all-heroes-are-dead

[all-heroes-are-dead]

[all-heroes-are-dead]

𝐂𝐇.𝟐 → 𝐀𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬.

꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. The days slip by in golden blinks, time is faster here. Feedbags, hoofbeats, heat heavy on your forehead. But when you're with Joel, time forgets to move at all, like even it is trying to look at him a moment longer.

˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ cowboy!Joel x fem!reader, slowburn, mutual pining, age gap

𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: HEY YALL!!!! part 2 is here! it took some time cuz i wanted the first part to get at least 100 notes, see if u all really like it. ANYWAYS here's joels part!! hope u enjoy p.s hope u enjoy my short poem at the beginning 🐇🎀🤠 (short taglist: @thoughts-of-bear @chewingbunny @mukeovernetflix )

𝐂𝐇.𝟏 | ...

❝The sun dips low, but I am still away

Fingers brushing against the edge of night

Do you hear the wind?

Saying things I don’t yet know how to say?❞

ㅤ ♰

It's been three weeks.

The days unfurl like parchment creased by dust, smoothed by sun. Mornings begin before the world stirs, with dew on the grass and coffee already steaming in the kitchen. The wind blows softly, the animals still asleep in their stalls. It starts to feel normal.

Joel’s already outside, like always. You see him through the kitchen window, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that same weathered flannel unbuttoned just enough to show the curve of his throat, his skin sun-warmed and golden. He’s fixing something near the paddock, hammer in one hand, a cigarette dangling loosely between his lips.

You don’t mean to watch, but you do.

Later, when you’re washing dishes, he comes in. You feel it before you hear it, his presence always lands first. "That casserole last night," he says, setting down his gloves on the counter. "Think I died a little."

You glance over your shoulder, smile twitching at the corners. "Didn’t know you cowboys were so easy to please." He shrugs, eyes flicking to yours. "We’re not. You just got a touch." And maybe it shouldn’t feel like that. Like that praise is wrapped in flint, but your heart catches fire anyway.

That evening, you're sweeping near the porch, dust swirling at your feet, when Joel walks past you. No words. Just a low, amused hum in his chest. You speak before you think.

"Do you ever smile?" He stops. Turns just slightly. The brim of his hat hides most of him, but his voice is all gravel and molasses when it comes. "Only when I mean it." Your stomach flips.

He doesn’t linger, but he doesn’t go far either. Just sits on the edge of the porch as the sky burns pink and gold behind him. You finish sweeping slower than you need to.

Later, you join him, bare knees brushing the wood, the air between you hotter, a little awkward. You offer him half an apple, and he takes it, fingers brushing yours. It’s nothing he thinks.

It’s everything for you.

“You ever miss the city?” he asks. You shake your head. “No. It started to feel like rot. Like everything I touched would turn to mold.” He nods like he understands. Like he feels it too. The slow erosion of something once bright. "You don’t talk much," you murmur. He chuckles low. “Don’t need to, usually.”

You turn to look at him then. Really look. “I like that about you."

He meets your eyes, and it hits you like a nail through soft wood. A glance that stays long after it ends. There’s silence after that, but your heart is singing and dancing.

And maybe that’s the danger of him, you think. Not the calloused hands or the scars on his forearms, not the steel-toed boots or the pistol always clipped to his belt. It’s the quiet. The steadiness. The possibility. Like a fire that hasn’t yet caught. But God, how it wants to.

ㅤ ♰

Another day comes and passes by just like that.

Joel was already outside when you wandered past the barn. The sun had dipped low, all melted honey and tangerine spilling across the sky, and there he sat, on a worn stool beside the horse sheds, one boot pressed into the dirt, the other knee drawn up. A guitar rested on his lap.

You didn’t speak, not at first. Just stayed by the fence post, your once bright yellow sweater sleeves half pulled over your hands. He didn’t look up, but you could tell he knew you were there. His fingers moved across the strings like a prayer, coaxing out something low and slow. “You play beautifully,” you said at last, voice soft as the dusk around you.

Joel glanced up, shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Ain’t nothin’. Just somethin’ I picked up years back.” He replies, almost shy. “Helps the horses settle. Helps me settle, too.” You stepped a little closer, your shoes crunching quietly on the gravel. “Mind if I stay?”

His eyes flicked toward you. “S’pose not.”

So you sat on the low fence rail, watching his hands more than his face. Big, calloused fingers that could fix broken hinges, wrangle cattle, and still pull music from a six-string like it was made of breath and bone. You didn’t realize how close you were until the last chord faded into the evening air. He looked over at you and you felt your face burn up again.

“Y’got quiet all of a sudden,” he murmured, voice rough but not unkind. You swallowed. “Just…Umㅡ thinking.”

“‘Bout what?” You didn’t answer right away. What were you supposed to say? There was a breeze, and it tugged a strand of hair across your cheek. Joel reached out and tucked it back behind your ear. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Your eyes met and his thumb hovered near your jaw. Close. And for a moment the world stopped. So close.

But the moment passed.

Joel leaned back, dragging in a breath like it hurt. And in a way it did. “Should head in. Gets cold out here once the sun drops.” You nodded, heart a thudding mess beneath your cardigan. “Right. Y-yeah.”

He stood, brushing dust from his jeans, and offered a hand to help you down from the fence. When you took it, you swore you felt something pulse between your palms.

“Night, darlin’,” he said. You smiled, cheeks warm all over “Goodnight, Joel." And when you walked back toward the house, his song still hummed, wrapped around your neck like a locket.

ㅤ ♰

That night, you can’t sleep. You twist in the sheets until they feel like ropes and chains. You are restless. You slip outside barefoot, cardigan tugged over your nightdress, and the door creaks behind.

The moon is high. Everything glows in that strange pale way, like the world’s been half-remembered. The grass is wet under your feet. You walk without thinking, past the porch, around the old woodpile.

You don’t mean to go far. Just to the old swing hanging from the crooked oak out back, weathered rope, wood worn smooth by years of use. You find it in the dark by memory, settle onto it softly, fingers curling around the fraying edges.

The stars are out tonight. Scattershot and trembling. You breathe deep and slow. Peaceful.

The swing creaks again under your weight, the night folding heavier around you. Then a sharp crack from the treeline. You jolt upright, heart lurching. The swing groans as it rocks back without you, and in your panic, you stumble straight into the solid warmth of Joel’s chest.

Strong hands catch your arms before you can tumble backwards. His palms are rough, steadying you like it’s nothing. “Hey, hey,” Joel says low. “Easy, darlin’. Just a branch. Wind picks up, things snap.”

You realize, belatedly, how close you are, pressed so near you can feel the heat coming off him in waves. His flannel is open over a thin, worn t-shirt, and you can smell soap and pine and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, mortified, trying to pull back.

But he doesn’t let you go right away. His grip softens but stays firm. He’s grounding you. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, girl.” he murmurs. His thumb brushes, barely, against the inside of your elbow.

You stare at the open collar of his shirt, too shy to meet his eyes. Your pulse stammers at the base of your throat. “I guess…” you start, voice too small, too breathless. “I guess I’m still not used to it being so quiet. City was always loud. Noise kinda...filled up all the spaces.” Joel huffs a quiet breath. Not quite a laugh, but close. “Out here, you hear yourself think more. Sometimes that’s worse.”

You manage a tiny smile. “You don’t seem scared of the quiet.”

“I ain’t.” His voice drops even lower. “Learned a long time ago it’s better to listen to what the quiet’s tryin’ to tell you.”

You finally dare to glance up at him. His hat’s pushed back a little, shadows painting the sharp lines of his face, the cut of his jaw. His eyes are unreadable. You wish you could drink the moonlight off of his face.

The swing creaks again behind you, swaying lonely on its ropes. Joel’s hand slips from your arm slowly, like he's giving you the choice to stay close or step back. You should probably move away. Put some space between you.

But you don’t. Neither does he. The wind picks up a bit. The night deepens, crickets singing somewhere out in the dark. You think he might say something else. You think maybe you should.

Your hands twitch at your sides, desperate to fidget. He notices, of course, and without thinking, Joel reaches out brushing his thumb against the edge of your sleeve where some srings are unraveled.

It’s a tiny thing, but it undoes you anyway.

“Y’cold?” he asks gruffly.

You shake your head. “No. Just...nervousㅡ I guess.”

Joel’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. Like he knows exactly what you mean. He leans just a fraction closer, enough that you catch the shift of his shoulders, the way his breath catches. And for one reckless second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

Joel’s gaze drops to your mouth. You don't breathe.

But he stops.

You see the moment he reins himself back, muscles pulling taut, a low sigh escaping through his nose like it costs him something to let it go. He steps back, hands sinking into the pockets of his jeans.

“You oughta get inside,” he starts, “Gonna get colder once the moon’s up.” You nod, heart knocking against your ribs. “Yㅡeah. Okay.”

Neither of you move right away.

Joel tilts his head toward the house, a silent nudge, and you finally force your legs to work, stepping backward toward the porch light. Your skin still tingles where he touched you.

When you reach the door, you glance back once. He’s still there, standing in the dark, his hat low over his eyes, the swing swaying slow behind him.

Watching. Waiting.

You step inside, closing the door with a soft click. Press your back to it and try to catch your breath. Outside, the wind picks up again.

In the dark of your room, you peel off your sweater with shaky hands. Crawl under the covers and stare at the ceiling, wide awake, the swing still creaking in your mind, the ghost of Joel's hands still warming your arms.

You tell yourself it’s fine. It was nothing. Still, you wish he hadn’t pulled away.

Downstairs, Joel lingers in the kitchen longer than he needs to. He taps his fingers on a half filled whiskey glass, and stares out the window into the blackness beyond. He can see the swing from here. You were trying so hard to be brave. Like you’d have let him if he just leaned in.

He brings the glass to his lips but doesn’t drink. Instead, he presses the rim against his bottom lip, eyes narrowing.

Christ.

He should’ve kissed you.

It sits heavy in his chest. It coils hot in his gut. That faint sadness he caught in your eyes when he stepped back. He sets the glass down harder than necessary, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face.

He’s too old for this. He knows better. Knows what it would mean if he crosses that line. You’re young. New to this place. You look at him like he hung the damn moon some days, and he feels like a goddamn fool for wanting to reach out and take what you don’t even know you're offering.

Still, he can’t forget about you not even for a second. Since you got here it had been torture. Joel sighs, and pushes off the counter.

In his room, he doesn’t bother with the light. Just sits heavy on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floorboards like they might give him answers.

He can still smell you. Soap and summer and something soft. He tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. He’ll put more distance between you. Stop hanging around so much. Stop looking so damn hard. But even as he thinks it, he knows he’s lying.

He knows. He’s already too far gone.

[all-heroes-are-dead]

[all-heroes-are-dead]

I don't have anyone to talk about this

[all-heroes-are-dead]

New tumblr Banner thought I’d share w you 💛💛 this is part of my weekly Tlou series happening on instagram #TLOUartSundays

They were so soft I needed to paint them😭

(Please don’t repost without credit, thank you!!)

IG | shop

[all-heroes-are-dead]

Matt, in his hospital gown: Frank, do not kill anyone. The last thing I want is for people to die because you decided to help me. I know they are Fisk's men but -

What Frank is hearing, too busy looking at Matt's ass: blah blah blah, catholic guilt, martyr complex, backstory stuff, I have such a nice ass-

[all-heroes-are-dead]

i'm sorry i'm the one you love,

no one will ever love me like you again.

[all-heroes-are-dead]

i'm sorry i'm the one you love,

no one will ever love me like you again.

[all-heroes-are-dead]

𝐂𝐇.𝟏 → 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭-𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞.

꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. Fresh out of college and aching for quiet, you trade the city skyline for wide skies and greener grass, accepting a job out on a remote ranch with three men you’ve never met. All you were supposed to do was tend to the house and find some peace. But the men you meet are nothing like what you expected, and they stir something in you. What will this new beginning bring to you? ˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ cowboy!Joel x reader, cowboy!Logan x reader, cowboy!Arthur x reader, fem!reader, reader is described shortly to be somewhat girly, age gap (reader is in their mid twenties), she’s so silly and so in danger (😈), slow burn.

𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: hey guys remember that one post i made like months ago? guess what?? ive finally decided to write it!!!! and its a mini series, yeppeeeee!!! no smut YET but i know youll love it. enjoy this first part :p love ya 🩷🌟🐇

❝ the night wears its breath in silver, and for a moment, so do we. ❞

ㅤ ♰

You found the ad on a whim, nestled between job postings you’d never dare apply to— corporate things with shiny promises and empty souls. It was printed on aged parchment, like someone had scanned it straight from 1892:

“Looking for help around the homestead. Cooking, cleaning, light tending to the animals. Room and board provided. Good hands preferred. Contact J. Miller, Three Pines Ranch.”

No photos. No email. Just a number and an address at the bottom that looked like it had been forgotten by the rest of the world. It tugged at something in your chest.

So you packed.

Left behind the heavy city, with its teeth and steel, its empty stares and plastic smiles. Left behind the noise that made your skin itch, the professors who told you that literature wouldn’t take you far, the friends who faded like chalk on pavement. You weren’t running. Not really. You just wanted something slower. Something quieter. Something that smelled like flowers and dirt and sun, maybe.

The drive out to Three Pines felt like slipping into a dream. Past towns where gas stations still had cassette players, past fields that rolled on like sighs, golden and soft. The closer you got, the more the land seemed to speak. Trees leaned in with curiosity. The air thinned out, made room for thought.

By the time the ranch gates came into view, rusted and proud, you could already feel your shoulders easing. The house rose out of the horizon, sprawling and worn, white paint peeled by sun and wind, wraparound porch with creaky planks and a lone rocking chair moving like a heartbeat. Chickens clucked somewhere to your left, and the scent of hay, woodsmoke, and something rich, cinnamon maybe, danced in the late afternoon air.

You stepped out of your car with your suitcase in one hand and a stomach full of nerves. A breeze caught the hem of your skirt, and you brushed your hair from your eyes. The gravel cracked beneath your ballet flats. Wind stirred the porch swing and made it creak in a way that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“This is how that one horror movie starts,” you mumbled under your breath, staring up at the place.

The screen door banged open, and a man stepped out, broad-shouldered, sun-worn, built like a barn with arms crossed over his chest. He looked you up and down like he was trying to decide if you were worth keeping or throwing straight back into your car.

Two others followed.

One with hair swept back and sideburns that made him look like he’d been born in the wrong century, leaner than the first, but something in his eyes was more dangerous. Not cruel, exactly. Just like he’d seen too much.

The last looked half-feral. Not in the dirty way. Just in the way he moved, slow and tight, like he could snap at any second. His tank clung to his frame, and you could see the veins in his arms before he even got close. He didn’t smile. None of them did.

You were suddenly aware of the ridiculous pink on your nails, the soft bow in your hair and those stupid ballet flats. You pushed a smile through the nerves.

“Hi,” you said. “I’m here for the housekeeper position. Please tell me I’ve got the right address and this isn’t a setup for a murder.” The first man blinked at you, then rubbed a hand over his beard. “You’re the one who called about the ad?”

You nodded. “That’d be me.” He stuck out his hand. Rough, calloused. Solid. “Name’s Joel.” The one with the cowboy gait tipped his hat lazily. “Arthur. Don’t let the boots fool you— I only shoot snakes.” The last grunted, still watching you with suspicion, like you might burst into flames on his porch. “Logan.”

“Well,” you said, dragging your suitcase up the first step, “I can cook, clean, and I don’t spook easy. I’m pretty good with animals and I like things quiet.” You paused, then added, with a hopeful smile, “Also, I make a mean apple pie.”

Arthur chuckled. “If she’s lyin’, I’ll be the first to call her out.” Joel tilted his head. “You ever worked on a ranch before?”

“No, sir.” Your voice softened. “But I’m good at taking care of things. I learn fast.” That earned you a long, shared look between the three of them. Logan finally turned toward the door. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Joel opened the screen wide and nodded for you to come in.

The house swallowed you up in wood and warmth as you stepped inside. It smelled like cedar and dust, and underneath it all, something smokey. The dim light from the setting sun was filtering through the dust-riddled windows.

“Go on in,” came a gruff voice and you turned to find Joel his broad shoulders filling the doorway motioning for you to step forward inside. He led you down the hallway, past the creaking floorboards and faded portraits hanging crookedly on the walls. Joel stopped at a door at the end of the hall and pushed it open. “This’ll be your room for now.” He stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter.

You stepped into the small, cozy room, surprised at how warm it felt despite the rough edges of the house. A simple bed, an old wooden dresser, and a window that framed a slice of the sprawling fields outside. It was waiting for you to claim it. And you did, immediately.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching you with those quiet, assessing eyes. “We keep things simple around here. No need to worry about much. Just keep to the routine— help out with the house, keep things in order. We’ll figure out what’s what as you settle in.” You nodded, your throat a little tight from the nerves that still buzzed in your veins. “I can do that.” you respond quietly, still taking it all in.

Joel’s gaze softened just a fraction, and the lines on his face seemed to ease as he gave a small grunt. “Good. That’s good.” He paused, watching you a moment longer. “If you need anything, just holler. Don’t be shy.”

With that, he gave you a nod and left, the sound of his boots echoing down the hallway, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room.

You sighed and ran your hand over the bedspread, feeling the coolness of the fabric beneath your fingers. You soon started unpacking, pulling clothes from your bag and neatly folding them into the dresser. You set your favorite pillow on the bed, the one with the ducks in dresses, trying not to laugh at how utterly ridiculous it looked in this stark, rustic room. But, it f elt right, in a way. You took your time shifting your things around, figuring out where to place each item.

The sounds of the house creaked softly as you lay there, the occasional breeze from the open window making the curtains flutter gently.

But as the moon climbed higher, you found yourself unable to sleep. The soft glow from outside caught your attention again. A glance out the window revealed someone in the yard, silhouetted against the rising moon. You squint, recognizing the broad, sturdy frame of one of the men. The figure was shirtless, his back glistening with sweat as he washed his hands in the moonlight, the water catching the light in a way that made him look almost unreal.

It was Joel, you realized.

Your heart skipped a beat, eyes lingering on him for just a little longer than you probably should’ve. The sight was undeniably captivating. Strong, worn, and oddly beautiful under the cool moonlight. You shifted away from the window quickly, heart pounding in your chest as you realized just how much you were staring. You hope he didn't see you, breakfast would've been real strange.

You sank back into the bed, eyes closing as you tried to settle the buzzing in your chest. But despite the sleepiness that tugged at your limbs, your mind kept drifting back to him. And maybe to the others too, though you had no idea what to expect from them yet.

Still, you were here now, tucked away on this ranch in the middle of nowhere. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were right where you needed to be.

ㅤ ♰

The soft murmur of the world outside hadn’t yet reached your ears when you stirred awake, the edges of the night still clinging to your thoughts. The room was cloaked in a stillness that felt both foreign and intimate, a kind of quiet you couldn’t remember feeling since you were a child, tucked away in the soft folds of home.

It was still dark outside, but the faint outline of the sun's promise touched the horizon in a soft, golden hue. You didn’t need the clock to tell you it was well before dawn, a time when only the hardworking and the restless were stirring, when the world was half asleep. You pushed the blanket off, the cool air of the room creeping up your skin, and sat up, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms.

You hadn’t come here to sleep in.

You stood up, the wooden floor creaking beneath your feet as you moved to the window. The moon was still high, casting its silver light over the land, stretching endlessly into the distance, as if time itself could never reach the horizon. A deep inhale. And then when you were all ready, you were moving, feet steady against the floor as you found your way to the kitchen.

The house was cold in the early morning air, but the warmth of the stove made everything feel just right. It took a moment for you to find where everything was. You prepared your breakfast quietly, smiling to yourself as you made sure everything was perfect. You reached for the heavy mug of coffee, the warm steam rising to your face, filling your lungs as you let the scent of it settle deep in your chest.

By the time you set the table, the sun had begun to rise, the sky turning the color of old gold and ash. You had prepared enough for them, the plates full and hearty, and the coffee strong enough to bring anyone back to life. The thought of surprising them and showing them you were capable gave you a little thrill. You hadn't felt that in some time.

And as you set down the last of the plates, you felt your heart quicken with a touch of excitement, half-nervous, half-sure.

You could hear the heavy thump of boots.

You took a deep breath, straightening your shoulders and dusting off your apron as you turned to face the sound. You didn’t know what to expect from them. But it felt like they wouldn’t mind you. They might even like it, who knows. You had to test the waters somehow. And then, with the door creaking open, they entered the kitchen, one by one.

“Well, look at this. Someone’s up early,” Joel said, his gaze flicking to the spread you had made. Arthur followed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, but there was a warmth there you hadn’t expected. "Trying to impress us already, young lady?"

"I hope I didn't wake you up..." you reply soflty, making the latter chuckle. Logan didn't say anything, but his eyes lingered over the breakfast you'd laid out.

Joel laughs "Now, didn't know yer an early bird like that." you smiled, trying to ignore the slight warmth spreading across your cheeks. It was all still strange. “Well, guess we’ll see how it tastes, then,” Arthur said with a grin, sitting across from you.

“So, you used to cook like this back in the city?” Logan asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

You hesitated for a moment, setting your fork down, thinking of how to answer. "Well, I mean, I tried to make things work in the city. But it always felt rushed, you know? I hope it won't feel like that anymore..." You smiled softly, leaning back in your chair. “Ain’t no better place than here for that.” Arthur reached for his coffee, giving you a sly wink. “Hell, with how much work we’ve got, you’ll be makin’ all sorts of things before long, darlin’.”

Joel chuckled, reaching for a piece of bacon. “We’ve got more food than we know what to do with. But a good cookㅡ Well, that's somethin' we don't got around here.” He stops for a moment. “Guess we’ll see if you really have what it takes, huh?” Joel teased, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You met his gaze, your chest tightening “Iㅡ suppose you’ll be the judge of that,” keeping your voice steady, though you could feel the heat creeping into your cheeks again.

Logan finally spoke up “Just make sure you’re ready for it.” His eyes caught yours, the faintest smile curling at the edge of his lips. You nodded, taking another sip of your coffee to steady your nerves.

And as you finished your breakfast, the conversation slipping back into easy laughter, you felt more at ease than ever. Maybe you'll miss the city, who knows?

But right now this feels just right.

[all-heroes-are-dead]

𝐂𝐇.𝟏 → 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭-𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞.

꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. Fresh out of college and aching for quiet, you trade the city skyline for wide skies and greener grass, accepting a job out on a remote ranch with three men you’ve never met. All you were supposed to do was tend to the house and find some peace. But the men you meet are nothing like what you expected, and they stir something in you. What will this new beginning bring to you? ˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ cowboy!Joel x reader, cowboy!Logan x reader, cowboy!Arthur x reader, fem!reader, reader is described shortly to be somewhat girly, age gap (reader is in their mid twenties), she’s so silly and so in danger (😈), slow burn.

𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: hey guys remember that one post i made like months ago? guess what?? ive finally decided to write it!!!! and its a mini series, yeppeeeee!!! no smut YET but i know youll love it. enjoy this first part :p love ya 🩷🌟🐇

❝ the night wears its breath in silver, and for a moment, so do we. ❞

ㅤ ♰

You found the ad on a whim, nestled between job postings you’d never dare apply to— corporate things with shiny promises and empty souls. It was printed on aged parchment, like someone had scanned it straight from 1892:

“Looking for help around the homestead. Cooking, cleaning, light tending to the animals. Room and board provided. Good hands preferred. Contact J. Miller, Three Pines Ranch.”

No photos. No email. Just a number and an address at the bottom that looked like it had been forgotten by the rest of the world. It tugged at something in your chest.

So you packed.

Left behind the heavy city, with its teeth and steel, its empty stares and plastic smiles. Left behind the noise that made your skin itch, the professors who told you that literature wouldn’t take you far, the friends who faded like chalk on pavement. You weren’t running. Not really. You just wanted something slower. Something quieter. Something that smelled like flowers and dirt and sun, maybe.

The drive out to Three Pines felt like slipping into a dream. Past towns where gas stations still had cassette players, past fields that rolled on like sighs, golden and soft. The closer you got, the more the land seemed to speak. Trees leaned in with curiosity. The air thinned out, made room for thought.

By the time the ranch gates came into view, rusted and proud, you could already feel your shoulders easing. The house rose out of the horizon, sprawling and worn, white paint peeled by sun and wind, wraparound porch with creaky planks and a lone rocking chair moving like a heartbeat. Chickens clucked somewhere to your left, and the scent of hay, woodsmoke, and something rich, cinnamon maybe, danced in the late afternoon air.

You stepped out of your car with your suitcase in one hand and a stomach full of nerves. A breeze caught the hem of your skirt, and you brushed your hair from your eyes. The gravel cracked beneath your ballet flats. Wind stirred the porch swing and made it creak in a way that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“This is how that one horror movie starts,” you mumbled under your breath, staring up at the place.

The screen door banged open, and a man stepped out, broad-shouldered, sun-worn, built like a barn with arms crossed over his chest. He looked you up and down like he was trying to decide if you were worth keeping or throwing straight back into your car.

Two others followed.

One with hair swept back and sideburns that made him look like he’d been born in the wrong century, leaner than the first, but something in his eyes was more dangerous. Not cruel, exactly. Just like he’d seen too much.

The last looked half-feral. Not in the dirty way. Just in the way he moved, slow and tight, like he could snap at any second. His tank clung to his frame, and you could see the veins in his arms before he even got close. He didn’t smile. None of them did.

You were suddenly aware of the ridiculous pink on your nails, the soft bow in your hair and those stupid ballet flats. You pushed a smile through the nerves.

“Hi,” you said. “I’m here for the housekeeper position. Please tell me I’ve got the right address and this isn’t a setup for a murder.” The first man blinked at you, then rubbed a hand over his beard. “You’re the one who called about the ad?”

You nodded. “That’d be me.” He stuck out his hand. Rough, calloused. Solid. “Name’s Joel.” The one with the cowboy gait tipped his hat lazily. “Arthur. Don’t let the boots fool you— I only shoot snakes.” The last grunted, still watching you with suspicion, like you might burst into flames on his porch. “Logan.”

“Well,” you said, dragging your suitcase up the first step, “I can cook, clean, and I don’t spook easy. I’m pretty good with animals and I like things quiet.” You paused, then added, with a hopeful smile, “Also, I make a mean apple pie.”

Arthur chuckled. “If she’s lyin’, I’ll be the first to call her out.” Joel tilted his head. “You ever worked on a ranch before?”

“No, sir.” Your voice softened. “But I’m good at taking care of things. I learn fast.” That earned you a long, shared look between the three of them. Logan finally turned toward the door. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Joel opened the screen wide and nodded for you to come in.

The house swallowed you up in wood and warmth as you stepped inside. It smelled like cedar and dust, and underneath it all, something smokey. The dim light from the setting sun was filtering through the dust-riddled windows.

“Go on in,” came a gruff voice and you turned to find Joel his broad shoulders filling the doorway motioning for you to step forward inside. He led you down the hallway, past the creaking floorboards and faded portraits hanging crookedly on the walls. Joel stopped at a door at the end of the hall and pushed it open. “This’ll be your room for now.” He stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter.

You stepped into the small, cozy room, surprised at how warm it felt despite the rough edges of the house. A simple bed, an old wooden dresser, and a window that framed a slice of the sprawling fields outside. It was waiting for you to claim it. And you did, immediately.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching you with those quiet, assessing eyes. “We keep things simple around here. No need to worry about much. Just keep to the routine— help out with the house, keep things in order. We’ll figure out what’s what as you settle in.” You nodded, your throat a little tight from the nerves that still buzzed in your veins. “I can do that.” you respond quietly, still taking it all in.

Joel’s gaze softened just a fraction, and the lines on his face seemed to ease as he gave a small grunt. “Good. That’s good.” He paused, watching you a moment longer. “If you need anything, just holler. Don’t be shy.”

With that, he gave you a nod and left, the sound of his boots echoing down the hallway, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room.

You sighed and ran your hand over the bedspread, feeling the coolness of the fabric beneath your fingers. You soon started unpacking, pulling clothes from your bag and neatly folding them into the dresser. You set your favorite pillow on the bed, the one with the ducks in dresses, trying not to laugh at how utterly ridiculous it looked in this stark, rustic room. But, it f elt right, in a way. You took your time shifting your things around, figuring out where to place each item.

The sounds of the house creaked softly as you lay there, the occasional breeze from the open window making the curtains flutter gently.

But as the moon climbed higher, you found yourself unable to sleep. The soft glow from outside caught your attention again. A glance out the window revealed someone in the yard, silhouetted against the rising moon. You squint, recognizing the broad, sturdy frame of one of the men. The figure was shirtless, his back glistening with sweat as he washed his hands in the moonlight, the water catching the light in a way that made him look almost unreal.

It was Joel, you realized.

Your heart skipped a beat, eyes lingering on him for just a little longer than you probably should’ve. The sight was undeniably captivating. Strong, worn, and oddly beautiful under the cool moonlight. You shifted away from the window quickly, heart pounding in your chest as you realized just how much you were staring. You hope he didn't see you, breakfast would've been real strange.

You sank back into the bed, eyes closing as you tried to settle the buzzing in your chest. But despite the sleepiness that tugged at your limbs, your mind kept drifting back to him. And maybe to the others too, though you had no idea what to expect from them yet.

Still, you were here now, tucked away on this ranch in the middle of nowhere. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were right where you needed to be.

ㅤ ♰

The soft murmur of the world outside hadn’t yet reached your ears when you stirred awake, the edges of the night still clinging to your thoughts. The room was cloaked in a stillness that felt both foreign and intimate, a kind of quiet you couldn’t remember feeling since you were a child, tucked away in the soft folds of home.

It was still dark outside, but the faint outline of the sun's promise touched the horizon in a soft, golden hue. You didn’t need the clock to tell you it was well before dawn, a time when only the hardworking and the restless were stirring, when the world was half asleep. You pushed the blanket off, the cool air of the room creeping up your skin, and sat up, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms.

You hadn’t come here to sleep in.

You stood up, the wooden floor creaking beneath your feet as you moved to the window. The moon was still high, casting its silver light over the land, stretching endlessly into the distance, as if time itself could never reach the horizon. A deep inhale. And then when you were all ready, you were moving, feet steady against the floor as you found your way to the kitchen.

The house was cold in the early morning air, but the warmth of the stove made everything feel just right. It took a moment for you to find where everything was. You prepared your breakfast quietly, smiling to yourself as you made sure everything was perfect. You reached for the heavy mug of coffee, the warm steam rising to your face, filling your lungs as you let the scent of it settle deep in your chest.

By the time you set the table, the sun had begun to rise, the sky turning the color of old gold and ash. You had prepared enough for them, the plates full and hearty, and the coffee strong enough to bring anyone back to life. The thought of surprising them and showing them you were capable gave you a little thrill. You hadn't felt that in some time.

And as you set down the last of the plates, you felt your heart quicken with a touch of excitement, half-nervous, half-sure.

You could hear the heavy thump of boots.

You took a deep breath, straightening your shoulders and dusting off your apron as you turned to face the sound. You didn’t know what to expect from them. But it felt like they wouldn’t mind you. They might even like it, who knows. You had to test the waters somehow. And then, with the door creaking open, they entered the kitchen, one by one.

“Well, look at this. Someone’s up early,” Joel said, his gaze flicking to the spread you had made. Arthur followed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, but there was a warmth there you hadn’t expected. "Trying to impress us already, young lady?"

"I hope I didn't wake you up..." you reply soflty, making the latter chuckle. Logan didn't say anything, but his eyes lingered over the breakfast you'd laid out.

Joel laughs "Now, didn't know yer an early bird like that." you smiled, trying to ignore the slight warmth spreading across your cheeks. It was all still strange. “Well, guess we’ll see how it tastes, then,” Arthur said with a grin, sitting across from you.

“So, you used to cook like this back in the city?” Logan asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

You hesitated for a moment, setting your fork down, thinking of how to answer. "Well, I mean, I tried to make things work in the city. But it always felt rushed, you know? I hope it won't feel like that anymore..." You smiled softly, leaning back in your chair. “Ain’t no better place than here for that.” Arthur reached for his coffee, giving you a sly wink. “Hell, with how much work we’ve got, you’ll be makin’ all sorts of things before long, darlin’.”

Joel chuckled, reaching for a piece of bacon. “We’ve got more food than we know what to do with. But a good cookㅡ Well, that's somethin' we don't got around here.” He stops for a moment. “Guess we’ll see if you really have what it takes, huh?” Joel teased, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You met his gaze, your chest tightening “Iㅡ suppose you’ll be the judge of that,” keeping your voice steady, though you could feel the heat creeping into your cheeks again.

Logan finally spoke up “Just make sure you’re ready for it.” His eyes caught yours, the faintest smile curling at the edge of his lips. You nodded, taking another sip of your coffee to steady your nerves.

And as you finished your breakfast, the conversation slipping back into easy laughter, you felt more at ease than ever. Maybe you'll miss the city, who knows?

But right now this feels just right.

[all-heroes-are-dead]

Charlie Cox playing an American putting on an Irish accent is amazing, but not the first of his accent-ceptions, for we should not forget when he spoke Spanish in Season 1:

But truly his greatest moment of actingception in the show is in Season 3 whenever Matt had to pretend to be sighted I've written about years ago:

I appreciate everyday that I get to witness this man work his magic in the role again ❤️

[all-heroes-are-dead]

[all-heroes-are-dead]

Frank: I do not have time for your candy-ass hero shit. Also Frank:

[all-heroes-are-dead]

Inspired by Song #3 (Stone Sour)

Did I save you

'Cause I know you saved me too

[all-heroes-are-dead]

Tolerate it

i made you my temple, my mural, my sky now i'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

words: 1.7k

summary: He comes home bleeding. Again. You ask what's wrong. He kisses you instead. You let him— until you can't, not anymore. Love is not the problem. Silence is.

warnings: implied smut, detailed description of making out— almost smut actually but then a truckload of angst to balance the vibes, cussing, not a happy ending

a/n: i'd say sorry in advance but i'll be honest i enjoyed this way too much lmao. fic clearly based on tolerate it by taylor swift. special shoutout to the best person of all time @foreverwinterstan13, the person without whom this fic would not have existed at all, ilysm, this one's for you *shoots basketball into hoop and misses*

——————————————————————————————————

You heard the door unlock but didn’t move from the couch. You didn’t have to look. You could feel it— Matt’s presence in the way the air shifted. Heavy, worn out. Quiet. Keys in the bowl. Jacket on the hook. A slow, sharp inhale.

You stared straight ahead. “You’re late.”

No answer.

A few seconds passed. You heard him step into the room, that near-silent way he walked when he was trying not to show how much it hurt. You turned your head, eyes landing on him. Blood smeared across his temple. A bruise blooming near his jaw. His shirt was clinging to him with sweat, wrinkled, dark around the ribs.

You sat up straighter. “Matt—”

He crossed the room in two strides and kissed you. Just like that. No greeting, no warning. Just his mouth on yours— hot and urgent and desperate.

You froze for a second. Then you gave in. Because it was Matt. Because he knew exactly how to touch you, how to quiet every screaming part of your brain. Because he always came home like this— broken, aching— and you always let him.

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you gently into his lap. You straddled him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, one hand threading into his hair. His breath hitched when your hips rolled forward, and you felt that familiar spark burn down your spine.

He kissed you deeper. Rougher. One hand slid under your shirt, the other bracing your waist like he was afraid you'd vanish.

You pulled back, barely, just enough to speak. “You’re bleeding.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, mouth chasing yours again.

“Matt—” you started, but his hand cupped the back of your neck and pulled you down. His lips moved to your throat, slow and reverent.

And God, it felt good. Too good.

You let him. You tilted your head and gave him more. His fingers brushed the underside of your bra and your breath stuttered.

“I’m serious,” you whispered, even as your hands tugged his shirt up. “You’re hurt.”

“I just need you,” he breathed.

And you wanted to believe that. You wanted to give him whatever he asked for. You wanted to lose yourself in him until you didn’t care what time it was or how fucked everything felt. So you let him keep going.

He laid you back on the couch, pressed kisses down your body. Your shirt was bunched around your ribs. You were shaking and aching and trying to hold yourself together.

“Matt…”

He kissed back up your sternum, across your chest, dragging his lips like he was memorizing you. Like he was sorry. Like he was praying. You arched into him, a broken sound in your throat. You loved him. You loved him so fucking much you could barely breathe.

But—

Your hands came up and pressed against his chest, not hard, but firm.

He paused, lips just under your jaw. “What?”

You were still catching your breath when you said, “I can’t keep doing this.”

His eyes opened— barely. He didn’t move.

You swallowed hard and sat up slowly, pushing his hands off you. “You walk in looking like you got hit by a truck, and you won’t talk to me. You kiss me like it’ll make it go away. Like I won’t notice.”

“I’m not trying to make anything go away,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I just—”

“You what?” you asked, searching his face. “You need a distraction? You want to forget about how much you're bleeding, so you touch me like I’m the one that needs saving?”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Your voice rose, bitter now. “Say the part out loud? Because God forbid we ever talk about what this is.”

“You think I don’t care?” he shot back, rising to his feet. “You think I’d come home to you every night, let you see me like this, if I didn’t care?”

“I think you don’t let me in,” you snapped. “Not really. I think you come here because you like the idea of being loved. Because it’s warm and safe and I don’t ask you to be anything more than what you already are. You like feeling close to something good. Something safe. But when it really matters, you shut me out.”

“That’s not fair.”

You stood too, wrapping your arms around yourself. “No. What’s not fair is how I feel like a stranger in my own relationship. What’s not fair is how I spend every day wondering if you’re still in this, or if I’m just—”

You stopped yourself.

Matt’s voice was hoarse when he said, “Say it.”

You looked at him. “If I’m just something you tolerate.”

That landed like a fist to the gut. His head dropped slightly, like the weight of your words physically knocked something loose in him.

“You’re not,” he said, and for a second you almost believed it. “You’re not.”

“Then show me,” you whispered. “Tell me something real, Matt. Anything. Why won’t you let me all the way in?”

He didn’t answer. Just stood there, silent, the echo of his guilt ringing louder than words ever could. And that silence was worse than anything he could have said.

“Right,” you breathed. “That’s what I thought.”

You turned away from him, but he stepped forward. He took a step closer, hand half-lifting toward you like he wanted to close the gap, but he didn’t touch you. 

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I love you more than I should. That’s the problem.”

You blinked, stunned for half a second. Then your expression hardened.

“Don’t turn this around on me,” you said sharply. “You chose to be in this. You let me in.”

“I know,” he murmured. “That’s where I went wrong.”

Your breath caught. “I’m sorry— what?”

Matt’s hands were at his sides, balled into fists, like he was holding himself together by a thread. He ran a hand through his hair, the motion sharp and messy.  “It was selfish. Wanting this. Wanting you. Wanting… a life.”

You stared at him, heart thudding in your chest.

“You think our relationship is a mistake?”

“I think I dragged you into something I never should’ve. I thought I could do both— be with you and still be… me. But who are we kidding, (Y/N)?” His voice broke again. “I can’t have normal. I can’t have domestic bliss and lazy Sundays and arguments about what kind of soap goes in the bathroom. I’m not built for that.”

You took a slow step back. “Don’t do this.”

“As cheesy as it sounds, I am doomed by the narrative,” he said, half-laughing, bitter. “I know how my story ends. Short. Bloody. Alone.”

“Stop—”

“I should’ve never brought you into it,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

You looked at him like you didn’t recognize the person standing in front of you. “Matt… I don’t need you to be someone else. I don’t need picket fences or lazy Sundays. I just need you. I need you to talk to me. To let me in.”

He didn’t answer.

“Don’t say things like that,” you said, voice shaking now. “You’re not alone. You don’t have to be.”

He looked at you for a long, aching second, and then said quietly, “Being with me is a constant trial. It’s always going to be like this—pain, fear, never knowing if I’m coming back, or God forbid, something happening to—” he stopped himself, jaw tight, and looked away. “I can’t do that to you. I won’t.”

“No.” You stepped closer, voice firm despite the crack in it. “I love you. I’ve chosen this. Chosen you. You don’t get to just—”

“I want us to remember each other in love,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “Not as what we've become. Not as something broken.”

You stared at him, stunned. For a second, the room was silent except for your own heartbeat in your ears.

Then your voice cut through the quiet— sharp, shaking, furious.

“You don’t get to do that.”

Matt’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t speak.

“You don’t get to tell me you love me and then walk away like it means nothing. You don’t get to pull me into your world and then decide it was a mistake.”

“I never meant—”

“You did,” you snapped. “You said it. You think this was a mistake. Us. Me.”

He looked away.

You took a step forward, eyes burning. “You’re a fucking hypocrite, Matt. You told me to trust you. You said we’d figure it out. That we were in this together. But the second it got hard, you shut down. You ran.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit,” you bit out. “You were trying to protect yourself.”

He flinched.

You kept going. “You say you love me? Then prove it. Stay. Talk to me. Fight for this. You don’t just get to throw your hands up and disappear.”

Matt’s voice was low, but unyielding. “I’ve already done enough damage.”

You stared at him like you didn’t recognize him anymore. “Coward.”

His face tightened— hurt flickering under the surface— but he didn’t argue. Didn’t fight it.

You felt your throat close, the weight of it all crashing in.

“I love you,” you said, softer this time. Like maybe if you said it gently, it wouldn’t shatter between you. Like if you remind him one last time, he’d maybe change his mind.

Matt closed his eyes. His breath stuttered, chest tight like it hurt to contain it. He pressed the heel of his palm to his brow, like he could rub the thought of you away, like the words tasted wrong in his mouth before he even said them.

A slow exhale. A muscle jumping in his jaw. His shoulders dropping like surrender.

“It’ll pass.” 

a/n: oh yeah, i threw in a little fleabag :)

[all-heroes-are-dead]

Season 2 Posters

[all-heroes-are-dead]

Matt Murdock dating a therapist and still refusing to go to therapy is probably the funniest thing he's ever done