#I found a map of Texas

[4mrbee]

[grapecaseschoices]

adding some regional maps because i mistakenly thought montana was midwest.

First Map

Second Map

regional questions ...

i felt those who write their wayhaven in the us of a might enjoy this/find this interesting. here is the link on pinterest [with some other possible questions in the comments]!

[iamasaddie]

YOUNG, GREEN AND STUPID

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: after spending the night at Joel's your walk of shame is darkened with a hangover and anxiety. As you try to reconstruct the events of last night in your head, you realize that despite feeling uneasy, you can't say no to Joel. warnings: darkfic, manipulation, self-gaslighting, age gap [Joel is 61, don't read it and don't @ me about it if it's not your thing, just leave], switching POVs, explicit sexual content. Some tags are not added to avoid spoilers. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; reader mid to late 20s-30s. word count: 3,8k

a/n: thank you to the freaks who support me and this fic, i'm kissing y'all. i appreciate all the asks and comments and reblogs, they motivate the fuck out of me. giant thanks to the one and only @arcanefox207 , if not for her i'd smash my laptop against the wall. Ally you are my blessing of a beta and a friend <3 READ ON AO3

MASTERLIST | part 1 | part 3

The crushing weight of someone’s body around you made you feel trapped. Your back was covered in sweat, sleek where it pressed against your last night’s date. You wiggled, your head pounding in an unforgiving manner. Slowly, you opened your eyes and tried to fight the pain from the light punching you square in your face. 

With bleary eyes you took in your surroundings, at least as much as you could make out. The room welcomed you with dark pastel colors. It looked tidy, but stuck somewhere in the 80s. Dark blue walls were scarcely decorated by a painting of a lone cowboy in the middle of nowhere and a wooden plaque of the Texas state map. A shred of sunlight that bothered your pulsing eyes crept through the curtains that the house owner had forgotten to fully draw last night. You couldn’t make out the color as staring directly at the light made your headache worse. 

Hardwood wardrobe matched the bedframe and the table, and by the look of you realized that even the furniture in this house could be older than you. Simple cotton bed sheets soaked in your warmth, it felt overwhelming and too hot to enjoy, so you tried to get out of your date’s embrace. 

Without looking at him too much, you cautiously threw off the duvet cover, finding yourself fully naked underneath. You couldn’t remember when you undressed. The last thing you could dig out of your foggy mind was falling asleep on the man’s chest, with your dress still hugging your body. You dared to peek underneath, just to be met with your suspicion. Joel was as naked as you. 

Was there anything else you didn’t remember?

Anxiety started prickling at your heart, unease settling in. Gently, you grabbed the hand that was still laying heavy on your stomach and placed it on the bed. You held your breath, listening to the man next to you, but he didn’t budge. You slid out of bed, your bare feet met with a soft worn out rug. Before standing up, you give Joel one look over your shoulder. As if feeling your gaze, he shifted in his bed, turning to lay on his back. 

Your nakedness felt very apparent, and you brought your hands to cover your breasts, like someone could see you. You looked around, in search of your clothes, planning to find it on the floor or wherever else you could throw it in the state of bliss and inebriation. 

To your surprise, you found the skimpy outfit gently folded and placed on the table in the corner of the room, Joel’s clothes laying in a neat pile just next to yours. Something similar to a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you quickly regained your composure. The fact that your clothes were taken care of didn’t cancel the fact that you didn’t remember how you lost it in the first place.

You unfolded the dress, sighing over the walk of shame you were going to face. The material felt unpleasant against your skin that was still sticky with sweat and potentially some other fluids. 

Once you pulled the dress on, you finally dared to look at the man in the bed again. Somewhere between your attempts to remember the night and redressing, his tossing made the duvet slip lower, and now he was laying there in almost all his naked glory. A beam of sun that peeked through the heavy curtains tickled his weathered, tanned skin with its warmth. You couldn’t deny it, the man was gorgeous with or without alcohol in your system. Him laying on his back let you see his face more clearly: it was ridden of any emotion, peaceful dream ironing the deepest of his wrinkles. His broad chest that was sprinkled with freckles and sun spots kept raising and falling slowly. One of his hands was resting on his lower belly, hiding a patch of almost fully gray happy trail from you. 

Your eyes slid lower, tracing the same pattern your tongue did less than twelve hours ago, if your foggy memories were correct. His cock laid soft against his hairy upper thigh, no less intimidating in girth, though shorter in length. Your mouth watered against your will as you tried to recall what it felt like to have him in your mouth. Gently, your pussy throbbed, bringing fire to your core. Joel’s legs were spread a little, and if you stood right in front of him, you’d see a pair of massive balls that you lathered in your attention and saliva last night. Heat crept to your cheeks and you shook your head trying to force the unwanted desire out of your body. You tiptoed towards the door, keeping your eyes on him and praying that his door doesn’t squeak. Just as you tugged at the doorknob, his left thigh jerked, and Joel brought his hand to rub his closed eyes. 

The loud bang of his front door forced Joel to finally open his eyes. He heard you rummaging around his room, trying to be a quiet little mouse, but for his old age he still had pretty decent senses. Well, hearing, at least. He didn’t budge, not exactly pretending to be asleep yet also not giving you any reason to think otherwise. His body pleasantly ached from sleeping on his side, cocooning you with his body. 

Now that you were gone, he stretched his arms wide and flexed the fingers on his bad hand. It’s been a year too long since he had a pretty young thing like you warming his sheets. The sweet scent of your sweat clung to the pillowcase and he wanted to bury his face in it as he lazily jerked himself to the memories of your cunt exploding on his tongue. 

Your pretty young body tasted divine. He licked his lips hoping to taste the remnants of your cum from his mustache. There was something so addictive about having a girl more than half his age writhe and moan for him, beg so prettily. All of them were the same, so desperate for real attention, for someone who knew how to give them what they didn’t even know they wanted. 

Joel’s cock throbbed in his hand and he brought his palm to his face to spit at it again. You were so wet on his tongue, a fountain of youth no less. So fertile, so easy. His balls were heavy with unspilled cum, he knew it wasn’t long before he burst into your pretty little cunt, and then your ass, too. It took him only a couple of hours to have you gulping him down. Yes, he had to turn to the assistance of trusty powder he kept in his drawer this first time. But judging by the hunger you had in your eyes as you climbed off his face some time later, studying his face shiny with your cum, he wouldn’t need that anymore. You’d end up craving him as much as he craved you from the moment he set his eyes on you.

He squeezed his shaft tighter, his movements more deliberate as his thumb teased the tip and smeared the pearly precum. He didn’t doubt that he already had crept under your skin, the eyes you gave him yesterday with your mouth full of his balls was one of a person hooked. He’d seen it before enough times to know you’d be back. He just needed to be patient now, and if there was something his years made him good at, it was waiting.

Joel gave himself a final jerk, exploding over his knuckles with a deep grunt.

A bunch of keys rattled loudly when you dropped it into a ceramic plate on a table in the hallway of your small apartment. You cursed gruffly, squeezing your eyes shut at the harsh sound. You kicked off your shoes on the way to the bathroom, and with a tired sigh, you pulled off your dress.

“Damn, what the--?” In a hurry, you forgot your panties at Joel's. If this was a regular date, you might have intentionally left an intimate piece of clothing, but with Joel, you couldn’t even... hell, you couldn't even remember if your panties were on that table with your dress.

Your head was still pounding, even taking a taxi with your head out the window didn't help much.

You kept replaying last night in your head, trying to fill in the blanks. You didn’t think you drank more than a bottle; plus, Joel shared it with you, so what the hell happened? He was definitely pouring the slightly bitter-tasting liquid from the bottle that you handed him, you saw the label. You remembered how he walked into the kitchen with an opened wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. Surely he couldn't...?

No, that was crazy talk. It was high time for you to stop listening to your serial killer podcasts. After all, he didn't do anything to you that you hadn’t asked for, that you hadn’t begged for. Especially since now you were in your own apartment, and not tied to a radiator in his basement.

You pulled the faucet handle, the warm water was filling your tub quickly. To make it better, you poured a handful of lavender-scented salt, the soft odor seeped into your lungs and gently calmed you down.

Slowly, you sank into the water, it enveloped you like a hot blanket, making you moan with pleasure. You allowed yourself to close your eyes, leaning your head against the back of the bath tub.

The recollection of your arrival to his house was clear as day; he was friendly and so, so gallant. None of Joel’s actions made you feel uncomfortable or unsettled. He was attentive, his gaze followed your every move, and even the memory of his brown eyes made your skin boil with an inexplicable feeling of desire.

The way he shot glances in the direction of your boobs made your heart beat wildly in your chest. He was trying to hide how much he wanted you, it was adorable and sexy at the same time. He wanted you more than any of your previous lovers seemed to. Maybe that was the reason why you didn't want to leave. The thing that pulled you into his living room and then pushed you to fall between his legs.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't remember exactly how you got there. You just remembered the taste of his salt, the low vibrations of his moans, and the insatiable desire to have more. 

Damn, you felt your pussy purr. Joel had some strange effect on your body, manipulating your mind even in his absence. Summoning all your willpower, you continued your journey through your memories, but the further you went, the more hazy they became.

Only your body remembered something, and that something was pleasure. His hot tongue exploring the folds of your pussy; his curved nose teasing your clit with every greedy movement. His bestial growl when you poured the sweetness of your orgasm into his thirsty mouth. 

And then darkness.

[Joel M.]: Hey, sweetheart, did you get home safe? [Joel M.]: I am not counting that yesterday was something you’d want to repeat, I just want to know you’re alright.

You jerked up from a dreamless nap and blindly found your phone under the pillow. Blinking the sleep out of your eye, you looked at the messages on your screen, doubt about opening them creeped inside you when you saw the sender. The little picture next to Joel’s name still showed you the dream man you went to meet yesterday. A man who turned out to be a lie, kind of. Thoughts of Joel confused you, on one hand he was an accidental liar, and on the other he was one of the best orgasms you’d ever had. An orgasm that still sent tingles down your pussy and made your hand go south. 

Hoping that the attraction your body felt to him was the result of your drinking, and then your hangover. You sighed as the memory of his cock sliding down your throat and the phantom touch of his tongue tracing your wet folds made you weep for him in a way you didn’t think your body could. Rationally, you still tried to fight your carnal interest in a man in his grandpa years, but your hand slowly trekked to your pussy that was filling with warmth and slickness.

You tapped the message open and typed your reply with one hand.

[You]: Hey, Joel, yeah, I’m good :) And I had a very good time yesterday.

Your text was read immediately, and you felt a pang of guilt that you made him sit and stare at his phone waiting for your reply while you were tracing the lips of your pussy and thinking about him in the most indecent way.

[Joel M.]: Well my evening certainly beats yours, I had this beautiful lady come over, she was so intelligent and beautiful, I thought I’d been dreaming the whole night.

A smile spread across your lips as you grinned at the screen. Something warm bloomed in your heart that made it difficult to stay indifferent. 

[You]: Is that all you can say about her? [Joel M.]: I don’t think other things would be appropriate to share, darlin

The buzz of your need that you tried to suffocate since you got out of your bath returned to your body with doubled vigor.

[You]: I promise I won’t tell

Your heart began to pound harder, the vibrations of excited beats bouncing off your ribs in the rhythm of the three dots that flashed at the bottom of the screen. You bit your lip, tearing at the delicate skin in an attempt to calm the swarm of thoughts that were constantly buzzing, trapped in your skull. 

You were driven by greed, by the selfish need to experience again what thrilled you yesterday. It was inexplicable, as if two basic instincts were fighting for control over you, and desire won out, pushing self-preservation into a distant dark corner of your mind.

[Joel M.]: In that case, she was the sexiest little thing I’ve seen my whole life. She had this gorgeous skin tight dress on, looked delicious in it, I think I started salivating the moment I saw her. And I was lucky enough to taste her later and let me tell you, just the memory of her sweet pussy on my face makes me hard.

You reread the message three times, feeling a drop of arousal leaving your hole and sliding down to the crack of your ass. With one finger you swiped it up and brought it to your clit, not playing with it but gently teasing around, soft moans sticking to your throat as you refuse to let them out.

[You]: does it really? [Joel M.]: You want proof? [You]: yeah

[image attached]

You had ripped your hand from your pussy, opening the photo and adjusting the brightness. It was the most stereotypical dick pic ever sent, but you couldn’t care less when you saw it. 

“Fucking hell.” You whined out loud. Joel’s cock, hard and standing proud, looked massive even in his bear paw of a hand. Its head was deep pink, the drop of precum on his angry slit catching the light of the lamp lit room. He didn’t lie a word, he looked painfully aroused and it worked like your personal siren’s song. 

You licked your dry lips, hoping you’d be able to taste him again, to have his fat head stretching your lips with no regard to your comfort. Pushing you just enough without breaking. For a second, you felt like you could smell his musk, your mind playing tricks on you. 

His message beeped, jerking you out of your haze. 

[Joel M.]: Been dreaming her juicy little cunt all day today, could barely get any shit done. Shoulda let her feel my cock yesterday. [You]: Do you regret it? [Joel M.]: I regret that I couldn’t see her pretty face in the morning, wake her up by licking her pussy, fucking her with my fingers before she spills on my tongue. [You]: Fuck, I bet she’d like that. I bet you made her feel so good last night. Bet it was one of the best orgasms of her life and she’s touching herself right now thinking about it. [Joel M.]: Does she? [You]: yeah, she does. 

Forgetting to overthink your every decision, you bring your camera to your naked pussy, making sure that your face is not visible. You tapped the red button and looked at the screen, fascinated by the way your own pussy looks this close. You dragged your index finger to your slit, parting your lips, and then shamelessly demonstrated a string of arousal that stuck to your digit.

[video attached]

[Joel M.]: God, just look at this pussy, so sweet and wet, just begging for some attention. [Joel M.]: Needs someone who knows how to take care of her. [You]: will you? [Joel M.]: You know it. Now do as I say, sweetheart, and touch that pretty clit. Slowly, no need to rush. 

A part of you was relieved that he didn’t freak out about sexting, who knew if the man was even familiar with the concept, but he was definitely a natural. Once again, you captured your pussy and obedience, as you took another short video following his simple command.

[video attached]

[You]: like that? [Joel M.]: Fuck, honey, yeah, just like that. Look at her, gushing already, asking to fill her up so polite. Why don’t you use your fingers to make her feel better, hm? Use two fingers.

It felt good, it always did, you knew how to take care of yourself, you knew how to make yourself writhe and moan. But after him, it was like something was missing. He didn’t even fuck you properly and you felt empty, not enough. You started pushing your fingers inside with more anger and disappointment, unable to fill that weird hollow space that he carved inside you after one drunken night. 

[image attached]

[You]: feels so good, joel, but it’s not enough, fuck need something bigger [Joel M.]: I know what you need, darlin, you need my big fucking cock fucking you dumb. I know that’s right. Dying to fuck an old man, ready to beg for it, ain’t ya? [You]: yes 

You should have been ashamed of yourself, but in reality you didn’t give a crap. In that moment he was giving you something you wouldn’t dare take, and he made you feel good about it. You wished you could hear his raspy voice kissed by South spilling filth in your ear. 

[Joel M.]: Such a good girl, so responsive, so needy, can’t wait to fuck you properly. Add a finger, sweetheart. Not gonna match my cock, I know, for that you’d need to shove your whole fist inside, but I want you tight and crying when I fuck you.

Blinded by the haze of your pleasure, you followed every command, his message replaying in your head over and over, overstimulating your mind. The stretch didn’t burn, it felt good, welcomed, and you tried to curl your fingers to reach the spot that’d break you. You threw your phone on the bed, bringing your other hand to play with your nipples as the heel of your palm rubbed your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, Joel,” you chanted. Your ears rang as your body convulsed in pleasure with the man’s name on your lips.

Your phone rang and you were surprised to see Joel’s request to facetime you. With a shaky finger you swiped to accept the call, leaving a smear of your cum on your screen.

“Judging by your face, that felt good?” His face was poorly lit, but you still saw a smile. 

“Yeah, good is one word,” you admitted, biting your lip. Your lower belly still trembled in the post orgasmic bliss.

“Show me, I think I deserved that, hm?” 

You hesitated for a moment, but spread your legs and angled your camera at your sleek, puffy pussy. Joel grunted, air leaving his lungs with a whistle. 

“Spread those lips, baby, I need to see you pretty hole twitchin’, need to see her winking at me.” It was gross, and weird, yet you did exactly what he asked. Your pussy was sensitive, and you whined as you spread yourself for him.

For a moment there was only silence and wet sounds of him jerking his cock to the sight of your abused pussy. You didn’t dare move. didn’t dare look at the screen even though another spark started burning deep inside you. 

“Fuck, good girl, good fuckin’- good pussy.” Joel’s voice shifted into growling, panting as he came all over his fist. It was your cue to bring the phone back to your face, he was already smiling at you from the other side. 

“So,” his breathing was mostly even, but the sweat glistening on his forehead was a telltale sign of the recent physical exercises. “Whatcha doin’ this Sunday?” 

You closed your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“After this? Going to church.” 

“No, don’t do that, sweetheart,” Joel chuckled. You opened one eye, noticing how intently he was watching you, his eyes studying every bit of your face for crumbs of reaction, cracks in your freshly-built facade. “We don’t want you to burn alive, do we? How about you visit me?” 

“Pretty sure that’s what Satan said to Eve.” You brought yourself back into the darkness, your heart still pounding as if you’d ran a marathon. All of this wasn’t good, it was wrong but you couldn’t pinpoint the exact problem. He was seeping under your skin, and if you wanted to get rid of him, you’d have to flay yourself alive. Not a bright prospect by any means.

He was looking at you from the other side of the screen, his brown eyes piercing, but he didn’t push you. The words fell from your lips on your own accord.

“I can come by around 8, but this time I’m bringing food.”

Joel smiled, and nodded in agreement. Thick thumb rubbed his plush lower lip, like he was trying to remember something.

“Can’t wait to have a taste.”

You shook your head, a chuckle stuck in your throat. Without saying goodbye you disconnected from the call and dropped the phone on the pillow next to you. Your skin was sticky with sweat, a cold breeze from the opened window teased your flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Pleasant exhaustion and abysmal unease dragged your mind in two different directions keeping your body on the edge of sleep but not letting you fall.

Your bed felt too lumpy, wrinkles of your rumpled sheets digging into your skin. Tossing and turning until early morning, you couldn’t shake the creeping anxiety over your decision.

LEAVE A COMMENT, YOUR FEEDBACK IS MY MOTIVATION <3

[l1vingd3adg1rl-05]

Join me in Death pt1

Thomas Hewitt X Fem! Reader

Sorry this is very short, I have work in the morning. Not proofread

The old, bumpy road feels like it stretches on forever; there are no winding turns, no large hills, and just a long Texas roadway. The bright, sweltering sun beats down on you through your truck's windows. A few weeks have passed since your grandfather's passing, you found out from receiving a note in his will, in which note revealed he left you his old property in the countryside of Texas. You have a few memories of the place from when you were younger. Your grandpa was a reserved man, which reflected on his home. It was in the middle of nowhere, you are positive that there wasn't a town in any direction for at least 30 miles, and he only had one neighbor that lived a mile away from his home, on the other side of the forest that was on the edge of his property in the back. He didn’t live with anyone in the years leading up to his death that you know of.

Your gaze flicks over to the map laid out on the console now and then, looking to see if you're still on the right track. After another hour of driving, you see your tank is slowly running out, with just barely any gas left. You hope you can find a gas station soon. After a few miles pass by, you see a decrepit building on the side of the road, it appears to be a rundown gas station, at least you hope. You pull into the lot and let out a sigh of relief as you see gas pumps. You park alongside one of the rusted pumps and get out of your vehicle. Scanning the pump, you see a large sticker on its side. ‘NO GAS’ in bold red lettering.

You groan in frustration, gazing around the parking lot at the other pumps you see most with the same or similar stickers on them. Some were out of order, and some with no gas as well. Wiping the sweat off your brow, you decide to head inside, pushing open the shabby doo,r you enter the rundown store. There isn’t a lot on the shelves, just some old cans with a layer of thick dust on the tops, and a lot of car parts. A few bikers are in the store, scanning you as you walk in. You’re definitely out of place here. An older woman sits behind the desk, a worn-out book in her hands. Her gaze lifts from her book to glance at you, giving you a once-over before ultimately returning to her book. A nervous smile stretches along your face as you walk over to the front counter. “Ma’am? Do you happen to know when there will be gas? My truck is almost completely out.” You quickly try to explain yourself.

“I’m afraid there isn’t any more gas until this evening, maybe even as late as tomorrow,” she tells you in her shaky voice, her tone soft and quiet. This is the last thing you need, after being on the roads for hours, all you want is to get to the property to check it out. “Do you think there is another gas station nearby?” you ask with your voice filled with hope, but it’s quickly shattered when she shakes her head no. You look outside at your truck, the heat and humidity are appalling, just the thought of going outside in this weather makes you shudder. The older woman picks up on your distress and speaks up once more. “I got a place nearby, not too far from here, how about after I close up, you can spend the night with me and my boys?” she offers up. It sounds like a blessing right now, considering your situation, but you can't help but feel a pang of uneasiness, like a gut feeling about it. The lady seems kind enough, so you shake off the feeling. “Well, I wouldn't want to intrude.” She smiles at your hesitancy, waving you off. After a bit of chatting, you both introduce yourself. “M’names Luda, you’re new to these parts ain't ya?” She has a big grin on her face, making your anxiety and nervousness disappear. “Yes, ma'am, my grandfather passed away and has recently left me his property. I was going to check it out.” She nods her head as she listens to your story, saying her condolences about your grandpa.

A couple of hours pass, and the sun sets, making the sky a deep orange with a deep red along the horizon. You sit upon an old bench outside the store with Luda. Her leg bounces repeatedly up and down. It's clear she’s waiting for someone. Just as you’re about to speak up about her impatience, an old police cruiser pulls into the parking lot. The old cruiser’s door creaks open, and an older man steps out. “Where the hell have you been, Charlie!? You’re half an hour l,” she scolds the older man, but with no real malice behind her words. She rises from the rickety wooden bench as the man walks over. “It’s Hoyt,” he’s quick to correct her, standing tall and rigid, and then his gaze falls on you. His brows furrowed, looking you up and down. His eyes stay a little too long on your chest, then meeting your eyes before turning back to Luda Mae, he begins to speak, clearly about to question you, but he’s cut off. “Her truck’s out of gas, told her she can stay the night at our place.”

It It becomes quiet, an awkward silence as they stare at each other, silently communicating something that you can’t quite understand, their eyes falling on you before they both quickly straighten up. “You’ll have to ride in the back.” Hoyt’s words cut through the silence, and the thick tension still lingers in the air. You nod your head quickly, moving to follow them and get in the cruiser. The door groans and creaks loudly as you open it up, the hinges are rusted, and there aren't any handles on the inside since it's a police vehicle. The two settle in the front, the engine roars to life, and he begins to pull out of the gas station’s parking lot. You gaze out at the vast Texas terrain, and the conversation they're having in the front begins to fade as you get lost in thought. You just want this day to be over so you can get back on the road, But that will have to wait until tomorrow.

You’re snapped out of your daydreaming when the cruiser begins to slow, hitting every bump and pothole on the dirt road. Looking outside you can see a very old farm house. Hoyt, or whatever his name is, roughly opens the door to let you out. Eyeing you up once again. As you walk up the beaten path you make sure to follow closely behind Luda. The stairs to the small porch wobble at the littlest amount of weight applied to them, you make sure to watch your step. Luda opens the door for you and signals to walk in first, and you quickly do so. Whispering something to Hoyt in the background. The home is dark, only a small light bulb flickering on the ceiling. As you turn to look into the hallway, your body collides with someone firm, you look up to see a large man, dark curly hair falling over his face, a face that’s hidden away partially by a black mask. He roughly grabs you and you gasp. His calloused hands rough and his grip hard like steel on your shoulders.

“Tommy quit fucking around with the guest.” Hoyt yells at that man, his hands quickly fall from your shoulder as you move a few steps back, Luda Mae shuts the door and walks over to you and the large man. He backs away as well, eyeing you up silently. “I’m so sorry honey, he wasn’t expecting you is all, we don’t get much people around here. Here why don’t you join us for dinner now? It’ll be real quick” after your heart settles down you let out a sigh, agreeing to her words and let her guide you to the kitchen.

[honoura]

Shaaloani: The Land of Enchantment Part One

Hello again! It's another lore-adjacent post from me about a niche special interest of mine. This time it's Shaaloani, the American Southwest/Northern Mexico inspired zone in FFXIV's Dawntrail.

I want to disclose a few things right at the start just to temper people's expectations: I will not be definitively ID'ing any of the indigenous-inspired structures or visuals as inspired by any specific tribe. That's not my lane! I'm going to link to things that they remind me of, for sure. But otherwise my hyperfocus is going to be on the physical environment, some animals, and the ceruleum as petroleum industry. It's what I recognize best! And what I know best, truthfully.

"Hon why are you doing this?" A variety of reasons honestly. After DT dropped I saw a lot of folks who did at least one of the following:

Commented on the Old West theme park aspect

Called it "miqo'te Texas"

Generally just called the whole map "Texas"

And if I'm honest... it bugged me! Not because I thought anyone was being malicious about it (it's mostly pop culture saturation I'd suspect), but to me it stung a bit that this zone, which I grew up on the fringe of, was... kind of flattened by a lot of people?

I don't know, the response to me just felt like people assumed they knew everything about it because they'd seen it already in movies or TV or Red Dead Redemption rather than the same open-mindedness about what was presented in places like Urqopacha.

This zone isn't just Texas -- yes there are some bits and pieces here (because it's pulling from the Chihuahuan Desert and the Sonoran Desert), but so much of it reminds me of New Mexico, Mexico, and Arizona. There's some Colorado, Utah, and Nevada there too! And the background story going on there is something that still happens in a lot of those states, by both the government and corporations alike.

That variety deserves to be celebrated! So come learn with me about the inspiration for Shaaloani!

Shaaloani Geography

Shaaloani has three major regions in the zone -- Eshceyaani Wilds, Pyariyoanaan Plain, and Yawtanane Grasslands. To get this out of the way, I'm going to tell you the one that reminds me most of Texas.

Ready?

Lake Taori of the Pyariyoanaan Plain.

It's river-fed, with canyons on both ends of the Niikwerepi. The trees crowding around it are cypress trees, as you can tell by the little nubby off-shoots called knees. To compare, here is a photo of cypress trees along the Frio River:

This is also reminiscent of places along the Rio Grande and Pecos Rivers, two significant water sources in West Texas. I also would not call them bayous! Bayous typically have brackish water, are slow-moving, and are way too far east.

However, it could be partly considered a ciénega -- which according to its wikipedia article:

"Ciénagas are usually associated with seeps or springs, found in canyon headwaters or along margins of streams. Ciénagas often occur because the geomorphology forces water to the surface, over large areas, not merely through a single pool or channel."

As a caveat, ciénegas generally don't have trees around them, but I also know that you can't really drown a cypress and they love sunshine. Regardless -- if you see trees in the desert they are typically growing along a water source. Balmorhea State Park has some cottonwood trees native to the area that are going strong.

Yawtanane Grasslands reads as a mix of the Chihuahuan Desert and the Eastern Plains of Colorado. Both are rather arid and home to a variety of grasses that can thrive in such a climate -- which has historically made both areas home to large cattle industries (whether or not this was ever a good idea is debatable, since cattle are very thirsty animals).

Meanwhile the Eshceyaani Wilds looks similar to the Sonoran Desert -- the red-hued soil and rocks, the abundance of cacti with the scrub brush and some drought-tolerant grasses. Here's a shot of the Sonoran within Saguaro National Park in Arizona:

Saguaros also only grow in Arizona in the States! As well as the organ-pipe cactus, which you see in Tender Valley. And prickly pears grow just about anywhere they can get a chance -- as well as barrel cacti, both of which we see in Tender Valley (along with what could be agave!).

You could probably make a case for it being a piñon-juniper scrubland -- everything's very short compared to those cypress trees, including the juniper trees! Piñon-juniper scrubland's found throughout the Southwest. There are also piñon-juniper savannahs and persistent woodlands intermixed in the same places. The difference lay in what plants you find with the piñon pines and junipers.

Visually, aside from the Sonoran Desert, I can also see a lot of New Mexico, like the Ghost Ranch in Rio Arriba:

It matches up with the mountains you can see, and both Yowekwa Canyon and Tender Valley. And of course, Tender Valley is likely a Grand Canyon reference, going by the sheer height of the cliffs. But you could also make a case for Canyonlands National Park in Utah.

There's a shot from Grand View Point Overlook within the park -- the closeness of the canyon walls and the warm earth tones also evoke Tender Valley!

There's also a lot of these sandstone formations in Utah that better fit Shaaloani -- like here in the Valley of the Gods:

Shaaloani Structures

I also at this point want to call attention to one of the two sites with cliff dwellings & adobe structures. We just saw Tender Valley above, which is confirmed to be old Yok Huy structures. But check out these Tonawawta buildings below.

As I stated before, I don't want to state which tribe these two styles remind me of. But I do want to say this again strikes me as another New Mexico and Arizona callback; both the Gila Cliff Dwellings and the Puye Cliff Dwellings are found in two different areas of New Mexico. And the Gíusewa Pueblo, also in New Mexico! Montezuma Castle is found in Arizona, and is pictured below! Look at that rich reddish earth color.

I also want to call attention to the place of worship for the Tonawawta in Yowekwa Canyon:

When I saw it my kneejerk response was to call it an ofrenda. But that's ultimately an incomplete response -- that was just the vibe I felt after seeing them during my life! What it also reminds me of are pictographs and petroglyphs. You find these all over the Southwest (the climate helps preserve them!), but I'm going to link some really great examples. I won't provide images to all though!

Crow Canyon Petroglyphs:

Piedras Madras Canyon at Petroglyph National Monument (New Mexico) Petroglyph Point Trail at Mesa Verde National Park (Colorado) Petroglyph Panel at Canyon Reef National Park (Utah) Nampaweap at Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument (Arizona) Horseshoe Canyon at Canyonlands National Park (Utah) and the Hueco Tanks State Park (Texas)

In contrast, I don't want to spend a ton of time on the boom town structures in this zone; they are pretty straightforward references to mining towns during the different resource booms (gold, silver, copper, oil).

Similar blocky shapes, built out of wood. One thing I noticed as a neat addition are the decorative patterns painted on it -- again, I don't want to presume if there's a specific tribe tied to this. But I do think it's a neat touch and I want to think that's a design choice to convey the underlying theme that this is a zone at odds with advancing technology and wanting to keep hold of important traditions.

I WILL talk about the ceruleum wells and pumping though. Mostly because I'm impressed that they went with structures that so closely resemble early 20th century oil derricks. Those were also predominately made of wood (including the barrels, yikes!). The pump part of what's called a pumpjack were covered in the old days -- the ones we're most used to seeing now are made of metal and are thus left uncovered.

However, as you can see from this century old rig, even the wheel's made of wood:

I don't think ceruleum gushes the same way oil did -- it seems to behave more like natural gas. However, most natural gas pipelines do burn off excess, which can be seen as a little spout of flame atop.

Oil's occupied an awkward spot in the Southwest, and still does. Aside from the heinous crimes committed in Killers of the Flower Moon (where members of the Osage tribe were murdered for their oil shares in Oklahoma) and the Teapot Dome Scandal, oil is just... well.

Bear with me, I'm about to rag on Koana a moment.

The people who make the most money and have the most power over the average roughneck's life never live in the Southwest. They work in the c-suite and have more money than sense.

I find it very fascinating that DT chose to recreate this dynamic, this uncomfortable push-pull of a region rich in a resource, and it's being harvested at the suggestion and behest of a power that is physically removed from the area. And to some NPCs it's with a certain level of disregard to traditions and practices in place before, with the focus on the nebulous quantifier of 'progress'. Progress how? It depends!

But the folks at the highest seat of power never have to grapple with those questions, because to them it's a fairly cut and dry answer. This is the way to proceed, and if they want to take this nation into the "future", then this is the clear way to do it. It speaks to Koana's fixation on foreign technology to the point he de-values his own (partly due to his childhood trauma, which kind of prepped him to be susceptible to it).

Meanwhile the locals are the ones grappling the most with this change -- how it affects their plants and animals. Sometimes pits open up in the earth and ceruleum burns (which, Santa Rita New Mexico sank multiple times into the earth thanks to copper mining). On the map there's even discolored plants -- and they only occur in the vicinity OF the bulk of the ceruleum pumps.

This is at odds with core beliefs, keeping up with traditional practices. It puts people in the place of 'do I participate in this system, which promises work and the means to take care of my family, even as it pits me against my cultural heritage?'.

Growing up in West Texas, one of the weirdest things to me (to this day) is how many people will claim they love the land. They do! They love the outdoors, they worry over how certain species of animals have become scarcer. But they also work in the single most damaging industry because it pays the most money. It lets them cover bills and give their kids what they never had.

That same push-pull is in Shaaloani narratively; when progress has been thrust upon you, how do you survive it? How do you make sure what's dearest to you comes along with you?

In Conclusion

I want to call it here for Part One -- Part Two after this will cover more observations I had regarding flora and fauna in the Shaaloani zone, and how that also shows the attention to detail given this zone! It's a good time! There will be dinosaurs!

[mlqueen89]

Seven | Teamwork 

She's a fire sign  And I don't really know what that means  I'm a cold night  And I wanna be close to the heat  I don't want to get burned  I don't want love like that  But I can't go any further 'til I start coming back 

Edge of the Earth by The Beeches 

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin / ofc (top gun: maverick) 

rating: 18+ (minors dni) 

warnings/triggers: 🔥smut in overall series 

word count:  13,095

summary: ellie plays by jake’s rules to get his help feedback. desperate times call for desperate measures. 

looks like the cold front might be on its way out with ellie and jake! 

this one was not beta read and i think i wrote a lot of it in a fugue state, high on Benylin (respiratory infections are no joke). so... enjoy? all joking aside, i've been super excited about this chapter. we’re about to get into it with these two!  

long wait = long chapter!  

❥ playlist ♡ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ glossary of terms ♡ previous chapter ♡ next chapter ❥

Your destination is on the right. 

The map assistant reported her arrival as her tires dropped off the road and into the gravel lot. 

Truthfully, the place wasn’t much to look at: a squat, weathered building that looked like it served as a barn in a past life with a tattered and faded banner advertising The Best Damn BBQ Outside of Texas. She swore she’d driven this stretch of the freeway at least four times since she’d been back in California but had never managed to notice this place was here. 

Jake was easy to spot. 

Leaning against the side of a red pickup, she realized she’d never seen him in anything other than a flight suit, tan Navy issue uniform and... nothing. 

Now, he wore a simple white t-shirt that hugged each muscle group and a pair of regular blue jeans. She noted the cowboy boots, with a raised brow. 

“You’re really milking this, aren’t you?” Ellie called over as she crunched across the gravel toward him. 

“Not sure I follow.” Jake smirked.  

That fucker. He followed. 

She rolled her eyes, adjusting the strap of the laptop bag on her shoulder. 

He was really going to make her say it. Again. 

Probably use the memory to pleasure himself later. 

Not that she thought about that. Or him.  

Except she did. 

Explicitly. 

She was shaking her head, an etch-a-sketch on her memory. “My asking for your help.” 

Jake’s responding brilliant smile caught her somewhere in the lower abdomen, kicked up a cluster of fluttery things she quickly worked to swat away. Dandelion seeds in the wind. 

“C’mon then,” he tipped his head toward the restaurant, “let’s get you your help, sweetheart.” 

That was a Texan thing, wasn’t it? Sweetheart? Darlin’? 

His hand hovered somewhere above her lower back as she stepped forward, the heat of his palm something she could feel where her shirt didn’t meet the hem of her jeans as he corralled her the rest of the way. 

Ellie kept her head high as she stepped inside. 

This was business.  

Fixing the parameters to elevate the test results so she didn’t have to pack up her office in shame. 

Business. 

Fergus had finally found a spot on the shelf he liked, full sun. She’d finally settled into a rhythm of watering him semi-regularly. He’d grown into his pot with the plant slogan. 

Did plants get traumatized from sudden moves to dark bedrooms where she’d undoubtedly wallow in self-pity if Stark voted to pull the plug? 

The scent of slow-smoked meat and spice hit her immediately, warm and rich, curling in the air like an invitation.  

The place was packed for a Wednesday night, filled with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clang of metal trays, ringing bells and order callouts. Red-checkered tablecloths covered the wooden tables, and faded photos of rodeos and football teams lined the barnboard wood walls. 

Jake led the way, past a sign inviting patrons to seat themselves, weaving through the crowd with the ease of someone who had been here before. He picked a booth near the back, away from most of the noise, and waited for Ellie to sit before he slid in across from her.  

Ellie set her laptop bag on the table, fingers already working at the zipper. 

“Not even gonna take a minute to appreciate the ambiance?” Jake clicked his tongue, arms stretching across the back of the booth as he watched her. 

She ignored the way his biceps flexed with the motion, focused instead on pulling out her laptop. “Ambiance doesn’t help me fix the parameters.” 

Jake exhaled a slow breath, shaking his head in a way that was more amused than anything, like he expected as much from her. He reached for the laminated menu between them, and she swore she heard the stickiness of it as it separated from the table. 

“You’re really somethin’, Rigby. You ever just, I dunno—relax?” 

She did. 

It was just unfortunate that the last time she’d relaxed was under him, and over him, on him and— 

“My work relaxes me,” she shot back with a bit more bite that she’d intended. 

His smirk that had started small deepened, but he didn’t look up from the menu. She hated that it made her feel so... exposed. 

“Then I think you must be the most relaxed person in this entire state.” 

Ellie leveled him with a look. “Seresin.” 

He caught her eyes over the top of the menu, shiny under the dim pendant light hanging over the table. 

“Rigby,” he mimicked as he signaled to a passing waitress. “Two sweet teas, please.” 

She frowned. “Actually, I’m—” 

“You’ll like it,” he interrupted, flipping the menu over to glance at the back side. “And if you don’t, well, that’s somethin’ I’ll just have to live with.” 

Ellie exhaled sharply, drumming her fingers against the table. Her laptop sat, half out of the bag. “Fine. But once the drinks come, we talk about the adjustments.” 

Jake hummed noncommittally, still scanning the menu. 

He probably already knew the damn thing by heart and was just trying to make her squirm. 

“Tell you what, we’ll get there. But first, let’s play a game.” 

Ellie narrowed her eyes at him. “I want you to know I hate the sound of that.” 

Still, he pressed on, undeterred. “It’s simple. You guess things about me, and I’ll guess things about you.” 

“Or, and hear me out,” she parried dryly, nudging her laptop, “we could just get to work, like we said we would.” 

Jake ignored her.  

“I’ll go first, as a show of good faith.” He tucked the menu between the wall and the napkin holder, rested an elbow on the table, tilting his head. “You grew up somewhere... rainy, lots of trees. Northwest, I’d guess. Washington or Oregon?” 

Ellie blinked, caught off guard. 

Jake smirked, tipping his head, as if her silence prompted elaboration on his part. “You’ve got that rain-soaked, tree-hugger edge to you. Bet you were raised around evergreens and overpriced coffee.” 

She huffed, but the corner of her mouth tugged up despite herself. “Oregon,” she admitted reluctantly. “West Linn.” 

Jake looked pleased with himself. “Lots of trees, I bet.” 

Ellie snorted. “Yeah. And rain.” 

The waitress buzzed by, dropped off their drinks, and Ellie instinctively reached for hers, grateful for the temporary distraction. Jake wasn’t done. 

“Mom still there?” he asked, stirring his tea with his straw.    Ellie’s grip on the glass tightened, taking a moment before she swallowed carefully. “Tilly Rigby. And no. She moved around a lot for work.” 

She left out the part where moving came with her dad’s work, too. That she was from Oregon, but that she’d spent most of her life on bases in California, one in Florida, briefly. 

Jake nodded like he was filing the information away, carefully. “Siblings?” 

“None.” 

She didn’t need to tell him she’d always wanted one. Maybe a sister. Maybe someone to share clothes with. To talk to about boys. To commiserate living with her dad and surviving her mom’s sad attempts at casseroles. Tuna. Broccoli. Chicken. 

He nodded. Took a deep sip of his own tea before he set it down. “And your dad?” 

Ellie felt her stomach twist. Knot. Flip. 

Jake’s eyes locked with hers across the table for a moment. She looked away. Lifted her tea, took a slow sip. Set it down. Swallowed, hard. 

“Pass.” 

Ms. Rigby, tell us about your childhood trauma.  

Ms. Rigby, why don’t you want to talk about your dad?  

Ms. Rigby, when was the last time you responded to any of his phone calls? 

She’d long approached any question related to Rick Neven like a congresswoman dodging questions she didn’t have answers for.  

Drink water.  

Downplay.  

Dodge. 

Something flickered across Jake’s face, but where she expected he might, he didn’t push. Just sat back, drumming his fingers against the table, curious. In a beat, he nodded at her, “alright. Your turn.” 

Ellie huffed, already regretting indulging him. She didn’t have much of a choice though, did she?  

Fuck it. She was already well up the creek, sans paddle. 

“Fine. You’re from Texas. Obviously.” 

She answered the question before he asked it. She’d bet her first born on Jake being a Texan boy. Mostly because she’d read his file, partly because she felt he’d wear a Stetson unironically.  

Considering him for a moment—his straight face, his posture—she tapped her finger against her lip before continuing. “Probably some tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Lots of cows.” 

Jake’s lips cracked into a slow smirk. “You’d be right. Ten thousand people, give or take. Just as many cattle. One gas station, two bars, and a Friday night football obsession that borders on cult-like.” 

Ellie tilted her head, elbow on the table, she propped up her chin on a fist. “I’d bet you were quarterback.” 

Jake placed a hand over his heart, mocked a wince. “That hurts, Rigby.” 

“So, not quarterback?” 

“Oh, I was. But I don’t know I like how quick you were to assume.” He grinned. “Alright, one more. You think I’m an only child?” 

Ellie studied him, the easy confidence, the natural charisma. He had a certain way of filling a room, but not in a way that demanded attention—more like someone who had learned how to stake his claim without overshadowing everyone else. 

“Oh, definitely not,” she said finally, her tone was almost a laugh. “You don’t give off only-child energy. I bet you have a bunch of siblings.” 

Nic was the middle child in a family of eight. She’d once chugged a Kings cup of mixed drinks and curdled Bailey’s to prove she could even though no one had said she couldn’t. Middle child energy was chaotic. A tell. A gremlin fed after midnight. 

Jake’s grin turned knowing. “Four. One older brother, three younger sisters.” 

Ellie sat back slightly, arms folded. “Middle child confirmed then. That explains a lot.” 

Somewhere, a toddler squealed and someone guffawed, notes of a jazzed up “Happy Birthday” and a clapping call and response filling the silence in between. 

Jake chuckled. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

She shrugged. “Just that you probably got away with murder while your older brother took all the heat and your sisters had you wrapped around their fingers.” 

Jake lifted his tea in a mock toast. “You’d be correct.” 

Ellie shook her head, amused despite herself. “Alright. We played your game. Can we talk about the parameters now?” 

Jake sighed, long-suffering but entertained. “Fine, Rigby. Let’s talk about your damn parameters.” 

She reached for her bag, pulling out her laptop again, cracking open the screen, tracing her finger over the trackpad to wake it up. “I thought that’s what we were here for.” 

On this outing that felt like a date but definitely wasn’t a date. 

A not date. 

Where he asked her about personal details. 

Like a date. 

Jake leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, a smirk that had now become signature still in place. “You’re here to work. I’m here to pry into your personal life and eat.” 

Ellie shot him a flat look. “At least you’re honest about it.” 

Jake shrugged. “Figured I might as well be. Besides, what problem ever got solved on an empty stomach?” 

“Lots, actually. Discount Mac and Cheese got me through grad school.” 

Ellie had looked up the numbers, back when she was in college and the only thing she could afford were the cheapest loaves of bread and the deli meat near expiry, price reduced by 30%. 

The search had been the first step in the decision-making process on the pros and cons of selling a less important organ to afford her tuition and more than a few days' worth of fresh produce at a time. 

In some studies, hunger actually sharpened the thought process. At least that’s what she told herself when she ate leftover Mr. Noodles for breakfast from a chipped Disneyland mug, snagged from Nic’s collection. 

“I know you didn’t just try to pitch me poverty an academic advantage...” 

Ellie smirked as she sipped her sweet tea when she caught the way Jake was still looking at her—not mocking, not even smug this time. Just quietly amused. Maybe even... impressed? 

Could she say that? Jake Seresin, pain in her ass, impressed by her? 

He was still watching her, eyes flicking across her face when he leaned back and flagged down the waitress with a quick lift of his fingers.  

“Ribs and brisket,” he said with easy confidence. “Extra sauce. Sweet tea.” He glanced at Ellie, a nod of his chin in her direction before she looked away, back to the glow of the screen. “And she’ll have—” 

“Nothing,” Ellie said, without missing a beat, her fingers moving steadily as she jotted a note in the margins of her parameter matrix. 

When the silence stretched and Ellie glanced up, the waitress was blinking at her, the nib of her pen paused on the notepad in her hand. Jake tilted his head. “You sure?” 

“I’m working,” she said simply, looking down again to adjust a slider bar and frowning when the updated model didn’t sit quite right. “I’m not hungry.” 

It wasn’t completely untrue. She’d had a granola bar and a yogurt earlier that morning. A single section of a tangerine she promptly forgot about and lost track of in the mess of papers scattered across her desk. The rest of a can of flavoured sparkling water she’d chugged before she realized it had lost its fizz. 

She envisioned the empty fridge back at her place and momentarily thought about what she’d scrape together after this. That was a later problem. 

Jake waited another beat, but didn’t push, instead handing off the menu with a grin and a “Thanks, darlin’,” before settling back in with that same relaxed energy. The same ease that felt as if they were just two friends out on a normal night—one of them elbows-deep in code.  

It was another moment or two of silence before Jake spoke again. 

“You should eat something.” 

She didn’t answer, already dragging a new variable into the override logic chain. 

“So, this—” she nudged the laptop toward Jake, her finger tapping the line of code nestled in between a data spike, “—is where you said it felt off. I widened the margin here,” she pointed, “and added a buffer. If you were flying it, I want to know if you’d feel a delay.” 

Jake leaned closer to the screen, scrolled a bit and then, shrugged. “Might. But that’s better than it kicking in too soon.” 

“Okay, good, exactly,” she said with a smile, reaching too quickly across the trackpad—where Jake’s fingers still rested—in her haste to note it before it slipped her mind. 

Ellie pointedly ignored the way her stomach dipped when her fingers brushed his, and he didn’t move away in any hurry. 

She swallowed, as carefully as she could manage, avoided eye contact. 

What was this? A Bridgerton reenactment? She wasn’t Kate, he wasn’t Anthony.  

She needed to get her head in the game, out of the clouds.  

She needed to pull him out from under her skin—where he’d somehow wedged himself before she’d even noticed.  

Not like a splinter, but like the ink of a tattoo—warm, alive, part of her now. So deeply woven in, she couldn’t tell where he ended, and she began. 

It vexed her. 

When the food arrived, Ellie was thankful for the distraction. As the waitress slid the overflowing plate in front of Jake, the smell hit the booth like a punch-smoked meat, spices, the sweetness of the cornbread.  

To the very edges of the large plate, was a mountain of unapologetic southern comfort. Ellie, now hyper-focused on the adjustments, did her best to ignore the tiniest, traitorous twist of her stomach, the gurgle as it clenched around nothing. 

Pizza. She’d order pizza when she was on her way home. She let the thought repeat until it was a mantra. 

Pizza. Pepperoni and cheese with olives. And breadsticks. Also, with cheese. Lots of cheese. 

“Still not gonna try any of this?” Jake waved a rib, sticky with BBQ sauce, toward the cornbread tower and the cliff of brisket, hanging dangerously over the edge of his plate. 

Ellie gave a half-hearted shake of her head, but didn’t look away from the screen. “I’m fine, really.” 

It was only when she saw him shift in her periphery, did she look up.  

Across from her, Jake leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Norma’s gonna be real heartbroken if you don’t eat.” 

She paused, blinking at him. “Who?” 

“Owner,” he said, nodding toward the kitchen beyond a grey swinging door with a steamy, rounded window. “Sweet old lady. Spends all day making this stuff from scratch. You sit here working like her food isn’t worth looking up for, she’s gonna take that real personal.” 

Ellie side-eyed him. “You’re laying it on thick, even for you.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe. But if you make a woman named Norma cry, I’m not taking responsibility.” 

A beat passed. The scent of brisket hung in the air. Ellie let out a quiet sigh, then—without ceremony, but maybe a little bit of theatrics—reached across the table and stole a piece of rib off his plate. 

Jake grinned at her like he’d just won a bet he never voiced, his brow quirking up only once as he chewed. 

She took a bite and her brows lifted—just slightly. 

He didn’t say anything. Just waited. 

After a second, she swallowed and flagged down the waitress as she passed by. “Can I actually get a plate of brisket?” she asked. “And some cornbread?” 

“You got it.” The waitress smiled wide, tapping her pen on the pad in her hand before she turned back to the kitchen pass.  

The low, satisfied whistle that spilled from him might as well have been a quick peel of laughter. She could see him holding it back as she resisted the urge to stick her thumb in her mouth to taste the last tang of the sauce.  

“Look at you. Starting to make friends. Might have to get my eyes checked, too.” 

Ellie glanced at him, her eyeroll already cued up. She carefully wiped her hands with a napkin she tugged from the dispenser. “Shut up.” 

“Ya know, I would, but I think Norma just felt a warm breeze roll through her kitchen.” 

Ellie was shaking her head when she turned her laptop back around, already refocused. “You’re kind of insufferable, you know that, right?” 

“Some people’d call that charming,” he settled back as if the whole thing had unfolded exactly according to his plan. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you: this is about to ruin every other barbeque place for you.” 

They finished off the food slowly, conversation giving way to focus.  

Ellie tapped through the last set of adjusted parameters on her laptop, double-checking her notes and locking in the final values according to Jake’s feedback.  

Jake polished off the last of his brisket, picking up a cornbread crumb with one finger and popping it into his mouth with a look of deep satisfaction. 

“That should be it,” Ellie closed the laptop with a soft click. 

Jake leaned back with a pleased hum. “Not bad for a night’s work.” 

When the bill came, Ellie reached for her wallet. 

“I got—” Jake started, but she cut him off with a head shake. 

“I’m paying for mine.” 

He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t say a word.” 

They stepped out into the warm night air, the neon sign above the restaurant humming softly in the darkening sky. Ellie slung her laptop bag over one shoulder, already talking as they made their way toward the lot. 

“I’m actually kind of excited for the test runs on Friday. Might actually get through a test without you redlining it in under five minutes. I want to see how it holds up under real conditions—especially with the buffer extension. I think it might actually—” 

She stopped mid-sentence when she realized she was alone, the sound of her feet on the gravel loud as she pivoted on the spot, halfway between the restaurant and her car. 

Jake wasn’t next to her anymore.  

She was halfway through her second scan of the parking lot when she saw him a few yards back, standing at a low iron gate, strings of fairy lights leading into the soft glow of a mini putt course, tucked away beside the restaurant. Beyond the fencing, more string lights hung overhead, giving a soft glow over brightly coloured obstacles—windmills, lighthouses, a small fake volcano—in the middle of the numbered course. 

Jake was standing with his back to her, hand on the gate, already holding two putters. When he looked up, he tipped his head, calling her back. Then he watched her; one eyebrow raised like he was waiting to see which way she’d go. She could almost see the challenge in his eyes, even from distance. 

Ellie stood frozen halfway between him and her car. Her keys were in her hand. 

She could go.  

She should go.  

This was done—she had the data, the adjustments, Jake’s feedback; the night had served its purpose. He’d helped her like he’d promised. 

Hopefully solving her Stark shaped, funding related problem in the process. 

And yet... something in her refused to move forward, to close the distance between where she stood and her car door. Something in her hesitated to end the night. 

Ellie let out a long sigh, turned and walked back to her car just long enough to stash her laptop bag in the trunk. 

“This doesn’t have to be complicated,” she murmured, giving herself a quick moment, her head stuck under the open trunk. “Don’t make it complicated.”  

When she stood, she shut the trunk with more force than she intended. 

When she crunched across the lot, toward the low gate and the mini putt course beyond, Jake handed her the shorter putter with a grin. The putter with the green grip. She wasn’t about to admit that she found it endearing he kept the putter with the pink grip. 

“No laptop?” he asked, clearly amused. 

When she grabbed a ball from the tray sitting on the counter, she shrugged. “Thought I’d give my spine a break.” 

Jake’s smirk deepened, the divots of his dimples ghosting his cheeks. “I figured I’d give you a lower-pressure shot to—what was it? Wipe the floor with me? You know, at a different game.” 

Ellie arched her brow, unable to hold back the scoff. “Because pool didn’t go my way?” 

“Exactly.” He winked at her, something easy and natural. She hated the way it made her heart pick up pace. “No stakes this time. Just fun. You know what that is, right?” 

He opened the gate wide with a squeal of the hinges and she stepped past him, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes—but not quite able to fight the small tug at the corner of her mouth. And when Jake’s hand found the small of her back again, guiding her toward the green felt loop-de-loop of the first hole, she didn’t stop him.  

She ignored the part of her brain that told her this was nice. 

The Astroturf on the third hole was damp under Ellie’s boots, still holding the day’s humidity. 

Fake rocks cast soft, early evening shadows across the course. The sound of a fountain burbling near the pirate/Goonies themed hole competed with Jake’s commentary on her latest shot. 

Which had gone... poorly. 

Correction, it had gone horribly wrong.  

Laughably disastrous in the way that meant her ball was now sitting off course, one stroke into a par 2 hole. 

“That was—wow,” Jake drew out the word with mock awe.  

He stepped up, dropped his ball on the starting point and looked up at her, his face set to the gloat lite setting. “Bold strategy. Let me guess, you thought you’d bank it off the cannon, over the skull, and then completely miss the hole. Iconic.” 

Ellie rolled her eyes, waved him off like she had meant to send her ball on an unmanned reconnaissance mission to the fucking moon instead of the hole. In her peripheral, she could see it sitting in a patch of fake palm fronds, a nearby marooned pirate figurine mocking her on a deserted island. 

“I was accounting for wind resistance.” 

Obviously. 

“On a low-lying course?” 

“Simulated wind.” She waved at the straightaway piece of green leading up to the fiberglass ship hull. “This whole stretch could be considered a wind tunnel. Maybe you can’t feel it, but some of us are just more in tune.” 

Jake smirked, straightening out of his putting stance before he casually turned, leaning on his putter like he had all night to watch her pretend she wasn’t trying to win. “Right. Very spiritual approach to mini golf. I respect it. Tell me, Ms. Cleo, what do the star signs say about my game? Does the Scorpio moon mean I’ll manifest a par on this hole?” 

The glare she shot him didn’t hold the heat she wanted—her mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. 

She could say what she wanted about Jake Seresin, but undeniably, he had a way of poking at her that didn’t feel like a challenge to rise to.  

It just... landed between them. 

A little too easily. 

He threw the line, she bit, and he tossed her back. She served; he volleyed. 

He lined up his shot and sent the ball curving around the loop-de-loop and straight into the hole. He gave an exaggerated tip of an imaginary hat as it dropped in with the telltale plunk. “Now that was textbook.” 

“Ok, Seresin,” Ellie scoffed, offering an exaggerated theatre clap, “try not to pull a muscle patting yourself on the back.” 

“You’re not gonna blame wind resistance for that one too, are you?” 

Ellie let out a quiet laugh under her breath as she retrieved her rogue ball from the palm tree grove, taking a minute to poke out her tongue at the grimacing pirate on the sandy island.  

She didn’t know what the hell she was doing here—playing mini golf with Jake Seresin of all people—but there was something easy about the rhythm they’d fallen into.  

They were orbiting each other, never too close, but never too far. Pulled back to each other time and time again by something too complicated to name. 

He stayed quiet for a moment, watching her as she set up her shot. He was good at that, she’d noticed: knowing when to go quiet—when other pilots didn’t know, fundamentally, when to shut up. Like silence made them feel smaller, slower. Jake, though… made room with it. 

Funny the things you learn about people when you look, Mav had always told her. Everyone’s secretly dying to tell you every little thing you need to know about them. You just have to see it when it happens. 

Initially, she’d shoved Jake into that same category. The smart ass, cocky pilot who always felt the need to prove themselves. Show he was better. Tell he was quick and sharp and invincible without showing the work on the equation that brought him there. But now she saw it, possibly, maybe unlikely, but a flicker of something real beneath the shiny, reflective exterior. 

“You’ve got a real instinct for flight paths,” he said lightly, neither here nor there. “For someone who doesn’t fly, anyway. That something you picked up from family, or just a natural gift?” 

Ellie froze for half a beat—just enough to register that the question wasn’t really about mini putt or the tech. Her grip tightened on the putter, just slightly, before she bent to place her ball on the turf again. 

“Guess I just pay attention; lots of extracurricular reading,” she said, tone cool but not frosty. 

Another non-answer.  

More non-engagement. 

Maybe she could really consider a career in politics if her tech shuffled off this mortal coil. 

She swung, sending the ball toward the paint chipped pirate ship and missed the hole again. “God, seriously?” 

Jake made what sounded like a sympathetic noise. Ellie was thankful he didn’t push the question further. “Well, at least you can take comfort in the fact you’re still better at this than Bob.” 

“Hey now, don’t drag Bob into this. He’s not here to defend himself.” 

Bob. Her saviour from Teak, Bob. 

The quiet, shy, WSO behind Phoenix’s strong instinctual knowing in the drivers’ seat. 

The one who reminded her of the nerdy, careful, put-together, respectful guy Nic swore she was into in college, but Ellie suspected was a way to get back at her Omega Kapa ex. Justin? Or Chad? Maybe it was Austin... 

If Ellie could go back, she’d take Phoenix and Bob over Teak and Lover in a fraction of a heartbeat. 

“Exactly why it’s the best time to do it.” 

She stepped forward to take her next, embarrassing attempt.  

As she swung her putter, her mind buzzed, louder now.  

Jake hadn’t said her dad. Hadn’t asked for specifics, but she didn’t like how close the question had skirted the truth. 

When she finally sunk the ball, she was two over par and Jake was already scribbling on the scorecard. When he looked up, tucking the card and pencil away in his back pocket, he was grinning. “Don’t worry, Darlin’. You’ll get me back on the next hole.” 

Before she could stop herself, Ellie raised her brow at him. “Bold of you to assume I don’t just sabotage your putter by the tenth hole, and you’re forced to forfeit.” 

His grin widened, slow and amused, like she’d just said something deeply entertaining, like she’d proven a point he hadn’t shared aloud. “You know,” he said, stepping closer, “I think I’m starting to like how your brain works.” 

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling, wide, genuine. 

“I mean it,” Jake added, easy. The sound of his voice was just a low rumble that caught Ellie in the stomach. “Cutthroat. Competitive. Fiery. Could be dangerous in the right conditions.” 

“Maybe these are the right conditions and the next time you flatter me,” Ellie paused for effect, “I aim for your kneecaps on my follow through swing.” 

Jake let out a low, genuine laugh. “Just confirming what I suspected all along.” 

She walked past him toward the next hole, letting her shoulder brush his just enough to be deliberate. 

She didn’t look at him—didn’t need to. She could feel his eyes on her, could sense it in the heat on the back of her neck. This time, she leaned into it. She had him. His attention. She just wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with it yet. 

In the very brief history of them, the emerging pattern had been simple: She ran. He chased. But standing still? Letting him catch up with her? She watched the shift—small, seismic—saw the ground tilt under his feet. 

She excelled where she was underestimated, thrived in mystery. 

“Careful, Seresin,” she threw it over her shoulder, an afterthought. “Some of us play dirty.” 

Behind her, Jake’s voice followed, warm and thoroughly entertained. “Yeah, and some of us like it that way.” 

The fourth hole had a quaint, over-the-top charm—paint-chipped posts holding up a miniature covered bridge, just wide enough for the ball to pass through if the angle was perfect.  

A narrow footbridge arched over a thin stream beside it, leading to the back of the covered bridge. It was strung with fairy lights—probably prettier later at night 

Ellie liked it more than she expected to. It reminded her of old road trips with her mom when she was younger, when her dad was away on deployment. Just her, her mom, a random city a few hours outside of wherever they’d been posted, mini putt and ice cream.  

She didn’t mention that.  

Instead, she observed. 

Jake stood on the green, lining up his shot with exaggerated concentration, tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth like a kid. 

She resisted the urge to laugh as he muttered something low to himself, maybe the ball. She watched as he took a few practice swings before he straightened out and tapped the ball.  

It bumped the edge of the covered bridge and bounced straight back toward him. 

This time, Ellie barked a laugh. “Beautiful form. Really elegant, Lieutenant.” 

He let out a sigh and stepped aside, sweeping a hand dramatically toward the bridge as his ball rocked before it settled right back near his foot where it started. “By all means, hotshot. Show me how it’s done.” 

“Gladly.”  

Ellie stepped up with a smug little smile, cleared her throat, squared her stance, and knocked the ball with an efficient little tap of her putter. 

No pretense. No ball whispering. No practice swings. 

It sailed clean through the covered bridge, hit the back wall of the cup on the other side, and rimmed out. 

Jake tried not to grin, but Ellie could see him losing the battle from the corner of her eye. “Oof. So close, Rigby.” 

“Don’t even.” She pointed her putter at him like a warning. “I will absolutely unscrew your putter head and toss it in that stream.” 

“God,” he muttered, clearly delighted as he replaced his ball on the green and knocked it through the drawbridge on his next shot, “you’re so competitive. It’s kind of adorable.” 

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. 

They crossed the footbridge, and Ellie glanced over at him, her pace falling in step with his. For a second, she studied the way the low lights caught on the edge of his jaw, softened the planes of his face.  

It surprised her, how easy it felt—how not on guard she was when she was around him now. 

Like tonight, with brisket and cornbread, he had dismantled her walls before she knew to throw them up. A trojan horse of meat and sweet bread. 

Her next words were out without meaning to lend sound to them, barely a blip on the filter she usually maintained between her brain and her mouth, voice casual but sincere: “They tell me you’re the best.” 

She anonymized it. Like she was reading it off a crumpled complaint card from a break room box. 

Jake has a distinct asshole vibe.

When I asked why he was tired, he told me to “ask your mom.”  My mother is a Christian woman. 

Would not trust him with a Roomba, let alone a fighter jet. 

She’d read his file, in greater detail than she might have liked. Objectively speaking, no one had to tell her he was the best. 

Jake tilted his head, like he wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a setup. “Yeah? Should I be asking who they are?” 

“I mean, Hangman,” she said, one brow arched, pushing past the question like he hadn’t asked. “You don’t get a call sign like that for being mediocre.” 

She stoked his ego, fed it the fuel it craved. She wanted to see how he burned it. What was left when he digested the compliment. 

He let out a short laugh. “That’s debatable. Some would argue it’s for being a pain in the ass or for leaving my wingmen to sit in my wash. Ask Bradshaw, he’s got a few stories.” 

Ellie shrugged. 

Rooster had never spoken badly of Jake, but she knew he was hinting at things she never asked more about. When he told her how to handle Jake; how he gave Jake grace when all Ellie wanted to do was nail him to the wall over “flying like an asshole” after that first test flight. 

“So, I guess the next, most obvious, question is… why’d you become a pilot? Was it a family thing, or just something you knew you’d be good at?”  

Her eyes flicked up to him, studied the side of his face in the softness of the string lights, the curve of his jaw, the shadow of stubble. For once, she wasn’t trying to read him. She just wanted to know, know what his motivations were, what he chased when he flew like a bat out of hell. 

Jake clicked his tongue, but didn’t answer right away. The question hung between them, carried lightly on the sound of water trickling beneath the footbridge. He looked ahead, then back at her, the usual smirk gentled into something closer to real. 

He wiped his thumb across his bottom lip before he finally spoke, the words coming out on a dry chuckle. An inside joke, maybe. “Bit of both.” 

Ellie watched the way he rolled the golf ball in his hand, casually. She didn’t interrupt, just kept pace with him steadily. 

“Dad flew for a bit. Not the same kind of flying, but… I grew up around it. He wanted me to do something safer. Maybe take over the ranch. I didn’t listen. Couldn’t imagine herding cattle and never leaving Kerrville. Even then.” 

There was no universe in which Ellie could imagine Jake Seresin being a “yes, sir” man, even in childhood.  If she looked at him now, blurred her eyes just right, she could almost see a younger version of him, respectfully, telling his dad he’d fly, even if it killed him.  

That ever present middle child energy probably helped. 

Ellie nodded, quiet, considering, choosing her next words carefully. “Would’ve been weird if you had, I think.” 

Jake smiled. “Yeah. Listening’s not really my strong suit.” 

“No kidding.” She pointedly drew her eyes to him, from head to toe, before she glanced away, fighting the tug at her mouth. “I mean, I can’t imagine you in a t-shirt, jeans, cowboy boots and a Stetson, chewing on sweetgrass while you tend to the cows.” 

His eyes were twinkling when he looked at her, the fairy lights illuminating the flecks of blue in the seafoam of his iris. “So, you admit you fantasize about me then, Rigby?” His brilliant smile was full now, highlighting laugh lines. 

“I think I’ll take that to my grave if you don’t mind.” 

They reached the next tee box, the ensuing quiet stretching into something that didn’t feel awkward or weighty—just there. Shared. Ellie wasn’t sure what had shifted between them or even when, but something had. And for once, she wasn’t in a rush to undo it, to fill the silence. 

The sixth hole had a tricky setup—pure chaos disguised as kitsch.  

A mini water tower teetered at the top of a small incline, rigged so water poured down the slope every few minutes after a bucket overhead filled and tipped. Timing the shot was half the battle; the other half was hoping the water didn’t catch your ball mid-roll and send it careening off course. 

Jake stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching. Ellie took a minute, judging the cycle with narrowed eyes like she was timing a missile strike. 

If she was here with her mom, Tilly would have started counting out loud, out of order, trying to distract her. 

Ellie knew she didn’t get the competitive streak from Hollywood. 

“You’ve got that look again,” Jake interrupted, halfway through her first count of the cycle, “the one that says you’re calculating trajectories in your head.” 

“That’s because I am,” Ellie replied simply after she finished the count just as the bucket started to tip, unleashing the concentrated rush of water. “Don’t start acting like that’s not how this game should be played.” 

Ten seconds to fill. 

Five seconds to fully empty before it tipped back up to begin the cycle again. 

“So, on the subject of trajectories...” Jake smirked, then nudged the conversation sideways, out to left field. “I gotta ask—how is it that you know Mav, anyway? You two seem pretty close.” 

Ellie didn’t flinch, didn’t point out that his question had nothing to do with trajectories. 

Quietly, her posture shifted, a touch more upright as she dropped the ball onto the felted green.  

There was another cycle of fill and dump before she found the words, sussed out how she would twist her response just enough away from the truth. Avoid direct impact, minimize the damage. 

“Met a while back,” she sighed, careful not to oversell the casual of it all, as her eyes shifted back to the water tower which had already spilled again. “We crossed paths on a project a few years ago.” 

Jake hummed and Ellie knew from the sound of it: he wasn’t buying 100% of what she was selling. But he didn’t call her on it either. “Huh. Funny. I saved the guy’s life, and he still gives me grief. You? He talks to like a proud uncle.” 

Ellie looked at him then, briefly sharp, until she trained her face to say less. When she was composed enough, she offered him a quiet shrug, “maybe he just likes me better.” 

“That,” Jake smirked, running a hand through his hair, “I can’t argue with.” 

The bucket gave its telltale groan, beginning its slow tip. Ellie waited—one beat, two—then tapped the ball just as the last splash hit the turf. The ball coasted easily up the incline, passed clean under the dripping tower, and curved into the hole. Clean. Simple. One stroke under par. 

She kicked up her heel behind her like she was taking a victory lap and turned to face him, eyes shining. 

“Eat it, Seresin.” 

Jake let out a laugh, low and genuine, as she strode past him, head held high, to retrieve her ball. His eyes followed, his head already shaking. “I take it back, you’re kind of annoying.” 

“You love it.” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“No,” she said, tossing him a smug look over her shoulder. “But you’re thinking it.” 

The truth was—she was enjoying this.  

All of it.  

The teasing. The game. The way Jake didn’t press too hard when she dodged his questions but let her know he knew she was dodging them.  

For the first time in a long time, she felt oddly light. Almost stupidly at ease.  

Like the air around her had thinned out just enough for her to float. 

The tumor had to be growing. Burrowing into some critical part of her brain that managed caution and boundaries and all the sharp edges she usually kept between herself, and guys like him. 

It felt like standing on the edge of something unknown and mysterious, but instead of cautious and careful, standing in a tourist trap full of fiberglass structures and novelty obstacles, she felt good. 

She felt normal. 

The ninth hole was absurd in the best way. A deep level of unserious in a way that almost made it art. Fiberglass and “get-along little doggy” energy in equal measure. 

A miniature rodeo ring sat smack in the middle of the green, complete with a tiny corral, a few fake hay bales, and a wooden cutout of a cowboy frozen mid-buck atop a rearing bronco. The hole sat just beyond the ring, tucked behind one of the pinto’s painted hooves.  

Somewhere within the setup, a tiny speaker played the occasional, tinny “Yeehaw!” on loop. 

Ellie leaned on her putter, watching Jake line up his second shot.  

He crouched with exaggerated focus, his lips pursed like this was a championship and not a fiberglass fantasy world behind a barbecue joint. She wondered if at any moment, he’d request pin-drop silence before he committed to a shot. 

God, he was annoying. Annoying and annoyingly good at selling the whole golden-boy act. Did women really fall for this? Maybe Ellie couldn’t judge, since she, herself, had indeed... fallen for it.    By her count (because Jake was hoarding the scorecard), they were neck and neck—Ellie had caught up after Jake lost a ball to the water hazard on the seventh hole, something she still hadn’t stopped teasing him about. His swing had been too aggressive, too showy, and now he was playing catch-up.

“Do you always fly like that,” she asked lightly, “or do you dial it down when you’re not trying to prove something?” 

“You sound like my CO in Lemoore,” Jake laughed, quick, dry as he adjusted his stance. “I think he used the word ‘reckless’—that what you mean?” 

“I mean loud. Fast. Show-offy.” 

He glanced over his shoulder at her, grinning. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Ellie shrugged, like it didn’t matter—but it did, a little. She wasn’t needling him. Not this time. She just wanted to know. And maybe it was because he’d been asking about her all night—or maybe because, in spite of herself, she liked hearing him talk about flying in his own words. 

Jake tapped the ball. It skimmed through the narrow space between the bronco’s legs, hit the far edge of the ring, curved— 

And missed the hole by half an inch. 

He winced, muttered “unreal,” and dragged a hand through his hair.

Ellie bit back a grin. If she landed this one on par, she could pull ahead. Set the tone. 

“It’s not not a bad thing,” she said, stepping forward.

Jake straightened. “I flew with this old-school Top Gun guy once—type who could land a bird on a carrier in a storm blindfolded. Real cowboy in the sky. Got me thinking I should try being more like that.” 

Her smile dimmed—not because it wasn’t charming, but because of how he said it. 

Cowboy in the sky. Her dad used to use that phrase. Reverent. Like flying wasn’t just a career—it was a calling. 

It set off a twinge, something sharp in her chest. Her dad had been that kind of myth once—heroic, untouchable. Cool, confident. Wholly unbothered.  

Until he wasn’t. 

Jake didn’t look at her when he said it, but she felt the shape of it hanging between them. Like he’d thrown a line, waiting to see if she’d catch it. 

She didn’t. 

Instead, she looked down at her ball, focused on the paint-chipped bronco like it hadn’t just sucker-punched her chest. “Must’ve been something,” she said, light, practiced. 

“He was,” Jake answered. “Last I heard, retired to Italy.”

The quiet between them stretched—not awkward, just there. Ellie stepped up to the tee, shook off the weight in her chest, and sank the hole in two. 

When she turned, Jake was watching her with a grin that, for once, didn’t feel like a challenge. Just… appreciation. 

“I think that means I’m ahead now.” She tipped her chin toward him, tone bone-dry. “So, eyes on the green, Seresin. Unless you’re planning to lose gracefully. Wouldn’t want you blaming your tragic mini putt downfall on me being distracting.” 

Jake smirked, already strolling toward the next hole. “Barely ahead,” he tossed back. “And only because that damn water tower had it out for me.”

The eleventh hole was set on a fake cliffside with a little white-and-red lighthouse perched at the precipice.

The green wound its way up a spiraling path dotted with jagged fake rocks and a rotating beacon that clicked softly as it spun. The whole thing was dramatic and charmingly oversized, and somehow it still smelled faintly of sunscreen and plastic turf in the way an air freshener called “Hawaiian Breeze” smelled vaguely like hibiscus and sand.

Jake crouched beside his ball, squinting at the slope with an intensity that suggested he was planning a real approach vector. Ellie leaned lightly on her putter, watching him with a tilt of her head, the lighthouse’s sweeping light catching in her eyes for a beat before moving on.

She let the question come out quieter than the ones before, like it had snuck up on her as much as it did him.

“Have you ever seriously screwed up in the air?”

Jake froze—not visibly, not in a way most people would notice. But Ellie had spent enough time with him now to catch the barely-there pause, the flicker of something heavier sitting behind his eyes for just a fraction of a second when he looked up.

“Why?” he asked, looking up—casual on the surface but a little too measured underneath. “You got a theory going? Building a profile for all your test pilots?”

Ellie shrugged, trying not to overplay her own curiosity. “Just wondering. You carry yourself like you’ve never made a mistake in your life. Figured maybe I’d get to see the chink in the armor.”

Jake smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. He stood, rolling the ball back and forth between his hands. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I have.”

That surprised her. Not the admission—just the ease of it, or the lack of resistance.

“Want to know what it was?” he added, looking at her now.

Ellie hesitated, then, she could feel herself nodding. “If you want to tell me.”

Jake tapped the ball once against his putter, thinking. “It was early on. Post–Top Gun, but not by much. I got cocky on a turn during an exercise with my home squadron. Pushed too hard trying to outfly the guy on my tail. Pulled too many Gs too fast, lost situational awareness. Came damn close to a G-LOC.” He exhaled through his nose. “Woke up to my backseater screaming, every damn alarm going off and the ocean way closer than it should’ve been.”

Ellie stared at him, eyebrows lifting. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” He offered a weak smile. “They grounded me for a while. Made me sit with that one.”

That wasn’t the data she expected, but it was the kind she trusted more than numbers.

It was playing across her face as she frowned slightly. “That… wasn’t in your file.”

Jake shook his head before she could finish. “It wouldn’t have been. Internal incident, scrubbed from record. They wanted to protect the squadron. And me, probably.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Just let it hang there.

“Why tell me?” she asked softly.

Jake met her gaze, quiet for a moment before he replied. “Because I think you’re the kind of person who already knows everyone screws up. You just want to see if I’ll admit it.”

Ellie’s lips tugged up into something small. Not quite a smile, but close. “That wasn’t a test.”

He stepped up to take his shot. “Sure it wasn’t.”

Jake hit the ball—too hard at first, but it clipped the edge of one of the rocks and bounced into the spiraling path like he’d meant it to. It curled around the curve and slipped neatly into the cup, disappearing with a soft plink.

He turned and winked. “Still got it.”

She didn’t mean to notice the way his fingers curled around the putter, steady and loose like he wasn’t trying too hard—but of course she did. Just like she clocked the shift in his voice, low and easy, warm enough to slide under her skin if she let it.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of warmth behind it. “That was definitely a fluke. No way you planned that.”

“Guess you’ll never know,” Jake said, handing her the ball from the tray, fingers brushing hers briefly. “Try not to choke under the pressure, Rigby.”

She stepped up, squared her stance. “You saying that out of concern, or just because you like watching me prove you wrong?”

Jake smiled. “Yes.”

She took the shot.

The twelfth hole had a medieval theme—naturally.  

A miniature stone castle rose up from the green, complete with a foam moat and a slowly lowering drawbridge. At the top of the ramp, a tiny animatronic knight in gleaming plastic armor pivoted back and forth, halberd swinging lazily in timed arcs that could knock an off-angle ball clean off the course. 

Ellie crouched near the tee, squinting at the layout, her ball balanced between her fingers.    “If I can angle the shot just right off the left curve here,” she murmured, mostly to herself, “and time it so it slips past the knight’s swing while the drawbridge is dropping, the kinetic deflection might push it right into the center lane. Sort of like accounting for crosswind shear when you’re dealing with intersecting velocity vectors—”    “Crosswind what now?” Jake asked, leaning on his putter beside her, lips twitching.    She didn’t even look at him—just smirked. “You know exactly what a crosswind is, Seresin. I think you just like hearing me say it.” 

“Guilty.” Jake grinned. “But come on, Rigby. You have to know how stupid hot it is when you talk like that.”    She rolled her eyes but stepped up anyway, adjusted her grip, and sent the ball on a clean arc up the ramp. 

It skimmed the inner curve, dodged the knight’s swing by a hair, and struck the descending drawbridge at just the right moment—bouncing off the edge and straight through the castle gate. A moment later, the satisfying clink of the ball dropping into the cup echoed through the turreted plastic. 

Ellie straightened with a self-satisfied smile, but Jake was still watching her like she’d just solved cold fusion in front of him. 

“What?” she asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. 

He leaned in slightly, eyes dancing. “I’m serious. Vectors. Wind shear. Real-time deflection. You just made physics sound like foreplay.” 

Ellie blinked, caught off guard. Her ears flushed a little despite herself. 

“Oh my God,” she muttered, turning away toward the next hole. 

It was stupid, how one sentence could make her feel like a whiteboard, all her inner workings scrawled in bright marker. Unnervingly visible. Uncharacteristically loud. Unconditionally wanted. 

Jake followed, chuckling under his breath. “I’m serious. That was like… NASA dirty talk.” 

“Stop,” she warned, half-laughing now. 

He leaned in as they walked. “Say ‘relative velocity’ just one more time.”

“I will hit you with this putter, Seresin.” 

Jake clicked his tongue, “worth it.” 

The fourteenth hole was bottlenecked.  

A trio of teenagers in front of them were taking their sweet time with a windmill setup, laughing too loud and arguing over who cheated on the last hole.  

Ellie didn’t mind the break in pace—her score was up, her swing had evened out, and Jake had just come back from the little refreshment shack with two cold bottles of beer. 

He handed her one, condensation slick against her palm. She took it, twisted off the cap, and glanced up at him as he leaned casually against a weathered picnic table nearby—one foot braced on the bench, posture all confidence and sunset ease. 

“So,” he said, voice easy but eyes trained on her with that laser-sharp Seresin curiosity, “be honest—was schooling hotshot pilots with that big brain of yours always the dream? Or was this just the backup plan after villainy school didn’t pan out?” 

Ellie snorted into her beer. “Wow. That’s the line you’re going with tonight?” 

He gave a one-shoulder shrug and a smirk. “Just trying to get a sense of the origin story, Rigby. Genius like yours doesn’t just show up one day.” 

She didn’t answer right away. Just took a long pull from the bottle, the cold settled low in her chest, clear and sharp. Like it knew exactly where to land. A few feet away, the windmill’s blades spun lazily. 

“I liked planes,” she said finally. “Figuring out how they worked, why they flew. The math made sense when nothing else did. My brain just… clicked with it.” 

The coles notes version of it all. Easily processed. A nugget of truth buried beneath false flags. 

Jake nodded, saying nothing. 

“I didn’t think I’d end up in this lane. I thought I’d go into engineering—build better systems, maybe make flight less of a gamble. But then I sat in on a lecture once. Radar telemetry. Flight paths. It was like—” she shrugged. “Someone flipped a switch.” 

She looked at him sidelong. He was actually listening. Not nodding out of politeness, not filling the silence just to say something—just there. Really there. Like he was waiting for her to say more without expecting it. 

“I didn’t want to be in the air,” she added. “But I wanted to understand everything that happened up there. Every variable. Every edge-case. Every way to fix what breaks.” 

Jake tipped his beer toward her. “Backup plan sounds like a hell of a plan A.” 

Ellie smirked, tapping the neck of her bottle against his. “Villainy school would’ve hated my flair for precision.” 

“Oh, absolutely. You’d have taken over the syllabus by week two.”

She laughed. For a second—just a beat—everything heavy fell away. Work. History. The tightrope between here and wherever her brain lived most days. It went quiet.

The windmill clicked as it rotated. That stupid little metronome of sound beneath it all that kept the moment whole, grounded. 

“C’mon, Seresin,” she said, setting her beer down. “You’re up.” 

Jake stepped to the tee, but not before tossing her a grin over his shoulder. “Try not to be too heartbroken when I reclaim my lead.” 

Ellie leaned back against the table and took another sip, smiling into the bottle like it had said something funny. 

The fifteenth hole was built like a mini airstrip—complete with faux runway lights embedded in the turf and a tiny control tower off to the side. The sun was getting lower, painting the whole place in a soft amber light that made it easier to forget what kind of day it had started as.

Ellie watched Jake crouch low to line up his shot, tongue caught lightly between his teeth in concentration.

She knew the second he saw her watching because his smirk made a reappearance.

“You always size people up this fast,” he asked, not looking away from the ball, “or am I just special?”

Ellie arched a brow, resting her putter against her leg. “You’re loud. You make everything a performance. You deflect like your life depends on it but you’re more observant than you let on.”

Jake straightened, blinking once, maybe surprised she answered seriously.

She gave him a crooked smile and added, “But yeah, sure. You’re also just special. Like a limited-edition action figure. With impulse control issues for an accessory.”

That pulled a laugh out of him—low and warm—and he held his hands up in surrender. “Guilty. But you’re not wrong.”

Ellie stepped up for her own shot, tapping the ball and watching it roll just past the hole. She groaned and sighed, “Figures. Too much force.”

Jake tilted his head. “Said the woman with surgical control over crosswind drag simulations.”

“The mini putt gods don’t respect science.”

Jake chuckled again, still watching her with that same amused, curious look. And Ellie could feel it creeping in—that uneasy ease. Like maybe she wasn’t just analyzing him. Maybe he was doing the same to her. And somehow, it didn’t feel like a threat.

The sixteenth hole had a safari theme—sort of.

At least, that was the assumption based on the patchy plastic grass, zebra-print fencing, and the giant purple hippo with its gaping mouth parked smack in the middle of the green. A sign above the obstacle read “Hungry for a Hole-in-One!” in uneven letters that looked like they’d been painted by a seven-year-old on a sugar high.

Ellie stood at the tee, eyeing the hippo like it didn’t belong.

“Okay,” she said, squinting. “If I bank left, past the tree stump, I can aim for the back wall and bounce clean into the mouth before it closes.”

Jake gave a low whistle, leaning on the numbered post for the course like it was a bar stool. “You always this strategic with children’s games?”

She didn’t look up. “It’s not strategy, it’s physics. That jaw’s on a three-second delay. You just have to time the angle and speed.”

He grinned. “You say that, but I’m not convinced you haven’t been out here practicing.”

Ellie rolled her eyes and adjusted her stance. “I’ve had better things to do than master hippo equations.”

She lined up and hit the ball. It banked exactly where she said it would, clipped the inside of the tree stump, hit the far wall, and—right on cue—slid neatly into the hippo’s mouth just before it chomped shut again. The sound of the ball dropping into the cup was deeply satisfying.

Jake let out a breath, watching her. “Seriously. Weaponize this brain of yours and you could take over the world.”

Ellie gave him a sidelong glance as she stepped away from the green. “What about you? Were you always this competitive, or is that a ‘growing up with sisters’ thing?”

Jake snorted, the sound short and unguarded. “Let’s just say, if you’ve never been ambushed with glitter and a curling iron, you haven’t known true psychological warfare.”

Ellie leaned on her own putter, expression softening just a touch. “Survival instincts, huh?”

“Exactly. I still twitch when I smell bubblegum-scented shampoo.”

She watched him set up, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Tell me you cried.”

“Oh, I wept,” Jake said without missing a beat. “It was a layered trauma. Glitter everywhere.”

She laughed—genuine and light—and something in Jake’s shoulders loosened at the sound.

He took the shot. It clacked against the stump, missed the bounce by a hair, and got caught in the hippo’s jaws just as they closed.

“Damn,” he muttered.

Ellie patted his shoulder as she passed him. “Guess survival instincts only get you so far.”

He looked back at her, smirking. “Pretty sure I’m still winning.”

“Not the hole-in-one race,” she said, breezy, smug, already walking like she had the crown in her back pocket.

Jake chuckled and fell into step beside her as they headed for the final hole, a lightness between them that hadn’t been there a week ago—something building, quiet and unmistakable.

The eighteenth hole looked like it had been slapped together as an afterthought—flat green, standard windmill, one rotating obstacle like a tired metaphor. Ellie eyed it with a touch of disappointment. After knights and jungle animals, this one felt like the designers had just given up. A copy and paste from a previous hole with slight change in colour.

She crouched anyway, reading the timing of the spinning blades, calculating the best window. One more clean putt and she’d have him by two strokes. Maybe three, if he got cocky and tried to overcompensate like he had on the hippo hole. 

Jake’s voice drifted toward her, almost casual. “Can I ask you something?” 

Ellie didn’t look up, eyes tracing the path she willed her ball to take. “You mean besides what wind drag, and hippos have in common?” 

He let out a laugh behind her, and she caught the sound of his putter shifting on his shoulders. Her lips twitched before she could stop them.

“Yeah, besides that.” 

She took her shot, letting the ball roll just short of the windmill, right on cue. Easy. Planned.

And then he asked it, calm, casual, like it didn’t weigh heavy between them. 

“Why now?” 

Two words. 

Casual.

Her spine stiffened like he’d hit a pressure point she didn’t know she was guarding. When she looked at him again, he wasn’t watching her. It gave her the briefest of moments to recover. 

Play dumb. It wouldn’t hold water—not with him—but maybe it’d buy her time to come up with a version that hurt less. 

“What do you mean?” 

“My help. Why ask now?” He clarified without lending words to what she knew he might have said instead. You know what I’m talking about, but I’ll spell it out anyway. 

“What? Because you think I’m too proud to admit that you might be useful?” she replied, voice dry as usual, but she knew it didn’t land like she’d wanted it to. 

She could tell by the way he was watching her. He wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t goading. Just... watching her. Still. Like maybe the silence might spill something if he held it long enough. Like she might incriminate herself. 

She exhaled, a quiet, measured breath that didn’t quite ease the tightness in her chest, even when the air was out.  

There were ten different versions of the truth she could offer. None, clean. None without underscoring the ticking clock. Each one sharper, messier, more real than the last. 

Because if she told him the truth—that she was out of time, that Stark was already circling the slow dying of her tech like a buzzard waiting for the last breath....  

It wouldn’t just be admitting she needed him.  

It would be admitting she might have bet her whole career on the wrong damn play. 

“Maybe I thought collaboration would be more productive than butting heads and snarking each other within an inch of our collective lives,” she shrugged, her voice even, as truthful as she could manage. “Radical, I know.” 

There, she’d said it.  

It lived now, between them. 

Controlled. Mostly safe. A small, sliver of truth, wrapped in the comforting, hardened shell of reason. 

“You could’ve asked Rooster,” he said too fast, like he’d practiced the line in the event of that response from her. Ellie almost heard the edge of something in his voice, like he was hoping she hadn’t asked because she was desperate, out of options. 

It was brief, the static between radio stations as it scanned for a stronger signal. 

Ellie scoffed before she could stop herself, brow raised as she turned her gaze on him. “I could still ask Rooster if you’re bored.”

The corner of his mouth tugged, but his eyes… they were still on her, sharp, yet warm. There was something behind his gaze—something he wasn’t saying. Like he didn’t quite buy her answer. Like he felt the edges of a shift he didn’t fully understand yet. 

“Didn’t say I was bored,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I’m just trying to figure out if this is about the tech… or something else.” 

The question landed hard—low in her stomach, coiled and tight like something waiting to escape. 

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. 

Just turned back to the green, like she could outmaneuver the heat of it by focusing on spin and angles. On anything else. In the quiet, she tapped the ball like it was the easiest thing in the world. Straight through. Past the spinning arms. Right into the cup. Par for the hole. 

Don Quixote had nothing on her. 

“Guess you’ll have to keep showing up to find out, Hangman,” she called over her shoulder, already walking away.

But even as she put distance between them, her heart didn’t settle. It thudded with every step—louder than it should have.  

Jake had a talent for asking questions that sounded like banter but felt like a scalpel. Sharp in the hidden context, a tool meant to cut to the heart of it. She’d dodged most of them, an acrobat twisting and arching through hoops, walking across a tightrope. 

She hadn’t lied. Not exactly. Yet, this question felt... different.

She yes, while she hadn’t lied, she hadn’t told him what changed, either. 

Jake was still tallying the scores on the faded little card as they rounded the final bend of the course, the neon lights from the last hole buzzing faintly above them.  

Ellie leaned in with narrowed eyes, trying to sneak a peek, but he turned just in time, raising the scorecard high above his head.

“Come on, Seresin,” she said, standing on her toes to swipe at it. “Take your loss like a man. No shame in it.” 

Jake smirked, one arm stretched up high, the other resting lazily at his side. “That’s assuming I did lose. Bold of you.” 

Ellie rolled her eyes and made another grab for it, still half-laughing.

“You’re so bad at this. Just admit it. You’ll feel a lot better. Say the words: ‘Ellie, you’re superior in every way and I should’ve trained harder for this mini putt showdown which I instigated.’” 

“You practiced that speech?” 

She could feel his chest rumble under her palm with a low laugh.

“Rehearsed it in the mirror,” she deadpanned, stretching again, her fingers just grazing the edge of the card. “Now hand it over. I just want to see it. Maybe frame it. Hang it over my bed.” 

She was so focused on grabbing it, she didn’t notice how far forward she’d leaned—until her foot slipped off the curb and the world tilted. 

Jake caught her. Quick. Solid. Arms firm around her waist. 

For a second, they were just... there. Pressed together. A breath from tumbling into the water hazard. 

“Whoa there, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice edged with a smile. “You trying to find an excuse to touch me, or just that desperate for a win?” 

She blinked up at him, breath catching. Flushed. Flustered. Her brain still catching up to the heat curling low in her stomach. 

He held her like a secret. Like a maybe. Like something neither of them was supposed to want—but did. 

Her mind stalled around the response, caught between too many variables. Before she could recalibrate, Jake’s gaze dipped to the scorecard still dangling from his fingers. 

And she saw it—the decision flicker behind his eyes. 

A beat later, with a smirk, he let the slip of paper flutter from his hand. 

Right into the stream. 

“Oops,” he said, not even pretending it was anything but intentional. 

Ellie stared at the little rectangle bobbing gently in the slow current. “Did you seriously just erase the only proof that I crushed you at mini putt?” 

Jake tilted his head, mock thoughtful. Shrugged. “Guess we’ll never know. Life’s full of unanswered questions.” 

She narrowed her eyes, lips twitching. “You’re the worst kind of sore loser.” 

Jake chuckled, brushing invisible dust from her shoulder. “This was low-stakes, Rigby. Just a warm-up.” 

She crossed her arms. “So, I’m off the hook then. Pool’s cancelled out.” 

“Not even close.” 

“And the favour?” 

He was shaking his head at her, an ‘ah ah ah’ kind of dismissal, but the spark in his eye betrayed any seriousness it was meant to impart. 

“I’ll be a gentleman about it,” he was already gesturing toward the parking lot. “Walk you to your car. Consolation prize.” 

Ellie scoffed but followed. “Consolation prizes are for the people who lose, Seresin.” 

Jake grinned, falling into step beside her. “I know. Never said who it was for.”

The walk to the car stretched longer than it had any right to—gravel crunching underfoot, night air clinging like a second skin. Everything felt slowed down. Suspended. 

Ellie still felt the buzz in her chest.  

The electricity of the game.  

A flutter of lightness off Jake volleying banter with her like it was muscle memory. Pushing the boundaries, toeing the edge.  

Her cheeks ached from smiling. Her heart was nowhere close to baseline, humming with an excitement that she hadn’t remembered feeling in a long time. 

The feeling of the perfect moment in a rom-com. 

The stomach drop of a poetic line delivered in a romance book.    She kept talking—half to fill the space, half because if she didn’t, she might think too hard about the way this all felt dangerously close to real. 

“If we reroute that second input loop and isolate the signal, I think we can cut the drag time by at least 20%. Maybe more if we calibrate it right.” 

Jake hummed, low and impressed. “Look at you. Already halfway to solving tomorrow.” 

“It’s a good problem,” she shrugged, trying to play it off casual—but she was trying not to beam like an idiot. “I like the puzzle of it.” 

They stopped at her car, haloed in the gold spill of the lot’s overhead light. She reached for her keys—still mid-thought—when his hand lifted, fingers brushing her cheek. 

She froze. 

It was barely a touch. Just enough. Just too much. 

Her heart was already hammering, hummingbird wild, at the base of her throat and when she looked up, he was there.  

“It’s just a—uh—” he started, the beginning of an excuse, as his thumb passed over her cheek bone. 

She was dangerously aware of how the palm of his hand hovered close enough to cup her cheek. His fingers ghosted her jawline. 

Close. Why was he so close? 

The space between them tightened, thinned to a breath, the rustle of his adjusted stance reported in the gravel below his feet.  

His gaze dropped to her mouth, a flicker of intention as she hummed, acknowledging that he’d started to say something. 

She leaned in. Or maybe he did. Or maybe the earth tilted on its axis, and she just felt it. 

The anticipation curled low, her breath hitched just slightly, the warmth of his lips so incredibly close to hers now. She could smell the sweet, hoppy scent of the beer he’d had earlier, the subtle clean smell of his cologne. Not overwhelming, just there. 

She was consumed by him, every other thought silenced as her eyes fluttered shut—reflexive, stupid, hopeful. 

Then— 

Click. 

She felt her car door open behind her with a soft mechanical thump and when the coolness of a breeze touched her lips, the moment collapsed in on itself. 

A smash of piano keys out of tune. 

Ellie’s eyes snapped open.  

Jake was already stepping back, his hand snaking back from behind her where he’d tugged the door handle and slipping into his pockets.  

Cool.  

Calm.  

And Ellie? Not even remotely recalibrated. 

Her chest felt like an echo chamber, all out of rhythm. Her brain scrambled to reroute like a corrupted nav system—spinning options, redistributing resources, and yet none of it made sense.  

Her stomach lurched, her limbs lagged, her whole body still buffering for a kiss that never came. 

For the first time tonight, she felt off-balance. Adjusting for a condition she hadn’t calculated. Failing the reboot. 

“Get home safe, Rigby,” he murmured. Soft. Steady. Knife-twist gentle. 

The door stood open like a boundary. A line in the sand. An out. 

She got in. Settled into the seat as the old leather groaned. Because what the hell else was she supposed to do? 

Her hands gripped the wheel, but her brain was still outside—tilted toward something that didn’t land. Her pulse was wrong. Her mouth still buzzed like her lips had been kissed and then left on read. 

Because it wasn’t a date. It wasn’t. 

But it had felt like one. Every joke. Every brush of his arm. Every second he didn’t kiss her. It cracked something open—and now she was driving away with it bleeding and raw and stupidly there. 

She hadn’t said thank you. For the help. For the chance to remember there was more to life than base, home, repeat. For making her laugh like it wasn’t a survival skill. 

She hadn’t said “don’t stop” when he pulled away. She could have. But that would mean that she wanted him. That would mean admitting that he lived under her skin in a way that unsettled her. 

So, she started the car and just drove. 

In the rearview, Jake stood beneath the halo of a single light—hands tucked in his pockets, watching her go. 

A ghost of an almost. A silhouette of might’ve been. 

The drive home felt like it happened underwater.

Ellie’s hands were on the wheel, eyes on the road ahead, but her mind was back in the parking lot.  

Her body remembered: his hand near her face, his voice low and warm, the way he looked at her like he was waiting. Wanting.  

She missed a left turn entirely and had to loop back through the next light. At a red, her foot hovered just a beat too long before the green blinked her back into the present. 

She should’ve been running through the updated parameters, thinking through the way his patch suggestions could reroute the input lag and stabilize the outputs. It was a good lead. A great one, even. Maybe even fantastic enough to buy her Stark’s vote of confidence at the Board meeting.

But she couldn’t stop replaying the moment her eyes had closed. 

She hadn’t meant to lean in. Or close her eyes. Or want. It wasn’t calculated or controlled—it was instinct. Trust. Hope. 

She couldn’t bring herself to fully commit it to a mistake, for once... 

By the time she reached her place, the chill of the late-night air had seeped into her. Still, a part of her was warm. Light. Untethered. 

She climbed the stairs, her bag sliding down her shoulder as she reached the top. Voices filtered from the living room—Nic, full of laughter, spinning in a dress as Yan sat on the couch, an open bag of crunchy Cheetos nestled in the space between her crossed legs. 

“Too much shoulder?”  

“No, Coronado demands shoulder,” Yan punctuated her words with the crunch of an orange puff snack, “it’s on point. Rooster's not going to be able to keep in in his pants.” 

“What if I wore my hair up?” 

“Uhm—You have to wear it up—”

Ellie floated past the scene, barely registering more than the words wedding and Coronado.  

Her eyes flicked to the dresses hanging off the back of the couch, glimmering with sequins and soft silk. Usually, she’d linger, toss out a sarcastic comment or ask Nic if the bridal party came with air traffic control and insurance to land those sleeves.

Not tonight.

She slipped down the hall, her steps quiet, and closed her door behind her like sealing herself off from gravity.

She went through the motions—face washed, teeth brushed, hair tied up. Her thoughts never quite left him. She remembered the way his eyes had locked with hers like a magnet and held. The quiet confidence of someone who could pull you in without ever raising his voice. 

When she crawled into bed, the sheets were cool against her legs, the room dimly lit from the streetlamp beyond her window. Her phone buzzed once with a message, maybe Nic, maybe nothing. She didn’t check. 

Her last thought before sleep took her was of him. Standing in front of her, brushing her cheek like she was made of something he didn’t want to damage.

Jake Seresin had gotten under her skin.

And worse—she liked it. 

a/n: literally just so excited for these next few chapters. finally getting into the meat and potatoes of what makes these two tick is the best part.

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[lucimaaie]

we pt4 ✧.* tlou

pairing - santa barbara!ellie x reader

summary - you and ellie make a promise.

a/n - okay fr my hands hurt i need to take a break but this is the endd (prob) did this need to be stretched out, prolly not but..i did it, lil angst, fluffy tho, wasn't sure how to end it but hope u like it

part 1, part 2, part 3

“texas. that’s still a ways down, isn’t it?” you said, looking down at the annotated map. it was worn out, having been dropped a few times and even dropped in the water but the picture was still clear.

you looked over at ellie at her lack of response. her eyes were laser focused on the road ahead of you, only tearing her eyes away for a second once she heard you call her name. she raised her brows.

"you okay?" you knew the question was one that probably wouldn't be answered honestly, but it was worth asking anyway. she was still shaken up from what happened months ago. being back in the cabin, you barely encountered runners or clickers in the middle of nowhere. she'd started to wonder whether or not it was worth it to drag you from the home you'd already shared together.

"m'fine." ellie scratched her outstretched arm. she'd been driving for hours and you knew she'd barely slept.

"i'd believe that if you weren't zoning out every few seconds." you folded the paper up and tucked it into the console, angling your body to look at her. ellie glanced at you, sensing you were gonna say something. "lemme drive. i know how, a little bit."

"a little bit's not exactly reassuring, peach." she rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times. "just sit back."

"but, you're tired."

"wiiide awake." she stretched the words out like that would reassure you more. her eyes were in fact wide in atttempt to keep herself awake and not swerve off the makeshift dirt road.

"baby." her eyes seemed to soften at the pet name. she let her head hit the head rest, looking at you with a smile. she shook her head as she looked back at the road.

"not gonna let you do it." ellie sung.

"it'd be great! i'd drive, you could take a nap. how's that sound? a nap."

"are you talking to me like i'm a- i'm not a baby."

"but you're-"

"my baby." "my baby" ellie mocked you.

"you're so..i love you."

"i love you too, will you let me drive?"

"you're relentless," ellie eventually pulled over and gave you the reins for a few hours. she didn't go to sleep the first two, still unsure about your driving skills. not that she didn't trust you but learning to drive wasn't exactly a concern amongst people today, so she would get it if you couldn't. but when it was clear you would hold up pretty well, she couldn't resist sleep anymore.

ellie flinched at the sound of a rattling in the car. she looked around to see the car stopped and you in front of the car, checking out something under the hood, probably having no idea what to do. ellie took a moment to breathe, reminding herself that nothing was wrong this time. there hadn't been for months, you were fine.

when she got out of the car, she wore a tired smirk. "you broke it."

"no i didn't." you looked stressed, leaning your hands against the hood as you looked into the mechanics of a vehicle you'd only found days ago. you couldn't even tell what model, these things were practically useless without gas. you bit your lip as you tried for the problem, having no idea how attractive ellie found you like this. "i swear."

"it's alright." ellie wrapped her arms around your waist from behind and kisses your temple and your cheek. "would've ran out of gas anyway. we got it on foot." she rounded the car to grab her backpack and wrap it around her back. she came behind you and moved your arms to put yours on. "unless you wanna rest a while?"

"no, no i took enough naps." you adjusted the straps of your backpack before lacing your fingers with ellie's. "let's go."

you had become grateful of the extra rest being in a car had given you. unfortunately it made it easier to become winded when you'd become used to sitting on your ass.

on the bright side, you were almost to texas. the only scary thing was the uncertainty of being somewhere this new without knowing if you'd find a place like the cabin. and you knew if were anxious, ellie felt worse. "you okay?"

"you keep asking that." ellie as she tried not to look at you, which she loved doing, only not when you were so adamant on getting an answer. she didn't want to tell you she was still scared over what happened months ago. she'd been through worse, but it felt like none of it would compare to losing you. if she lost you, she was done.

"you usually give me some smartass answer. like that one." you jogged down the hill to catch up to her. "like before." you looked at her from the ground.

ellie’s eyes flicked over to you. her eyebrows furrowed as she caught what you meant. this wasn’t before. not when you and her were essentially roommates and she tried to pretend as if she was falling in love with you. no, you were together now. she was trying.

she was pulled out of her thoughts by you tumbling down the grassy hill. “oh my-“ she tried to run down to get catch you but ended up slipping herself.

ellie was in shock as she landed at the end of the hill onto finally flat ground. she was just recovering from the fall, dusting herself off when she heard you laughing. “what?” she asked, completely thrown off guard between what she was already feeling plus the added embarrassment from falling on her ass.

she stared at your carefree expression, allowing herself to let out a laugh of her own. she didn’t exactly find the situation funny, it would be had she not had so much on her mind, but she laughed anyway. she couldn’t help but laugh. after a while, it died down into quietness as you laid in the grass.

ellie looked at your relaxed expression and she was reminded of her fear. “you can’t leave me.” she said quietly. “you can’t leave me o-or do anything stupid to get yourself killed, okay?” she turned to look at you, her eyes pleading.

“ellie.” you scooted closer to her, mirroring her. “i’d never.”

“you swear?” her voice shook with emotions she wanted to push back down. "cause you've scared the fuck out of me before. i hate feeling like that."

“i swear on everything i love.” you pushed her hair behind her ear, your hand cupping her cheek. your eyes were filled with love as you swiped your thumb over her cheekbone. “that includes you y’know.”

“i-i got that.” she chuckled, blinking away tears. she wasn’t a crier but of you made her one to wear her emotions when she hated to.

“you have to swear to me too. no more martyr bullshit. i don’t need you to save me, i need you to be with me.” your words were a harsh reminder that she’d been thinking of what she’d be like if she lost you but not you if you lost her. “swear?”

“i swear.” she leaned up to kiss your nose. “on everything i love, i swear.” she said before laying a soft kiss to your lips, course it didn’t stay that way with both of your emotions on high. ellie pulled away with the need for air. she looked at you with all the affection in your eyes and swollen lips. “let’s get to texas, peach.”

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[worlds-we-write]

The Fields We Bury

Chapter 1: Dust to Dust

pairing: farmhand Joel Miller x reader

summary: You return to the Texas farmhouse you swore you’d never see again. The land hasn’t changed. Neither has the silence. But Joel Miller is still here—and he’s not the kind of man who lets someone fall apart alone.

tags: Joel Miller x Reader, slow burn, AU, hurt/comfort, Texas setting, panic attack, gentle Joel, found family, trauma recovery, soft angst, rural life

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

The road stretched long and flat before you, the two-lane highway buckling slightly in the heat. The farther west you drove, the more the landscape opened up—oak trees giving way to fields browned by the sun, barbed wire fences leaning like tired sentinels along the edge of the land. You’d forgotten how quiet it could be out here. Not the kind of silence you find in a city at night, but the kind that felt old, like the land itself was holding its breath.

Your truck’s AC wheezed in protest as it pushed lukewarm air against the back of your neck. You’d been on the road since dawn, the address your lawyer sent burned into the GPS like a map to a life you didn’t want. When the chipped wooden sign came into view—Clearstone Ranch still hanging by a rusted nail—you felt your stomach twist in on itself.

You hadn’t been back since you were seventeen. Since the night you packed a bag with shaking hands, climbed out your bedroom window, and never looked back. Now here you were, driving up the same gravel path, dust curling around your tires, the air heavy with heat and old memory.

The house looked smaller than you remembered.

The white paint had long since peeled to gray, the porch sagged just a little more, and the shutters hung crooked over windows you used to stare out of for hours. But it was still there—stubborn as ever. A weather-worn monument to everything you’d buried.

You parked near the edge of the wraparound porch, cutting the engine and letting the silence settle in. Cicadas screamed in the trees. The wind stirred through dry grass, whispering against the wood. For a long moment, you didn’t move. Just sat there, gripping the steering wheel, heart thudding in your throat.

You thought you’d feel... something. Anger. Grief. Maybe fear. But mostly, all you felt was tired.

You reached for the door handle with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. Gravel crunched beneath your boots as you stepped out into the heat. The sun was merciless—sharp and hot, baking everything in its reach—but you welcomed it. Better than the cold that had lived in your chest for years.

The screen door to the house swayed lazily, bumping the frame with a rhythmic creak. You walked up the steps, fingers grazing the railing, half-expecting it to splinter under your touch. But it held. The wood was old, yes—but not rotted. Someone had been keeping it up.

You frowned, a strange tug in your chest.

The will had said everything was yours now—the land, the house, what was left of the equipment. But no one mentioned that someone was still living here. Or at least... working it.

You turned slowly toward the fields.

And that’s when you saw him.

Out past the barn, near the old fence line, a man stood with his back to you, hammering in a new post. His movements were steady, methodical, like he’d done this a hundred times before. The sun caught the sweat on his shoulders, the back of his worn flannel shirt dark with it.

Even from this distance, you knew who it was.

Joel Miller.

He hadn’t changed much—still broad-shouldered, still moving like someone who carried weight well beyond what you could see. His hair was more silver now, and his beard was thicker than it used to be. But it was him. The man who’d been working this land since you were a kid. Quiet. Solid. Safe in the way grown men rarely felt when you were young.

Joel had always kept his head down around your father. Never said much. But when he passed you in the hallway or saw you sitting on the porch with a book clenched too tightly in your hands, there was a softness in his eyes. He never asked questions. Never pried. But you always had the feeling... he knew.

And now here he was—still here.

He must have heard the truck because he paused mid-swing and looked up. The distance between you shrank with the intensity of his gaze. His eyes narrowed for half a second, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

Then recognition settled in.

He dropped the hammer into the dirt and started walking toward you, slow and even. You stayed where you were, hand still resting on the porch railing like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

When he reached the edge of the porch, he stopped just short of the steps. Close enough to see the sweat on his brow, the faint crease in his forehead. He looked at you like you were a ghost—like maybe you weren’t really there.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you back here,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel.

You swallowed. “Didn’t think I’d come back.”

Joel nodded once, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to fill in the years. “You... holdin’ up alright?”

It was such a simple question. Not why are you here? or what do you want? Just—are you okay?

You nodded slowly. “I’m... managing.”

Joel gave a quiet sound, almost a hum. “Well. You came a long way to manage.”

You almost smiled.

There was a pause. Not awkward—just full. The kind of silence that had history behind it.

“I wasn’t sure if anyone’d been here,” you said, finally.

He shifted his weight. “Kept the place goin’. After your old man passed, figured the animals still needed tendin’. Someone had to.”

You looked past him, toward the barn, the fields that were neater than they had any right to be. “You’ve been here all this time?”

Joel’s gaze didn’t waver. “Didn’t have much reason to leave.”

You wanted to ask why. Why stay here? Why stay after everything? But the question caught in your throat like barbed wire.

Instead, you just nodded. And for a brief, fragile second, you felt something unfamiliar stir behind your ribs.

Not safety. Not yet.

But maybe—maybe—a place to start.

Joel didn’t move right away. He just stood at the foot of the porch, hat in hand now, the sun behind him casting his figure in warm, amber outline. His eyes hadn’t left yours—not in a threatening way, not even a questioning one. Just steady. Watchful.

You used to think he looked tired back then. Now you realized that was just who he was—weathered by life in the way the land was: sun-bleached, wind-scored, and still standing.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” you said, breaking the silence.

He tilted his head slightly. “Figured the place needed someone. Wasn’t much left in the bank account, but the land’s good. Animals don’t stop eatin’ just ’cause the world keeps turnin’.”

There was a flicker of something under the words—something you didn’t want to name yet. Loyalty, maybe. Or guilt.

You shifted on your feet. “I wasn’t sure I’d come back.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Didn’t blame you for goin’, neither.”

That caught you. The way he said it—not with judgment or curiosity, but quiet understanding. Like he’d been waiting years for this conversation and didn’t want to crowd it.

You looked away toward the barn, toward the rolling hills that stretched beyond the back pasture. “I wasn’t running toward anything,” you said, half to yourself. “Just away.”

Joel didn’t speak. He let the silence stretch again, long and soft like a breath held between two people who weren’t sure if they could exhale yet.

“How bad was it?” he asked after a while, voice low. Not demanding—gentle. Like he already knew the answer but needed to give you space to name it, if you ever wanted to.

You shook your head. “Don’t ask that.”

He nodded, accepting it without offense. “Alright.”

That was Joel, always had been. He never pushed. He never tried to insert himself in places he didn’t belong. But he saw more than he let on. You remembered that, even when you were fifteen, hiding bruises behind long sleeves and silence. He never said anything—but sometimes he’d leave a sandwich out when you skipped dinner. Or stay near the house longer than he needed to in the evenings.

Your eyes burned unexpectedly.

“You stayin’?” he asked after a moment.

“I don’t know.”

“You thinkin’ about sellin’ it?”

You shrugged. “Would anyone buy it?”

Joel’s mouth twisted—not quite a smile, not quite a frown. “Some city folks been lookin’ at land out here. Not sure they’d know what to do with it, but they’d sure try.”

That pulled a soft laugh from you, small but real. Joel’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. A pause followed—not uncomfortable, just... heavy.

“You still got the bunkhouse?” you asked.

He nodded. “Clean enough. Got power and water. If the main house don’t feel right, you’re welcome to it.”

You glanced at the house behind you. It loomed like a shadow you hadn’t shaken. “Thanks,” you said. “Maybe just for tonight.”

Joel looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he just gave you a soft grunt of acknowledgment. “You need anything,” he said as he turned to go, “I’m out back. Don’t sleep much.”

He walked away without fanfare, the way he always did—boots crunching on dry earth, shoulders a little stiff. But you noticed the way he paused by the barn, glancing over his shoulder once before disappearing inside.

You stood there for a long while after he was gone, the weight of the heat pressing down on your back, the scent of dust and sun-baked wood thick in the air.

It was strange—coming back to this place expecting only ghosts, only ruin—and finding Joel Miller instead.

Still here.

Still watching.

Still waiting.

The screen door let out a long, metallic groan as you pulled it open. The main door behind it was unlocked—not that it ever used to be. Your father believed locks were for cowards. You’d learned early that walls didn’t stop anything anyway.

The moment you stepped inside, the air changed.

It was cooler, stale from months of stillness, thick with dust and time. The scent hit you first—old wood, mildew, smoke, and something faintly sour beneath it. And underneath all that: memory. Heavy and sharp.

You walked slowly, boots creaking across floorboards that whined like they remembered too. The living room was untouched. Your father’s recliner still faced the TV. The coffee table sat in the same spot, ringed with stains from beer cans and ashtrays, a newspaper yellowing on top.

It was like stepping into a museum of your own grief. Or a trap you weren’t sure you could leave.

You moved through the kitchen quickly, not touching anything. Past the counter where you learned to flinch. Past the window you once considered climbing out of, long before you actually did.

In the hallway, the shadows gathered. Light from the dusty windows cut through them, but it wasn’t enough. You paused outside the door at the end—the one you used to lock at night and pray would hold.

Your room.

The knob turned easily. The hinges squealed. The air inside was heavier.

The bed was still there. Sheets stripped, mattress sunken in the middle. The closet door hung open an inch, just enough to feel wrong. You crossed the floor slowly, your breath catching with each step. It was like the house knew you were back, like it had been waiting.

You sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on your knees, and tried to breathe.

But something shifted.

The air felt too thick. Your skin prickled. Your chest tightened.

You couldn’t swallow.

The silence roared in your ears, and suddenly the walls felt too close. The window wasn’t open. You hadn’t cracked it. You were locked in. The same way you used to be.

Your hands started to shake.

You pressed them to your thighs, tried to ground yourself, but your vision blurred at the edges. Your heartbeat was too loud, too fast. You couldn’t catch your breath.

No, not here. Not now.

Your throat closed, panic pressing up your ribs like a rising tide. The room felt like it was tilting, folding in on itself. Your lungs wouldn’t open. You felt the edge of something hot behind your eyes, a sob threatening to rip free, and you didn’t want to make a sound. You didn’t want the house to hear you break.

Then—

A knock.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Another knock, gentler. Then the door opened with a slow creak.

“Hey—” Joel’s voice, quiet, careful. Then silence. He must’ve seen your posture—curled forward, hands gripping your thighs, shoulders hunched like you were trying to disappear.

He crossed the room in a few steps, not hurried but not hesitant either.

“Hey, hey,” he said again, softer now, crouching in front of you. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut, tears slipping free. “I—I can’t—” you managed. “It’s—too much—”

“I know,” he said, voice low and steady. “You’re safe now. You hear me? You’re not there anymore.”

You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak. Your hands were trembling, your breathing shallow and rapid.

Joel didn’t touch you. Not yet. He just stayed there, close, grounded, solid. Like an anchor. “Breathe with me,” he said gently. “In real slow. Just like this.”

He exaggerated a breath, deep and calm, and waited.

You tried. Failed. Tried again.

“Good. There you go. Keep goin’. You’re doin’ just fine.”

It felt like hours, but maybe it was minutes—maybe less—before the storm inside you started to pull back. Like waves easing from the shore.

You finally lifted your head, tears streaking down your cheeks. Joel was still there, crouched low, his eyes on you like nothing else mattered.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracked and raw.

He shook his head immediately. “Don’t you be sorry.”

“I didn’t—I thought I could handle it,” you said, choking on the words. “I thought I could just walk in and deal with it, but—”

“You don’t gotta explain nothin’,” Joel said, finally reaching out—not to touch you, but to place a hand near yours on the mattress. Letting you come to him, if you wanted. “You did the hardest part already. You came back.”

You stared at his hand, at the way his fingers were calloused, dirt still under his nails. You remembered those hands fixing fences, steadying frightened horses. Always working. Always there.

Without thinking, you moved your hand to rest over his.

Joel didn’t flinch. He turned his hand under yours, letting your palm settle into his like it was meant to be there.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that. But eventually, your breathing eased. The shaking stopped. The pressure in your chest loosened, like you’d finally let something go.

Joel sat back just slightly, his voice still soft. “I brought you somethin’ to eat. Thought maybe you hadn’t yet.”

You nodded, unable to say thank you, but hoping he saw it in your eyes.

“I’ll leave it in the kitchen,” he said, standing slowly. “You don’t need to come down if you’re not ready.”

He paused at the door, then looked back. “You’re not alone here. Not anymore.”

And then he was gone.

The room was still quiet. But somehow, it didn’t feel so heavy.

You looked down at your hand, the one that had rested in his. It still tingled with warmth.

Maybe it was okay to fall apart—if someone was there to help you put the pieces back.

You didn’t leave the room for a while.

The panic had passed, but the exhaustion it left behind was bone-deep. You lay back on the bed, arms folded over your chest, eyes on the ceiling, watching the fan blades that hadn’t moved in years. You didn’t cry again. There wasn’t anything left to cry out.

But you did breathe.

And that alone felt like something close to progress.

When you finally stood, the light outside had gone honey-gold. Evening was settling in, warm and slow. You made your way down the hallway with cautious steps, as though the house might still startle awake and snap at you if you moved too quickly.

The kitchen was quiet, but the scent of something warm lingered—rosemary, butter, maybe eggs.

On the counter sat a plate, still covered with a clean dish towel. Next to it, a folded note in blocky handwriting:

Eat something. I’ll be around. —J

You stared at the note for a long time. The simplest thing. And yet it cracked something open in you again—not like the panic from before, but softer. Sadder. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had fed you without wanting something in return.

You uncovered the plate. Scrambled eggs. Pan-fried potatoes. A biscuit that looked a little lopsided but smelled like heaven.

You sat at the kitchen table and ate slowly, almost reverently. It tasted better than it should’ve—like comfort, like care. Every bite anchored you a little more in the present. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you were scraping the last of the potatoes with your fork.

The sound of boots on the porch made you pause. You turned just as Joel’s shadow filled the screen door.

You stood before he could knock.

He didn’t step inside this time—just hovered at the door, hat in hand again, eyes flicking to your face like he was trying to read if you were okay to talk.

“I ate,” you said first. “Thank you. That was… more than I expected.”

He gave a small nod, almost a smile. “Didn’t have much. Hope it was alright.”

“It was perfect.”

Joel looked relieved in that quiet, subtle way of his. He rubbed the back of his neck, then glanced over your shoulder, toward the hallway behind you.

“You stayin’ in the main house tonight?” he asked.

You hesitated. The air inside still felt thick. The bedroom walls too close. “I was thinking maybe the bunkhouse. If that’s alright.”

“‘Course it is,” he said without missing a beat. “It’s cooler out there anyway. Less creaky floors.”

You cracked a smile, just a faint one. “That sounds good right now.”

“I’ll walk you out, if you don’t mind.”

You didn’t.

You grabbed the duffel you hadn’t unpacked, and together you stepped into the soft dusk. The cicadas were louder now, the sky streaked with oranges and purples, the first stars blinking through. The air was warm, but it carried a breeze, the kind that tugged gently at your sleeves and made the edges of everything feel a little softer.

Joel walked a half-step ahead of you, not speaking. He didn’t need to.

The bunkhouse sat behind the main barn, tucked beneath the shadow of a cottonwood tree. You remembered coming out here once, as a kid—when your father had chased you out of the house in one of his moods. You hadn’t stayed long. You hadn’t dared.

Now, Joel unlocked the door and pushed it open, flicking on the light with practiced ease.

“It’s not much,” he said, stepping aside. “But it’s clean. Got hot water. Sheets are fresh. I come out here sometimes when the house gets too quiet.”

You stepped in slowly. The space was small but comfortable—a narrow bed, a small table and chair, a counter with a sink and stovetop. The floor was swept clean, and a little stack of books sat near the nightstand. A lamp glowed in the corner, giving the room a soft, golden hue.

It was more than enough.

“This is… nice,” you said, setting your bag down. “Thank you.”

Joel stood in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, gaze steady. “You don’t gotta thank me. Just glad you’re here.”

That stopped you.

You looked at him—really looked—and something passed between you in the quiet. A thread pulled tight. Not romantic, not yet. But intimate. A shared understanding. You’d both lived in silence too long.

Joel stepped back then, as if sensing the moment had reached its edge.

“I’ll be out with the horses for a bit longer. If you need anything…”

You nodded. “I know where to find you.”

He looked like he wanted to say more—but instead he just gave a short nod, pulled the door shut behind him, and disappeared into the fading light.

You stood there for a minute after he left.

The quiet settled around you—but this time, it didn’t feel dangerous. It didn’t feel like it was closing in. It just felt... still.

You sat on the edge of the bed, running your hands over the clean sheet. Then you lay back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of evening—the creak of the barn, the distant murmur of Joel’s voice as he talked to the horses.

And for the first time in years, you thought:

Maybe I could stay.

You couldn’t sleep right away.

The bunkhouse was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a heavy blanket—not threatening, just... thick. Outside the window, the stars had come out in full force, wide and wild across the Texas sky. You forgot how many there were out here. No city glow to mute them. Just stars and silence.

You cracked the window open to let in some air, and the soft rustle of night drifted in—wind in the trees, the low creak of barn wood settling, and somewhere in the distance, the slow murmur of Joel’s voice.

You didn’t know who he was talking to. Maybe the horses. Maybe the dog. Maybe just himself. But it comforted you in a way that startled you with its gentleness. That deep, gravelly voice. Steady. Familiar. Like an anchor buried in earth.

You sat at the little table and pulled the note he’d left you from your pocket. You unfolded it again, rereading the simple scrawl.

Eat something. I’ll be around. —J

That was Joel. No flowery language. No promises he couldn’t keep. Just presence. Just being there. And after the day you’d had—after the years—you realized that might be exactly what you needed most.

You stayed there for a while, elbows on the table, chin in your hands, letting your thoughts settle like dust after a long drive.

Being back wasn’t easy.

Hell, it was barely tolerable.

But it hadn’t broken you.

And Joel… Joel hadn’t looked at you like you were fragile. He’d looked at you like you were real. Like you were allowed to hurt, and allowed to come back, and allowed to need someone, even if only for a minute.

That alone made the air easier to breathe.

Eventually, you turned off the light and stretched out on the bed, the sheet cool against your skin. The room smelled faintly of cedar and clean laundry—nothing like the house. Nothing like the past. It wasn’t home yet. But it wasn’t hostile either.

You let your eyes drift shut.

For the first time in a long time, your body began to unwind.

Out the window, you heard the barn door creak again—then the faint sound of Joel’s boots crunching gravel. You heard him pause outside, maybe checking the latch on the gate. Maybe just listening.

Maybe just making sure you were still breathing.

You didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

But somehow, you knew he’d stay out there a little longer than he needed to. Just in case.

You woke briefly to the sound of coyotes in the distance. Their howls cut across the fields like sharp wind, and for a split second your heart jumped, the past flaring up like a match.

But then you heard it again—Joel’s voice.

Closer now. A soft whistle. The rustle of hay. The low scrape of metal as he closed the barn for the night.

And just like that, the fear faded.

You rolled to your side and stared at the shadowy outline of the ceiling.

You were here. You had survived the first day.

And tomorrow… you’d decide what came next.

You didn’t know if you were ready to stay.

But maybe—for the first time—you weren’t so afraid of trying.

AN: And that’s Chapter 1, babes. We’ve got slow burn, emotional damage, and a cowboy with quiet hands—so saddle up, because this ride’s just getting started 🤠💔 If you want to be tagged in future updates (so you don’t miss any of the angst or accidental hand touches), just drop a comment and I’ll hook you up.

Taglists: @laurrrra @ccmoonshine @yasmin12312 @melmel-fandom @peelieblue @glitterspark @stevie75

[socialistexan]

So I went through some of the list of "posts flagged for explicit content" on my blog, here are some of the things I found (I have screenshots, but I won't post them because I don't want to be nuked)

A video of my dog playing in the snow for the first time

A jar of hot sauce with just words on it

Multiple screenshots of ads that have run on tumblr

A comic about taking a nap with you're dog

The cover art for the Sonic and Garfield video game double pack

A list of the line of succession in 2017 when we thought maybe Trump might be removed from office

A Congressional district map of Texas

A dog sitting in a seat on a train

A photo of two women dressed similarly sitting at a dog in a restaurant (I think Panera?)

There's more but I got exhausted.

[chick-it-out]

Is there a list of seeds in Ozarks that are OK (not invasive) where I am?

I would love for this list to exist! But I don't know if there is a searchable index like that currently.

Ozarks is at this neat ecological crossroads in the central US. We see species from Texas, Florida, the Carolinas, New England, and the Great Lakes area! General rule I have found is: if it's growing here, it is probably growing in most places east of the Rocky Mountains!

We have some species that are truly endemic (native) to right here, but they are not plants with a tendency to escape, overrepresent, or monopolize an environment like exotics/landscaping cultivars. The plant that gets eaten up here in Missouri will likely still get munched by animals in a different state.

The list is sorta in my head! And when in doubt, I consult a distribution map for the species. Here's a bluestar map for example:

(Dated from 2014... but green is "native," brown is "not found," grey is "not mapped," and pink is the range where the species would be considered "noxious" and undesired to grow. no one saw any in West Virginia, for example, but it doesn't mean the plant is naughty and excluded there! Info has prob updated in the last decade)

[user2772636]

Eatrrs (E's)

Music boyfriend and his yum yum

You were an eater. He was an eater. You liked music, especially punk. He was punk. You liked him. He liked you.

Lee x Reader

Warnings: its bones and all so yk the eating stuff, Lee is alive, guys, swearing, smoking, drinking, kissing, mostly fluffy w a tad bit of angst (reader backstory), homophobia (a weirdo hating on Lee's look)

References to "Dinner in America" (OBSESSED WITH THIS FILM I RECOMMEND)

Watermelon - John + Jane Q. Public

MARFA, TEXAS

The heat of the summer made the place look like a pan with sizzling oil; even more so now with the sun setting from the horizon. It made you feel like you were in a movie.

Looking out from the window of a wrecked down gas station with a barely working AC made you dread having to go back outside and continue your journey.

To start off, you're an eater. Your parents dumped you at some dumpster at the ripe age of 9 when they realised they couldn't take care of a kid. Or that's what you thought, anyway.

Some random homeless guy found you all skinny, fed you, and gave you warmth for the following nights. Looks like he just did that for his sick fantasies, and when he lunged at you, you bit his hand off.

Naturally, he screamed. But his dumbass, not knowing you were going to eat him, hid the both of you in a secluded place just in case you screamed for help; look how the tables have turned.

So here you were now, trying to steal shit from the back of a rusty store, travelling old america with only a cassette tape full of punk music, a watch, a map, and loose change.

The store bell rang, getting you to take a peek at red hair and a tropical shirt. You sensed a feeling of familiarity but brushed it off and rushed to put things in your bag and head to the counter.

The man had a greasy beard, crooked, yellow teeth, and a beer belly. You hide your scowl, placing only gum in front of him to not seem suspicious, delivering a small but polite smile his way. He seems to get the wrong idea.

"What's a pretty lady like you doing out here so late? No motels near here, sweetheart." His voice is raspy of cigarettes and screaming, and his breath smells like tonsil build up. You clear your throat.

"Just travelling." You lift your hand up to grab the gum from him but he moves it out of your way.

"You know, if you need a place to stay," He sniffles, pointing to the open door next to his counter; a room with a yellow matress and flickering lights. "I wouldn't mind company. Plus, you could figure out how to pay for this gum." He tries to smile charmingly but fails to do so. He looks quite scary.

"I..." You do feel kind of hungry. "I left some things in my bike outside. Wanna take me?" You flutter your lashes at him, no matter how much you hated it, but his smile widens and you can't wait to feed.

You didn't have a bike, but he doesn't know that. You see a truck parked in front, and you assume it's his. Once you get to the back of the building, you close your eyes and stab the guys neck, instantly ridding of his ability to scream. His body thuds on the ground, and you get on your knees starved.

You never got used to the killing, but you knew it's what you needed, so you sufficed with the blind eye and neck stab method.

Dragging his body to deteriorate behind some bush, and silently hoping that he gets covered up by sand, you check his pockets for his truck keys and find none. You do find money, though. 10 cents. You sigh in disappointment, grabbing your things, and ready to set back on the road.

When you get back to the front, you freeze. You see the boy from earlier fully now. His red hair and polo blow in the night wind, sharp features shining from the moonlight, cigarette between his lips, and there you were in front of him with blood all over your mouth and shirt, a stunned expression on your face.

It's silent for a while. Then you smell it.

"You're- You're an-"

"An eater? Yeah." His voice is raspy, but not like the guy you just ate. He had a calmer one, a sound you could listen to for a while, just like in your cassette tape.

"I'm surprised you didn't smell me immediately earlier. I could smell you before I even got inside." He continues, a hand moving to his pockets and the other to blow off smoke.

"I haven't really... I haven't been around others yet." You tilt your head down, a bit embarrassed for a reason you don't know.

He hums. "Well, I can't exactly leave you here. What are you, sixteen?"

"I'm eighteen." You grumble, frustration voicable in your projection.

He sighs. "Well, come on. I don't have all day." He takes a huff of his cigarette again, turning around to his truck. You quickly follow after him, stumbling in your feet.

The way to the nearest motel was silent, only a silent hymn of punk rock on the radio, which you were internally grateful for considering the fact you've been listening to the same cassette tape for the past two weeks.

You make it to a comfy looking place. You dig in your bag and place your spare change on the counter, giving a bright smile to the receptionist. She gives you a blunt stare. You double take at the boy to find him already looking at you with the same blunt stare the girl did. Your smile falters a bit.

The boy places a small wad of cash on the counter, gathering your coins up and giving them back to you. You receive one key, hand going up to grab them, but the boy grabs them first.

The door opens, and there's only... one bed. You furrow your eyebrows.

"Hey, isn't this-"

"This is all I could afford." He doesn't meet your gaze. "Don't worry, I'll be gone in the morning. You'll be alright by yourself now, yeah?" He shrugs off his large duffel, stretching out his limbs.

"What?" You ask. You didn't want him gone yet. You were still alone. Plus, he's the first eater you've encountered.

"What do you mean what?" He barely glances at you, taking his polo off, revealing a cropped white tee that said "Eatrrs".

"You know Eatrrs?" You're giddy in your feet, ignoring his exposed abdomen from the shirt. His demeanour shifts.

"Yeah... do you?" He drags his words as if trying to convince you he didn't know something.

"I love Eatrrs! I saw them once in Kentucky. Their lead, E's, is my favourite. He pulls off that punk rock voice. I'm pretty sure I smelt the same thing on him and on you, except at that time I didn't know you could even smell eaters. Come to think of it, "Eatrrs" is a ridiculous name if you're trying to hide the fact you're an eater-" A hand clasps your mouth, pushing you down on the bed. The gasp gets caught in your throat.

He's looking at you with a fiery glare. You couldn't tell what he felt, anger... or something else.

"Cut it out." His voice encapsulates you in a conscious stream. You nod slowly, head feeling stiff at his hold of you. He lets you go, and you miss the warmth.

His back is towards you. "I'm gonna take a smoke." He turns his head barely. "Don't follow me."

The door slams, and you're alone again. Those eyes seemed so familiar to you. Those hands, his smell. You could've sworn you've known him.

Before you could come up with a conclusion, you fall asleep. And he comes in and sees you. He sighs deeply.

He knew that face anywhere. He knew that smell, so unlike the other eaters. He knew those legs that used to bounce at every kick of a drum, or that voice that screamed of excitement every song.

Those days were long before him. So he lies beside you, arms tucked to himself, and falls asleep with an image of you in his mind.

The next morning, you wake up from hearing of jeans brushing against each other. You don't remember where you were, so you went in defence mode.

You lunged at the man, who was wearing some cowboy hat and a blue tropical polo. He groans as he reaches the ground. You've got crazy eyes on him, but when you take off the hat and realise who it is, you blink and get up.

You offer your hand at the boy, giving him a sheepish smile and muttering a sorry. He glares at you for a moment, then grabs your arm, almost dragging you down as he lifts himself up.

"You've got a lot of strength in you, kid. What are you, a sumo wrestler?" The boy asks, rubbing his lower back for ease.

You huff. "I told you I'm eighteen, don't call me kid."

He chuckles. "I'm fucking with you." He heads to the door. "Good luck, not kid."

"Wait!" You rush after him, swinging the door open. You grab his shoulder, almost to his car.

"I..." This was too embarassing. You clear your throat. "Can I go with you?"

He squints down at you, and you realise you've finally seen him with a light.

His eyes are sullen and deep, coloured like a mossy lake you'd find and make a wish from. His hair, though dishevelled, shone in the sun like fire was alive. His lips plump like pillows fluffed on a bed, cheeks hollow like he got his life sucked out, freckles you could trace and turn into constellations.

"No." He snaps you out of your trance, shoving his arm back and opening the drivers door.

"Wait! I have a map." He pauses, then turns to you.

You scramble to open your backpack, almost dropping it. You place a crumpled map in his outreached hand. He scans it for a bit, then clicks his tongue.

"Get in." You don't fight the smile spreading on your face, moving to the other side of the car and swiftly sitting down.

"Where are you headed?" The boy asks, turning the ignition on. He puts the car in reverse, turning his head to check the back while he backs out the parking lot.

"Los Angeles. I got some letter saying my mom died and she forgot to get me out of her will, so I inherited her place there. It's small, but it's by the beach, so it's alright." You shrugged. The boy shifts the gear and your on the road again.

"Good for you." He mutters. You can't really read the guy. He's putting you off, but it makes you even more curious.

"What's your name?" You scan his side profile, some bumps on the road making the both of you jump a bit.

"Why do you ask?" He keeps his eyes on the road, focused on his task.

"We're gonna be stuck together for a while. I guess I just wanna get to know who it is I'm gonna be stuck with." You turn your head, feeling embarrassed by asking these dumb questions.

"Lee." He barely says, clearing his throat afterwards. You catch it, though.

"I'm Y/N." You smile even when he doesn't glance at you. He nods in acknowledgement.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." The way he says your name tastes nice on his lips. You smile just a bit wider.

"Nice to meet you too, Lee."

LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO

"It's so hot... still." You fan yourself, wiping off some sweat on your forehead. You look at the town as Lee turns his truck to a new motel. It looked straight out of a magazine about architecture in spain.

"Welcome to the west side." Lee huffs, turning the engine off.

You were glad to say you and Lee got along well enough.

You were both from the lower east side of america, you're both eaters, and you two love punk. Like, really love punk.

You played him your cassette tape, and even though you were tired of hearing it, the look of satisfaction on Lee's face was worth it. Though, there was a small tweak in his looks every time something from Eatrrs played. You simply brushed it off.

You drop your things off at the bed, that's still single (to save money, Lee says), and you absorb the coolness of the barely working AC. You wonder if all of the west side had barely working AC's.

"Wanna walk around at night later? Saw some bars, thought we'd go." Lee says, taking his shoes off and lying by the bed next to you.

"Sure." You answer.

"Also," Lee sits himself up with his elbow. "You should probably change your shirt. Reeks of blood. I'm starting to want to rip it off you."

You whip your head to look at him, face expressing shock at what you just heard. He smiles simply at you.

"I'm fucking with you. Again." You roll your eyes, pushing him lightly to lie back down. He groans back on the bed, relaxing and eyes closing slowly.

After changing, you and Lee decide to play with a deck of cards he stole from the gas station in Marfa.

"Go fish?" You say, looking at your cards as if they were the hardest math problems you've ever seen.

"You still don't know how to play, do you?" He deadpans, moving to sit next to you and peeking at your cards. "Yeah, no. You still don't."

You groan obnoxiously, whipping your head back. "It's so boring!"

Next, you two decided to trace the map to figure out where you're going.

"So we're currently in Las Cruces," Lee dots the area, "and we're headed to Los Angeles," Lee crosses the location, "so, we have to get through Arizona first."

"Ooh!" You exclaim, pointing to a state. "Can we go to Nevada first? I wanna check out Vegas." You smile sweetly at him, fluttering your eyes to convince him a bit further. He scowls.

"Fine, but you're paying for yourself when we get there, so figure out how to get some money."

When 6 o'clock arrives and the sun lost some of its heat, you decide to head out for dinner.

"What are you feeling?" Lee asks, glancing at the restaurants big windows.

"Mexican, duh. We're in mexico." You say as if it was obvious. Lee just squints.

"Mexico and New Mexico are- whatever." He rolls his eyes and you laugh.

You get to one of the Mexican Restaurants, ordering just sides for the both of you. You play with the salt and pepper shaker for the meantime whilst Lee watches.

"Wait, what?" Lee asks, looking at your hands holding the two porcelain containers.

"Salt is one hundred percent a guy. Pepper is the girl." You say, holding each one up accordingly.

"That's like saying... the spoons a guy and the forks a girl!" He moves his hands like a teacher in lesson.

"Yeah, you just said the correct labels for both." You raise your brows.

"Fuck off!" Lee slams the table, getting stares from the other customers. You smile sheepishly at them as if to apologise.

"You need to take it down a notch." You whisper, leaning in towards him across the table.

"What?" His face is contorted. You chuckle nervously.

"'Take it down a notch'? What does that even mean?" He's clueless, you can tell. It's a genuine question. You feel just a tad bit dumb.

"I mean like, calm down, or something." Your mumbling quiets down. You stare at the table, suddenly seeming enamoured by the dried water rings and yellow tile.

Lee sighs heavy, and his shoulders slump, assuming since you aren't exactly looking at him right now.

"The fork and pepper are definitely dudes." You look up, and the smile comes back slowly but surely.

Your conversation the whole time in the diner consisted of utensils, shakers, hair products, jackets, and more. You could even say you guys grew closer from it.

"Fork's a girl."

"Salt is an uncle who has germaphobia."

"Conditioner is definitely the teacher you think is gay but actually has a wife and kids."

"Leather jackets are punk." You said once.

Lee pauses. "Leather jackets are punk." He nods.

You pull a hand out for a shake, and Lee firmly does so.

"Dark chocolate is a woman, though."

"Dark chocolate's a grandpa!"

Afterwards, you and Lee take in the country night air, falling into a comfortable silence with your footsteps.

"Are you my friend, Lee?" You stop, turning your whole body to face him. Lee can't read you that well in the night's dim lighting, but he can feel the hope off you.

"Am I not?" You both chuckle, getting back to equal strides.

"You're my only one." He didn't even hear you at first. He thought it was something a rat was bickering at, or a bird was tweeting, or a vampire hunting for blood, a big foot stomping on the ground, because what you just told him couldn't have been true. It shouldn't have been.

"I'm not really liked by a lot of people. I was homeschooled for a reason I think you already know." You huff a laugh. "But people used to call me weird or slow. Or just plain stupid." Your eyes twinkle as you look up at Lee, and he feels like he's looking at his lifeline.

"Hopefully, you don't think that. 'Cause you're my friend, right?" He nods, so harshly his head starts to pound, but he doesn't care. He needs you to know he doesn't think you're any of that. That you mean so much more.

"I'm your friend, Y/N." He nudges your shoulder to ease the tension, and the laugh he gets out of you shoves a weight of his chest.

When you lie down to sleep, you face each other, not exactly touching, but there's a silent phrase passed between you in the silence. I trust you.

ST. JOHNS, ARIZONA

"I think I'm hungry." You gulp, your throat feeling dry. You clutch on your stomach, and it's asking for something you want. Something you need.

"You wanna stop by a diner or something? This town is fucking empty." Lee shakes his head, one hand on the steering wheel and the other inbetween you. His hand grazes your thigh every time there's a bump, or even when there isn't. You don't mind.

"N-No, I meant..." You raise your brows, and pass him a crooked smile.

"You wanna eat?" He glances at you. You nod slowly.

He pats your thigh, and he leaves his hand there. "We can eat."

You find yourself with Lee at the far end of town, eyeing a souvenir shop. You turn your head to meet eachothers eyes, and nod. You enter the tiny place, the bell ringing as a form of notification to the owner.

The place actually looks neat, even with the creaking floorboards and peeling walls. Trinkets and mugs hang from a shelf, all spelling out the words St. Johns, Arizona. You take note at the fact dust is collecting on them, meaning it hasn't been touched for a long time.

Lee nudges your waist with his two fingers, tilting his head to get to the counter. You nod, holding on the back of his wife beater, eyes not even fighting to look at his lean arms.

And young man sits there, leaning on the countertop. His face wears a smirk as he reads from a magazine titled Playboy Magazine. You scowl.

"I'll handle him." You whisper near Lee's ears. You fail to notice his neck hair raising. He furrows his brows.

"You sure? He seems... charming." The scowl he wears match the one you were just doing. You nod firmly.

"Well, I'm a lot more charming." You wink at him, getting up to head to the counter naturally. Lee's eyes are all over you.

"Good morning! Or afternoon. I can't really tell, I don't have a watch." You fake laugh. "So, what's a guy like you doing all the way out here?" Lee sees you leaning on the counter, mirroring the man in front of you. His scowl feels imprinted on his face.

"Oh, uh, well..." The mans awkward demeanour turns into false confidence, but visible cockiness. Lee keeps himself quiet, and the scoff dries on his throat.

"I'm just here for summer break. You know, making some money. S'not like I need it. I just heard that grandma's dying, and this shitty place costs like a zillion dollars, so I'm taking care of it." He wears a smile, an ugly one, Lee thinks, as the guy's attention gets back to you.

You only smile so sweetly. "Well... you have any fun here?" Lee sees you lean closer, too close now, and the guys eyes don't even try to hide the hunger.

"Oh, yeah. Lots of fun..." The guy chuckles, and Lee hears the pages of his Playboy flap against each other. His head pounds in rage.

"Wanna have even more fun," Lee sees you read his name tag. "Chad?"

Chad? The worst name ever. It fits the weirdo. You look so sweet propped up on that counter that Lee feels a bit jealous of the guy infront of you. Your attentions on him, and Lee starts to smell your hunger to feed, and he can smell his own hunger. For you.

Fuck this. Lee gets up from his hiding area, and just before you get to speak, he slams a mug on the counter. He hears a small crack, but he barely cares.

"Hey, I need this shit." Lee glances at the mug that imprints Best Cowboy in Arizona. He hides the cringe in his face.

Chad looks him up and down. "I'm a bit busy here," he glances down at the mug. "Cowboy." A smirk finds a way to his face, but Lee isn't having it.

"Come on, man. I'm in a rush." Chad rolls his eyes. He looks at you, and Lee fights the urge to spoon his eyes out right then and there.

"Excuse me, princess. Gotta take care of this freak." Lee hears it, of course, because he's right next to the two of you. You cringe at Chad's proximity, smelling the reek of his breath.

Lee sees your uncomfort, grabs the back of Chad's head, and slams it right on the mug, breaking both the ceramic piece and the guy's nose.

"Fuck!" The smell of blood encapsulates the area, which only heightens your hunger. Both of you feel adrenaline rush through your veins, and a glance later, all of you are outside; you and Lee looking down on the ground at Chad's broken and bruised body.

Lee huffs, the blood on his white shirt apparent. He looks at you, with your hair messy from the wind and pupils blown. When you turn your head to him, a smile stretches slowly. He reciprocates.

"Bon appétit."

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

"Holy shit!" You're eyes gaze at the sight of the city behold.

"It's so bright here." Lee's truck revvs at what they call The Strip. Light's blare and shine in your vision, and you feel a high you've never felt before.

"Why'd you wanna come out here anyway?" Lee asks, but you look at him bewildered.

"Look at this place! Who wouldn't wanna visit?"

Lee simply chuckles at your exclamation.

"I think I've saved enough money for us to get into those fancy casinos. But one things for sure," You point in between the two of you. "We need to change if we wanna be let in."

Lee scowls. "Where are we even gonna find clothes like that?" He sees your smirk from the corner of his peripherals, and it's even more hypnotising than the glow of Vegas.

You lean over to the bottom of your seat, pulling out a duffel bag, a bit trashed, but in tact enough. He hears the zipper open.

"There were some clothes in that trinket shop. I bet we'd look like a million bucks in them." You wiggle your brows at Lee. He glances towards you, sees a leather cowboy hat, and sighs.

It felt tight, and the brown leather didn't help with the feeling of summer nights, but when he looked at you with those bell jeans and leather vest, he had to admit, the comfort in his pants was long gone with a tent forming.

You, on the other hand, just didn't want to do anything more than take that cowboy hat off and his plaid shirt ripped open. But living as an eater for the whole of your life gave you control. Maybe next time.

"You..." Lee mumbles out. He doesn't talk for the next minute, so you just stop waiting for him to talk and say "You too."

Entering some hotel was easy, the guards simply glancing your way. You guess lots of weird things happen in Vegas. At that point, you had to sneak in the casino because you two didn't have valid ID's, which was really easy considering their shit security.

You and Lee spent a fourth of you money each, almost starting fights with some of the men in business suits and women in dresses, but you didn't care. You didn't care about the money you've lost, didn't care that you started with a hundred each and ended up with 20 bucks 50, it was fun.

Oh, and even more when you ran out of the hotel after stealing some rich guys' watch, a ladies' purse, and a butler's tip.

You ran through the streets of Vegas, leaving no trace as if you weren't there, laughing and high on adrenaline.

You slow down in front of the various shops with their various items on the shelves. You hum a song to yourself, watching you boots clicking on the cement.

You feel Lee stop from your walk. You turn around, brows furrowed, and smile still etched on your lips. He has the same look, but his eyes say something different. He crosses his arms and simply gazes at you. "Come here."

"What? No, you're creeping me out." You shake your head. He whips his head back in mock annoyance before leaning over and grabbing your arm.

"Come onnn." You chuckle at his demeanour, giving in and leaning on his chest as he hugs you close.

"What is it?" You tilt your head up at him, and he's still got that look from earlier. He runs a hand through your loose hair.

"Did I ever tell you you look beautiful?" He whispers it so gently, but you hear, and you turn shy. He notices and keeps your eyes on him by grabbing your chin.

"Because you are."

His lips are plump and soft, just like how you imagined them, and his hands are calloused on the back of your neck. Lee is a gentle man with a curse, but the curse brought you two together, so it really isn't one.

"I've never seen you run so fast!" You nudged Lee's side, the sun rise illuminating the side of his face as you drive farther and farther away from the city. His smile spreads, and the lines that etched his cheeks satisfy you.

"I've never seen you laugh so hard." The excitement simmers down, but the joy stays in you. You sit in comfortable silence. Before you could remind him of your next venture towards Los Angeles, he speaks up first.

"I gotta tell you something. And I need you to believe me because I wouldn't and couldn't even lie about this." His face is expectant, foot still calmly on the pedal of the truck.

"Whatever it is, Lee, it just better be not you rigging something in Vegas while I was on." You chuckle, but he barely does. So you know he's serious. "Ok, for real now, shoot."

It takes a while. It's too long of a while. "Remember that time you mentioned a band you saw? Like, a punk one?"

"I know lots of punk bands, but I think I know what you're talking about. Listen," You adjust in your seat, fully facing him. "If you were jealous or something, you shouldn't be. I mean, it was just a crush. Plus, I never knew who he was-"

"It's me." He grips the steering wheel hard til his knuckles pale. "I'm that guy."

He hears you chuckle. "Shut up, Lee-"

"No, I-" He slows his driving, the free road not minding his pace, "It's really me."

Now it's you that's quiet. He continues.

"Harrodsburg, Kentucky. 2 years ago, in a bar, I honestly forgot the name of it. I could smell someone; someone like me. But that fucking mask was in the way."

HARRODSBURG, KENTUCKY - 2 YEARS AGO

The bar was half full, enough people filling the seats without it being too crowded. Lee carries the guitar case in his back with ease. The rest of his band followed behind him. He huffs and itches at his neck from the knitted black mask worn covering his face.

He smelled it. Smelled whoever it was. But the smell was faint, the cover atop his nose not helping.

"And now, we have a little performance for you folks here. Please welcome Eatrrs!" The awfully giddy man exits the stage, and the room falls into a splattered applause, most likely from the look of the band contrasting with the prim and proper crowd.

That's what you remember from that night. You were sitting in front of the bar, ordering a tall glass of shirley temple when you saw him; the lanky man wearing a mask that covered his face, a tattered electric guitar in his arms. You didn't think you've ever been as curious as then.

And then the band played, and the drums banged, the guitars rung, the bass slapped. It was loud and haggard, but it was like listening to the heart rate monitor come back to life.

And the lead looked gorgeous. His voice was gorgeous, even though he was screaming and slowly gaining a rasp in his throat.

Lee glances at the bar, and he sees half of your body until he hears the amplifiers get plugged off. The now angry looking bar manager swats them off, but not before they start throwing cd's around the bar.

You see them fly off with their instruments, the poor drummer leaving his shiny black set of drums up in the stage. You pick up the cd, inspecting it.

'Eatrrs SPEXIAL: by E's and the band' is what it read. It's an odd name, but it's one you will always remember.

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA - 3 MONTHS LATER

The gentle breeze of the sea makes the hung laundry flow with the wind, the glass sliding door rocking firmly. The kettle whistles and steam blows out of it like a train on its tracks.

"Let me turn that off-" Lee pulls you back in his arms, keeping his lips firm on yours, and you can't help but melt each time he does it. You poke his side to make him lose grip on you, and he yelps in surprise.

You smile innocently at the man, getting up from your position on the bed. You make your way through the hall with frames of you and the love of your life, going around Los Angeles. You make it to the kitchen and turn off the stove, and it's your turn to yelp as you feel cold hands on your waist and warm lips on your neck.

"Now we're fair." Lee turns you to face him, going back to kissing your pretty face. You can't help but giggle at his antics.

"You still performing later?" Lee nods, pursing his lips and humming.

"Yeah, hopefully the crowd likes it this time." You run a hand through his grown out red hair.

"I'm sure they will. Punk's rising up." He kisses you again, and you never dare to get sick of it. Once you pull away, you mention "I'll be there."

"Y'don't need to reassure me. I know you will." He smiles a gentle smile, and everything is quiet. You're finally in peace, and you hope it lasts long.

Omg this things a long time coming and its finally DONE. Its so cutesy and i want it so bad for me but wtvs 🙄🙄🙄 I HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT AND DKNT HATE ME FOR TAKING SO LONG 🥰🥰

[anistarrose]

Things To Know To Get Your Vote Counted — Non-Exhaustive List

[Plain text: "Things To Know To Get Your Vote Counted — Non-Exhaustive List."]

Post date: October 28, 2024. Contains information relevant to both in-person and absentee voting.

Same Day Voter Registration:

[Same Day Voter Registration:]

If you're not already registered to vote, over 20 states (and DC) allow you to register while you're at the polling place on election day (or for early voting). If you're making a last-second decision to vote, or you thought you were registered but found out you weren't, these states give you options up until (insert time the polls close) on November 5th.

[ID: map with states shaded where same-day registration is allowed in 2024. States that allow it are: California, Colorado, Connecticut, District of Columbia, Hawaii, Idaho, Illinois, Iowa, Maine, Maryland, Michigan, Minnesota, Montana, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Mexico, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. (North Carolina only allows it during early voting.) End ID.] (Source: Ballotpedia)

Alaska and Rhode Island only allow same-day registering voters to vote for president/vice president. North Carolina only allows same-day registration in the early voting period. Most states require an ID and/or proof of residency to register as usual — the Ballotpedia page is a good starting point for researching requirements in your own state.

Casting a Provisional Ballot:

[Casting a Provisional Ballot:]

Provisional ballots are cast by voters who can't prove they are eligible to vote at the polling place on Election Day. For example, if you:

don't have a photo ID on you, but it's required in your state?

requested an ID ballot, but had to vote in person because you didn't receive it?

changed your name or address, but it doesn't show up in the registration information?

have your eligibility challenged by a poll worker for any reason?

Then you should ask for a provisional ballot. Moreover, federal law requires election officials to offer voters a way of tracking whether their vote was counted. Many states have online provisional ballot trackers.

Provisional ballots are used in all states except for Idaho and Minnesota. To learn more about your specific state, I recommend the National Conference of State Legislatures (archive link if the site is down).

Tracking Your Ballot and Curing Signatures:

[Tracking Your Ballot and Curing Signatures:]

In addition to provisional ballots, if you've submitted an absentee ballot, Vote.org compiles ballot trackers to ensure your ballot is received — the vast majority of states have an online version.

Moreover, if voting absentee, familiarize yourself with your state's cure period for signature errors, and be on the lookout for communication in case your signature is found not to match. 33 states require some kind of notification and ballot-curing process — which means that if your ballot is rejected, you have a chance to fix it, albeit most likely needing to appear in person.

Be Careful About Phones, Ballot Selfies, Political Clothing:

[Be Careful About Phones, Ballot Selfies, Political Clothing:]

Many states disallow taking pictures of your ballot, and even some of the states listed as "allowing" it only do so under specific conditions (ex: your face isn't in the photo, the photo isn't taken at the polling place, et cetera). Moreover, several states go even further, and ban phones at the polling place altogether. Nevada, Maryland, and Texas are the states I'm aware of, but there may be more.

Also, at least 21 states ban political apparel or buttons in polling places. Regarding both apparel and phones, it is also possible that cities could set their own rules, so you should err on the side of caution unless you know for a fact what's allowed and what isn't.

Responding to Voter Intimidation:

[Responding to Voter Intimidation:]

866-Our-Vote (866-687-8683) is a hotline you can contact, which will help connect you with lawyers and federal investigators. Their website also lists hotlines in Spanish, Arabic, and some East & Southeast Asian languages. If you witness or experience a civil rights violation, you should write down your account for future reference, contact the DOJ Civil Rights Division, and possibly also a local ACLU division.

Other Information:

[Other Information:]

Getting time off work to vote, state-by-state

State election department contact information

Vote411 (voting law information & candidate information)

If anyone notices an error or broken link in this post, please let me know so I can correct it. If anyone would like to add on information in the notes, please do so — especially if it's specific to your state! Please just include a source if possible, and present the information as accessibly as you can. Overall, good luck out there.

[dogboytim]

hey can you write a story about Thomas Hewitt getting jealous when a man is talking to his S/O

OH BOY CAN I. ANON IM GONNA SMOOCH YOU FOR THIS.

This is more fluff than anything because I need this scenario out of my head.

It wasn’t very often Thomas got jealous. There was nothing for him to be jealous of most times. Nobody really came out that far unless that got lost. A similar situation to how you ended up here but obviously you had a more happy ending compared to most.

The Texas heat was rarely friendly, especially on days like today when you and Thomas were cooped up in Luda Mae’s shop. The small desk fan did nothing to cool the two of you down but they didn’t exactly have money for a good AC unit.

“Hey, sweetheart.” A thick southern drawl came from the door, causing both you and Thomas to look. The man definitely wasn’t from here. That wasn’t a Texan accent at all. It was clear from the way Thomas clenched his jaw that the pet name didn’t sit right with him.

“Can I help you?” You tried your best to sound polite but it came out more passive aggressive. You watched as the man strolled in, head held high like he owned the whole damn state. Thomas didn’t care much for people in general but this man was pushing his limits by just existing.

The man leaned over the counter, eyes looking you up and down like a stray dog eyeing a piece of meat. “I’m a bit lost and I was wondering if you had a map or something.” He moved closer, the top half of his body nearly over the counter. You opened your mouth to speak but you were quickly silenced when Thomas slammed a map down on the counter.

He had officially had enough.

The man took the map and gave your boyfriend a glare. You could see that if you didn’t get Thomas out of here soon, he was going to snap. You wished the man the best of luck and told Luda Mae that you and Thomas were headed home to cool off.

“Thomas, you do I love you and only you right?”

No answer. Not that you expected one anyway.

You sighed, pulling into the driveway. It was likely Hoyt would bring the man back for supper. You knew Thomas would enjoy killing him but right now you had to focus on reminding him that you loved him.

“Tommy.” That got his attention. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking what you wanted. Your hands found their way to his face, thumbs running over his cheeks. Gently, you lowered his mask. This was something he only let you do.

You kissed him.

That kiss made his heart flutter. Oh how he loved the way your lips melted against his. If this was what he got for being jealous, you can bet it’ll happen more often.

[perksofbeingpoet]

they're on a train and they're going away.

"away to where, charlie", cameron urges, worry in voice and map in hand, "i don't think just getting on a train was a good idea, this could go who knows where-"

he's cut off by a loud whoop that is promptly whisked away by the rush of landscape outside the dusty train windows - a blur of stationtreetreetreehousetreehousehousesky. "WE'RE GOING AWAY!!!!"

meeks laughs. "keep it down, pittsie, don't want your old man hearing and dragging you off at the next station, do you?"

pitts smirks out the window. "i'd like to see him try."

"attaboy!" charlie tries and fails to tousle pitts' hair and turns the gesture into a half-convincing high five. "this is an adventure!"

cameron mutters something that sounds like "that's what they all say before they end up in the middle of texas with no money and too much ego", but the vibration of the train floor drowns it out.

"guys, i've found us seats!" neil grins at them, face so bright they're all a bit surprised it doesn't reflect in the windowpane like the ghost-torch the sun is in it.

"and i've found a window to yell out of!"

"gimme a go, pittsie-" neil shuffles in front of it, craning his neck to have his mouth by the opening that spills wind and train-track sounds. "I'M ALIVE!!!"

there's cheers and laughter and then knox appears by his side, eyes sparkling. "c'mon frankenstein, show us these seats. we have a long way to go."

they're on a train and they're going away.

[posttexasstressdisorder]

What to Know About June 14 “No Kings Day” Protests

By Jacob Knutson

June 13, 2025

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Millions of people are set to rally across the nation in opposition to President Donald Trump’s extreme agenda and to counterprogram the military parade in Washington, D.C.

Dubbed “No Kings Day,” the over 2,000 planned demonstrations are set to kick off Saturday morning, June 14. The protests have been organized by hundreds of organizations and grass-roots groups, including the ACLU, Public Citizen, Indivisible and 50501. 

A full map and list of events can be found here. For those who can’t attend in person, some media outlets are set to stream protests from multiple cities around the U.S.

“No Kings Day is about standing up for our democracy. Standing up for our rights, our liberties  and making sure that we are sending a strong message that we are going to have a free and fair democracy,” Deirdre Schifeling, the ACLU’s chief political and advocacy officer, told Democracy Docket Friday.

“We’ve had this democracy for 250 years,” Schifeling said. “As imperfect as it has been, we are going to keep that democracy.”

No organized demonstrations are planned in D.C over safety concerns, Schifeling said. 

Earlier this week, Trump from the Oval Office threatened to meet those who protest the multimillion dollar military parade with “very big force.” The parade marks the Army’s 250th anniversary, but it also falls on the president’s 79th birthday.

“We didn’t want there to be a conflict or any excuse to have a conflict with peaceful protesters and this military parade,” Schifeling said, adding that those in the district can attend close-by events in Maryland and Virginia. She also noted a flagship protest in Philadelphia.

Following Trump’s lead, some Republican governors and law enforcement officials have issued their own threats against protesters.

Texas Gov. Greg Abbott (R), mobilized 5,000 Texas National Guard troops in anticipation of demonstrations and dared protesters to “FAFO,” an acronym for “F— around and find out.” 

“We will kill you graveyard dead,” Florida Sheriff Wayne Ivey said in a warning to demonstrators Friday.

“I think those statements are outrageous,” Schifeling said. “I view this kind of speech and rhetoric as absolutely inflammatory and condoning of violence against peaceful protesters, people who are exercising their First Amendment right.”

Schifeling said those attending events should be aware of what rights they have to demonstrate and highlighted the ACLU’s “Know Your Rights” page.

While the demonstrations are in part response to the military parade, they also come amid Trump’s ongoing use of military personnel in Los Angeles. Trump’s use of the military in California will largely be decided by the courts, but Schifeling said people organizing is also key in affecting what happens.

“Courage begets courage,” she said. “The best thing that we can do to save our democracy is stand up together peacefully and say no.”

[codderanged]

Sweet Tooth

A/N : This is super last minute but here’s a little light fluffy Easter oneshot for all my Graves enjoyers!! I haven't written content like this in a while so... gneurnbinsbin

Word Count : 1,151

TW : None!

Easter was always an interesting time around Shadow Company base. Every year Commander Graves would wake up extra early to hide hundreds of little eggs. They would be in the easiest places imaginable all the way to spots where Shadows were unsure how Graves got them there in the first place. Sometimes eggs would be left over from the past year, having not been found until the next or possibly more. 

The newest Shadow recruit only caught wind of this the week of Easter through mess hall conversations and the growing buzzing excitement in the halls between missions. According to the other Shadows there were rules to the whole thing. 

No bribing Commander for where he’ll hide eggs

No collecting or searching until 6 AM

Be kind

It all seemed simple but Easter morning it was like the whole base was an entirely different place. The halls were radio silent all until 6 AM. As if everyone was waiting for it, the moment the clock struck 6 Shadows were sprinting down the halls to begin the hunt. The newest recruit was swept up in the stampede only to be left behind in their dust. As they regained their bearings it was suddenly apparent that if they didn’t do their best to catch up then they’d be left with no eggs. In a tizzy they began running after everyone else in hopes that perhaps it’d lead to a good area to search.

After merely an hour of searching it was clear they were already too late. Especially since they didn’t have the experience to know where to search like everyone else did. With a dejected sigh they stood in the middle of the now empty mess hall. The place was clear with even the egg Graves had hidden in the high ceiling tile rafters having been found. In the midst of their sulking they were deaf to the sound of boots on the tiled floor. A hand gently patted their shoulder and the Shadow merely jumped from surprise. The weight and size of the hand was all they needed to know who it was. “Enjoyin’ Easter?” the familiar Texas tinged voice of their commander asked.

The shadow wanted to be honest but didn’t want to ruin the excitement. Just as they were going to respond, Graves interrupted with a frown.

“First Easter, hm? Guessin’ you weren’t as prepared as you’da liked.”

The shadow’s eyes went to the floor as they nodded with a little embarrassment. Graves merely chuckled and patted their shoulder again. “S’ alright. I keep some extras in my office just fer this. C’mon.”

Graves gestured his head towards the exit with a reassuring smile. The shadow perked up, brows raised in surprise and slight disbelief, before scurrying to catch up to Graves who had already started walking. The walk was silent but luckily short as Graves made a few turns before finally arriving at his office and holding the door open for the shadow. They entered slowly as if touching some forbidden area. Graves chuckled at the apprehension, “Not like yer in trouble or sum’n. Don’t be shy now.”

He gently guided the shadow into the room with a light touch to their back. Once they were both inside he shut the door with a gentle click. 

The whole office was full of leftovers from Graves’s Easter work. Extra packs of bulk plastic eggs in boxes, jumbo variety bags of candy, and even marked maps of the entire base grounds from his egg planting planning. The shadow giggled at the extent Graves went. Surely for such a commander it was a bit silly. 

Graves heard the amusement and let out a light laugh of his own, “I know, I know. It’s a mess in here. Each year it gets like this. Worth it, though.” 

He went around the side of his desk and bent down to look through an unlabeled box. A few seconds later he stood back up and tossed a couple of candy-filled plastic eggs towards the shadow. “Think fast, soldier!” 

They expertly caught one in each hand, a smile gracing their face, “Thank you, Commander.” 

“Don’t mention it,” he nodded and rounded his desk again to lean against the front of it. 

The shadow, almost like a child, opened up the eggs and took a look at the candy inside. Graves sure didn’t go cheap. He packed each one with several different kinds of mini sized candies to the point it was surprising he got it all to fit. Their smile only grew, but they glanced at Graves before daring to open the candies and eat them. He smiled and nodded, “All yours.”

As they popped a couple of candies in their mouth Graves hummed and stood up, hands on his hips, “Y’know, I’m not much of a chocolate guy. But I’ve got a roaring sweet tooth.” He paused to grin at the recruit before him and raise a brow. “Y’mind lendin’ me some sugar?”

The shadow nearly choked on their candy as their face went red and eyes went wide. Grave laughed for a moment before coming behind them and patting their back to assist them with the coughing fit they were having. When the coughs simmered down he rested his hand on their waist, leaning in close to their ear, “Really, though, I’d like it if you didn’t mind. Only if you didn't mind.”

The recruit felt a shiver fly up their spine and for a few moments they stared into the commander’s eyes as if testing his seriousness. His brow raised in question and then the recruit realized he was being entirely genuine in his request. Their heart hammered in their chest as their face heated up all over again. Graves didn’t take their fluster as an affirmative, though, and waited until he finally heard their little mumble, “I wouldn’t mind,” to move to stand in front of them and wrap his arms around them.

One would think Graves was a colder man considering his job, but he seemed like an expert of tenderness as hands gently held the shadow by the waist and pulled them in. He craned his neck to reach their lips; his own slightly rough ones colliding with the recruit’s mouth with an underlying sense of need. Graves was doing his utmost to control himself for the sake of his shadow’s comfort, but he was desperate for this. He melted into them as he tasted the faint hint of the candy they had just eaten on their lips. 

Graves pulled away just enough to mumble, lips brushing against the shadow’s, “Mind if I ask you for some sugar more often?”

The shadow giggled and shook their head, causing Graves to smile before diving in to give them a quick peck on the cheek. “Well I’ll be gettin' myself a sweet tooth on more than just Easter from now on.”