen. Let's review her context: she lives in District 12 -one of the most fucked districts in all Panem-, she grew up as part of the merchant class so she had certain privileges and then lost them. This influences the kind of lack she is used to face -how she lives it- and also the knowledge she has of how to survive in difficult circumstances -but let's remember that she is still a smart and capable woman, here I'm talking more about the facilities for adaptability

She falls in love and marries a miner from the Seam. The poorest and most oppressed area of D12. A totally new environment for her in which she does not know very well how to manage but she is fine because she has her husband to help her with the process. Her husband who has a high-risk job where it is possible he get injured a lot

Then they have two daughters. Whom she loves and they bring her joy, but in her world there are the hunger games. That monster on the prowl, threatening to take her daughters away from her; to kill them.

And Mrs. Everdeen knows better than anyone the suffering the games cause to the tributes and to their loved ones. Her best friend was chosen in the past, and in the midst of her grief she was forced to do interviews, without being allowed to grieve adequately for the hell that Maysilee lived through and then she perished in the arena

That nightmarish fate was more than a possibility for Katniss and Prim. What probably affected their bond, Mrs. Everdeen could not afford to love them too much without thinking about how quickly they would disappear when they reached the age of 12

There is a short time in her life where Mrs. Everdeen is happy, or as close to it as she can get. Her husband is with her. He comes home, her daughters are small and adorable. Her work as a healer flourishes, and it is a bitter reminder of their cruel reality but nothing impossible to cope with

Until a cave-in in the mines kills Mr. Everdeen. And everything falls apart

The man for she sacrificed everything to be with, her life partner, her support and joy is gone. Now only she is left, trapped in the Seam, and her poverty. Not only that, her daughters are also doomed, the girls -especially Katniss- have their own grief to face

Mrs. Everdeen will have to support them as they suffer unbearable pain, while her own will is shattered. And that is only the least of their worries. How will they live now?

Their budget was already limited for sure, but without the money Mr. Everdeen brought: What will happen to the food, to the clothes they will wear? She now has to support them financially on her own. Also her daughters could one day disappear at the games so Mrs. Everdeen is alone

She has no one who can offer her a helping hand, she gets depressed and her body betrays her. Mrs. Everdeen goes into a catatonic state. It's the only way she can cope with what she's going through

There is no treatment she can receive. There is nothing to be done. If Mrs. Everdeen couldn't take care of herself, how could she expect to take care of her daughters? How could she care Katniss? So she is neglectful of her because there is nothing to be done. No one will come to save her family and Mrs. Everdeen just can't do it

And as we know little Katniss has no choice but to be the one who tries. She doesn't want to die. Her little sister Prim can't die either and neither can her mother -even if she looks dead. So Katniss has to do it -and she does it after an act of kindness; she takes back and uses everything her father taught her, she can't ask for guidance from her mother, so she try to figure out the rest. Or as much as she can because she is still a child

Even if Katniss had no choice but to become the mother of Prim (and this is why I mentioned gender earlier, because while Katniss is inclined to follow typically male molds, she cannot escape the work that is expected of her as a woman)

Which reflects the somewhat strange and tragic cycle that surrounds motherhood and its relationship to powerlessness in the world of Panem, but before we delve deeper, let's conclude the case of Mrs. Everdeen

A woman whose grief forced her daughter to take her rightful place as the provider, and primary caretaker of her family after the death of her husband. Mrs. Everdeen was unable to care for Katniss. In fact she was cared by her, receiving her attentions, unwittingly taking away Katniss childhood and making her take care of her emotional needs and even her physical and mental health

Katniss navigate the world of Panem all by her own -before her games, where she ends up getting a strong support system and also we had other people in D12 giving her certain support later but that's another story

I'd like to end this with the theme of impotence /powerless as a characteristic feature of the motherhood that both characters experience

Mrs. Plinth and Mrs. Everdeen can't overcome their traumas, they have no way of doing so and it impacts their parenting. Both faced heavy and crushing circumstances that prevented them from living a better life. Their world is Panem. A world that slowly kills their children

And there is nothing either can do to change the reality in which they live in any meaningful way; The Capitol. The subjugation of the Districts. The Hunger Games. They are institutions that determine their fatal circumstances, and to be changed, or destroyed takes more than they can do

The truth is that they are just powerless mothers

And there is something so brilliant and tragic that in the end Mrs. Everdeen who has lived with all the disadvantages on her side; gives birth to a daughter capable of making that change in her time and Mrs. Plinth who has lived with all the advantages on her side: gives birth to a son incapable of making that change in his time

.

And BYE

#sejanus plinth #katniss everdeen #ma plinth #mrs everdeen #strabo plinth #the plinths #the everdeens #tbosas #thg series #thg #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #meta or something #ballad of toxic yaoi