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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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For many of us on Mother's Day, there is an unspoken collective of people who miss their mothers. Maybe this has become more visible as we grow older, but it started for me more than ten years ago. My niece will never meet her maternal grandmother. I walked down the aisle and then filed divorce papers, and bought a house, and graduated with a master's degree, without the woman who raised me to be brave enough to do all of that.

This is technically chapter 3, but it is for anyone who misses their mom.

(ok and it's also for Sleep Token because I listened to the trilogy on repeat while writing this and it's also new album release weekend)

Nile: A Life Running Forward

The final piece of my imaginings of what-ifs and what-happens-nexts for Nile and her family - both mortal and immortal. A slice-of-life dive into the characters’ lives, following Nile’s 3rd-person POV. Set immediately after the end of the movie and stretches a few decades into the future. Rating: We’ll stick with the movie’s R for language, canon-typical action/violence. Word count: 3.9k Series homepage AO3 link

When you live, by daylight With angels at your side In order now, bestowed by The light of the sunrise … Just running forward, alive like wires As I see the past on an empty ceiling I play along with the life signs anyway But hope to God you don't know this feeling Yet in reverse, you are all my symmetry A parallel I would lay my life on So if your wings won't find you Heaven I will bring it down like an ancient bygone -Sleep Token, “The Night Does Not Belong to God” and “Euclid”

Forty years in the future

On a Midwestern steel gray November evening, Nile will arrive in Chicago. The UK passport for Nadia Franks is stamped at O'Hare and Nile lets herself be carried by the flow of travelers towards baggage check and the transportation lines.

Nile has made it a habit to observe how crowds en masse behave. It was the best way to fit in, and changes in the collective consciousness of the group was often the first sign something was amiss. Despite millennia of civilization Nile has learned about from her team, and decades observed first hand, she believes that humans still carried an interest in self-preservation and had the collective good of their fellow man at heart. It was how she had started seeing civilization after a few years, when the feeling of loneliness and separation started to set in, and what guided her moral compass as an eternal warrior. She believes that she and her team were protecting this greater good, this self-preserving majority, from the aberrant evil that fell away and sought to destroy the good.

For now, in this streetscape and greenery, terminals decorated with "Chicago through the eras" decorating the walls (Nile smiles lightly at her decades of the 1990s and 2000s), there is only a collective fatigue with an occasional spark of excitement from travelers who still have energy after their international flights.

Despite her British passport, the fourth held with various names and nationalities, this was once home, nearly a half-century earlier. Nile has kept her promise to Andi and avoided Chicago. She never returned after dying in the Afghanistan desert. It was too risky for twenty-one-year old Nile to reappear too close to her family, friends, or community within a few decades of her death.

Until a few weeks ago when she had gotten an update from Peter, Copley's assistant, that she had been expecting for several years. She and the whole team had gotten it, actually, since he had told her while everyone was at Copley's house. She had never straightforwardly told Nicky and Joe about her request to Copley to follow her family's development, but they hinted that they had guessed her plan. They didn't make a fuss, and since Nile didn't have imminent plans to change her actions, she didn't say anything to deter them, and so they had all let it lie, one of the first of many silent nods of trust.

They had been standing in front of Copley's wall of immortal history, next to the shelves of bound ledgers where he had finally, with Andi's blessing, started asking the team to fill in and typed in others himself. The wall was much more organized now, organized by century with dedicated color threads for each of them, plaited together or zigzagging separately or in pairs. Copley was seated next to his desk, refusing his wheelchair unless he was going down the hall or outside. He liked to point with his cane now and had been tapping Joe on his arm while they debated the geopolitical cause and effect of a job in New Palestine that the team had been involved in the year before. Peter had looked up suddenly from his workstation, his face drawing suddenly. "Nile-"

Nile had been seated next to Nicky on the couch across from the wall. She loved Nicky and Joe both dearly, but Nicolo di Genova had become something of a kindred spirit to her in her new immortal life. When she heard Peter's voice, she turned, leaning forward, and without needing to say anything, Nicky's hand was reassuringly on her shoulder.

Everyone stopped and watched Nile and Peter. She gleaned what she had been dreading from his gaze. She broke the silence, choosing to let everyone know. "It's my mother, isn't it?"

Peter nodded, and glanced hesitatingly at Nicky and across the room to Joe. "It's ok," Nile said quietly, standing up to face Peter. "Tell me," she added, with the compelling straightforward tone she had gained in her years, a tone that made their foes question why such a young woman had such confidence and made innocents follow her commands without question.

Peter read off the monitor in front of him. "An emergency call from your brother's home in Lake Forest. An ambulance and paramed crew responded. They just arrived at New Northwestern Emergency Care with your mother. I'm watching the hospital data in real time now." He glanced at his watch. "Your brother called at 7am local time. It looks like she had a stroke."

And suddenly - memories rushing back like this didn't happen often anymore; she had gotten quite good into slipping into a meditative state over the years. But now she felt like she was in a wind tunnel. She could feel - almost see - an alternate timeline rushing past her, where she was getting a call from her brother, both of them now in their sixties, meeting him and their elderly mother at the hospital. Calling work, maybe arranging childcare, sending word to Pastor Mark, or whoever had taken over by now. Nile felt Nicky stand up behind her and rest his hands on her shoulders. Joe walked over and placed one hand on Nicky's and reached for one of hers. "Nile," Joe said soothingly, in his deep voice, low and smooth with his native accent.Nile took a deep breath and willed herself out of the rush of what-if’s and what-could-never-be’s. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, leaving Nicky and Joe behind her.

Humans had been living and dying for all of history, almost all except for the select few in this room and portrayed on Copley's wall, and she had known this moment would come and this moment would go and she could choose to lose herself in the river and break her first immortal promise to herself to not be lost in her grief. Or she could choose to face it, to be brave and be fully immersed when it would be so easy to step away and watch the crowds of civilization pass by.

"Is she gone?" Nile asked, ready to wade into the rapids.

Peter shook his head. "No, vitals are stable, but there's definitely going to be concerning next steps. You know I hesitate to diagnose-" but Nile cut him off. "An educated guess," she prompted. Peter had been completing residency at one of the London hospitals and aiming for a fellowship in genetic research with a special interest in community and population traits, when Copley and his ex-CIA and MI6 affiliates had discretely approached him about a unique opportunity.

Peter nodded and continued. "We know your mother is a very healthy woman. It's too soon to tell, it's possible that she could regain some or most function, but it's also very possible that she may not have any meaningful recovery." He paused and gazed gently at her. "Your brother would then need to make a choice for her." He tapped the translucent screen. "Now that she's registered, I can see her power of attorney and medical decision making guides. She doesn't want to be kept alive on any machines or be put through a strenuous rehabilitation. Based on what I'm seeing from the data and this document, it's only a matter of time. How much time, I don't know. Very soon or possibly weeks to months."

Nile breathed out, unaware she had been holding it in while Peter spoke. She had been following her family peripherally for so long now that she realized she never thought about what to do when there inevitably was a change. She simply stood and nodded her head in the middle of the room. Finally she spoke, keeping it simple. "Thank you, Peter. Will you keep an eye on it for me, please? I'm going outside for a bit."

She turned, Joe catching her eye and Nicky talking half a step forward. She lightly held up a hand and walked past, softly assuring them in Italian, now second nature to her for brief comments and low assurances like this. “No grazie, starò bene.”

And she would be fine, she thought, as she left Copley's office and walked down the hall to the back staircase and out to his garden. She stood for a moment with her hand against one of the trees, then sat on the bench between two of them, framed by the granite boulders ringing the trees like guards, one each for Lykon, Quynh, and Andi. She just had to think about what to do.

She allowed herself to step cautiously into the memories without being swept into the wind tunnel. She imagined being in a waiting room with her brother, and probably his wife. Even in her what-ifs scenarios, Nile had never imagined herself married. They would likely be seated, tense, quiet, waiting. There would not be any tears yet. Nile realized with a jolt that her alternate reality actually was happening. She was seated here, quite, tense, while her brother and his wife were doing the same halfway across the globe. This made it easier to bear. She left the memories behind and brought her mind back to this garden, seeking a meditative step to allow her mind to sort this out in her unique perspective and let the next steps naturally reveal themselves.

After she went home with Nicky and Joe, she could sense them over her shoulder, imagining them wordlessly gesturing back and forth, you talk to her, no you talk to her, what do we say? what’s the right thing to say?

“OK,” she said, whirling around, seeing them freeze in place just inside the doorway, Joe reaching for Nicky’s hand. “You can stop doing the silent bonded-for-life communication thing, I can basically hear you anyway.”

“Only forty years in and she’s already developing superpowers,” Joe quipped in an aside to Nicky, earning him a nearly identical eye-roll and a stern look from both Nicky and Nile.

Nicky took Joe’s arm. “Look, Nile, we know your mother is important to you, and it’s been a long time for you-”

“Forty. Years. Nicky, I know. And I don’t care about me, it’s been a long time for her. We at least got my dad’s body back, but she doesn’t know… she never knew, she’ll never know what happened to me.” Nile paced down the hallway that led to the back garden. She thought she was doing so good at this, separating her old mortal life from her new one, kept back behind Copley’s computer screens and Peter’s diligent following of her brother, nieces she had never met, cousins she would never see again… “It just doesn’t seem fair. She’s waited all this time not knowing about me. I never broke that promise to Andi that I would let them go. I wish there was a way to let her help me go.”

“Nile,” Nicky said in that soft way that only he could, “being immortal does not stop the inevitable from happening. It does not mean that you should not allow yourself to feel it, too.”

With their blessing she did not realize she had needed, Nile left for Chicago alone. She planned to keep it separate from her immortal life, she rationalized to herself, though she did tell Nicky and Joe this time, and agreed to keep in communication with Peter. Her new family in London was insistent they weren’t going to let her shoulder it alone.

~~~

Nile makes her way from the airport to her brother’s home, prepared to stay in the city as long as she needs to. Her brother's home has a guest suite behind the garage where their mother has lived for the last several years. For her hospice room they have chosen to use the combination living room/study that overlooks the lawn leading to the Lake Michigan shoreline. Nile watches the house and is able to go in briefly as her mother sleeps. Her mother's eyes flutter open. Nile keeps the sliding door open that she came through just enough to make a quick exit and steps softly to her mother's bedside and kneels down.

Her mother's eyes flutter open and Nile is unsure if her mother is truly seeing her, until a light trembling hand brushes fingertips across Nile's face, the same face her mother last touched on a Navy base over forty years ago before Nile and her fellow Marines left on their second deployment. Nile presses her warm hand against her mother's cool one, leaning her face into her mother's palm. Her mother merely gazes for a brief second and says softly, "I knew you were always there, Nile." Her mother smiles and closes her eyes as a tread sounds on the stairs just outside the room. Nile hastily kisses her mother’s fingers and tucks the hand inside the blankets, smoothing her mother's forehead as she stands. Her mother’s eyes open again and catch Nile's and Nile backs away to the sliding door.

Nile can't believe this is happening. She presses one finger to her mouth in a shhh gesture and slips out the sliding door. The last thing Nile sees before she turns away is a tiny, satisfied smile on her mother's face. Nile closes the door as she closes the door and quickly turns sideways to creep around the corner behind the bushes, away from the lake view and towards the hedges lining the yard.

Nile crouches quietly, listening as the chair next to her mother's bed creaked. The horizon over Lake Michigan lightens and she needs to move from the yard before she is seen. After a few more moments, Nile dashes across the yard through the hedge. She winds her way down the neighbors’ drive to the street. Taking off her dark jacket to reveal the bright yellow running shirt underneath, she ties the jacket around her waist and jogs down the road to the park where she had left her rental car, her cover for being on foot in the neighborhood. When she reaches the park, she watches the sun rise as she texts Peter. She also checks on the listening device she had planted on the outside of the window she had been sitting under. She hears her brother and a woman, maybe his wife or their cousin, in conversation, something about the hospice nurse coming.

Nile decides to go back to the hotel to get some rest. She hasn't acclimated to the time change well and in fact had accidentally flip flopped her sleep schedule. But it is midday in London now and Peter would listen to the comm she had planted and call her if there was any change. Nile hesitates, then texts Nicky and Joe. Joe responds quickly -good to hear from you, do what you need and take care. He must have handed the phone to Nicky because another message appears from the same number - take care, you are missed, come home soon -n. Nile smiles and pockets her phone.

She sleeps soundly all day and wakes up confused, disoriented. She takes a shower, dressed again in a running outfit under dark clothes, picks up coffee for the night, and drives back to the neighborhood. She turns on the audio from the listening device and hears her brother speaking. It takes her a minute to realize she is only hearing his half, so he must be on the phone. His tone is more worried, and it sounds like their mother was struggling today. His tone changes and he resumes conversation with someone else in the room. It will be tonight, Nile knows.

She had seen that one house had stayed dark for the past several days and seeing the pile of newspapers by the mailbox, she now hopes this family is on vacation. She backs into a spot next to their garage, where she could drive straight through the lawn if needed. She cautiously steps to the end of the drive and walks around the perimeter of her brother's house again. She can hear unfamiliar voices and chances a peek in the window, seeing two nurses in scrubs, one putting her coat on and giving report to another. Both nurses stepped to the other side of the room, heads bent over a screen or a monitor. Nile slowly steps in front of the sliding door again. Her mother's eyes are open. Seeing Nile, her mother puts her finger to her lip as Nile had done last night, and smiles. Nile blows her mother a kiss, something silly she had done often in high school, then waves and melts into the shadows. Her mother does not seem surprised to have seen her daughter again, and Nile's instinct is that her mother knows that she is there, out of sight.

Nile sits against the wall of the house overlooking Lake Michigan, the dark of the night slowly lightening to gray, orange, pink, blue. Her mother's hospital bed looks towards the view. Side by side, separated by the brick wall and by immortality's choosing, Nile and her mother watch a sunrise, similar to so many others which Nile has seen around the globe and that her mother has watched from this house. This morning is different though, as Nile's mother finally closes her eyes just before the sun lifts above the horizon, finally leaving her mortality behind to forever be in the sunrise.

~~~

Four days later, Nile presents Nadia Franks' passport at the London airport. "Welcome home," the international agent greets her. Nile smiles and nods, hefting her backpack and walking through one crowd and following the wake of another to the exit. She hails a cab, making sure to still have her British passport in hand so the driver will know she is not a tourist and not hassle her. She gives their home address and suggests a route through the motorways. Seeing her fatigue and familiarity with the area, the driver barely says another word.

Later, longer than she would like, the car stops outside the gate to their London home. Not the townhome from their first time, but a rambling cottage on a stone foundation almost as old as Nicky and Joe. The late afternoon light is dim but comforting as she steps up to the door. She hardly has a chance to turn the handle when it is already being opened and she can look up into Nicky's comforting eyes.

She drops her bag heavily and leans into his embrace, feeling everything about mortality and pain and loss in that moment. From here on out, she will be the girl whose mother has died. She tries not to, but starts to cry. She hears Joe walk up next to them and feels one strong arm across her back. She allows Joe to steer her to the sofa in the living room overlooking the garden. She plops down ungracefully and Joe drapes a blanket over her shoulders. Nicky brings them all tea and splashes a small amount of whiskey into each of their cups, an uncommon occurrence for them. He and Joe sit on either side of the Nile.

Nicky raises his teacup and says something in Latin, then translates himself to English. “Eternal rest grant unto her, Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace.” Across from him, Joe raises his teacup and intones in Arabic and then English, “Verily we belong to Allah, and verily to Him do we return.” Nile sighs and raises her teacup, running childhood prayers and immortal mantras through her mind, before finally saying simply, "Amen." The three gently clink their cups and sit quietly, sipping their drinks. Nile's eyes begin closing and she feels another blanket added to her lap. She vaguely feels the two men move away and help her stretch out on the couch, before she gives in to sleep.

She wakes suddenly the next morning, back on track with London Greenwich time, but feeling a little worse for the wear for sleeping on a lumpy sofa on a cool British night. She stands up and rolls her shoulders, feeling her body already healing the knots in her shoulders. Nicky is outside in the garden already, pacing and looking at the plants. Nile knows he likes to recite whatever he has been reading, maybe Latin, maybe new poems. Joe is in the kitchen and brings her a cup of coffee. "I told Copley you were back. He sends his condolences." Nile nodded.

"Joe." Nile starts. "I've been so caught up in this for myself, I never asked- I know for Book, but- well," she stops, starts again. "Have you or Nicky ever lost anyone? What...how did you get through it?"

Joe sighs. "It's been a very long time, Nile. I suppose we had to get through it, we did not have a choice. I will not lie, that we were able to be there for each other," he pauses, looking out the window at Nicky, before turning back to Nile and continuing, "but we are here for you, too, Nile." She nods. He continues, "I am not sure why, but neither of us had a desire to follow our families as you do. We were chosen by our families to join our respective royal armies, unlike your own personal choice to join your American military. It was expected that noble or ranking families sent their sons to the church or mosque, or to be soldiers or to other noble endeavors. Perhaps we knew if we had not died that day and not found our immortality and each other, then we would have died another day and that would have been that." He sips his coffee, his eyes following Nicky's figure in the garden. "Perhaps...it was not the best. We were so confident in having each other, we forgot who we had before."

Nile understands, Nicky and Joe's story was unique amongst their lineage of immortals. She hears Joe say, "I think it took us a while to reconnect to humanity again. Do not lose that, Nile. You have a gift given to you by your family. This is why we protect the world, for families to be able to live their lives and experience all they should. Honor that."

Nile nods, rotating the mug in her hands. "Thank you, Joe. I know it must be hard to think about that time."

Joe shakes his head. "Only because I do not remember much anymore.” Together through a misty window they watch Nicky. “But I think you will be different,” Joe says, nudging Nile with his arm. “All of us are together now, and you will never be alone in this.”

---

Thank you for joining me on this exploration of Nile's story. <3

Series homepage

Prayers for death and dying sourced from:

USCCB & UK Islamic Relief

#tw grief and loss #cas writes #the old guard fanfiction #nile freeman #sleep token #euclid #tndnbtg #the old guard #oops I also had a beverage tonight #even in arcadia #you walk beside me still

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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i need to read all of these

Joel Miller Fix-it Fics

Fics to erase and replace tlou 2 episode 2

I will gather every fix-it fic I find, and put them here. Please feel free to comment and reblog with what you’ve written, and I’ll add it!

Just a Dream by @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

So much to lose: stay by @auteurdelabre

Still here with me by @layaispunk

I’m here by @othersidedd

Consequences by @ohraicodoll

Untitled by @penvisions

There There by @whocaresstillthelouvre

What remains of us by @stylesispunk

Trouble by @forever-rogue

Blessings by @sizzlingcloudmentality

Home by @guiltyasdave

Don’t go by @iamasaddie

Untitled by @joelspeach

Home 4-part series by @goodwithcheese

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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joel & ellie + coffee or joel introducing ellie to coffee vs. ellie leaving coffee at his grave to say goodbye

#this is the exact scene i thought of #and his literal affront that someone wouldn't like coffee #that he probably found expired by ten years on a starbucks shelf

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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Happy to be in such good company on this list! Way to go to everyone on a fun challenge with such great inspo, and to V for organizing 🫶

My shortest fic in the Pedro-verse, barely 500 words: Due

Italian Music Challenge 2025 - Masterlist

Masterlist will be updated as soon as anyone will post their fic, here are the first ones.

Please, give some love and support to those writers, I assigned an Italian song to each one of them and they wrote something inspired by it.

And they all did so good! 😍

Thank you again for taking part in my challenge, I really hope you had fun as much as I loved reading your fics 🥰

(Let me know if I missed anything, maybe the tag didn’t work, Tumblr is silly these days. Thank you very much)

➤ Due - @cas-readsandwrites Un named Pedro boy x f!reader You're dancing with a handsome young man - and you shouldn't be. But is it really what it looks like?

➤ Without chains - @604to647 Pero Tovar x Chinese Fem!OC Reader You help Pero shave in preparation for his journey back West with William.

➤ Coraline - @tateypots Protective Frankie Morales x wife!reader

➤ In this world of heroes - @joelalorian Marcus Moreno x f!reader Amid a brutal battle in Florence, Marcus Moreno realizes his heart belongs to you, a fellow Heroic. After the fight, he finally tells you the truth he's kept hidden for far too long.

➤ Star-crossed - @baronessvonglitter Dieter Bravo x gn!reader On a shoot in Italy, Dieter has one of the worst weeks of his life. Perhaps one unselfish act can turn all that around..

➤ Cerchiamo insieme tutto il bello della vita (Let's look together for all the beauty that there is in life) - @maroonpascal Javi Gutiérrez x reader it’s summer and as every year it is time for your annual trip with your best friend, not knowing that this time you will come back home with a lover

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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This, his house and the gifts at his fence, contrasted with the image of a man that Abby has held on to for five years...

the injustice.

I might need to take a break from this show.

#he was so loved The Last of Us Season 2, Episode 3: The Path requested by anonymous

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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As we head into our Sunday and deal with what's next in Jackson - if you're still somewhere in anger or denial, or you want to jump into it with your heart ripped open, or if you want to be where Ellie is... may I offer my attempts.

I won't be able to watch the show tonight, probably not until tomorrow evening, so sending you all strong and comforting vibes.

death on the wind as blood waters the earth

A TLOU ficlet. 600 words. Set immediately after S2E2. Content warnings for grief and loss.

(TLOU 2 spoilers. I recorded a voice memo to myself after waking up at 2am last night after watching episode 2. I do not know the game, I only have a vague understanding of what might happen next, so I have no idea if any of this lines up with the story, but I don't care, because what I do know is the disorienting sense of the world pressing in on your very eyes and ears and lungs when grief and shock set in so very suddenly.)

What Ellie doesn’t want -

- is to hear the thud and drag of the canvas-wrapped load behind Jesse’s horse. What she doesn’t want to have to sit in front of Jesse, and she doesn’t want to feel like she’s going to fall straight off to the ground, and perhaps keep falling, as the world hasn’t stopped turning since she was flat on the floor next to Joel, like gravity stopped working right for her when Jesse finally had to drag her away from the only thing holding her to the earth. But she’s forced to ride with Jesse as he navigates the terrain and his horse with one hand, and her with the other. Because Dina is barely conscious too and only has one working hand with the other bandaged up against frostbite, and Jesse is the only one strong enough to hold Ellie upright for now. Dina at least can keep herself moving.

What Ellie doesn’t want is to look at the hellscape around the fence, or to flag down what’s left of the guard at the gate, or lead a horse through the blood-streaked snow on the city’s main street. If it wasn’t for fucking infected... she doesn’t want to face up to what she thought she could fix. So she doesn’t. She closes her eyes and tips forward over Shadow’s mane. She wants to pretend it’s Joel behind her, that she’s in front instead of pillion because there’s a fresh hunt draped over the back of their saddle. She wants to pretend it was like how it was five years ago, when it was just them, before Jackson, before the Fireflies. She wants the simplicity of the only thing she ever trusted.

What Ellie doesn’t want is to listen to Tommy’s familiar footsteps, voice seeming to echo from a thousand miles away through the rushing wind in her ears that hasn’t stopped since she first felt it piercing her skin and eyes the moments before she entered the lodge. What she doesn’t want is to listen to Jesse’s faint, halting words through the maelstrom, as he repeats it again for Maria. So she doesn’t. Without Jesse on the horse, she slides ungracefully off, a sudden piercing voice in her mind “your horse is gonna take off if you don’t get off that saddle and take ‘er reins,” a voice that taught her to ride to escape the plains after they left Sam and Henry behind. She stumbles through the field of white and red, only a few steps but feeling like a journey across the whole valley.

What she doesn’t want to do is listen to the voices, telling her to come to Tommy and Maria’s, or take her to the infirmary with Dina. What Ellie doesn’t want is for Joel to leave her behind. He never would, no matter how much she pushed. There was a reason she only went to the garage, because what Ellie didn’t want, never wanted, was to be apart from the closest thing she counted as a home. What she doesn’t want is an empty house, what she wants is to be anywhere he is, because together they made a home from a fallen tree, a snow cave next to a rock face, a hole in the fucking dirt because it was the only thing cooler than scorching in the sun. What Ellie doesn’t want to do is to face whatever it takes to crawl the rest of the way out of this valley. So she doesn’t. She lays back down in this half-shadow world, in the dirty snow, next to the bulk of the man she climbed the mountain for.

#cas writes #self reblog #tlou 2 spoilers #tlou fanfiction #ellie williams

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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This was kind of fun! Hard to pick between answers... I wish I could see all the other answers because I feel like I’m probably a Venn diagram of a few.

#uquiz #cas writes

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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For your gentle Friday enjoyment... Jackson Joel , post season 1 canon divergent, my fanfic-of-a-fanfic 💜

Lavender: Interludes

Set in Jackson post TLOU S1 in the Lavender universe by @justagalwhowrites, a few little scenes of Joel, Doc, and the fam in Jackson. Listen I am not pregnant, I have no desire to be pregnant, so I don't know WHERE this came from, but I love soft Joel healing from his trauma and finding love and joy in his family! Content: Reader is described as pregnant. There is smut. And fluff. And love. Grab some ice cream and your heating pads if you're in the same time of the month as me. Minors DNI. 3.6k words

I am not quiet about the fact that Lavender is one of my favorite fanfics, in my two decades popping in and out of various fandoms. Doc and Joel are my distraction and angst and comfort when I need it. Sometimes my imagination runs a little wild.... many many thanks to Kit for creating these characters and being totally cool with the fact that I wrote a little fanfic of her fanfic :D So here we go!

~~~

Joel had walked into the house late one evening, after patrol had gone long and he had to wait to give report to the next crew going out. He was extra antsy and wanted to get home, now more than ever. This was his last patrol for the next several months, as he would not need to leave the walls of the town during the last month of your pregnancy and hopefully not for a month or two afterwards. He would be put on extra shifts on guard duty or with the carpenter crew, but as long as he was within a quick run down the street or an ear-shot of someone yelling for him with news of you, he was fine with that.

Anyway, when he had come home, you had been standing in the middle of the living room, seemingly all the sheets and blankets from the house around you and stacked in a laundry basket at the bottom of the stairs. All of the glasses and mugs were sitting out drying on the counter, as well as the few baby bottles you had brought home from the clinic (just in case you had said, hopeful that you would be able to breastfeed). All of the lights were still on upstairs.

“Baby,” he said, matter-of-factly, “what the hell are you doin’?”

You spun around, holding a fitted sheet in your hands, fresh from the laundry line outside. The town was encouraged to use the communal laundry whenever possible, to limit wear and tear on the machines in the houses, but understandably many families had middle-of-the-night unexpected messes or heavy loads that they would do at home if the mechanicals still worked. The dryer in their house was still inconsistent, as much as Joel took it apart and banged on it and put it back together, it gave them a few good spins before shuddering to a halt again. Thankfully Tommy and Maria’s across the street was still functional, adding to the growing list of ways that he felt like he was in… well, a commune, with his brother as their lives and households continually overlapped, something he suspected would only increase after the baby was born.

“I think I’m nesting,” you answered back, looking around at the piles of fabric and wiggling your fingers in the sheets. “It seemed like a good idea to have all the linens clean, and then I was hand-washing some things in the kitchen, so it seemed like a good idea to clean off some of the dishes and things we haven’t really used, they were kind of dusty and I didn’t want it getting in the bottles…” you trailed off and sighed. “Ok, it looks ridiculous, but trust me, it needed to be done!”

Joel wasn’t about to fight you on that, as much as he worried about your health and safety in what he viewed as an extra-fragile state, it seemed like you had come even more alive with an extra vivacity throughout your pregnancy. Even when you were throwing up, or cranky with hormones, you were even more feisty. Which was saying something, considering all the times you had verbally sparred back in Boston, along the road to Jackson, even back when you were taking care of yourself and your grandmother all alone. “Ok, well… can I help you?” he asked. “Seems like you got it in hand, but please don’t tell me you’ve been carrying laundry around all day.”

You waved your hands again, corners of the sheet scrunching around your fingers. “Ellie put up with me for a while and did the heavy lifting with the wet things. She wanted to go out for the evening, though, so it’s just been me and the folded piles tonight.” You looked around as you tucked the corners across and into each other, neatly snapping the sheet and folding the edges in. “I guess if you can take these all back up into the closet upstairs, then it will be mostly done.”

You looked around at the folded pile in the basket, mentally cataloguing your task, before seeming to snap out of it and look back at him. “But you just got home! I’m so sorry, blame my brain for being wired towards this.” You waded through the piles and threw yourself into his arms, even with your stomach grown with his baby, still fitting in just right where he could wrap around your shoulders and your back and you could lean into that space against his chest. Joel ran his hand up and down your back, around your side, warm palm against the place where your child grew. You hummed as he kissed the top of your head, centering himself as he always did when coming home on your scent and the warm gravity of you in his arms.

“Why don’t you go up to bed?” he murmured against your temple. “I’ll get the rest of this. You’ve been on your feet a lot. Please go lay down? I’d love to just… be with you tonight.” You nodded, tipping your head back to kiss him. He anchored himself to you, the press of your lips against his.

“I’m glad you’re home,” you said, squeezing him again before stepping away and looking around at the living room before walking upstairs.

They had been in this house for several months, well-established in Jackson, but he couldn’t shake the nighttime routines yet, circling the first floor of the house, checking that the exits were clear, locked, lights off, locking his rifle in the downstairs closet, keeping his sidearm in the nightstand next to his side of the bed. He heard you moving around the bathroom and treading the hallway into the bedroom. Thankfully, Ellie came home not too soon after as he was finished folding. She shrugged and tilted her head with an eyebrow raised in a nonverbal I don’t know, man, it wasn’t my idea. He handed her the basket and wordlessly gestured up the stairs. She just as silently tilted her forehead against his arm as she passed in a greeting and good-night, and they trooped up the stairs together. “Good night, Ellie!” he heard you call across the hall.

He showered, washing off the road and sweat, before climbing in bed behind you, already nested in your structure of pillows. “Mmmf,” you murmured, nestling back into his chest. He traced the line of the back of your neck with one hand and looped his arm around your front, resting on your stomach. You traced the back of his hand with your fingers in the dark. It didn’t seem to take much, even at this stage in your pregnancy, and soon you were bringing his hand below the slope of your stomach to that place between your legs that seemed so much more sensitive nowadays.

“Baby,” he murmured in your ear, “you gonna be ok? Don’t want to hurt you…”

You moaned quietly as his fingertips traced your clit, leading down to your center, tracing your entrance and just dipping inside. You gasped and tilted your hips, moving your leg to open that space for him. “Please, Joel,” you breathed, trying to be quiet, mindful of Ellie down the hall. “I trust you, I know you won’t hurt me, I want to feel you, please…”

He kissed the space below your ear, the scratch of his beard tickling the back of your shoulder. “Don’t gotta beg for me, sweetheart, always gonna give you what you need.”

Urged by your own hand, he felt the wetness from your entrance already, dipping his fingers in to coat them, coming back to your clit, warm and aching. It didn’t take long for the pressure from his fingers, alternating between circling and lightly pressing on your sensitive areas, before he felt you throbbing, heard your tiny gasps as you tugged on the corner of your pillow, thrusting your hips back into his as he brought you to your edge. Even after months of your reassurance that you knew he wouldn’t hurt you, had never done so, and you still obviously wanted him, he waited for your cues. He tried to ignore his hardening cock, but your thrust backwards had nestled him into the soft flesh of your ass, so warm and delightfully more from pregnancy, and he couldn't help as he rocked against you. Even as you came down, you pushed his hand back towards your center, hitching your top leg up to rest on his, reaching behind for his hip, holding him close.

He ran his hand down your leg, gripping your thigh against him as he moved to push himself against you, the heat and wetness from your center drawing him in. He lined the tip of him with your center, your body grasping to pull him in, as if promises over decades and the proof of your love growing inside you weren’t enough. He stopped only long enough to ask, “this ok, baby? You feel alright?”

You whimpered, tilting your head back towards him, and he ran his nose along what he could reach of your jaw, kissing the side of your neck, breathing against the edge of your ear. “Feels so good, please, don’t stop,” you whispered, rocking just so the tip of him slid in. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of you around him, pressed against him, as he slid inside you from behind. You bit your lip to stop from crying out, rocking back into him with abandon. He had to focus to stop from coming immediately - how could he not, the softness of the most round, plush parts of you pressed against his body and in his hands, your warmth even more enveloping. He focused instead on the lines of your body, kissing your shoulder, gripping your hip as he thrust in and out, syncing with the rocking of your hips. His hand slipped around your front to the top of your legs again, circling and rubbing against your clit. You were so lost in your pleasure, grasping at the blanket in front of you, and he wanted this to last as long as you needed. Unable to see your face or kiss you, giving himself into your body wherever you would take him, he used his words instead, punctuated by his own groans and pleasure. Words of praise and promise, your beauty, the sensation of your body, goddess that you were, holding both himself and your child together deep inside yourself.

-finally, “oh, fuck, there you go baby, I can feel you, so ready, come on-” and you turned your face down into your pillow, breathing heavily, as your body fairly shook with your orgasm, clenching and rippling around him, and he held on tight and rode it out with you, thrusting up once, twice, one more time until he felt himself come apart deeply and at home in your body.

The two of you lay together in the tangle of blankets and blankets, now kicked down around your legs and askew around you, his chest heaving with deep breaths against yours. He felt you melt into the mattress. After a moment he checked himself, not wanting you to need to move, and cautiously lifted an arm to brace himself against the mattress. You made a little noise and tilted your head back against him again. He reach in front of you and sat partway up, leaning over you to kiss you at an angle, reassuring you, and himself that you were still alright, that he hadn’t hurt you or pushed you too much in some way that he would have no way of knowing about, his memories of the only other pregnant woman in his life so far distant and embroiled in its own tinge of sadness and self-doubt that none of it was to be trusted. Only you, here, your daughter for all intents and purposes down the hall, the solidity of this house, was what he could count on.

He kissed you again and nuzzled against your forehead. “Lay down, baby, I got you. Need anything?” he felt you shake your head and settled against your pillow. He smiled. You often had a hard time falling asleep and staying asleep as you advanced in your pregnancy, but something about the release of sex would turn you into goo and put you to sleep afterwards almost right away.

He carefully sat all the way up, leaning over you to reset your pillows where you liked them, against the pressure of your knees, hips and belly supported against the mattress, under your arm, one against the small of your back. When you were tucked in and covered, he quietly stepped down the hall to fill your glass of water and set it down next to you, checking again the lights outside and the door to Ellie’s room, before sliding carefully back in behind you. Not able to get as close through your fortress of pillows, he rested an arm along your hip, breathing in the scent of your hair that always seemed to end up draped across his pillow.

He heard you sigh and shuffle, and was about to ask what else you needed, before you spoke quietly, through the cloud of sleep he knew was almost ready to carry you off. “I love you,” you murmured into the soft darkness of the bedroom. He leaned his head forward, resting his forehead on the space between your shoulderblades, just behind your heart. “Love you so much, baby,” he whispered, squeezing your hip, before sleep claimed you both.

~~~

Joel and Tommy watched as you and Maria talked in the living room of Tommy and Maria’s house after dinner, while they stood in the doorway of the kitchen drinking whiskey, judiciously keeping the scent of alcohol away from your pregnant self and Maria’s breastfeeding. Well, Tommy was watching Joel as Joel watched you shuffle on the couch, gently positioning yourself to rest your lower back. “She doin’ ok?” Tommy asked, trying to catch Joel’s eye.

Joel glanced over at his brother like he was unaware they were even in a conversation together. “Oh- yeah. She said her legs and back are starting to get real tired. Tried telling her to rest more, but you know her, says moving is actually better and she doesn’t want to leave the clinic yet.”

Tommy nodded, knowing this brand of his sister-in-law’s stubbornness and resilient streak. “You ever try doin’ the thing where you stand behind her and lift up her stomach?”

Now Joel was really looking at his brother. “What?” he asked. They didn’t really… talk girls. Joel did his best when Tommy was growing up to have The Talk (that went pretty well, living embodiment of the consequences of Joel’s actions usually screaming in her high chair in the background of those conversations when Tommy would be headed out the door to pick up yet another date) as well as trying to make sure his brother was generally a respectful and polite person to a partner, but other than that, they didn’t really talk about the ins and outs of each other’s relationships. Until you. Even way back when, yours and Joel’s relationship had been more real, more recognized, tangible, than most other things in his life.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, “you know, like you’re gonna hug her from behind or somethin?” He demonstrated in the air in front of him. “Get your arms around her and under her stomach, towards the bottom, where Maria always said was the most sore because it was heavy, stretching out some muscles, and just-” he linked his fingers together, glass carefully balanced in one bear-paw of a hand- “hup.” He demonstrated gently lifting a beach ball in front of him.

Joel watched his brother looking like he was trying to hula hoop in the middle of his kitchen. “Sure it doesn’t hurt her?” Tommy laughed and patted his brother on his arm. “Be gentle, man. Naw, Maria loved it. Would have walked around behind her for the whole last month for her if I could’ve.” Joel nodded, regretting already the time he missed in his brother’s life, refusing to accept his new marriage to Maria, blocking out the thoughts of his brother becoming a father, when all his brother had done for him was to step into Joel’s own life and take on Joel’s burdens as his own. By the time Joel and his girls had made it back to Jackson, several months had passed and Maria had already given birth.

Tommy patted his arm again. “She knows you’d do anything for her. Maria and I will, too. Need a babysitter or an extra hand when it’s time, just holler.” He gestured with his glass towards their window that overlooked the street, across which your home with Joel was softly illuminated by the front door light, waiting for you to come home. You caught Tommy’s movement out of the corner of your eye, looking up and smiling at your husband and your brother-in-law together again, as they should be.

The next day, you were walking slowly around the house while getting ready for a shift at the clinic. You were still the only doctor in town, though they had gained a few additional staff that, while not quite trained as well as you’d hoped nurses would be, were improving as medical assistants and able to triage and take histories and help with physical exams. One of the more senior nurses who had been in town for a while had taken on the heavier medical work before you had arrived. She had taken to your education and you had recently “graduated” her from your unofficial training and dubbed her a nurse practitioner, only needing to sign off with you on certain types of cases. The extra help meant that at least you could sit more and slow your pace to see a few less patients, but for now you said your brain and your energy were fine, and you weren’t going to let a few bodyaches get in the way of being present for the people who needed the knowledge that only you had.

Joel watched as you stood in front of your dresser, choosing which top to go over your precious few pairs of pants they had found to be modified with a maternity band. You sighed and rested your hands on the small of your back, leaning just so, trying to stretch - well, everything.

Joel begrudgingly remembered his brother’s words, knowing he was going to be eating shit for a while, Tommy being more of an expert in the “pregnancy and infancy caregiver in the apocalypse” duties. Joel still had him beat in the teenager department at least. For now, though, he walked up behind you to kiss your temple, slipping his arms around you as he often did to trace the contours of your body, holding your hips or placing a palm to feel the baby.

“Wish you would call it at the clinic, baby, I really do,” he murmured.

“I know,” you sighed, “not yet, though. My mind feels fine. I’m taking it as easy as I can there, I promise, and you know I’m in the right place if I need anything.” You looked down at his hands gently circling your stomach. “I know by now it’s useless to ask you to not worry, but please, take it easy on yourself, too,” you said, placing your hand on his.

Joel wanted to bury his face in your hair, carry you to bed, hold on to you and rub your feet and bring you tea for the next four weeks. He didn’t deserve you, mindful as you were towards his worries and the health of the entire town. “You’re askin’ for the impossible, babe, you know that.”

You laughed lightly. “I know. I can try. At least I didn’t leverage doctor’s orders this time.” You tilted your head back, resting on his chest. “I’ll take a few more days, keep making some plans with the staff, and see how I feel later this week. ‘kay?”

“ ‘kay,” he echoed. You moved to step forward and reach for a dresser drawer again, but Joel followed and gently tugged you back against him. You opened your mouth to softly protest - you did need to get moving, after all - but Joel slid his hands firmly under your stomach, warm and sturdy, and without even realizing what was happening, you felt the pressure in his hands increase and a blessed lightness spread across the top of your hips and your pelvic muscles.

Joel leaned back just slightly, the weight of your belly in his hands, and he heard you make a noise he had never even heard you make in bed. “Oh God,” you groaned, drawing it out in a soft sigh. “I didn't even realize how much that- please don't move, I just want to stay-” you let your arms drop, thoughts of a shirt vanishing as you let yourself be cradled in this temporary, bodily gravity defying relief.

Joel wanted to chuckle at your words, but the deep instinct to simultaneously protect you while bringing you so close, around him, be inside you, kicked up again. He could only rest his forehead on the crown of your head, remind himself that you were here and whole and healthy, and marvel at your innate strength and abundant spirit to allow your body to be changed for him and for your family. He would always strive to be worthy of you, he knew that now. For now, that meant standing quietly in your home together, swaying gently, holding you and your child, your whole universe in his hands.

#cas writes #fic rec

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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the internet is poking me right in the FEELS today but I loved this because it's what I saw too and I'm glad they called it out.

Craig Mazin on the episode

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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what I was thinking of too 😭😭😭

I hope he never lets me down again

THE LAST OF US

(1x06-2x02)

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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i needed this too 🫶

his form fills the middle of the bed, face down and completely passed out. little snores fill the chilly morning air, the heat works of course, but the nip seeps in through the window and from underneath the doors. he's been searching and searching for sealants, for ways to fill the cracks and thin spaces- to protect his people from the cold.

it's such a small thing, just like the cautious words he spoke to you in the beginnings of your interactions and then actions he takes to prove it to you- that he cares. he cares so much, about everyone close to him.

he shows that care in the way he devotes his time to things like that, to making sure there's food in the cabinets, medicine if someone should get sick, someone patrolling the outside of the walls, the trails and paths that lead to the success of jackson.

he sleeps like he deserves it, even if you know he doesn't think it.

he sleeps and fills the bed with warmth, settled onto a frame he made with his bare hands in errant hours. you simply watch the even way his back rises and falls from his deep breaths.

he's here, he's safe. he's still breathing to live another day.

you shuffle further into the room, cup of coffee steaming as you set it on the bedside table. slipping off your house shoes, you settle your body close to his, laying your head over his shoulders and just feel.

he's safe, he's here. he made it. you and ellie saved him. the thoughts hurt, of what could have happened. but it didn't. even if the bruises about his face linger in splotches of green and yellow, still swollen but healing. the way he limps now, obvious and not because of his age, but from a damaged knee. it hurts, it aches, to think of it.

but you do and breath into his fluffy curls. feel the rise and fall of his shoulders, the warmth of him safe in the bed, wrapped in covers you've stitched and made yourself.

he's alive and you intend to show him that you care too. in the small ways, in the big ways, in every way possible. he deserves it. he snorts and a watery smile crinkles the skin around your clenched eyes, stretches your lips even as the bottom one trembles, you press them into the back of his neck. everything is okay, even if it hurts a little still.

#cas reads #fic rec

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cas-readsandwrites · 2 months ago

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black hole sun {prologue}

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Joel Miller is the sun incarnate and he's going to bloom beauty and rage ruin over you, you know it in your very soul.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: burning feelings, descriptions of harsh summer days, all-consuming feelings, lot of visceral imagery, but honestly- nothing else tangible lol

A/N: this doesn't feel like much (to me personally, but i'm fighting imposter syndrome something fierce lately) but it's the start to the series i teased so long ago. i hope it lives up the to the long wait i put y'all through.

ao3 || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

His presence is like a summer day.

Simmering heat, little distortions of air off of each and every object, flaring in the middle of the open road. The mirage of a cool puddle of water that promises to soothe and abate you. But it would make you all the more parched, to realize the relief was an illusion. Just like the soft smiles that blind you don’t really help to quell the quick staccato of your heart when aimed your way. It’s not a softness being shown to you but a damnation in the form of that tricky mirage.

That little shiver you feel from time to time despite the staunch press of heat on every inch of exposed skin, the almost burning sensation that would swallow you whole if given the chance.

The scent of dust and desert, the faded stone and dehydrated, dry, bleaches feeling of your synapses under the direct sunlight of his full-fledged attention.

He encapsulates every sensation so easily, so naturally. Those sparkling brown eyes and luscious smile searing into your soul and making you see the overexposed remnants on the inside of your eyelids, bright and blinding even after you’ve looked away.

Lungs fill with stale air, the dust you can taste on the back of your tongue. The sting of it burns your nose and makes you feel like you can’t catch a breath despite nearly sucking the relief of it down, the damage it does far outweighs the benefits. You cough, you choke, you force the air back out in a harsh exhale through your nose, but the sensation lingers. Just at the thought of his touch to you does so too. It would burn; it would sear into your skin like a brand. Fingerprints and palms displayed as burns from the heat that blooms from his skin, it would render anyone else’s touch feeble.

He is the sun and he will devour you, it’s an event destined to happen- just as the sun swallows everything whole, he’ll be the one to devour you.

He is the sun and he will burn you out. Even if his intentions were to stir vitality and life in the very vessels of your blood. He burns too hot, too pure, too close and you know it’s a losing battle.

But to be devoured by him would be such a lovely way to die- all sweet, searing desire that would flow through everything you are until that last second before combustion.

The temptation haunts your dreams, the urge to give into the silly little crush that feels like life or death on the man you can practically feel approaching the front door. His truck is in the parking lot, his daughter is situated in a booth. But he’ still on the other side of the glass, a small relief from the haunting presence of him much like the lightyears of space that separate the earth from the sun.

But he burns through it all the same, just as the unforgiving rays of the sun. The bell above the door jingles happily, signaling a day of inescapable humidity in the form of one Joel Miller. His captivating eyes catch yours and you feel like you’re alive and dying all at once.

Your breath leaves you in an embarrassing whoosh as the sole of your foot catches on the curled corner of tile. Your gaze breaks away from his, those brown eyes searing into you even without the direct contact. You feel the weight of them, not oppressive but firm.

Your foot drags for only a moment before you continue on your way down the main thoroughfare of the diner, right past the source of all your longing- as if you were a teenager once again and fantasizing about someone in another clique that you happen to have shared moments with in the same class. A quick pass by him as if you are both in a crowded hallway between classes- even if the diner is only occupied by the staff and two tables at opposite ends.

He smells like sweat and the lingering fumes of paint, of exhaust. But you catch only a whiff before you’re setting fully laden plates down in front of a group of men that visit every other day. They work at one of the offices across the street, your diner tucked in between a flower shop and a large bookstore that evens out the downtown block of Austin. Commercial and office mingling in a way that can only be found in the expanse of the Midwest.

His boots mimic your thudding heart as he makes his way through the space, you feel it pulse in your neck even as you paint on a smile for the group that gets rowdy as you as them if they need anything else.

“For the table, y’all.” You reprimand lightly, they’re all harmless. Not like the all-consuming man who simmers beneath your skin even despite miles of separation once the day is over and you’re both in your respective spaces. Him with his daughter that spends her time here after school. And you, in a small apartment that doesn’t quite feel like your own despite occupying it for years now. Like it too is a mirage that will disappear should the hint of a threat close in on you.

“We’re just teasin’, we know you ain’t gonna give us more’n you do when you’re clocked in,” One of the men flashes you a smile, his teeth catching the light. But it’s dull, despite his thinking that it’s bright and dazzling. It’s artificial, like the fluorescents that dot the ceiling.

“You got that right,” You take note of the dwindling drinks and float through gathering pitchers to fill with sweet tea and coke, dropping them off with the men before you gulp down a thick breath and approach the other occupants.

Joel studies the menu, despite being here more than a few times. Sarah is looking up from her textbook, math and equations spinning in her dazed eyes. She’s got a glass of water and the foamy, dripping mess of a leftover milkshake beside her. Something Joel glances at before looking up at you out of the corner of his eye. His lips quirk and you know he won’t lament the treat even if it amps her up and fills her stomach before they share a meal.

It’s not like you give her one every time she’s here. Okay, maybe almost every time. This is just one of the instances when you hadn’t snatched the condemning glass away before the rumble of Joel’s truck saunters down the street and quiets in the parking lot.

His eyes catch the light in that small glimpse, amber fire crackling and catching in your lungs- all across your skin. Like a moth, you rush toward it and linger. His gaze is a balm, serenading you in its destructing pull. The pen in your hand clatters onto the formica, a ruse to disguise the way you cradle his voice in your hands even if it scorches.

He’s reaching for it with thick fingers, turning it to read the kitchy words etched into the plastic there.

Another pass around the sun.

“Birthday?” He asks in that deep drawl, resonating in his chest and through the thick column of his throat to assault you just as his gaze does.

Sarah perks up at that, her hands reaching for the pen and noticing how new it looks compared to the ones you use until the ink is but a ghost of impression on the pads you use to keep orders.

“It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you say anything!” Excitement rises in her, she’s only spent the last few months in your company three days a week since the beginning of school. It’s a safe space here with you in the booths, a place to tuck into while she waits for her dad to finish up at a job site just a few blocks down. A compromise made between them for her to avoid the neighbors that gush and preen over her and for Joel to know where she is, can scoop her up on the way home.

The city isn’t the safest for a teenager on their own, but your watchful and kind eyes are a relief for his parental mind. Tommy recommended the place, somewhere he frequents after his own shifts but later in the evenings. Less hectic and boisterous than bars the bars that people crowd. The body heat and noise of rowdiness too much for him. Too similar to the places the younger brother has described to you in quiet conversations and still affect him.

His brother doesn’t know, the extend of which Tommy has confided in you about his life. The things he’s seen and done, that he carries with him. That he’s worried about resorting back to should triggers surround him and flick that little switch he knows is faulty inside of his mind. You think you’re friends, you hope you’re friends. But it’s hard to feel like more than the waitress.

“It’s just another day,” You shrug, trying to play it off like you don’t particularly care. Even if in the back of your mind, you held onto that small flame of hope that someone would notice, would say something. An innate way of knowing despite you not voicing it, expectation leads to disappointment. But you feel it all the same, that little part of your humanity showing in such a desperate way.

And the truth is, it really is just another day in the late season of spring. Another shift docked onto a paycheck, another day in the same pair of jeans that probably need washing and an apron littered with grease spots and stains from wiped hands over your hips.

“Don’t celebrate?” Joel’s voice doesn’t feel prodding, but the question hurts all the same.

“Don’t have anyone to celebrate with.” You admit in a moment of full transparency, only brought out by the realness you’ve seen of the two looking up at you from their seats. The little huffs of annoyance and the press of kisses to temples, the insistence of water over a refill of soda, exhaustion from forced memorization of subjects that aren’t appealing and from a physically demanding day of work. The softness and love that underlies it all, that bonds them and gives them life. You feel a little jealous of it, but you know it’s not from a source of hatred and longing for your own family to be better.

Just another glimpse of your humanity that will both soothe and damage you as it has done before.

Sarah’s expression falters but she tries to hide it. Looking down at her notes like they’re the most interesting thing in the world, while Joel turns to face you head on.

“How about…we do somethin’ for you this weekend? Supposed to be good weather and we were gonna grill out. We can turn it into somethin’ to celebrate with you?”

“Oh, you really don’t-“ You take the pen he’s offering you back, tucking it into the front of your apron even if all you want to do is click the thing open and closed a million times to rid yourself of the humiliation of being offered something that doesn’t feel real. That feels like a taunt just as much as mirage on the horizon. “I’m just the girl that waits on y’all, it’s not, it’s okay really.”

“You’re literally my friend.” Sarah deadpans, though her eyes hold a fire that she no doubt inherited from her father. Like a comet that can’t be contained. “I hang out with you more than the people at school, unless they’re on the soccer team.”

“Tommy will back her up, you’re his friend too.”

“And dad can be your friend too!” Joel’s expression glitches at his daughter’s words, but he nods along and gives you a polite smile. It feels like a cloud has descended over him, shielding his light and true form from you as you try not to read too much into the polite sociality.

“It’s settled then,” He raps his knuckles on the table before picking the menu back up. “Okay, so for me…”

Their meal is shared in a natural progression, the books and notes put away in favor of teasing banter and genuine conversation between them. You give them their space, feeling like you’re smoldering from the inside out, hollow like a log that’s been burned through but still structurally sound for a few moments more. Your heart is aching at the way they included you, but you do worry for the seriousness behind their words.

There’s a thin line between jovial invitations and genuine ones that allow for the breach of working with the public to bloom into genuine connection beyond fulfilled orders and the sharing of a table for a moment in time before it’s wiped clean for another.

As Sarah bounds out the door with a wide smile and a wave of her little hand, you make your way over to clear the plates from their table. Joel is standing beside it, stacking them up for you already. The bill is in his hands, cash and a card gripped securely.

“Was gonna leave my card for ya, cell number is on the back. Probably shoulda given it to you already with how you look after Sarah more’n the neightbors now but, hindsight.” He chuckles, holding it out for you. His fingers brush yours as you take it and his warmth seeps into you. You hope he doesn’t notice the goosebumps that erupt all along your arms. It’s the first time he’s touched you.

“I really don’t want to impose on family time, it’s okay if you-“ You want to give him a way out if the offer, if it really was just part of a conversation with no weight.

“Even if she didn’t push the matter, I would’ve asked you. Sooner or later.” He rubs at the back of his head as he interrupts you, the soft expression of nerves and the casual display of his bicep flexing something that endears you to him further. “Even if my goal is to be a little bit more than friends.”

Your answering smile lights up the same heat in him as he does in you. You see it, the smoldering cable of electric current that finally connects. You two are no longer orbiting, the contact was imminent. The destined destruction that will claim you both in time set into motion with such a simple assurance.

But oh, how lovely it will feel up as it lends a guiding force through things you’ve yet to experience until it snuffs you both out.

“Okay, I’ll um, I’ll text you?”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

next -> chapter one

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