#sam and joel... well | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daryltwdixon · 1 month ago

Note

Hi angel!

I’m here for a request, but not a typical one. I want to request that you finish something you’ve been working on but maybe are nervous that people won’t want it. Something YOU have always wanted to write.

Okay that’s it love you bye 🖤

𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Summary: You tried to love Joel Miller the way he was. But eventually, the silence, the walls, the way he kept you at arm’s length… it broke something in you. So you let him go. || angst! fluff! smut! we got it all! MDNI 18+, Jackson!Joel, break up, joel is bad at feelings, makeup sex (eventually), pinv, love makin', lots of kissing cause I wanna kiss him, fingering, f!receiving oral, and yeah its a little corny idc, tiny mention of an age gap|| Inspired by Kacey Musgrave's song Space Cowboy a/n: taylorrrrrrr my angel girl I could cry ilysm. I’ve always had this thought that Joel Miller, at least at first, would be emotionally unavailable and like...not willing to really date. In p1, he’s constantly shutting Ellie down when she brings up Tess or Sam and Henry, Tommy when he offers him that photo of Sarah. Sure, by the end he’s more open, because Ellie made him feel something again. But I think being romantically involved would be hard for him at first. I've always wanted to explore that, and this been collecting dust in my wips since I wasn't sure how everyone would feel. so all this to say....here you go :')

For once, Joel Miller stayed the night.

Not by accident, not because he was drunk off his ass and you made him crash on your couch. No, you’d seen that version of him more times than you could count. But last night, after fucking you hard enough to leave dents in your drywall from sheer force of the headboard, he’d collapsed beside you, pulled you against his chest, and… stayed.

Almost like he meant to.

So god forbid you woke up the next morning with your cheek against his bare chest, your thigh slung over his hip, still foggy brained in the haze of sleep, and asked if he wanted to go grab breakfast at the dining hall.

You might as well have asked What are we?

Or worse: Will you be my boyfriend forever and ever, Joel?

Now he was out in your living room, shoving his boots on by the front door as sun poured in dusty light across the floorboards. You leaned against the archway in his flannel, bare legs out, nothing but the socks on your feet and silence in the air.

You watched him with narrowed eyes. To say you didn’t know what this was would be like saying the sky wasn’t blue. And you weren’t a liar.

Because you saw it, saw the same pieces being shunted between you. He was building it up again. Brick by brick. That impenetrable wall was back high and tight.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally.

He didn’t answer, only grunted.

Of course.

“You come here a few nights a week, we hookup and then…what? I don’t exist once your pants are back on? The one night you actually stay with me and I ask you to eat breakfast, I’ve suddenly crossed a line?”

“That’s enough,” Joel muttered, jaw clenched tight.

The way he said made your stomach twist something ugly.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a long breath as your voice flattened into something stale, “You’re right. That’s enough.”

You stepped in front of where he was sitting, his chin tilting up to meet your eyes for once. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t back down. He just looked at you like he didn’t understand why you were standing in the way of his exit.

“What do you want, Joel?”

He shook his head and leaned down to finish tying his boots. “Don’t want nothin’ from you.”

That stung more than it should have. “Trust me,” you said scoffing. “I got that message a long time ago.”

He stood, slow but abrupt, towering over you as if it was easier to loom than feel anything at all. “What is it you want from me, girl?”

“I want you to admit there’s something here!” you finally snapped, your blood beginning to boil, “I want you to act like all these nights mean something! Like I’m not just a warm body you crawl to when you’re lonely.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I want you to talk to me. I want something real. But you don’t even try.”

“I am tryin’,” he said, eyes squeezing shut once before looking at you under heavy brows.

“No, you’re not,” you said, and your voice cracked, not quite out of sadness, but rage. “You’re just—” your hand cut the air, motioning to all of him. “You’re existing, Joel. Going through the motions like you’re waiting for it all to be ripped away. You’re so damn scared of letting anything good happen that you’re choking the life out of it before it can even start.”

His jaw twitched, shoulders stiffening. That look in his eye—rage, grief, guilt—you weren’t sure which it was, but it burned cold and hard beneath the surface.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly, but there was venom behind the words. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” You stepped closer, letting your voice drop to something soft and gentle as you lifted your hands to his chest. You looked up into his eyes, now dark as storm clouds above a forest as you whispered, “Let me in.”

He didn’t answer, only stood there, breathing slow through his nose, his body rigid like he was waiting to be hit.

You shook your head, your hands falling back down to your sides in fists, “You always talk about space,” you murmured. “Needing time.”

You turned on your heel and stomped toward the door, yanking it open with a loud creak. Cold autumn air rushed in, hitting your bare skin and stinging your eyes.

“Well,” you said, voice low and bitter. “Your prayers have been answered.”

You swung your arm out toward the open doorway.

“You can have your space, cowboy.”

Joel paused for a long moment. Because maybe for once he realized you meant it. Like maybe he’d expected you to cave, to give him the same grace you always did. But you were tired.

Tired of not knowing what this was. Tired of not knowing what you were to him. Tired of the way he’d shut down and pull away when you could feel the good in him, the gold buried under all that iron.

You knew he was a good man. He just wouldn’t show it to you.

Slowly, he started toward the door. Time dragged as he approached you, whether that was because every step looked like it cost him something or you were cataloging every movement he made to store in your memory.

He reached the threshold and stopped, the morning light catching the edge of his face, soft and golden. He looked back at you, but you didn’t lift your eyes.

Then softly, just a whisper, he said your name. As if he knew it was the last time.

Finally, you looked up at him, biting your lip to keep back the tears.

“I’ll see you around, Joel,” you said. “I know my place. And maybe it’s just not with you.”

You couldn’t quite make yourself regret being with Joel.

Not even for a second.

You told yourself a hundred times in the days that followed that what happened between you and him had been real. Maybe not enough, maybe not lasting, but real. And sometimes that was all you got.

Roads were made to go down. Some just didn’t have a way back.

And if you’d been smarter, you would’ve remembered what the movies always tried to teach: the good guys don’t run away.

But the broken ones sure as hell do.

And Joel Miller had always been a runner. Even if he showed signs of want, of connection only through the nights with your name on his lips like prayer and he took your body like it was his salvation.

But when a horse wants to run, there’s no sense closing the gate.

In the weeks after you’d broken things off, you saw him everywhere. Yes, in the little things like the butcher’s stall that had a sign he’d made and the wooden figurines in your neighbor’s windowsill, but more than that, you actually saw him.

From across the market gathering whatever it was he needed one week, or the back of his head on horseback heading out with a patrol group, or his flannel at the edge of the community garden, nodding to someone like he was fine. Like nothing ever happened. He never looked your way, not once. But you looked at him.

And the days you didn’t see him were somehow worse.

You'd catch yourself worrying. Wondering if something went wrong on patrol, or…if he was holed up with another woman in a house that wasn’t yours, if he’d finally decided to try with someone easier.

Someone who didn’t ask him to talk. Someone who didn’t wear his t-shirts and expect breakfast the next morning.

Two months passed like that— slow and strange, like you were trudging through water. You kept to yourself, did your work, smiled at friends when they asked if you were okay. You told them you were tired, that you were busy. That you were fine.

But there was something about Joel that clung to you like smoke.

It didn’t matter how many days you went without seeing him. He was still everywhere. Whether it was in the smell of pine when it rained, the creak of your porch steps when you’d hoped it was him, or the ache of your thighs the first time you tried to be with someone else and couldn’t go through with it.

Because try you had. Over and over, you’d tried.

And on one stormy night, three sharp knocks slammed against your front door like warning shots.

You were curled up on the couch beside someone who was… fine. He was nice, respectful, said “please” and “thank you” and laughed at your lame jokes with his hand resting on your knee. You were trying, honest, to feel something. To find that spark again, to forget about the one you’d known all too well.

But you couldn’t force yourself to, could you? So when the knocks slammed into the wood of your front door, you were almost grateful, because the man on your couch had just been leaning in for what you were pretty sure was a kiss.

Eric? Aaron? Whatever his name was blinked, glancing toward the door. “You expecting someone?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Another knock. More like a demand now.

“Let me just see who it is,” you said quietly as you crossed the room, your bare feet silent on the hardwood, and opened the door.

Joel nearly fell through it.

Rain clung to him, dripping from the hem of his jacket, pooling beneath his boots. Mud streaked up the sides of his jeans. His hair was soaked to his scalp, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. There was something feral about them.

He didn’t even say a word as he stepped forward, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you.

It was messy and sudden and rough, tasting hot with whiskey, his stubble scraping your skin as he tilted your chin up, as if he had the right. As if you were still his. You froze for a heartbeat, maybe two. Because you had missed him. Missed him in ways you hadn’t even let yourself feel yet. But this…this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. And the second that sick, hot twist of anger rose up in your gut, you shoved him.

“Joel—what the fuck—get off,” you snapped, trying to twist out of his cold, wet grip.

But he kept coming. Hands sliding to your hips, dragging you into him again, his mouth crashing against yours, slurring against your lips, “Missed you. I miss’d ya so fuckin’ bad, baby, I—”

You pushed harder this time, shoving at his chest until he stumbled back a step. He swayed, visibly disoriented, breath catching as he reached for the doorframe to steady himself. His eyes blinked slowly like the room was spinning. When he looked back at you, he looked confused. Like he didn’t understand why you were pushing him away.

Behind you, you heard the floor creak.

“Uh, what the hell is going on?”

Joel’s head jerked up at the voice.

The man stood from the couch, slow and cautious. His brows pulled tight, clearly trying to make sense of what he just walked into. Joel stared for a long moment. Then his whole body stiffened.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, his voice lower now, that mean, Southern bite curling around the words.

You stepped into his eyeline immediately. “Joel—don’t.”

But he moved around you like you weren’t even there, sodden boots heavy on the floor as he stalked forward.

“Get the fuck out,” he said to the man.

The guy blinked, baffled. “Excuse me?”

“I said get the fuck outta her house.”

“She invited me—”

Joel began to move, an angry glower pinching his brows as he moved to get in his face, but you stepped between him, hands on his chest.

“Jesus, Joel,” you said, shoving him back again, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling fast. He turned toward you, eyes wild and heartbroken and far too open, “Can I talk to you?” his eyes glowered briefly at the man behind you, “Alone?”

“Man, you need to leave,” your guest said, annoyed.

You held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. Just… please go.”

He looked at you for a long second, then scoffed, shooting one last glare toward Joel as he stepped out the door.

The second it closed behind him, the silence in the room was deafening.

Joel stood there in the middle of your living room like something unholy. Soaked to the bone and chest heaving. His eyes were red and full of everything he refused to say for the last two months.

The silence stretched, long and heavy.

“Baby, I–” he began, but you shook your head.

“I don’t want to hear it, Joel.” you squeezed your eyes shut, bringing your hands up to rub your temples, “Whatever it is you want to say, I need to hear it when you’re sober.”

You should’ve screamed, should’ve been angry. Hell, you should’ve thrown him back out into the rain and locked the door behind him.

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped forward, carefully, slowly, wondering if he was just going to bolt again.

“Let’s just…get this off,” you murmured. Your fingers found the collar of his jacket, trembling a little from the adrenaline coursing through you as you tugged it down his shoulders. The fabric clung to his arms, soaked and heavy, but he didn’t fight you. And you didn’t realize til after you’d gotten it off of him that his eyes never left your face. Not once.

You hung his jacket up by your door, the fabric freezing and soggy. Then your hands moved to his flannel. The buttons were half-undone already. You didn’t ask, you just kept going.

And still, he didn’t stop you.

You pushed the fabric apart, palms brushing down the front of his chest, and God—he was so cold. But he was still him, even if the cold had gotten to him, had sunken into his skin.

You sank to your knees.

Not for him, and not like that. You just crouched down in front of him and tugged at the laces of his boots. The knot was sloppy and rushed like he had rushed in a fury to put them on. You undid it anyway, peeling each boot off one at a time, your fingers clumsy from the cold and the tension.

Neither of you spoke.

Not until you stood again, eyes meeting his. Something passed between you in that moment, raw and wordless. Maybe a kind of truce. Not forgiveness, just a single thread of mercy, offered in silence just for tonight.

Joel swayed again, catching himself with a heavy hand against the wall. His voice came out low and ragged, like it hurt to speak.

“I… I fucked up, okay?”

You could’ve screamed at him. Could’ve thrown every angry word you’d swallowed these past few months in his face. But instead, you just reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Lift your arms.”

He blinked, confused, but obeyed, sluggish and slow.

You pulled the soaked fabric up and over his head, dropping it to the floor with a wet slap.

“I’m tryin’ t’talk to ya,” he slurred, more firmly this time. “Yer not… listenin’.”

You poked him hard in the chest, “Because I don’t,” you poked again, “want,” a third poke, “to hear it, Joel.”

You poked him one last, hard time, his face turning into a grimace as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but you kept going.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take a shower, and I’m gonna make sure you don’t bust your head open on the tub. Then you’re drinking some damn water and sleeping it off on the couch.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with a sharp look.

“If you still wanna talk after that? When you’re sober and not dripping all over my floor? Then maybe I’ll listen.”

He stared at you for a long moment, rainwater still clinging to his skin, chest rising and falling. Then he nodded. Just once, his face falling, his eyes wide.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You draped the blanket over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. He was half-asleep already, sunk deep into the couch cushions, still damp around the edges but warm now, finally. Clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants he left behind many nights ago, water by his side, the softest throw you owned wrapped snug to his chest.

Joel blinked up at you slowly, lids heavy and uneven. His hair was still a little wet, curling at his temples. That same whiskey glow lingered in his eyes, glassy and soft.

“Yer so pretty,” he mumbled, words slurred as he watched you tuck him in, “Really miss’d ya.”

“Okay, Joel,” you said halfheartedly, not believing a word of it.

He blinked again, slower this time. “Even when I was t’dumb to say it… I always wanted t’come back ‘ere. To you.”

You froze.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a smile anyway. Brushed a dark hair from his forehead with careful fingers.

“Okay, cowboy,” you said gently. “Drink your water and rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He hummed, the sound low and content. “M’kay.”

And as you turned to leave, his hand found the edge of the blanket again, clutching it close.

You were up before him the next morning, the sky still a pale and silvery grey through the kitchen window when you set the kettle on.

You’d saved the last of the good coffee grounds for this, maybe because some part of you hoped he’d come back. Maybe because opening the jar, running your fingers through the coarse grinds, breathing in the bitter scent… it helped when you missed him.

The rich smell filled the room as it brewed, creeping into the corners of the house like a memory. You heard the low groan from the couch before you saw him. The rustling of blankets and the sound of his hand rubbing against his beard.

You poured a mug and walked over slowly.

He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Bleary and still half-fogged. When he finally lifted his face, eyes squinting against the light, you held the mug out to him.

He blinked at it. Then at you.

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough with sleep and whatever was still left from the whiskey. He took it gingerly, careful to avoid your fingers.

You sat down in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you, keeping a decent distance with your hands wrapped around your tea to ground you.

Joel took a sip from his mug, closing his eyes and exhaled a sigh, long and slow.

“Needed that,” he murmured, setting the mug on the table.

You nodded, watching him out of the corner of your eye. His beard was scruffier than usual, curling at the edges. Eyes rimmed in red, lashes still clumped from sleep. His face was carved in exhaustion, but even now, something about him still softened when he looked at you.

“I’m, uh…” he started, then shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m real sorry about last night. Feel awful.”

You gave a crooked smile. “Yeah, I figured the hangover’d be brutal.”

He shot you a look. “Not like that, smartass.”

Your smile deepened in spite of yourself. The silence between you hummed a little, something warm and bitter like old whiskey. You broke the gaze first, sighed, and stared down into your tea.

“So,” you said.

“So…” he echoed, rubbing at the corner of his jaw. His fingers rasped against the unshaven stubble. “I, uh… I ain’t so good at this.”

You nodded. That much, at least, didn’t need explaining.

“But I meant what I said,” he added quietly. “I’ve… ya know. Missed you.”

You lifted your mug again, stalling with a sip. You didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t plan to. The old version of you might’ve melted on the spot with so few words. Not this time. You needed more. Real words. The truth of it.

Joel watched you, waiting. Then waited some more.

The longer the silence stretched, the more agitated he looked. His mouth twitched, like he was finally coming to terms with the fact he was gonna have to work for your forgiveness.

He leaned back finally, one arm slung along the back of the couch, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Not gonna give me anythin’, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, setting your mug down with a quiet clink on the coffee table, “I thought you came here with somethin’ to say.”

“I was drunk.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” you said simply. “So let’s hear ’em.”

Joel let out a low groan, dragging his hand over his face again. “Okay,” he muttered into his palm before reaching for the coffee again.

He took another sip, holding the mug like it might shield him from what came next.

“I dunno all the shit I’m supposed to say,” he muttered finally. “It’s not…easy for me.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk, even if the words came slow and uneven.

“I’m used to... keepin’ things in. Just dealin’ with whatever shit came my way. I never…never really had this before, someone who wanted to know what was goin’ on in here.” He glanced your way, tappin’ his temple.

“So when I started comin’ around here… and it felt good… felt, I dunno, safe… I think I got scared I’d fuck it up. Or that maybe I already had.”

You blinked slowly, processing the mess of it. His voice, low and gravelly, kept catching like it was tripping over things he didn’t know how to say. Like there were words he wanted to find but had never really practiced out loud.

“Joel,” you sighed, fingers fidgeting around your knees, “I just want to know…what it is you want. Because it seems like we want different things.”

His eyes found yours across the couch, setting his coffee down as he shook his head, and sat forward, leaning closer to you, “No, no. That ain’t it. I want this, I just…” he trailed off, rubbing his face into his hands. You almost felt bad, how hard this was for him.

Then, his eyes looked up, and he sat back. “Can you come here?”

You weren’t sure if you were ready for this part. Because part of you knew how fast you’d give in if you touched him. Knew how easy it would be to fall back into his arms and forget everything you’d been hurting over. But your chest ached for it. And the way he was looking at you, so raw and cracked open, it made you move against your better judgement.

Slowly, you crawled over. He shifted to make room and when you tucked yourself beneath his chin, his arm came around you like he’d been waiting. Both hands found your arm, rubbing gently like he could feel the chill under your skin.

It was odd, almost. Most of the times he’d pulled you in like this were when you were both naked, the post coitus hormones running high, limbs tangled up and skin flushed.

“Missed this,” he murmured, his voice warm against your hair.

You swallowed. You missed it too, missed him, even when he made it impossible.

He shifted just enough to tilt your chin up, fingers brushing along your jaw. His eyes searched yours, darker now but softer. You saw something there you hadn’t seen in the light before. Not when he wasn’t trying to hide it.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he leaned in.

The kiss was soft and careful, the kind that said he was still learning how not to ruin things.

You kissed him back, breathing him in, your hand fisting in his shirt gently.

But then you caught yourself and pulled away, your hand untangling from the fabric to rub your eyes, “Joel–”

“What do you need me to say?” he asked quietly. There was no bite, no sharpness in his tone. “What is it you want to hear?”

“I can’t just…tell you. I want to know what you want, not just…feeding me what I want to hear.”

His fingers stayed at your jaw, steady. He looked at you like he was searching for the right words, like he wanted to get them right this time.

“I want this,” he said. “I want you.”

His voice cracked slightly. He held your gaze, his hand still gentle on your face.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole before. I didn’t get it.”

You watched him closely as his brow pulled in. This time it wasn’t stubbornness, but something closer to pain.

“Let me try again.”

He must’ve taken your silence as hesitation, because he kept going, voice picking up like he was trying to get ahead of the panic building in his chest.

“I know how it looks, I know I’ve been—Jesus, I’ve been a fuckin’ wreck about this, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. With what I feel when I’m around you. It’s not just… It’s not just wantin’ you in my bed, it’s everything.”

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just sat there listening, because holy shit, you’d never heard this man talk so damn much. Never heard him unravel like this, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And it was pouring out of him now, fast and messy, as if trying to outrun the fear of messing it all up again.

“I wake up thinkin’ about you. I walk around Jackson wonderin’ what you’re doin’, what you’re thinkin’ about. I’d hear someone say your name and feel like an idiot ‘cause it’d make me smile. And then I’d remember I fucked it all up. That you were done with me. That you should be.”

His gaze dropped along with his hand from your face.

“But then I’d remember...what the hell do I think I’m doin’, bein’ with someone like you? You’ve got this whole life to live. You’ve still got time. Options. People your own age who can give you things I can’t.”

He looked at you again, and this time his eyes were pained and earnest.

“What happens in a few years when I hit sixty, and you still got your life ahead of you? What happens when I’m gone and you’re—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

You surged forward and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into you, kissing him hard again, and again, like you could stop his words with your mouth. Like maybe if you kissed him enough, it would undo the ache in his voice.

“I was tryin’ to talk to you, you know,” he murmured against your lips, breath warm, a hint of a smile breaking through.

You nodded, laughing through the tears you didn’t remember letting fall. Your face was wet, your throat tight.

He pulled back just a little, his hand back to cradling your cheek. His eyes searched yours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “It’s just…I’m happy is all.”

And then he grinned back, and he was kissing you again and it was like something broke open in him. A dam cracked, all that restraint, all that aching hesitation he’d carried for months poured out in the way his hands slid into your hair, the way his mouth deepened against yours.

You barely had time to gasp before he was pressing into you, kissing you harder now, like he needed to make up for every second he’d spent staying away.

And he pushed you gently down onto the couch cushions, his palm cradling the back of your head as he guided you flat and braced himself above you. His body laid flush against yours, that familiar warmth of him enveloping you.

You felt the heat of him, the weight of him, every line of him sinking into you like he’d finally allowed himself to kiss you in the daylight.

You moaned softly against his lips, your thighs parting instinctively beneath him as he settled in the cradle of your hips. He dragged his mouth down your jaw, across your cheek, leaving heat in his wake, murmuring something low against your skin that you couldn’t quite catch—something desperate and grateful.

You arched into him, your hands sliding up his chest, and he caught one of them, threading his fingers between yours. He pulled back just enough to kiss your fingertips, slow and reverent, then your knuckles, one by one, all while holding your gaze.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, kissing the inside of your wrist this time, right over the spot where your pulse jumped.

Your skin burned under his gaze. You cupped his face with your free hand, thumb brushing his bottom lip slowly as your thighs lifted higher around his waist. You ground up against him, dragging friction against the hard outline of him beneath his sweatpants.

His eyes fluttered shut, breath catching. He exhaled like it had been held in his lungs for weeks.

“If you keep doin’ that,” he rasped, “I’m not gonna be able to take the time I wanna take with you.”

You smiled, warm and crooked. “Don’t want you to take your time,” you whispered, pulling him back down to your mouth.

His lips met yours again, deeper now, more urgent. One hand threaded through your hair, the other roaming your side as your tongue met his, soft and slick and hungry. He groaned into your mouth, kissing you deeper and deeper.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your skin, trailing kisses to your throat, “you feel so fuckin’ good beneath me, baby.”

“Missed you so much, Joel,” you breathed, eyes shutting as his teeth scraped your neck, the sting of it blooming hot under his tongue.

He was already fumbling with your shirt, pushing it up until you were bare to him, braless, chest rising and falling. His mouth latched onto your nipple without hesitation, all heat and need and reverence. You moaned, back arching, one hand gripping his hair.

“Missed you,” he echoed, voice rough, “Missed this.”

You looked down at him, gasping. He was so pretty like this—lashes low, mouth full, lips slick. Always so careful, making sure you felt good, that you were ready. That you wanted him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with something that could only be described as devotion. “Wanna show you how much I missed it,” he said, kissing you hard on the lips before trailing back down your body. His tongue flicked out, slow, teasing, licking every inch he could get his mouth on until he reached the waistband of your pants.

Clothes disappeared fast, a blur of limbs and fabric. He hiked your legs up over his shoulders, settling between them like he belonged there. Because he did, after all.

“And don’t even get me started on her,” he said, voice playful now, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him most. “Missed her too.”

“Joeeel…” you mewled, already dizzy with how close he was.

He kissed the left side of your center, then the right, slow and careful. “Thought about her every night,” he murmured, mouth hot and close, “dreamed about how she tastes.”

And then he kissed your clit, and you jolted.

He moaned softly, like this was what he’d been starving for. His tongue flattened, dragging slow, wet strokes from your weeping entrance up to your clit, then back down again. When he pressed the tip inside you just a little, your hips rolled instinctively, your moan coming out sharp and breathless.

He let you move and grind against his mouth, his tongue, let you tangle your fingers in his hair and chase that growing pressure in your belly.

The sleep was gone now. Whatever haze he’d been in had burned off completely.

Joel moaned softly against your skin, tongue dragging another long stroke through your folds, savoring the taste of you like he’d been craving it since the second he left your bed two months ago. He kept going until your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your fingers twisting in his hair, breath stuttering out of your lungs in broken little gasps.

Then his mouth slowed. He pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing against your swollen center as he spoke, the tickle of his beard making you twitch.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, almost reverent. “She’s even sweeter than I remember.”

And then you felt his hand sliding up your leg, rough and broad, fingertips stroking the crease where your thigh met your heat. He watched you as he moved, mouth parted, eyes dark and focused, completely dialed in on the way your body writhed beneath him.

He pushed one finger in, nice and slow, and it felt like heaven and hell at once. That thick, slow pressure opening you, curling into that soft spot inside you with practiced ease. Like memory.

Your back arched off the couch. You whimpered, head rolling back. He’d always had the thickest fingers, one was all you needed to feel that tight stretch of him.

“Shit,” he groaned, watching your face as he moved it. “You feel that? How tight she still is for me?”

You could barely answer. You only moaned louder when he added a second finger, working you open, his knuckles brushing where your body fluttered around him. His fingers were so big and broad, callused, perfectly angled. They filled you so good it made your thighs shake.

He set a deep, unhurried rhythm that had the sounds of your wetness filling the room, obscene and beautiful as he brought his mouth back to your clit. He could feel the pulsing of your velvet walls around him as he continued pushing his fingers into you.

“There she is,” he said, pausing the flicking of his tongue, “Look at you, takin’ it so good, like always, baby,”

His lips pursed around your clit and sucked hard, making your breath stutter and stomach tense. Within seconds, you were arching and clamping down on his fingers, your nails digging into his scalp as he moaned against you.

Suddenly your whole body was locking up, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out, your release washing over you in a shudder that left you boneless and gasping. Joel kept moving through it, easing you down, letting you ride every last wave while he whispered against your skin.

“There you go. That’s my girl. Just like that.”

When your breath finally evened out, your eyes fluttered open and he was already moving up your body, slow and sure, kissing your skin as he went.

He pressed a kiss to your stomach, your ribs. Then up curve of your breast, all the way to your collarbone. Your throat.

And finally, your mouth.

Kissing you deep and full, he let you taste yourself on his lips. It was like honey and tang and the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was no place else he'd rather be than between your thighs, tasting your breath and holding your face like it was something fragile, something his. His mouth moved slowly over yours, tongues sliding together, hands still trembling faintly with how badly he wanted you.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice frayed. “I missed you. Missed you so goddamn much.”

Your fingers trailed down his chest, down to his waistband, dragging the pair of sweatpants down over his hips, not caring how clumsy it was. You needed him. You needed him now. He helped, kicking them off without hardly breaking the kiss. Your hand wrapped around him, hard and flushed and aching against your thigh.

“Jesus—” he groaned, his hips jolting forward into your palm, his forehead pressing into yours as his breath came hot and shaky, “Been a minute, take it easy,”

Your own body was on fire, soaked, aching for him. His voice, his hands, the weight of him over you was too much and yet not enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, “please.”

“Tell me you want it,” he said, and it didn’t sound like teasing. It sounded like pleading. His voice broke like it physically hurt him to ask. “Tell me you still want me.”

You nearly sobbed with need, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He reached between you to line himself up, the thick head of him dragging through your folds. You were so wet it made both of you groan, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room. He rocked his hips forward, just the tip pressing against your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, his voice thick, breathless. “So warm.”

You writhed under him, thighs spreading wider, needing more. You could barely think.

“Joel– Jesus– please, just fuck me already.”

He smiled at that and sank into you in one long, devastating thrust, burying himself deep. You cried out, hands clutching at the nape of his neck as your body stretched to take him. Thick, hot, perfect. He filled you like he never left. Like he’d been made to fit.

“Shit,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven. Always have.”

He stayed there for a second, shaking with the effort to hold back, “I’m not gonna last,” he admitted, voice strained, “Christ, been a while, huh?”

“You didn’t–?” you blinked up at him, catching your breath.

He shook his head, jaw clenched, a shiver running through him as he twitched inside you. “No. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He paused, looked down at you, eyes searching. “Did you?”

You cupped his face in your hands like he was delicate beneath your touch.

“No,” you said softly. “No one’s like you, Joel.”

Something shifted behind his eyes, something aching and raw and beautiful. His mouth fell to yours, kissing you deep, as your hips lifted to meet his.

And then he started to move.

He was slow at first, deep and dragging, every stroke deliberate, like he was trying to memorize how you felt all over again. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his hair, your breath catching with every roll of his hips.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

And then you heard it—gasping, raw, like it ripped itself from his chest.

“I love you,” he groaned. “Fuck—I fucking love you.”

Everything felt like it slowed down.

Your bodies didn’t stop moving, not yet, but something inside your chest pulled tight. Like your heart was trying to brace for impact. Like you hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear it until it was right there, spilling out of his mouth in that low, broken voice, rough with disbelief and months of silence.

Something woke up under your skin, hot and bleary eyed, the kind of heat that lives dormant, that fills your throat and makes your pulse race. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how this man was looking at you.

He was still inside you, still moving with that same steady rhythm, but his eyes were locked on yours now. Wide and dark and raw. His mouth hung open slightly like he was waiting for you to say something, anything, to tell him whether he’d just changed everything or ruined it.

Your hands came up slowly, almost in disbelief, and you touched his face, one palm to his cheek, the other curling into the back of his neck like you needed to feel he was real. Your voice caught in your throat before you could even speak, but somehow it pushed out.

“You love me?” you whispered, and the sound of your own voice didn’t even sound like yours.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Something cracked open inside you, something deep and hidden and too tired to be cautious anymore. You kissed him, harder than you meant to, your mouth catching his in a collision that felt like everything snapping. He groaned against you and kissed you back like it was instinct, like he’d been waiting for your permission to give in completely.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips brushing his, your body still pulsing around him, still stretched wide and full, still needing more. “Say it again,” you whispered, not because you doubted him, but because you needed to hear it again. Needed to feel him give it to you without fear.

His hand slid to your jaw, holding you there, and his voice came softer now, steadier. “I love you.”

The words landed different this time. Less like an accident, more like a promise.

Your chest ached. You felt it rise up and out of you, that thing you’d been holding back for so long. “I love you too,” you said, and you didn’t have to think about it, didn’t need to second guess. It had always been there.

His head dipped and he kissed you again, deeper this time, not frantic like before but slow and thorough, like he wanted to feel every part of your mouth. His thrusts never stopped. They grew more purposeful now, more measured, like he wasn’t afraid anymore of where this was going, only desperate to take you with him.

He shifted slightly, reaching down to pull your leg higher around his waist, and the new angle made your whole body tense. He sank even deeper, drawing a low sound from your throat you hadn’t meant to make. You felt the build starting again, that tightening low in your stomach, that ache rising in time with every thrust, your body greedy for it, your hands clawing at him like you needed to hold on to something solid while everything else inside you fell apart.

You buried your face against his shoulder, your mouth open, your breath catching, your body clenching tight around him. He groaned your name into your skin, over and over, like it was the only word left in the world.

And then you came. Hard. Full-body, all-consuming, a wave that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your vision white around the edges. Your whole body trembled, and he held you through it, never breaking rhythm, never letting go.

He followed a second later, with a sound that sounded something close to a sob. He thrust deep and stayed there, grinding into you as he spilled inside, his whole body shuddering with the release.

You felt him lift his head to press his forehead to yours, felt the weight of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the thudding of his heart trying to slow against your chest.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was nothing to say. Just the feel of him still inside you, the heat of him wrapped around you, the echo of those three words still settling into the space between your bodies.

You closed your eyes and let it all soak in.

Because this time, you believed him.

#ask daryltwdixon #joel miller #yikes this got long #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel x you #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x you smut #jackson!joel #jackson!joel miller #requests

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fandom · 7 months ago

Text

TV Fictional Characters

The Pines & Friends supremacy continues.

Bill Cipher | Gravity Falls

Alastor | Hazbin Hotel

Anthony J. Crowley | Good Omens

Aziraphale | Good Omens

Stanley Pines | Gravity Falls

Stanford Pines | Gravity Falls

Lucifer Morningstar | Hazbin Hotel

Evan Buckley | 9-1-1

Mabel Pines | Gravity Falls

Dipper Pines | Gravity Falls

Dean Winchester | Supernatural

Edmundo Diaz | 9-1-1

Charlie Morningstar | Hazbin Hotel

Fiddleford McGucket | Gravity Falls

Lestat de Lioncourt | Interview with the Vampire

Louis de Pointe du Lac | Interview with the Vampire

Castiel | Supernatural

Eddie Munson | Stranger Things

Armand | Interview with the Vampire

Steve Harrington | Stranger Things

Daniel Molloy | Interview with the Vampire

Will Graham | Hannibal

Colin Bridgerton | Bridgerton

Penelope Featherington | Bridgerton

Tommy Kinard | 9-1-1

Hannibal Lecter | Hannibal

Zuko | Avatar: The Last Airbender

Rhaenyra Targaryen | House of the Dragon

Edwin Payne | Dead Boy Detectives

Leonardo | Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Alicent Hightower | House of the Dragon

Danny Fenton | Danny Phantom

Charles Rowland | Dead Boy Detectives

Donatello | Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Aemond Targaryen | House of the Dragon

Vox | Hazbin Hotel

Husk | Hazbin Hotel

Sam Winchester | Supernatural

Spock | Star Trek

Twilight Sparkle | My Little Pony

Rafe Cameron | Outer Banks

Katara | Avatar: The Last Airbender

Jax | The Digital Amazing Circus

The Fifteenth Doctor | Doctor Who

Aegon II Targaryen | House of the Dragon

Spencer Reid | Criminal Minds

Sokka | Avatar: The Last Airbender

Aang | Avatar: The Last Airbender

Fluttershy | My Little Pony

Michelangelo | Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

The Tenth Doctor | Doctor Who

Adam | Hazbin Hotel

Dr. Gregory House | House MD

James Wilson | House MD

Donna Noble | Doctor Who

Pinkie Pie | My Little Pony

The Fourteenth Doctor | Doctor Who

Raphael | Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Mike Wheeler | Stranger Things

Rainbow Dash | My Little Pony

Will Byers | Stranger Things

Stede Bonnet | Our Flag Means Death

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir | Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir

Edward Teach | Our Flag Means Death

Megatron | Transformers

Joel Miller | The Last of Us

Rarity | My Little Pony

Marienette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug | Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir

Arthur Pendragon | Merlin

Agatha Harkness | the Marvel universe

Ellie Williams | The Last of Us

James T. Kirk | Star Trek

Optimus Prime | Transformers

Cooper Howard | Fallout

Sherlock Holmes | Sherlock

Ruby Sunday | Doctor Who

Daemon Targaryen | House of the Dragon

Luz Noceda | The Owl House

Helaena Targaryen | House of the Dragon

Bobby Nash | 9-1-1

Anthony Bridgerton | Bridgerton

Claudia | Interview with the Vampire

Rose Tyler | Doctor Who

Loki Laufeyson | the Marvel universe

Sun Wukong | Lego Monkie Kid

Niko Sasaki | Dead Boy Detectives

Sally Jackson | the Percy Jackson universe

Jacaerys Velaryon | House of the Dragon

Rio Vidal | the Marvel universe

Nightcrawler | the Marvel universe

Simon Petrikov | Adventure Time

Rosie | Hazbin Hotel

Izzy Hands | Our Flag Means Death

Howard "Chimney" Han | 9-1-1

Ahsoka Tano | the Star Wars universe

Omega | the Star Wars universe

Mobius M. Mobius | the Marvel universe

Wallace Wells | the Scott Pilgrim franchise

Hunter | the Star Wars universe

Gambit | the Marvel universe

This is a returning list! Yay!

There are some great Gravity Falls Communities over here, in case you're interested 👀

#year in review #tv fictional characters #tumblr2024

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millers-girl · 3 months ago

Text

before the dawn

chapter 5 of willow & whiskey

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: you escape Kansas City with old and new friends, finally feeling like you might have something to hold onto. Then, morning comes.

warnings/tags: age gap, adult language, blood and violence, death

word count: 6.0k

series masterlist

"Henry?" You asked, eyes widening at the man before you.

The moment he recognized your voice, he said your name – in the same disbelieving tone you'd used.

From behind you, Joel––who had now also sat up and protectively pressed his chest to your back––said, “You know him?”

You nodded, feeling a weight lift off your chest as Henry put the gun away and reached out to wrap you up in a hug. Relief flooded through you, warmth spreading from the familiarity of an old friend in a world where such comforts were few and far between.

You couldn’t believe it was him, after all this time.

“Uh… what the fuck?” Ellie asked.

You pulled away, explaining, "Ellie, Joel, this is Henry. He was in the Boston QZ for a bit when we were little. Henry, this is Ellie, and this is my – uh, Joel."

Henry introduced Sam, his younger brother, to the group before waving to Ellie and reaching a hand out to Joel. “Hey, man, sorry about the rude awakening." Joel shrugged, making Henry drop his hand before turning back to you. "Not very talkative, huh?"

You rolled your eyes lightheartedly. "Oh, you have no idea." After a moment, you asked, "Henry, what's going on? What are you doing here – what’s with the gun?”

Henry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, tension settling into his frame. "I'm the most wanted man in Kansas City. Although right now, my guess is you guys are running a close second."

You could tell this was going to be a long story.

Your gaze flicked back to Joel before you shuffled out of bed and went to grab a flashlight and some rations. You let the flashlight light up the dark room and offered the food to Henry and Sam. They dug in like they hadn’t eaten in days. The sight twisted something in your chest.

You tossed some crackers at Ellie, too.

Then, you settled back down next to Joel, criss-crossing your legs and leaning against him. The contact was instinctive, grounding. You shared your crackers with him, feeling the tension in his frame ease slightly as he accepted.

“Where’d you get these?” Henry asked between bites, scarfing down the sandwiches you’d given him and his brother; it tasted like food from before and he slowed his chewing to savor the taste.

Ellie answered through a mouthful, "From Bill. He's dead."

Your eyes lifted to Joel, who wrapped the remainder of his crackers in his napkin and passed it over to Sam. The quiet gesture left a faint smile on your lips, your heart squeezing at the silent kindness buried beneath all that gruff.

Sam signed thank you, which Henry relayed. "I'm guessing you don't have much, so this means a lot."

You smiled warmly at them before resting your back against Joel’s shoulder, the warmth of him radiating through your tee. “How did you get here from Boston?”

Henry told the story then, his voice thick with memories of his mother dragging them from one QZ to the next in search of something better. But each stop had been the same – fear, cruelty, desperation. And then Sam had come along, the only good thing to come from all that movement. Unfortunately, Sam’s father didn't make it. And, in the end, neither did their mother. When it was just the two brothers, they settled in Kansas City.

"Shit," you murmured after he finished. That was heavy.

The room fell into a silence, only the sound of Ellie and Sam’s quiet chewing filling the space. When everyone was done eating, Joel straightened, already sensing where your thoughts were going and cutting them off before you could even voice them.

"Look, you ate, we didn't kill each other. Let's call this a win-win and move on."

Henry was quick to respond, "Well, I'm betting you all came up here to get a view of the city and plan a way out. And when the sun's up, I'll show you one."

You were already eagerly nodding your head. Before Joel could get another word out, you clapped your hands together. “Great! We’ll pick this back up in the morning then.”

Joel sent you a pointed look, but you just smiled sweetly at him. He let you have that, for now.

Later, as everyone settled in for the night, Henry took up a spot next to you.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you are,” you whispered back, voice laced with an exhausted kind of excitement. “What are the chances?”

He hesitated, then admitted, “I missed you. Wish my mom had never moved us out of Boston. I kinda liked it there – I mean, with you, Jules… Nate. Shit, everyone must look so different now.” He took in your silence. “Oh.”

You were quick to correct him. “Jules is okay, as far as I know. She left the QZ a couple years back when some traders came through from Florida… I think she had enough of the nor’easters.”

Henry quietly chuckled at that. “What about Nate?” When you didn’t offer up any explanation, he sighed defeatedly. “That sucks.”

You nodded.

“So, it’s just you and Ellie now?” He asked at last.

“Me, Ellie, and Joel,” you corrected, eyes drifting to his sleeping form. He looked so peaceful – a rare sight. After a beat, you tore your gaze from Joel and turned back to your childhood friend. “Why is the resistance looking for you?”

And, so, he told you. A few years ago, Sam had gotten sick with leukemia. The little supply of treatment there was belonged to FEDRA. In order to get it, Henry had betrayed one of his closest friends, the leader of the resistance’s brother.

“Shit,” you mumbled. “But Sam’s okay now?” Henry nodded. “Then, you did what you needed to do. You did what anyone in your shoes would’ve done. What I would’ve done for Ellie. You shouldn’t feel shame about it. You kept him alive.”

“But at what cost?” he whispered.

“Is there a cost you wouldn’t pay to keep Sam safe?” You asked quietly. Henry shook his head, no hesitation. “Then, that’s all that matters.”

He nodded slowly, sighing deeply before looking down at his watch. “Guess we should get some sleep.”

“Guess so,” you echoed, stretching. “Why don’t you take my bed?”

His brows furrowed. “You sure?”

You nodded. “I can share with Joel.”

“He’s good with that?”

You grinned. “He’s gonna have to be.”

You grabbed your hoodie and Joel’s jacket and shuffled over to his bed. “Move over,” you whispered, forcing your way into his space. He groaned but complied, shifting to make room for you. When you draped his jacket over the both of you, he sighed in reluctant contentment.

Even as your eyes fluttered shut, you could feel his mind running a mile a minute beside you.

“Stop worrying so much,” you mumbled. “You know, it causes wrinkles.”

Stoic as ever, he replied, “Funny.”

You leaned back a little, eyes now open and staring up at his face. The dim glow of the moon barely outlined his features, shadowing the creases of concern etched into his forehead. His own eyes flickered open, staring back.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, voice softer now.

Another stoic response. “How we’re gonna ditch ‘em in the morning.”

You lightheartedly pushed at his shoulder. “You’re not funny.”

“Wasn’t tryin’ to be.” His voice was steady. After a beat, he added, “Five’s a lotta mouths to feed. Food’s not gonna last to Wyoming.”

Your hand came up to fiddle with the button of his flannel, the rough fabric distracting you. “Why’re you talking about Wyoming?”

“Cause you’re gonna ask ‘em to come along, aren't ya?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re too smart for your own good, Miller.” He let out a single breathy laugh at that, the warmth of it ghosting over your cheek. “... Is it okay? If I ask them, I mean…”

“You’re askin’ me?”

“Five’s a lot of mouths to feed,” you echoed.

A moment later, Joel asked, “You trust him? Even though you haven’t seen him in years?”

You didn’t even have to think about it. “I do.”

He shut his eyes, letting out a tired sigh. “Then, it’s fine by me.”

You blinked up at him. “That’s it? No interrogation? Million questions?”

Joel hummed. You turned, resting your back against his front.

“You really are turning into a softie.”

He hummed again, the slow rise and fall of his chest lulling you into sleep.

In the morning, Henry brought you all to a meeting room on the top floor with a wide wall of windows, the perfect view of Kansas City stretched out below.

"Welcome to Killa City."

The sky was a dull gray, heavy clouds looming over the streets that had seen too much blood. The remnants of chaos were everywhere – burned-out cars, shattered windows… but no Infected.

"No FEDRA," you noted, shuddering as you sat on the table and ate granola for breakfast. "I always heard KC FEDRA were..."

Henry nodded. "Monsters, savages. Raped and tortured and murdered people for 20 years. And, when the people got the first chance, they did it right back to them."

"But you're not FEDRA?" Joel asked, his posture tense, arms crossed over his chest like a barrier.

"Worse. I'm a collaborator."

Joel was immediately shaking his head and taking a step back, towards you.

"I don't work with rats."

He glanced back at you, seeing you shoot him that same look again. It’s gonna be okay.

He huffed out an irritated breath, but stayed put.

Henry chuckled, though there was little humor in it. "Yeah, you do. Today, you do cause I live here and you don't. I know the city, and that's how I'm gonna help you get out."

Joel’s jaw tensed as he glanced between you and Henry, his distrust thick enough to choke on. "Why help us?"

"Because that girl right there – she’s my oldest friend. I owe a lot to her; she's the reason I'm standing here today. And now, it's not just Sam and I anymore. We have numbers. I can show you the way and we can clear the way. I saw what you did – the way you killed those men. You can fight. We can make it through alive, all of us."

Your thoughts were cut off by Ellie and Sam laughing, their giggles slicing through the tension like a knife.

"Haven't heard that in a long time," Henry murmured, eyes meeting yours.

You nodded in agreement. “It sure is something.”

You took a moment to thank the heavens above for Ellie. No matter what happened in this shitty new world, she always remained so full of life, bringing out the best in every situation. Giving you something to live for.

Your gaze shifted to Joel, whose eyes were already locked on you. There was something rare and soft in them.

After a moment, he nodded his head. "Okay, we're in. Tell us the plan."

A few hours later, your group of five was heading through the bank and down into the maintenance tunnels, the damp air thick and musty. Every footstep echoed off the concrete walls.

“This should be it,” Henry informed, making you turn to Joel.

“You ready to get out of this shithole of a city?” You asked, grinning up at him before wincing and turning to Henry. “No offense.”

Henry huffed a quiet laugh. “None taken.”

“Get your gun out,” Joel instructed Ellie as you made your way past the first door, finding an empty, damp corridor.

Henry grinned. “See, it’s empty. Plan is good.”

You chuckled, walking past Joel as he muttered, “Plan is good? We’ve been here two minutes. We don’t know anything.”

Henry winced, turning to Ellie. “Your dad’s kind of a pessimist.”

Your laughter echoed through the tunnels as both Joel and Ellie simultaneously denied the claim and the former pulled you back to him, hand clamped gently over your mouth. “What did we say about staying quiet?”

You rolled your eyes, prying his fingers away. “It’s creepier when we’re quiet.” You motioned towards the dark tunnels ahead.

“It’s safer,” Joel corrected, watching you frown. “Stay behind me.”

At the half-win, you smiled to yourself, knowing that no matter how much he fought it, some part of him was always watching out for you.

At some point, Sam complained of being tired and you happily offered to give him a piggy-back. “It’ll be like flying,” you promised, crouching down so he could climb onto your back. His small arms wrapped around your shoulders, legs dangling as you clasped your hands behind his knees.

You grinned as you exaggerated your movements, swaying dramatically from side to side, spinning around, and leaning forward as if you were about to take off into the air.

His quiet laughter melted your heart, bright and full of life. Even Joel didn’t have it in him to tell him to keep it down.

For the next hour, your group weaved through the tunnel system, boots scraping softly against the concrete floor. The smell in the stale air was the kind that clung to your clothes and skin.

Eventually, you arrived at an entrance marked by a door, the walls surrounding it drawn over with chalk sketches of castles and flowers.

“Woah,” you murmured, shifting Sam gently off your back.

Joel went through first, and you peeked your head over his shoulder to see what lay ahead. The space inside was surprisingly large, filled with remnants of what once must have been a daycare or school. Crayons and papers littered the tables, toys were scattered messily across the floor, and in one corner, a ready nook sat abandoned but strangely inviting, the worn cushions still holding the shape of past occupants.

"I heard about places like this,” Joel said, his voice softer than usual as he took in the remnants of the past. “People went underground after Outbreak Day and built settlements."

"What happened to them?" Ellie asked, fingers skimming over a dust-covered picture book.

Joel shrugged. "Maybe they didn't follow the rules, got infected."

Ellie hummed before sitting beside Sam at a low table, where miniature cars and comic books lay waiting for hands to bring them back to life. You, Joel, and Henry continued exploring, but your attention was drawn to the faded drawings on the wall. Small hands had once pressed against this surface, creating bright colors in the darkness.

The sound of laughter pulled you from your thoughts. “To the edge of the universe and back. Endure and survive,” Ellie said dramatically, lowering her voice.

She called your name, making you turn with a fond smile. “What is it, love?”

"Can we rest here for a while? There's actually shit to do here."

You saw no harm in it. "Yeah, babe. Why don't you and Sam play for a bit?”

Henry nodded in agreement. “Can't hurt to wait out the light, show up on the other side of the tunnels with darkness on our side."

Everyone turned to Joel, who, after a moment, relented with a small nod. The kids wasted no time in kicking around a soccer ball, their joy filling the hollow space.

You tossed off your pack, sinking into a chair as you pulled out your book. If you all were staying for a bit, you may as well get comfortable.

Henry whistled at the sight. “You making your way through the classics?”

You giggled, thumbing the worn pages. “No time like the end of the world to catch up on your reading goals, right?”

“Guess not,” he chuckled. “Is it any good?”

Your gaze flickered to Joel, who was silently pacing. “It’s getting really good,” you murmured, before turning back to Henry with a laugh. “I can’t believe you thought Ellie was Joel’s daughter.”

Henry groaned at that. “I thought she was your and Joel’s daughter.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You thought me and Joel…”

His confusion deepened. “You guys aren’t…?”

You floundered, heat rising to your cheeks. “No, we are… I mean – I think we are… I mean – “ You groaned in frustration before waving a hand dismissively. “Let’s talk about something else, huh?”

As you settled back into your book, Joel eventually came to sit beside you, the chair creaking beneath his weight. You stretched your arms high above your head, a tired sigh escaping as your back arched. The motion made your shirt ride up, exposing a silver of your stomach to the cool air.

Before you even noticed, Joel’s fingers brushed against your skin as he wordlessly tugged your shirt back down. The touch was fleeting, barely there, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t mention it. Instead, you focused on the warmth of his arm, now resting lazily along the back of your chair.

“Ugh, it’s so nice having other people around,” you started.

"You guys don't run into a lot of other people?" Henry asked, gaze flickering toward Joel's casual, yet telling, placement.

You shrugged, smirking. "We're probably not the best company anyway, with Grumpy over here."

Joel shot you a look, but the hardness in his eyes softened when you giggled. “I’m teasing.”

The elated shrieks from Ellie and Sam pulled your attention away for a second. Then, Joel turned back to Henry, exhaling. “Listen, if you were collaboratin' to take care of him… I shouldn't have said what I said. I don't know your situation."

You smiled to yourself, inching closer to the space under Joel’s arm. It was a small thing, but seeing him acknowledge his mistakes felt like a quiet victory – like you were watching him grow as a person and loving every little step you were seeing.

"And I'm not saying they should let it go but, seems kinda cruel to send a whole army after you for that."

Henry sighed, hesitating. "You know… I wasn't, uh, exactly telling you the truth before... about me not killing someone."

He explained to Joel about Sam’s leukemia, about betraying Kathleen for medicine. When he finished, his laughter was hollow. “Still think they should take it easy on me? Or am I the bad guy?"

Joel didn’t answer right away.

Henry scoffed. "I don't know what you're waiting on. The answer's easy: I am the bad buy because I did a bad guy thing."

“No, you’re not,” you said firmly, voice sharper now. “Doing something bad when you're desperate doesn't make you bad. It just makes you human."

Henry shrugged. "I feel like a bad guy. But you get it, though, right, Joel? You might not be Ellie's father... but you were someone's... See, I could tell."

Sarah.

You looked up at Joel, watching his face freeze before hardening to stone once more.

You reached out instinctively, but before you could touch him, he abruptly stood.

“We’ve waited long enough. Ellie, grab your pack. Let's get a move on."

Without another look back, he slung his own pack over his shoulder and walked toward the unexplored end of the tunnel.

Henry and you pulled up the back, and your old friend mumbled, “Not one for dwelling on the past, huh?”

You offered an apologetic smile. “Not really… Sorry.”

When the moon came up, your group made it through to the other side successfully, without any issues from Kathleen's people or Infected. Relief settled over you, but the tension in your shoulders refused to fade completely. The quiet here was unsettling, the kind that made your stomach twist with unease.

“No one’s here,” you mumbled, glancing around the abandoned suburban neighborhood. The wind rattled a loose street sign, the only sound in the eerie stillness.

“I know,” Henry agreed. “And no one’s gonna be, because my plan worked.” He grinned triumphantly.

From up front, Joel commented, “So much goddamn talkin’,” but there wasn’t a hint of malice in his tone.

Even Ellie noticed, and it made her grin.

Henry nudged your side, making you turn to him. “Didn’t I deliver? I mean, I did, didn’t I? I delivered.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, giggling. “You delivered,” you confirmed, making him fist-bump the air.

“Make this right, go down the street, embankment behind the last house… and we’re out,” Henry instructed.

You could taste freedom, happy to be done with Kansas City and leave it behind like a bad dream.

“So, we cross the river and then what?” Ellie asked Henry. “Where are you gonna go?”

Joel glanced back at you.

“Don’t know yet,” Henry answered.

“We’re going to Wyoming,” you said, opening up the topic. “Why don’t you and Sam… come with us?”

Henry hesitated, his eyes flicking to Joel. “You want us to? All of you?”

You silently nodded, speaking for Joel, before Ellie cut you off.

“Oh, if you’re worried about Joel, don’t be. He’ll change his mind. Trust me. This is how it goes.” She lowered her voice, mimicking Joel. “He’s like, ‘No, Ellie. Never, ever, ever happening.’ And then I’m like, “I’m gonna ask you a million more times.’ And he’s like – “

A gunshot rang through the air, cutting Ellie off as the bullet landed mere feet from her.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as instinct took over. You grabbed Ellie, yanking her back behind an abandoned car. Joel crouched on her other side, Henry and Sam scrambling behind.

“Where the fuck is that coming from?” you gasped as another bullet whizzed past, this time shattering the window above you.

“What do we do?” Henry asked.

Joel moved carefully, peeking around the car. When he leaned back, his eyes met yours. “Aright. You and Ellie, stay here.”

Your fingers dug into his arm before you even registered the motion. “What?”

“If you don’t move, he’s not gonna hit you. I’m gonna go around, try to get in the house through the back, and then I’ll take him out.”

Your stomach twisted.

“If you go out there, he’s gonna kill you,” Ellie voiced exactly what you were thinking.

“It’s dark, and he has shit aim. Nobody’s gonna kill me.”

You swallowed hard. “This is a terrible plan.”

Joel’s gaze softened. “Do you trust me?”

Your throat felt tight. “You know I do. Asshole.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips before he reached up, cupping your cheek with a rough, calloused hand. The warmth of his palm calmed you, just a bit.

“If you die doing this…” you murmured, “I’ll kill you.”

He squeezed your cheek gently before slipping away into the darkness.

Minutes passed slowly. Then – a shout. An engine revving.

“Fuck,” you breathed, pulling the safety off your gun.

In a moment, a massive truck barreled through abandoned cars. The ground shook beneath you as chaos erupted. A sniper – Joel, you realized with relief – began firing at the truck. You barely had time to react before the vehicle crashed head first into a house in the corner. The leaking gasoline caused an explosion, beginning to break the concrete ground beneath.

You pushed Ellie towards a car to hide behind, Henry and Sam right behind you. “Are you okay?” You whispered to Ellie, watching as she nodded quickly, eyes gazing over your shoulder at the fire.

“Dead end, Henry,” came an unfamiliar voice – likely, Kathleen’s. “Gonna step on out? Save us some time?”

Henry’s eyes met yours, and you quietly shook your head.

“No? That’s alright. Doesn’t matter,” she taunted.

For a brief second, Henry glanced at Sam, then shut his eyes.

No.

“I’ll come out,” he shouted. “Just let everyone else go.”

“No, sorry,” Kathleen replied. “The girls are with the man who killed Bryan, and Sam… well, Sam’s with you.”

“You don’t understand,” Henry tried.

“But, I do. I know why you did what you did. But, did you ever stop to think that maybe he was supposed to die?”

What the fuck?

“He’s just a fucking kid,” Henry argued.

“Well, kids die all the time, Henry. You think the world revolves around him? That he’s worth everything?”

This woman had clearly never loved someone unconditionally before. Sparing a glance down at Ellie, you decided – yeah, actually, the world did revolve around her. She was worth everything.

“This is what happens when you fuck with fate,” Kathleen continued.

You made eye contact with Henry again, and this time, the look he gave you was different, but you deciphered it nonetheless.

“Get ready to take Sam and run,” he whispered to you.

You were already shaking your head, a lump forming in your throat. “I’m not leaving you,” you said, voice breaking. His gaze narrowed, begging you and finally, you relented and let out a nod, if only to appease him.

“Okay,” Henry agreed aloud before standing up to meet Kathleen’s eyes.

She cocked her gun, ready to take his life, but a sudden creaking caught her attention – caught everyone’s attention. Even you glanced up over the hood of the car, and saw the truck on fire begin to sink into the ground.

A deep groaning rumbled through the ground.

The earth cracked.

For a second, everything was quiet.

Then, the swarm emerged.

Hundreds of Infected clawed their way to their surface, snarling and screeching as they quickly made their way for whoever was closest.

Your pulse skyrocketed, primal terror taking over. “Run,” you ordered, shoving Ellie and Sam ahead. “Go, go, go!”

At some point, Henry grabbed Sam and you pushed Ellie forward just as an Infected tackled you. You hit the ground hard, the air punched from your lungs. Clawed hands scrambled for your throat.

A gunshot rang out, and suddenly the weight disappeared.

You gasped, blinking up to see a familiar silhouette on the top floor of the house.

Joel.

You bolted upright, frantically scanning for Ellie. Her ponytail caught your eye just as she was trapped inside a car, with an Infected.

“Oh, my God,” you choked out, yanking the door open. Ellie fell into your arms, and you held her tightly for just a moment before grabbing her hand and startlingly looking around for Henry and Sam.

They were trapped beneath a car, Infected clawing at them from outside.

You met Joel’s eyes. A single nod. That was all it took.

You maneuvered through Infected, shooting and stabbing – and Joel caught whoever you missed – until you reached the pair.

You helped Henry out while Ellie pulled Sam free, leading him towards the embankment. You followed right after her, hand clutching Henry’s in a death grip, never looking back at the sound of screeching and gunfire.

You didn’t look back until another set of hands rested on your waist – a familiar, large, calloused pair of hands. A shuddering breath left you, and you dropped Henry’s hand and reached back to interlace your fingers with Joel’s. His grip was firm, grounding. You clung to it as the five of you ran, as if letting go would make everything behind you catch up and drag you under.

The night swallowed the chaos of the city behind you, leaving only your ragged breaths and hurried footfalls echoing against the empty streets of the KC suburbs. You didn’t stop running until your legs burned and your chest ached, until you’d reached a beat-down motel on the outskirts of town.

Ellie and Sam were in the bedroom, quietly murmuring to each other as they flipped through their comic book. You, Joel, and Henry rested in the dimly lit living room, the silence between you thick.

Henry ate quietly, his movements slow and mechanical.

You hadn’t let go of Joel’s hand since the bridge. Not when you stopped to catch your breath. Not when you settled against the motel wall.

Now, your interlaced hands lay in your lap, your head resting against his shoulder, the weight of his presence tethering you.

He passed you a bottle of water, and you took a sip, letting the cool liquid wash away the taste of ash in your mouth.

Henry finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “You think they’ll be okay?” His gaze was fixed on Ellie and Sam in the next room.

Joel exhaled slowly, his free hand lifting to brush the stray hairs from your face. “Yeah, I think… it’s easier when you’re a kid anyway. You don’t have anybody else relyin’ on you… that’s the hard part.”

Henry let out a humourless chuckle, taking another slow bite. “Well, I guess we're doing a good job then.”

Joel hummed in agreement, his head tilting slightly so it rested against yours. “What’s that comic book say, baby? Endure and survive?”

“Endure and survive,” you murmured, the words settling heavily in your chest.

“That shit’s redundant,” Henry commented, making you let out a single breathy laugh.

Joel’s fingers tightened briefly around yours, assuring himself you were still there, still good. After a beat, he turned back to Henry, voice dropping low.

“Look, I don’t know how we’re gettin’ to Wyoming. We’re probably walkin’...”

Your throat tightened; you blinked rapidly against the sting in your eyes, willing yourself to hold it together. For what he was trying to say. For the chaos of the day. For the overwhelming emotions of it all.

“Yeah?” Henry asked, turning to you. You sniffled, nodding vigorously. “Yeah. I – I think it’d be nice for Sam to have a friend… Nice for me to have mine, too.” You looked up, meeting his eyes. The shared look between you felt like a glimmer of hope. “I’ll tell him in the morning. New day, new start.”

You and Henry moved to the bedroom, helping Ellie and Sam settle in for the night. As you tucked Ellie in, you gently asked, “You okay?”

She hesitated then nodded, looking up at you. “That was scary.”

“It was,” you said softly, running your fingers down her arm to gently grab her hand before pressing a kiss to the back of it.

She glanced over at Sam’s sleeping form. “I’m glad they’re here. They feel like family.”

The words brought a small smile to your lips. “They are,” you whispered. “I’m glad they’re here, too. Now, get some sleep, love.”

After the kids had fallen asleep, and Henry began prepping his sleeping bag as well, you caught Joel’s eye and nodded towards the door, silently asking him to follow.

Outside, the night air was crisp. You leaned against the railing, head tilting back to take in the starry sky.

The quiet click of the door shutting signaled Joel’s presence. Before he could say anything, you closed the distance, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself against him.

He didn’t hesitate. His arms came around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. The tension in your body melted, just a little.

“Thanks for having my back today,” you murmured against his shoulder, feeling him tighten his hold.

“I’m always gonna have your back.”

His voice was thick, low – certain.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Mean it?” you whispered, your gaze flickering between his eyes and lips.

“Mean it,” he promised, hand sliding up to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed gently over your skin before he finally––finally––closed the gap between you.

The kiss was soft, but not hesitant – it was a long time coming. You leaned into him, breath catching and it undid him completely. As you curled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, he groaned softly, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him.

It was everything – impossibly too much and not enough, all at once.

When you finally broke apart, both of you stayed close, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling.

His voice was quiet when he spoke. “C’mon. Let’s go get some sleep.”

You nodded, but neither of you moved right away. You stayed right there, pressed against him, as if letting go would make this all turn into a dream somehow, slipping through your fingers.

He pressed a quick second kiss to your lips before finally letting you out of his grasp.

Inside, you curled against Joel’s side, his jacket draped over you both your hoodie acting as a pillow under your heads. Just like always, only now – everything had changed.

You were nearly afraid to fall asleep, afraid that doing so would make the world crash in too soon.

And maybe it did.

Because when you woke, it was to Ellie’s screams, frantic and sharp as she and Sam came barreling into the room. Ellie tripped to the ground and Sam landed on top of her, snarling. His small frame looked twisted and wrong.

He’d turned.

Joel reacted before you could, sitting up and reaching for his gun, but Henry got to it first.

“Nope, nope, nope!” He shouted, gun pointed at you and Joel as you both looked helplessly between Ellie and Henry.

You went to take a step towards Ellie, but Henry shot at your feet, making you stumble back into Joel.

Ellie’s cries for you and Joel tore through you, but Henry wouldn’t let you move. It was all you could do to gape at Henry with a look that begged him to let you help her.

In one final desperate act, Henry turned the gun towards the kids and pulled the trigger. The force was enough to push Sam’s lifeless body off of Ellie.

She sobbed loudly, tripping over herself to find you and you instantly held her tightly, eyes never leaving Henry’s.

He stared at Sam, at the blood seeping onto the carpet, Sam’s blood.

Henry’s world crumbled before him.

Suddenly, the gun was back up, now facing you, Joel and Ellie.

“Easy, easy,” Joel tried, voice soft as he held his hands up. “Henry, give me the gun.”

Henry’s breath became uneven as he glanced around the room, eyes always finding Sam – he was starting to have a panic attack.

“Henry,” you gently called, meeting his eyes as they brimmed with tears. “Henry, it’s okay,” you said, voice quivering. “You’re – “

“What did I do?” Henry asked, voice barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of his grief.

“Shh,” Joel tried. “Henry, give me the gun.”

“What did I do? What – wha – what did I do?” He turned once again to his brother. “Sam?”

“Henry,” Joel tried again, pushing you and Ellie behind him now. “Gimme the gun. Gimme the gun, Henry.”

Henry glanced at Joel before his eyes met yours, wide and full of shock. “I’m sorry.”

Your breath hitched. “Henry – ”

He turned the gun onto himself, pulling the trigger before you could even blink.

“Henry, no!” Joel shouted, as Henry’s body thudded to the ground.

Ellie let out a wail, and you pulled her closer, but you could feel your own body shake with terror. Your own tears blurred your vision as your breath became ragged. You couldn’t tell when Joel had pulled you and Ellie out of the room, but as soon as the fresh air hit your face, bile rose in your lurching stomach.

You fell to your knees, heaving until there was nothing left.

Joel’s hand was warm on your back, steadying, but the world felt unbearably cold.

You didn’t remember digging their graves, only the silence that hung over you all as you stood before them.

Ellie wrote something on Sam’s etch-a-sketch and left it on his grave. I’m sorry.

You traced the dirt of Henry's grave with trembling fingers. “I’m sorry, too,” you mumbled, before picking up your hoodie and putting on your backpack.

“Which way’s west?” Ellie softly asked, barely meeting your or Joel’s eyes. Joel nudged his head in the general direction. And she began walking.

You followed.

Joel behind you.

Again, no one knew what to say.

taglist: @orcasoul @lizlil @littleshadow17 @joeldjarin @mrsyixingunicorn10 @luvwanda @escaping-reality8 @hoddystark @mmkkzz @victoriaholland @xodilfluvr @ilovetoomanymen @21tao @mystickittytaco

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mcflysohigh · 7 months ago

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Exclusive clips of Danny and Maura & Oti as well as his Q and A from unpacked tonight (4/12.)

#hopefully it works #saved these clips for myself tbqh #I just adored the love for him tonight #danny's got such a good relationship with sam - joel and ant and dec #and i love danny's relationship with the girls #as i said before - if i was Oti i would meeeeelt #like the way he leans over here #holy fuck she's a strong woman for that #love his friendship with all the girls #i want him to be a girl dad so bad but i think georgia has said no to anymore #danny jones #i'm a celeb #im a celeb #again if you got this far and found this post - well done #nothing ever happens here on tumblr anymore #wrong time to resurrect my sideblog

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pupsmailbox · 1 year ago

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NEUTRAL LEANING MASC NAMES︰ abner.　 abram.　 adam.　 adrian.　 alex.　 alistair.　 andreas.　 ariel.　 arlen.　 arley.　 arlo.　 ash.　 atlas.　 auden.　 august.　 austin.　 avery.　 bailey.　 baron.　 barrett.　 baylor.　 beauden.　 bee.　 bellamy.　 bennett.　 blair.　 blaise.　 bowen.　 brayden.　 brendan.　 bronson.　 bryce.　 byron.　 caius.　 caleb.　 callahan.　 callan.　 calloway.　 callum.　 camden.　 cameron.　 carlin.　 carson.　 casey.　 cassian.　 chandler.　 chase.　 cody.　 cole.　 connolly.　 corban.　 corwin.　 cyrus.　 dallas.　 damion.　 damon.　 daniel.　 darius.　 davis.　 dawson.　 daylon.　 denver.　 desmond.　 devin.　 doran.　 dorian.　 drew.　 elian.　 elias.　 ellery.　 ellison.　 emery.　 ethan.　 evan.　 ezra.　 fallen.　 farren.　 finley.　 ford.　 foster.　 gabriel.　 gannon.　 garner.　 gavin.　 gentry.　 graham.　 greer.　 griffin.　 guthrie.　 harley.　 harlow.　 hartley.　 hayden.　 henley.　 henry.　 heron.　 hollis.　 hunter.　 ian.　 irving.　 isaiah.　 jace.　 james.　 jameson.　 jared.　 jeremiah.　 joel.　 jonah.　 joran.　 jordan.　 jory.　 josiah.　 jovian.　 jude.　 julian.　 juno.　 justus.　 kalen.　 kamden.　 kay.　 kayden.　 keaton.　 kellan.　 keller.　 kelly.　 kendon.　 kieran.　 kit.　 kylan.　 landry.　 lane.　 lennon.　 leslie.　 levi.　 leyton.　 liam.　 linden.　 lowell.　 luca.　 madden.　 marley.　 marlow.　 marshall.　 martin.　 mason.　 mathias.　 mercer.　 merritt.　 micah.　 miles.　 miller.　 milo.　 morgan.　 morrie.　 morrison.　 nate.　 nevin.　 nick.　 nicky.　 nico.　 nicolas.　 noah.　 noel.　 nolan.　 oren.　 orion.　 owen.　 parker.　 percy.　 perrin.　 peyton.　 pierce.　 porter.　 preston.　 quincy.　 quinn.　 reece.　 reid.　 reign.　 rein.　 remi.　 remington.　 renley.　 riley.　 river.　 robin.　 rollins.　 ronan.　 rory.　 rowan.　 russell.　 ryan.　 rylan.　 sam.　 samuel.　 sawyer.　 saylor.　 seth.　 shiloh.　 soren.　 spencer.　 stellan.　 sterling.　 talon.　 taylor.　 thaddeus.　 thane.　 theo.　 toni.　 tracy.　 tristan.　 tyrus.　 valor.　 warner.　 wells.　 wesley.　 whitten.　 william.　 willis.　 wylie.　

NEUTRAL LEANING FEM NAMES︰ abigaël.　 abilene.　 addison.　 adrian.　 ainsley.　 alexis.　 and.　 andrea.　 arden.　 aria.　 ashley.　 aspen.　 aubrey.　 autumn.　 avery.　 avian.　 ayla.　 bailey.　 beryl.　 blair.　 blaire.　 blake.　 briar.　 brooklyn.　 brooks.　 bryce.　 cameron.　 camille.　 casey.　 celeste.　 channing.　 charlie.　 chase.　 collins.　 cordelia.　 courtney.　 daisy.　 dakota.　 dana.　 darby.　 darcy.　 delaney.　 delilah.　 devin.　 dylan.　 eden.　 eisley.　 elia.　 ellerie.　 ellery.　 ellie.　 elliot.　 elliott.　 ellis.　 ellory.　 ember.　 emelin.　 emerson.　 emery.　 evelyn.　 ezra.　 fallon.　 finley.　 fiore.　 florence.　 floris.　 frances.　 greer.　 gwenaël.　 hadley.　 harley.　 harper.　 haven.　 hayden.　 heike.　 hollis.　 hunter.　 ivy.　 jade.　 jamie.　 jocelyn.　 jordan.　 jude.　 juno.　 kelly.　 kelsey.　 kendall.　 kennedy.　 koda.　 kyrie.　 lacey.　 lane.　 leighton.　 lennon.　 lennox.　 lesley.　 leslie.　 lilian.　 lindsay.　 loden.　 logan.　 lou.　 lyric.　 madison.　 mallory.　 marinell.　 marley.　 mckenzie.　 melody.　 mercede.　 meredith.　 mio.　 misha.　 monroe.　 montana.　 morgan.　 nico.　 nova.　 oakley.　 olympia.　 owen.　 page.　 palmer.　 parker.　 pat.　 paulie.　 perri.　 petyon.　 peyton.　 phoenix.　 piper.　 priscilla.　 quinn.　 raven.　 ray.　 reagan.　 reece.　 reese.　 remi.　 remy.　 riley.　 rio.　 river.　 robin.　 rory.　 rosario.　 rowan.　 ryan.　 rylie.　 sacha.　 sage.　 sam.　 sammy.　 santana.　 sasha.　 sawyer.　 saylor.　 severin.　 shannon.　 shelby.　 shiloh.　 skye.　 skylar.　 sloane.　 sol.　 soleil.　 sterling.　 stevie.　 sutton.　 swan.　 swann.　 sydney.　 tatum.　 taylo.　 taylor.　 tracey.　 valentine.　 vanya.　 vivendel.　 vivian.　 vivien.　 wren.　 wynn.　 yael.

#pupsmail︰names #name pack #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #fem names #feminine names #masc names #masculine names #neutral names #gender neutral names

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littlelittlebear · 8 days ago

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nervous young inhumans hunger games au

synopsis To survive the Games and get sponsors, you need to make yourself entertaining. No tribute has ever won the crowd by romancing their mentor before. How's that for interesting? Ellie Williams is an asshole, and the worst mentor you could ask for, but she’ll do.

femme!reader, butch!ellie, mentor!ellie, fake dating, enemies to lovers, slow burn to them, fastest burn in the west to everyone else. taking some characters from arcane because creative writing knows no bounds

series masterlist prev

3. actress (wc 4.2k)

Ekko greeted you in front of the train with a big smile, a real one. Not the flashy, overly-sparkling grin you see on the Capitolites on television. Long, platinum locks were woven together to mimic a Lion’s mane. “Woah wait, I was assigned District Seven, why am I seeing two tens?” He joked and clapped your and Sam’s backs.

You attempted a laugh, so did Sam, but maybe your joined anxiety was obvious. “Sorry, um, you guys must be nervous. I’d be nervous too– I mean, I am. Always am. Not like I’m constantly nervous, just during Games season. Sorry about the joke! I cope that way, hah.” At Ekko’s rambling, a genuine laugh escaped you, making him smile again. “Cool! Let’s get going.”

He, along with Joel, Ellie, three Peacekeepers, and several of their guns escorted you and Sam from the station and to a shining, high-rising building in the distance that grew nearer in the silver limousine.

Sam and Joel whispered amongst themselves, maybe plotting Sam’s strategy. Salo squaked and droned in Ekko’s ear, who looked about ready to escape out the door. A face full of concrete out a fast moving vehicle was definitely more stomachable than a conversation with Salo. The Peacekeepers sat in a line in front of the partition, guns casually strewn over their knees. One of the barrels wouldn’t stop staring at you. You and Ellie sat on the furthest end.

When everyone was piling in, she wordlessly pointed to the corner, looking over her shoulder, then quickly pulled you in to sit at the very end and took the spot beside you.

Salo had aww’d, with his shoulders hanging exaggeratedly. “Save me a seat next time, Pet,” he crooned to you, clawing the air. Your nostrils flared as you forced your breakfast to stay down.

“Back off, man.” Said Ellie.

Salo laughed her off. “Young love, so monogamous! I remember the days…” He’d gabbed, sickening you again, and went on chewing Ekko’s eardrums off till now.

Joel glared at you and Ellie periodically, then at the Capitolites beside you. ‘Go on pretending now.’ His eyes said.

That’s how you and Ellie ended up sitting the way you were. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders, the way you’d practiced on the train, and your hand had hers. Joel narrowed his stare, you knew this look well from your guitar lessons. It was a mix of “loosen up, trust your fingers,” and “you can do better.” The first one was strictly guitar-related, but your belly heated at the memory of Ellie’s fingers against your cheek– how she had trusted them to touch you, how she’d trust them inside your– stop that. See, that was a new development.

With your first kiss gone, taken so perfectly, seamlessly, like a thief in the night, you’d begun to imagine.

Pictures you couldn’t control flooded your mind between bouts of consuming fear of your upcoming demise. Pictures of Ellie kissing you, kissing you longer, harder, wetter. Pictures of a string of saliva tethering your glossed up lips to hers, a similar string connecting Ellie’s mouth to the pool between your legs. Heaps of guilt weighed your chest for it. Unprofessional horny dog! A halo’d version of you scolded yourself, you’re dying, hear me? Dying! Get your head in the game! Another, more devilish voice in your head shut that one down – and what do people do when they know they’re going to die? Fuck and fuck and… oh yeah! Fuck.

Your head leaned on Ellie’s chest to hide your blush. The muscle coating her shoulder cradled you. You checked on Joel again, who nodded, satisfied, then gave his attention back to Sam.

Every breath you took had Ellie clouding it. She smelled like roasted hazelnuts, fancy fabric softener from her soft, corduroy dress shirt, and musky body odor that didn’t bother you at all. You liked it. Ellie didn’t seem like the type to smell like a damn lab-grown flower field 24/7. You liked this much better. It reminded you of her stutter, her once-bleeding eyebrow, her cigarette breath. She acted holier than thou in Seven, as snobby as Salo. So you liked this, the reminders of her humanity.

You and Ellie hadn’t talked about the kiss. Didn’t have time to, Ellie’d been smoking away until the train slowed. Plus, it wasn’t a kiss-kiss, not something real and hearty and high stakes that you needed to talk about it. No, it was practice, a prelude, for your act.

Like now. Cuddling up, making sure Salo stays away from you, that’s Ellie being a great, mindful, sexy, ridiculously handsome mentor… or something. But that’s Devil-you talking, and you rightly locked her up with a sedative and a chastity belt. It wasn’t as though Ellie returned your sudden panting crush. Your ear was inches away from her heart, beating at a normal pace. Her chest was not flushed warm.

You felt the weight of her head leaning on yours. It made your breathing speed up, your palms sweaty, but she was unflinching.

“Hey, relax,” Ellie muttered from above you. Her voice was the purring stir of a motorcar. Gravely but smooth. “Just me, kid.”

That irked you a little. She’d promised her help, yes, but gave you the cold shoulder seconds later. Then she swatted Salo away, but hadn’t spared you a word or glance. Was she always going to be this flighty?

“Which version of you?” You whispered back, annoyed. Ellie chuckled softly.

“Nice-me.” She took a deep breath. “But I am sorry for going off like that. Must’ve confused you.” She paused, perhaps waiting for a response, even though she didn’t phrase it like a question. Asking questions seemed to put her in a position she didn't like. You recalled the stammer when – ‘remember, before my games?’ The Bandit Williams needs nothing from nobody. A stray memory of her interview, years ago, during her victor’s tour flickered on the screen of your mind. ‘I’m no pussy, I don’t ask. I’m a taker.’ She’d said to the camera, in a slightly forced country twang and a black cowboy hat that she’s never ever worn since. Maybe that was some bullshit Joel told Ellie to say, but you think that was the real Ellie to some degree. Scared of looking scared, so she doesn’t ask.

Either way, you nod yes. She feels you against her. “Sorry about that, kid. We’re on the same team. I just needed air. I… don’t do that sort of thing. Kissing. Not for a long while.” She whispered even softer. The way she said it wasn’t out of some rue and regret, as though she were coming off heartbreak. Something darker lurked in her words, fear. It made your mind swarm with possibilities. Scared of kissing?

“We don’t have to do that,” You muttered, hoping not to sound disappointed.

The limo slowed. She shook her head on yours. “We should. It’s a good time to get over my bullshit.” Was all she said. Everyone started crawling out the car. You were soon taken from Ellie and her smell and her fear. You didn’t stop yourself from looking back at her, as Ekko took you and Sam–and the Peacekeepers– into the building.

“Where are Joel and Ellie going?” You asked them.

“Joel said they’d get a head start rallying sponsors before the parade.” Said Sam. “Ekko, you’re not gonna dress me up like a tree, are you?” He asked with genuine concern. It made you smile.

Ekko laughed. “Fuck no. Man, lumbar’s had the worst luck aside from Twelve and those coal miner outfits.” The thought made you and Sam grimace.

“Every year, those poor kids.” You said. “As long as I don’t look like a four-by-four, I’m happy.”

Ekko smirked. “Just trust me, tens.”

The elevator opened up to your living quarters for the next week. Your jaw dropped. A penthouse– is what you think this is called. You’re not wholly familiar with lavish terminology. You were well off back in Seven, sure, but Capitol-rich was on a different planet compared to District-rich. Every square inch was minimal yet ornate, static yet so obviously high-tech. Sam whistled at the sight. You couldn’t ogle for long, though. Four figures, two men and two women in varying states of maximalist clothing, took you and Sam by the arms to your own bathrooms, and introduced themselves as your glam team.

You were stripped naked, to your horror. But you sucked it up quick. This won’t be the last or the worst horror you’ll face, you reasoned with yourself. The women– one named Cat with short pixie hair and tattoos all over, and the other being a literal cat-like human named Lest– doused you in stinging, perfumed cream from the neck down. Lest smeared a healthy pound of the stuff over your mons pubis and vulva, to your burning humiliation. They washed you down.

“Whe-where’s my body hair?” You asked, staring at your bald skin in the mirror with red-brimming eyes that stung from the smell and embarrassment. The women laughed.

“Gone for months! You’re welcome.” Lest purred. You decided against asking why they needed to remove the hair from your vagina. You didn’t want to hear the answer. Quickly, you were sucker punched out of whatever bliss you’d spent the day in, so preoccupied with a girl and her kisses. Reality hit. You are bare and vulnerable, in the throes of implication that it was all for a reason. An idea as to why Ellie was scared of kissing formed in your mind. A chill blitzed your spine.

Ellie’s got a beautiful flush of hair covering her arms, her hands, her legs too, probably. The way you used to have it. You’re certain she’s protective of it, perhaps letting it grow out of spite.

Then you were exfoliated, bleached, contoured, and other alien experiences of the cosmetic underworld.

You looked perfect. Perfect like a one of a million, plastic trinket manufactured by a machine. You missed the layer of fluff, the zit on your chin. Once again, you understood Ellie’s poorly cut hair and wild musk. You, too, wanted to stray as far from this as possible. An ache rippled through you, you grieved the thought of dying as you were. But perhaps it is better to die in another skin,so the body you spent eighteen years in may frolick forever in Seven, feeding babies and kissing blossoms, with a lovely zit on your chin.

Robed and decent, you went out to the living room, as per Ekko’s instruction. Sam was sniffling on an arm chair, wrapped in a matching robe. Ekko stood over the longer couch that was covered with clothes in dress bags. You noticed Sam’s skin was a couple shades lighter. Just an hour ago it was darker than dusk and beautiful. That glam team. It twisted your gut further, enraging you.

Resolve possessed you as you were reminded of your mission. Get a fuck ton of sponsors for survival. Take care of those who can’t do it themselves. Die before killing anyone. Even a career. Shove a big middle finger in the Capitol’s face: never waver in your kindness.

Ekko looked grim, as though he knew what you’d just been through. “Glad that’s over, huh?” You, and Sam, nodded silently. Ekko sighed, running a hand through his locks. “You guys are about to head into battle.”

“Trust me, we haven’t stopped thinking about the arena,” Said Sam, solemnly.

“Not the arena.” Ekko said gravely, but with a sense of softness and awareness that comforted you. “The cameras. The people. You’re going to fight for attention. You know your roles, yes?”

You: A lover. All heart and beauty, tragically torn from your Capitol favored soulmate– a former victor, no less.

Goal: Sponsors. Make the audience believe you are too good to die. Tug the heart strings.

Sam: Your classic Charisma Man with lethal secrets. Oh him? He's a humble toy carver. Nevermind his brilliance with a knife, and what he’s done with it.

Goal: Winning. Make the audience believe he’s dangerous enough to make it. Intrigue them with his mystery to the point that they want more from him– after the Games.

You and Sam reported your assignments like soldiers. Ekko wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t dressing up, this was strapping in armor.

Ekko smirked. “Genius.”

He tossed you your respective garment bags.

In the mirror, disgusting perfection aside, you gasped at the pure craftsmanship before you, as though you were built from scratch. What looked like a woodland nymph replaced you in your reflection. Your eyes looked ginormous and doe-like, your hair was made into long thick waves that grazed your bum. Your lips were plum and a deep berry, in a perpetual state of kissed and bitten.

And your dress. You spun, gazing down at it with endless fondness. “Ekko,” You breathed. He stood behind you, humble but proud.

“Like it?” He asked. You beamed. Such a smile hasn’t graced your face since before your Reaping.

“I don’t feel worthy enough to wear such a thing! I’ve never seen something so beautiful.” It managed to take light captive then spin it into golden hour sunlight and a blushing glow. Your curves were all-too noticeable, but you didn’t feel on display. You felt beautiful. Sexy.

Ekko, the magician, managed to make you feel like a true woman in the limited time you have. Swept in gratitude, you embraced him tightly. He laughed and hugged you back.

“None of that. You’re more than worthy.” Ekko held your eyes earnestly. “I believe in you. I’m not just saying that as a member of your team. You’ve got something. You’ve got something special.” And it’s lovely to feel believed in. You loved Joel, but you’re more focused on following his instructions, you feel coached. Ellie’s got your back, but she’s never expressed what Ekko has. He checked his watch as the other hand hugged you. “I don’t wanna break your bubble, but that’s your interview dress. I put you in it to give you something to look forward to, even if it’s as miniscule as a dress.” You melted, puzzled at how such a lovely boy could have come from tbe Capitol. “Your parade dress is a little simpler–” The door opened with a squeak.

Ellie was barely in the room for two seconds. It gave you enough time to check her out in a classic, chocolatey suit that matched her hair perfectly and–hah– a brown leather cowboy hat. Damn the Capitol for loving a brand.

She said nothing. Just a look between you and Ekko, your embrace. Something flickered in her eyes, and the door shut again. Your chest contracted. Did Ellie have bad news? Why did she look like that? Why did she leave like that?

You cleared your throat. “Classic Williams, y’know?”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, and left the hug to hand you a smaller dress on a hanger. You took it, and went behind the modesty barrier to change, gently removing the beautiful gown and hanging it up. “Right. I really hope I didn’t make your scary girlfriend jealous. I have one of my own! You might know her, actually, she won the Games two years ago? Blue hair, long braids, bombed the place?”

“Uh huh,” You affirmed, absent mindedly as you pulled the new dress on. “Wait, girlfriend?”

“...yeah?” Asked Ekko.

You swore under your breath, reminding yourself of Joel’s constant reminders and sharp glares.

“My bad, we just say we’re partners–” You cringe. “Not to be into the whole Bandit thing, hah! Just that it’s a better fit. Feels more grown up than girlfriends?”

Ekko’s shadow nodded through the changing wall. “Totally! My girl and I call each other partner too–” You drowned the rest out with a sigh of relief. That cannot happen again.

The chariots were lined up with fifteen minutes to rolling. Finally, you could check out the competition. The careers were abominable as always. Joel pointed each pair out to you and Sam.

“District 1, Owen and Abby, they ain’t twins, I know, shocker.” They were big, buff, blond, and staring everyone down like vipers. “District 2, and Finn and Sevika, these guys aren’t as fuckin’ psycho as they look, but stay the hell away from them either way.” They might be even burlier, and taunted the others with menacing grins and patronizing finger wags. “District 4, Dina and Manny. All skill, no charm on the silver screen. They bore the sponsors already, but they’re gonna be harsh in the arena.” Those two plotted to themselves, twirling their tridents with cut throat skill. Every pair past District 8, except District 11, were young and small and blatantly petrified. Your future throng.

You took special note of a young boy from Twelve with a scarred, shaved head. You turned to Joel in hopes of learning his name. “No clue, Hon. Guess that’ll be one of yours to look after.”

You nodded fervently. “I’ll talk to him during those training sessions, when do they start again?”

“Tomorrow, obviously.” Ellie.

She appeared by your side. Her hand rested on your hip without preamble. You snapped into character, circling your arms around her neck. Ellie was all over you, but looked a million miles away.

“Hey, are you alright?” You asked quietly. Ellie clicked her teeth.

“‘Course, babe.” She said, gruffly, looking anywhere else but you. “I thought you didn’t like boys, by the way.”

Your confusion worsened at the left turn. Immediately, you brought back to Ellie’s strange behavior in the dressing room. “Ellie–um, Love, Ekko’s got a girlfriend, you know?”

She raised an eyebrow, still refusing to look at you despite her hands on your hips. “Monogamy isn’t exactly the Capitol’s thing, remember?” You huffed.

“He spent twenty minutes going on and on about her. We’re not like that, he… did something really kind for me is all. Kind and platonic." You said. “I made a friend, that’s all.”

Then those pretty greens were on yours again. “Okay,” She said, softly. Her hands softened on your hips, and traveled upwards to your waist.

You huffed a laugh. “Worried about little old me?” You muttered, flushing a little. Ellie playfully rolled her eyes, then bent down to your ear. Her lips grazed your skin, not as a kiss, but as assurance only you would hear it. A secret message disguised as a lovers game.

“Maybe I just wanted to make sure my fake girlfriend doesn’t run around… word travels too fast here. We wanna sell it, remember?”

You smiled and whispered back, getting just as up close and crowded under her cowboy hat. “Consider it sold, I’d never. We call each other partners, not girlfriends, by the way. Don’t ask.”

She groaned. “I swear to God if it’s because of the bandit thing–”

You giggled. CLICK! A blinding flash pulled a gasp from you. A paparazzi in a snake skin jumpsuit whistled at you. Within the second, the picture travelled across massive television screens hanging above each side the crowd, who cheered. You couldn’t deny the perfection of the moment: your arms around her neck, her hands warming your waist. You giggling, nose to nose with her, her looking pleased all in all. To an outsider, it looked like you were laughing at one of Ellie’s jokes.

“Oh wow… they’re so fast.” You said, in awe.

Gears turned behind Ellie’s eyes. “Kiss me right now?” She was already stooping her head low. You hoped your panic was concealed– your eagerness too. “It’s a good time, kid.” She said, a hair away from your lips, eyes trained down and cloudy. Was she… teasing you? You referenced your paparazzi pictorial again, which was going another round on the screen, getting another bout of crazed applause. No. Just being great at her job. “Eyes on me,” She whispered, making you shiver. That’ll rattle in your head all night. Instead of answering, you took action.

A kiss on her chin, shocking her. CLICK! A kiss on the corner of her mouth. CLICK! The feral cheers returned. A kiss on her jawline. CLICK! Ellie smirked. “Nice one, let me?”

You nodded briskly. “Ye-yeah–” Your own squeak interrupted you. Ellie squeezed your hip and a fraction of your pillowy ass, almost pinching it. CLICK CLICK CLICK! And strobing flashes of camera light. Your eyes fled to the Jumbo Tron for the playback. The squeeze, her strong fingers digging into your flesh, her biting her lip roughly, you blushing – your shock was thankfully obstructed by your tossed hair. Then, Ellie took off her hat, and held the side of it against your faces, hiding you and her from the camera. You panted as she leaned in. She’s going to kiss you again. Will it be longer? Will she bite your lip? Use her tongue? A smile threatened to pull your lips aside until–

“Pretend we’re kissing.” She whispered slowly. The amount of disappointment that shot through you was shameful. Nodding, you rode your knee up the outer side of her leg, the way you’ve seen people do while kissing in paintings. You realized Ellie was panting too. Her grip tightened. “Good.” She mouthed, eyes never leaving your lips. The hat shielded you from the array of light leaving the camera. The crowd screamed. Then she released you, leaving you to stumble in your place. Looking perfectly like a teenage girl kissed the lips off of. The paparazzi quickly left you alone, as some Careers started flashing their abs and throwing ever-entertaining death threats in the general direction of other tributes. In the corner of your eye, Joel was laughing beneath his hand, and gave you a thumbs up.

Ellie clutched your hand and cleared her throat. Outside the shadow of her hat, you noticed her blush.

“Like the dress, by the way.” She said, off handedly.

You looked down at your lovely Ekko Original, a skin tight, wet-looking, deep brown silk dress. Classy. gorgeous, timeless. Matching Ellie’s suit exactly, you now realize.

Her eyes lingered on your body, sending buzzes over your skin, before nodding curtly. At that, you felt flipped. Ulpside down and shaken, your shyness fell out. All bets were off, you realized. Just because Ellie was your mentor, didn’t mean there was a strict list of what you could and couldn’t do, you didn’t have to feel so limited. Besides, Ellie seemed to be your lover first, and your mentor second in the public eye. These were your final days on the planet. Ironically, would it kill you to be bold? So your back straightened, your chest and ample cleavage taking up space in the light. “Like the suit. You look hot.” You said bluntly.

Ellie coughed – on air, it seemed.

“Right- yeah- sure, thanks.” She visibly gulped, throat bobbing, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It put her stammering to a stop. “Fucking with me now?” She teased. You shrugged, smiling slyly. A man with a clip board and an ear piece called out through a megaphone for the tributes to get to their chariots. Ellie walked you, a hand on the small of your back. Sam caught up – wearing a green, leather blazer and baggy leather pants that hung low – and climbed into the carriage.

Ellie held you firmly to help you up. Before you could get too far, though, she tugged your hair like a damned schoolboy, making you yelp. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself,” She gazed up at you with an unreadable expression, before kissing your cheek. Her lips were light as a feather on your cheek. There must be a paparazzi nearby, you thought, but no clicks and flashes followed. “Smile, wave, look people in the eye, try to make everyone feel seen, be in character. You look phenomenal. Look grateful. Got it?”

You blinked. ‘Phenomenal’ was smuggled goods in the array of buttoned up instruction. Boldness gets you ‘phenomenal’ and a kiss on the cheek, you noted. Something something, Pavlov’s crush, something something. And so, you looked around for someone with a camera – a young woman lugging a big one with a blinking red light, labelled LIVE STREAMING. You brought two fingers to your mouth and whistled. Her eyes – not the lens– went to you. Almost there.

You pulled Ellie up by the collar–quickly, you caught the camerawoman swivelling the lens in your direction– and smashed your lips into hers. The crowd roared, whooped and hollered. Maybe it was stupid to do a big kiss so soon, but this crowd couldn’t get enough of it. And you’re hungry for it. She took no time to respond, almost eagerly, taking the back of your neck in your grasp. Be in character, you remembered, and you parted with a tender, lovesick look on your face. She smiled at you with the same affection, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was that look on her again – as though she were miles and miles away from here – contradicted with a sugary sweet smile. Your blood ran cold. She was acting. Wholly, 100% acting. The crowd loved it, but all you wanted was Ellie’s quips of “nice one,” “good thinking” hushed in your ear again. The rose on her cheeks. The gazing onto your lips. Nothing.

“See you, babe.” She said, loudly, so every mic could pick it up. The horses were whipped, and the parade began.

“You good?” Sam asked, noticing the exchange.

You nodded, too quickly. “I am.”

He raised a brow, before his gaze softened. “Let’s talk after the parade. Loosen up right now, though. C’mon, you’re our actress.”

Your chariot began to move. Seven was up.

An endearing smile pulled your face by the strings, like a puppet in preparation.

You're our actress.

taglist!!

@toofargonetocare @bluminescent-moon @losing-it-lately @honney-bonny @nattakasuperlesbian

how was this yall!! too long?

#ellie willams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams #tlou #the last of us #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #abby anderson x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader fluff #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader angst

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pangolin-404 · 2 months ago

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Finished suturing kit last night (It broke me) and just saw the "She's careful with her teeth" art. Tell me EVERYTHING abt Sam x Hellen 👀👀❤️

you've caught me at the perfect time (doodling them)

I'm still getting a solid grasp on their relationship (both platonic and romantic) but so far:

Hellen is extremely blunt about many things, but not cruel. Sam appreciates this. It's kind of unclear how much of a toll the Visitor took on her mind, or if she was just like that. Did she kill anyone pre-Visitor? Sam's not sure.

Hellen likes Sam's kindness and general demeanor. He's endearing, honest, and extraordinarily patient with all he has to deal with. Strangely collected and soft, even in such an environment.

generally strong mutual respect for each other's skills and tenacity

Sam tends to shoulder a lot of responsibility, which Hellen normally allows. She sees that he's got a good head on his shoulders and doesn't intend to get in the way of the latest plan he's zeroed in on (besides, she's got nothing better to do). But when Sam steps back from the front, he gives the reins to Hellen.

Both Sam and Hellen like doing things for people to show they care. Sometimes they get in each other's way about this. Sometimes it works out (Sam cooks, Hellen does the dishes after).

They try to get into each other's interests. Hellen will lean over the back of the couch to watch Sam play games with Joel (or whoever he's with that session), but wouldn't have any interest in playing herself. Likewise, he'll listen to Hellen talk about plants, and the garden she maintained pre-Visitor. She rarely talks about herself, so it's nice when she opens up a bit. Maybe, eventually, she admits she wants to return to it when everything's over, even if the plants get weird.

the day Sam digs up a gardening game is a beautiful day of bonding

Sam is afraid of, or unsettled by, Hellen's face for some time, but he's seen enough horrors to not react to it. She knows it scares him. Neither of them could put a finger on exactly when Sam stopped being afraid. Over time, and depending on who else lives with Sam, Hellen grows more comfortable leaving the mask off in the apartment.

They're each, in their own ways, unused to human contact. Sam was extremely lonely pre-Visitor, and Hellen's whole perception of herself and her relation to others shifted when she looked outside (she views herself as objectively frightening and something unpleasant to look at; she doesn't want to scare everyone on sight <- I'm still tentative on that take but she's got SOMETHING going on). tldr they're awkward about each other and holding hands

Even during the apocalypse, time to take things slow is rare. They're always either in the trenches or recovering from a fight or stressful encounter. Hardly enough time to be with each other, or even the other people in the apartment, in a peaceful way. Always other things and other people (mainly the kids) to worry about. Not quite such a thing as domesticity, out there.

If Monty and Xaria have kicked Sam out of his own room, he occasionally sleeps against or on top of Hellen while she keeps watch.

even though Hellen is careful, she does end up accidentally biting Sam while kissing him at least once she's bitten him on purpose too

the goofy rabbit drawing kinda gives away part of what I think the rest of hellen looks like. but yeah that, just to a far greater extent. all cuts across her flesh opening into teeth and sometimes eyes. she doesn't have a lot of sensation or control over those mouths but she gets kissed there too because why not, she deserves it :)

Fifteen days wasn't enough for them to know each other as well as they would've liked.

#thoughts #look outside #sam #hellen #samhellen #?????? whagever it works #asks #anonymous #look outside posting #I haven't drawn a hellen that exactly matches what I think she's like under the coveralls but someday I'll get there. all teeth and eyes #doomed yaori... I also need to think about their relationship continuing past the various endings #they could keep going strong even with the denial; or flawed ritual; or even no going back; endings #I'm probably forgetting some misc thoughts but that's all I remember for now

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furiouskettle · 3 months ago

Text

random Look Outside character headcanons/opinions

(may be incorrect cause ive just been watching playthroughs. going off of the info i got from that which may be missing some parts.)

body horror talk, spoilers from all over the game and ending under the cut.

Sam

I love sam. hes just nice (potentially a pushover) and a dork. HES JUST A GUY!!!! i love that the game gives him time to show you how he’s processing his/your actions?

Really funny to me that him being unemployed is part of the reason he’s the protagonist. Can’t become a monster if you don’t have to go outside.

Am curious why he isn't working at the grocery store (if he did work there). did he leave or get fired?

OW losing an arm has GOTTA HURT. i cast pain upon this man.

his hair is just Like That no matter what he does

Joel

mY SWEET BABY BOYYYY i want to see him grow up big and strong (not too big and strong considering the everything but you get the idea).

looks like he has some form of "vision" post-mutation?? he doesnt seem to have any issue playing video games so i opt that he can “see”, just not very well. it’s short range and fuzzy. might be more of a feeling of his surroundings than real vision? whatever it is, it's good enough to play super jump lad.

I also HC that he’d developed shortsightedness when he had eyes, just that nobody had noticed yet that he’s squinting at things more than he should…

I think his biting/devouring is involuntary when he’s agitated. thankfully it hasn’t come to him biting any friends so far!

get this boy some popsicle sticks to gnaw on. not even for tooth reasons. eight year olds just love chewing on popsicle sticks. (preferably after popsicle has been consumed)

Apart from not fully understanding everything going on due to his age, he seems a bit dazed from the mutation and probably has brain fog for a few days after, which is Definitely not helping sam with the Oh My God this kid doesnt know his parents are dead. OH GOD I KILLED THIS KID'S PARENTS AND I HAVE STOLEN HIM AWAY

oddly chill with losing teeth. has taken some of his baby teeth out by himself! gives joel my childhood trait of oh hey my tooth is wobbling! lemme get rid of that real quick. twist twist twist

Jeanne

i dont have much to say on her atm but she’s lovely and really doesnt deserve what happens to her. on the bright side the worst seems to be over for her?? if she’s still growing does that mean that she’s gonna have to be like “oop a new head’s budding. gotta get someone to lop that off for me before it becomes a problem.”

Lyle

FIRST OF ALL i LOVE how his design kind of references how old cameras had to be covered with fabric so the photo wouldn't fail.

i think he wore glasses when he was human! …the lenses got absorbed into his face. the camera he was holding did too. I think he didn’t own as many cameras as he ended up with. That big one he has seems specific enough that maybe that was the one he was using to snap a sky pic??? idk if he touched any other cameras after that but THAT one has gotta be the one he was holding.

idk if he finds spiders GROSS but he is definitely the kind of person to be afraid to be in the same room as one.

I think most of his legs are telescopic to some degree! he just doesnt see the need to make himself any taller than he already is, except for photography reasons.

reiterating from one of my doodle posts, i like to think his eye lenses shed over time. if you took off the lens early on an eye (via injury) it would have weak vision. built-in glasses!

I hope the soul photo thing is like a special attack thing for him that he has to set up intentionally? it feels mean to have all the photos he takes with his built in cameras be the soul-stealing kind. he does take photos by accident/involuntarily a lot but the one he takes after the kiss with sam is totally on purpose and he absolutely still has that one. concerning.

idk if he gets out of his apartment much during the Visit, but it could be that HE hasnt seen any mutations worse than his/doesnt know that sam has totally seen worse. Hence why he's trying to hide so hard from Sam (not to mention the guy is crushing HARD, he's not gonna wanna be vulnerable in front of him).

....also hideous monster or not hes naked under there. i dont blame him for wanting to stay cloaked

Xaria & Monty

oh god theyre art students. that explains SO much.

very funny to me that xaria heard a voice in her head compelling her to check out the window and decided she’s gonna be contrarian about it.

I imagine a lot of Monty’s projects are setting something on fire. shows up to class with a pile of plastic baby heads. sets them ablaze. the most important part of being an art student is the time honored tradition of bullshitting some sort of meaning that’s gonna satisfy the lecturer.

Probably decent at life drawings but he keeps burning his works. (not to mention realism doesnt appear to be his kind of style)

Xaria feels like she’d stick to slightly more traditional mediums (painting, sculpture)? a lot of surrealism, mixed media, themes of nonconformity and violence. has totally used blood in a project before. More intentional about the meaning of her art- the intention being that she wants to make people uncomfortable.

i think it’d be hilarious if they’d been binging horror movies the night before. funniest options are The Thing and Tetsuo the iron man.

Since Sam mutates into something regardless of what you do up on the roof, i’m guessing the same goes for these two if you bring them up there. cool/nasty idea for their mutation is they fuse into one being... not necessarily an idea im running with atm but fun to think abt anyway

Sybil

AGH, sybil….. i love her. she's just really nice...

I think she’s in some sort of schrödinger’s cat situation - dead and alive until observed. or maybe like a quark (particle that cannot be observed but you can see the effects of it).

it’s unclear if someone ever was next door to you, but if I recall the astronomers tell you there’s no way she’s there? (cant recall if its bc she was “dead” by then or if its the totally wrong floor.)

the game says it was a mystery what happened to sybil, but a potential course of events could be your Real Neighbour just got sucked outta their window same as what happens to you if you look and sybil THINKS shes next door to you.

I’m pretty sure she’s in all of the walls? some of her text implies that, even tho she doesnt seem to be really aware of it.

far as she knows, she's in her apartment. what's her apartment like? well, it's an apartment. it's got walls. she can see out the peephole. there's.... furniture. What else do you want?

(man. between her, the pipe lady, the water pump guy, and the boiler room the walls are CROWDED. no wonder the roaches decide to move to your place.)

The Visitor

what do i even say about it? it is, in the most direct meaning of the word, awesome. it’s unfathomably immense. it's beautiful. it's horrifying. I love that in a single eye out of infinite eyes, it sees a miniscule creature who just wants to live. Sam becomes a smaller reflection of the Visitor, and the visitor gains a fraction of what makes sam human…

I wonder, did the visitor even “exist” until witnessed? same as sybil, maybe it could have some quantum thing going on. i can’t speculate on this any more than the astronomers have.

Sam (ritual-denial)

while it’s the nicest ending possible, i still feel kinda bad for sam :( he can never be truly alone anymore, but at the same time isn’t becoming a giant god-creature kind of isolating? sure, he must grow used to it over time but MAN. WHAT AN ADJUSTMENT.

regardless, it’s nice that he decides to use his new form to take care of the world, and sounds like he probably gets some extra brain capacity to be able to do all the stuff he does. (probably a few extra mini-brains to control the different arm nodes)

I hope he gets to take time for himself too, sometimes. probably sleeps like a dolphin (switch off half the brain for a power nap)

I don't think he can do verbal communication (at least, it's gonna take him a WHILE to figure out how to talk with his feelers) but at least there's keyboards.

also its funny how he gains like a gajillion arms after potentially losing one of two.

also i love the cafe patrons and the mutants at the camp. theyre all so fun. AND MANUEL FUNKY LITTLE DUDE WITH THE JAMS.

i need to find more about the lady with the slasher mask i just know she exists.

@mtgc858 @deafeningfestivalpaper @kasprawn39 @contract-crawdad @goawaypopup @eyessss come get yer headcanons

anyway uhhhhhhh hope you found my rambling fun to read byee

#teapot noises #look outside #look outside game #look outside spoilers #ok i keep going back and adjusting things and spending too much time so im just gonna stop here

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luveline · 2 months ago

Text

𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬

Joel remembers, and Ellie learns. (Or, loosely, three times Joel takes care of Ellie.) 5k words.

cw: the events at silver lake (including the attempted sexual assault), assault, all the awful bits of the canon, canon typical violence

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

He’s watching Ellie stare out of his window in the Boston apartment, and her eyes look so brown, and she seems so young asking if they’re gonna be okay, and all Joel can think is Fuck, I gotta get away from this kid.

—

Ellie’s never seen somebody hit like that before. The sound of it. Never seen knuckles turn so red they’re almost blue.

—

The weeks after Henry and Sam are quiet.

Joel doesn’t know what to say. Ellie keeps like a mouse, skittish footing, twitchy nose. She hasn’t been able to wash her hair in four days and Joel’s getting that tight scalp that says he needs a wash too. They’ve got dirt to the knees, but the wilderness isn’t bad.

She likes being outside. Joel can see it when she forgets what they’re doing and where they’re going, her head tipping back as she traces a thick line of trees to the summit. Her baby hairs turn to silver in the sun. They’ll stop before evening. He can see a cul-de-sac in the distance with orange-brick houses where they can hole up for the night, maybe scrounge a couple of cans of food or, at least, find Ellie a sink to wash her hair in.

The first time they did it, it was in silence. Wastes less water if Joel washes it for her. He didn’t do the best job, he knows, eager to stop touching her, to stop remembering what it was like, even if the hair between his fingers in his memory was thicker, tighter, coiled and bouncy and practically impervious to water. Ellie’s soaks it up. Half a big bottle of water gets the roots damp enough to scrub it clean with clary soap he lathers in his hands, and the other half washes it down to her thinner ends. There’s no smell of apple cider vinegar, no shea butter, no jojoba oil for the scalp. Ellie’s hair makes enough of its own oil. Joel’s makes double, it feels like.

They climb up a drying banking of brambles to the end of the street, its asphalt faded in the sun and driveways invaded by moss. They scuff their shoes down the pathway to shuck off the mud and leaves, pushing into the third house from the end.

Joel holds a finger to his lip, mouthing Stay here.

He sweeps the house. Ellie doesn’t listen, following him up the stairs and down them again when he finds the house uninhabited. As far as he can see, it’s a rarity; the house is untouched by infected, mycelium, or damp. It’ll make for a good camp tonight.

He locks the door and pulls down the kitchen shutters. Ellie drops her backpack onto a dinky table by the fridge.

Joel leans back against a counter to rub at his face.

“What are these?” she asks, poking at the side of the fridge.

“The magnets?”

“Where’s Cancun?”

“S’in Mexico.” Joel lets his pack fall onto the counter behind him, his sore shoulder twinging in a mixture of relief and new pain. “Was a big holiday destination.”

“Is that what these are?” Ellie scoops a couple of magnets off of the fridge. “They went to a lot of places.”

“Sometimes people would bring you one back. Called a souvenir.” Sarah’s friends did it sometimes, but they’d bring back friendship bracelets with shells or pens with the evil eye dotted on them in enamel paint. “But maybe they did.”

“What other souvenirs would people get?”

“My brother’s friend went to Egypt once.” Sarah’s friend. He isn’t sure why he lies. “They brought him back a sarcophagus.”

“A sar-what-acus?”

Joel tries not to smile. “I thought you liked history?”

Ellie wrinkles her nose at him, ire in the pinch of her fine eyebrows. “Dude, obviously I do.”

“Dude,” he says, not really thinking as he turns away from her to open his pack.

“So what is it?”

“You know about ancient Egypt?”

“The pyramids?”

“Right. Well, they used to bury the kings and stuff in the pyramids, and they’d put them in these fancy coffins. That’s a sarcophagus.”

“Why didn’t you just say coffin?” Ellie asks scornfully. “I know about those guys, the pharaohs. Wait. Somebody brought your brother a whole sarcophagus from the fucking pyramids?”

“It was a miniature. It was a keepsake box.”

“What sort of sakes did you keep in there?”

“Pretty sure that’s where he kept his smokes.”

“Sick.”

Joel agrees, but it’s not the truth. Sarah used to keep all sorts of things in the sarcophagus, notes from friends, erasers, paper clips, until one day the lid smashed into two pieces and she stopped having it on her desk. Joel told her ten times he was gonna fix it for her when he had five minutes with a little bit of wet plaster or mastic or hell, super glue would’ve done the job, but he never fixed it. It might still be in her desk in their house in Austin. Joel won’t ever know.

Joel pulls a can of ham from the pack, and a can of beans. He misses nothing from the QZ, but most of the time they could eat a real meal. He feels cruel passing Ellie an open can of beans. He won’t. He gets the shitty cooking stove out and flicks the gas canister to remind himself how little they have left. (He should’ve saved it, let them eat cold ravioli and beans, kept it for when there’s nothing left to eat but game. But he warms up her meals for the same reason she said No one’s gonna find us and he repeated it back to her.)

“Joel?”

“Yeah.”

When Ellie doesn’t answer, he turns around. She’s sitting at the table now, stupid enough to take her shoes off. He thinks they’re bugging her. He’s gotta get her a pair of boots soon.

“What?” he asks.

She squeezes one of the magnets between skinny fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

“No. Last time you said that you pulled out that book.”

“It’s a real question.”

He wants to say Ellie, just ask me. C’mon, girl.

She puts the magnet back on the fridge. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

He wants to say No, tell me.

“Alright. Gonna fix this, then.”

“You broke it?”

“Fix us something to eat.”

“Cowboy,” she says, though she’s not quite talking to him anymore as she sits down on the kitchen floor and stretches out.

“You can go sit on the couch,” he offers.

She doesn’t bother. Joel cuts the lids off of the cans and dices the ham. He puts it in with the beans, tips it all into the cooking pot to warm over the plate. He lets it bubble for a couple of minutes before pouring it into a bowl. It’s not a lot each. He gives Ellie the bigger portion, figuring she needs it if she’s uncomfortable enough to sit down anywhere, and tired enough to stay there. She’s not gonna like washing her hair tonight —last time she complained it hurt her shoulders afterward. She was quiet the entire time. Could’ve told me.

“Ellie? We’re gonna wash your hair after this.”

Usually she complains about the idea, too. She says she can deal with it, throwing it up into the usual ponytail and forgetting about it.

“‘Kay.”

They eat their dinner. Joel finishes first, shoving his bowl on the counter to remain unwashed for the rest of time. Back aching like he took a lashing, he follows a shred of beige light up the stairs to the bathroom for soap. Most shampoos have gone like juice now, sediment at the bottom and water at the top. With a real good shake, some of it is still usable, and it’s not as harsh as the soap. Joel’s noticed his hair stays cleaner for longer with shampoo, so long as it’s not completely gone bad, so he searches the bathroom for a bottle and opens it imploring. If Ellie followed him up now he wouldn’t check, but he sniffs the bottle and pours a little of the shampoo out into the sink. It’s miraculously fine. Tess would call that a silver lining, Tex.

Conditioner hardly ever goes bad. He finds a tub of it on a bottom shelf, real expensive stuff he remembers from carting Sarah around a Sally’s. He was good with her natural hair by then. Couldn’t braid or flat iron for shit, but Sarah Miller had hair she loved, and Joel loved it too.

It was easier before Ellie to stop thinking so much about Sarah; she’s a frame of reference now. Maybe one day Joel will like thinking about her, but tonight it still burns.

“Alright,” he says, the both of them shed down into their bare bones, t-shirts and holey socks. The countryside they’ve found themselves in means infected are few and far between. The antsy thrumming of waiting for something to go wrong makes his chest ache a little anyhow. “Come on.”

She gets up dutifully. The pond they found a half a mile back means he can use what’s left in his pack to wash her hair the right way, and the collapsible litre they collected earlier will be double boiled before they go to sleep tonight. Still, Ellie doesn’t sound like she’s expecting it when he empties a half a bottle onto the top of her head. She actually laughs. “S’fucking cold!”

Her voice echoes off the sides of the sink.

“Sorry.”

He could’ve warned it up. He didn’t think.

“It’s fine,” she says, before falling into silence as usual.

And fuck Joel’s fucking life, as Ellie might say, but he hates it. She took a while to come around already after what happened in Kansas City, and he doesn’t like her when she’s not talking. Or, he likes her still. Loathes to like her. Can’t believe he left her in a room with an infected, can’t believe she was screaming his name on the motel floor and all he could do was scowl in his panic. “I got something to tell you about the way we do this.”

“What?”

“Reckon it’s something you probably don’t already know, if all you had was FEDRA textbooks.”

“Tell me.”

Joel gives the shampoo a shake and squirts it into his hand, bringing it to a lather and then carefully encouraging it into the roots of her hair, behind her ears, a thorough job. The bubbles squelch.

“This isn’t too different from how astronauts used to wash their hair. They used a squeeze bottle with a long piece of tubing, they had to conserve water up there on the space station. They had this stuff called dry-shampoo, too, like a powder.”

“Gross,” Ellie says. She sounds ecstatic. “They washed their hair in space?”

“What, you think they all went up there with buzzcuts?”

“That’s what they did to us in school. If you can’t wash your hair, you can't have it.”

Joel rubs his fingers back and forth over her scalp gently. He’s never gonna make her shave her head, but it’s not like she needs him to say that out loud.

“Is that why you like your ponytails so much?” he asks eventually.

“I don’t like it when the hair is on my shoulders.”

“You could… cut it shorter. I could cut it.”

He’s relieved when she says no.

Joel rinses the soap from her hair with another bottle of water and squeezes the excess before he gives her the towel he stole from the master bedroom’s linen closet. It still smells faintly like laundry sheets but the fabric is rough as loofah. He cringes internally as she stands up and scrubs her face clean. When she emerges from her hair, her face is red.

He smiles to himself when she twists the towel into an updo. Looks like all girls are the same, if their hair allows it.

He’s back to neutrality by the time she’s stopped fussing.

“How’d you know that? About the astronauts?” she asks.

Science project. “Think I saw it on TV.”

—

You’re not my daughter, and I–

—

He finds her aflame in the snow.

Joel doesn’t know what Ellie was trying to say until they’re in an empty dentist’s office break room five miles from Silver Lake. He can’t be sure who’s looking for her. He walks until he’s popped three stitches, leaning on her too heavily, knowing she needs to lean on him, too.

When he sits Ellie down in the back of the room on a rigid looking couch, she’s like laffy-taffy in the cold, drifting slowly backward, going hard, his jacket falling to either side of her and her sweatshirt ridden up her stomach. Her jeans are unbuttoned. The zipper is caught at the bottom of its teeth.

He tried to.

“There you go, baby,” he mumbles, pulling the sides of his jackets tight around her. He can only warm her with his own body. He slips into the seat next to her and drags her face into his arm. “There you go. Alright.”

The room is spinning like a copper dime, but he has Ellie again.

“Are you bleeding?” she asks. She stopped shaking hours ago, but the tremble in her voice remains.

“M’fine, Ellie.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He tips his head back rather than look down. “It’s healing. You– you stitched me up.”

“Joel.”

“I’m okay,” he says, firmer now, but his palm a soft touch where it’s curled over her shoulder. “Just let me– Can you give me a minute?” His eyes close.

She was gasping like somebody had their hands around her neck when he tried to hold her.

The dentist office doesn’t feel like they used to. It’s musty, the smell of wildlife permeating the air, but Ellie smells like copper and clary soap, and Joel smells like infection and five days in a sagging mattress. He’s exhausted and Ellie’s fucking exhausted but he relaxes, because she’s here.

She presses her nose into his arm and whines from the back of her throat.

“You’re alright, Ellie,” he says.

She sinks into him.

When they wake up the next day, they’re both agonisingly sore from sleeping on top of one another on that shitty couch. They’re crusted in blood. Joel’s stitches are angry red eyes on his stomach. Ellie licks her lip and winces when she tastes whatever’s waiting on her skin. Ash or blood.

He stretches as much as he can but his abdomen feels like it’s about to burst. Ellie lays out across the couch without his bulk in the way, her fingers drifting down to her jeans. She tries the zipper, then buttons them without fanfare. Joel ignores how it makes him feel, like he could march right back to Silver Lake and cave his skull in. He isn’t as angry as he is worried.

“Ellie?”

“Mm?”

“How’s your nose?” He crouches down by the couch. “What about the rest of you? You said you’re fine but, now you’ve slept on it, anythin’ really hurting?”

“My nose still hurts.”

“Alright.” And?

“Think… got my ribs.”

“Can I look?”

“Can you look?”

He nods sincerely. “Can I take a look at you?”

“It’s… just a pulled muscle or something.”

“I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

She glares at him and lays back, yanking her sweatshirt up to her bra, then shifting all of it up a little further to show the expanse of her bruise, dark purple and yellow and red and painful from her hip to her chest. He can barely see the dents of her ribs. Carefully, Joel brings his hand up and feels along the front of her for signs of anything pointing the wrong way, but he knows deep down it’s useless. If anything’s wrong, he won’t know from looking.

“I need to put my ear on your chest so I can listen for fluid in your lungs,” he says softly. “Can I do that?”

She doesn’t give him another look, no pretending he’s being weird now. She just looks up at the ceiling and whispers, “Yeah.”

Joel nudges her sweatshirt up further and closes his eyes. “Take a deep breath, baby. Deep breath, there you go. Let it out.”

He can hear her heart plodding along, ever so slightly quick. Her airways sound clear.

He sits up and grabs her sweatshirt, pulling it down with care as he tries to catch her gaze. “It sounds alright. Hurt to breathe?”

“A bit.”

“We can only keep an eye on it.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles, turning away from him.

He lets his hand rest in neutral ground on her side, just above the bruise, not an ounce of pressure to his touch. “Now what are you sorry for? Ain’t done anything wrong.”

“I had to leave you there.”

“Yeah, you had to. I know you didn’t have a choice.”

“If I didn’t…”

Joel shakes his head, inching closer despite his screaming knees, his still-aching wound, “You should’ve gone when I told you, but you didn’t. ‘Cos of that, I’m alive. You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for.”

She curls up like a pill bug on her side. He takes it for a dismissal and begins cataloguing their current standing. Not much food. Nothing in the way of first aid besides that bottle of penicillin and a dirty needle. Ellie’s bag has matches, her knife, her one change of clothes, and her books. Joel’s pack has most of the camping stuff they got from Jackson and a box of 9mm plated bullets he has no use for. Ellie must’ve used his change of clothes at some point. They’re missing. As are his lighter, the flask, and any of the maps they’ve collected over time. He can’t fucking beleive it when he finds the can at the bottom of his pack, dented to all fuck, which is why they never tried eating its contents to begin with.

“What happened to all our stuff?” he asks her.

She’s out of it. When he gets back onto his knees to peer at her, he realises she’s sleeping again.

“You sleep, girl,” he mutters with a fierceness he isn't necessarily prepared for.

Ellie snores. Joel brings the ailing stove out of his pack and searches the office for a bucket, finding a metal tool dish under one of the counters. He fills it with snow, brings it inside, heads back out again to snap branches stiff with ice off of small trees. They’ll burn bad if they burn at all, dark smoke, but Joel doesn’t have many options. There’s a shit ton of paper work for kindling no one will miss. He puts a couple of branches over the stove as the smaller ones burn by the door. He only does it for a little while, scared of sending black smoke up into a white sky with Silver Lake at the bottom of a long hill, just long enough to judge the wood. Then he brings it inside and does the bulk of the work in a room at the opposite end of the office. He’s lucky he doesn’t give himself carbon monoxide poisoning, but at the end of an hour he has three jugs of potable water, two warm bowls of spaghetti strands.

Ellie must be sick to her teeth of tomato sauce, but she doesn’t complain. She flinches when he wakes her up, even as he does it with all the gentle stops, poor sick Sarah red-hot with the flu kissed from temple to temple. “Ellie,” he says, because he knows what girl he’s taking care of, even if his head’s twisted up and wrong, and his stomach shoots with sharp pains every time he breathes in, “it’s me, just me. Let’s get some food into you while it’s hot.”

She sits up, blinking sluggishly, hands already open for her portion. While she’s out of sorts the spaghetti seems to go down no problem, it’s when her eyes clear and the bowl is empty that she purses her lips, tipping forward, lungs heaving like a bird’s. Joel should’ve guessed she was gonna chuck it all back up —he should do a lot of things. Only thing he can do now is pull her hair from her face as she pukes between her fingers, spaghetti strands and bile. She heaves until she’s red in the face and her eyes are rimmed with tears, choking out desperate, exhausted apologies.

And Joel. He grimaces at the feeling of a split stitch, saying, “It’s alright, I don’t mind. It’s okay, baby, it’s fine, just get it out.”

—

Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies was true.

I swear.

—

“Do you think Maria will let me hold the baby, when she has it?”

Joel’s squinting into the dark recesses of their stove when Ellie speaks up. It’s one of her quiet days. Joel nearly forgot she was there at all.

“‘Course she will.”

Ellie pulls at the collar of a new t-shirt. New clothes, she says, feel like they’re choking her. But new clothes have to get worn to get worn. She’s toughing it out. Joel is proud of her.

She lets her head tip back until the end of her ponytail is skimming her shoulders. The sunshine gives her hair a sweet hue of auburn, and the good weather has warmed her skin. Jackson seems to live in a near perpetual state of snow, and to have escaped it has heightened her mood somewhat, but she’s still tentative. Of him, of Tommy and Maria and the residents of the commune she has yet to properly meet. She hates the dining hall, and won't step foot in the Tipsy Bison. Joel’s tried to take her to movie nights and greenhouse mornings and she just wants to go on walks. She seems to hate being with him as much as she hates being without him; she goes shy and grouchy when she follows him around for his odd jobs, and she’s never quite herself when she stays home and has to wait for him to return.

The solution was Maria. Ellie could warm up to Jackson by following Maria around for her council duties. Then Ellie doesn’t have to look like a clingy kid, and she doesn’t have to worry about being alone. Joel felt awkward as a cow on ice asking Maria to do it, but Maria didn’t give Joel her distrustful long look, she just nodded.

“I’ve never held one.”

“No?”

“I just don’t think she’ll let me.”

There’s this tone of voice Ellie uses when she knows something’s true, and she might not want it to be, and yet she’s learned not to want more, either. Joel doesn’t know what word to ascribe to it. It’s not hopelessness, not self-pity. I’m not family. And she’s a mirror. He’s noticed that whatever emotion he projects is one she ends up mimicking, so maybe it’s his fault that she sounds serious when she does. He didn’t exactly encourage her to share her feelings to begin with. How is she supposed to know she can speak her mind?

“Why do you think that?”

Ellie pokes at his mug on the counter. “What if I drop her?”

“It’s harder to drop a baby than that, you don’t just drop ‘em.”

“But how does Maria know I won’t?”

“I doubt the idea has even crossed her mind.” He crawls away from the oven and creaks to his feet. “I can ask Tommy about it, if you want. Do some probing. I don’t see why you can’t hold the baby, but Tommy’ll know best what Maria’s feeling about the whole thing.”

He rinses the degreaser off of his hands and wipes them dry on a rag. Ellie’s still shifting on her feet restlessly.

Joel doesn’t know what this is about, but he resolves to get to the bottom of things before dinner. He leans against the sink with his hands at his sides, taking Ellie in, in all her little-ness, fifteen years old and as short as the day they met, stringier —though that half inch of stubborn baby fat in her cheeks remains— and her dark brown eyes. The other day he found her glaring at the TV with her knees to her chest as she massaged her calf in clumsy hands. I don’t know what the fuck I did, they’re just hurting, she’d said with a huff. It feels like glass.

“You got those growing pains again?” he asks now. “Want me to rub ‘em again?”

She shakes her head.

“What’s the matter, then?”

She isn’t perturbed by his gruffness. “Nothing.”

“Any other questions you wanted to ask me?”

She looks at their fridge, smuggled Cancun magnet on the side pinning a drawing she did of Shimmer next to a handwritten schedule Maria made for the both of them. Neither adhere to it very diligently so far. “Does Tommy hate seeing me this often?” she asks.

“Tommy likes seeing you more than he likes seeing me, baby. He ain’t interested in old Joel anymore.”

Ellie actually laughs. “Maybe old Joel should learn some new tricks.”

“I’m trying. Been trying to fix the damn element on the oven all morning, but I guess we’re back over Tommy and Maria’s until I figure it out.”

Ellie nods.

Joel sighs. He’s tempted to coax her into a hug, but it’s not something they’ve fallen into doing naturally. He only hugs her when she’s crying, and he’s worried giving her one now will make her start.

“I know I ain’t been a good listener in the past,” he says, shrugging. “We both know I’m not good at this.”

“Yeah, you’re… you’re getting better.”

“Thank you.”

She shifts. If Joel gives her space—

“The growing pains aren’t that bad. When did you say they stop?” she asks.

Ah. “Whenever you’re done growing.” He gestures for the living room. “Resting will help.”

They head into the living room and she sits in the armchair, which isn’t ideal. Doesn’t matter. She frowns as he sits down by the chair and the coffee table, her legs up to her chest, but she doesn’t stop him from pulling one of her legs straight and feeling down her calf.

“Sitting like that won’t help.”

“Honestly this is one of the most alien things that’s ever happened to me in my life,” she says.

“The growing pains?”

“No.”

He shakes his head. Joel has done worse for her now. Washed the grease from her hair. Held it all back when she was throwing up, wiped it off of her cheeks. He’s rinsed the blood out of her jeans and seen her spit phlegm into grass all across the Rockies. He knows exactly how gross teenage girls can be. Rubbing a cramp out of her leg is the least of all that, but he won’t embarrass her by saying so. It’s not like it makes her any lesser to him.

“If you don’t want me to do it, I won’t,” he says gently, thumbing at the elastic of her sock, “but if you think I care about doing it for you, I don’t. I fed and clothed you this last year–”

“Exaggeration–”

“– an’ I told you already. You get a paper cut, you can tell me about it. Even if all I can do about it is feel sorry for you.”

It took them near enough four months to get to Salt Lake City after Silver Lake. Four months of trying to take care of her the right way, too little too late. Four months of waking up to her snuffling in her sleep or shuffling across the bamboo roll to press her nose against his arm. That close together, he knew when she needed him. Jackson has more room to hide.

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, dick.”

“I do feel sorry for you. What are you, five foot nothing? Sooner these pains are over, the sooner you can reach the good shit on the top shelf.”

“Like you’d let me have the good shit.”

“Maybe I will. Starting to feel pretty sorry for you, all these short pains.”

“That’s not what they’re called.”

“How would you know? You didn’t even know they were a thing until I told you.”

“That’s not fair!” Ellie tenses as Joel digs his knuckle into her muscle, but she doesn’t move away. “I don’t know about tons of stuff, it’s not like I chose to live in propaganda-land. You don’t know about a ton of stuff, too. I looked in the library when we got here– Do you know how a siphon works yet? ‘Cos I do.”

“Which one of us can siphon gas, me or you?”

“How do you spell ‘mesozoic’?”

“How much detergent do you put in the washing machine?” Joel asks with a self-satisfied grin, his hands using muscle memory as he taunts her. “Here’s a hint, honey, it’s not the amount you used last time.”

“You motherfucker.”

He rubs the front of her calf for a bit, then puts another round of pressure on the back. She has a bruise peeking out of the hem of her jeans that he skirts around. “How’s that feeling, Ellie-girl?”

The last time Tommy called her that, she wrinkled her nose and started calling him Tim. But Joel must be doing something right. Ellie doesn’t kick up a fuss.

“Will you do the other one?” she asks carefully.

“Yeah. Could get Tommy in here to do both at the same time.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Can we move this parlour to the couch? Otherwise I’m gonna have to work the knot out of my back when we’re done.”

Ellie doesn’t like the sounds of that. They move onto the big couch and she lets him pull her leg into his lap. He works the pains out of them the best he can. She slips sideways and prattles off a story about that book on siphoning gas, how Maria gave her a suspicious look when she asked, and how the town library doesn’t have a single book on dinosaurs or prehistoric creatures. Maybe it’s easier for her to accept his help when they aren’t looking at one another. Maybe she just wanted him to know. Eventually she quietens.

“I used to think you were scary,” Ellie murmurs after a while.

“I used to feel scary,” he says, trying to let her off of a hook he hadn’t realised she was caught on.

“When you beat up that FEDRA soldier the first night we were together… It’s not like I thought you were gonna hit me…”

“I ain’t gonna hit you. Not ever.”

She shakes her head, the wavy bits of hair around her face shaking with it. “I know. You’re not that kind of scary.”

Joel passed his hand down the flank of her calf slowly.

“Do you think Maria will let you hold the baby?” Ellie asks. She pouts a little when she’s finished.

“If that baby is anything like Sarah, she’ll run out of people to hold her. You couldn’t put her down.”

Joel’s thinking it as he’s holding Ellie’s leg. His girls are the same when it comes to that. All this fussing and aching when what they really need is a soft touch, a shoulder to curl into, or a lap where they can kick their feet up.

She turns limp in his hold. Ellie trusts him, even if things between them aren’t perfect. Joel isn’t stubborn enough to pretend he isn’t grateful.

“I hope it’s a girl,” she says. “There’s too much fucking testosterone in this place.”

Joel lets his fingers run down to her bony ankle. “I got all the girl’s I can handle,” he admits softly.

I got you, he’s saying. Promise.

158 notes · View notes