#numpty things

[sakuraloof]

Note to self: Do NOT read, fluffy, heartwarming, gay fanfics whilst being VERY gay, VERY single and VERY lonely.

[alatariel-gildaen]

I'm currently rewatching ST, and a friend of mine said that if I rewatched it, I'd definitely reconsider my stance on Jancy/St*ncy.

And....

No.

Jonathan was thinking of breaking up with Nancy (and breaking his own heart) so that she could follow her dreams without feeling guilty about leaving him behind.

Steve's dream involves Nancy giving up her dreams in order to follow his.

My stance is firmer than ever. I love Steve, but he's not a great boyfriend. Not for her at least. Jancy to the end!

[confused-bi-queer]

Maybe the reason behind Baz's misguided hatred in CO towards Simon doesn't come from a place of real hate. It's not that Baz is upset about having feelings for Simon or that they make Baz miserable, it's that maybe Baz is just frustrated he can't have him.

When Baz elaborates on his love for Simon, he says something I could never quite understand in English. At the beginning of Chapter 33, he says:

“That was evident the moment I realized I’d be the one who was most miserable if I ever succeeded in doing Snow in.”

But in Spanish he says:

"La palabra clave es "desesperadamente". Fue evidente desde el momento en que me di cuenta de que a mí me iría peor si lograba que Snow se fijara en mí".

So many things to unravel. Baz is pessimistic as hell but in Spanish he doesn't mention how miserable he would be, but instead of how he catastrophic it would be for his life. "Me iría peor" means something like "it could be worse for me", which I thinks it's self-preserving for himself!

He knows Simon isn't up to no good because he hates him but also because of the political rivalry they have going because of their families. However, this doesn't stop Baz from wanting Simon, feelings aren't objective or rational, but it does him make frustrated.

Baz is someone who knows how to guard his feelings well mostly because he projects them as anger or annoyance, so Simon could have never guessed Baz wanted him. Neither could we when Simon described his encounters with Baz.

So, Baz was flirting with Simon with the chimera. That was the year he started to feel bothered by him. And with the voice recorder, Baz was the most attracted by Simon and also hated him the most, and he describes Philippa in English as "Philippa bloody Stainton", while in Spanish he says "esa maldita tipa, Philippa Stainton". fuck. Baz is both jealous and angry! Both of those three words have negative connotations on themselves and are offensive!

Esa is a way of discredit a person's value by putting far away from you.

Maldita is a curse word, it means "cursed"

And tipa is a way of referring to a woman in a derogative way.

They're very strong words.

And then Chapter 38 Baz goes on being fucking done with Simon. After the coffin, Baz isn't used to covering up his feelings anymore and he's emotionally drained. Add to that Simon on his ankles as his personal little puppy and Baz is done. So done he tells you that himself.

"Snow se ha pasado el día entero observándome. Semanas enteras. Y la verdad es que no estoy como para soportarlo".

Baz had a panic attack in the Catacombs which he is ashamed of, and Simon was getting changed in front of him with his back muscles and then he was stammering and looking for him and Baz couldn't take it.

That's why he's an asshole.

Simon hating him isn't news, but Simon being open, and trying to talk to him, is making him feel nervous, which pushes him to being rude to Simon. He's being petty.

This is because Baz knows (or wants to believe) he can't have Simon for a number of reasons. But Simon does affect him. Hell, Simon is blinking and stammering and Baz starts to blush. When he becomes aware of it, he's rude again and runs away from Simon, away from his pretty seduction through not being able to talk properly.

[auntiejohn]

I need byler to be canon so we can spite the redditors

[raayllum]

I think it was reading @numptypylon's fic that helped cinch it for me, metaphor wise (which kudos for nailing the path metaphor emphasis like seasons ahead) in regards to like Callum and Rayla's devotion?

Because they've always felt equally devoted to me, but with two kind of caveats between both thought process and manifestation

When it comes to how that devotion manifests, we see repeatedly that for Rayla it doesn't always equal the same kind of prioritization that Callum offers (she tends to just have the Most Faith in her loved ones ever??) which makes sense given the way she knew her parents + Runaan loved her but she didn't always feel like their priority, and that they'd do things that were for her yes but also for the common good lumped in together. Whereas with Callum if he's devoted to you, you will be his #1 priority at least 75% to 99% of the time when it comes down to it, because that is how he shows devotion/love through consistency and persistence / general Togetherness

But the other one in terms of thought process / operation is where the paths metaphor Numpty uses I think is really useful and apt, and kind of perfectly illustrates how I & many others see them, because it's like...

Like Callum, Rayla will walk down every path she sees as an option to keep her loved one(s) safe, but unlike Callum, she just fundamentally doesn't see certain paths.

It's not that she sees them as options and doesn't pick 'em, it's that they don't even occur to her as concepts (i.e. she knew Claudia and her bag of dark magic ingredients were there in 2x07 and that there was a chain breaking spell, but it's very clear Rayla never would've considered that as a option given how she does approach freeing the dragon).

Meanwhile Callum, due to his immense intelligence and creative thinking, does see well - creative solutions. He does see those paths (like in 2x07) and because he sees them, because they are presented as options, he can and and will and has gone down those roads. Like Rayla, he'll take every path he sees - he just sees more of them than she does

and Idk, I think it's a very nice piece of not only description but very strong characterization

[luctumvigilantes]

[call-me-pup2]

Thinking about that one time years ago I told a guy I liked dressing more masc sometimes and his response was that I could only do anal if I was dressed like that around him

Pardon 👁👄👁

[viarocker]

listening to mewsette finale like

[gloomwitchwrites]

okay okay okay here we go,

The reader who has a very sensitive neck. even a breath hitting her neck affects her. (They can be in a relationship or not, however you like)

Thank you🩵

I won't lie to you...I made this one a little spicy. Not full on mind you, but there's some heat below the break. I couldn't help myself. I really couldn't. You said "sensitive neck" and my brain said "write something thirsty because you deserve it." And here we are!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, dirty thoughts, kissing, possessive behavior, mild sexual content, mention of alcohol

Word Count: 1,200

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Excuse me?”

The pint pauses just shy of John’s lips. He turns toward the unfamiliar voice, finding a stranger standing next to him. Your voice is laced with desperation, and you keep turning your head with a nervousness that instantly puts John on alert.

Someone is harassing you—bothering you. Making you feel uncomfortable. Doesn’t matter that you’re a stranger, no woman should feel backed into a corner.

You lean into him a bit, lowering your voice. “Can you pretend like we’re together?”

John won’t make you ask twice.

Sliding his arm around your waist in an intimate embrace, John tucks you into his side, using his body to create a shield from the rest of the bar. With your back to the room, your gaze is on him, and anyone looking would only find a couple in a relaxed hug.

John dips his head forward, closing the space until it appears as if the two of you are heading for a kiss. You fluster slightly, smile softly, turn away as if embarrassed. Inwardly, John is grinning. You’ve been in his arms for all of five seconds but you fit so perfectly.

“Who is it, love?” he asks, breath ghosting across your skin at your exposed throat.

You shiver—whimper. Not in distress, but with pleasure. It’s probably the alcohol in his blood that makes him bold—that makes him push a boundary.

“Who?” he asks again, this time tracing down your neck to the hollow of your throat.

It happens again, but instead of pulling away, you snuggle closer to him. John suddenly doesn’t care who it is that’s been bothering you unless they show their face. You’re an interesting creature. Sweet. He can see you fitting into his life.

What does he need to do to possess you?

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You’ve been a bloody tease.”

A rising wave of possession wells within Simon, threatening to drown him. When he wants something, he puts every effort into obtaining it. Right now, that something is a someone. And that someone is you.

You glance over your shoulder and scowl. That pouty lip sends blood straight to Simon’s dick. That mouth would look so perfect suctioned around his cock, licking over his skin, opening wide to show him how good you are before you swallow. Simon fucking dreams about it. It’s an obsession.

“Hardly,” you scoff. “Think you can’t take a hint.”

“Funny,” mutters Simon, leaning in until the two of you are close enough to tease a kiss. “You were the one in my bunk, playing with yourself when I walked in.”

“I told you,” you growl. “I thought I was in mine.” You glance away, clearly too flustered to look him in the eye. “Thought I was alone.”

“Sure, love.”

“I got confused in the dark!” you protest, attempting to move away from Simon.

Simon steps in front of you, forcing you to stay pinned against the wall. There was no mistake. The hallway is lit up enough that any numpty could navigate.

“You meant to be there,” he croons.

You fluster further, and Simon grasps the side of your face, tilting your head back. His thumb brushes against your neck, and you shiver. It’s not a slight thing, but a tremble. You’re sensitive here. Simon notes this. Saves it for later for when he gets you under him.

You lick your lips, pausing a moment before answering. “Maybe.”

Simon smiles, knowing he’s victorious. He gives that gorgeous throat of yours another light brush of his finger. This shiver is stronger. Simon nearly groans.

Blood rushes downward, and a plan forms.

John "Soap" MacTavish

It’s a quick tug. A dark corner.

Johnny pushes you against the brick wall at the mouth of the alley, caging you in from the eyes of the nearby street. There’s a buzz beneath your skin from the alcohol you consumed at the pub, and Johnny’s nearness only quickens the sensation. Just as his hands are on your hips, your hands are on his shoulders, pulling him in as close as physically possible. The smile on Johnny’s face is electric and it only fuels your own joy. This date is amazing. A firecracker of an evening.

Lips brush over yours, featherlight. You arch into him, wanting more—needing more. It’s an inherent reaction. Primal. Dirty. There is nothing you want more than for Johnny to push up your skirt and have his way with you in the dark alley.

With a squeeze of his hand, Johnny closes the distance, sealing your mouths together in a passionate desperation. The two of you have kissed before, but it’s always been at the end of your dates. Chaste and cute and nothing this wanton.

Another kiss. Another. A nip at your bottom lip. A suckle.

You whimper, and Johnny groans, nuzzling the side of your neck. His warm breath dances over your exposed throat, and you moan, body shaking with pleasure.

“You sensitive here?” chuckles Johnny. He runs his tongue along your neck. You let out another little gasp. “You are,” he breathes, like the idea excites him.

Johnny teases your throat, bites lightly, pulling forth a mewl. You’re incredibly wet between your legs, aching with a dreadful need.

“I need,” you gasp. “I need—”

“Me?” he croons, and you nod eagerly, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Johnny’s Scottish lilt becomes gravely. “Then turn around,” he growls. “And lift that fucking skirt.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Shit,” you mutter, tugging on the harness buckle.

The thing is stuck, and if you don’t have yourself strapped in before the helicopter takes off, you’re prone to flying headfirst into the floor. These things are fickle. At least they are when you’re attempting to strap yourself in.

You tug on it again, but it hardly budges.

“Why does this always happen to me?”

“Struggling again?” comes a familiar voice.

Kyle steps up into the helicopter, grinning as you continue to tug on the buckle like that will magically fix everything.

“Well this is embarrassing,” you groan, dropping the damn thing.

Kyle laughs, bending forward to keep his head from smashing into the ceiling. He shifts over a step so that he’s in front of you. Even though he’s wearing sunglasses, you feel his gaze roaming over you and then the harness setup.

“Sit back for me,” he says, kneeling in front of you like a man proposing.

You obediently do, allowing Kyle to fuss about, tugging on the straps. His lips purse slightly as he snags the one giving you trouble. He pushes up. Leans forward. You’re momentarily startled as Kyle cages you against the seat, his arms behind you.

“Lean forward a bit,” he says.

It means your forehead rests against his shoulder, but you do as he instructs. With head still bent, Kyle messes with something just out of sight. You lean to the right to allow him a bit more clearance, and that’s when his breath ghosts over your exposed throat.

It’s a tender caress, making you visibly shiver.

“You good, love?” asks Kyle, and again, his breath brushes against your skin.

You have to force down a moan.

I’m trying hard to ignore how horny I am, sergeant. Thanks for asking.

“I’m fine,” you reply.

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part iii)

FALSE EQUILIBRIUM—A balance that was never truly balanced.

summary: Joel’s delicate attachment to Leela and baby Maya deepens along with—her resistance, his denial, and the slow, inevitable way he’s always finding his way back to them. As they navigate a freak accident, Ellie sees it. He does too. Almost.

a/n: ah-woohooooo more of Joel being a thickheaded numpty, so enjoy! I would love to hear all your unhinged, lovely thoughts!

It had been a quiet few weeks for Joel.

Not the kind of quiet he liked—the stillness of early mornings, with the wind rustling the trees and a guitar strumming in his hands. No, this was the one that came after a storm, when the air was dense with the scent of rain and the world felt... upside down. Unsettled. Where the damage had already been done, and all that was left was to pick through the wreckage.

Quiet that made a man overthink. It pressed into him, heavy and suffocating.

Since that night in the car, since he’d seen her unravel in real time, the tacit MO had changed. On more welcome news, Mal had stopped coming around. No thanks to him, of course.

Joel saw him through the window the first morning he returned to Leela's place. Mal was coming up the path with the same easy stride, hands in his pockets like he had a right to be there. Just once, he wanted to knock the teeth off that goddamned kid.

Joel set down his hammer and exhaled through his nose. Bless Tommy for leaving the fun part to him. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stepped out onto the porch before the kid could even knock. The heavy door groaned on its hinges behind him, and he let it.

Mal spotted him and gave a lazy wave, stepping forward. “Hey, man. I’m just here to—”

Joel shifted in front of him. An immense wall of silent warning.

Mal stopped short, blinking up at him.

Joel wasn’t even trying to stand taller. He just crossed his arms over his chest, let his shoulders square out naturally, and let his stance say everything. He wasn’t fucking moving.

The kid hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. “Uh—is there a problem?”

“I’ll take it from here,” Joel said, voice even.

Mal frowned. “What?”

“I said, whatever it is, I got it.”

There was a pause. A moment where Joel could see the gears turning in Mal’s head, where the kid was piecing things together a little too slow for his liking.

“Okay, but Tommy said—”

“Yeah, well.” Joel leaned forward, just enough to be felt. Watched Mal’s jaw tighten, and shuffle back on instinct. “Not anymore.”

That landed. Mal thankfully rocked back on his heels and rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced past Joel, toward the house, then back, brows knitting together, trying to make sense of what was going on. What he'd done wrong.

“Uh... do you want help, at least?” he offered, cautious.

Joel let out a slow breath, something close to a laugh—if you could call it that. There was nothing warm in it. “You run along now.”

Mal lingered for another second, like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. And like a kid being told off, he tucked his tail and left.

Joel didn’t bother to watch him go. Just turned on his heel, grabbed the door, and went back inside. “Fuckin' pest,” he grumbled under his breath.

The house shrouded with that damn quiet again—only the soft creak of the stairs, followed by the sound of careful footsteps.

He looked up and saw Leela was making her way down, one hand bracing against the railing. She was wearing sweats and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled into a low, hanging bun. There was a difference in her face today—sharper, cleaner, blanker maybe. Or maybe he was just seeing her in a better light now.

She caught him staring. “Was that Mal?”

Joel simply lied, “No.”

She pressed her lips together. “Oh,” she mumbled. “Maybe later.”

Joel hooked a thumb through the loop of his tool belt, retrieving the hammer he’d slung there. He looped it through the air once, catching the handle in his palm.

“Don't worry about it. He’s a busy guy,” he said as he crossed her on the staircase. “Lotsa shit to fix around town.”

More importantly, Leela didn’t ask why or how. Soon enough, she stopped looking for Mal. Didn’t even question when Joel started showing up every day instead with his old tool belt slung over his shoulder, standing at her door as though it was the most unassuming thing in the world. She just looked at him—one glance, one unreadable flicker of those dark, tired eyes—and then moved on like it was another Tuesday. Like he wasn’t there at all. Stiffing him, essentially.

And Joel knew that kind of distance. This gaping rupture, widened between people when something sore and hideous had been exposed. When someone had seen too much, known too much. Leela knew she’d overstepped, and now she was pulling back.

He was no stranger to that feeling. He’d done it plenty himself. That instinct to retreat, to pull the shutters down, to make yourself small. Hell, he’d lived it. Had become it.

So he let it happen. He let her pretend again. He didn't bother to push or say a word to her.

He simply worked.

The nursery was coming together, slowly but surely. The new pendant lights were fixed, diverging warm puddles of amber over the room. The shelves stood straighter, stocked with whatever Maria had been sneaking in—baby books, folded blankets, onesies, a small range of wooden toys. And the old fuchsia rug he’d found in Leela’s storage had tied the whole damn thing together, a relic of a forgotten life, all lived-in and sunlit for the baby girl.

Joel stood in the centre of it all, Maya cradled in his arms, rocking slightly on his heels. Not that she could appreciate any of this yet. A safe space of her own.

He had never been the kind of man who cooed at babies either. Hadn’t been that way when Sarah was small, hadn’t been that way in the years since. There was a reality about them—so soft, so fragile—that made him cautious, that he had to hold back, keep himself in check.

Maya made it easier.

“Hi,” he whispered to her after her naps. “Did you sleep well? Huh, pretty girl? You hungry? C'mere.”

She made tiny, thoughtful expressions like she was really listening to him. Her little hands were always reaching, always curious. Right now, she was watching the lights with those big brown eyes, mesmerised by the slow drag of the shadows on the ceiling, her mouth parting slightly in wonder, her head barely still on her little shoulders. Her fingers curled absently in his collar, barely grasping, like she just liked knowing he was there.

She’d been a fussy one lately—tired, restless, wanting to be held more often than not. Lonely, always so lonely. And with a mama like Leela, who drifted too easily and got lost too deep in her own head, Joel figured it wasn’t a bad idea to show her around. Give her something new to look at.

“What do you think, baby girl?” he murmured, drawing her closer, his palm smoothing down her tiny back. “Did I do okay or what?”

Maya blinked up at him, her whole body stilling for a second before she let out a breathy coo.

Joel grinned. “Yeah?” he chuckled. “That a yes?”

She wiggled in his hold, that gummy little smile coming alive, kicking her knees against his ribs, and Joel felt himself exhale—deep, easy, a twinge of uncertainty loosening inside him. She liked it. The nursery. The lights. Him. Maybe none of it mattered in that little head of hers, but she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t fussing. She was looking at him like she trusted him, and yes, he wanted to deserve that.

He took her toward the shelves, kneeling with her in one arm, balancing his precarious weight as he pointed to the row of paint cans. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s pick a colour. What’s it gonna be, huh?” He tilted them slightly, exposing the faded labels. “We got white. Some kinda blue. Green.”

Maya reacted immediately, tiny fist stretching out, fingers grazing toward the muted green.

Joel huffed a small laugh. “Yeah? That your favourite?”

Her fingers brushed the side of the can, fascinated by the cool metal, a quiet coo slipping from her lips.

Joel hesitated. Just for a second. Then he gave in—because how the hell could he not?

Slowly, almost like he was afraid to spook her, he shifted her a little higher against his chest. Lowered his head. Pressed a kiss to the soft crown of her head.

She was warm. Fuzzy. Still had that darling baby smell—something between powder and milk and fresh laundry, it damn near knocked the air out of him. He let himself linger, just a little longer than he probably should’ve, breathing her in.

Maya stirred—not in protest, but with this soft, excited little kick of her legs against his ribs, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Joel exhaled, slow. Felt something in him loosen. Snap, maybe. In a quiet kind of way. Before he could think better of it, he kissed her again—this time on the side of her head. Then once more, near her temple. Another just above her ear. Until he started to feel like it was not enough.

She wriggled in delight, mouth wide, gums flashing in a big, open grin, her whole face scrunching like she could feel it all sinking in.

Joel huffed—half a laugh, half a breath. Shook his head, kissed her once more.

“Yeah,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “I got you.”

And maybe—maybe she already knew that he really fucking loved her. Knew it the way babies just do sometimes. That he was solid. That his arms weren’t going anywhere. That he’d never let her drop.

A rustle at the doorway made him glance up from a kiss. Leela stood there, her hand lightly braced against the frame, watching him.

Joel was caught off guard, leaning away from Maya a bit, settling her lower against his chest. “Hey,” he greeted, voice low. “Just uh, givin’ her the lay of the land.”

Leela’s expression didn’t change. She only flashed a tight, fleeting smile before stepping forward, arms extending toward Maya. “You wanna take a bath with mama?”

Maya twisted in his hold, cooing eagerly now, small hands reaching for her mother. Even after everything, her mother was still her favourite person.

Joel let her go, careful as he passed her over to Leela. Their hands brushed, warm skin against warm skin, and he ignored the way it lingered, how her fingers barely curled in his before she took Maya into her arms.

“She’s been good,” Joel muttered.

Leela nodded, running a gentle palm over Maya’s back. “There’s lunch downstairs if you’re hungry.”

Joel studied her for a beat, his fingers brushing idly against his tool belt. “…Did you eat something?”

She hesitated. Too long. Then nodded slowly.

He didn’t call her on the lie. Instead, he nodded back, watching as she turned on her heel, shifting Maya closer against her shoulder. She left him with another tight, fleeting smile before disappearing down the hall.

Joel breathed out a sigh, glancing back at the half-finished room. Maya’s soft, content coos still lingered in the air. The green paint sat on the shelf, waiting.

And for some damn reason, he felt lonelier than he had in a long, long time.

It had taken him eleven days. Too long for a man like him. But he hadn’t rushed at all. He should’ve, but he didn’t. Had he been the same old Joel—good ol’ Texas Joel—this would’ve been a job done in a heartbeat. A blink, and he’d be out of her way. He wouldn’t have noticed things. Wouldn’t have lingered like a moron.

Maybe it was because of the way Leela barely spoke to him anymore. Or that she wouldn’t look him in the eye when she checked on his progress in clipped words and hums, wouldn’t even glance his way when she passed Maya to him like clockwork, a silent, wordless thing between them.

Maybe because when she leaves him standing at the porch at the end of the day, the door closing shut in his face, it didn’t feel like closing a chapter. It felt like a fucking wall going up.

Joel found her in the kitchen that evening, standing by the counter, wrist-deep in soapy water. It was late, Maya was snoozing her little head off upstairs, the house dim except for the overhead light humming low above them.

She didn’t stagger when he entered, didn’t look at him either. Just kept scrubbing the hell out of a plate, though he was pretty sure it was already clean. He dawdled near the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing.

He should’ve left. Should’ve let the silence settle. But he couldn't just leave it alone.

Instead, he cleared his throat and stepped forward, leaning a hip against the counter. “Y’know, you got a dishwasher. It's half the effort,” he pointed out.

Leela gave a small huff. “Electricity’s scarce.”

Joel snorted. “So is water, darlin’.”

She finally glanced at him, just a flicker, then back to the sink.

He tapped his fingers against the counter, searching for something—anything—to keep her in this moment with him. “Made good progress today,” he said. “Maya... she tried to turn on her side. Can't get the angle right, y'know. The nursery; well, I just need to fix up that dresser and—”

“Look, thank you. But I’m really tired, Joel.”

She said it without looking at him, her voice level, no bite to it. Just a statement. A locked door. He should’ve expected it, should’ve shrugged it off and moved on. Instead, something about the words, directed at him, sat wrong inside him. All that hurt-people-hurt-people-drivel that Maria used to say came back to bite him in the ass.

He hesitated, shifting his weight onto his feet. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I should get going.”

She said nothing. Just shut off the faucet, dried her hands on a towel, and walked past him, close enough that the damp heat of her skin lingered for half a second longer than it should have. And despite fighting the urge to glance back at her as she left the room, he watched her disappear down the hall.

Joel stood outside her door for a long moment, which he had conscientiously locked, staring at the chipped paint of the doorframe, jaw clenching. His eyes flicked to the porch swing. It swayed slightly in the cold breeze.

Was it juvenile to think maybe she’d prefer his company? Was it fucking brainless of him to crave somewhere to belong? A purpose? Was he meant to die alone in a strange house and surrounded by empty whiskey bottles? Maybe. Probably. But hell if he didn’t wish it anyway.

Joel didn’t want to admit it—not directly, not even to himself—but he wanted to talk to her. Not about anything in particular. Not about that night in the Maranello, or how her little, breathy laugh was possibly the best thing to hear after those roars and clicks of the world beyond, or why she’d started looking at him instead of through him.

He just wanted something. Because before, there had been something. It wasn’t like talking to most people, where you had to pick your words apart before they even left your mouth, where you had to navigate bullshit small talk or forced pleasantries. With Leela, it had been... easy. Unspoken. A warm kind of quiet, the kind where he didn’t have to think too much, where he could just be.

He'll admit it, just this once—he liked that about her. He liked that a moment didn’t have to be forced. That he didn’t have to overthink, that they had a rhythm, a delicate system between them, one that made sense even if neither of them ever put words to it.

But now?

Now, she barely looked at him. Nowadays, when she passed Maya to him, it wasn’t with that soft, knowing ease or a friendly grin, no matter how tired it had been—it was mechanical, transactional, like handing over a set of keys. Like a reminder that he wasn’t supposed to be here, and he didn’t know what to call that. Didn’t like the way it made his instincts turn over, uneasy, in his chest.

All that lingering had finally paid off, and Joel had found his way in. He wasn’t going to show it, of course—wasn’t gonna give himself away like some fool—but damn if he wasn’t relieved.

After days of unending cold shoulders, after all that stiff distance, this was the first real opening he’d gotten. An excuse. A way to talk to her without forcing it.

He had been fixing a flickering wall lamp that had been bugging him for some time now, in the second-floor hallway, standing on a step stool when—

CRASH.

The whole house plunged into darkness. The light he’d been working on blinked out, along with the rest of them, and then—a groan. A pained, breathy, hitched groan from below. His entire body tensed before his brain caught up.

Then came the wailing. Maya.

Joel’s heart stammered, caught between two instincts. The damn near gutting sound of the baby girl's frightened cries and that groan—that voice—he'd distinctly heard from the basement.

Fuck. His feet moved before his mind did. He leapt off the stool, tools cluttering to the floor, ignoring the protesting ache in his knees as he tore down the hall to Maya’s room. She was red-faced, eyes squeezed shut, fists curled as she screamed, trembling from the shock.

"Hey, hey, Maya," Joel hushed, scooping her up into his arms, and pulling her against his chest. "S'okay, sweetheart. Right here. I got you."

He shushed her, palm stroking warm circles over her back, bouncing her lightly in his arms. His heartbeat was loud, hammering in his ears, drowning everything out but the damn groan still hanging in his mind.

Leela.

She was down there, in that cursed basement, alone. And that sound had been awful.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his lips to Maya’s head before pulling back. More for himself rather than her.

“I'm right here, baby. Nothin’ to be scared of.” His voice was controlled—but his hands weren’t. His grip on her was a little too tight. They quivered a little.

Maya sniffled, her cries quieting just enough to slow his pulse, and he took that as his chance. Keeping her tucked to his chest, he made his way down the stairs, nearly flying, boots thudding against the wood.

His breath hitched as he reached the basement door. “Hey, you down here?” he called, shoving it open with his shoulder, jogging down to the dim space below.

Then he saw her.

Leela was slumped against the wall, it was obvious that she had been tossed into it, her silhouette barely lit by the glare of an emergency lamp in the corner. She was gripping her shoulder fiercely, rubbing it like she was trying to erase the pain. Her fingers dug in hard.

The remnants of her little "science project" upgrade lay scattered around her. Loose wires, metal scraps, a circuit board still humming with life. The main plug socket was connected. Was she fucking stupid? There was a baby upstairs, and she was ready to risk her home for that dumbass machine.

And her face—Fuck. She had gone pale. Eyes squeezed shut. Her chest rose and fell like she was working through an intense wave of pain.

“Christ.” The word came out more like a breath than anything. Joel took a step forward, but when his eyes landed on the tangled wires, something burned under his ribs.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” His voice came out rougher than intended, fear clawing at his throat, disguising itself as frustration.

Leela’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but sharp. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.” She held up a hand to stop him before he could kneel down beside her. “Just a bit of bruising. Maya first.”

Joel clenched his jaw.

She was right. Damn it, he hated that she was right. Maya, now hiccupping soft little breaths against his chest, was the priority.

“Right,” he muttered, though the reluctance in his voice was clear. He cast her one last look, making sure she was still upright, still breathing normal, before turning back up the stairs.

It took ten whole minutes to get Maya settled, and that was a miracle in itself. He'd resorted to pleading under his breath, but she had continued to watch him, eyes wide, refusing to let sleep take her like she knew something was wrong. She was perceptive. Just like her mother.

Finally, finally, her little lashes fluttered shut, her tiny hand still gripping onto his shirt.

Joel exhaled, relief going awash his tension. “Good girl,” he murmured, before unfurling her fingers from his collar, brushing a kiss over them and laying her back down.

Then he was sprinting again. Back down the stairs, faster than he should have been, hand gripping the railing tight.

Leela hadn’t moved much. She was still slumped against the basement wall, her breaths deep and restrained—like she was trying to breathe the pain away.

Joel came down to a crouch by her feet. “Hey.”

“I'm fine, Joel, really,” she assured quietly.

Though, he could tell she was pissed at herself. She hated being like this—vulnerable, hurting, unable to brush it off and acting like it didn’t happen. But Joel saw it. He saw her. How she'd tilted her head against the wall, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

Leela truly was fine. Bruised, rattled—but fine.

Joel had checked her over once more, ensuring nothing was broken, no serious harm done, and he had to force himself to believe her when she said she’d be okay.

But her hands. Oh, Christ. The dim glow of the emergency lamp cast a dull shine over her skin, and that’s when he noticed—the raw, reddened patches along her fingertips. The unmistakable burn marks where the electricity must’ve bit into her.

"Shit." He exhaled sharply through his nose, scraping a hand down his beard as he stared at her fingers.

She must’ve seen the look on his face because she tucked her hands close to her stomach like she could make them disappear. “Seriously,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “I’ve had worse.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. She wasn’t wrong. And that made something in him burn even hotter.

“C’mon,” he muttered, nodding toward the stairs. “Up.”

Leela hesitated, but the way he stood—the way he waited—made it clear he wasn’t asking. So she sighed and pushed herself upright, and Joel stayed close, arms extended safely around her, watching the way she moved, the way her body reacted.

She didn’t stumble. Didn’t wobble. That was good. No concussion or broken bones. A knot in his chest loosened instantly.

Once they made it back upstairs, Joel had her sit at the kitchen table, lit up from the sunshine filtering through from the afternoon sun. He set a bowl of warm water down in front of her, the steam curling into the space between them. He grabbed a small tin of ointment after a bit of rustling through the cabinets, then a roll of gauze, then paused, eyes flicking to her.

She was watching him. Still. Silent. Waiting.

Joel breathed out, slow and even, then came back over, pulling a chair beside her. He reached for her wrist, gently, carefully, lifting her hands into his own. A silent ask. Permission. Lesson learned from the last time he'd touched her.

Leela tensed for half a second before sighing, letting him take them.

She was trying to play it off like it didn’t hurt. Like it was fine. But as soon as he dipped her fingertips into the warm water, she sucked in a quiet breath through her teeth.

Joel’s grip tightened just a little. He tried to squeeze everything he had felt these past few days into a single word—“Sorry.”

He worked, taking it slow, gently swiping away the dust and grime, watching the way her skin flinched under the heat. His thumbs moved gradually, steadily, like he was afraid to make it worse.

“Y’gotta be more careful,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Damn wires ain’t worth all this. Remember, you’ve got someone countin’ on you.”

Leela let out a soft, tired laugh. “I didn’t know I had a nanny now.”

Joel shot her a look. “You don’t. You got me.”

She blinked at that.

Her lips parted slightly, but whatever she was about to say, she thought better of it. Instead, she let him work, let him take care of her, and trusted his instincts, and that felt like something neither of them was ready to acknowledge just yet.

Once her hands were cleaned, he dried them carefully, mindful of the more sensitive spots, before smoothing ointment over each burnt fingertip.

Leela twitched. “Ow.”

Joel grunted. “Ain’t gonna feel good, but it’ll keep it from blisterin’ too bad.”

He finished wrapping the gauze around her fingers, slow and precise, making sure they weren’t too tight. Leela stared down at her hands when he was done, flexing her fingers slightly, testing the bandages like she wasn’t sure what to make of them. Three fingers on each hand.

Joel blew out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face as he took in the house.

It was quiet. Too damn quiet. God, he hated this. That unnatural kind, where something had been cut short too suddenly—like the whole place had been stunned into silence. The shot-out lights overhead blinked weakly before finally dying out for good, leaving nothing but the cold creeping in from every corner.

It was already moulding in. The draft slithered through the cracks in the windows, curling around his ankles, and sinking into the wood beneath his feet. The thermostat had shut off along with the rest of the power, which meant no heat. Not with how damn cold it got out here. Jesus, he'd forgotten to tuck some extra layers around Maya.

His eyes swept the room. A busted power grid. A rattled woman nursing bruises. A two-month-old baby upstairs who didn’t know a damn thing about survival, who didn’t understand that warmth wasn’t something she could just take for granted.

And this woman—this stubborn, frustrating woman—was already trying to stand up like she hadn’t just been thrown into a wall.

"I'll go check it out. Don't worry, Joel, I know what to do," Leela offered, pushing herself up.

Joel shot out a hand, firm, stopping her before she could get any further.

"You ain't fixin’ shit, you hear me?" His voice came out rougher than he intended, but hell if he cared. "Sit your damn ass down. You're stayin' at my place till I get this sorted."

The prospect did not sit well with her. He could see it in the way her jaw clenched, her eyes flicking to the window like she was already searching for another solution.

She shook her head. "I can't—"

"That's not an option."

She looked at him then, her brows drawing together. And he knew what she saw—knew she saw that hard-set determination in his face, the part of him that had already made up his mind.

What she didn’t see—what he’d never let her see—was the way his chest was burning with something too tight, too damn close to fear.

Because he’d walked into cold houses before. Knew what happened when the temperature dropped too low. Had seen bodies frozen stiff in the middle of the night, curled up as if that had been enough to keep them warm. Had seen what happened when people thought they could tough it out. He'd rather never see or smell that ever again.

Now, Leela thought she could tough it out. But he wasn’t about to let her gamble with a baby’s warmth just to prove a damn point. And if she thought this was some kind of negotiation, she was dead wrong. Because he wasn’t giving her a choice.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself, softening the edges just enough so he wasn’t barking orders at her like some kind of drill sergeant.

“Just for a while,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Till I can fix whatever the hell you fucked up down there.”

Leela didn’t answer right away, lips pressing into a thin line. But she wasn’t stupid.

She glanced up toward the stairs, toward where Maya was still sleeping. Then back at him. Joel could see the exact moment she gave in. Her shoulders slumped as she relented.

He nodded, standing up, already running through what needed to be done. “Good. I'll go bundle up the kid.”

X

Joel hasn't exactly planned to have company. Ever.

Maria and Tommy showed up sometimes. Ellie, too—though not without complaint. She claimed the place smelled like old people and swore visiting would tank her cool factor. But even when they came around, he never let them stay too long. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, before he was ushering them out the door with a gruff, Alright, get on, and some excuse about needing to be up early. It wasn’t that he didn’t like having people around. It was just—his place wasn’t made for that. He hadn’t made it for that.

It was single floor, nice and compact. He slept on the pullout couch in the living room. Not because he didn’t have that one really sweet bedroom, but because it was easier nowadays—closer to the door, closer to the window that faced the big white house across the street. His sink was a mess of dishes from last night, crusted over and rotting in the stale air. His cabinets weren’t stocked with food so much as they were with whiskey and coffee.

He came home. He ate. He slept. He woke up. Showered. Left. That was it. That was his life. It was enough and to spare.

So when Leela and Maya showed up at his front door, he wasn’t prepared. Not in the slightest.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, stepping aside to let her in. “Come on, then.”

Leela ducked inside first, shaking the cold from her coat, eyes flicking around the place as if she were already judging him for it. And maybe she was. Hell, Joel sure as shit would. Because this—this eyesore—was how she was gonna see him. As some tired, deadbeat old man who hadn’t even tried.

Maya stirred against her chest, her little hands fisting in the collar of Leela’s coat.

Joel cleared his throat and reached for her automatically. He needed his calm here. “C’mere, baby girl.”

She squealed at the sound of his voice, squirming, her small fingers flexing, gripping the fabric of his flannel before she finally settled against him, warm and soft. Joel let out a quiet breath through his nose, a strange kind of tightness unwinding from his ribs. He hadn’t even realized he’d been bracing for something.

“She can stay with me,” Leela said softly, slipping out of her coat.

Joel shook his head. “Nah, you get some rest. You’re takin’ the room down the hall.”

Leela blinked, surprised. “And you?”

Joel busied himself with Maya, playing catch and release with her tiny fists, letting her grab onto his finger before slipping it away. “I’ll be fine. Got the couch.”

She frowned. “But you’ve got that bad back.”

Joel sighed, jaw twitching. “Yes, ma'am. Thanks for noticin’.”

Leela’s mouth quirked slightly, just a little, but enough that it softened something in her expression. “You should take the bed, Joel.”

He hummed, shaking his head, shifting Maya a little higher against his chest. “You just shot into a wall and burned yourself, darlin’. I think you’re entitled to a bed.”

She tilted her head at him, her brow pinching together like she was trying to figure something out.

Joel stared back, more stubborn than apprehensive, his grip tightening just a fraction around Maya’s small body.

He wasn’t sure what it was, that look of hers. But damn if it didn’t make him feel like he was seen in a way he wasn’t used to. Like she was really looking at him—not the grumpy bastard everyone in Jackson thought he was, not the fixer, not the old guy sleeping his way through life—but him.

Joel shifted on his feet, clearing his throat. “Look, you’re takin’ the bed, that’s that. Maya can sleep next to you, so she’ll be closer if you need to feed her later.”

Leela was still staring at him, quiet for a long beat.

Then, eventually, she sighed. “Okay.”

It wasn’t much, but it felt like that little something Joel had wanted. Like an inch of the cold between them had finally cracked, letting some warmth in.

Look, of course, Joel had always known his house was too damn small. He just hadn’t felt it until now.

There was no privacy to be had, not really. The pullout couch in the living room faced the bedroom door, left cracked open just enough for him to see the gentle rise and fall of Maya’s little body curled against where Leela would sleep later. The bathroom was the only one in the house, meaning if she needed it in the middle of the night, she’d have to walk past him to get there.

Not much space. Not much distance.

So when he heard the soft shuffle of her feet against the wood floor, he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even have to look up from the guitar in his hands to know she’d wandered further inside, drawn toward the small corner of the living room where he kept his workspace.

It was a cramped setup—a shabby studio table shoved against the wall, two half-finished guitars resting on stands nearby. He’d only just started working on them, but it gave his hands something to do, something to create.

Leela’s fingers grazed over the unfinished wood, her touch featherlight. “I didn’t know you were this talented. A luthier.”

Joel chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Layin’ it on a bit thick.”

She ignored him, curiosity guiding her hands as she thumbed over the strings. A quiet hum vibrated through the air, not a real note, just a sound. She tilted her head, listening.

“Would you make one for me when you have time to spare?” she asked, glancing up. “I’d love to learn.”

Joel almost laughed, because—yeah. Yeah, he’d drop dead before refusing that. “‘Course,” he said, voice low but certain.

Leela’s eyes found it too easily, drawn in like a moth to an old light. He almost wished he'd hid it away.

The picture that had survived time and death, sat on the corner shelf, tucked between a coil of guitar strings and a worn-out rag, the frame dull with dust he never bothered to wipe away. The glass was cracked, a thin vein running through the top left corner, but it didn’t matter. The image was still there. She was still there.

Sarah, grinning wide, her curls bouncing as she leaned into him, arms slung around his shoulders. Joel remembered that day. He’d taken her out to some shitty little carnival on the edge of town, and let her sucker him into one of those rigged ring toss games. She’d won a stuffed bear—cheated, more like, because the booth worker had taken pity on her—and held onto it the whole night like it was the greatest thing in the world.

She looked happy. They looked happy.

And it hit him—like it always did, like it always would—how long it had been since he’d last heard her voice. Since she’d called him 'Dad!' in that exasperated, teasing way of hers. Since she’d looked at him like he was the safest place she’d ever known.

Leela didn’t say anything. She didn’t even reach for it, didn’t let her gaze linger too long. Just acknowledged it, felt it, then moved past it, like she understood that some ghosts weren’t meant to be disturbed. Let them rest.

Joel swallowed. It wasn’t often that someone gave him that kind of space—left his past untouched, let him sit with it without trying to crack it open.

She leaned back against the edge of the desk, brushing her fingers through her hair again—one of those little habits of hers, nervous and absentminded. The strands were overgrown, frayed at the ends, and he knew she probably didn’t have the time to fix it, or maybe just didn’t care enough to. He should tell Maria to give her a trim.

But, she wasn’t wearing that pearl-buttoned nightdress tonight. This one was blue, like the sky in summer. Smooth. Loose-fitting. The frilled sleeves barely touched her shoulders, and it wasn’t anything special, not really, but—he liked it. That colour looked pretty on her skin.

The thought relaxed in his chest like an itch he didn’t know how to scratch.

Leela watched her fingers trail absently over the wood grain of the desk. “I owe you an apology, Joel,” she murmured, quieter now.

Joel listened and didn’t speak, just let the words settle between them.

“For how I’ve been treating you.” She swallowed, gaze flicking up to him, uncertain. “You’ve only ever helped me, and you're so good with Maya. I know it wasn’t fair of me to just… shut you out.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

But she wasn’t convinced. She hesitated, jaw tensing, lips parting slightly before pressing shut again. There was something she wanted to say like it was dislodged deep, festering, in her chest.

“That night in the car…” She took a breath like it might help balance her. It didn’t. “It wasn't you. I had—before Maya, I was—there was—”

Joel knew that look. The way her throat bobbed, her fingers curling against the desk like she needed something solid to hold onto. Holding herself together. He didn’t let her unravel, just not tonight.

“Stop,” he said, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to explain.”

Leela blinked at him, studying his face, like she was trying to decide if he meant it. So he shrugged, forcing a small, easy grin.

“Perks of havin’ me around. I don’t care for the details.”

A small breath of laughter escaped her. Real, unguarded, softening the edges of her face. He loved to see it on her. “That's a relief.”

Joel leaned forward, rubbing his palm over his knee, the dull ache settling in from the long day.

His voice was lower when he spoke. “It’s just nice to be there, y’know?” He wasn’t good at this—saying shit like this—but it began to get easier with her. “With Maya. And you. There's more purpose than just shooting things beyond the barricade.”

Something flickered across Leela’s face.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the desk, and her knuckles paled with how tightly she gripped it. “You’re welcome home anytime, Joel. My door’s always open for you.”

Joel’s chest pulled tight.

He looked at her. And he thought about that damn oak door, how she never locked it, how he’d always given her hell for it in his head. And how, for the first time, it didn’t feel like carelessness.

It felt like trust. Not in this boring town of survivors. But in the neighbour across the street who'd ferreted his way into their lives.

Leela took a slow breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “So, you don’t have to come around just to fix things next time.”

Her voice was softer now. And then—something else. A small, almost shy laugh slipped past her lips, barely there, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say this next part out loud.

“Come to eat. To talk. To see Maya.” A beat. “And me.”

Joel felt it then—the shift. It wasn’t big, wasn’t some grand, earth-shaking thing. But it was there. He felt it.

"Maya loves you so much."

Joel glanced at her, unable to hold back the sympathy. He should’ve just let it sit. Should’ve just nodded, grunted something, and let the conversation move on. But instead, he said, low, “That bothering you?”

Leela hesitated, but only for a second. Then she sighed, rubbing a hand over her neck. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

Joel stayed quiet, watching her.

She let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “It’s just... I don’t feel like her mother. Not really.” Her voice was even, but he could hear the strain underneath, the sharp edge of something she didn’t want to say aloud. “I do everything I’m supposed to. Feed her. Hold her. Change her. But it’s just... a list to get through.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I thought it would be different. I know it's such an awful thing to say.”

Joel felt that like a punch to the gut. He knew what she meant. Knew how goddamn isolating it could be—to go through the motions, do the right thing, and still feel like you’re on the outside looking in.

“She’s yours, darlin',” he said after a moment. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing—at making sense of feelings, at giving comfort. He was trying. “That’s what matters. Sometimes it's not a magic switch, you can't just flip it on and feel it. Sometimes, you grow to love someone. Over time, energy, effort.”

Leela scoffed, quiet, barely there. “That all it takes?”

“No,” Joel admitted. “But it’s good enough.”

She finally looked at him then, something cautious in her expression, something raw. He didn’t push. Didn’t try to say anything else. Just let the silence stretch, easy and open, not asking for more than she was willing to give.

Leela swallowed, nodding slightly, like she was tucking the words away, considering them.

The space between them, once weighed down by hesitation, by careful sidesteps and unspoken rules, felt… lighter. Like the tension that had settled into the cracks between their words was finally easing, letting some warmth slip through.

His throat worked around something unspoken, and he rolled his shoulders back, shifting from feet to feet, like he could physically shake whatever the hell was loose inside him. The words that wanted to come didn’t.

Instead, he settled on something simpler. Something safer.

“You should get some rest.”

Leela’s gaze lingered, searching, like she was trying to read something in his face. Then she nodded, flashing a grin. “Sure,” she murmured. “Goodnight, Joel.”

Joel held her gaze for a moment longer. His fingers flexed at his sides, a familiar itch settling in his chest, the kind that always came when he stood in doorways when someone was walking away and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow or stay put.

He watched her retreat into the room, disappear behind the cracked door, and stand there for a moment before finally turning away.

The door was open again. And that was the thing about doors.

They worked both ways.

X

While on the road, Joel had spent years sleeping in places that barely counted as beds. Hard ground. Rusted truck seats. Creaking, sagging mattresses in abandoned buildings where one wrong turn meant waking up dead. Even now, safe inside these walls, inside this town where people thought fences and routine were enough to keep the bad out, behind homes with locked doors—well, should have locked doors—he never truly slept deep.

Always on alert. Always half-ready. Even in the comfort of a home he could call his.

Joel lay on the couch, stiff as the thing itself, staring into the rough fabric. He wasn’t asleep—he never really was—but he kept his back turned anyway. It felt like the right thing to do, a courtesy or some form of privacy in a house too damn small to actually have any.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. Long enough for the warmth of the fire to ebb. Long enough to hear the wind pick up outside, rattling at the windows. Long enough to wonder if Leela had finally managed to fall asleep.

He exhaled through his nose and, without really thinking about it, rolled over onto his side, eyes shifting toward the bedroom.

Leela was out cold.

Her hair had been pulled back into a loose braid, but strands had escaped, curling softly against her cheek. One hand dangled into the mattress as if she’d fallen asleep patting Maya and never quite finished. He could see the slow rise and fall of her chest, deep and steady, her body given over to exhaustion.

Joel frowned as his eyes drifted lower. The blanket had slipped, barely covering her waist, her legs left bare to the chill of the night. One knee peeked out, the curve of it catching the dim, murky light of the bedside lamp. He felt his jaw tighten, his fingers flexing at his side. Wasn’t she cold?

But then his eyes landed on the baby in front of her, and the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding eased right out of him.

Maya was not asleep. Flat on her back, legs kicking sharp, barbed movements, her tiny fingers flexing in the air, opening and closing like she was trying to grab something invisible. Every so often, she let out a soft little coo, her breath light, testing, careful not to wake her mother.

Joel squinted. Lifted his head a little. Maybe she was just shifting in her sleep.

Nope, the kid was fully awake. Big, round eyes blinking up at the ceiling, mouth open in a little round ‘o’ of discovery, her hands reaching for her own damn feet, like she’d only just realized they were attached to her.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. He could just leave her be. She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t fussing. She'd fall asleep on her own.

But then she spotted him.

Her entire little body bucked, like the excitement was too much for her tiny limbs to contain. A bright, panting laugh bubbled from her mouth, and her hands curled, fists flailing like wanted to launch herself toward her.

Joel sighed. That was it. No walking away now.

Ignoring the slow, persistent cramp in his back, he shifted, pressing his hands into the pullout and pushing himself upright. His knees popped when he stood, and he winced, rolling his shoulders as he made his way into the bedroom. The floor groaned under his feet, but Leela didn’t stir. She was too far gone, too lost to the bruises and the exhaustion pressing her under.

Maya, on the other hand—beamed up at him, wiggling harder, completely unbothered by the late hour, her tiny hands batting at the air.

Joel sighed through his nose and crouched down beside the bed. He held up a finger to his lips. “Ssh, ssh,” he murmured like she had any damn understanding of the concept.

Her fists continued to flail, little feet kicking the air, and he sighed, leaning down to scoop her up. She fit into his arms easily, the way she always did—small and naming the nook to herself, all warm skin and bundled sleepiness. Sleep fired right out of his system.

“You're gonna wake your poor mama,” he whispered to her.

Shifting Maya against his chest, he glanced at Leela again. She hadn’t moved a muscle, fast asleep. But the blanket had slipped low, barely covering her waist, her arms left uncovered to the cold.

Joel hesitated for only a second before leaning over, taking the edge of the comforter and tucking it around her, careful not to wake her. The fabric pooled at her shoulder, and she sighed quietly in her sleep, sinking into the warmth of the bed, but not waking.

Good. She was finally catching up on sleep. When was the last time he'd seen that girl rest? Never. She'd always woken up the earliest, wandering between her papers and blackboards in the living room.

Maya let out a content little hum against his shoulder, and Joel blew out a breath, stepping back out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit living room. He wasn’t going to bother putting her back on the bed. She was too awake for that.

Instead, he plunged back onto the couch, settling into the cushions and adjusting her against his chest. She curled into him easily, her featherlight weight pressing against his ribs. She hummed again, a soft, breathy little thing, and then—one of her fists landed against his sternum with a dull thump.

Joel huffed, peering down at her. “You tryin’ to knock the wind outta me, trouble?”

Maya lifted her head to blink up again, dark eyes round and glassy in the dim light, looking like she had something important to say. Then her fist lifted again, this time smacking more of a lazy pat than anything with real intent.

He narrowed a playful glare on her, shifting her a little higher against him. He poked at her cheek. “We got some problems, or is this just your way of lettin’ me know you’re still awake?”

She didn’t answer—fucking obviously—but she did something close to it. Her mouth rounded in a small, exaggerated ooh, and her fingers fumbled against his shirt before one of them caught onto his.

Joel felt the soft, clumsy pull of her grip, then the unmistakable wet warmth of her mouth closing around the tip of his finger.

He grimaced, but not in any real discomfort. “Great, there you go. You're lucky you're so beautiful.”

Maya suckled lazily, brows furrowing like she was concentrating really hard on the task, and Joel exhaled, letting her gnaw as much as she wanted.

Joel stared at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, careful circles against her back.

She was a happier baby now. Not screaming. Not crying as much. Just there. Comfortable and safe.

He swallowed against the feeling mashing against his ribs. His jaw unclenched, let his head fall back against the couch, eyes slipping shut. And he let out the longest breath known to man.

It had been years—years since he’d felt this weight, this warmth, this need pressed against him. It was a different life, a different world, but somehow, it wasn’t. His body still knew this, still remembered the rhythm of it, the quiet intimacy of a baby trusting him enough to just be here, curled up against his chest, with no fear, no hesitation.

And goddamn him, but he loved it. Loved the small breaths puffing against his collarbone. Loved the way she looked up at him, slow and sleepy, tapping her tiny knuckles against him like she was checking to make sure he was still there. Loved that he didn't have to think about anything, not feel like the whole world was closing in.

Loved this.

He wasn’t thinking about the past. No, he wasn’t. But if he was, he sure as hell wouldn’t admit it.

The sound of the front door unlocking jolted him.

Joel’s eyes snapped open, his entire body tensing for a fight as his hand instinctively curled around Maya’s small back, protective, ready. His other hand curled into a loose fist at his thigh.

The door eased open with a quiet creak, and a familiar silhouette stepped inside.

Ellie.

“Joel?” she whispered, peering at him in confusion.

Joel just stared at her. Not because she was here—she was always stopping by when she damn well pleased—but because for the first time in his life, he was the one who forgot to lock the damn door.

Maya shifted against his chest, making a soft noise, her tiny fingers still curled around his. Joel gave her a small, reassuring bounce as if she’d needed one.

Ellie, meanwhile, was still standing there, taking in the sight of him on the couch, a whole baby in his arms, and the bedroom door cracked open just enough to hint at the woman asleep inside. The pretty neighbour that had Joel all riled up.

Her eyebrows lifted and mouth twitched as she crossed her arms. “This isn’t a hostage situation, right? Am I an accomplice now?”

Joel sent her a flat look. “Whatever gave that away?”

Ellie then continued to stare at him and at Maya.

It was the kind of look Joel had gotten used to over the years, the one where she tried to figure out if she was hallucinating. Because she’d seen Joel Miller do a lot of things—wrangle Clickers, nurse a cold one, fix up a rifle—but sitting on his couch, cradling a whole-ass baby like that? It was a new one. Like unlocking a new character in a video game.

Her lips pressed together, eyes still flicking between him and the kid, and then—she snorted.

“Oh, man,” she whispered, shaking her head, a shit-eating grin spreading over her face. “I wish I had a camera to capture this gold.”

Joel sighed. “Alright, get on with it.”

Grinning, Ellie plopped herself down beside him, the whole couch shaking, immediately leaning in close to peer at Maya. Almost as if she was the first infant she'd seen in her life.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed, voice going all high-pitched and ridiculous. “Hiiii.”

Maya blinked at her, unmoving, her fists curled safely in her mouth, her tiny brows furrowing as if she were trying to figure out just who the hell this new person was.

Ellie wiggled a finger in front of her. “Here. Go on, grab it.”

Maya did not. She just kept staring, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, utterly mystified by the sudden intrusion.

Joel huffed. “Guess she ain’t impressed.”

“Guess she’s got taste, you dick,” Ellie shot back. Then, her face softened, a little smirk curling her lips. “She’s fucking adorable. Look at those eyes, damn.” Joel barely had time to process the warmth that spread through his chest before Ellie tacked on, “So, definitely not yours.”

His scoff came out before he could stop it. “Oh, real funny, kid.”

Ellie chuckled, finally settling back against the couch, still watching Maya like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “How come they’re here?”

Joel didn’t go into the details, never liked to. About Leela’s bruises, about how she’d been too damn stubborn for her own good, about how he’d practically had to drag her in here to sleep in his bed.

Instead, he just muttered, “Blackout. Gonna head back in the morning and check it out.”

Ellie hummed like she knew there was more to it but didn’t feel like prying.

For a while, they just sat there in silence, and Joel simply let himself watch. The room was dim, the fire in the hearth burned low, throwing flickering shadows across the worn wooden floors. The cold pressed against the windows, creeping in through the cracks, but in here, it was warm—quiet, steady. Both in him and around him.

Ellie leaned in closer, her breath puffing softly against Maya’s round little cheek as she wiggled her fingers in front of her face. “What about this? You like this?” she murmured, tapping her tiny nose, and making a series of stupid clicking sounds.

Maya blinked, floored by this, her wide eyes tracking Ellie’s every move like she was watching the most fascinating thing in the world.

It took another few moments, but then—finally—Maya’s tiny fingers reached out, wrapping shyly around Ellie’s outstretched one. Not tight, not possessive, just curious. Testing.

Joel felt that feeling again, twisting deep in his ribs, imperceptive and calm and unnameable. He could get used to that feeling. It plugged every scar, physical and mental, until his shoulders felt ten times lighter.

The kid he’d sort of raised, playing with the baby he was yet to.

And for the first time in a long time, that muddle just… settled. It was late, too late in life for this kind of thing. But hell, cut him some slack.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring into the last of the fire, watching as the embers pulsed and flickered, struggling to stay alive. His hand absently smoothed over Maya’s back, following the slow rise and fall of her breathing, feeling the tiny weight of her against his chest. She was still. Not fussing. Just there.

Ellie shifted beside him, stretching her legs out, resting her arms against her knees. She wasn’t in a hurry to fill the silence. She just sat there, watching him in that way of hers, like she saw more than she let on.

“So,” she finally said, voice casual. “How’re things between you and…?”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Just flicked her chin toward the bedroom.

Leela was still dead to the world, sunk into the kind of sleep that didn’t let you turn over, didn’t let you dream. Her hand had slipped out from beneath the blanket, fingers curled loosely against the mattress. He wondered how long it had been since she’d let herself rest like that, without one ear open for some threat, without her body coiled tight, waiting for the next hang-up.

Joel looked away. He shifted slightly, adjusting Maya, keeping his voice even. “There’s nothing between us.”

Ellie hummed like she wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, no shit.” She stretched her arms behind her head, smirking. “She’s way out of your league.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head. “No argument here.”

He didn’t need Ellie to tell him that. He was thickheaded, but he wasn't blind. Leela was… Leela. Stunning in that exotic way, compassionate as a human, insanely intelligent. And him? What was he exactly, a cut-throat? A fighter? A relentless fucking human who just refused to die? Twenty years ago, a woman like that wouldn’t have given him the time of day, much less a second glance. A girl like her, back in the world before, would’ve had a whole life ahead of her, a whole set of possibilities. Not this. Not him.

And maybe that’s how it should’ve been. Maybe that’s why this didn’t make any sense.

He tensed his grip on Maya and felt the way she instinctively burrowed against him, curling her little fingers into the fabric of his shirt. She cooed again, watching his mouth move to form words.

He could be something for her. If Leela wanted it, he could carve out a space in Maya's life, be her constant, be her safety net. Hell, be this baby girl's father. He would compromise in a blink. That was different. That was right.

But having Leela herself? That was something else entirely. That was dangerous. That was selfish. There were too many ways it could go wrong. Too many ways it would end badly.

Not because of him, or her, or anything either of them did—just because that was the way life went. He wasn’t made for this kind of thing anymore. Wasn’t built for it. He was too damn old, too set in his ways. And even if she—somehow—wanted this, wanted him, what then? How long until he fucked it up? How long until he lost it?

The way he always did.

He swallowed hard. “I’m too old for her,” he managed to mutter.

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You're fucking kidding. The world ended. There is no standard. And you still care about what, an age gap? Brownie points? Jesus, Joel. You've been through too much to care.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just kept his gaze on the fire, jaw tight.

It wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about how it looked or what people would say. Hell, no one would care. He wouldn't care. They were past that kind of bullshit.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t still impossible.

Because Joel knew himself. He knew what it was like to want something real, to care about someone so much it hollowed you out from the inside. And he knew how fast it could all go to hell.

It was about the fact that she still had so much time. That she could still find someone real, someone better. That she deserved more than a haunted, greying man, who could barely sleep through the night, combing through his days, who lived waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

And she deserved better than a man too tired, too worn down by life, to give her more than what little he had left.

Ellie sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Y’know…” she started, then stopped.

Joel glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly.

She didn’t go on right away. Just drummed her fingers against her knee, staring into the fire, her face unreadable. For once, she wasn’t running her mouth, wasn’t making a joke to cut through whatever was settling between them. She was thinking. That alone put him on edge.

Finally, she said, “It’s different. These last few weeks. Even Tommy sees it.”

Joel frowned, not at the words themselves, but at the way she said them—slow, cautious, like she wasn’t just talking to him but trying to make sense of it for herself.

Ellie had always been good at reading him, sometimes better than he wanted. But this—this was different.

She flitted her gaze toward the bedroom, where Leela was still out cold, her body barely stirring under the blankets. Then to Maya, curled up against him, tiny fingers tangled in his shirt, her soft weight pressed into his chest. Finally, she looked back at him.

She didn’t spell it out. Didn’t need to.

Joel swallowed, shifting slightly where he sat, adjusting Maya’s weight in his arms. His hand smoothed down her back, more out of habit than anything else. He glanced toward the bedroom too, toward Leela, who hadn’t moved an inch. Yes, it was different.

But Ellie wasn’t done. She hesitated, rolling something over in her head before finally letting it out.

“It’s… good, y’know? You having this nice thing.” She waved a vague hand toward the baby, toward Leela. “You don't usually let yourself have nice things. Something that’s not just me.”

Joel’s breath caught.

Ellie had always been his reason for waking up in the morning, the one thing keeping him tethered to whatever life he had left. And she knew that. Knew it in the way she carried herself, in the way she fought with tooth and claw to prove she didn’t need him to keep her standing. That he had his own life. But now, sitting there, she wasn’t mocking, wasn’t teasing. She was just… saying it. And she was goddamn right.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just pushing forward because he had to, wasn’t just surviving out of habit. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, waiting for the axe to fall.

He had something to come back to. Something steady. Something small and warm and his, even if he didn’t know what the hell to do with it yet.

He looked down at Maya, at her tiny, trusting weight in his arms, at the way she twitched slightly in her sleep, lips parting around a breath. His hand smoothed over her back again.

Ellie saw the moment it clicked. The way his face shifted, just slightly. She smirked, satisfied. And that her good work here was done.

Then, just like that, she clapped her hands on her knees and stood up. “Well,” she said, voice slipping back into that familiar teasing lilt, “guess I’ll let you get back to your hostage situation.”

Joel rolled his eyes, settling deeper into the couch as Maya nuzzled against his chest. The kid was out cold now, her little fist still tangled in his shirt.

Ellie was already heading for the door when she threw out in a whisper, “Oh—almost forgot. Maria asked me to tell you to bring your girl by the dam sometime this week.” She smirked, holding up air quotes. “Said she’d like ‘inventor insight.’”

His expression deadpanned. “Maria ain’t letting her go anywhere near machines.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Ooh-kay. Controlling much?”

Joel gave her a warning look. “Ellie.”

She dismissed him with a wave. “I’ll just tell her myself.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, already seeing how that would go. If Leela knew Maria was interested, she’d want to help. She’d go, eager to prove herself, eager to be useful. And then she’d get herself hurt again, pushing past whatever limits she had, just like she always did. That wasn’t happening.

“She’s stayin’ away,” he muttered. “She’ll go, then want to help. Overdo it. Get herself hurt or worse.” He gave Ellie a pointed look. “Better not.”

Ellie let out a sharp laugh, all evil intent. “And you’re telling me there’s nothing between you two?”

“Ellie,” he hissed, too fast, too sharp—just as Maya stirred slightly against his chest, her little face scrunching. He froze, holding his breath, waiting to see if she’d wake.

Ellie’s smirk was damn near insufferable.

“Denial,” she sang out, drawing out the word like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day.

Joel sent her a flat look.

Ellie just wiggled her fingers in a wave and made for the door once more. “Night, old man.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone in the quiet house, the fire crackling low in the hearth. Joel exhaled slowly, his hand smoothing absently over Maya’s back again.

Denial. Maybe. He wasn't ruling it out yet.

X

{ taglist 🫶: @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @mojaveghst , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

And to those in the reblogs: thank you all so much, and I'd love to keep hearing more!!

@darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid }

[unpeeled-human]

its crazy bc the people in power have the resources to make things better but they are physically not capable of relating to real human beings enough to understand what actually helps people. like instead of fucking around with auto-reentry to try and pioneer something so he stops being such a disappointment, musk could focus on sending nuclear waste into outer space in order to quell the fears of the numpties who think nuclear energy is the most dangerous thing since asbestos (not true btw nuclear energy is safe). but no. his parents werent capable of teaching him basic empathy and how to understand others (not like thats expected of emerald mine owners lul) so now we have to deal with a petulant manchild trying to impress fascists with the worst cars on the planet

[quarterlifekitty]

I need 141 x sensitive reader (mainly simon tho hehe)

Like I was watching a horror movie and a cat literally got EATEN by this monster thing and I IMMEDIATELY STARTED SOBBING like my friend was holding me and telling me not to cry 😭😭

I’m gonna give you a little bit of Simon because I think the idea of this brick shithouse who wears a skull on his face having the worlds most sensitive crybaby gf is funny

When Simon introduces you to people, they’re a little fucking gobsmacked to be honest. You’re so sensitive, so easy to move to tears, and they wonder how the fuck Simon bagged you. He’s not known for being a gentleman.

But that’s the fucked up thing. He is. Literally only to you. Soap can ask him to get something from the other side of the room and Ghost will be like “get this you fuckin’ numpty” and smack him on the back of the head. Meanwhile Simon will do literally anything you ask without a moment’s hesitation and holds you close like the wind is gonna blow you away.

Before he introduces you to the task force he texts the group saying “no work talk. I fucking mean it.” Because he is determined that you will hear nothing about what he does at work, not even any allusions to it. Literally you cry watching Lady and the Tramp— he can’t expose you to anything from his job.

If someone says something that upsets you in his presence, he’s not going to kill them in front of you, like he wants to. He’s going to make sure you’re alright, calm you down, get you home and into bed, and then come back and kill that person. That’s how much he cares <3

[potter-solomons]

No Other Man: one shot.

Alfie Solomons sits atop a fluffy cloud made of fluffy marshmallows surrounded by fluffy things.

Alfie comes home fuming only to feed his woman cheese & bread.

🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞

Deep down you know he would come home from a horrible day and in the foulest mood, stomping around downstairs. Muttering curses to himself. Slamming everything he picks up down. Yet, the minute he brought that bear of a body into your room seeing you in the midst of another flare up, he'd immediately soften.

The creases would soften. His muscles would relax. The fuckin' numpties at work would cease to exist. He'd walk right past your napping form removing his upper layers. Trousers still on he'd turn on the tap. He'd find the perfect mixture of warm with a little bit of cold. You'd have your eyes glued to his muscular form as he begins his way to you. "There she is, my girl. Let's get you up. Naked again, love? If it weren't for the fuckin' ice water in the tub, I'd have you right here. But no, not right now."

He'd run his hand up and down your hips. He'd know that's where it always hurts the most. His thick strong fingers would dig into the flesh as deep as he could, attempting to release some of that fascia. He'd lean down to kiss your forehead as he said, "I know dove, but got to do it, don't I? Come on, let's drop you off into the tub in there. Bloody Atlantic, that water is." He'd pick you up despite his sciatica and you'd curl so close into his chest. Trying to merge yourself with him. You'd both know it's never close enough. He's know that despite your pain you'd never miss the opportunity to give that strong collar bone a small bite and kiss.

He'd lower you into the water hissing as his arms dip beneath the surface with your form. "Fuckin' hell, gonna freeze those perfect nipples right off, you will. Get this bloody temperature down then we'll work on exiting the fuckin' trip to the Arctic. Don't laugh, fuckin' cold that is. Turn my balls into icicles. Make 'em bloody useless." And then he'd smile because it's anything to take your thoughts away from your pain, from the inflammation. He'd know all to well the tragedy of chronic pain. He wouldn't doubt you'd rub peppermint oil deep into his hip and back when he was having a bad day too.

He'd bring up bread and cheese, a couple of books, and crack the window because he would know his pet hadn't eaten and the open window may regulate your temperature.

He'd get undressed. Down to his boxers. Once your lips were properly blue, he'd help you out of the tub. Begin drying you off with your favorite towel even though he'd always give you grief because, "it's the same as all the other fuckin' towels sweetie. No, I didn't use it pet. I don't know why it's bleeding wet, do I? Just a man, I am."

Then he'd get you both in bed. Your eyes wouldn't leave him. Not for a second, only to blink would his presence disappear from your sight. He'd eat with you and you'd read together before he'd dose off. You'd rub his stomach with the tips of your fingers until you fell asleep. He'd be oblivious to your ministrations. Then he'd wake up in the middle of the night to find your hands laced together. He'd know you can't cuddle when you'd flare up. Too much heat comes off him and too much touching would make you feel like you're burning your skin.

So he'd keep your hands together. Move just close enough to know you're there.

Deep down you'd know no other man would do this for you. No other man would yell until his body shook with blood on his shirt then come home to transform that angry energy into an act of service for his woman.

No other man is Alfie Solomons.

[mgu-h]

a bookkeeper for the people, thank you for your services 🫡

aww im just glad other people are crazy about them too!! i also keep track of things i heard repeatedly from both max and lando, or representative phrases, in order to make their dialogue sound better. if anyone is interested in some nortrell vocabulary quirks (and additional nortrell research and analysis):

phrases they both use:

That’s mint

You muppet

Let’s go!!!!

Waffling

[Anything], mate

Cheers, bro

We’ve sussed it

You idiot

Fuck off

Knob, knobhead

Bloke, brev/bruv

~Very good very nice~

Scavs (Tarkov)

Fluked it (golf)

GGs, chat

lando specifically:

‘Cause

[something], baby

C’mon Maxy boy

Oh my godt

Mega

It smells to / tastes to

Frickin’, freaking (less so now, he says fuck these days, but in the past he tended to avoid it)

[Indeterminate happy Lando noises]

[Annoying tapping or leg bouncing]

Nugget

Numpty

Joker

That's naughty

Why? (demanding)

Moron

Twat

[Criticizes himself sarcastically in the 3rd person]

max specifically:

Horrendous

Look at the state of you

Fucking hell, mate

For fuck’s sake

Jesus Christ

[repeats himself until Lando acknowledges what he said]

Shut the fuck up, I’m done

That is good, I'll give you that

Normal, normally

Don’t pull that face, none of that

Pal, buddy

Brilliant

No chance

We’ll fall out

That’s crap

What is wrong with you

All right!

It’s doing my fucking head in  

An absolute fucking shocker 

Are you mental

Fair play

Good lad

Honestly

Brother (calls Lando this)

other references (longer quotes, an argument transcript, relative bio of teen years, lando analysis):

Lando, mouth full, trying to communicate through just noises “mmm… mhhph mmmf” Max replies “I normally understand those to a degree, but that was another level” 

Max loses his patience “Stop, like why are you tapping so loud. You know what you’re really good at? Finding a fucking annoying noise to make, and then just constantly doing it.”

Lando said, “I don’t have it, Max.” Max replied, “The fact that you said my name there means you’re trying to lie or something, that’s weird, you don’t normally say that”

Lando said, “One of the things I hate the most is being bad at something.” 

[If you in any way question Max’s fashion or make a comment about his hair he will spiral and say] “Wha’ d’you mean?”

After Max ends the unhinged “golden cock” Sergei/Alexander banter, Lando tries to get back to the game, his voice returned to normal, and Max is incredulous. “Don’t just come in here like "what’s next?" all normal, like nothing happened.”

Max told Lando he would be “back in 27 seconds” because "i needed him to know i'd thought about exactly how long i would be gone before i left, instead of saying 30 seconds, which could mean anything,"

Max saw Lando before he knew him, he doesn’t remember why he was at the karting track, Lando was driving around in a little kart, he was “just tiny, mate,“ nine years old. Max even remembers the black and orange helmet Lando’d been wearing, and he just watched him for a few laps. (“You were just watching?” / “Yeah someone said, that kid won, or something.” / “I never won a race in cadets” / “They must have just said you were fast”) bankai asked: “have you been following bob around since he was nine” and max says “original fanboy”

Max talking about watching an unboxed with Lando, “I like watching them, but it is weird seeing you in them.” “Why?” “I dunno… just, I don’t know. Just don’t see you as that ‘F1 Driver,’ it’s weird. It’s just different for me.”—[Lando laughs]—“They are cool.”

Max taking too long to come back to the game, Lando sounded mad. “Stop fucking kissing her, Max, and hurry the fuck up.”

Monaco argument >> In a Dec 2021 stream, (chat called Max Lando's dog and his wag, he refuted both claims), they had an argument about max moving to monaco, lando insisting he's protecting max from being lonely and max telling him HE'LL get lonely. max claiming being alone in monaco wouldn't even bother him if he's streaming and offering to take care of the house. lando denying him, saying he's taking care of max and max's slightly sullen "thanks mate" and his Jokes like "chat, he doesn't want me there. he's ditched me. it's over. relationship's over. it's done." like the energy of the entire conversation is that they've had it many times before and max is not easy and compliant with lando leaving him behind, but lando is not listening because he's sure he knows better

Lando yelling at Max to kill a scav, Max did, but not fast enough, Lando was muttering under his breath and Max paused to take out an earbud, "Are you giving me attitude?" and then when Lando continued to bitch, mimed throwing the water from Lando's waterbottle on him

Lando ranting on iRacing in Sept 2024 that "people in racing think you never have to back out, no matter what, like that's somehow become a rule" (in iracing? he was asked) "no, in real life as well. Somehow it's become a Thing that you never have to back out, you're somehow always in the right."

Max saying "I don't want to be alone again" about getting into a different heat on iRacing and Lando singing back "story of my life..."

Lando will say things like "Look at my perfection, look at how well I do or did, I was unstoppable," other bragging just to piss Max off

Yes / No / Yes / No arguments (they just say the same statements with different and more pointed inflection each time as if to make the other person accept by force of will without any actual convincing or argument, just emphasis, as if the one who is more certain will win and the more unsure one will yield the point and pivot to a new one or end the argument. one of them always yields and pivots after a few back-and-forths)

Lando says Max is "struggling be cause he's not been kissed in the last five minutes" and that in his group chat "I record every time they kiss in public" (Max protests that he just makes the number up, like the time he said they'd kissed 44 times before 10am and Lando said "I swear it's true") and that he "can't describe how awkward it is going around with Max because he's freaking kissing" and like Lando will be driving the car in the front and all he can hear is wet kissing sounds from behind him.

Lando said about Max kissing "He just goes in so fast, you know like all the nerds you see on the movies where they kind of shut their eyes and like" he mimicked both Max sticking out his tongue and making exaggerated Mwah sounds

Max said Lando often struggles at golf but "every two months or so he'll have a blinder, and then he'll be in absolute turmoil again"

the whole recurring bit with them sharing a wardrobe, the Quadrant video with the "whose shoes are those?" "whose joggers are those? "whose hoodie is that?" bit, something the fact that it kept going even after they moved apart like in singapore 2022 lando claims max is wearing his pants, shoes, and top, and max denies it

Lando listens to the voice notes he gets in DMs and goes through them, sometimes with his mates, to laugh. He says sometimes they're very weird, that "Some people are up to no good in their lives and need to focus on.... other things... but they are funny, they are just weird. The voice notes always make me laugh."

Lando interview with Tom Daley->"I am a competitive guy and I hate losing. So you put that all together and I love being in control. I hate being out of control, so like I hate being a passenger in a car. I really hate it unless I'm like backseat you know headphones on watching a movie. I'm a terrible terrible passenger cuz I don't feel in control of of what's happening."

Max in July 2021 checking to make sure Lando wasn't watching his stream before saying "I gotta give my hats off to Lando for helping me, obviously with streaming, Quadrant, giving me a bit of purpose this year, you know, something to do and enjoy doing while I'm not racing, keep my mind off things, so yeah thanks to him... he's looked after me. I appreciate that."

Random Facts

By April 2023, Max had never seen Star Wars. By April 2025, Max had never seen any of the Harry Potter moves. He's seen a couple of Lord of the Rings though

Lando wears size 9 shoes or 8.5, he said his feet were a tiny bit bigger than Max's, but who knows if he's telling the truth about that as they can share shoes

When asked what animal he would reincarnate as, Lando said hippopotamus and Max said sea urchin (so he can he in the ocean and stab people when they step on you) or plankton 

Lando always tries to get off the plane fast, impatient, walking quickly, doesn’t like getting stuck behind people

Lando said Mcdonalds chicken nuggets may be the best things ever made

Lando used to play around with a lighter

Max drinks tea quite strong, he's mentioned drinking whiskey sours

There were periods when Lando was younger where he’d play games for 36 hours straight

Max's eyes are green, Lando's are blue gray (when he built his VR character he gave it blue eyes) but have some golden brown threads in the middle that I think can make them seem greenish in some lights

Lando likes to travel with a book to look smart but he never reads it just carries it around or puts it on the table.

Lando snores loudly and people have complained about it

Max likes cats despite being allergic, Lando likes dogs more

Lando's brother's dog is named Uno. Max had a cats named Lala growing up. His family has a cat named Bobby (not after Lando, allegedly).

Lando likes to wear hoodies because they make his long neck less noticeable

Lando travels heavy with every possible bag, shoe bag, rucksack, all his computer stuff (“Im such a nerd”). He's got a tablet for movies and some games, work emails but he rarely checks those 

Lando smells like Sure deodorant, and a mix of Louis Vuitton L'Immensite, Tom Ford Ombré Leather, and Dior Sauvage. He likes the smell of all of them so he puts them all on.

Lando works harder on strengthening his neck compared to some other drivers, as others can rest their head against the side while turning to deal with the G-forces, but if Lando tries that and gets his eyes off-level, he can't drive. His brain doesn't like it.

Lando will nap and his neck will be at a 90 degree angle

Max's birthday is July 29 and Lando's is November 13, both 1999

Here's the link to the bios of people who show up in Max's chat

When Lando was around 13-14yo he would spend days on designs for stickers for people's phones or visors, and would go around the paddock in karting trying to sell them to earn a little money.

Lando's favorite gifts are really big paintings people have done that he can put on his walls

When asked what kind of dad he wanted to be, he said "strict" in terms of manners and having good respectful values

In 2024 Max could check Lando's sleep stats because they're in a group with their whoop bands

Max is fine with chopsticks for everything but rice

On stream Max said that when he was at peak fitness as a driver, when he was so strong and also so light, at max he did a plank for up to 6min

Back in the days where Max used to party more, after a night out he would get back in the early hours and always order a McMuffin, he needed the McMuffin to sleep. He's stopped doing that now

Relative Biographies

So Lando’s dad’s British and his mom is from Belgium, not that it matters but I think he was raised somewhere in the country near Glastonbury in Somerset. He has an older brother and two younger sisters. Max’s parents are also from the UK but he spent his youngest years in Singapore and Malaysia, his dad’s in finance. He has a younger brother.

Max started karting in Asia, and started winning everything there, just like crazy talented and obsessed with racing. His parents decided to move back to the UK largely to let him get on the European karting track (the only one that really matters to get to the highest tiers of motorsport). He moved back to the UK when he was like 9 or 10 to kart.  I think I saw that he was homeschooled, so basically all in on karting.

While Max and Lando started karting together in 2010 with Ricky Flynn Motorsport, Max said he remembers seeing Lando practicing before they met, so back in 2009 soon after moving to the UK. They spent a lot of those formative years of 10-13 together, traveling all over for races and competing against each other. Lando became the youngest karting world champion in 2013, and Max was not, but he was competitive and they were on the podium together at that time.

Lando moved up to car racing in 2014, but Max did not. It took until 2015 for him. Lando was younger than him, but already ahead. It’s hard to overstate just how fast Lando shot up through the lower ranks to the very highest tier of motorsport by the time he was 18, with McLaren putting him on teams with Fernando Alonso and things. He won everything he tried on the first attempt and moved up. Max’s career was respectable, but it wasn’t like that. 

In 2015 Max started racing single-seaters, and Lando won British F4, and started going abroad and started winning there too, in Italy, in New Zealand. Max wasn’t there yet. In 2016 Max did British F4 with Carlin, a good team, winning the championship at the final race at Brands Hatch. Lando won Formula Renault, among other things. He won a couple awards at Motorsport Awards.

In 2017 Max’s first year of Formula Renault was mixed, winning the rookies’ title but was not super high in the championship, meanwhile Lando won F3.

The next year Max switched to a more successful team and did win the Eurocup in 2018, and got into the Renault driver academy. Lando got second in F2, despite leading most of the season, because of some unfortunate DNFs later in the season, George won. He was also on reserve for McLaren and drove in a F1 practice session.

In 2019 Max drove in F3, got a couple of podium finishes, but got 10th overall. 2019 of course was Lando’s first season in F1 and the birth of the Carlando juggernaut, he was a very successful rookie and rising star. He was streaming on Twitch more regularly, and got Max to set up his own Twitch channel in September 2019, to as few as like 15 viewers, playing games and hanging out with chat and Lando’s building a platform there too,

In 2020 Max raced in F3 again, but he dropped out before the end of the season, and has said that he struggled with depression. He moved back in with his parents. Lando got first F1 podium and had a great year, got huge on twitch, and he founded quadrant, became CEO of his little brand media company thing. I think he was living alone in his house in Woking. 

2021 Lando’s career continues to do well, podiums and things. He almost wins at Sochi but misjudged the wet tires and slid in a really heartbreaking final laps thing. I don’t know what Max was up to early in the year, I suspect kind of aimless playing golf and streaming on Twitch and figuring things out, but by the middle of the year, Lando announced him as part of quadrant and had Max move in with him. 

They streamed together and were stupid domestic, sharing clothes sometimes. I think they were both single at the beginning but had girlfriends by the end of their time together. Living together ended at the end of the year before Lando moved to Monaco and refused to bring Max along because he didn’t want to be lonely even though Max obviously really wanted to come and even offered to like take care of the house etc. Just a wild convo they had on stream in Dec 2021. 

Lando Analysis

SO on one hand, lando's a simple guy in his mid-twenties with ordinary human needs, like he needs to eat, sleep, be active, play games, socialize, race, etc. he travels and stays fit, drives the car, parties and rests. most of the time he's not in distress. he enjoys life and gets to do lots of cool things. on the other hand, he’s a seething mess of ego and insecurities with complex emotional needs.

his ego is pretty big, like despite being humble about it, he knows he’s one of the best in the world at an incredibly strenuous and glamorous activity. he has the confidence it requires to get behind the wheel of an F1 car and risk all that danger to defeat legendary champions. he didn't win for a long time, but he bought into the mclaren project and stuck it out there for long enough to win.

he also has the confidence (and money) to start a company, the insight and experience about the internet to build a brand, all his years online taught him a great deal, and he has a large team of smart people around him helping him succeed. he's very young, but has quite a lot of power and authority and attention.

his ego is a bit brittle though, naturally, and there are ways in which he is vulnerable to spiraling. there are lots of reasons for that. he feels inferiority and anxiety about making people happy, and he turns inward and is intensely self-critical.

he definitely used to be small, with a big, cool older brother, in the middle with younger sisters. he has very loving and supportive parents who helped him do what he wanted to do, giving him a bedrock belief that he’s loved and special. while he gained some close friends through karting, but he was kind of a loner as a teen, a gamer, introverted and a little bit weird, until he got older and more social, getting with girls etc.

i think he's said he’s dyslexic, not interested in school, but not at all stupid, which must've been frustrating. he hates being bad at things and will try very hard to avoid it. he wants people to be happy, to please them and be accepted by them. i think he probably learned to be annoying to beg for attention, but he doesn’t want too much attention now he’s famous, or he only wants attention from a small number of people he holds close.

he just didn’t win while for a long time when he was very small, and that was formative. he didn’t really believe he could, but he did the work without having the expectation of success, because he enjoyed it yes but also i suspect as if openly wanting it would make it disappear, almost walking backward into success. even now he doesn't think of the end result, but just about what he has to do next and tries to make that as good as possible.

[analysis of lando's size kink here]

Example Argument Transcript (from here):

Max reads chat question, “Who’s better at golf?”

Lando brags. “I absolutely dominated today on the golf course.”

“But, would you say, like—”

Lando talks over him. “And, as they say in life, you’re only good, as good, as your last game.” 

Max rolls his eyes and Lando shrugs like the point he made was obvious and he won.

“You done?” Max asks.

“I mean, I have no more… that was like a mic drop moment, mate. That’s like my mic just dropped. There’s nothing else to say.”

There's a long pause. Lando grins like he knows he’s being annoying. 

Max can't let it lie. “But you said I am actually better than you.” 

“Yeah, well you were. Until today.” 

Max smiles with his mouth not his eyes. Lando grins too. 

“I love how you’re actually going to commit to saying ‘Yeah, you are,’ and then you realize—”

“I AM better.” 

“You’re not!” Max slaps his waterbottle against his hand for emphasis. 

“Today, I was better, mate.”

“Today, yes.” 

“If today was the world championship, I won.”

“No, but overall, I win more.”

“Well it doesn’t matter though, ‘cause you’re only as good as your last game.” 

“Yeah, ok, you’re going to be that—”

“I’ve made improvements!”

“Are you going to be that stubborn?”

“I’ve made improvements… I’ve just overtaken you in the game of golf.” 

A pause, but Max just can't let that go. “Well I won yesterday.” 

“That’s yesterday. No one cares about yesterday.”

“We didn’t play yesterday, the day before.” 

“No one cares about that.”

“Yeah, but I, like, if we play ten games, I’ll win seven.” 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No?”

“Yes!”

“Not with how well I’ve been playing la-today.”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“No—”

“No, you won’t win.” 

“—I’ll win seven.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yeah, I will!”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will!”

“No, you sliced every single one of your drivers.” 

Max turns his body to face him, looking at him directly. “No, I didn’t.” 

Lando seems gleeful to have gotten the reaction, crowing, “Yes, you did.” And laughing as he said “not one driver! I think you wouldn’t’ve ended up on a fairway!” 

“Yeah I did!”

“When?” 

Max turns back forward with arms crossed, thinking. “On the…”

“Ok, let’s go, let’s do this, chat. First one? No. Second one? No. Third one? Water. Fourth one?”

Max interrupts his rhythm. “Where were you on the third one?”

Lando ignores him. “Where’d your fourth one go?” 

Max repeats himself. “Where were you on the third one?”

Lando concedes. “I also went into the water.”

“There you go, yeah.”

“Once!”

Max affects a deeply sarcastic accent “Acting like Tiger Woods out here.”

“Once! What about all the rest of my drives? That wasn’t even a driver!” 

“No—”

“That wasn’t even a drive, all good.” 

“You were good, you were good with the drive today, I’ll give you that, but you’re not like that normally.”

“That’s what I said. I’ve improved.” 

“Yeah no, you were shocked.” 

“But I have! Improved!”

“Better, but you don’t, you won’t, if we play again tomorrow, you won’t do that.”

“Yes, I will.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“Yes!”

“No chance.” 

“Yes, mate.”

“I’m going to video your first drive tomorrow. Guarantee it’s right.” 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll try to hook it so badly—”

Max talks over him saying something else. “It’s not going to be straight. It’s not going to do that.” Max mimes a ball flying straight ahead.

“It will.”

“No chance.” 

“It will!”

“You were even like… oh my god, woah.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause I unlocked something.” 

Intense eye contact. Max smiles, almost predatory. “Yeah? What was that? What’ve you done? Do you remember?”

“Yes, I do!”

“What was it?”

“I’m not going to tell you, ‘cause I don’t want you to get better!”

Max sits up incredulously. “It’s not going to work for my swing. It’s totally different!”

“Well it is!”

“How?”

Lando throws his arm up miming a ball curving in the air. “‘Cause you’re slicing as well!” 

Max sits back and crosses his arms, looking away. 

“This is Max’s shot shape.” Lando mimes a ball shooting forward and curving in front of Max’s face, almost touching him, twice, laughing between and making a loud, adolescent rocket sound, generally being extremely annoying.

“If you do that again, I’m going to draw my hand left across your fuckin face.” 

“You can just do this.” Lando mimes a smacking motion on himself.

“Bosh.” Max pretends to hit him. 

Lando makes a few more rocket sounds.

Max is unable to let it lie. “Normally, you’re not that good.” 

“Yeah, but…”

“Today you were!”

“People improve, Max! People improve! And today, I was unstoppable.” Lando pulls out his cell phone around now, keeping it hidden, and turns on the keyboard clicking sound to prepare to annoy Max a different way.

Max rolls his eyes and repeats the word unstoppable with utmost derision. “Unstoppable… fucking hell, it’s like you’re acting like you hit nine under.” 

“I was unstoppable,” Lando insists. 

“Beat me by like four shots and I played horrendous. Four shots only!”

Lando begins typing and looks up at Max to watch his face, waiting to see him get irritated.

Max glowers straight ahead. “Is that loud enough?”

It does not stop. Max turns to face him again and glares and Lando gives him an impish smile. 

Max says “Stop!” repressively. He reaches for the phone and Lando pulls it back, smiling widely and in an indescribable tone of voice, all the lower registers gone, sounding like he did when he was younger. “I wasn’t even typing anything for the whole thing I was just trying to annoy you.”

They look at each other. Lando said something coy and inaudible.

Max smacks him. “Don’t. Don’t do that!”

Lando cackles.

[eowynstwin]

Saw the AC 141 fanart you reblogged then immediately think about that animal crossing crack theory post here somewhere about humans being in extinction so the animals are keeping you safe in the island, and they're entertaining you with human enrichment activities they think you might enjoy. They might be misguided at times (the loan stuff), but they mean well. And that also explains why they cheer when you move their houses around bcs they think it'll keep you happy. Also, multiplayer is when they arrange a play date with other surviving human(s). T'was the greatest thing I've read this week.

So yeah, imagine COD AC shenanigans where you're the human, and 141 are your island inhabitants who never ask to leave the island.

the art in question

"Moved my bloody house again," mutters Ghost one afternoon, sulking on a beach chair beside Price as they (ostensibly) fish.

"Mm," hums the lion. "Mine last week. Better get used to it."

"Was by the river," the bear continues to lament. "Could hear the water while I was sleepin.'"

Gaz trundles up to join them, setting his box of fishing tackle down. "Sorry mate. Just saw this morning. River's filled in where you were."

Ghost sighs, very long and very loud, and slumps back in his chair. He longs for a beer, but Price had insisted on no alcohol on the island. It made humans screwy and weird, and increased their mortality ratings exponentially.

"I'm sure it ain't for no reason," Price murmurs. The line twitches, but nothing actually bites.

"Last I saw the human was burying a bag of money," says Gaz, extending his own fishing pole. "Not sure there's much of a reason for anything they do."

A low whir, gradually increasing in volume, interrupts the quiet of the day; the sea plane lands by the pier, and Wilbur hops out, followed by an extremely familiar horse.

"No," Ghost moans, "not that bloody numpty, please."

Soap catches sight of the group, brays excitedly, and runs down the beach.

"Fancy seein' you lads here!" he exclaims gleefully. "Heard there's room for me here from your human!" Gaz, the only one really excited to see him, throws him a high five.

"I want to leave," mourns Ghost.

Price snorts. "Good luck with that."

next

[call-me-pup2]

would you be into hearing someone wank over you?

Are we talking literally voice recordings type hear - if so no

Or as in someone messaging to say 'hey this one goes out to you boo' - if yes it's sort of fun to know I'm hot enough for people to think like that about me