#10 things i hate about you tv series

[katzell]

My crush on Ethan Peck is back and stronger than ever. Be prepared for a shocking amount of Star Trek in this space.

Anyone else remember Patrick Verona in the way better than it had any right to be 10 Things I Hate About You tv series? I certainly do.

And now he looks like this:

How I’m feeling now

[goofyjelly]

Is this anything?

[txttletale]

how would you recommend watching doctor who? there are so many different guys idk how it works.

so the thing about doctor who is that there's two shows -- classic who (1963-1989, doctors 1-7) and new who (2005-2023, doctors 9-14). due to a renumber of the seasons and a change in production company, i think it's fair to call the upcoming version of who (2023-??, doctors 15-??) its own, third show. the reason it's been able to run for so long is that when the show's lead actor, (william hartnell as the titular doctor) had to step down in 1966 due to failing health, they made up some sci-fi bullshit: the doctor's species can 'regenerate' instead of dying, instantly healing but changing their appearance and some of their personality. this means that every time a lead actor has walked away (or, in one unfortuante case, been fired) the show's just recast the doctor and moved on, often with notable changes in tone and format.

the easiest option if you don't want to backwatch anything is to start with this year's christmas special, the church on ruby road (2023). it's an obvious jumping on point to the series, introduces you to all the basic stuff (the doctor, the TARDIS, the fact that it's a silly sci-fi show about fighting weird rubber prop critters), and presumably sets up the upcoming season 1 of the disney-bad wolf version of the show that's gonna come out in may 2024.

if you do want to backwatch, you have to decide if you want to start with new who or classic who. i personally would recommend starting with new who, because there's less of it, it's got higher production values, and (imo this is the biggest obstacle to getting into classic who) it's paced in a way that makes much more sense to a modern TV viewer (self-contained 45-minute episodes). also once you're invested in the show, its main character, and some of its classic elements, you get to soyjak at the screen whenever you're watching classic who and you get to see the oirign of a monster you already recognize. you can also skip classic who entirely and never watch it, they don't bring up anything from it in the new series without giving it a new explanation, but if you do this you hate fun.

anyway, starting points for nuwho: the most obvious one is rose (2005). it's the pilot episode for the new show and imo it holds up brilliantly -- it introduces all the most basic concepts of the show, but ultimately it's really all about billie piper and cristopher eccleston's performances and they deliver. the special effects are gonna be pretty terrible for a while because it's early 2000s cg. there's no jumping on point like it for the whole of RTD's run of the show (imo, the best run of nuwho) so if you want to watch seasons 1-4 you've gotta start on rose.

another episode that's written as a jumping on-point is (heavy sigh) the eleventh hour (2011). as well as introducing matt smith's doctor and his companion amy, this also does the whole rigamarole of introducing the show's core elements, giving a nutshell recap of its history in the form of the doctor's rooftop speech, and also signal what the oncoming moffat era is going to be like (whimsical, full of complex time travel plots, way more misogynist). i'm biased -- i'm a hater, one of this episode's central plot conceits sucks real bad and i also hate the eleventh doctor's whole run. but it is meant to be a jumping on point.

there won't be another one of those in nuwho until the pilot (2017). this begins moffat's final season with which he made the odd but extremely welcome decision to jettison all his convoluted continuity shit from the last five seasons and refocus the show with the doctor being a professor at bristol university with a mysterious secret. i think season 10 is a hidden gem and if you find starting from rose daunting this is the next best place to pick up. capaldi's doctor is a delightful abrasive eccentric with a heart of gold at this point in his run & the stories are wall-to-wall bangers with only a couple misses.

finally, you could start on the woman who fell to earth (2018), the first episode to feature jodie whittaker's 13th doctor and head writer chris chibnall. i'd recommend this even less than the eleventh hour, because while i actually like it more, i think it's a much worse preview of what the upcoming era is going to be like than that one. if you watch the woman who fell to earth and keep watching from the start of whittaker's run on the show off the back of it, you're going to be severely disappointed as most of the more promising aspects of the episode get instantly abandoned.

so, summary, if you're starting with nuwho, there's five jumping on points, which i'd rank:

rose > the pilot > the church on ruby road > the eleventh hour > the woman who fell to earth

but i want to start with classic who because i'm a contrarian

alright. classic who also has a few jumping off points -- before i mentioned them, let me just talk about that format thing i mentioned earlier. classic who doesn't have self-contained episodes for the most part, but rather for most of its run told each of its episodic narratives across between two and seven 20-minute episodes. this leads to a lot of weird pacing, forced cliffhangers, and infamously a lot of filler shots of the doctor running up and down identical corridors. so obvsies i'm recommending entire stories here nad not individual episodes. that said, let's look at where you could jump on:

an unearthly child (1963). this is, like, the start of the show. that said i don't recommend it as a place to start (funnily enough), for a couple reasons. firstly, because of dreadful fucking archiving by the BBC, a lot of episodes from the show's first six seasons are straight up missing. some of them have been animated by the BBC from surviving audio recordings, but some of them are just straight up lost -- due to the format, this means there's very few full complete stories, which makes this whole era really hard to navigate. if you don't mind that and really want to start in the black and white era, i'd still recommend the tomb of the cybermen (1967) instead -- hartnell's portrayal of the doctor as a haughty, slightly impish old professor is great, but troughton basically defined the character's core traits for the next sixty years.

spearhead from space (1970) is a pretty big format upheaval for the show and so serves as a pretty great classic jumping-on point. it's the first episode to be in colour, and sets up a new status quo for the doctor as being trapped on earth and working for an elite paramlitary organization called UNIT that operates out of a ratty office. it's an interesting premise that the show gets some great stories out of. the special effects are bad in the best way. pertwee has instant charm in the role and it's all around a banger by classic standards.

if you want to jump right to the one all the boomers are nostalgic for, you can also start with robot (1974). i wouldn't recommend it, though--tom baker is electric in the role from the start, but the episode itself kind of assumes a lot of the context of the third doctor's setup and supporting cast which you're not gonna have.

i wouldn't recommend anyone start at any point during the fifth or sixth doctors runs because i want them to actually like the show, so i guess the last jumping on point i could really recommend after robot would be, like, dragonfire (1987), which heralds the show's short-lived renaissance with the seventh doctor and his best companion, ace. but although you'd be watching some of the absolute best the classic show ever gets, it feels like it would be a weird and disorienting place to start.

finally, you could watch tales of the tardis (2023), a limited series produced to celebrate the show's 60th anniversary. each episode follows the same format: through a vaguely handwaved Palace of Memories plot, two much-aged characters from the classic series meet up and fondly remember one of the adventures they shared. the bookends with the original actors are mostly shameless fanservice, but the episodes they're reminiscing about are superbly edited down into a much more watchable format -- it works as a good 'sample platter' for most eras of the show (although, weirdly, there wasn't anything from tom baker's run!) and i think it honestly wouldn't be a bad shout to just start from tales of the tardis and then keep watching from whichever of the stories featured in it you liked most. that all said, if you want to start with classic who, i'd rank these jumping on points as follows:

spearhead from space > tales of the tardis > tomb of the cybermen > dragonfire > robot > an unearthly child

all that shit said it's fundamentally a very episodic show with very few exceptions like trial of a time lord and whatever moffat was doing seasons 6-7 so in the end you can basically just start with any episode and more or less get some of the idea. have fun and make sure to do the most important job of a doctor who fan, update the tardis wiki page for penis whenever one is mentioned

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 10, Pt. 2- Happy Birthday, Javi

Summary: Javi is convinced that after the perfect morning you've given him, his birthday can't get any better. Little does he know, his birthday still has a few more surprises left.

Word Count: 11.7K (Told you it'd be 20K if i put these two parts together)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (pls be safe), semi-public sex (and kind of getting caught?), vaginal fingering, creampie, praise kink, breeding kink (are we surprised, cause I'm sure not), mentions of death/loss (but it's really sweet), mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of food, Steve Murphy not letting Javi have a moment of peace, Javi holding a baby (please don't mind as I scream into the abyss), if you've made it this far, you already know the sickening amount of fluff there's gonna be (hehehehe)

A/N: Our favorite birthday boy is back!!! I'm excited for this one cause it's CUTE. But when are these two idiots not like, the most adorable couple alive. Enjoy the rest of our sweet Javi's birthday!! Also please someone understand my self indulgent Foo Fighters/Blink-182 references

Series Masterlist Next Chapter Previous Chapter

“So you’re telling me I don’t get to know anything about the rest of the day? Coming from the person who hates surprises more than anyone I know?” Javi chuckled to himself, wrapping his towel around his waist as he stepped out of the shower, handing you yours as you followed behind him. 

“Okay, just because I hate being on the receiving end of a surprise doesn’t mean I don’t like to be a part of planning a surprise. So no, you don’t get to know. Although, I will say what happened this morning and the way you just pressed me against the wall and fucked me in the shower are two surprises I’m not upset about at all.” You smirked at Javi as you watched him run a towel over the damp curls of his hair, seeing his satisfied grin from underneath the fabric. “Now go get ready, birthday boy, you’ve got a big day ahead of you.” Javi pressed a gentle kiss onto your bare shoulder as you organized your things on the bathroom counter, rolling your eyes as you watched him look you up and down in the mirror. 

“If we didn’t have places to be, I’d bend you over this counter and fuck you right here.” The kiss on your shoulder being replaced by a nip, making you giggle and swat at his broad body standing behind you. 

“Javier Peña, you are a goddamn menace to society, go change!” The two of you laughed as Javi gave you a wink and a quick smack on the ass as he left you in the bathroom to start getting ready. 

A menace to society in-fucking-deed. 

You made sure to get ready as quickly as you could, wanting to make sure that you stayed on time for the rest of Javi’s birthday festivities. You had plenty planned to keep him busy until 4:00, the time you told Chucho you’d arrive at the ranch, giving your guests an hour to show up beforehand without ruining the surprise. After changing into a new, cute peachy dress with little white flowers, you met Javi in the living room, sitting on the couch watching TV, looking handsome as ever in the dark wash jeans and cream colored short sleeved button down. 

“The watch looks good with your outfit.” You teased, noticing that Javi was already wearing one of his birthday gifts that he had insisted on giving you a hard time about after finding out about its cost. 

“I love it, Osita. I’ll wear it every fucking day. And it actually tells time, which is helpful.” He laughed before turning his head around over the top of the couch to see you in your dress, jaw going slack as he watched you move about the kitchen, gathering things for the next part of your day. “Fuck me. Is that new?” he asked, taking an extra moment to appreciate how well the peach colored fabric hugged your body in all the right places, particularly as you bent down to pick something up out of the fridge. 

“Mmmhhmmm.” You hummed, trying your best to hide the pozole de pollo you had made for Javi the day before in your travel sized cooler. “Same shopping trip as this morning’s outfit.” You looked up at Javi, giggling, as he ran a hand through his hair, knowing he was using every ounce of self control in his body to let you keep working on whatever you were doing. “Alright, I think everything is packed and should be good to go. You ready, roomie?” You smiled, grabbing the bag you had packed in preparation for the next part of your birthday plans. That one made Javi grin from ear to ear, still processing the fact that you had asked him to move in with you. He had practically already been living there, but something about knowing you wanted him to be the first thing you saw in the morning, and the last thing you saw before you fell asleep at night every damn day filled his heart in a way he didn’t know was possible. 

“Ready. Sure I don’t get to know where we’re going?” He chuckled to himself as he got up, putting on his shoes and grabbing his keys, including the newest one to your shared apartment that he had already slipped onto the key ring while you were getting ready. 

“You’re starting to sound like me. C’mon, let’s go.” 

Walking down the stairs of your apartment, you grabbed Javi’s hand, knowing that he was going to lead you to his truck. Before he could lead you any further across the parking lot, you tugged him in the opposite direction, leading you towards your car. “Nope, I’m driving today. How were you supposed to drive if you didn’t know where we were going?” 

“You could still drive my truck, if you wanted. You’re always complaining about how shitty your car is.” 

He wasn’t wrong. After getting stationed in Oregon after his deployment, your oldest brother, Charlie, had offered to let you have his 1985 Jeep Wrangler. In reality, the car was only a decade-ish old, but the way he had treated it before he gave it to you had it barely hanging on by a thread. After your drive to Texas, Woodstock (the name you had given the car, given its obnoxious bright yellow color) was in rough shape, but, like most things in life, you were too stubborn to give it up and get a new one until you ran it into the ground. 

“Every ounce of feminism in my body evaporates if I even think about driving that truck. It’s huge, and I’m terrified I’m gonna crash into something, and at least one of us needs a car that isn’t an absolute piece of shit.” You sighed, throwing your bag in the trunk before hopping into the driver’s seat, Javi taking his spot next to you as a passenger. “Please, please, please.” You mumbled to yourself, twisting the key back and forth in the ignition before turning the car over, praying it would start. “Yes! She lives to see another day.” You nodded your head in satisfaction as Woodstock’s engine rumbled. Javi shook his head, laughing to himself at your antics you had convinced him were the key to getting your car to start. “Alright,” You said, backing out of your spot and pulling on to the road, “you’re in charge of music today. Sorry I don’t have the Grease soundtrack in my car, but I do have some ABBA which I feel like could be a good replacement if that’s what you’re in the mood for.”

Javi rolled his eyes at you as he reached up to pull down the visor in front of him, lined with the CD’s in its sleeve. Since the two of you normally didn’t drive in your car, Javi wasn’t used to your music selection. Flipping through the discs, he found some overlaps, Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumors”, Queen’s Greatest Hits, AC/DC’s “High Voltage”, along with some CD mixes that your brothers had probably given you, but he was surprised to find a few CD’s of bands that he had never even heard of before. “Blink-182?” He asked, holding up the disc with a picture of a bull with the band’s logo branded into its ass. 

“David really likes them. They’re okay, there’s a few songs on there that I like, but some of them are really weird. I’m pretty sure there’s a song on there called “Dick Lips”.” You snickered, peeking over at the other CD’s Javi was shuffling through. “Oh, oh, that album is amazing.” You pointed at the dark blue disc Javi was now reaching up to grab. “David and Charlie both love these guys. You know the band Nirvana? The guy who was the drummer for them made his own band after Kurt Cobain died. I’ve been listening to this album every time I drive.” 

“I don’t think I’ve heard you play it around the apartment. The Foo Fighters? Literally never heard of ‘em.” He shrugged, pressing the disc into your car radio. 

“I think you’d probably would’ve remembered if I played them around the house.” You huffed under your breath sheepishly. “They’re a little more… intense than what I normally listen to at home, so no judgment, okay? Skip to the second song, it’s the best one.” 

“Now I’m intrigued.” Javi responded, placing his hand on your leg after skipping to track 2, his face scrunching in surprise at the intensity of the guitar and drums now blaring through your speakers. It didn’t take long for you to start drumming against your steering wheel, nodding your head to the beat, as you sang along to the words. 

“Don’t wanna be your monkey wrench. One more indecent accident. I’d rather leave than suffer this. I’ll never be your monkey wrench.”  

Javi watched as you lost yourself in the song, belting the lyrics as you banged against the steering wheel, practically out of breath as the CD moved on to the next track from singing. Javi always loved watching you sing along to whatever music you had playing, but something about watching you now was different, like there was intention behind every word that you sang along to, like you were letting something out that had been weighing on your chest with every thud of your palm against the steering wheel. 

“Sorry.” You sighed, lowering the volume of the next track as you caught your breath. “It’s a great song, but this is my angry screaming in the car song if I’ve had a shitty day.” You tried to play off your comment jokingly, Javi sensing that you had more you wanted to say, but you weren’t telling him. 

“What’s the song called?” Javi asked, trying to pry more out of you. 

“Monkey Wrench.” 

“Like the tool?” He laughed, making sure he understood you correctly. 

“Yes, like the tool.” You half smiled back. “The song’s not actually about the tool… Well, I guess it kind of is. It’s about someone who gets pushed around and used because they’ve always tried to be flexible and adjust to make someone else happy, but eventually they realize they can’t take it anymore, and are done putting up with that person’s shit before it breaks them. You finally come to terms with what a fucking waste of time it was being with someone who couldn’t have gave a shit about you.” 

You sat there in silence for a moment, embarrassed by your last sentence, realizing your comment had definitely become a lot more personal than you had intended it to be. “Sorry, I don’t- I don’t know why I’m talking to you about this, I shouldn’t have said anything about the CD, this is supposed to be fun, it’s your birthday, and now I’m ruining it and-” You stopped to look down as you felt Javi squeeze your leg, like he was trying to stop the apology that was flowing from your mouth with his grasp around your thigh. “Sorry.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. “I know I always joke about Paul being an asshole and try to play it off like it’s not a big deal, but I think it fucked with me a lot more than I’d like to admit.” You took a long breath in before exhaling, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. “Okay, that’s all I have to say about that dickhead. He doesn’t even deserve the time of day to take up any space in my head. He’s a piece of shit, and I have you, and that’s all that matters. He can go… He can go… eat… rocks.” The both of you snorted at your terrible attempt at comeback, easing the tension in the car. 

“You’re not ruining anything, Osita. I promise. I can understand why the song makes you mad. Makes me fucking pissed for you. I swear, if I ever meet that motherfucker, I’ll kick him in the dick ‘till he can’t fucking walk.” Javi snarled, the idea of someone treating you like how your ex did practically making his blood boil. 

“I’d pay money to see that. Okay, no more Foo Fighters. Pick whatever you want and don’t listen to any of my suggestions because I am 0 for 1 today on birthday music.” 

Shuffling through the rest of the CD’s ejected the Foo Fighters album to replace it with one he knew would make you smile. As soon as the keyboard riff to “Rich Girl'' by Hall and Oats started, your mood instantly shifted, wondering how Javi always knew exactly how to make you feel better. “Listen, Javi, you don’t have to use the song, you can just tell me that you’re in this relationship for the enormous salary I’m raking in from teaching, it’s okay.” Javi reached down to grab your hand as you giggled, giving it a gentle squeeze as he watched you sing along, dancing in your seat, with a smile on your face. Truth be told, Javier Peña was a simple man, and knowing you were happy with him was the best birthday gift he could ask for. 

“Okay, we’re here!” You beamed, pulling up to the first stop of your surprise destinations for the day. Javi had lived in Laredo his entire life- he knew the city like the back of his own hand. That’s why when you pulled up to the small park entrance, Javi was perplexed as to where he was, or why you had taken him there. 

“Have I had it wrong this whole time, Osita? Are you the one that’s really the serial killer and you’re taking me out to some park I’ve never heard of to get rid of me?” Javi mocked as you playfully punched him before the two of you got out of the Jeep, grabbing the bag you had stored in the trunk. 

“Oh, shut up. Believe it or not, your dad is actually the one who told me about this place. C’mon, let’s go.” You hoisted the bag up onto your shoulder, making your way down the gravel path through the trees that lined the trail. Javi followed behind you, interlocking his hand with yours as you led him through the brush. The path opened up, revealing a small area overlooking Lake Casa Blanca, tucked away in its own corner, surrounded by trees and tall grass that swayed in the gentle summer breeze. It took Javi a moment to realize where you were, having been to the lake every summer since he could remember, but never once had he been here, shocked to find how quiet and peaceful the secluded patch by the water was. 

“Lake Casa Blanca?” He asked softly as you started pulling things out of your bag, laying down a big blanket, followed by a variety of containers and thermoses. 

“Mmmhmmm.” You nodded, fixing the edges of the blanket as you sat down, Javi joining you as you rustled around for the bowls and spoons at the bottom of the tote. “Your dad said you used to love coming here as a kid. So much that you would cry every time you had to leave. But he said there was a secret place hidden away on the opposite side of the lake where he always used to take your mom when they first started dating. They would be all cute and watch the sunset together before he had to take her home for the night. I know it’s not the sunset, and I know it’s definitely not your mom’s but um, I wanted to try and make you something for your birthday. I got her recipe from your dad. I know it’ll never be the same as hers, but your dad told me how much you loved it, and I-I hope that’s okay.” Carefully, you poured the pozole into one of the bowls, grateful that it still looked hot before you grabbed some of the garnishes out of the plastic containers and sprinkled them on top of the stew. 

“Is this… Is this her pozole?” He looked down at the bowl in shock, like he couldn’t even comprehend that the dish was really in front of him. He hadn’t seen the sight of his mom’s pozole de pollo in over a decade. He refused to eat anyone else’s, knowing it could never compare to his mamá’s. The memory of his mother lovingly feeding him bowls of the stew filled him with a comfort and heartache he wasn’t quite sure how to describe. He had never even bothered to ask his dad to make it, figuring like most of the things that brought him pain, it was easier just to avoid it all together. But then, there was you. How had you figured out this was his favorite? You must have gone out of your way to ask his dad? You made this just for him? You cared about him that much? He picked up the bowl and one of the spoons, realizing how nervous you looked as he scooped some up, bringing the spoonful of vegetables, chicken and broth to his mouth. 

You were practically holding your breath as he took a bite, praying to whatever higher power there was that he just didn’t hate it, or worse, that he was upset with you for even trying to attempt it in the first place. You watched hesitantly, over-analyzing every twitch of his face as he chewed and swallowed, looking up at you, tears welling behind his eyes. 

“Baby…” He paused for a moment, setting the pozole down. 

Fuck, was it so bad that you made him cry? Oh please, God, please not let it be terrible. 

He brought his hand to your cheek, caressing your jaw, his lips drawn in a soft sweet smile. His voice trembled, barley above a whisper. “It tastes just like hers. I-I never thought I’d get to taste that again. Thank you, Osita. You- You have no idea how much this means to me. It means everything. Thank you. Thank you so much.” A tear gently rolled down his cheek as he pulled you into his chest, cradling the back of your head as he brought you closer to him. He sat there for a moment, looking out at the lake then back down at you as he held you in his arms, the sweet scent of the pozole lingering in the peaceful silence. He wasn’t quite sure how you did it, but he swore he fell more and more in love with you by the second. 

“So, it’s okay? You’re not mad?”  

“Mad? Baby, how could I possibly be mad? I couldn’t be fucking happier. I love you so much.” He pressed a soft kiss on the top of your head, savoring the sweet scent of you as he buried his nose in your hair. 

“Well if it was really awful, it would be very fair if you were upset.” You let out a small huff of laughter, relief washing over your body, feeling like you could finally breathe again. “Like I said, I know it can never replace your mom’s, but it’s your birthday, and you deserve everything in the world- today and every other day. I love you too, Javi.” 

You were glad you had made as much pozole as you did, watching Javi practically inhale every last drop you had made. When you told him that there was still more in the fridge at home, his face lit up like a little boy on Christmas day. He was equally excited for the cupcakes you had made him, gobbling several of them down almost as quickly as the pozole. You sat at the edge of the water after finishing your food, listening to Javi tell you stories of his favorite memories at the lake, particularly enjoying the one where his older cousin had convinced him that you were allowed to take fish from the lake home as pets, and somehow managed to bring a full bucket back to the car with him before his parents found out. 

“Did you ever have any real pets as a kid?” You asked, finishing the last bite of your cupcake, still giggling from Javi’s story. 

“Besides all the cows and sheep and horses?” He laughed, face palming yourself for forgetting that Javi had literally grown up on a farm. “Yes in that sense, but never anything that lived in the house, besides that bucket of fish I almost got away with if my cousin wouldn’t have ratted me out.” 

“My house was a goddamn zoo growing up. I think by the time I was born, my parents already knew it was going to be chaos, so they figured, what were a few more animals going to do? I’m pretty sure at one point we had 3 dogs, a cat, Charlie had a rat and a snake which did not end well, and one day, Patrick and David came home from the pet store with an iguana, which only lived in the house for one day before escaping out the bedroom window at night, never to be seen again. Rumor is, that iguana is still roaming through the suburbs of Chicago to this day.” The both of you laughed, Javi raising an eyebrow, picturing you with all your brothers and animals running around the house. “After all of that, I am more than happy with just a dog, singular, not plural. I was close to adopting one when I moved down here, Paul hated animals- another red flag, despite how much I told him I wanted one, but it wouldn’t have been fair with me living in the apartment. I wanted to get a house when I moved down here so I could have a yard, but again, the giant teacher salary wasn’t doing me any favors, unless I wanted to live in a box by the side of the highway.” 

“I’ve always wanted a dog. I’d love to have one when we get a house.” 

We. When we get a house. That one put butterflies in your stomach. 

“When we get a house, huh?” You put a little emphasis on the word, the both of you blushing, quietly laughing to yourselves. 

“I mean, I love your apartment. I couldn’t be more fucking excited to live with you. But I mean- I don’t know, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m guessing you don’t wanna live there forever?” He traced his fingers along the small of you back as he sat propped up next to you. 

“I mean no, but again, not really rolling in cash over here in the money department, Jav.” You rolled your eyes, a part of you feeling guilty that your career choice always made you feel like a financial burden, despite how good you were with saving your money. 

“Listen…I don’t wanna sound like an asshole. I already know how much you hate the “I’m a man so I have to provide for you” stereotype, believe me. I’ve got a good amount of money saved up, and my job now pays better than the DEA even did. I just- I don’t want you to worry about it. I know how much you love teaching, and it’s un-fucking-fair how little teachers make, but I don’t ever want you to think you’re a burden because of it. I’d support you if you wanted to have 6 jobs, because if there’s anyone who could do it, it would fucking be you. But, I- I know you said that you wanted kids, and- and if you ever wanted to not work and stay at home with them, I’d support that too. I just want you to be happy, Osita. You deserve the world and I’d fucking give it to you if I could.” 

Those sweet chocolate eyes went straight to your heart. The way he looked at you made you feel like you were the only person on the face of this earth. He was right, you loathed the idea of a man telling how to live your life because he was the breadwinner, but you knew that’s not what Javi wanted. He cared about you. He cared about you so fucking much that almost hurt. He wanted to look after you because you were the only person in the world he ever wanted to treat this way. All he cared about was your happiness. And God, would more than gladly spend the rest of your life doing the same for him. 

“You trying to tell me you want me to stay at home and run the Peña household zoo while you’re at work?” You teased, giving him a little nudge as you smiled at him. 

“If that’s what you want, it’s what I want too. Although I may have to draw the line at having a fucking iguana in our house.” The two of you snorted, resting your head on Javi’s shoulder as he leaned down to kiss your head, placing a soft peck on your temple. 

“No iguanas is fine by me. Like I said, A dog is plenty. Maybe less kids than 4, but I could also be jaded from the 3 older brothers. But I mean- I guess, have you thought about how many kids you’d want?” You should have been embarrassed by how easily the question slipped out. There are lots of things you should have felt uncomfortable bringing up as you talked about your future together at this point in your relationship. You should of, but both of you seemed to agree that those should of’s flew out the window a long time ago. 

“Osita…” He paused, laughing to himself, shaking his head as he and those puppy dog eyes glanced over at you. “Baby, I’ll give you however many kids you want. I’ll give you a fucking football team if that’s what makes you happy.” Fuck, he’d give you a baby today if that’s what you wanted- but that’s one he still had enough willpower to keep as a should of, for now. Little did he know, you would have had as many babies as Javi wanted to give you right this very second. But that was a should of you could keep to yourself a little longer too. 

The two of you spent a little more time enjoying the warm Texas sun by the edge of the water, Javi bruising your competitive pride in your rock skipping competition, as you tried to persuade him that you only let him win because it was his birthday. Glad that Javi had decided to wear his new watch, you were able to keep a close eye on the time, gathering your things and ushering him to your last pit stop before the Peña ranch. 

“Alright, stop number two!” You smiled as you pulled up to Eva’s Dairy Barn. “Wouldn’t be a good birthday if I didn’t take you for ice cream.” 

“I was hoping this would be part of the surprise.” He grinned at you as the two of you exited your car, grabbing your hand as you stood in line. 

“Of course, Mr. Sweet Tooth. What’s today’s choice? They have a flavor that’s called birthday cake! Or does that not have enough sprinkles for you?” You stuck your tongue out at him as he wrapped you in a bear hug, shaking you as you both laughed. 

“Even on my birthday, you’re not gonna let me have a moment of peace, are you?” 

“Never. Where’s the fun in that?” 

You had never been more thankful for Javi’s incredibly fast eating skills, the impressive speed that he consumed his ice cream at keeping you on time for his last surprise. 

“You sure my dad really wants to see me that badly? I told him I was spending the day with you and that we could celebrate a different time.” Javi asked as the two of you got in your car to begin your journey to the Peña ranch. 

“Uh, yeah, he called the other day while you were at work, and said that he had something at the house he really wanted to give you today since it’s your actual birthday.” You replied, trying your best to make your lie as convincing as possible. It wasn’t until just now that you began to feel the nerves building in your belly. The day had already been so perfect, you hadn’t stopped to think about the surprise party until now. What if Javi hated it? What if he was mad at you for inviting all of these people? What if you had ruined what had already been such an amazing birthday for him? Javi could clearly sense that your mood had shifted, noticing how tightly you were now gripping the steering wheel of your car as you drove. 

“You okay, Hermosa?” He questioned, looking over at you with concern. 

C’mon, pull it together, you literally have like 20 more minutes, don’t ruin it now. 

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m fine, my head just kind of hurts. Probably didn’t drink enough water today.” You shrugged, turning up the radio volume, your answer seeming to satisfy Javi enough to keep him from pressing anymore. You tried your best to keep your cool for the rest of the trip, singing along to one of the Rolling Stones albums Javi had found tucked behind one of your other CD’s. By the time you were pulling down the driveway, you could feel how sweaty your palms were, relieved to see that Javi hadn’t noticed any of the guests’ cars peeking out from behind the other side of the barn as you approached the house. He reached over the center console to give you a quick kiss before the two of you exited, taking a few deep breaths and frantically wiping your clammy hands on your dress before Javi interlaced his fingers with yours to walk up to the house. 

“Hey Pops, we’re here!” Javi announced, opening the door for the both of you. He stepped a little further into the living room, a concerned look now growing across his face at the lack of response. “Dad?” He called out again to the sound of silence. Javi wandered a little deeper into the home, peeking his head into the kitchen and down the hallway as he looked back at you in confusion. “That’s weird, he’s normally done working by now.” He looked around, placing his hands on his hips before looking down at you, crossing your arms and biting your lip. 

“You promise you love me and you’re not gonna be mad at me?” You asked, scrunching your brow. 

“Baby, what is going on?” His face now even more puzzled. 

“You promise?” 

“Of course I promise, Osita, what is happening, why are you being so weird?” He now mirrored your stance, crossing his arms over his chest, trying his best not to panic. You grabbed his hand, leading him towards the door of the backyard patio, letting out one last little gulp before you spoke. 

“I love you more than anything in the world, Jav. I know you said you don’t think that anyone cares about you or your birthday, but there are so many people who love you, me included, who think that you deserve to have the most amazing day ever. I know you don’t believe it, but I do, and so does everyone else.” You pressed up on your toes to give him one last kiss before opening the sliding glass door, watching him walk out to the back porch. He looked around to see the balloons, streamers and string lights hanging from the deck as you stood behind him, giving a thumbs up to Chucho, who had all of the party guests hidden on the side of the house. He turned back around to face towards you, completely bewildered. 

“Osita, what’s going-” 

“SURPRISE!” 

Javi spun around to see not one, not ten, but a crowd of people now standing at the bottom of the deck, smiles stretched across their faces as they looked up at him. At first, he thought it was a joke. He looked back at you, nodding your head in reassurance, like you could read his mind. 

Yes, these people are all really here for you, pendejo. 

He looked back out into the sea of people standing in the backyard, now realizing just how many people had shown up just to celebrate him. His whole family- Aunts, uncles, cousins, and their children, his family friends, your 3rd grade co-workers, Carter and Miller, fucking Steve Murphy? And Connie? He turned around to face you one more time, tears welling in his eyes, truly in disbelief. “Baby… Did you… Did you do this all for me?” He cupped your face, cradling your cheek. 

“Yes, well me and your dad. Just about killed me to try and keep it a secret this long, I think I was gonna spontaneously combust if I had to tell you another lie.” Your gaze was soft and tender as you stared up at him, letting out a little laugh at the state of disbelief Javi was still in. “Happy Birthday, Javi. Te amo.” 

Taking his hands and grasping both sides of your face, Javi pulled you in closer, his mouth meeting yours with a passion that made your heart flutter, his kiss was deep and intense. It was almost enough to drown out the hooting and hollering of the crowd you forgot was watching you from the yard, Javi pulling away in laughter as he heard, who he assumed to be Steve’s loud “OW OWWWWW!” as the two of you found yourselves dangerously close to making out in front of Javi’s friends and family. Chucho joined you on the deck, his grunt from each step of the stairs giving away his presence as you ran over to give him a hug. 

“Lo hicimos, Chucho. Buen trabajo, Chiflado.” (We did it, Chucho. Nice work, crazy.) 

“Lo hicimos, Mija. Ven aquí, Javier. (We did it, mija. Come here, Javier).” Chucho held out his arm, motioning for Javi to join them in their group hug. 

“Feliz cumpleaños!” (Happy birthday!) you both beamed up at Javi, wrapping your arms around him. At that moment, Javi didn’t care how tough of a man he thought he was. He didn’t care that he was in front of almost everyone he knew. He didn’t care what anyone thought. The sight of the two of you wrapped around his waist, laughing and smiling together as you held him brought him to tears. You were the two people he cared about more than anything in this world, and the fact that you both cared about him just as much made him weak in the knees. For a very long time, Javi had convinced himself that he wasn’t worth caring for. Sure, people would say they cared, but words were really nothing but- They were just words. But then there was you. Your words, your actions, your kindness, your sweet heart. You. Everything about you. You cared about him. You loved him. For the first time in a very long time, Javier Peña could feel himself finally starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, he really was worth caring for. 

Chucho grabbed his son by the arm, giving him a firm grasp, as he too, wiped the tears rolling down his cheeks. “Te amo, hijo. Me enorgullece el hombre que eres. Yo se tu madre estaría tambien. Feliz cumpleaños, Javier.” (I love you, son. I am so proud of the man you've become. I know your mother would be, too. Happy birthday, Javier). You watched as the two of them embraced, Chucho patting Javi on the back, squeezing him tightly before pulling away and pointing at you. “She’s a good one. You better marry this girl, Javier. And not just because I want my nietos (grandkids).”  That one had both your faces turning an embarrassing shade of red as Chucho pulled you both back in for a hug before letting you go to address the crowd. 

“Vamos de fiesta!” (Let’s party!) 

As the upbeat music began to play in the background, Javi grabbed you by the hand, leading you down the deck into the crowd below. It was no surprise to either of you that the first voice that greeted you was one you hadn’t heard since the beginning of june. 

“MIJAAAAAAAAA!” Maria screeched as she wrapped her arms around the two of you, squeezing you in for a hug before pulling away with a staunch frown on her face. “Why have neither of you called?! Apparently you two are in love and I have to hear it from Chucho?! Dios Mio, I cannot believe it!” You and Javi laughed as she swatted at the both of you, the two of you grimacing between your giggles. 

“Sorry, Maria.” Javi replied, leaning back down to kiss her on the cheek, easing some of her theatrics.

“Fine, I will forgive you. Only because it is your birthday. As long as I am invited to the wedding, I won’t complain.” She pointed a finger at Javi as he pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. 

“Maria… Please?” He looked down at her, giving your hand a little squeeze as you quickly caught him smirk in your direction. 

“Oh, pshhhhhh.” She waved her hand at him again, rolling her eyes. “I already know it will happen, so just keep me on the guest list. I really am glad to see you both so happy. Feliz cumpleaños, Javier.” This time, she ended her sentence with a genuine smile, bringing you back for one last hug before giving a wave and heading back into the crowd. 

“Well… This school year’s gonna be fun.” You raised an eyebrow at Javi, the both of you knowing Maria  was about to be a relentless investigator in your relationship once September rolled around. “I’m gonna go check on something inside really quick, are you gonna be okay if I leave you to fend for yourself?” You smiled at him, telling that as thankful as he was, Javi was still feeling a little overwhelmed by all the attention. He nodded, giving you a quick kiss on the head as you disappeared to make sure everything had made it to its proper place before the party kicked into full swing.  

Javi took a deep breath, relieved to find his dad approaching him, already holding out a beer in his hand for his son to take. “Figured you might need a little liquid courage.” Chucho chuckled, patting Javi on the back. Javi quickly took the can, cracking it open and holding it up to cheers with his dad, taking an extra long sip before holding it by his side. 

“She really planned all this?” Javi grinned at his dad in disbelief, looking out at the crowd around him. 

“Sure did, hijo. She’s been planning it for weeks, been over here more times than I can count while you’ve been at work. She wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you. That girl loves you so much, Javier. I hope you know how lucky you are.” 

Javi watched as you made your way back down from the deck, awestruck by every inch of you as you made your way back to him. Looking at you was like looking at a fucking dream. He was the luckiest man on the face of the earth. He knew that for damn sure. Before Javi could respond to his dad, he felt two hands grab him by the shoulders and shake him from behind, already knowing exactly who it was from the moment he heard his voice. 

“Happy birthday, you grumpy old bastard.” 

Never in his life did Javi think that he would be so excited to see Steve Murphy. 

“Hey, Murph.” Javi chuckled, grabbing Steve in a tight embrace, the two patting each other's backs before pulling away. 

“Fuck, you look old. What’d ya turn this year, 76?” 

“Fuck off, Murphy. Could say the same for you.” It had been years since the two had seen each other, but the way Javi and Steve picked right back up where they had left off made it feel like not even a day had passed between them. 

“Havin’ kids will do that to ya. Sure it won’t be long ‘till you find that out. Speakin’ of which, where’s the girlfriend?” Steve winked, taking a sip of his beer as Javi took an over exaggerated sigh, raising his own beer up to his mouth, relieved to find you walking up to the two of them. 

“Oh, you already got a drink? Okay, two for me then, I guess.” You shrugged, setting one of your beers down in the grass as Javi wrapped his hand around your hip, planting a kiss on your temple. “You must be Steve?” You asked, outstretching your hand toward his tall, lanky frame. 

“You must be the girlfriend?” He replied mischievously. 

“I wish. He’s just paying me to walk around with him all night to make him look good. Felt bad for the guy with it being his birthday and everything. What’d you say your name was again? Julio?” You snorted as you looked up at Javi, shaking his head as you nudged his side. 

“Fuck, she’s funny. I like her, Jav.” Steve grinned at Javi, raising an eyebrow. 

“You two are both the biggest pain in my ass I think I’ve ever met.” Javi retorted, smirking at you as he gave you a little nudge back. 

“Well, at least he’s got a type.” You held up your drink up to Steve’s, the both of you laughing as a petite blonde haired woman approached with 2 little girls behind her and one in her arms. 

“Hi Javi.” She smiled warmly, passing the baby off to Steve as she gave Javi a hug. “It’s so good to see you. Hope Steve isn’t already giving you too much of a hard time.” 

“Thanks, Connie. Good to see you too. Con, this is my girlfr-” 

“Girlfriend? I had a feeling. Steve told me all about you. It’s really nice to meet you.” Connie reached her arms out towards you, pulling you in for a hug. 

“It’s really nice to meet you too, thank you so much for coming.” You smiled at her, looking over at the two girls behind her. “Are these your daughters?” 

“Oh yes, this is Olivia and Abby, and the little one is Madison. Can you say hi, girls? Javi used to work with your dad a long time ago!” Connie cooed at the girls, playing with each other behind their mom. 

“Hi!” The girls waved shyly before darting behind Connie’s legs, giggling to one another. 

You and Javi both waved back as you crouched down on your knees to talk with them. “So Olivia and Abby, how old are you?” 

“10!” Olivia responded, trying to pull her sister away from Connie to get a better look at you. “Abby’s 6 but she’s really shy.” 

“I am not!” Abby demanded, stomping her foot at her sister. “I’m almost 7, so I won’t be 6 for much longer.” 

“Well it looks like we have two birthdays to celebrate!” You smiled as Abby peeked a little further from out behind her mom. “So let me guess, you girls are going into 5th grade and 1st grade? I teach 3rd grade, so I’m right in between you two!” The girls' faces lit up instantly as you told them about your profession.   

“I wanna be a teacher when I’m a grown up!” Olivia beamed, tugging at Connie’s sleeve. “Mommy, do you think she’ll play unicorns with us?” Abby now bouncing up and down in excitement next to her. 

“Oh sweetie, I don’t-” 

“No it’s okay!” You interjected, cutting off Connie. “Of course I can play. Just for a little bit though. I’m sure playing with you is way more fun than talking with grownups, but I promised Javi I’d spend time with him tonight because it’s his birthday, okay?” You stood up, now facing Javi looking like he hadn’t heard a single word you had just said. “Jav?” 

“Uh yeah, sorry, what’d you say?” He shook his head, trying to clear the strangely comforting feeling he had growing in his chest with how sweetly you had talked to the girls. 

“You okay if I go hang with these two cuties for a little while? Unless you’re also dying to go play unicorns, in which case I'm sure the girls will let you join since it’s your birthday.” You gestured back over to Olivia and Abby, laughing as you watched them already pretending to gallop around the backyard.

“I’m good on the unicorns, thanks Osita.” He chuckled as you pressed up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss before heading off to join the girls. 

“THERE’S NO KISSING IN UNICORNS!” Olivia shouted from across the yard making you, Connie, Steve and Javi burst out into hysterics, holding up your arms like you had been caught, turning around to point at Javi and give him a playful stank face as you walked away. 

“Goddamn, Jav. When you puttin’ a ring on that girl’s finger?” Steve and Connie both smirked as he passed baby Madison back over to her, Connie carrying her over to watch where the girls were playing.

“Murph, c’mon-” Javi tried to stop him from getting any further before he knew how much shit Steve was about to throw his way, regardless of what his answer was. 

“I’m bein’ serious, Javi. She’s a fuckin’ catch. Happiest I’ve ever seen you, that’s for sure. What the hell you waitin’ for, man?” Javi could tell Steve was being genuinely serious, something that didn’t happen often. Javi took another sip of his near empty drink as he rested his hands on his hips, staring back at Steve’s impatient glare. 

“I don’t know, Steve. I- She’s perfect. Fuck, I don’t know, it’s only been 3 months, I don’t wanna rush things or scare her off, I- I didn’t know you could love someone this much, Murph. I’m scared I’m gonna fuck it up somehow.” Javi’s gaze shot down to the ground, running his hands through the dark curls of his hair before setting his can down in the grass. 

“Listen, I’ll say one more thing and then I’ll shut up about it, I promise.” Steve held his hands up in defense as Javi nodded, waiting for what Steve had to say. “I dated someone before Con for 3 fuckin’ years and it blew up in my face because it just wasn’t it. I met Connie two weeks later, and I knew from the moment I met her I wanted to spend the rest of my fuckin’ life with her. Got married 10 months later. When ya know, ya know, Jav. And if there’s one thing I can tell for certain is that you’re fuckin’ lovesick fool for her, and she sure as hell loves you too. You won’t mess anything up, Peña. Now c’mon, I got a lotta birthday whiskey I need to give you.” 

Looking over Steve’s shoulder, Javi watched as you ran around with Olivia and Abby, that bright beautiful smile stretched across your face, his heart bursting as he watched you laugh and giggle with the girls in the grass. He hated to admit that Steve was right about anything, but there wasn’t a doubt in Javi’s mind that he wasn’t. He’d marry you tomorrow. He would have married you yesterday. Fuck, he would have married you 2 months ago. God, the only thing stopping him at this point was not wanting to hear the 10 pounds of shit Steve was going to give him during the best man speech at his wedding. 

Despite getting roped into playing Unicorns for a little longer than you had intended, the party seemed to be going off without a hitch. People were having fun, the food Chucho had grilled was delicious, and more important than anything else, Javi was happy. Genuinely happy. You were worried that with the amount of people who had come, Javi would be overwhelmed by the attention, counting down the minutes until the night was over. It had shocked you how many times Javi had thanked you not only for everything you had done for him that day, but for inviting so many people that he had barely seen since his mom had passed. He was so excited to introduce you to the rest of his family that you hadn’t met yet, and found himself on the brink of tears as you tried to converse with them in Spanish, finding out that part of the reason you had spent so much time with Chucho was to learn more so you could talk to the people he cared about the most in their native language. It made him burst with pride how each friend and family member he introduced you to couldn't express enough how much they loved you, and how happy they were for him. Truth be told, the only thing that Javi had to even try to complain about was the fact that you still made everyone sing him Happy Birthday and blow out the candles on the cake you had made. Even when he told you that you were mad about it, Javi knew that you could see right through him, and that he couldn’t have been more thankful for every single thing you had done for him that day. 

Long after the sun had set below the horizon of the Peña ranch, the party was still in full swing, the string lights you and Chucho had hung along the deck now lighting up the boisterous dance floor the patio had become. Despite his genuine happiness, you were more than convinced that Steve’s birthday whiskey definitely had something to do with the fact that Javi asked you to go dance with him, but wasn’t quite enough liquid courage to keep him on the dance floor as you tried to drag him back out to do the Macarena with you and his tías. After a few of his cousins had dragged him inside for another beer, Javi found himself sitting at the kitchen table, still getting a good view of you on the porch as you sang and danced away. Javi took a sip of his drink, letting out a content sigh as he leaned back in the chair and watched Steve fumble his way into the kitchen, holding Madison with a desperate look in his eyes.

“Thank God, there you are. Can you watch her, please?” Steve outstretched the baby girl out to Javi, panting like he had sprinted to come find him. 

“Steve, what? Are you sure that-?” Javi looked back at Steve suspiciously, leaving Madison dangling between the two of them as Steve practically set her in Javi’s lap. 

“Listen, I got two little girls out in the backyard fightin’ over who the hell gets to be the purple mermaid, Con’s out at the car tryin’ to get the girl’s pajamas, so either you take the baby, or go help Olivia and Abby decide who the goddamn purple mermaid is cause I can’t do both.” Sensing the desperation in his tone, Javi took Madison in his arms as Steve went as quickly as he came through the kitchen. “Word of advice, Jav?” Steve yelled across the room as he moved towards the door. 

“Yeah, Murph?” 

“Don’t let the kids outnumber you.” 

Javi chuckled to himself as he looked down at the baby now sitting in his lap. “Guess it’s just you and me, huh?” Javi shrugged as Maidson as he bounced her in his lap. Javi had never really understood why people were so obsessed with babies, considering that they didn’t really do much. But as Javi listened to Madison babble and squeal as he rocked her up and down, he found himself with a grin stretched across his face that he was definitely not expecting. Now on a mission to get another cute reaction out of her, Javi held Madison in his arms, making goofy faces at her as her happy shrieks and coos continued. 

Realizing that Javi had been gone for a good amount of time, you looked around the yard, finding that Javi was nowhere in sight. Chucho mentioned something to you about seeing Javi head into the house with his primos (cousins) not too long ago, so you decided to make your way through the crowd to see if you could find him. 

“Oh hey, there you are, Hermosa!” you heard Javi’s voice greet you, your back still turned to him as you closed the door behind you. 

“Hi, birthday boy! I was looking for-” 

Oh. 

Oh, dear lord. 

The sight you had stumbled upon was nothing that you could have mentally prepared yourself for. It hadn’t helped that for some reason, Javi seemed to be a kid magnet- every child at the party wanting to come up and talk to him or wish him happy birthday. That in itself would have been fine. But what really sent you over the edge was the fact that he was so goddam sweet with every single one of them. Like when you had watched as he crouched down to talk with one of his youngest cousins, listening intently as he told Javi all about his soccer team, or hug one of Estelle’s granddaughters who had made him a birthday card, Javi thanking her in that same sweet voice you had heard him use with animals. It practically melted to the ground as you watched him wrap his arms around her, telling her “Que hermosa! Muchos gracias! (So pretty! Thank you so much!)  As she handed him the card. That alone was enough to turn you into a puddle. But now, here you were, looking at Javier Peña, making the sweetest silly faces to the baby he had sitting on his lap. You were ready to run home and toss your birth control out the fucking window. 

“You okay, Osita?” Javi asked, waiting for you to finish the rest of your sentence. 

“Yup. I am great. I am doing perfectly fine. I am feeling SUUUUPER normal about what’s happening right now.” You gestured to Javi, now propping Madison against his shoulder as he stood up. 

Oh my GOD, is he broad. That man could easily fit 3 more babies in his arms. I’m about to get him to put 3 more babies in- NO. STOP. STOP THIS RIGHT NOW. You aren’t even close to being engaged yet, let alone married, you idiot. You cannot have this man’s babies right now. Well, I meannnnn, I guess I- NO. Self control. Pull it together, you hormonal monster. Jesus Christ. 

Javi shook his head as he laughed to himself, almost as if he could hear the internal monologue going on in your head as you watched him carry Madison over to you. “What?” He smirked at you, bouncing the baby girl in his arms. 

“Don’t you what me, Javier Jesús Peña. You expect me to walk in on you holding a baby and just be normal about it? Here, let me hold her before I look at you any longer and my ovaries burst.” You reached up as Javi passed Madison over to you, holding her only for a brief moment before Steve came rushing back in, snatching her out of your arms. 

“If Connie asks, I had her the whole time and the girls didn’t have two extra pieces of cake to stop the mermaid argument.” 

Before either of you could say another word, Steve was back out of the kitchen, rushing through the patio door. His swift entrance and exit left you and Javi alone, standing dangerously close to one another, the sexual tension between the two of you so thick, a chainsaw wouldn’t have been able to cut through it. You were using any and all self control you had to not pounce on Javi after watching him hold that baby, but he clearly seemed to have even less restraint than you. 

“C’mere.” Javi rasped, his mouth moving faster than his brain as he grabbed your wrist to pull you down the hallway into his room, frantically closing and locking the door behind him. In seconds, your lips crashed into each other, moans escaping from your mouths in between each breath, as your hands grasped at tight fistfuls of the other’s clothing. Javi’s tongue swept into your mouth, kissing you like his life depended on it, the both of you becoming so needy and desperate in each other's arms. Javi’s hands hiked up the hem of your dress, sliding against your thighs before wrapping his arms under your legs, hoisting you up and carrying you into the ensuite attached to his room, using his back to push open the door. He set you down on the counter, quickly pressing the lock to the bathroom before he was back to nipping at your neck, the palms of his hands pressing against every inch of your body as he slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders. 

“Javiiii…” You whined in between his frantic kisses. “Javi, we can’t do this here, all your friends and family are outside, this is a bad idea.” Your words were less convincing than ever as you ran your hands through Javi’s hair, tugging at the ends of his thick, brown locks, wrapping your legs around the small of his back to pull him closer to you. 

“I don’t care. Fuck, I need you right now.” He planted hot, wet kisses along your neck and chest, pushing down the top of your dress, leaving your breasts exposed, your nipples pebbling against the cool air and Javi’s touch. He swiped his tongue against each, flicking and swirling them in his mouth as he dug his fingers into your hips, making it harder and harder to keep your moans quiet. 

“Javi, we can’t. What if someone finds us? I want your family to like me, and I’m pretty sure one of them walking in on us isn’t gonna help my case very much.” You couldn’t even bother trying to convince yourself at this point. You could already feel how wet the fabric of your underwear was, slick pooling along your thighs as you and Javi practically clawed at each other, feverishly desperate and worked up.  

Javi smirked, shaking his head as hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties, letting them fall to the floor as they slid down your legs. “You don’t have to worry about that, baby. They fucking love you. You know what everyone keeps asking me, huh?” He took his hand, placing it under your chin, forcing your gaze to meet with the dark, lustful pools of his eyes, the other sliding up your bare thigh, his fingers sliding through your wet folds, collecting the arousal already dripping from them. “They keep asking me when I’m gonna marry you.” 

He pushed his thick fingers into your heat, making you shutter as your hands white knuckled the edge of the marbled countertop. “Couldn’t stop thinking about it all fucking day. How fucking perfect you are, what good wife you’d be.” The calloused pad of his thumb pressed against your clit, the motion of him rubbing back and forth and his fingers pulsing in and out of you making you scrunch your face, your jaw hinged open, trying everything you could to keep quiet. 

Javi would have loved to do nothing more than spend the rest of the night making you cum over and over again, but the both of you knew now wasn’t the time or place to keep things drawn out. He pulled his fingers out of you, making you bite down on your tongue to keep from whimpering as Javi worked at his belt, hearing the buckle clink as he pushed his pants and boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free as it flung out from under the waistband of his underwear, already throbbing and leaking precum from its tip. Javi spitting on his hand to stroke himself before collecting the slick around your entrance and pushing deep inside your heat. Javi held his hand up over your mouth, trying to keep from screaming into his palm as the sweet stretch of his length felt like it was splitting you open. “Shhhhh, I know baby.” He mewled, reaching his free hand down to once again rub against your throbbing bundle of nerves. “Gotta be a good girl and keep quiet for me, okay?” You nodded frantically as he took his hand off your mouth, biting down on your lip as his thrusts became quicker, pounding into you with a desperate intensity. “Jesus you’re so fucking wet. Does it turn you on, Osita? Thinking about me being your husband?” The way Javi punched against your walls had you writhing, squeezing your legs tighter around his waist and burying your face in the crook of his neck, toes curling with each satisfying thrust. You were practically incoherent- the way his hips snapped ferociously against you, fingers circling against your clit, talking about being his fucking wife? You let your words babble from your brain straight to your mouth, unfiltered, as they fell from your lips. 

“Fuck- oh my god - Yes, fuck, it turns me on so much. I think about it all the time. Fuck, I wanna marry you so bad, have your kids, I want all of it Javi. I want- Oh shit- I want all of it.” You could feel the tingle creeping from the base of your spine into your belly, digging your fingertips into the shirt stretched across the muscles of Javi’s broad back, crying out silently into his shoulder. The sounds that filled the air between you were wanton, hearing how wet you were as Javi slid in and out of you, his grunts strained against his gritted teeth, thrusting deeper and harder as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him. 

“Jesus- fuck me - Makes me so fucking hard thinking about it. Making you my fucking wife, putting a ring on your finger, fucking a baby into you. I’ll give it all to you, Osita.” You balled  your fists around the fabric of his shirt, nearly ripping it off his back as you sobbed into his neck feeling how close you were. His free hand reached back up against your face, cupping over your mouth to muffle your moans, feeling you clench tighter and tighter around his cock. “That’s it baby. Let go. Soak my dick before I fuck you full of me.” The coil in your belly snapped as you whimpered into his palm, your orgasm overtaking you, body erupting with pleasure. 

Hi Javi’s thrusts became sloppy and sporadic, frantically chasing his own high, desperate to fuck every last drop of himself into you. “Fuck, Hermosa, you’re so good to me, giving me the best fucking birthday- mierda - you’re fucking perfect. All fucking mine. Oh shit, fuck, baby, I’m- ahhhhhh.” With one last pulse, his seed spilled against the heat of your walls, his cock throbbing inside you, pushing every last drop of himself into your cunt. He slumped his forehead against your shoulder, feeling the sweaty curls of his hair stick to your skin as your chests rose and fell in sync. Javi hissed as he pulled out, feeling the mixture of the two of you drip down your legs. Running his two fingers along the inside of your still trembling thighs, he collected your spend, bringing it back to your entrance before pushing his thick digits back into your heat, making you gasp. “Gonna keep you full of me all fucking night, pretty girl.” He leaned down to kiss along the trail he had swiped up before traveling his lips up your body, stopping at your mouth. He reached down to grab your panties, pulling them back over your legs as he helped you down off of the counter, shuffling them over your ass as he gave it a quick smack before pulling your dress back down to its rightful position. You leaned against the counter as Javi brought his pants and boxers back around his waist, fastening his belt buckle, looking up to see you grinning at him. 

“Did you mean what you said? About- about all that stuff?” You asked, biting down on your lip, heat building in your face as your heart pounded in your chest. 

“Every fucking word, baby.” He cradled your cheek, running his thumb along your jaw, his face radiating with joy and content. “Osita, this has been the best fucking birthday I’ve ever had. Never in a million fucking years did I think someone would even care enough to remember my birthday, let alone do all this shit for me. I never wanna have another goddamn birthday without you. Today has been perfect. I’m ready to go and take you home to our apartment. Tú y yo, Osita. Para el restoro de mi vida (Me and you, Osita. For the rest of my life.) I love you so much.”

 Before Javi could lean down to kiss you again, your bodies both froze in fear as you heard the doorknob to the bedroom rattling. “Fuck…” Javi muttered to himself. “Wait right here, okay? I promise I’ll make sure no one finds out you’re in here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He gave you a quick kiss on the head before carefully closing the ensuite door, trying his best to fix his hair and shirt as he heard knocking on the other end. 

“Jav! It’s Steve. I know you’re in there, you sneaky son of a bitch.” 

Javi groaned as he opened the door, stepping out of his room to find Steve smirking as he crossed his arms against his chest. “Whatchya doin’ in there, buddy?” 

“Fuck off, Murphy, I just- I had to go get something really quick.” Javi’s eyes darted up and down the hallway to make sure no one else was around. 

“Whatever ya say man. Hey listen, all the girls are cashed out in the car so we’re gonna hit the road. I just wanted to say it was so good to see you, Peña. The two of you need to come by sometime now that we’re close. I know I’ve given you a lot of shit over the years, but I mean it when I say I’m really fucking happy for you. Happy birthday, ya grumpy old bastard.” Steve pulled in Javi for a hug, giving him one last pat on the back before pulling away. “And Jav?” 

“Yeah, Murph?” 

“Your fly’s undone.” 

“Oh, fuck…” Javi muttered, quickly reaching down to zip up his pants while Steve was trying to keep himself from cackling. 

You snuck out of the bathroom to press against the doorway, trying to figure out who had almost caught you and Javi. Not realizing that Javi hadn’t closed the door all the way, you leaned just a little too hard, forcing it open as you sheepishly peeked your head out behind Javi. 

“Bye, sweetheart.” Steve winked at you before heading down the hallway and disappearing around the corner, your face beet red knowing you had completely blown your cover. 

“Bye Steve.” You muffled through the hand now completely covering your face in embarrassment before looking back up at Javi. “Better him than your dad, I guess? Or God forbid, Maria?” You both grimaced, the idea of either of those two finding you in the state Steve had making you shutter. 

“Jesus, I can’t even think about that.” You both laughed as Javi snaked his hand around your waist, pulling you flush with his chest. “Whaddya say we head home, roomie?” The name making you grin as you hugged your arms around his hips, laying his head against the soft fabric of his shirt. 

“Sounds good to me, birthday boy.” 

The two of you made your way back out to the party, the number of guests dwindling from the late hours of the night the party had extended to. You said your goodbyes to the friends and family still lingering, making sure to give an extra long hug to Chucho, thanking him again for everything he had done to help make sure the party had gone perfectly. 

“I can come over tomorrow if you need help cleaning up okay? Don’t need you complaining about your knees anymore than you already are.” You smiled, Chucho pulling you in for one last squeeze. 

“Cabrón. Mis viejas rodillas están bien.  (Asshole. My old knees are just fine). But if you wanted to come over tomorrow morning to help, I wouldn’t complain. I’m sure this one wants to come get the rest of his things and get out his old man’s hair once and for all.” He chuckled as he grinned at Javi, shaking his head at the two of you. 

“Sounds good, we’ll see you tomorrow, Chucho. Thank you again. You’re the best. You ready, Jav?” You squeezed his hand, giving him a little nudge. 

“Yeah, I just gotta ask Pops something real quick, I’ll meet you out by the car, okay?” He replied, giving you a kiss on the head as you gave Chucho one last wave before making your way back to the driveway. 

“Qué necesitas, hijo?” (What do you need, son?). Chucho raised an eyebrow at Javi, watching his son fidget with his fingers, leg bouncing anxiously. Making sure you had disappeared from his sight, Javi looked around the crowd one more time before taking a shaky breath. 

“I uh- I don’t need it now, but, I mean I’m still gonna give it some time- I um, I just wanted to know if, fuck, if um, I could- I could have mom’s ring?” 

Chucho’s eye’s glistened, beaming at Javi as he wrapped his arm around his son. “Javier. That ring has been sitting on my nightstand since I got home from Maria’s party all those months ago. I’m just glad you finally asked and I didn’t have to put it in your pocket for you.” 

Taglist: @cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed

[wheresarizona]

September Part 4

Jackson House of Worship, 2024

summary: Joel Miller didn’t get a chance to marry you twenty years ago, and now that you’re back together, he’s not wasting any more time—especially after you both bared your souls the night before, revealing your darkest secrets to make your bond unbreakable.

rating: Explicit (18+! No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (10 years), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, dirty talk, praise kink (Joel gets called a good boy), spit mention, spanking, Joel should’ve stuck to missionary, flashback to the first meeting, handwavey medical jargon, mention of period typical sexism, emotions, tons of banter, LOTS of fluff, wedding, Ellie taking her best man duties seriously, Ellie’s handkersleeves, sweet Joel & Ellie father-daughter moments, Tommy being a little shit, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, dancing with Joel, Joel playing guitar, angst with a happy ending, confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, talk of pregnancy loss (stillbirth), talk of child loss, grief/mourning, talk of suicide attempt (Joel), TLOU tv/game spoilers)

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader (reader is a doctor with no physical descriptions)

word count: 24.8k+ (This is who I am.)

a/n: I apologize for the delay in getting this done—March was not great for me. A lot of people wanted Joel to find out about the baby, and oh boy, does he. This chapter is emotional; you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll feel all warm and fuzzy, you’ll swoon, and you’ll have a good time. Shoutout to the love of my life, @juletheghoul, for being by my side through this whole thing. This is unbeta'd all mistakes are my own.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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July 2002 - Austin, Texas

The clinic wasn’t your first pick for where you wanted to do your residency to become a doctor; it wasn’t even your fifteenth choice. You applied to fifty programs across the entire country, hoping for a bustling hospital in a big city or a large clinic somewhere you could have the opportunity to explore different specialties—pediatrics calling to you, but also interested in internal medicine and surgery. And yet, out of fifty applications, the place that accepted you was a family medicine clinic in Austin, Texas.

But what had you expected? You weren’t a prime candidate due to being a lot younger than others fresh out of medical school, and the real nail in the coffin is you’re a woman; gender bias in the medical field is absolutely astounding.

So, here you are in this clinic with its beige walls and oak wood accents, sitting at a desk reading over the chart of a patient the attending physician said would be easy enough for you to handle on your own, with it only being your second week in the program.

The patient is Joel Miller, a thirty-four-year-old male complaining of knee pain. This is his follow-up appointment after he had scans done the previous week, and your job is to go over the treatment plan the physician has already decided on.

Your nose crinkles at the other doctor’s notes, seeing he isn’t offering a long-term solution but instead is basically shoving a band-aid over a gaping wound that will progressively get worse over time. That wouldn’t do; already figuring out better options in your mind that would have lasting effects and offer relief—that’s something that drew you to medicine in the first place, always having to solve puzzles, making your brain work to help people and save lives.

You’re interrupted by Janis, the nurse who you’re pretty sure hates you, though you don’t know why glaring as she lets you know the patient is ready to see you. Maybe she’s just one of those people with resting bitch face, and you shouldn’t take it personally, except she’s so cold towards you. There isn’t anything you can do about it. Shrugging it off as you get up from your chair, your white coat on and stethoscope hanging around your neck, making your way to room four with the chart in hand.

There are many facts you know about the man you’re seeing: his name, age, occupation, vitals, what the inside of both his knees look like—knocking softly on the door twice, you enter, closing it behind you for privacy—those details hadn’t prepared you for what he looks like. When your eyes land on him sitting on the edge of the exam table, you pause, struck by how handsome he is—brown waves of hair, big chocolate-colored eyes, plush lips, ridiculously broad shoulders that have the navy blue t-shirt he’s wearing hugging his chest sinfully.

You gulp, mentally berating yourself for finding a patient attractive, reminding yourself you’re here to do a job to help him feel better, quickly regaining your composure and offering your name.

“...I’ll be your doctor today,” you tell him.

His eyes round, mouth falling open before he catches himself and closes it, seeing that gorgeous throat of his work as he swallows.

You need to stop noticing his attractiveness—he’s a patient.

“Doctor…?” he asks slowly, with a drawl you’re becoming familiar with.

The surprise is clear on his face, which is something you’re used to, the walls rising inside you, readying yourself for a fight because either he’s going to be okay with you taking care of him, or he’ll be a dick and demand another, older, male, doctor—which has happened multiple times this week and is why you’ve only treated a dozen or so patients.

Your chin rises as you reply with a nod, “Yes. I’ll be handling your care.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just I can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

Your eyebrow quirks.

“Because I’m a woman? Young?”

He shakes his head as he speaks, “‘Cause you’re so beautiful.”

That’s an unexpected response that has you so taken aback that your breath hitches, trying to control the butterflies that are wildly fluttering around in your tummy.

His eyes get big, realizing what he said, quickly backtracking, flush staining his cheeks as he looks away. “I am so sorry, ma’am,” he says. “It’s rude of me to be commentin’ on your looks when you’re just doin’ your job. You probably think I’m some creep.”

This poor man is beating himself up about saying the nicest thing anyone’s said to you all week.

“I don’t think you’re a creep,” you reassure him. His eyes meet yours, him gauging if what you’re saying is true, so you smile. “You’re honestly very sweet. A lot of people have a hard time getting over my age or that I’m a female in a male-dominated profession, so you thinking I’m too beautiful is a lovely change and also wonderful for my self-esteem.” You laugh.

His lips curl up.

“Well, I’m happy you’re not kickin’ me out. You bein’ a young woman doesn’t bother me—wish my daughter was here so she could see that if she wanted, she could be like you one day.”

The sincerity of his words has your chest going tight. In med school, a doctor told your class to let the patient ramble at the start of the appointment for five minutes because you’ll learn quite a lot about them. Usually, it’s things about their lifestyle or what’s actually causing them issues. What you now know about Joel Miller is that he’s respectful, a sweetheart, and a caring father—you’re fucked, realizing your eyes are drifting to his left hand, happy that you don’t see a ring.

Not that it means anything to you. He’s your patient. You need to focus.

“How old is your daughter?” you ask.

That’s a safe question. It’s important to build rapport and trust, plus you’re genuinely curious and want to know more about him to ensure you give him the best care—at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

He visibly brightens, and it’s adorable.

“She’s twelve, turnin’ thirteen Saturday after next. Her name’s Sarah and I can’t believe how quickly she’s growin’—feels like just yesterday she was havin’ me check under her bed for monsters.” He has a fond expression on his face.

“Wow, you’re gonna have a teenager. Are you and your wife planning a big party for her?”

There’s no way he’s single, not that it matters to you.

“No wife, or girlfriend, for that matter. Sarah wanted a slumber party with her friends, so I’ll be hidin’ away in my room alone watchin’ a movie or somethin’.”

It shouldn’t excite you to hear he doesn’t have a partner, but there’s a thrill moving through you.

“Sounds like my ideal Saturday night—just relaxing watching tv or a movie.”

“Yeah?” He smiles. “We got somethin’ in common, then.” He scratches at the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. “I, uh, wanna apologize again. You just caught me off guard, is all—was expectin’ Dr. Carlson with his bad combover.” There’s a smirk on his face when he continues, “But you’re a nice surprise.”

“Because I’m easier on the eyes?” you tease.

Don’t flirt with the patient!

“Yes,” he chuckles.

It’s time to focus on your job and not how his eyes twinkle, clearing your throat as you approach him.

“So, Mr. Miller—“

“Please call me Joel,” he interrupts.

You smile.

“Okay, Joel, I was looking over your chart, and you're having pain in both knees?”

“That’s correct.”

Pulling your pen from your pocket, you ask, ���Has it gotten worse since last week? Feel any different?”

“No, ma’am.”

You jot down his answer.

“Well, that’s good.” Your eyes land on his. “May I take a look?” you ask, pointing your pen at his lower half.

“Of course.” He nods enthusiastically. “Look, touch, do anythin’ you want to me, I don’t mind.” He grimaces, whispering to himself, “Jesus, I’m embarrassin’.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips past your lips.

“You’re okay, Joel,” you say, putting away your pen and moving to set the chart down on the nearby counter opposite the exam table to wash your hands in the sink.

He lets out a long sigh.

“It’s been a while,” he says. “I’ve forgotten how to talk to women.”

“That’s gotta be a problem with fifty-one percent of the population being female,” you reply as you dry off your hands with a paper towel, tossing it in the trash when you’re done.

He snorts, you turning around and seeing the amused look on his face.

“I’ve forgotten how to talk to women I think are pretty.”

“Well, thank goodness we’re having no issue holding a conversation.”

“It’s taking a whole helluva lot of effort with your gorgeous eyes lookin’ at me.”

Heat is crawling up your neck to your face, focusing on getting your bearings back together. Taking a few steps, you’re close with a little bit of space, needing to get the appointment back on track.

“So, I’m going to examine your knees over your jeans. If I need to, can I push them up your legs?” you ask.

“Want me to take them off?” he asks eagerly.

It makes you laugh, him smiling.

“There’s no need for you to strip.”

“You sure?” he asks with a crooked smile.

“Positive,” you answer, winking.

What is wrong with you? You need to stop flirting with him. He’s a patient! You’re the embarrassing one here. It’s like something inside you shifts when you look down at his right knee, going into doctor mode, brain whirling as you gently touch it over his jeans. Joel tenses, a reaction that furrows your eyebrows, meeting his eyes.

“Does it hurt when I touch here?”

There shouldn’t be any pain based on the scans; if there is, you’ll need to have more imagining done.

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Okay. I need you to tell me if anywhere I touch hurts.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Your attention is back on what you’re doing, processing what you’re feeling under your fingertips, having him extend his leg so you can see his range of motion, Joel’s face pinching in pain, which you expected.

“I’m going to push up your jeans.”

“You go right ahead.”

Getting them up to his thigh, Joel shivers when you touch his warm skin.

“Sorry about my hands being cold,” you murmur, pressing into the back of his knee to feel his ligaments and tendons, comparing in your mind to what you saw on the scans with how it feels.

“Your hands are nice—soft,” he replies in a gentle tone.

The doctor-patient relationship is sacred and an essential part of healthcare, built on trust, respect, communication, and common understanding. You swore to follow certain ethical guidelines to ensure that your patient gets the highest level of care. Things might be flirty with Joel and you, but his health is your main priority—it’s your job, and you’re not going to cross a line, even if he’s tempting you like forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden. While he’s your patient, that’s all he’ll be and nothing more. You’re focused, being thorough, and checking for anything that’s out of the ordinary.

“You don’t have to answer,” he says, “I know it’s a personal question, but how old are you..?”

You’re busy working, answering distractedly, “Twenty-four.”

“Jesus,” he gasps. “And you’re already a doctor?”

There’s slight swelling but no tears that you can tell—everything matches the imaging.

“I have the degree,” you say. “This is the first year of my residency—basically, I’m a doctor in training, but I’ve treated people.”

There’s a curious expression on his face when you finally glance at him.

“I’m just thinkin’ about all the schoolin’. Are you a bit… younger?”

Smiling, you answer, “Yes. I did a lot of work to get my degree sooner—basically zero life outside of school for the past six years.”

He looks impressed.

“Christ, smart and beautiful, your boyfriend’s a lucky guy.”

“My boyfriend is non-existent—was too busy with school. Well, no changes in this knee from last week—” You pull his pant leg back down. “—so that’s good. Let me check the other.” You move, immediately pushing up his jeans this time. “Does one hurt worse than the other?” you ask, going through the same exam as you did on the other, checking his motion and behind his knee.

“Uh, nope. Both hurt the same. Sarah says it’s ‘cause I’m old,” he chuckles.

“Has Sarah thought about becoming a doctor?”

As you thought, this knee doesn’t have any changes either.

“No—she wants to be a singer.”

You finish, putting his pants back in place, straightening your spine as you look at him.

“Well, she’s got a knack for medicine—she diagnosed you.”

He frowns.

“The pain is because of my age…?”

“It’s a big contributing factor along with the wear and tear from the work you do.”

He runs a hand through his hair, sighing loudly.

“You must think I’m an old man.”

“I don’t.” You shake your head. “You’re only a little older than me.”

He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Ten years is a lot.”

“Not really.” You shrug. “And you’re in excellent shape aside from your knees, but that’s bound to be an issue with your job.”

There’s a change in how he’s looking at you, and it has you gulping, watching him slide his thumb over his bottom lip like he wants your attention to go there, getting his wish, not able to stop yourself from wondering if his lips are as soft as they look.

“You, uh, think I’m in excellent shape?” His voice has gone deeper, ignoring the simmering heat in your belly.

“Ye-yes,” you stutter. He’s smirking, and you need to get back into safe territory, clearing your throat before you start speaking, “So, let me go over what we’re gonna do to help with the pain.”

From the look on his face, he’s disappointed, which confuses you, not understanding his reaction.

A tired sigh comes from him before he says, “I’m assumin’ medication, then?”

Oh, he thinks you’re going to give him a prescription for pain relief instead of actually treating him. It’s a common issue with doctors who are up to their ears in patients—instead of taking the time to figure out the root of the cause and treat it accordingly, they just write out a prescription to make the patient comfortable, a temporary solution, that has them coming back again, and again. Dr. Carlson’s plan was medication for Joel.

You’re moving to pick up his chart, your eyes scanning over the information, and turning the page, seeing that this is his sixth visit this year, and it’s only July—imaging wasn’t even ordered until last week.

“How long have you been dealing with this pain?” you ask.

“Last couple of years, I started gettin’ achy. Then in, uh, December of last year, there was a big job I was workin’ on—twelve-hour days for almost three weeks straight, and they started hurtin’ real bad.”

Your blood is boiling that he’s had to suffer for so long.

There’s a serious expression on your face when you look at him.

“There are other things we can do that will be long-term. With you being a single dad, the sole provider for Sarah, and working a manual labor job, I don’t think you’ll have time to commit to physical therapy, and I wouldn’t want to take away from your quality time with her.”

He looks surprised before his expression softens.

“What are you thinkin’, Doc?”

You smile warmly, jumping into what you planned that he can do at home, Joel listening intently as you explain each of the things in detail, him nodding along, seeming to like what you’re saying.

“You think it’ll work?” he asks when you finish.

“I do.” You nod. “It’s just keeping up on the exercises—we need to strengthen and stretch those muscles to assist with joint movement, and the other things I suggested will help with the swelling and give you some relief.”

He’s nodding. “I understand—do the exercises. Don’t wanna let you down.”

You pull a small notepad from your jacket pocket, placing it over the chart as you start writing out your treatment instructions, replying, “You shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

“Maybe I wanna worry about you. You’re the first doctor that’s actually cared about helpin’ me. Gonna have to come here more often to see you since you take such great care of me.”

“I’m not your primary physician.” You’re almost finished writing. “You’d end up seeing Dr. Carlson.”

“What if you became my primary doctor?”

Tearing off the page, you hold it out to him, his hand taking it.

There’s something here between you two, a connection you can feel, so you tell him truthfully, “Then all I could and would be is your doctor.”

Understanding dawns on him.

“Oh, is the appointment over?”

“Do you have any other concerns?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then the appointment is over. If you have any other issues or questions, please reach out to Dr. Carlson. It’s been a pleasure helping you today, and if there’s nothing else, you’re more than welcome to leave.”

He gets down from the table, groaning when he stands up straight, folding up your note and putting it in his pocket.

Thinking there’s nothing else he wants to say and not acknowledging the disappointment that feels like a stone in your belly, you make your way toward the door.

“Wait,” he says. You stop, turning around to face him. “I have a question.”

Taking a couple of steps closer to him, you ask, “What’s your question?”

He closes the distance, stopping when he’s taking up your vision, focusing on his big brown eyes, noticing his spicy cologne that has you feeling warm. He scratches at the back of his neck, looking nervous.

“Well,” he starts, “since I’m no longer your patient and you’re not my doctor, I’m not usually this forward, and I know I don’t have a chance in hell, but I’m wonderin’ if you’d wanna give an old guy like me a shot at takin’ you out?”

Happiness thrums in your veins that he asks, unable to help when a laugh sputters from you, quickly covering your mouth, his cheeks going red, looking unsure and embarrassed. You quickly apologize, “Sorry! I’m not laughing at you for asking me out—I want to go out with you.” That makes him perk up, rewarding you with a dimpled grin. “It’s just you said I was the first doctor to actually help you, and you’d rather date me than have me take care of you. It’s sweet but also hilarious.” You’re laughing again.

He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, the other perched on his hip, keeping his weight to one side.

“Yeah,” he says, “there are a lot more doctors out there—sure, I can find another, but I’ve only ever met one you, and I’m not gonna miss my opportunity to get to know you better.”

It feels like your skin is buzzing, so caught off guard by how genuine he is, seeing it in those dark eyes of his.

“How are you single?”

Is there something you’re missing? Some deep dark secret? He seems so perfect and adorable. It makes zero sense that he’s unattached.

There’s a sad smile on his face.

“Not a lot of women are into single dads.”

“That’s a lie—I’m very into single dads.”

He laughs, a beautiful flush crawling up his neck.

“I’m happy to hear that. Can I get your number?” he asks, pulling out a Nokia phone from his pocket and holding it out to you. “I just got this.”

“Of course.”

Taking it, you punch in the numbers, saving them to his contacts before giving it back. He looks at the little screen, hitting some buttons.

“‘Doc’?” he asks amusedly, meeting your eyes. “Why not your name?”

“Can’t take the risk of a handsome guy like you meeting another girl with my name—need to make sure I stand out,” you answer with a wink.

“No other woman is like you. I only want your number.”

“You’re really laying it on thick,” you tease. “I can assure you that you’ve successfully seduced me, and I really want to go out with you.”

He smiles.

“Good. I really wanna go out with you, too. What time are you off?”

“Seven.”

“Can I call you later?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Then I will.”

“I can’t wait.”

The joy is evident on his face, and you know you’re wearing a matching expression.

He holds out his hand as he says, “It’s been a pleasure meetin’ you today, Doc.” Holding his chart with one arm, you shake his offered palm that engulfs your smaller one. “You’re already a mighty fine doctor.” He winks, bringing your hand up to place a soft, chaste kiss on the back of it, his gaze staying on yours. Your skin tingles, and your body feels like it's burning from the inside out as your jaw goes slack.

Your voice is rough when you say, “You are a liar, Joel Miller.”

His eyebrows dip together, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“You said you’d forgotten how to talk to women, and that is not true—not even a little bit. Got me thinking about kissing your stupidly perfect face.”

He crookedly grins.

“Stupidly perfect?”

“Yes,” you groan.

“And you wanna kiss it?”

He gets closer, your bodies practically pressing together.

“Yes.”

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, leaning into his touch, his eyes moving from your own to your lips, the tension rising, thinking he might go for it and hoping he will.

His voice goes lower, “Then we better go out soon.” He takes a small step back, putting space between you, your heart pounding hard in your chest. “You busy tomorrow night?”

“No,” you breathe.

“Off at the same time?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It’s a half day.”

“Can I pick you up at seven?”

“Yes.” You nod.

He smiles brightly.

“It’s a date. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Doc.”

“Bye, Joel.”

He brings your hand up to kiss the back of it one more time and leaves you standing there in a daze, thankful that out of fifty applications across the entire United States, this was the clinic that accepted you, inadvertently introducing you to Joel Miller.

Spring 2024 - Jackson, Wyoming

For a cold night, the house is comfortably warm, the room illuminated in a soft glow by the bedside lamp, the sky outside dark and hidden by the closed blinds—Joel’s on his knees on the bed, your legs resting over his arms keeping them spread with his hands tightly gripping onto your hips, holding your ass up as he fucks into you hard.

The nap had lasted a couple of hours, the front of your body snug against his back, his fingers intertwined with yours over his heart, kissing his bare shoulders when you woke. Water was drunk, some food was eaten from the rations in your pack, and the next thing you knew, Joel’s face was buried between your legs.

Now, he’s grunting as he pounds into you, his thick cock pushing into that one heavenly spot that only he’s been able to find with his eyebrows furrowed and teeth bared—your head is dizzy with pleasure, fire burning so brightly in your belly that it’s going to explode at any second.

You’re gasping moans, your fingers digging into the bedspread, feeling so fucking close to coming, every thrust having the muscles in your stomach winding tighter and tighter.

“Come on, baby,” he says through gritted teeth. “Let me fuckin’ have it—you feel so fuckin’ good. Fuck, wanna feel you come.”

“Close,” you whine. “Oh, fuck.” Your body is starting to writhe, not able to control yourself. “You’re fucking me so good, Joel. Oh, god. Gonna come.”

The slap of his hips echoes in the room, the sound magnified by how wet you are, filling the air with the loud squelch of your cunt mixing with rough sounds coming from Joel’s throat and your breathy noises.

The heat builds in the pit of your stomach, growing hotter and thicker until stars are dancing at the edge of your vision, coming with a shout of his name.

“There it fuckin’ is,” he groans, “My good girl—I fuckin’ love you.”

Your body seizes up, the pleasure starting deep in your center and radiating out through your limbs, feeling it spread to the tips of your fingers and toes, your mind going hazy. Joel slows to a grind, letting you feel every ridge and vein of his throbbing dick, working you through your high.

The orgasm ebbs and your body continues to tremble—opening your eyes to meet his lust-blown gaze, a lazy smile on his lips.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks.

Smiling dreamily, you answer, “Yeah, babe. Feel fucking amazing. You’ve always known how I like to be fucked.”

“Yeah, I do,” he rasps, slowly thrusting, “and I know you got one more in ya.” He slaps your hip, making you gasp when he pulls out, letting your legs fall to the bed. “Hands and knees, baby,” he says, helping you get into position, your body thrumming in excitement, knowing what’s to come.

Your knees sink into the mattress, hips up, forearms resting against the pillow just how he wants you, looking over your shoulder to watch him grab onto the flesh of your ass, squeezing hard.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” he says, spreading open your asscheeks, the bed jostling as he moves. His face gets close, moaning when you feel him spit onto your entrance, the hot saliva mixing with your slick and come, your eyes closing, facing forward once more.

He straightens up, wasting no time to press back inside you in one smooth thrust, gasping at how he stretches you. It was something you’d never tire of, the way he fills you and how your body makes space to have him fitting all nice and snug, sliding perfectly along your sensitive walls.

His hands are grabbing onto your hips, digging in his fingers as he starts moving, soft sounds falling from your lips with each push and pull of his cock inside you. He sets a punishing pace, hearing the dull smack of your bodies colliding and his balls slapping into your clit, him grunting in exertion with how hard he’s slamming into you.

Your head falls forward, pressing it into the cushiony pillow, him turning you into a whimpering, drooling mess at how good it feels, the familiar heat in your core growing, expanding, as he fucks you into the mattress.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he grits out, his hand landing on your asscheek in a resounding smack that has your cunt clenching. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

He’s making your ass jiggle and thighs quiver with every hard thrust, whining in reply, “Yes, Joel. So good.”

You have to push back to keep him from fucking you into the headboard, your arms trembling, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your end.

His hand leaves your hip to massage your clit, making you keen, the jolts of electricity ramping you up and setting every nerve in your body ablaze, clawing at the pillow for something to hold onto.

You’re so close—everything he’s doing to you builds you up until you fall over the edge, chanting his name as the waves of euphoria spread through you.

“My good fuckin’ girl,” Joel groans, grabbing your hips once more to fuck you through your climax, going harder to extend it—snapping into you with abandon. It makes your head spin, and feels like the pleasure just keeps going and going—

He comes to a sudden stop with a hiss—pulling out, the bed jostles as he falls onto it beside you on his back. You’re coming down from your high, turning your head to see his chest heaving as he catches his breath with his eyes closed. Reaching over, you pat his flushed, sweaty chest.

“Tire yourself out?” you mumble.

“Yeah,” he pants.

“Shoulda listened to Tommy and stuck to missionary, you old man.”

His head turns a fraction toward you, opening one eye with a grumpy expression on his face, grumbling, “Don’t be fuckin’ mean.” You laugh when he pinches your hip, your body crumpling flat onto the mattress.

“I’m sorry, babe,” you giggle, scooting over to him to throw your arm over his stomach and rest your head over his heart, leaning up to kiss his chin.

“Liar,” he replies.

“I’m not lying,” you say into his skin. “I am a little sorry.”

“Good—did I, uh, tire you out?” he asks.

You snort.

“Need me to get on top and finish you off?”

His cock is still hard and resting on his belly, wetting his skin in your slick.

He lets out a long sigh. “...Yeah.”

“Say no more,” you reply, kissing his stubble.

With a groan, you’re moving to straddle his hips, one hand on his chest to hold yourself up, the other moving to grab his dick to notch him at your opening, him twitching in your palm. It’s a reflex when his big hands land on your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles into your soft skin.

“Fuckin’ love when you’re on top,” he rasps, his glazed-over gaze on yours.

“‘Cause you like watching my tits bounce.”

He’s unable to reply, his mouth falling open as you sink down on him, your eyes fluttering closed at how he feels so much bigger like this, your thighs meeting when you bottom out.

“God, I love your dick,” you moan, both hands on his chest, rolling your hips, adjusting to the fullness.

His voice is strained when he replies, “I know you do—always hungry for my dick.”

“Says the guy who can’t keep his face out of my pussy—fuck,” you gasp, tilting your hips to have him press into something divine.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Gotta make up for lost time.” One of his hands moves to your center, pressing his thumb to your clit it making pleasure spark in your belly. “You wanna come again?” he asks.

Meeting his eyes, you shake your head, “No,” you answer. “I’m spent. Another, and I know I’ll pass the fuck out.”

He smirks. “Nothin’ wrong with that.”

Your eyebrow raises.

“Except that you’d have to get yourself off with your hand—I’m good, babe. It’s your turn.”

“Okay.”

His hand goes back to your hip, your inner walls fluttering around him, starting to move up and down, rising on your knees and falling over and over, his eyes locking on your chest with his jaw slack.

“Fuck,” he groans. “So fuckin’ beautiful. Lean down, baby.”

It makes you grin. Of course, he wants you to lean down.

Your hands move to either side of his head to hold yourself up, riding him in earnest, not surprised when he palms your breasts. His fingers tease your stiff nipples, rolling and pinching them, causing electricity to shiver down your spine, breathily moaning as you work him over, feeling the sheen of sweat coating your skin and your thighs beginning to burn. There’s a beautiful flush covering him, his golden skin glistening in the lamplight, wanting to lick the drops of perspiration along the column of his throat. He feels so good inside of you, his cock moving in and out of you, going at a rhythm he likes, his face screwed up like he’s in pain, knowing he’s getting close with the rough noises he’s making.

“Kiss me,” he pants.

Lowering your face, you hover your lips over his. “Aren’t you needy,” you say between heavy breaths, nudging his nose with your own. “You want me to kiss you?”

“Please,” he croaks out, looking absolutely wrecked.

“My good boy asking so nicely.” He moans loudly, feeling his cock jerk. You give him what he wants, capturing his mouth in a kiss, pressing your lips forcefully to his while you keep rutting against him, his hands squeezing your breasts.

It’s loud between your legs, hearing the wet sounds of you moving on him.

“‘M close,” he murmurs into your lips, making you go harder, your heart pounding in your chest.

It doesn’t take much more for his big hands to finally grab onto your hips, pulling you down all the way to be flush with him, a dirty, low groan spilling from his throat as he comes—his dick twitching, the warmth of his spend filling your inner depths.

You’re wrung out, your head falling into the crook of his neck, panting hot breaths into his skin, Joel sounding just as winded, hugging his arms around you to hold you close.

Minutes you lay wrapped up in each other, your heartbeats slowing together, comfortable, happy, neither of you wanting to move.

Exhaustion is creeping up on you, afraid you’ll fall asleep. Your voice is muffled when you say, “Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m old.”

He swats your ass. “Stop that. You’re not old.”

“Joel, I want to sleep—I’m old,” you sigh. “I’m too tired to fuck.”

He sighs, too, replying, “Fuck, I’m tired, too—bone fuckin’ tired. That doesn’t mean we’re old.”

A memory comes to you. “Remember that one weekend Tommy watched Sarah? You’d been swamped with work the week before, and according to him, you were an absolute asshole because you needed to get laid, so when the job was done, he told you to stay with me all weekend, and we literally fucked the entire time?”

You’d barely left your bed.

“That was a good weekend.” You can hear him smiling.

“It was. We barely slept and fucked like rabbits. Joel, we didn’t even last all of tonight. Face it, babe, we’re old.”

“We just need a good night’s rest, and we could easily go all night.”

“Sure, babe—“ You lightly pat his cheek “—just some sleep, and we can go all night like we’re twenty years younger.”

“That’s what I said, and I know I’m right.”

“You’re cute,” you say, moving to kiss his jaw. “I gotta get up and go to the bathroom—I’ll grab us some water.”

“Mmkay.”

Unwrapping his arms, you carefully got up with a groan, the bed squeaking as you maneuvered off of it.

Your first stop was the en suite to take care of your needs and clean yourself up, relishing in the delicious ache between your legs at being thoroughly fucked. Next was doing the same walk of shame that Joel had taken earlier, not bothering to put on any clothes as you padded down to the first floor to refill your cups, returning with them full of water.

Your eyebrows dip together when you get back into the bedroom, finding Joel in the same spot you left him—his head is cushioned on a pillow, his eyes closed, completely still, seeing his chest's steady rise and fall.

Normally, he would’ve gotten up to clean himself up and use the bathroom.

Did he pass out?

You set the glasses on the bedside table next to him. “Joel?” you whisper. “Did you fall asleep?”

You’re afraid that if you touch him, you might startle him.

“No.” He says the word clearly.

Stepping closer to the bed, you push his messy hair away from his face.

“You just comfortable?” you ask.

“...no.”

Well, the slight pause has alarm bells ringing in your head.

“What do you mean?” You stroke your hand over his cheek. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He lets out a really long breath, finally blinking open his eyes to look at you, a frown on his lips.

“Don’t make fun of me…”

Oh, god, he’s hurt. Immediately you’re looking over his body for any sign of injury, noting that his breaths are even, your fingers moving against his neck to feel the steady thump of his pulse.

“What’s wrong?” you ask again.

“I… can’t move,” he answers, grimacing.

That narrows things down. “Jesus Christ, Joel. Hips or back?”

“Back—pulled somethin’. Fuckin’ hurts to move.”

Your brain is making quick work on how you will treat him, remembering you saw some ice in the freezer.

“Well, at least you didn’t break a hip,” you murmur. “Tommy and Ellie would’ve never let you live it down.”

That grumpy expression comes over his face.

“My hips are fuckin’ fine,” he grouses. “Just gotta lay here for a bit, and I’ll be okay.”

“Um, no,” you reply. “You’re not laying here and suffering.” Grabbing a glass of water, you ask, “First, I need you to drink something. Does it hurt to lift your neck?”

His frown becomes more pronounced, him lifting up as much as he can, and your hand immediately going behind his head to help him up, the other bringing the cup to his lips and tilting it for him to drink. Once he’d drunk the whole thing, he laid back against the pillow again.

“Thank you, baby.” He looks so sad, and it has you putting the glass back onto the table before cupping his cheeks and leaning down to kiss him softly.

Breaking it, you look him in the eyes, smiling. “You’re welcome, and don’t be upset. I believe you said it was sexy that I could treat your sex injuries, and I’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

His eyes are big. “I know you will,” he says softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, I gotta flip you over to make sure it is a pulled muscle and you didn’t slip a disk or something worse.”

“Okay,” he sighs.

Helping him get onto his stomach involves him making a lot of pained sounds and muttering ‘fuck,’ repeatedly. Luckily, after a quick exam, you confirmed it was just lower back strain.

Earlier in the evening, Tommy had dropped off a bag filled with clothes. Rummaging through it, you found a white t-shirt that was clearly meant for Joel that you put on before going downstairs to grab some ice that you wrapped in a small towel.

When you got back to your injured fiancé, you applied the cold compress to help reduce the pain and swelling.

You’re lying beside him, your hand holding the ice to where his pain is, his head turned toward you.

“I refilled the ice tray,” you say. “We just need to do this every three or four hours over the next couple of days, and you’ll have to take it easy. No strenuous activity.”

“Yes, Doc,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You wanted to fuck for a couple of days.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” you reassure. “I was dreaming big and did not account for the fact that I am no longer an energetic twenty-something. Honestly, I am so fucking exhausted. I think everything is catching up to me—saving Ellie, finding you, us walking here to Jackson. I want to sleep for days. Then there’s the fact you fucked me so good, I’m gonna need some time to recover—I’m sore.”

“We overdid it.” He lets out a breath.

“We overdid it.” You nodded.

“But it was good..?” He looks hopeful.

You smile. “So fucking good—worth the pain.”

“Yeah?” He smirks.

“Yeah.”

“I reckon it was worth the pain.”

Once his back is iced, he’s able to get up, and you both take a quick shower together, deciding to call it a night. Joel’s protective instincts have him sleeping closest to the door with a gun and knife on the bedside table, you nestled into his left side, your leg hitched up on his thigh, resting your head over his heart, the strong beats so calming that it has you relaxing. There’s no doubt that you’ll sleep more than a few hours—you’re beyond tired and sated, so comfortable and happy that your mind is already beginning to drift. Add in Joel’s fingers sliding along the bare skin over your ribs, the shirt you’re wearing pushed up under your breasts, and you’re in heaven.

It’s the early hours of the morning, the room is dark and quiet, save for your even breaths filling the air.

His voice is gentle and barely above a whisper, “Baby?”

“Hmmm?”

“In the shower, you asked about my scar?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s one below your belly button that I don’t think is from bein’ stabbed. How’d you get it?”

His question has your eyes flying open, the sleepiness now replaced with panic as your mind races and heart pounds, knowing exactly what scar he’s talking about—it’s surgical, a cut made by a scalpel that’d been hurriedly stitched up after the doctor sterilized you.

It’s an easy enough answer to give him since he’s aware you can’t get pregnant. But it feels like a lie; it’s not the whole truth that you’ve buried so deep down inside your conscious because of the pain of remembering.

You’d been adamant about wanting to protect Joel from the anguish of discovering the extent of all he lost twenty years ago. You didn’t see the point in upsetting him and knew without a doubt he’d blame himself. Yet, there’s a part of you that feels he deserves to know, that he needs to know, and that this isn’t something you should have to carry by yourself. He’s the love of your life, the man you’re going to spend whatever days you have left on this earth with, and it feels wrong to keep a secret like this from him. If he found out later, he’d be even more devastated, and you don’t want to betray his trust like that—you don’t want to keep anything from him, like how you hope he doesn’t keep anything from you. You’re partners, you’ve always shared everything, and this is no different.

The resolve hits you that you’re going to tell him the truth, the whole truth.

“We don’t have to talk about it…” he says when you’re silent for too long. “It’s late anyway.” The last word turns into a yawn.

“No, I’ll tell you,” you reply. Moving, you get on top of him, your thighs bracketing his naked hips, leaning over to turn on the lamp. His eyes squint from the light, looking uneasy, your body pressing into his to hover your face over his, holding yourself up on your elbows beside his head, stroking your fingers through his damp grey hair. His arms automatically wrap around your back to rub his hands along your shirt-covered spine.

“I’m not gonna like what you’re about to tell me, am I?” he asks with a frown.

“No, Joel,” you answer softly. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, so take a deep breath for me.”

The expression on his face turns serious, clenching his jaw, his hands stopping their movements.

His voice is low, “How’d you get the scar?”

“We’ll get to that in a second. First, I need you to understand that everything that happened to me is not your fault, okay?”

“Just fuckin’ tell me.”

“You tell me first that you understand what I just said.”

“Yes—not my fault,” he says impatiently. “Tell me.”

One of the things they teach you in medical school is how to give a person bad news. There are times when you have to tell someone they’re dying or have an incurable illness; a patient dies in surgery, and you’re having to inform the next of kin. It’s a step-by-step process, starting with finding out the person's understanding of the situation for a place to begin and build upon. Next is the warning shot, which you delivered by telling Joel that what you’re about to tell him is going to hurt. Then you present the news in plain words to avoid any misunderstandings. It’s common for there to be silence, so you wait for them to make the next move and validate any emotional responses. It’s a little fucked up that this is the process you’re going to use to tell him, but it’s the best way to ease him into it and not cause too much emotional distress all at once.

“Good,” you reply. “Remember in the truck when I told you I took measures to ensure I couldn’t have children?”

“Yes. The scar’s from that? Surgery?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… what aren’t you tellin’ me?”

Taking a deep breath, you answer, “The reason I had it done.”

His eyebrows crease together, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“But you said—”

That you had a fellow doctor help you out.

“Yes,” you cut him off, “except after the Outbreak, especially right at the beginning, doctors weren’t doing elective surgeries, and still aren’t with the lack of supplies. They only do sterilization at the time of childbirth or in conjunction with another abdominal surgery.”

“Please, for the love of God, say surgery,” he says desperately, and it makes your chest ache, hating that you’re putting him through this.

Cupping his cheeks, you give another warning shot, saying as gently as possible, “Joel, I’m sorry I have to tell you this, but I was pregnant.”

His eyes go wide. “When?” he breathes, but you can tell he already knows the answer.

“2003.”

He looks like he’s just been punched, his face pinching in pain, squeezing his eyes shut as he absorbs the blow and processes what you said.

There’s a roughness to his voice when he speaks again, hearing the hurt when he whispers, “The baby?”

“Didn’t survive the pregnancy.” Swallowing hard, your eyes are burning at remembering all that’d happened, knowing something was wrong, and discovering the worse when an ultrasound was done. “I, uh, lost her in December of that year. I was a little over five months along.”

The devastation is clear on his face when his gaze meets yours, seeing how hard he’s trying not to cry with the tears brimming his eyes and his bottom lip trembling.

His throat bobs, the word cracking when it leaves his mouth, “Her?”

“Yes.”

“Five months? Five? You were… you were…” He can’t even say the whole sentence. “Before? On my, my… On my birthday?” Tears start falling down his cheeks.

Your throat is so tight that it’s hard to speak, answering morosely, “Yes.” Wiping at the wetness on his face, continuing, “I found out a few days before.” The next part, you say so quietly, “I was going to surprise you—it was your gift.”

You can see his heart break, and it makes your own squeeze so tight it steals your breath. It was the right thing to tell him—he deserved to know, but it comes at such a great cost, feeling terrible that you’re causing him so much distress. A pained noise comes from him as he crushes you in a hug, pressing your face into his neck, his body shaking as he cries hard, giving in to your own sadness.

“I’m so sorry, Joel,” you sob.

He’s in agony. It hurts. The pain is gut-wrenching, the sadness so deep inside of him he can feel it twisting him in knots, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. It’s like someone is trying to skin him from the inside out. What he’s feeling is unbearable, and he is unsure if he will survive.

Getting stabbed felt better than this. He’d rather get stabbed because that’s something that heals and scars over, but this? It’s a gaping wound that’s going to stick with him just like Sarah’s death had.

There was nothing he’d wanted more than to have a baby with you all those years ago, and now knowing how close he got to his dream—that he lost two daughters without even knowing, he’s at an utter loss, the anguish consuming him, and overflowing into the tears he can’t hold back, letting it all out as he holds you close, needing your comfort.

His body is trembling uncontrollably, wracking with sobs. “We lost our baby,” he chokes out. “Our baby girl—I lost my babies.”

It feels like his chest is caving in, his heart getting crushed under the weight of his sadness, and he’s thankful you’re here with him—you’re keeping him grounded, your presence stopping him from simply checking out, and he’s allowing himself to feel the emotions, and grieve, something he couldn’t do with Sarah.

He can’t even imagine what you went through alone—losing the baby, him, and Sarah. At least he still had Tommy, but you had no one, having to deal with it all by yourself. Joel feels like shit that he wasn’t there for you in your time of need, wondering if he had been, would the baby have survived? Did another of his kids die because he failed to protect them again? Maybe he wasn’t meant to be a father—he’s not supposed to outlive his children, and he has with two of them, fucking delivering the third to people who wanted to take her from him, too, and barely saving her. He’s a failure as a father, unable to keep his kids safe, and now he’s very aware of how much stronger you are than him. After all the loss you went through alone, and you kept going? He’s weak in comparison, a coward; he barely survived—a failure of a father, partner, and human.

Your words are muffled, your tears hot on his skin, “I’m sorry,” you cry. “I did everything I could to give her the best chance, and it wasn’t enough.”

It’s not right that you’re blaming yourself, and he’s so angry at himself that he’s stopped crying, needing to make you understand it wasn’t your fault—if anyone’s to blame, it’s him.

He pulls you up to look you in the eyes, seeing your face is wet, his large palms caressing your cheeks. “I know you did all you could.” He speaks the words clearly, making sure you can hear the truth. “It’s not your fault, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I… I,” he stutters, “failed you both.”

Your eyebrows dip down, going serious. “I told you everything that happened to me isn’t your fault, Joel. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to the baby, or Sarah, for that matter. I’m the one who fucked up and got a flat tire. I’m the one who became a doctor for the army and had to deal with the stress of treating people caught in the blasts when they tried to stop the spread of infection by bombing Alberquerque, which didn’t even work. The city was lost, the army cut their losses and sent us to Phoenix, we just…” You pause, sounding ashamed when you say, “We abandoned the survivors—left people in the medical camp who’d die without treatment, and as a doctor, I was horrified, but as an expectant mother? I was one of the first people on the truck because the baby was all I cared about.” Taking a deep breath, you continue, “I figured having the protection of the military and access to medical supplies was the best option I had to safely bring her into the world, even at the cost of my morals—she was all I had left of you, and I was willing to do anything to protect her, and in the end, she didn’t make it, and none of it was your fault.”

“There’s a chance she would’ve survived if I was with you.” Pain cuts through him like a hot knife, the regret stinging. “They both might’ve survived if I’d been with you.”

It’s weighing on him how things could’ve been different, feeling like it was all his fault for not finding you sooner. After Sarah’s death, he doesn’t remember much about the days or weeks that followed—he’d completely disconnected from everything and wasn’t himself, simply an emotionless shell of a person that did whatever he needed to keep Tommy safe, looking for you in every QZ, settlement, or army camp they entered. That night everything went down, they should’ve checked the route you took, they should’ve tried harder to find you. His mind is whirling with all of the different choices he could’ve made.

Your hand cups his cheek. “Hey,” you say softly. “Don’t think about the what ifs. I know it’s hard, but all it will do is drive you crazy. What happened, happened, and you don’t need to torture yourself over it by thinking of how you could’ve changed things. So, stop blaming yourself. I don’t blame you. I’ve never blamed you. It gave me the strength to keep searching for you, thinking that you and Sarah were out there looking for me, too. We can’t go back in time, so we focus on the present and the fact that after everything we’ve been through, we still managed to find each other again.”

Hearing that your grief spurred you on to keep looking for him makes guilt roil in his stomach over how weak he’d been and that, by his own hand, he’d almost made your search pointless.

There’s no sugarcoating it, and you should know after all you’ve revealed to him, so he just says it, “I tried to kill myself.”

It makes you flinch, shock coming over your face. “What?” you whisper. “Joel, when? Why?”

Taking a deep breath, he lets it out slowly, his eyes darting away because he feels so much shame.

“Second day,” he answers. Swallowing thickly, he continues, the emotion making his voice rough, “Sarah died in my arms, and after all the shit I saw, I thought you were gone, too, and that was why you never made it to my house. I lost you both and couldn’t see the point anymore.” He takes a second to figure out his next words. “I’m, uh, not as strong as you are. The two people I love most were taken from me, and I didn’t want to keep living. Simple as that. Wasn’t even scared,” he admits. “I was ready—more than ready.” He pauses, his jaw flexing as the memory of holding the gun and feeling so calm comes back to him. “When I…” He has to swallow again, a lump forming in his throat, it just as hard telling you as it was with Ellie. “When I went to pull the trigger, I flinched.” His gaze meets yours, seeing the sadness in your eyes. “I, uh, told Ellie this story the other day, and I said I don’t know why I flinched, but some part of me likes to think it was Sarah tellin’ me to keep goin’ and not give up.” A sad smile turns up on his lips. “You know how she was always bossin’ me around.”

You sniffle, sharing the same look as him, both thinking fond memories about his daughter. “Because you’re a fucking disaster, Joel,” you reply. “You need someone bossing you around.”

He’s not going to deny the truth. “That I do, and I’m so fuckin’ happy I did keep goin’ ‘cause I found you, and there’s Ellie.”

The only kid he has left.

If he was protective of her before, he doesn’t know what he is now, a little afraid he might become one of those annoying helicopter parents. He can’t risk anything happening to her. He needs to keep her safe, ignoring the sudden urge to jump out of bed to go over to Tommy’s to check up on her.

After the resort town, and what she’d gone through, he’d been so worried about her change in demeanor—how quiet she became, closed off, distracted, aloof. She wouldn’t talk about it, but from the look in her eyes and the blood that’d been on her clothes when he found her, she’d had to kill a person or people, and Joel felt like he’d let her down by not being able to keep her safe.

He hated when she had to shoot the guy in Kansas City to save him, and he hated even more that she had to kill when he wasn’t there to do it for her—she’s still just a kid, his kid, and he knew it’d be traumatic for her, even if she tried to put on a brave face, and sure enough, it’d fucked her up, Joel worried sick that he’d lost his upbeat, chatterbox, bad pun telling Ellie forever.

He’d done everything he could think of to cheer her up and get her out of her head as she’d always done to him, pretty sure he said more words to her on their trip to Salt Lake City than he’d said in the past twenty years combined.

Then she met you, and he knows it was you who brought her back to him—you’d literally taken him to her, helped save her life, and given her hope that everything she’d been through, the good and bad, all meant something, freeing her conscious of the guilt she’s held over those who’d died for her.

And since Joel and Ellie are cut from the same cloth and terrible with emotional shit, now that she’s better, they’re pretending like it hadn’t happened.

Thank Christ you were there to call him out on his lie about the Fireflies finding someone else and telling her the truth—she never would’ve forgiven him.

“I’m happy you kept going, too,” you say, “so you could be there for her. Ellie needs a parent, someone to love her unconditionally, and I know you love her like she’s your own kid.”

“I do.”

“Have you told her?”

He looks away. “...no. We’re, uh, not very good at that kinda thing.”

“I figured as much. You’ll have to tell her one day. I think it’d make her happy.”

“Maybe…” He looks at you again, frowning. “That little girl has been alone her whole life. No parents—abandoned with FEDRA when she was born. I reckon she’s never been loved or cared about, and she isn’t quite sure what to do now that she’s got a… a…”

What is he to her?

“Dad,” you finish for him. “You’re her father, and she’s your daughter. You’re still a dad, Joel. You’ve got another teenager to raise or at least guide. She’s no longer alone and now has people to love and care about her, all thanks to you.” You poke his nose.

“She’d hate me sayin’ I’m her dad…”

“Because it’s so foreign to her. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have one, and I think she’ll warm up to the idea after some time.”

He couldn’t help feeling hopeful. “It’d be nice,” he replies. “Easier way to explain our relationship, and I do know she loves me.”

She’d never had to say it. Her actions and how she said she’d follow him anywhere were enough for him to know. That’s how their relationship has always been—doing their damnedest to talk around their feelings because they’re both just so fucking awkward. He told Ellie it wasn’t time that healed him, and she’d understood what he meant: I love you, and you’re the reason I’m better. When she responded that she was glad the attempt on his life didn’t work out, he heard: I love you, too.

They get each other.

“Good,” you say. “I know she loves you, too.”

It’s an understatement to say life has been unkind to him. Frankly, it feels like all he’s gone through was some kind of sadistic test of his resolve to live, it getting harder and harder with every passing year.

Joel thinks he’s finally catching a break or at least hopes.

He’s got you, Ellie, and Tommy all together someplace safe.

It still hurts like hell everything he lost to get here, unable to stop himself from imagining what it’d be like if his other two daughters had survived—all of you settling in Jackson, him and you taking care of Ellie, Sarah in her thirties with her own home and a family, and then there’s the girl who would’ve recently turned twenty that looks like a mix of you both; he pictures a face with your gorgeous eyes, his mouth, your chin, and he’d feel awful that she got his nose, but she’s beautiful just like her mom.

What would she have been like? Would she have looked how he’s imagining? The thoughts have his chest squeezing so tight, feeling like he’s lost another piece of his heart after he just put it back together again.

His eyes are watery, his voice wobbly when he asks, “Did she have a name?”

Your face goes soft, sadness gleaming in your eyes, your fingers sliding through the hair above his ear. “Yes,” you answer.

“I’d like to know it,” he says softly.

“When I first found out, she was Jellybean.” There’s a fond expression on your face. “Then, after everything, I started calling her Hope? Didn’t even know if she was a girl, but to steal from Star Wars, she was my only hope and kept me going, so that’s what I referred to her as. If she’d ended up being a boy, I would’ve named her Joel.” That makes his breath catch in his throat. “Then I found out the gender, and Hope just stuck.”

“Hope was perfect.”

“Hope Miller.”

Tears are rolling down his cheeks. “Hope Miller,” he says, the name ending on a sob, Joel crying once more.

He hugs you close to him, breathing in your hair while he breaks down, your body shaking as you let go, too, needing each other at this moment, mourning together, sharing in the sadness.

It could’ve been minutes or hours later that there were no more tears to shed, both of you overly exhausted, feeling like your bodies had been wrung out of everything inside of them.

You lean over him to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, and with a hand on the back of your head, he brings you down for a tender kiss.

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he murmurs into your lips.

“Thank you for telling me,” you reply.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, no matter what.”

“No matter what,” he agrees.

It’s comforting when you end up half on top of him, your leg thrown over his waist, your head on his chest, your arm across his belly. He holds you, everything that happened tonight, making him fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He turned onto his left side as he slept, and It’s the bed jostling, you sitting up quickly beside him, that has him waking abruptly, adrenaline pumping in his veins over not hearing the intruder enter the room. You’re in danger, his heart pounding, breathing hard, and he’s out of the bed immediately, needing to neutralize the threat, not seeing any weapons, his hand grabbing the unarmed man by the throat.

He’s being shouted at by you, it finally registering in his brain, “Joel, it’s Tommy!”

His brother’s eyes are wide, his hands clawing at Joel’s arm, using what little air he has to repeat, “It’s me, it’s me…”

It breaks him from the spell, letting go of the other man, who starts coughing.

“Jesus Christ, Tommy,” Joel growls. “I coulda fuckin’ killed you!”

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes. “I knocked, and nobody answered.”

“So, you broke in while we were sleepin’? You got a fuckin’ death wish?”

Tommy catches his breath. “I wasn’t thinkin’.” He looks sheepish. “Doc’s here, and I thought it’d be funny, like back in the day when I’d barge into your room when she was at the house.”

Joel’s hand is on his naked hip, the other pressing to his face.

One of Tommy’s favorite past times, back in Austin, was showing up at his house on Saturday mornings when he knew you’d be staying over and annoying the fuck out of you both until you got out of bed to go have breakfast at the diner with Sarah—after the first time, you started sleeping in a shirt much to Joel’s chagrin.

“You’re fuckin’ stupid, Tommy,” Joel sighs. “You can’t be doin’ that anymore. There’s a real chance I’d end up murderin’ ya, and I don’t need Maria hatin’ me more than she already does.”

“Maria doesn’t hate you.”

He moves his hand from his face to narrow his eyes at his brother. “Maria hates my fuckin’ guts,” he replies.

“Wait,” you say, Joel stepping to turn his body toward you, confusion on your face. “Why does Tommy’s wife hate you?”

There’s a thrill running through him because he knows that as soon as you find out, you’re gonna rip into his brother. He looks at the younger man, nodding his head toward you, “Tell her why Maria hates me.”

Tommy looks uneasy. “Well, like I said, she doesn’t hate you. She’s just gotta warm up to you, is all,” his brother says.

“Uh-huh.” Joel doesn’t sound convinced. “Stop beatin’ around the bush, and tell her.”

“I told her the truth of all we did in order to survive,” Tommy says quickly. “How we fuckin’ murdered innocent people and all that fucked up shit. I didn’t leave out anythin’ ‘cause she’s my wife, and I tell her everythin’.”

“Tommy,” your voice has gone low and serious, and Joel can’t help his smirk. “Did you blame everything you did on Joel and make him sound like a fucking monster?”

Tommy looks mad. “You don’t know what we did—all the people we killed. We could’ve done things differently. It was Joel’s fault.”

“For keeping you alive, Tommy?” she asks, Joel glancing her way to see her looking just as angry. “His daughter died in his arms. His daughter. He lost me that night, too, thinking I was dead, and you’re fucking blaming him for doing fucked up shit to keep the only person he had left alive? Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy? If anyone has survived to today, they’ve had to do horrible shit to get here—I’ve done horrible shit that I’m not proud of, but I’m still breathing, and that’s all that fucking matters.”

“There were other ways we could’ve survived,” Tommy says. “Maria—”

“Maria,” you interrupt, “wasn’t in the same situation as you and Joel. You make her sound like a goddamn saint, but I have no doubts she’s had to do fucked up shit, too. Get off your fucking high horse, Thomas. You were the last person Joel had, and after the shit that happened to him, you’re gonna bet your ass that he would do anything, no matter how shitty, to keep you alive. Frankly, you should be thanking him that you survived long enough to make it here.”

The other man breathes in deeply before replying, “Look, it’s in the past, and I get it now that he was just desperate to keep me livin’. I still feel pretty fuckin’ guilty about the shit that went down, but I understand why he did it. I’ll, uh, talk to Maria.”

“Yeah,” you say. “You better.”

“I will.” He nods.

“Did ya come over just to annoy us?” Joel asks his brother.

“No,” Tommy replies. “Brought y’all breakfast, like I said I would. It’s in the kitchen, and I’m also here to find out what the fuck happened ‘cause Ellie is a goddamn liar.”

Joel’s stomach twists. “What’d she say?”

“I know I said I tell everythin’ to Maria, but I kept my word to you and didn’t mention Ellie’s… condition. She thought you were takin’ the girl to find her family.”

“Thank you.”

“Ellie said y’all found the campus in Colorado abandoned and that you ended up in Utah at a hospital the Fireflies were usin’, and that’s where you found Doc. She said the place got hit by raiders, and you had to fight your way out.”

“I did find Doc at the hospital in Salt Lake City, and Colorado was abandoned,” he says. Scratching at the back of his neck, he looks away. “We got to Utah, found the Fireflies, but they’d wanted to kill Ellie in order to try and make a cure…”

“What the fuck did you do, Joel?” his brother asks through his teeth.

“Joel and I killed them all,” you answer for him, Tommy’s attention moving to you. “I was a doctor there and have been researching a cure for the last five years. Ellie was our key, but Marlene and the head of the facility wanted to murder her instead of doing a procedure that she would’ve survived. It was fucked up, so I helped Joel save the girl, and we took out the Fireflies in the process.” You shrug.

“You saved her instead of everyone else on the entire fuckin’ planet?” Tommy sounds like he can’t believe what he’s saying.

“I couldn’t let her die,” Joel replies, his eyes meeting his brother’s. “Not after Sarah—she’s my kid, Tommy.”

His brother sighs. “Yeah,” he replies. “I get why you’d do it. It’s just fucked that there coulda been a cure, and now what the fuck are we gonna do?”

“Well,” you start. “If I can get my hands on the right equipment, I can do the biopsy and work on developing it myself, but I’d basically need a lab.”

“You could do it?” Surprise is in Tommy’s tone.

“Yeah? The assumption is that Ellie has had Cordyceps growing inside her since she was born—my theory is that her mom was bit while pregnant and somehow gave birth before turning.” That has Joel’s stomach falling through the floor at the thought of Ellie’s mother making sure her baby survived even after being handed a death sentence, not knowing if the child was infected, too. He understands, though, if he’d been in her shoes, he would’ve done the same thing to ensure his kid was safe—hell, he murdered an entire hospital, risking the lives of millions for Ellie, and he thinks her mother would’ve approved. “Anyways,” you continue, “what we think happens is when Ellie gets bit, the normal Cordyceps think she’s Cordyceps or that she’s already turned, making her immune. If I biopsy some of her mutated Cordyceps, I can multiply the cells to make a vaccine to give people that will cause the same immunity, or at least that’s what I’m hoping. There’s no guarantee it will work.”

“Fuckin’ A, Doc!” Tommy’s grinning. “I always said you were too fuckin’ smart to be with this fucker.” He points his thumb at Joel. “We got a clinic, nothin’ fancy, but I’m thinkin’ I could probably convince Maria that we need more medical shit. The town’s gettin’ bigger, anyway. It’d make sense. We can send raiding parties to nearby towns and cities to gather whatever they can find—you give me a list, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I can do that,” you reply. “Does Jackson have a doctor?”

“Yeah, Dr. Jones is an old, ornery motherfucker. We could use some new blood if you’re up for it.”

You smile. “I’d love to.”

“Great! The other reason I’m here—” he focuses back on Joel “—is findin’ out when you wanted to get hitched.”

Joel looks at you. “You got a preference, baby?”

“The sooner, the better?” You shrug.

He smiles, thinking the same thing as he nods his head, facing Tommy again. “You heard the lady. The sooner, the better.”

His brother’s smiling big, looking delighted. “In that case, be at the House of Worship in two hours.” He holds up two fingers.

“Will do. How’d Ellie sleep?” Joel asks. “You fed her, right? Let her take a shower?”

The younger man’s eyebrows are up to his hairline. “Jesus, you really care about this kid.”

“Congratulations, Tommy,” you say with a smile. “You’re an uncle again.”

“I guess I am—missed it.” He’s smiling softly. “She had no complaints when she woke this mornin’, and, of course, I fuckin’ fed her. Couldn’t believe how much food she scarfed down. I should be askin’ if you’ve been feedin’ her,” Tommy tells Joel as he pokes him in his bare chest. “She showered first thing at the house, and Maria got her more clothes.”

“Thank you for takin’ care of her. You didn’t have to,” Joel replies.

Tommy smirks, saying, “Based on all those fuckin’ hickies coverin’ your naked ass—” He points at Joel’s torso “—it’s safe to say it was better she stayed at mine last night.”

Joel’s cheeks heat, having not realized that he is, in fact, completely nude. Walking over to the bed, he groans as he sits down on the edge, pulling a blanket over his thighs to cover himself up, his back twinging in pain.

He sighs. “Yeah, yeah,” Joel says. “Thanks again for watchin’ her. Can you make sure she’s at the weddin’? You, too.”

“We’d really like you both there,” you add. “It’s important to us.”

“What about Maria?” Tommy asks, looking unsure.

“Like you said last time I was here,” Joel starts. “She’s family and allowin’ us to stay here, so she can come.”

You speak behind him, “But, if she isn’t civil and ruins my wedding, I get to kick her ass.”

Joel snorts, and Tommy puts his hands up in a placating gesture. “Woah, Doc,” his brother says. “Maria isn’t gonna start shit—she’s seven months pregnant, for Christ’s sake, she’s got enough on her plate.”

The blood leaves Joel’s face, feeling like he’s been kicked in the gut with all the air leaving his lungs.

He’d forgotten about his brother having a baby, or maybe he’d pushed the thought away because he didn’t like to think about it. It wasn’t his proudest moment how he acted when Tommy first told him the news. He’d been jealous and resented his brother for living his dream of being married with a kid on the way. Tommy was getting to live this happy, idyllic life, and Joel, at the time, was struggling with his fears of failing Ellie and getting her killed. It’d been too much to hear his brother had a kid on the way, making Joel dwell on the fact that Tommy had been right, his life had stopped all those years ago, and he couldn’t stand how his brother and everyone else in this town were living like the world hadn’t ended.

It didn’t feel fair to him, not with all he’d been through.

Of course, he wants to be happy for Tommy. He really does. He wants to be able to share in his joy, but it hurts so fucking bad being reminded of how close he’d gotten to having what his brother has now.

He lets air fill his lungs and slowly lets it out.

At least he’s got you back. And Ellie.

He’d started living again the moment Ellie had forgiven him, shoving her bag into his arms the last time they were in Jackson and telling him, ‘Let’s go.’ They went, and the journey wasn’t easy, both coming far too close to death to be comfortable. He found you, or you found him as it were, and now he’s getting his chance to live a happy, idyllic life married to you, and together, you’ll care for Ellie.

That sounds pretty fucking perfect to him.

A wife and a kid. Wouldn't have even crossed his mind a year ago—a fever dream.

“Someone married you,” you say in disbelief, taking Joel from his thoughts, “and is having your baby? I know the apocalypse happened, but did hell freeze over, too?”

“I forgot how fuckin’ mean you are, Doc,” Tommy chuckles.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Joel whispers, receiving a playful swat to his shoulder from you.

“I’m not mean,” you grumble.

He has to hold in his groan as he twists his body to pat your thigh. “No, you’re not,” he tells you. “You’re perfect.”

“Stop lyin’ to her,” Tommy says. “And I’ll have you know that I’ve matured, Doc, now that I’m older.”

Joel turns back, squinting his eyes at the other man. “You almost got yourself killed by bein’ dumb…” Joel replies.

“It was for old time’s sake.”

“Well, congrats, Tommy,” you tell him. “You were always so good with Sarah. I know you’ll be a great dad.”

Tommy smiles. “Thanks, Doc. I’m nervous but excited. Put together the nursery myself.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair and see y’all in a bit. Joel?”

Their eyes meet. “Yeah?”

“For all that’s holy, put on some fuckin’ clothes. We don’t need you bein’ our first prisoner in the town jail for public indecency.”

Joel glares at his brother. “You’re right,” Joel replies. “It’s time for you to get the fuck out. We’ll see you at the church.

Tommy laughs as he leaves, hearing his footsteps thudding down the stairs and the slam of the front door.

He presses his hands to his face, “Fuckin’ asshole,” he mumbles into them.

There’s movement as you crawl up behind him, wrapping your arms around his front and resting your chin on his shoulder.

“You okay, babe?”

His arms go over yours to keep you in place, turning his head to look at you. “Yeah,” he answers. “I’m fine. Had a rude awakenin’, is all.”

“Do you wanna talk about becoming an uncle?”

He lets out a long sigh. “There’s nothin’ to talk about—I’m happy for Tommy.”

“Joel, you don’t have to lie to me. It would be reasonable if you were feeling hurt that your brother is living such a great life and having a baby. I’m…” you pause, chewing on your lip. Your voice is small when you keep speaking, “I’m sorry I can’t give you children, and I’d understand if you wanted to find someone else you could have a family with.”

Hissing in pain, he’s standing quickly and turning around to face you, getting back onto the bed on his knees, not understanding why you’d even say such a thing—not after everything you’ve both been through to find each other again.

Is this you getting cold feet? Do you not want to marry him? Did he rush things?

His hands cup your face, making sure you’re looking him in the eyes.

“What?” he asks. “Are you second guessin’ marryin’ me? Was it ‘cause of how I woke up?”

He’s scared.

“What?” You look confused, your hands rubbing up his bare chest. “I want to marry you. Your reaction this morning was warranted.” Letting out a slow sigh, you continue, “Just, I know how much you’d wanted kids, how we wanted kids, and I wouldn’t blame you, now that you’re in a place like this, if you wanted to settle down and start a family.”

His face pinches in confusion, saying slowly, “Baby, we have a family… You, me, Ellie, we’re a family, and you’re all I need. You’re the only woman I want to be with.” He swallows hard. “I can’t stomach bringin’ any more children into this world—I’ve lost too many.” He inhales deeply, letting it out slowly. “I… uh, struggle with my need to keep Ellie safe. It’s always on my mind, and it scares me that I’ll end up gettin’ her killed like… like…”

“Sarah?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Like Sarah. I know Ellie isn’t her. I’m very aware. They’re so… different.”

You smile softly. “But they would’ve loved each other.”

He smiles, “Yeah. I reckon they would. Sarah would’ve found Ellie funny.”

“Oh, yeah.” You grin. “Would’ve loved Ellie’s terrible puns.”

He’s fondly thinking about it as he says, “She had a book full of ‘em. They were fuckin’ awful—if you think my jokes are bad, these were worse.”

Laughing, you reply, “I love your dad jokes. They would’ve enjoyed music together, too.”

“That they would. Both would’ve given me shit if I played guitar for them.”

“Affectionately, because they can’t reveal how much they actually love it to avoid seeming uncool. I miss your singing. Remember the first time you played for me?”

“Sarah’s thirteenth birthday party.” He nods. “We were hidin’ away in my bedroom while the livin’ room was overrun with teen girls, and I was tryin’ my damndest to woo you by playin’ some Ben E. King.”

“Oh, you wooed me.” You smirk. “Stand by Me was always my favorite.”

“I know.” He smiles. “I’ll have to see about findin’ a guitar.” He’s gotta play for Ellie and you. “What we were discussion’,” he says. “Ellie’s different, and I know it. She can shoot a gun and protect herself—has protected herself when I wasn’t there.” He frowns. ”I worry about her constantly. Somethin’ inside me needs to know she’s okay. If I’m like this with a girl capable of killin’, how would I be with a baby? It honest to god frightens me, and I’m sure I’d end up worryin’ myself to death.”

Your arms loop around his neck, a tender expression on your face. “As a doctor, I can tell you it makes sense that you’re overprotective of your living child. Hopefully, being here in Jackson and not constantly on guard will ease some of the worries. Just know I’m here if you ever wanna talk.”

“Thank you, baby,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you. When he pulls back, he looks you in the eyes. “I’m happy with all we have,” he says truthfully, “and there’s nothin’ for you to be sorry about—Ellie is more than plenty.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” There’s something he can tell you to ease your mind, and it makes him smile crookedly. “As a matter of fact, me bein’ able to fuck you full of my come with no risk of knockin’ you up really riles me up—gets me harder than a fuckin’ rock. I’m happy as a fuckin’ clam, baby.”

Your eyes go a little wide. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “You’ve got whatever the opposite of a breeding kink is.” You looked away, eyebrows creasing as you thought aloud, “Would it just be a creampie kink? No, ‘cause it turns you on that, there’s no risk of pregnancy. Wait, a birth control kink. You’ve got a birth control kink.” Your gazes meet, a grin on your face looking beyond delighted, as you playfully slap his chest. “I thought I knew all your kinks and fetishes, and look at you keeping me on my toes.” Leaning forward, you kiss him, Joel moaning when you shove your tongue into his mouth to tangle with his own, his hands holding your face, meeting your energy until you both need to breathe and separate. “I feel better knowing you’re happy with what we have because I’m happy, too,” you pant.

“Good,” he replies, smiling. Joel kisses you quickly. “We better get ready,” he says when he pulls back, a grin on his lips. “We got a date with an officiant.”

You’re smiling just as brightly, and it has butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He almost can’t believe this is happening, that you’re here, and in—he looks over at the clock on the bedside table—an hour and a half, you’ll be his wife, something you should’ve been twenty years ago. He’s missed too much time with you and won’t waste any more.

“It’s about damn time,” you reply.

“Don’t I know it.”

It’s obvious you’re both excited with how quickly you’re getting off the bed. Turns are taken in the bathroom, then it’s going through the bag of clothes Tommy had brought over. Neither of you expected to look like a traditional bride and groom; wedding dress stores no longer existed, and there definitely weren’t places to buy a suit. He asked your opinion on what he should wear, settling on a black and charcoal-colored plaid shirt with some dark wash jeans that were a tad tighter than he was used to. You did the same, showing him potential outfits and trying things on before you went with a cream-colored cable knit sweater over a white tank top and some light blue jeans that hugged your hips perfectly, but were too long in the legs, having to bunch them over the top of your boots.

Once dressed, you’d made your way down to the kitchen to eat the breakfast Tommy had left. Sitting at the kitchen table, you’re across from each other, barely coming up for air as the two of you eat your plates of eggs and bacon, the best fucking thing Joel has eaten since the last time he was in Jackson. You’re setting your water down after taking a gulp, a thoughtful expression on your face.

“You know what would’ve made today perfect?” you ask him.

“Hmm?” Joel hums around a bite, his eyes on yours.

“If Sarah were here.”

The sadness hits him like a truck, taking him off balance with how it slams into him.

He swallows his food, setting down his fork, frowning as he looks at you. “I wish she were here, too,” he says sadly.

A small smile appears on your lips. “I’d been so nervous the first time I met her because I didn’t want her to hate me.”

“There’s no way in hell she would’ve hated you.”

“Kids are really protective of their parents, and you’re the only one she had since birth,” you point out. “Then, for the first time in her life, you started dating. The cards were stacked against me—there were a ton of reasons for her to hate me.”

“She, uh—” he scratched at the back of his neck “—was always tellin’ me I needed to find someone, and then I met you and told her about meetin’ you. When our first date went so well, she was beggin’ me to meet you. I’d tell her about you, and she approved. You had nothin’ to worry about.”

“That makes me happy. You know, almost a year in, she said she hoped you’d marry me.”

He smiles. “Oh, she was tryin’ real hard to get me to pop the question—kept suggestin’ romantic places, she even said I should take you to Paris,” he chuckles, “and I’d have to remind her that I was waitin’ for the first year of your residency to end so you wouldn’t be stressed about a weddin’. Then there was the hiccup with you gettin’ fired—”

“Forcibly relocated,” you interrupt.

“Right.” He smiles. “There was the hiccup of you bein’ forcibly relocated and out of work for those few months, just didn’t seem right at the time, which was dumb, I know. So, by the time you’d started makin’ up your time at the clinic, I was done waitin’. I asked Sarah’s permission a week before my birthday, and she’d wanted to help me pick out a ring.” He frowns. “I’d been busy with that job, and well...” He sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair, leaving it unsaid because you two were very aware of what happened. “What I’m tryin’ to say is—” your eyes were on his “—Sarah loved you from the very beginnin’, and she would be so fuckin’ happy that we’re finally gettin’ married.”

You sniffle, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “I miss her so fucking much, Joel.”

His throat was closing up, having to clear it before he could speak. “I miss her, too, baby—every fuckin’ day.” He has to wipe at his eyes, something coming to him suddenly. “Last time I was here in Jackson, Tommy tried givin’ me a picture of her and me—one of the Polaroids that’d been on the fridge.” Sarah had been obsessed with the Polaroid camera you got her for her thirteenth birthday, the refrigerator littered with pictures of her with Joel, you, and Tommy, some a combination of the four of you. “I didn’t take it, couldn’t, not when I was thinkin’ if Ellie stayed with me, she’d end up like her. I didn’t want the reminder.”

There’s sadness on your face. “Oh, babe,” you say, “we’ll have to get it from him. Maybe put together a little memorial for her somewhere in the house.”

“I’d like that.” He nodded. “We could do somthin’ for Hope, too.”

“I’d like that,” you reply softly.

He nods. “We better finish eatin’” He points at your plate. “They’ll be expectin’ us.”

You smile. “Yes, they will.”

It’s a beautiful spring day, the sun shining high above in the clear sky.

It caught him off guard when you took his hand as you exited the house. Normally he wouldn’t want to be without his dominant hand in case he needed to use a weapon, but then your fingers intertwined with his, reminding him of times spent walking around the mall or the park, and the little smile on his face said that he didn’t mind, he actually quite liked it. Hand in hand, the stroll to the House of Worship has you taking in more of the town. It throws him a bit how people smile as they pass or offer quick greetings, it feeling foreign when Joel tries to politely smile back.

“I can’t believe it’s an actual functioning town,” you marvel beside him. “Electricity, water, sewer. I wonder how they found people to get things working again. They’d need engineers, electricians, and plumbers, too. Add in the fact they’re producing enough food to feed hundreds of people, and that’d require people with ample husbandry knowledge. They really got lucky.”

“Probably found people with backgrounds,” he replies. “I did construction, but I know my way around some electrical and plumbin’. Don’t know if I could get a dam workin’—if I had a manual, I’m sure I could figure it out.” He shrugs.

You glance at him. “It’s true you can learn a lot just from reading—don’t need fancy degrees anymore.”

“I reckon you’re a much better doctor than anyone who learned after the outbreak. Your fancy degree still means somthin’.”

“I guess.”

“I know it does, baby,” he says, leaning over to kiss the top of your head.

The House of Worship is an old church along the main street, the wooden siding of the building painted a deep red, with the entrance coated in white. It’s traditional looking, with the tall steeple containing a bell and its gabled roof that made the front look like an ‘A.’ The inside had the vaulted ceilings that you’d expect and rows of pews that led to the front where a plain podium stood, no holy symbols anywhere since it was multifaith. The place was empty, the tall windows along the walls letting in light from outside and illuminating everything.

“Five bucks says Tommy’s late,” your voice echoes in the large room, turning your head to look at Joel, his hand still engulfing your own.

“That’s easy money, baby.” He meets your eyes, looking amused.

“Wanna walk me down the aisle?” you ask.

Letting go of your hand, he straightens his back, it aching a little as he offers you his arm with a grin, answering, “Gladly.”

You hook your arm through his. “Ready?” you ask.

“Born ready,” he responds.

It doesn’t feel right that there’s no music, imagining that if this was before the outbreak, you probably would’ve walked down the aisle to the “Bridal Chorus.” Now, though, you’re thinking it needs to be something different, wracking your brain for the perfect song when it hits you, your lips turning up when you both face forward.

As you slowly start walking, you start humming loud enough for Joel to hear. He’s silent for a second, and you know with how much he loves music, he’ll recognize it.

“Etta James?” he asks, glancing at you with a curious expression.

“It felt fitting,” you reply, not feeling any embarrassment when you do your best impression of the singer, singing the opening line of “At Last.”

He huffs out an amused breath.

There’s a reason you studied sciences instead of the arts, and it’s because you’re not very talented in any of them; your singing voice is pretty lousy. Warmth spreads through your body when Joel jumps in on the second verse, sounding a bit rusty as he softly sings with you, making your way down the aisle.

The song isn’t finished when you get to the front of the church, both of you stopping on the same line. There’s a pause where you’re standing in silence, a circular window high above behind the podium showing the blue sky.

There are nerves swirling in your belly, even though you know you have nothing to worry about. Marrying Joel felt so right and was always what you’d wanted, now getting to make your dream come true. You’ve been alone for so long and lost so much in the past that you’re nervous about having people in your life to love and care about again, knowing they could be taken from you in the blink of an eye. You’re not sure how you’d survive if you lost Joel again; hell, it’d fuck you up if something happened to Ellie or even Tommy. These are your people, they’re all you have left, and you can’t worry about the morbid possibilities. You just need to focus on the right now and enjoy what you have, living every day to the fullest.

There’s something else you know without a doubt that Joel is feeling, too, and it’s the sadness weighing on your chest that Sarah is missing today.

Joel clears his throat beside you, his voice rough with emotion when he says, “You know, she’s here with us.”

“I know,” you reply truthfully.

Unhooking his arm from yours, he undoes the button on his left cuff, carefully rolling up the sleeve to his forearm, doing the same with his right. He turns to face you, and you do the same to look him in the eyes, seeing that sadness in the dark depths.

Gently, he grabs your left hand, bringing it up to softly kiss each knuckle, lowering it after a moment, his thumb rubbing over what he kissed. “It’s silly,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “She, uh, fixed this watch and gave it to me as a gift?” He holds up his left arm to show you his favorite watch that had broken, the glass now splintered. “It broke again when she died. The time it stopped on, well…” Your heart squeezes, feeling your eyes burn. “It’s,” the word cracks. He takes a deep breath, trying again, “It’s all I’ve had left of her. I keep it to keep her with me. She’s here.”

You cradle his cheek with your right hand, replying, “She is.” You nod. “She’ll always be with us, Joel.”

The door at the back of the church opens, both of you tensing, and looking toward it, the emotions dispersing as you go on high alert.

“It’s so much bigger than it looks outside,” Ellie’s voice echoes while walking quickly down the center aisle, looking around at everything, a visibly pregnant woman waddling slowly behind her. Ellie’s nose crinkles. “Smells fucking weird.”

“It’s an old buildin’,” the woman replies. “Old buildin’s smell.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Ellie’s finally made it to you, her attention on Joel as you both turn toward her. “Well, you’re not in a wheelchair, so your hips—”

“Are fuckin’ fine,” he grumbles.

The amusement is clear on the young girl’s face.

“Thank god for that,” she says. “Imagine traveling across the fucking country and almost dying multiple times, only to get to your destination where you cripple yourself from not being able to keep it in your pants. That’d be so fucking embarrassing,” she laughs.

“Well, that didn’t happen, so there’s nothin’ for me to be embarrassed about,” he retorts.

“Oh, there’s plenty for your old ass to be embarrassed about, Joel,” she replies. “You couldn’t even make it to the top floor of that building in KC. There was that time you couldn’t find the shit you stashed or, oh my god, how fucking smelly you get—which good on you, cleaning up for Doc.”

He lets out a long sigh, his hands on his hips. “You done?” he asks.

“I’m sure I’ll think of other shit, but for now? Yeah.” She nods.

“Thank you for bein’ here,” he tells her.

“Like I’d fucking miss you assholes getting your happily ever after, or whatever. Plus, I’ve never been to a wedding. Read about them, though. Wanna see what the fuss is all about, you know?”

“This should be pretty straightforward,” you respond, Joel and Ellie looking at you. “Just someone leading the ceremony and us saying vows to each other. Back in ye olden times, some people had crazy long ceremonies with a lot of speeches, but that’s not really us. We’re doing this more traditionally.”

“Yeah,” Joel agrees. “We’re not needin’ no sermons or someone waxin’ poetic about the sanctity of marriage.”

“Weddings sound exhausting,” Ellie replies.

“Oh, they could be,” you say. “Super boring, too.”

The woman spoke up, standing beside Ellie, “Tommy and I just did a small ceremony, like what y’all are doin’ with some close friends, and we exchanged our rings.”

“You must be Maria,” you say, sticking out your hand and introducing yourself, wanting to be cordial. “Most people call me Doc, and it’s kinda stuck.” You shrug as she shakes your hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she replies, letting go of your hand.

“Are you guys gonna get rings?” Ellie asks, pointing between you and Joel.

“Rings are hard to find…” you answer.

“Not when you live here,” Maria responds, smiling. “We’ve got a smith in town who can make you some—she does it for all newlyweds as a gift.”

Your eyes widen.

“Oh, I’d love a ring,” you say. Looking at Joel, you ask, “Joel?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I’d like one, too. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You can call me Maria, Joel, and there’s no need to thank me,” she says. “It’s Valerie who makes ‘em, and I’ll let her know you’ll be stoppin’ by to get sized.”

“Well, thank you for doin’ that,” he responds.

“You’re welcome, Joel.” She nods.

You can tell Maria doesn’t particularly love Joel, but there’s nothing about how she’s looking at him, speaking to him, or her body language that says she hates him. If anything, it’s more indifference, her coming to terms with him being her brother-in-law and now a part of her life, so she has to make some kind of effort for things not to be awkward. Joel’s doing the same thing. It's almost like they’ve silently agreed that this is how things will be—civil and nothing more.

“Thank you for giving us a place to stay, Maria,” you tell her. “The house is lovely, and Jackson is so wonderful.”

“Y’all are more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” she says. “Joel’s family, and you’re about to be family, too. I know Tommy’s excited to have all of you here.”

“Speakin’ of my brother,” Joel cuts in. “Where is he…? And whoever's officiating, for that matter.”

As if on cue, the door to the church opens, and Tommy comes striding in. He’s in jeans, a light blue button-up tucked into them, with the ugliest brown and mustard yellow striped tie around his neck, and a navy blue suit jacket about a size too big for him—he even slicked back his hair. “Sorry, I’m late,” he announces. “Had the worst fuckin’ time findin’ a goddamn tie.”

“Going without one would look better than whatever that abomination is,” you reply, pointing.

He frowns. “This is a tie-wearin’ occasion, so I’m wearin’ one.”

“You didn’t wear a tie when we got married…” Maria says slowly.

“‘Cause I love ya and wouldn’t want you havin’ to look at this eyesore.” He replies, holding up the tie.

“So, you don’t love us?” you ask him. “What are we, chopped liver?”

“Liver and onions ain’t too bad,” he answers. “And, of course, I fuckin’ love y’all, too.”

He makes it to your group, going over to Maria, his hand on her swollen stomach as he kisses her sweetly. “Hey, honey.” He smiles at her, and she grins back. He looks toward you and Joel. “I’ll take it introductions were made? Doc, you met my wife—” He’s rubbing her belly. “—and mother of my kid?”

“Yep,” you answer. “We met.”

“Good. Well, everybody’s here, so we can start.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Joel asks. “Where’s the minister or whoever the fuck you got to do the ceremony?” His arms cross over his chest.

A shit-eating grin appears on Tommy’s face, the one that means he’s up to no good and is about to say something that is going to aggravate Joel. “You’re lookin’ at him.”

Joel’s eyes squint. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he grits out. “You’re not marryin’ us—the towns gotta have someone ordained or somethin’.”

“It just so happens Jackson does: Me.”

“This ain’t funny, Tommy.”

“Remember when you told me you were gonna marry her?” Tommy nods his head toward you.

“Yeah..?”

“Well, I went ahead and got myself ordained to do your weddin’—ain’t no skin off my back. I did it on the computer.” He looks proud of himself.

“What?” Joel sounds like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Why on God’s green earth would you think we’d have you do our weddin’? We probably would’ve had the minister at the church ma, and pop went to do it.”

“That man was older than sin and long dead now.”

“You’re not marryin’ us.”

Tommy matched Joel’s pose, crossing his arms over his own chest and staring his brother down.

“Then I guess you’re not gettin’ married.”

Joel scoffed. “We’re gettin’ married. We can do it ourselves.”

“Joel?” you said, putting your hand on his arm.

He met your eyes, the angry look on his face immediately disappearing. “Yeah, baby?”

“I don’t have a problem with Tommy marrying us. I think it’s sweet he got ordained.” You pointedly look at Tommy, saying in a tone that brokers no argument. “And I know Tommy would be very serious about the whole thing because he knows how important this is to us.”

Tommy’s hands go up in defense. “Hey, now, I’m not takin’ this job lightly,” he says.

Looking back at Joel, you say, “See, he means well, and I kinda like the idea of him doing it. We’ve got our whole family here—him, Ellie, Maria. Why not let him be involved?” You shrug.

He’s frowning, sighing out, “Fine.” He glares at his brother. “Don’t say anythin’ stupid—this is a big day for us. Keep it simple.”

“I can do that.”

“Okay.” Joel nods. His face softens when he looks over at Ellie. “Would you, uh, care to be my best man or woman, as it were?”

Surprise is on her face. “You want me to be your best man?” She points at herself.

“Well, yeah?” He sounds unsure as he keeps talking, eyes darting away, “Or, if you’d rather be the maid of honor, I’m sure Doc would be happy to have ya by her side.”

Ellie makes a face, meeting your eyes. “No offense, Doc, but I’m not feeling, ‘maid of honor.’” Her attention moves back to Joel, grinning. “But best man sounds fucking cool. What do I do?”

Joel’s smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Just gotta stand next to me and be my moral support. Unfortunately, I don’t have a ring for you to hold.”

“That’s fine,” she replies. “I can stand beside you—catch you if you faint, make sure you say your lines, oh! Offer you a handkerchief when you start crying like a baby.”

“You don’t have a handkerchief…”

“Or do I?”

“Do you?”

“Of course not. Where the fuck would I get a handkerchief? My plan if you become a blubbering mess is to just, like, wipe at your face with the sleeves of my sweater.” She holds up her arms to show her maroon zip-up hoodie that’s a little baggy on her.

“I’m not gonna cry…”

There’s a shift, her playful expression melting away, replaced with a soft look showing earnestness and trust, her voice a little quieter like she’s trying not to scare him away, “You know it’s okay if you do, right?” she asks. “I won’t think any less of you, Joel. This whole thing is really fucking exciting, and I’d expect some tears, so don’t worry about me, okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, the word coming out rougher.

“So,” she starts, looking around at the adults. “How is this going down? In the books I’ve read, there’s music and people walking down the aisle and shit.”

Tommy walks around everyone to stand in front of the podium, everyone turning to look at him. “They’ll be over here and stand in front of me, you next to Joel, and I’ll get this show on the road.”

“I’m sitting,” Maria says, taking a seat in the first pew, her hand resting on her belly.

Your head turns toward Joel, him meeting your eyes. “You ready?” he asks.

The nerves you felt earlier had disappeared, and now you’re just excited. Sure, you hadn’t envisioned Tommy Miller doing your wedding ceremony, but you know, without a doubt, he’ll do his best. Even with him being a pain in the ass sometimes, he’s always been a sweetheart who loves his brother dearly—loved his niece a whole lot, too—and he’ll go out of his way to make this special.

You smile, taking his hand. “Let’s get married,” you answer.

He gives you a beaming smile, and quickly you’re moving to where Tommy had indicated, you on his left and Joel on his right.

Ellie pats Joel on the back, hearing her whisper, ‘You got this,’ him twisting a little to say back, ‘Thanks, Ellie.

Tommy pulls out a piece of notebook paper from his back pocket with writing on both sides, unfolding it to read from, and you’re impressed that he put in so much thought. Your hands are in front of you, Joel holding them, his thumbs rubbing over your knuckles, him smiling softly.

“Welcome, everyone,” Tommy starts, looking between you all and glancing at his notes. “Now, I’ve been to my fair share of weddings. They were all before everythin’ went to hell, and a lotta them started with how gettin’ married was the beginnin’ of some remarkable journey, yadda yadda yadda, you get the picture. That don’t quite work for Joel and Doc. No, their remarkable journey started in the summer of 2002, and I remember the day they met ‘cause Joel called me askin’ if I could come over the next day to hang out with Sarah since he asked his doctor out on a date—let me just tell y'all, I was confused as all get out ‘cause our doctor was a man in his 60s, with a bad combover, that was happily married, and I was under the impression, Joel was only attracted to women. My brother and I were raised that you love who you love—skin color, gender, none of that shit matters, which was pretty progressive for Texas. So, Joel tellin’ me he was goin’ on a date with his doctor, I thought he was comin’ out to me, and Joel, do you remember what I said?”

Joel snorts, replying, “‘Dr. Carlson’s a great guy. Where ya fellas goin’?”

You remember what Dr. Carlson looked like, which has you laughing hard with everyone else.

“That’s what I said,” Tommy continues, amused. “I was just happy my brother was goin’ on a date, didn’t care who with. He’d corrected me that it was a new doctor, and I’m not jokin’ when I say that Joel jabbered on and on about her for a solid hour, and I knew he had it bad. That was only the beginnin’ and after their first date? I knew he’d found the one.” Tommy looks at Joel. “I apologize for airin’ your personal business—” he went back to addressing everyone “—but Joel had bad luck with women, mostly ‘cause he went out with the wrong ones who didn’t much care for him havin’ a kid. But then he met Doc, who loved him, and his daughter, and I can tell y’all that Sarah—” Emotion is thick in his voice, already feeling tears starting to form in your eyes. “—woulda been happier than a hog in mud that they’re finally gettin’ hitched.” He’s fondly smiling. “I think her exact words would be, ‘Oh, thank god, took ya long enough.’” You and Joel chuckle, a tear falling down your cheek, his eyes watery, knowing he was hearing in his mind her saying those exact words just as you were. “Seein’ these two together,” Tommy kept speaking, “they just make sense. Aside from my wife, and I, I’ve never seen a more perfect couple—they complement and balance each other, and honestly, couldn’t have picked better partners. I only saw their relationship from the outside, but boy, could I feel their love; I can still feel it, and that love is what’s brought them here today. I don’t know that remarkable is the right word to describe their journey to get here—impossible seems more fittin’, and if there’s one thing they’ve shown me, it’s that soulmates exist.” Ellie scoffs, Tommy looking at her with a smile. “I know it’s cheesy, but hear me out. You familiar with Greek mythology?”

“No…?” she answers, and you’re wondering where he’s going with this.

“Myths are stories passed on by people that explain things about the world, like how it was created and such. Pretty much just people makin’ shit up and tellin’ each other until they thought it was true, but there’s this one I heard once about soulmates. It goes that when humans were created by Gods—the Greeks had more than one,” he clarifies, “they had four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. They weren’t fragile like we are now, they were pretty freakin’ powerful, and it made them fearless enough to challenge the Gods, and they sure didn’t care for that, so to take the humans down a peg, they were split into two, and were forced to spend their lives searchin’ for their other half. Sounds kinda familiar, right?” he asks her.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

“Right? You’ve got these two who had a happy life together and were torn apart. I, uh—” Tommy audibly gulps “—didn’t know if Joel could live without her if I’m honest. They kept searchin’, ‘cause that’s how deep their love goes, just never stoppin’, and it took twenty goddamn years for them to find each other again, but they did—found their other halves, ‘cause they're meant to be together. So, us bein’ in this church today? It’s been a long time comin’ and marks the beginnin’ of a new chapter in their lives—one where they’re back together and finally gettin’ to live as husband and wife.” Tommy looks between you and Joel. “Before we get into it, I gotta thank you both. Even though I was jealous of what you have, it gave me a blueprint for what I wanted in a relationship.” He smiles softly. “Our story isn’t as crazy as yours, but I found it with Maria—she’s my soulmate.”

His wife starts booing from her seat, and everyone erupts in laughter. “This ain’t about us,” Maria teases. “You’re embarrassin’ me.”

“Sorry, honey, was just tellin’ the truth.”

“You can tell it later. Keep goin’.”

“Gotta listen to my wife,” he chuckles, looking at his paper quickly. “Does anyone object to this union? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Do people actually object?” Ellie asks. “What happens if they do?”

“Nothin’,” Joel answers, looking over his shoulder at her. “The person gets kicked out.”

You lean to the side to meet her eyes. “The objection part was for back before there were public records, so if there was a legitimate reason for the couple not to wed, like one of them was already married, someone with the knowledge would object, and the wedding would stop. In modern days, people who objected usually wanted to proclaim their love to the bride or groom.”

“That sounds really fucking awkward.”

“It was.”

You straighten, your attention back on Tommy as he starts speaking, “We are gathered here today to join these two in the union of marriage and celebrate their love. We all know the seriousness of the commitment bein’ entered and recognize that they have a truly special bond. Go ahead and look at each other; you’re gonna wanna remember this.”

Looking into Joel’s eyes, you take in the rich chocolate color and how they’re gleaming with unshed tears. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, those grey waves of his combed back from his face, and his pouty lips turned up in a happy little smile, him looking so unbelievably handsome. There may be more lines on his face, signs that he’s aged, but staring at him in this moment, he still looks like the man you fell in love with all of those years ago, and you can see him, can perfectly picture that Joel having this same expression on his face.

“And now,” Tommy begins reading from what he’d written, “Joel, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to protect her, to comfort her, to share in the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, and whatever life might throw your way?”

“I do,” he answers so clearly, hearing how much he means the two words, and it makes you sniffle.

Tommy says your name, addressing you, “Do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to protect him, to comfort him, to share in the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, and whatever life might throw your way?”

“I do,” you reply with the same conviction as Joel, and he smiles, a tear falling down his face.

The other man’s attention is on Joel, “Joel, repeat after me, I, Joel Miller, take you—” He says your full name, “—to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and protect always, holdin’ unto you forevermore.”

Joel’s gaze is locked on yours, his voice thick as he repeats what Tommy told him to. Your lip is trembling, feeling so happy you want to cry.

“Doc, repeat after me,” Tommy starts, “I—” He uses your full name, “—take you, Joel Miller, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and protect always, holdin’ unto you forevermore.”

“—take you, Joel Miller, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and protect always, holding unto you forevermore.” He can hear the truth in every word you speak, knowing you mean them all, and it has warmth spreading through his veins, feeling like he might be floating with how happy he is.

You’re on the verge of tears, smiling at him, and looking so beautiful that he’s saving it to memory how you look at this very second, wanting to remember it always.

Tommy’s grinning. “By the power vested in me by some online church, I forgot the name of and the town of Jackson, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” He looks at Joel, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice, his hands moving up to cradle your jaw while he moves in, fusing his lips to yours in a searing kiss, ignoring the tears falling down both your cheeks. It’s a little wet, but he puts everything he’s got into kissing his wife for the first time.

His wife. He got you back, and now he’s married to you, and nothing else has felt more right in the world. You’re his wife.

He’s deepening the kiss, wanting you to feel his love, his happiness, his devotion, that the vows you made to each other are the real deal, and he meant every single one—he will live as your husband until the end of his days, following you even in death, loving you forever, doing everything he can to honor you, protecting you with his life, being there when you need comfort, happy to share whatever good times await you and be with you through the bad, knowing he’ll never leave your side in sickness and in health, and that you’re stuck with him no matter what life throws in your way, because like Tommy said, you’re meant to be together—went through literal hell to find each other, and he never wants to lose you again.

There might be some credence to the stuff his brother said about soulmates. When Joel lost you, it felt like he’d lost a chunk of himself, and having you back has filled that void.

“Is the kiss supposed last this long?” Ellie whispers to Tommy. “It’s like he’s eating her face.”

You must hear her with how you snort, breaking the kiss so you can giggle, Joel sighing, Tommy and Maria laughing.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about,” he replies, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

“Let’s all hit the bar to celebrate,” Tommy says.

Joel nods at his brother, who starts walking over to his pregnant wife to help her up from her seat.

It just seems like the natural thing, Joel taking your hand as you both turn around toward the door, his attention moving to Ellie beside him.

“What’d ya think?” he asks her.

She smiles. “Disgustingly sappy, but I liked it. That soulmate shit was cool. I gotta do my best man duties—can you get down a little? You’re too fucking tall.”

Confused by her request, his eyebrows crease, but he slightly bends his knees. Ellie covers her hand with her maroon sleeve, pressing it to his left cheek, and it feels like his throat is going to close up that she’s wiping away the tear tracks. Her tongue is peeking out in concentration as she gets one cheek, then the other, giving him a once over and moving her head to get different angles, ensuring she gets all the wetness.

“Done!” she says, her arm dropping to her side. “How’s Doc’s face? Does she need me to help her out, too?”

He stands to his full height, his head swiveling your way and finding you’ve used your own sleeve to clean your face.

You lean past him to look at her. “I’m good, Ellie,” you reply with a smile. “Thank you, though.”

“No problem.”

The young girl is next to him as you leave the church, Tommy and Maria leading. His brother has an arm around his wife’s waist as they walk, and Joel’s holding your hand.

“So,” Ellie begins. “If we’re going to the bar, does that mean I get to have a celebratory drink, too..?”

“No,” all four of the adults say simultaneously.

“Geez, you guys are no fun.”

“There’s juice for you and me,” Maria replies, looking over her shoulder at the teen.

“Great,” Ellie grumbles, and it makes Joel smile.

The bar is how he remembers it from the last time he was here, except the mood is lighter this go around, and the place is just as empty as before.

“Holy shit!” Ellie exclaims, beelining for a corner. “Mortal Kombat?!”

He remembers how excited she’d been seeing the old arcade game when they’d stopped on their way to Bill and Frank’s. She said her friend knew everything about it, and Ellie seemed to love the character Mileena. She’s pressing the buttons and jerking the joystick. “Does it work?” she twists her body to ask.

You and Joel are standing with her while Tommy goes behind the bar, Maria taking a seat at a table near her husband.

“No,” Tommy replies, frowning. “Sorry, kid. We tried gettin’ it to run, but somethin’ in its fried. The jukebox works, though.” He points to the opposite corner where the machine sits. It was one from the 80s modeled after jukeboxes from the forties and fifties but updated to play CDs, with colorful lights glowing on the front. “There should be quarters in the bucket on that table by it.”

Ellie immediately went to it, the arcade game forgotten, hearing her clicking the button to flip through the track listings. The two of you headed for the bar, Tommy having set five glasses onto the bartop and was currently using an ice pick to break ice from a block.

“Tommy?” Maria calls.

“Yes, dear?” he answers, putting ice into each cup.

“Can you show ‘em what we got?”

“Yeah.” Tommy moves a few steps away to grab something, then sets it up next to the glasses.

On a plate sits a small round cake covered in white icing.

His brother is smiling. “She says ‘we,’ but it was really her,” Tommy confides in you both. “An olive branch, if you will.”

You’re turning to tell Maria, “Thank you. This was very thoughtful of you.”

The other woman waves away your words, replying, “It was nothin’. Can’t have a weddin’ without cake.”

“Well, thank you. We appreciate it.” You’re hugging Joel’s arm, looking up at him. “Right, Joel? We appreciate it very much.”

“That we do,” he responds, his head moving to look at the other woman. “Thank you, Maria.”

“You’re welcome, Joel.” She nods.

He doesn’t think they’ll ever be best friends, but she’s been friendlier this time around.

“I’ve never heard this song,” Ellie’s voice is loud as she speaks. “But based on the title, I’m pretty sure it’s how Joel feels about Doc.”

“What song?” he asks, both of you turning in place, looking in her direction.

“Gimme a second. I’m trying to figure out how to work this fuckin’ thing.” There’s the sound of her struggling, and before he can go help her, you’re already heading her way.

There’s a pull for him to walk over there, too, and he has to fight it to stay back, resting his side against the bartop with his arms crossed, watching from afar.

He glances at his brother to see him pouring drinks, putting what looks to be apple juice in two of them.

His attention goes back to you and Ellie, her pointing at what he assumes is a song, which makes you laugh, and him frown because he’s dying to know which one it is.

“You’re right on the money, squirt,” you tell Ellie as you show her how to use the jukebox.

A second later, the opening to “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” by The Police starts playing, Joel snorting and shaking his head as the lyrics run through his head, seeing how they are pretty accurate—every little thing you do is magic, and you’re always turning him on.

Something inside him soothes when you beckon him over, Joel quickly walking across the bar.

He’s in front of you, and you lean in so your lips are close to his ear, asking in a whisper for only him to hear, “Is your back okay?”

You’re pulling back, searching his face. His back isn’t bothering him at the moment, and he’s able to move around fine. “Yeah,” he answers.

A toothy smile appears on your face. “Dance with me, then,” you say. “Please.”

There’s an empty space in front of the jukebox that you’re standing in that must’ve been used as a small dancefloor. He feels heat licking up his neck because he hasn’t danced in years, and there’s an audience—Ellie watching off to the side with an amused look, Tommy with a matching expression over at the bar.

“Yeah, Joel,” Ellie ribs. “Dance with her.”

“Remember, Joel,” Tommy yells. “Happy wife, happy life!”

He sighs, gulping at your hopeful expression, not wanting to disappoint you. “Apologies in advance if I step on your toes, ma’am,” he says as he pulls you into his arms—a hand around your waist, the other holding your hand, while you’re grabbing his shoulder. He goes the safe route, starting to move you both in a swaying shuffle, you grinning at him with stars in your eyes that make his heart pick up in speed.

It’s not really a slow-dancing song. It’s too upbeat and moves too quickly. His heart is in his throat when the steps come back to him as if he’s riding a bicycle, you laughing softly when he begins leading you in quicker movements around the small space. He’s smiling at your glee when he throws in a spin here and there, knowing it amuses you, always pulling you back into his arms.

Ellie is standing by the jukebox with an expression on her face like she can’t believe what she’s seeing but is delighted by it anyway.

It’s reminding him of going out with you to the bar in Austin that did live music, having a few drinks, and you pulling him onto the dancefloor with the rest of the couples. With how happy you look, he thinks you’re remembering the same thing, the both of you just letting loose and having fun.

Fun.

When was the last time he got to have carefree fun like this? Sure, he and Ellie had some fun on the road, but he was always on alert and couldn’t let his guard down. Christ, he sure as hell wasn’t having any fun before the teenager came into his life.

That means the last time he got to enjoy himself like this was on his birthday, watching his favorite movie with Sarah while waiting for you to get off work. He hadn’t found it odd you were working at such a late hour that night since your clinic in the big city was open twenty-four hours, and there were times it was so busy you couldn’t call him until the end of your shift.

And here he is, having the best time dancing with you.

He’s taken aback by how normal this all feels. He woke up that morning with you beside him, in the new house you share, got married in a church, and is now celebrating in a bar with a cake, having drinks, and dancing to music as if outside the town walls, there isn’t desolation and unimaginable horrors.

How long can Jackson remain being this little oasis amongst the apocalyptic hellscape? How much time will he get in this bliss? Too many things have happened to him to think this will last—it’s too good to be true.

The song comes to an end, and he lowers you in a dip, causing you to giggle while Ellie claps.

Pulling you back up, you grab his face and kiss him, Joel losing himself in the sensation of your lips on his, feeling you smiling.

He focuses on you in his arms and your mouth on his, grounding him and pulling him from the darkness of his thoughts, giving him hope.

Joel will do whatever he can to help keep this town safe. It’s a new beginning for the three of you; Ellie can have a somewhat normal life and get to be a kid, you can relax, and the two of you can settle down together, hopefully living out the rest of your many years here.

“Thank you for dancing with me,” you say when you pull back, taking him from his thoughts.

“Any time,” he replies, smiling.

There’s a possibility you might explode from how happy you are.

You’re married to Joel. He’s your husband.

Staring into those big brown eyes of his, a sweet smile on his lips, you start speaking, “I need you to do something for me.”

His eyebrows dip together. “Anythin’,” he responds, rubbing his big hands over your arms.

“I need you to pinch me—I’ve gotta make sure I’m not dreaming and you’re really here with me.”

The expression on his face melts into something soft. His hand dips down to pinch your hip, his other one caressing the side of your face. “There,” he says. “Believe I’m here now, baby?”

Tears spring to your eyes, grinning as you crash your mouth to his, kissing him desperately, your hands wrapping around his neck.

“I suddenly want juice,” Ellie announces to no one in particular. “So, I’m gonna go get some, so I don’t have to see this. Seriously, guys. Gross.”

Her comment has you breaking apart from Joel, giggling as you face her.

“Sorry, Ellie,” you tell her, seeing her face pinched in disgust. “We did warn you about the excessive PDA.”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Still gross. I mean, who wants to see their… their… their.”

“Dad?” you finish for her.

“He’s not my dad.” It’s said almost like a reflex, and you can see fear in her eyes.

She’s like a wounded animal, and you’re going to need to be careful. You close the distance slowly; it’s only a couple of steps.

Joel’s moved beside you, and you’re surprised when he speaks, his voice low so only the three of you can hear. “It’s okay,” he says, her gaze on him. It takes him a second to figure out his next words, and he looks away with his hands perched on his hips. “That shit I said last time we were here? I was lyin’.” He sighs. “Thought if I said it out loud, it’d be true.” He meets her eyes. “You can, uh, call me whatever you’d like—caretaker, guardian, ward, Dad. ‘Cause—” he audibly swallows. “—I think of you as my kid,” he says softly. “You’re not cargo. Never were. You’re family. My family.”

“You’re my family, too.” Her voice is quiet, looking hopeful. “Feels weird calling you, Dad, though—” She points at him “—you’re Joel.”

He smiles. “Then keep callin’ me, Joel,” he reassures. “If people ask, can I say you’re my…?”

“Daughter?” she finishes for him, smiling. “Sure.” Ellie shrugs. “And you’re my father, but—” She looks around like she’s making sure no one is listening, saying conspiratorially, “—I’m pretty sure I’m adopted.”

He snorts. “That was stupid.”

She grins. “I thought it was pretty funny, Dad.” She makes a face. “Oh, yeah, that’s fucking weird—no offense,” she adds quickly.

“None taken.”

Her eyes dart away. “I’m glad you brought me here,” she says. “And that I’ve got you—both of you now.”

“Yeah, I’m happy you’re here, too, and Ellie?”

“Yeah, Joel?” They look at each other.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Okay?”

“Okay.” She nods. “That juice sure sounds good,” she says a bit louder, making you smile because Joel hadn’t been lying that they’re both terrible at expressing their feelings to one another.

“Let’s go, kid,” he replies.

She’s already moving toward the bar, and you take his hand, both of you mosying your way over.

“Congratulations, Joel,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“It’s a fourteen-year-old girl.”

He chuckles. “What can I say?” he whispers back. “I’m a girl Dad.”

“Yes, you are.”

Taking seats at the bartop, Joel is between you and Ellie, Tommy placing drinks in front of each of you before walking out from behind the bar to take Maria her juice, holding his own glass.

“To Mr. and Mrs. Joel Miller!” Tommy toasts.

Everyone raises their glasses before taking a drink.

It’s whiskey—actual facts whiskey, and not moonshine, it sliding down your throat smoothly, relishing the burn. This was quality shit from before the outbreak that was extremely hard to find.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, staring at the glass. “This is the real fucking deal.”

“We save it for special occasions,” Tommy replies. “But we also have shit we’ve made.”

“Thank you for letting us have some,” you say, turning your head to look at him. “I haven’t had a decent drink in years.”

“You’re welcome, Doc.” He holds his cup up to you.

Joel sets his glass down, you taking another drink.

His arm goes around your waist, his other hand scratching at the back of his neck, and you can tell he’s trying to figure out what to say.

He keeps his eyes forward. “I just wanna thank y’all for makin’ today real special for us,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear. “It means a lot to us havin’ ya here.”

“Psh—” Ellie playfully punches his arm. “—like I’d miss my chance at seeing you so happy it makes you cry, and I wasn’t disappointed.”

“Yeah…”

“We ain’t done celebratin’!” Tommy exclaims. “There are gifts.”

You and Joel are turning in your seats to look at his brother.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. “You’ve done more than enough. The house, the beautiful ceremony, the cake, this booze. We can’t accept anything else.”

“Yeah, Tommy,” Joel adds. “We don’t need anythin’ else.”

“Oh, quit it,” he replies, walking back behind the bar. “Let us spoil ya today. You sure as fuck deserve it.” He’s leaning down to grab something behind the bar and coming back up, keeping his hands low so you can’t see what he’s got. “This first gift is from Maria and me.”

“Why are you lyin’ to them?” his wife asks. “That gift is all you—I got the cake.”

“‘Cause we’re married.” He sounds exasperated.

“That one’s too damn special, it’s solely from Tommy, and I had nothin’ to do with it.”

He sighs.

“This first gift is from me,” he says, the last word a little louder. “And only me.”

“We read you loud and clear,” you reply. “I am dying to know what it is.”

He looks a little unsure as he speaks, “Well, now that y’all are here together, I’m hopin’ you’ll want them.” Two Polaroid pictures are placed between you and Joel, both having faded a little over time, your breath catching in your throat, covering your mouth with a hand.

The first one is of Joel and Sarah making silly faces at the camera—him with his hair still brown and his face less worn from age. You’ve worried that over time your memory of what Sarah looks like had decayed, but here she is with her dad’s eyes, her beautiful smile, and her head full of curly hair, just as you remember.

You’re reaching out to touch the second photo of the three of you on her fourteenth birthday at Joel’s house. You’ve got your arms around her, Sarah resting her head on your shoulder, Joel hugging you both from behind, all three of you smiling at the camera.

“I, uh, told Joel this last time I saw him,” Tommy starts. “But I went back to the house some years ago. Place was picked clean—found those, though.” He points at them. “Kept one of her and me—hope that’s alright.”

Joel’s voice is thicker from emotion, “Of course it’s alright,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Tommy,” you add.

“You’re welcome.”

“Look at her,” you murmur.

“Just like I remember,” he whispers. “God, I miss that smile.”

“I do, too.”

“Can I see this one?” he asks, pointing at the one with the three of you.

“Yeah.” You move your hand to pick up the other, him taking the one he wanted gingerly between his fingers.

He stares at it for a second before showing it to Ellie. “This is Sarah,” he says to her. “My other daughter. I just know she would’ve liked you. Not that I think you’re the same. Definitely different kids, but still mine.”

“How are we different?” she asks.

“Well, she was a lot more, I wanna say girly?” He’s quickly adding, “And I’m not sayin’ that you’re not girly...”

She snorts. “I’m not.”

Joel smiles crookedly, “Yeah, you’re not. So that. She was taller. She had that killer smile.” His eyes widen, worry on his face, speaking fast, “Again, not sayin’ you don’t...”

“Chill out, Joel,” she laughs, him visibly relaxing. “She did have a killer smile. You really think she’d like me?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “You’d get on like a house on fire. She would’ve liked you ‘cause you’re funny. I think you would’ve made her laugh,” he answers thoughtfully. “The two of you love music—she had a small CD collection she would’ve liked showin’ you. And I know together you would’ve had too much fuckin’ fun givin’ me shit. Can picture you gangin’ up on me,” he chuckles. “She would’ve liked you a whole helluva a lot, and I bet you would’ve liked her back.”

“Yeah, I think I would’ve,” she replies. “Sarah sounds really fucking cool.”

He’s softly smiling, looking at the picture. “Yeah, she was the coolest.” His head swivels in her direction, “Not sayin’ you’re not cool—you’re really fuckin’ cool, too. The two of you are way cooler than me.”

She’s laughing. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” she says. “It’s okay, and it doesn’t take much to be cooler than your old ass.”

“Yeah,” Tommy speaks up, Joel and Ellie looking at him, smirking. “Sarah would’ve found you hilarious, and y’all would’ve had a blast terrorizin’ the fuck outta this asshole.” He nods his head toward Joel.

“God, Joel’s right,” you add. “They would’ve ganged up on him, just a constant Joel roast.”

“It’s already a constant Joel roast…” Joel grumbles.

Rubbing his arm, you reply, “But it’s done affectionately.”

“I guess,” he sighs.

“There’s one more gift for ya,” Tommy says.

You’re staring him down, telling him, “Tommy, the pictures are more than enough—way more than enough. We can’t accept anything else. We won’t.” You shake your head.

“She’s right,” Joel cuts in. “You’ve given us too much. There’s no fuckin’ way we can ever repay you.”

“This gift isn’t from me,” Tommy responds with a little smile. “It ain’t from Maria either.”

“Then who’s it from?” Joel asks, confusion on his face.

You’re wondering the same thing. There’s no one else in Jackson you know.

“Ellie.” He points at her, both of you turning your heads to look at her, you having to lean around Joel.

“Hey.” She puts up her hands in defense. “Tommy helped!” She points at him. “Told me I could pick out a gift for you guys, and we went around to a bunch of places last night looking at shit, and I saw something I thought you might like, but it’s probably super fucking lame, so if you wanna trade it, go for it. I have no fucking clue what to get people when they get married.”

“Hey, don’t stress,” you reply, giving her a reassuring smile. “We’re gonna love it.”

“Yeah.” Joel smiles, knocking his shoulder against hers. “We’ll love anythin’ you got us.”

She looks unsure. “I hope so.”

“What’d you get us?” you ask.

Her attention moves to Tommy.

“Is it back there?” she asks him.

“Yep,” he answers.

Ellie jumps off her barstool, walking around the bar, to lean down and grab something that seems big, but you can’t see since it’s so low, her moving back toward you both.

When she’s in sight, your eyes go wide, realizing it’s a black hardshell guitar case.

There’s pink on her cheeks, holding it out to Joel, looking down at her feet. “When, um, we were on our way to Salt Lake City, you, um, said you wanted to find a guitar?” she says it as a question. “Said you hadn’t played in forever and that you’d teach me. Which you don’t have to,” she quickly adds. “But, um, I figured if you used to play, you probably played for Doc and Sarah, and she’d maybe wanna hear you again, so a guitar, for your wedding or whatever.”

“It’s perfect,” he chokes out, and you can see his eyes glistening as he gently takes it from her. “Thank you, Ellie. I, uh, didn’t think you’d remember all that.”

She meets his eyes. “I do. Remember a lot of it. So, there you go.” She’s wringing her hands in front of her, Joel carefully setting the guitar against the bar and getting up from his chair to stand in front of her.

“Would it be alright if I hugged you?” he asks softly.

“Sure.”

He’s slow in his movements, not going too quick as he wraps his arms around her, one behind her back, the other hand cradling the back of her head, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Her own arms go around his middle, his chin nestled atop her hair.

A father holding his last living child, a daughter being held by the only parent she’s known, a comfort they’ve both needed and something to cherish.

“Thank you, baby girl,” he whispers.

This seems like a private moment, averting your eyes, Tommy doing the same.

“I’m happy you’re, uh, better,” he continues.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” she says just as softly.

“Never in a million years, I… care about you too damn much.”

“I care about you, too.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

They stay like that for seconds longer before separating, his hands on her shoulders.

“I think I promised I’d sing for you,” he tells her with a warm smile. “I apologize if I’m a bit rusty.”

“I didn’t save the world.”

“There’s still time, kiddo.” He moves back over to the black case to open it up, pulling out the mahogany acoustic guitar, its sides stained black, him admiring it. “Well, isn’t she a beauty.”

“You gonna play the thing or take it out on a date?” Ellie asks, making you giggle.

Joel’s eyes narrow at her, him moving to sit on the barstool with the guitar resting on his thighs.

“Gimme a second,” he replies, strumming his fingers over the strings, it clearly out of tune. “I gotta fix it.” His eyebrows are creased in concentration as he turns each peg to adjust the pitch of the strings until he’s satisfied, nodding his head when he strums, and it sounds right.

He’s not playing any particular song, just reacquainting himself with the chords, doing little melodies to get back into it.

Tommy walks out from behind the bar to go sit next to Maria at her little table, his arm over the back of her chair, while nursing his drink with his other hand, both of them watching Joel in interest.

Since Joel was a child, he’s been passionate about music. By the time he turned seven, he was playing guitar, and as an adult, he was so good that he only needed to hear a song once to know how to play it.

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” he says to Ellie while still playing.

She’s smiling, replying, “I won’t.”

He gives her a look.

“I won’t, I promise,” she says.

He nods his head.

“I’m trustin’ you.”

It makes sense that only after some minutes, he seems to have the hang of it, things sounding smoother, and you grin when he moves into a familiar tune—the steady rhythm with the twang as he plucks the strings, excitement bubbling in your belly over what was about to happen.

He’s focused on the guitar, his voice a deep, throaty rasp, as he starts crooning the beginning of “Stand by Me” by Ben E. King.

Tears are back in your eyes, feeling emotional that he’s playing your song.

This was the first song he’d ever played for you all those years ago, the song you’d ask him to play again and again because of how much you loved it, the song you thought would play while you shared your first dance after saying ‘I do,’ the song you could imagine him singing to your children.

And here he is, playing the guitar for the first time in over twenty years, and this is the song he’s chosen to sing, knowing how much it’d mean to you.

Joel Miller is the love of your life, has always been the love of your life, and now you get to call him your husband.

She’s honestly surprised that he’s not bad—kind of reminds her of the singer from Pearl Jam, but, like, if he were Texan and his voice was a bit deeper.

God, she misses her Walkman so fucking much, she’d kill to hear “Take on Me” again. Wait, maybe Joel knows it, and he could play it for her. She’ll have to ask him when he finishes with this song.

It’s crazy to her that this time last year, she’d been in FEDRA school, getting up to shit with Riley, and now she’s across the country, in a small town that fucking works with her—Jesus, it’s even fucking weird to think about calling him her Dad—Joel, he’s her Joel, it’ll take some time to ease into the name change. Anyways, she’s now here with Joel and Doc, who’s honestly a great addition to their team.

If anyone deserves to be reunited with their one true love like he’s living a fucking fairytale, it’s Joel, and Ellie is so fucking relieved that Doc is actually pretty great; she’s more than pretty great, actually. Doc is fucking awesome and has always been honest with her, so she knows that when Doc told her she’d try to figure out a cure, she was telling the truth, and that gives Ellie hope that she might actually get a chance at saving the world after all.

Everything she’s gone through, all of the people who’ve died for her, it all needs to fucking mean something. It has to.

Ellie’s happy for Joel and Doc, she really is, and she’ll never admit it out loud, but she’s scared. Not that, like, Joel will forget about her now that he has a wife. No, they care about her too much, and that’s what scares her.

For the first time in her entire fucking life, she has a family—Joel, Doc, even Tommy, and Maria—she has people who give a shit about her and love her. Joel wants her to call him ‘Dad,’ he thinks of himself as her father, and she sees herself as his daughter, and now there’s Doc, too, who’s so warm and comforting, and fuck, what if something happens to them? What if she loses them like she’s lost every other person who’s ever given a fuck about her? This time last year, she had Riley, and now Riley’s dead, and not only that, but Ellie’s the one that had to kill her.

A year and so much has changed.

What if she loses all of this?

She told Sam she’s afraid of ending up alone, but really she’s frightened of outliving the people who care about her, and now there are so many.

She just has to remind herself that Joel is the strongest man on the entire fucking planet. He got her across the country, basically came back from the dead, and took out a hospital full of Fireflies—they’re not in danger here in Jackson, and if they were? Joel will keep her and Doc safe, she’s positive about that, and Ellie will help, she can hold her own, and she’s not going to let anyone else die for her.

They’re safe.

Everything is going to be okay. Joel will make sure of it.

The song finishes, and he sighs, not looking at her as he asks, “Well?”

“Well, that didn’t suck,” she replies, smiling. “I’m honestly impressed ‘cause I figured you’d be fucking terrible, but you weren’t. You were pretty good.”

He looks at her with big eyes and a little smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nods her head.

“You still got it, babe,” Doc says.

He turns to look at her with a grin. “Yeah?” he asks her.

“Yep.” She smiles back. “You had me swooning—you know how much I love that song.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replies in a different tone that has Ellie making a face.

Jesus, they’re so gross, and now they’re kissing—of course, they are. She’s pretty sure they can’t go five fucking minutes without their lips locked.

Her attention moves to Tommy and Maria, who aren’t much better sitting close together fucking canoodling.

Disgusting.

She’s got the ick.

“Cake sure sounds really fucking good right about now,” she says loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

“Hell yeah, it does,” Tommy replies, getting up from his chair. “I’ve got plates and shit.” He’s walking back behind the bar.

Joel and Doc have unlocked their lips, thank god.

“Joel?” she asks.

He meets her eyes. “Yeah?”

“This is probably a long fucking shot, but there’s this band I loved called A-ha? Listened to the tape on my Walkman all the time, and they had this song called “Take On Me.” Do you know it?”

He smiles. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

He’s already playing the beginning, the familiar melody making Ellie smile so big she thinks her cheeks are gonna hurt.

Yeah, everything is gonna be okay, and her life has never been better.

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[maybeasunflower]

Star Trek theme tunes: worst to best

Star Trek’s many TV series each have an opening sequence that attempts to set up the viewer for the show ahead. A good theme tune delivers a high-quality piece of music that encapsulates the show’s essence — and it is on this basis that I’ve ranked the themes. What isn’t included in my ranking is anything about the graphics that accompany the music, nor the show itself. Naturally, these are all purely my personal opinions, so there can be no argument.

Let’s get started!

11: Enterprise

“It’s been a long road…” are five words that launched a lot of strong feelings — and rightly so. The jarring mismatch between everything about this song and everything Enterprise was about relegates this theme to the bottom of the heap. The opening graphics are spot-on for the show’s premise — but I never got to watch them because I needed to skip the music, and that makes me madder.

If you want to know what could have been, search YouTube for “Star Trek: Enterprise Opening Credits with Archer’s Theme”. That music is perfect for the show: slow, dramatic, building up for the big reveal. Then finish weeping / gnashing your teeth and come back here.

This theme also meant that we can never have a Star Trek theme with words again, ever, because we have been all primed to hate such things because of Enterprise — and that’s sad.

Imagine if we’d had a good theme with words that we could all sing at appropriate and inappropriate occasions.

10: The Animated Series

You’d forgotten about this series, hadn’t you? I will confess I haven’t watched any episodes (unlike the other ST series), but that doesn’t me having an opinion about the theme music. The jaunty theme music. The theme music that speaks of hijinks and hilarious consequences. The theme with super precise drumming — the perfect accompaniment as we join our hero sipping a cocktail in his usual bar by the beach.

Wait, this show is about space exploration?

9: Discovery

Open with Those Four Notes (good), wistful hunting call horns (good), build up to a climax (good), and then… umm…

What follows musically reminds me of Fringe (a great show that also involved Alex Kurtzman and Robert Orci as creators). Fringe was a show about the discovery of new scientific things (and the consequences thereof)— but Discovery is not. The stories of Discovery revolve around battling against various things. The main theme (minimalist repeated eighth note patterns with a slow-moving melody) simply doesn’t speak to premise of the show. It ends with the ascending “Star Trek motif”, but it just feels like something bolted on to end things.

This is a theme based on the title, not on the events in the show.

8: The Original Series

I’m going to get some flak for this, but I don’t care. Yes, The Original Series is sacred. Yes, this theme gave us Those Four Notes right at the start. Yes, it gave us the classic opening words. Yes, we must remember TV was different back then when judging TOS. But I’m ranking the music, and so that’s all that matters.

This is a show about exploring strange new worlds and going boldly. The music is not that. The music is about going somewhere on holiday in your 1960s convertible, or possibly going home from work for the weekly comedic capers. It’s not going boldly anywhere, it’s not exploring new worlds, and that’s final.

… I am going to get so much flak for this.

7: Picard

This is a theme unlike any other, but this a series unlike other, so that’s OK. The wistful main melody on solo cello works for the show and its premise. The theme then gets musically developed by other instruments in a musically satisfyingly way.

However, two-thirds (!) of the title graphics are consumed by the 137 producers, supervising producers, co-executive producers, executive producers, and producing producers — and it feels the music had to be extended by a good 30 seconds to cover them all. Like Discovery, it ends with ends with the ascending “Star Trek motif”, but it (just about) feels musically connected to what came before.

Overall, I am left with a very neutral opinion. There’s nothing that bad about this music, but nothing that makes it stand out.

It’s boringly OK.

6: Strange New Worlds

After the classic opening words, the dramatic bass line/repetitive strings/drums kick in, the music builds, everything’s set up for the main melody…. and what’s that? Well, you can’t hear that melody because the orchestration that gives it insufficient body, and the sound mix gives the accompanying dramatic bass line/repetitive strings/drums far too much prominence.

The overall structure is good — repeat the main melody with some extra oomph, transition to the B melody, build to a climax with some block chords, then bring every down nicely with the hunting horn call. It ticks all the boxes on (manuscript) paper — but the orchestration and mix just means I can’t enjoy it properly.

Give the melody some more body, turn the volume down on the rhythm section, and this theme would jump up a lot of places.

5: Deep Space 9

DS9 isn’t about going boldly anywhere, but it is still about dealing with dramatic, important things. The music has a stately beauty that reflects both those things. The opening lonely horn illustrates the emptiness of space, before being joined by more horns to build drama. Then the main melody kicks in over a minimal accompaniment, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. There’s a pedal note that sustains through most of the opening — so that when the bass finally moves, it makes for a dramatic conclusion.

Later seasons brought a new version that tried to punch up the excitement a notch by increasing the speed of the main melody and adding some more texture to the accompaniment — but at the cost of the stately beauty that is this theme’s best feature. Let’s ignore it.

The title sequence is about 30 seconds too long, which means the beauty has faded somewhat by the end. (Yes, the opening for Strange New Worlds is a similar length, but the music doesn’t kick in until after 30+ seconds).

Overall, a solid piece of music that aligns well with the show’s premise.

4: Lower Decks

Lower Decks is a show that is both 100% serious and 100% affectionate parody. It does everything any other Star Trek TV series does, while turning it up 11 in order to skewer those things. Musically, that’s a tough premise for a theme tune.

So what happens? We open with Those Four Notes, followed by hunting horn calls, then a dramatic main theme on trumpet that’s repeated on all the strings — followed by gear-changing chords into the real main theme. A theme that gets a full-bore orchestra with a melody on brass that descends like someone resigned to not doing first contact (no hopeful ascending motifs here!). Then a solid build-up brings it to a satisfying conclusion.

Like the show, this theme works both seriously and as affectionate parody.

3: Voyager

The show has a tension between “let’s get home as soon as possible” and “ooh, new alien planet to explore” — and the music reflects that.

The theme opens with muted trumpets on a lonely motif (plus timpani) at the start to bring a sense of the dramatic, but without wanting to shout too loudly about it in this unknown part of the galaxy. The main theme on the horns is repeated with added texture and followed by a B melody on strings. Both bring a sense of the long journey ahead, with an ebb and flow throughout.

A slow build-up is then followed by a gentle climb back down — then a rapid (and musically seamless) build up to an emphatic restatement of the opening motif, ringing out to remind us this isn’t just about skulking back to Earth.

Voyager may be headed for home, but it’s still boldly going new places.

2: The Next Generation

Whatever you feel about Star Trek: The Motion Picture, we can all thank it for this music. TNG opens with Those Four Notes on something ethereal, followed by the best delivery of the classic opening words (sorry Anson Mount!) with a hunting call on horns underneath—then we’re into music about exploring strange new worlds and going boldly. It’s going on an adventure — journeying to places unknown to find things unknown.

Structurally, it’s simpler than other themes: after the main melody on brass, we get the string-heavy B melody twice, then back to a shortened version of the main melody to end. However, the post-words music only takes up half the opening, and those two melodies have enough going on to sustain our interest.

You’re left excited about what’s going to happen this week— because we’re exploring, damnit.

1: Prodigy

Four chords build tension, launching into drums+ostinato that tell you right away that exciting things will be Going Down.

Dramatic trombone and bells set up a musical cadence that gets resolved into the start of the heart-stirring main melody soaring out on horns clearly over the accompaniment (take note, SNW). The main melody repeats with added trumpets, and transitions into the drum-less B melody on lush strings that tells you it’s also about the journey. Then bridge into a repeat with everything turned up a notch.

Things get a little chaotic for a moment (what else do you expect with this crew?), but it’s OK, because we’re back to those dramatic trombone and bells (plus friends) to bookend things and lead us into a final resolution… that leaves just enough going on afterwards to accompany Those Four Notes, as though that was the plan all along. Then spike the ending so there’s no doubt we’re done.

Perfect.

[snowandglasslabyrinth]

Damn, the Velma show really sucks. All the characters seem wrong and one-dimensional. There’s nothing funny, I genuinely laughed once and it’s because sarcasm gets me always. Also, specifically it was Velma’s line after climbing the wall to perform a break and enter into Fred’s family’s mansion.

Velma is painfully mediocre as a character, she is contradictory and evidently treats people poorly, laughs in Norville’s face when he says he has a crush on her, and just seemed really mean and poorly written. I also really hate the fat phobic jokes. That’s not right, it’s not funny, it’s just in poor taste and mean. Having it so that she eats french fries out of the garbage is insulting and just pointless. She’s got some massive crush on Fred cause he’s ‘hot’, she’s fairly shallow as a character but loves to point out (see ep. 2) that all the other characters are shallow. People in her school think she’s ugly until she wears revealing clothing, then everyone pays attention to her - in my humble but angry opinion that is a bad message to spread to young adults and teens.

Norville is a whole case, the drug references and jokes are neither funny nor entertaining and after his ridiculous and clunky line about being anti-drugs early in the first episode he pauses as if the audience needs a moment to laugh. It was awful. I get that it’s meant to be a play on the idea that Shaggy was a stoned character but that doesn’t mean it’s funny.

Daphne is vapid, and she’s always been a little bit vain (the stereotypical girl character to an extent because in the original series she was a round character full of depth) but in the show she has become a high schooler obsessed with sex who treats everyone horrifically. The obsession with sex is a thing for all of the highschool girls in the show, I don’t know who had that kind of experience in highschool but I certainly didn’t so it feels uncomfortable and inappropriate (also feels like that because they anime bubble censor a bunch of naked teenage highschool girls as they talk about sex in tv, that shouldn’t have been allowed.)

Fred is just a douche. I mean I know that’s a choice that the writers made but I strongly hate who he’s become (and yes I know I’m supposed to hate him but I think it’s supposed to be because he’s a jerk not just because he’s poorly written uninteresting and a man child that acts like a stereotypical ‘macho’ man). And the amount of times he calls himself a ‘puss’ is annoying and, unfortunately for the show, still not funny, so only sarcasm points for comedy right now.

Some side character notes: Velma’s dad’s girlfriend is an awful and boring stereotype. The show leans on cliches and stereotypes heavily I.e. any character in that show practically. The other students are boring and not memorable. There’s a moment where Fred stands up for Velma and accidentally cuts a student’s foot off, reminiscent of the comedy in those bad adult cartoons that are overpopulating Netflix right now (Paradise PD, Hoops (is that what it’s called?) and others). If I didn’t mention other characters it’s because I don’t remember they exist.

Okay tl;dr the show sucks, it’s not funny, I loved Scooby Doo as a kid so this hurts me, I hate what they’ve done with the characters.

So, I know I usually don’t make my own posts or write reviews but I literally got 10 minutes into the second episode and had to stop because it was bad, very bad. The first episode was bad enough but I thought I would torture myself and then I gave up because I just couldn’t anymore. Thanks for reading all of this if you have, and don’t watch Velma.

:)

[rosewaterandivy]

10. a kiss is not enough

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C.: 4.5K

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, sexual situations - SMUT & idolatry (my usual bullshit), real-talk with Nancy Wheeler, idiots still being idiots, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: Holy shit, I can't believe we've come to the end (or is it 👀) of this series! When I started this, I had no clue how many people would respond to Trouble and Steve's idiots-to-lovers story - but I'm so glad that they did! This series will always be near and dear to my heart, for a variety of reasons, but primarily for the people it brought into my life (here's lookin' at you, babe!). This isn't a goodbye from Trouble and Steve so much as a see you later - don't hate me too much! Poetry excerpt from John Keats. 18+ mature content (minors dni). Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, please let me know what you thought; enjoy & thanks for reading! 💜

series masterlist | playlist - newly updated!

Trouble’s playlist from Steve: trouble will find me

Steve's playlist from Trouble: rebel without a clue

previous || epilogue

Now, May, Finals Week

“Just think about it, kid,” Hopper says on his way out your classroom door. He’d requested a meeting during your conference block, when normally he’d amble in under some pretense just to shoot the shit.

You nod, at a loss for words. It’s not like you needed yet another thing on your plate— waiting to hear back from admissions and not spilling to Steve or the gang was bad enough.

Yeah, you’d applied for grad school (even though grad students were the worst) and Hop had been contacted as a reference, which prompted his little visit today. Apparently, the district had approved a stipend and sabbatical for faculty furthering their education in graduate school.

“I’d like to recommend you,” Hop said matter of factly, sitting in a desk across from yours. “Maybe not for the sabbatical until you’re further along in the program, writing your thesis and whatnot.”

“I, uh–” you stumbled to find the words. “Cart, horse. I haven’t been accepted yet.”

He leveled you with a look, “Are you shittin’ me? Of course you’re getting in.”

You swallowed audibly and busied yourself emptying your desk for the summer, “Well, time will tell I suppose.”

“This isn’t—” Hopper paused in thought. “This isn’t about Harrington, is it?”

“Huh,” you nearly yelled, clutching the cardboard box for dear life. You had been so careful too.

He cracks a smile, “I saw the pair of you at graduation, you think you’re so slick.”

That brings a smile to your face, good ol’ Hop sussing out the goings on like he’d never left the force. 

“It’s nothing.” You assure him, “We haven’t— We’re professionals, okay?”

“I know,” he nods, voice lowering as if he could spook you. “I’m happy for you, really.”

A small smile breaks across your face, “Yeah, uh, thanks.”

Finals done and grades posted, you’d never been so happy to get home. Had plans to pour yourself onto the couch and not move for 72 hours. 

But life (and Steve) had other plans.

He was sorting through the mail, chucking envelopes into various piles on the countertop. The loft was quiet that afternoon— Eddie had a gig in Indy that evening and Robin was crashing at Vickie’s for the night. Steve hummed a tune to himself, the occasional slap of paper hitting the granite punctuating it.

“Oh hey,” Steve turns with a large envelope in hand, “This looks important.” Tosses it with freakish accuracy, the white paper landing with a thwack where your shorts had ridden up against your thigh. 

Distracted by whatever drama was unfolding on TV— something about a crew working on chartered private boats— you mindlessly slip your thumb beneath the lip of the envelope and tear it open. 

It’s only once you’ve pulled the papers from it that you glance to see what’s what. The university’s crest shines like a beacon, your thumb worrying over the topmost letter. Steve, the bastard, has stopped his mail sorting and turned toward you.

He leans lazily against the counter, a knowing smirk fixed on his lips. You scramble up from the couch with the papers, too nervous to see for yourself. “Here,” you say, thrusting the envelope and documents to his chest. “Can you—”

Pulling you to his chest with an arm, he brushes his lips against the crown of your head. “Sure, honey.” You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his chest— warm and familiar.

“You know,” he drawls, “The big envelope generally means something good, right?”

“I know,” muffled against his shirt.

He chuckles, hand coming up to cradle your head. Steve clears his throat, reads the opening of the letter in his best announcer voice. “Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that…”

The rest is drowned out by the rushing of blood in your ears, the tears pooling in your eyes breaking free to cascade down your cheeks. He squeezes you tight abandoning the acceptance letter and letting it flutter to the floor in favor of drawing you closer. Steve kisses you, licking your own tears into your mouth, your taste onto your tongue. And it’s so weirdly hot that your heart starts fluttering again, like you’re seeing him for the first time.

Because of course, just as things were going right something had to come and throw a wrench into things. 

Plans for lazing in the early summer forgotten, the next few days saw you coming and going from the university campus for orientation, meetings with faculty, so on and so forth. As you were leaving the grad student mixer, a professor peeled off from a group of faculty to flag you down with a call of your name.

You turn, not recognizing them from the English department. She’s an older woman, has maybe a few years on your mother, and is swathed in a lovely linen dress— the cool elegance of minimalist style.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Holland,” she says shaking your hand. “I’m on the admissions committee and was very impressed with your work on Dante Alighieri.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“And you studied Italian as an undergrad?”

“Certo.”

That brings a smile to her face. “Perfetto,” she says with a perfect Italian accent and waves over another faculty member. “I only ask because there’s a summer intensive in Italy beginning next week that I think you’d be perfect for.” 

Your mind reels. The new professor introduces himself and echoes Dr. Holland’s sentiments— a summer session of classes in Italy, in partnership with Università di Bologna, the oldest university in operation in the world. Scholarships that would cover the cost of tuition, travel, and accommodations for you to peruse.

What the fuck.

Vision swimming, you somehow come back to the conversation at hand. Dr. Holland presses a folder to your hand, “I know you were planning on taking the introductory grad school courses over the summer, but I hope you’ll consider joining us in Italy instead.”

You nod, gobsmacked and make your way to the car. Settling into the sweltering seat, you start the car and call Nancy. If anyone would know what to say in this situation, it would be her.

“That’s the thing,” you sigh, wine glass in hand as you slump on Nancy’s couch. “We’re not anything, haven’t discussed it. I mean, sure, we fuck like rabbits, but aside from that?”

She blows a raspberry and sips from her glass. “He’s in love with you, get over it.”

You jerk up, “Okay, maybe,” you allow. “But he hasn’t said anything.”

“And you won’t pony up to do it yourself?”

A scoff as you drain your glass. “I’m sorry, have you met me?”

Nancy laughs at that, loud and bright. “Unfortunately, yes!” She refills your glass before continuing, “Let’s be honest, you’re both hopeless when it comes to eachother.” She raises her brow before you can balk, “Full offense intended.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

She hums at that, head cocked to the side in thought. Her nail taps against the glass with a soft clink. A bite to her lips before she heaves a sigh, “Sometimes he just needs a push.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “I am absolutely not telling him he’s bullshit, if that’s what you’re after.”

Nancy, to her credit, winces uncomfortably at the memory. “No, no,” a shake of her head. “Absolutely not, you would never.” She sets her glass down carefully, giving you her full attention. “What I’m getting at is this: do you want to be something with Steve?”

She lets the question hang in the air between you. 

“Because if you don’t know Trouble, you should back away now.” A low warning tone. “You’re it for him, have been since he laid eyes on you, but you’re both too scared to do anything about it.”

You drain your glass to the dregs and hastily take your leave. At the sound of the door closing, Nancy grabs her phone and brings it to her ear, “Hey Harrington, I need a favor…”

Returning from a less than helpful hang session at Nancy’s, you find a post-it note left on your bedroom, door that reads ‘meet me at our spot on lover’s lake. - s.’

Prizing it from the wood grain, you make your way back to the kitchen to scavenge for something to eat, in an effort to soak up the remnants of wine in your system. Opening the fridge you spy another post-it stuck to the topmost shelf: ‘get your ass down here, i’ll feed you soon enough. - s.’

With a laugh, you let the fridge door fall shut and grab your keys.

_

He can see you now, just barley, even in the indigo dark. Wonders to himself, how are you even real? How is it that you’re mine? An explanation that won’t ever come. 

You slip into the cool water of Lover’s Lake like a dream, with nary a sound. Steve stumbles after you on the piles of clothing you’d left behind—bunched up denim shorts here, a threadbare tank-top over there, the silk of your thong musky and damp. 

Fisting his shirt to pull it up and over his head, it falls to the forest floor behind him, jeans shucked off and tossed elsewhere, boxers joining your lingerie by the shore. His patience is wearing thin as you wade further and further from him out into the lake. 

Little minx, he smiles and takes a breath before diving beneath the waves. Arms cutting through the placid water at a quick pace until he’s occupying the space between your bare legs, and coming up for air. 

One arm drags you near, lazily pressing you close, tight around the small of your back as the tide breaks around your waist, minute movements almost imperceptible— the slow roll of your hips against his.

Water shallow enough to tread and keep you buoyant. Steve kisses you slow and sweet, pulling you flush against his chest while you writhe under the water’s surface. Body slick and wanton and arching into his own. 

His dick jumps when you lift yourself to drape your arms around his shoulders. A sharp breath replaced with a shaky exhale as he brings his forehead to rest on yours, dark eyes taking in the exhilarated flush of your body. 

And Steve knows, under his skin and tucked into the cage of his ribs, near the beating of his anguished heart, that you’re the only thing left in this world worth worshipping. To keep you, and render you a flightless bird, to clip your wings, would be all for naught.

He has to let you go again, and so soon after you found him. From perihelion to aphelion before the moon’s full turning. The soft curve of your throat drawn taut as you glance upward, marvelling at the stars and planets in the northern sky. 

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” Your voice is a husk, low and hoarse, in the dark. “Its loveliness increases, it will never pass into nothingness.” Your eyes, once fixed on the sea of stars above, shift to him once more.

Closer to the shoreline now, and unbeknownst to you, Steve had gently waded you both inshore, until he could draw you toward the dock. 

You let him walk you back until you’re flush against a mooring pole, wood rough against your moon-bathed skin. Body yielding to him as both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls you forward by the hips.

“S’okay, honey,” He mutters—right into your panting mouth with a sultry pull of his lips. “I’ve got you.”

“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss from his lips that he laves and sucks to the column of your throat.

He ignores you, crawling his hands onto your hips to keep you from squirming. Works his thigh in between your legs for good measure. Once you’re settled, he moves one hand to your center a finger trailing up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto the spot that makes you keen, just behind your ear. You fist his hair in both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.

But Steve doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your neck and into your kiss-bitten mouth, he doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.

You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion lights a terrible match inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to a forest fire.

Calming breaths in and out. Steady head, steady heart. When you’re able to meet his gaze again, you take a moment to see him as he truly is: dappled in moonlight, forelock hanging in front of his eyes, his entire focus trained on you.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, scissoring them, pumping them in and out.

Steve sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive skin and lips, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching back into his hand, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.

You shake like a leaf in his arms, not knowing if it’s from the cool night air or due to the man before you. 

Instead of increasing his pace, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third. Your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean back with a whimper.

“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, so soft and low that your heart stills.

Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, his previous two fingers pushing inside gently. The third finger meets resistance as you tense up. “S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m…” 

Your head knocks back against the wooden pier. But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear.

You blink owlishly, trying desperately to weave your threads of thought together. A shake of your head to rattle them loose. A sweet smile up to Steve, a barely there kiss to his lips.

Your eyelids are heavy, breaths heaving from your chest. Steve commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you.

You gasp and moan, arching your chest into his and pulled as taut as a bow sting—back forming a crescent-shaped arc, a sliver of the moon radiant in the inky blue reflection of the water.

“C’mon, that’s it, honey. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”

With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked collar, bristles on his cheek and jaw tickling your sensitive skin.

Coming back to yourself, you shiver bodily. And Steve looks at you as if you hold infinities in the palms your hands. 

You reach for him reverently, desperate for his shape of beauty and noble nature. A dream realized, a wish granted, gentle and true. You feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination.

You whisper, "Missed you," eliciting a shudder from him as your palm grips him tenderly. 

Relishing in the temperature of his body, you sigh. Spreading the beaded precome at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, head falling to yours.

“Missed you more,” He hums, eyes heavy-lidded and lustful. 

Gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly and without haste, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could burst from your throat.

You whimper. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the gratifying sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re fearful to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.

Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, as water lapping against your thighs, holds onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.

You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you cry, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”

He moves in you, like a prayer.

A groan escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.

You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, lover… just a little more.”

With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. 

The two of you feel rooted together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. Your body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away, your shaky legs held in his secure grasp.

The black slik of night gives way to the earth’s rotation, stars and moon bending to the will of gravity. Splashes in its silent, dark depths as you broach the shore. A little shaky on your feet, but he’s close behind, sultry and brilliant like the summer morning quickly approaching.

Whispers and murmurs tucked between fervent kisses as you dress. Fabric sticking to damp skin as his hands roam. Frenetic movements as he backs you up against the car, the coolness of it causing you to shiver. 

“You should do it,” he rasps against your lips. “The Italy thing, you always loved it there.”

“How did you–” you sputter.

You can’t see him roll his eyes, but you just know. “Nance, who else?” 

The warmth of Steve’s body burns against you, a hand threading through your hair half-convinced the moon is hiding there, hanging like a jewel in the night. And you’re a mess when you kiss him. Your breath is warm and so sweet, and the center of his chest squirms like something alive. 

In that moment, you love him but can’t tell him, not yet. You decide the sun that will kiss freckles to his face will do it for you.   

The song of summer sings out as you load your suitcase into Nancy’s car a few days later. The trunk slams closed and your back is pressed against his chest, his arm hanging casually around your collar. It is the end of May, the first bloom of summer balmy on your skin.

Steve had not taken the news of Nancy driving you to the airport well.

At all.

A sponged necklace of kisses to your throat as the light creeps in. Sheets kicked to the edge of the bed so you’re tangled up in him. Skin already glinting gold in the summer sun. Twisting in his hold, desperate to glance at the time. “Steve,” muffled against the heft of his shoulder, “I gotta go, Nance will be here soon.” 

The turn of his weight bearing down, trapping your body under his. A cruel circle of his hips has you shuddering. His breath ghosts along your skin, “Baby, baby please.” Nose trailing down from your sternum to the swell of your stomach. Pausing there for lips to lave kisses on the curves that trailed to your hips. 

Eyes dark and heady with promise, “Just a taste.” Lips and mouth delving lower now, fingers parting the cleave of your cunt with a squelch. He hooks them back into his mouth with a groan. “Mmm,” he slurs, drunk off your arousal. “You taste good, sweetheart,” His nose bumps against your clit, “Like honey.”

Breath stuttering in the cage of your ribs, you fist his hair in one hand and tug. Steve moans overtly, pupils blown wide while he’s face deep in pussy. “Steve,” Your voice trembles. He glances up, smoldering and glorious, drinking you up. “Ah—fuck,” before you’re overtaken again.

You’re desperate, and he can hear it in your voice. A quiver in your throat, you swallow thickly mouth falling open in a pant. His fingers work into you easily, dragging exquisitely along your channel—warm and wet, only growing more so with every thrust of his hand. You mewl, hips bucking up as he sucks your swollen clit. 

Legs thrown over his shoulders, as he cants your pelvis forward, arm heavy against your stomach to bully you in place. “Sweet girl,” He coos, lips ruddy and wet with your slick. “Doin’ so well for me.” You shiver in his hold, sunbeams hazy with orange glow, the refracting light makes a halo to crown him and for a second you feel blind.

Then you feel something pulled taut in your belly. A chord stretching like a rubber band before it snaps. The wind up is excruciating, Steve’s litany of devotions falling in hushed murmurs from his lips. His fingers plunging up into the chasm between your legs, pulling away wetter each time.

He bends back down, tongue circling your clit at a dizzying pace. A third finger slides in impossibly, a keen igniting from your throat—high and whimpering. God, you’re so close. You babble, hands scrambling purchase against his dewy skin.

“Come,” he commands, “Come for me right now and I’ll fuck you through it, how you like. Then I’ll make you come again and we can go.”

“Oh my god,” you thrash on the bed, hair sticking to the sheen of your face, hanging on by a thread as his fingers drive into you, on a mission to break either the bed frame or your brain, both were fine. In a rush. Can’t quit now. A little bit more. Your entire body is folded against him, insides fluttering desperately, maddeningly.

“Everyone’s gonna know,” Steve promises, “You stumbling in there.”

The image flashes through your lust-addled brain, the telltale sign of him screwing you stupid— lips swollen, legs wobbly, outfit crumpled up, smelling like him and sex in front of all your friends.

“You want it, don’t you, want them to know you’re all mine?” He smears your wet around the sides of your cunt— spit, slick— up to your clit. And then he pushes you like a button, flicking the pad of his thumb upwards and grins at the way you jerk in time.

“Stevie,” you mewl, “Steve.” The syllable breaks, your panting comes out in choked babbling.

You drily sob out something broken, a tiny echo of affirmation as he keeps fucking into you like he could break through. He’s really abused your pussy this morning, maybe gone too far, but every time you come like this, it’s like he’s seeing something holy. 

“Oh my god…!” It’s a small shout as you shatter, and it makes Steve’s spine light up as you rub your face further into the pillow.

“Praying to me, sweetheart?” but doesn’t stop those tiny, hard circles, doesn’t stop melting into your body, his dick pulsing as he ruts against the sheets. “You can keep doing that,” he urges, “I like that.”

So, you’re not surprised when the two of you stumble into a nearly finished breakfast, as predicted, in a terrible disarray, and Robin crosses herself before promising, “I’m getting you two a goddamn chastity belt.”

On the couch, Eddie clicks the remote to a new channel, snapping his ring-clad fingers with an offhanded, “A-fucking-men.”

As much as you tried to tell yourself that this wasn’t goodbye but instead see you soon, it didn’t stick. But the ache in your gut did—low and menacing, growling like an animal. 

Eddie and Robin were easy, promises to stay in touch and bring back the best candy. Your parents were less so, tight hugs and dried tears on cheeks. 

Steve, however, you needed to brace yourself for. Short of chaining yourself to Nancy’s car, you weren’t sure how you’d escape with your dignity intact. He was already kissing on you, soft and sweet, as Nancy slid into the driver’s seat while Eddie and Robin waved goodbye walking back inside.

You slip from his grasp in a flash, pulling him by the belt loops to knock hips. “Stevie, lover mine,” you sing, his palms cupping your ass as his hands slide into your back pockets.

Lover.

What a word.

You think about it every waking second—the way he stretches in the morning, how he sings in the shower, dances in the kitchen, smiles and beams at anyone who passes by—how good he is.

How you love him.

“Mm—” raspy, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Feet walking you closer and closer and you’re pressed against him. Nosing along the column of his neck, nipping at the delicate skin there, watching as his throat bobs when he swallows. 

Hands free themselves from denim confines, a thumb caresses the small of your back. Steve pries your hand from his chest, and brings it to his mouth, placing a tender kiss against your palm. 

You hum as his lips brush your skin, observing as he meanders to the thin flesh of your wrist. Hazel eyes near golden in the morning sun as Steve looks to you, face open and fond. Lips featherlight when they kiss your thundering pulse.

Only then do you start to break. 

You thought you were prepared. But it steals the breath from your lungs, levelling you to ruin, a creeping sense of hopelessness in its wake. 

He’s quick to notice, crushing you to his chest and hand cradling your head. Soothing murmurs of “S’okay honey, we’ll be alright,” and the rasp of your name. Fingers brushing hair from your face with a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And it is hard to leave him, but you can do difficult things.

Forehead bent to yours, back warm in the sun’s decorous rays, a searing tear-laden kiss and you’re off. Turned back in your seat to see him recede in the distance until he’s a mere speck on the horizon as Nancy tugs you forward.

All the goodbyes had all been said, save one thing lodged in the depths of your throat. 

I love you. 

[hashtagloveloses]

the WORST part about enjoying star wars is that one movie or tv show or comic or book or video game could objectively be the most terrible thing you've ever consumed or it's just not really anything special to you but it'll have like 1 scene or character or quote or shot or piece of music that is one of your FAVORITES in all of star wars. you walk up to any star wars fan and ask them what their favorite moment in their least favorite part of star wars is and they will have an answer ON HAND. and the answer is always something usually HUGE they'll be like "this movie made me wish star wars had never been made but this one scene changed who i am as a person" or like "this narrative decision was probably the worst ever put on film but it's the reason i met my spouse" and it never stops. something new will come out and you'll be like "oh that disney+ series number 10 thousand wasnt that great or necessary tbh but there was one moment that legitimately moved me and i hate that" and you just have to live with that. enjoying star wars is a fucking curse

[sydsaint]

back at it again with sexy hyprocrite man

Summary; The reader tries their best to stay away from Punk. But the mans charm and charisma is undeniable, and maybe even irresistible.

"Don't you dare shake his hand?" You mumble to yourself backstage. 

Out in the ring, live on Raw, CM Punk stands with Adam Pearce. Pearce holds an exclusive Raw contract in his eager hands. He already lost Randy to Nick Aldis on Smackdown. So he can't lose Punk. No matter what. 

"You alright, Y/N?" Seth sees the distressed look on your face as he's passing through the room and decides to see what's up. 

"Hmm?" You turn away from the monitor. "Oh, hey, Seth." You greet him. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just...him." You nod to the monitor. 

Rollins glances at the TV and chuckles. "So you're not on the Punk bandwagon either huh?" He asks you. 

"Yeah...not really." You chuckle, your mind heavy with thoughts of your eventful weekend. 

It's been about a month since Punk made his triumphant return to WWE. And he's been the talk of the wrestling world since. Both bad and good opinions regarding his return. You knew Punk 10 years ago during his original run in the WWE. And it's safe to say that he hasn't changed much. Sure, he's older and debatably more wise than before. But to you, he's the same old self-centered charmer that he was 10 years ago. An egotistical man that knows the power he holds over his fans. Especially the women. And that long list of fangirls that are unable to resist that charming smile and puppy-dog eyes includes you. 

"Well, great minds tend to think alike." Rollins jokes with you. 

You and Seth stand and chat for a few minutes, and thoughts of having to deal with Punk on a weekly basis exit your mind. That is until that enticing voice of his carries into the room while Seth is chatting with you about his new opponent for his title belt. 

"Y/N, sweetheart. What a pleasure it is running into you here." Punk saunters over to you once he comes through the curtain. "I missed you over the weekend, gorgeous. You must have slipped out while I was in the shower. Which was lame, by the way. I had the perfect breakfast plans for us." He explains with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

"The weekend?" Seth furrows his brows at you. "Breakfast?"

You bite your lip in embarrassment and frustration. When Punk showed up at Survivor Series last month the last thing you thought was that you'd end up back in the bastard's clutches. But here you are. 

"You're an insufferable asshole." You grit your teeth at Punk. 

"And you'll be in my hotel room tonight screaming my name regardless." Punk replies with a wink. 

Seth turns fully to you with a perplexed look. "You're sleeping with him, Y/N?" He asks you. 

"Yeah...kind of." You nod. 

"Oh, she's sleeping with me all right." Punk laughs, clearly having fun. "And she's enjoying every second of it." 

You roll your eyes and meet Punk's gaze. "Screw you, Phillip." You cut your eyes at him. 

"All you have to do is ask, sweetheart." Punk replies. "And now that I'm officially a member of the Raw roster we can have a lot more quality time together." He adds. 

"Yeah, I'm going to take off." Seth steps back. "I'll see you later, Y/N." He pats your back with a friendly smile before walking off. 

You nod to Seth and watch him walk off before you turn back to Punk. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" You ask him with an accusatory glare. 

"More than you know, sweetheart." Punk grins. "Now! You and me? My locker room?" He licks his lips. "Or do you want to wait for tonight where you can put those lungs to good use?" He asks you. 

"I hate you so fucking much." You groan and roll your eyes at him. 

Punk continues to grin at you. "And that's why the sex is so good." He chuckles. "So come on." He reaches out and grabs your chin gently, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "Let's go have some fun." 

"I've got work." You swat his hand away. 

"Too bad." Punk frowns. "Sex after listening to the crowd is always more fun." He teases you. 

You bite your lip again, frustrated with yourself. Why does he have to be so charismatic? Why do you have to be so addicted to him? Why him? Of all people? Why, CM Punk?'

You spend the rest of your night at work thinking about Punk, much to your dismay of course. But try as you might, he's got his hooks in you good this time. There's no escaping his charms and undeniable cavorka. Not this time. 

After the show, you head back to the hotel and are making your way to your room when you remember the one that Punk is staying in. It's on the same floor as yours conveniently. And you have to pass his in order to get to yours. Almost like he planned it. 

"Come on Y/N." You scold yourself when you find yourself stopped in front of his door. 

Hating yourself on the inside, but unable to stop yourself, you knock on the door. 

"Well well well, look who finally decided to show up?" Punk answers the door almost immediately. 

"I hate you." You complain but step toward the door anyway. 

"I know." Punk laughs and outstretches a tattooed arm. 

He loops a finger through the loop of your jeans and yanks you inside the room. The gesture makes your heart skip a beat. 'He's so fucking hot.' You think to yourself. 'Just one more time.' You tell yourself. 'One last night and then I'm done.' You insist silently. 

But you've always had a bad habit of lying to yourself at times like this, haven't you? 

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

I don’t want to hear thoughts... Unless they’re yours

Chapter 5:  A connection       18+ (Please be aware that there is explicit content here) Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader Word count:3.7k I woke up 2 days after posting this and my first thought was: I didn’t put any warnings! Yes, I’m that girl...So here they are:  Warning: NSFW, 18+, lesbian relationship, oral, fingering, voyeurism, use of butt plug, a little edging, Mommy!Kink, top!Wanda, Bottom!Reader Summary: Wanda wanted to live the normal life she was never afforded, but something was always missing. Something she denied herself and buried deep inside. But watching you move next door, she quickly realizes that this may not be possible for much longer. Especially with all the interesting things she found in your thoughts. Chapter summary: Without any plans for the day, you let your mind wander and when good books are no longer enough, you give in to what your body craves... Little did you know, that your favourite new neighbour was listening in, craving the exact same thing you did.   Part 1; Part 2; Part 3, Part 4; Part 5; Part 6, Part 7; Part 8; Part 9; Part 10 Series materlist                                     Masterlist of all my works

Sunday suddenly felt empty when you had no plans for the day and you started lazily. You made yourself some coffee and drank it, while looking through social media, watching your friends post pictures with their happy faces tagged at places you used to go together. It was depressing and you decided you would stay away from it, not wanting to invite in feelings of loneliness or sadness. For a moment you considered catching up to some work, but quickly decided against it. You felt anxious just thinking about how much you had left to do and this was your only day left for a break before you had to go in the office again, so whatever monstrous pile of emails you had to face, you’d do so tomorrow. Catching up to reading, a pile of books already waiting for you, presented itself as most appealing and you picked the top one, finding your last page and loosing yourself entirely. At home, Wanda listened excitedly while you read, enjoying the narration while she completed her own choirs, doing laundry and the many dirty dishes she never seemed to stop generating, cleaning the kitchen and all the other things that always needed doing in a household. Your voice had become such a big part of her day now, she hated how much you were gone during week days. You were having a fairly normal day as well, burying yourself in your normal activities, every once in a while dipping in the pool to cool down from the heat. By the afternoon, you were bored, Wanda could tell. She had just put down the boys for an afternoon nap, deciding to tune in and see what she missed from the book, when she realized you were no longer reading at all. You were trying to find something interesting to watch, but she could feel you were frustrated. She was about to delve in a bit deeper, trying to find out what bothered you, when you suddenly switched the TV off entirely, sighing deeply even within your own mind and lying down on the couch, closing your eyes. Your mind stayed blank for a few long moments, while Wanda descended the stairs of her house, sitting on her living room couch, just as you had done. She was thinking of some excuse she could use to come over, ease your mind or simply give you her company, when your mood changed and the blankness that surrounded you started to change into images that quickly came to life. In your mind you were in your bedroom, wearing nothing but a skimpy, red lingerie set. The bra was covered in lace and it lifted your breasts like an offering, while the lacy panties accentuated your ass perfectly. You were stunning as you lay across your bed, your hair fanning around you. A woman stood nearby, considering her actions for just a moment, before she walked towards you and sat on the bed, her hands immediately finding your thigs and starting to stroke your heated skin. Her touch made your eyes fly open and you looked up to her, smiling as she leaned down to kiss your lips. Wanda quickly realized where this fantasy was going to lead up to and she contemplated her choices, considering if she should just pull away and give you the privacy you deserved, her hands twisting in a nervous manner. She wasn’t proud of this, but her curiosity and lust quickly won over that thought and she headed back upstairs, entering her bedroom, locking the door swiftly and lying on top of the covers. The last time she couldn’t get a second alone, but now? Now there was nothing standing in her way and you were just impossible to resist. Fuck, you were wearing her favorite color, as if waiting just for her. How could she deny herself this treat? The woman you conjured up for yourself had black hair, chocolate eyes and full, luscious lips, painted in dark red lipstick. She wasn’t much taller than you, but she easily commanded respect, her voice sharp and deep. She wore a tight black pencil skirt and a pristine white shirt, completed with high heels. She was beautiful, it wasn’t hard to notice and from the first moment Wanda saw this woman she could tell that this wasn’t random. In your head the kiss turned heated, making you pull the woman towards you as much as you could. She put a single finger under your chin and made you face her, her eyes full of fire. She had a permanent smile on her face, one of calm superiority as she took you in. “Well?” She asked calmly. “Go on sweetheart, tell Mommy what she wants to hear and you can have what you want.” She spoke in the same level, honeyed voice. “I need you, Mommy.” You told her without hesitation. “Please, I need you.”   She examined you for a few seconds at that, as if she could tell if you were lying, before she straddled you, pressing herself against your body and kissed you, easily dominating the kiss and stealing your breath away. “Say that again.” She demanded as her eyes trailed lower for the first time during your encounter. “Please, Mommy, I need you.” You practically begged, your arms wrapping around the woman’s waist and keeping her close. Her next kiss was almost bruising, her tongue delving into your mouth and making you melt. You easily surrendered to her, no fight or resistance even crossing your mind. You knew she always won. You knew that every time you tried, she put you back in your place, made you wait for what you really craved and right now you didn’t want to wait at all. In her bed, Wanda felt the unsettling feeling in her chest of her heart protesting your connection with this woman that she knew nothing about and her gut filled with jealous rage that it was her filling your thoughts and not Wanda and she made a mental note to search your brain for her identity. If she had competition for your affections, she certainly wanted to know, because everything inside her screamed that she could be so much better, she could make you feel so much more, she could offer you extasy you never even dreamt of… If only you’d let her have you. Despite that, her body ached for attention. After the last time she saw one of your fantasies, she had been on edge, waiting for the next one. She had watched you all week, parading yourself in revealing outfits and showing off your body. At the pool, she had grown wet just imagining you being hers. She had been plagued by thoughts of you, plagued by lust and need and she had waited for this moment. Her clit was twitching just from seeing you in your underwear and her walls pulsated around nothing as she imagined it was her kissing you. She was desperate to be touched for days while she waited for you. Now that this was happening, nothing was going to take this away from her, so she ignored the woman’s presence and focused entirely on you, imagining that it was her you were offering yourself to. The woman’s lipstick smeared on your lips, so red and taunting Wanda with its presence, as your mommy undid your bra and threw it carelessly on the floor, her eyes taking in your erect nipples. Her fingers tweaked them for a moment, before she pulled her hands away, making you arch your back to chase after her touch. It was a small action, but Wanda admired the grace of it and she traced your body with her eyes, finding that you had a very realistic vision of yourself. In their thoughts, most people saw a glorified idea of who they wanted to be, but she remembered every curve of your body from yesterday and you were just as perfect in real life as you were in your fantasy, and Wanda felt dangerously close to losing control. She felt the threat of losing the patience she so dutifully practiced. She could easily take over this fantasy, take the place of the woman on top of you. She would be able to feel every touch, every caress, every kiss, she could have you in a snap of her fingers. It would be so easy to make it happen. The old Wanda certainly would. But the person she was trying to be, couldn’t do that to you. Struggling with her power wasn’t new to her. Morality easily blurred when you could have anything, make anything come true with the snap of your fingers. Right and wrong were concepts more easily seen by those without power. For the rare few like her, who could bend reality itself, making good choices was a matter of will and she currently had to exert all of hers, just to keep herself from taking you. She couldn’t violate you in such a way, couldn’t take advantage of you, when you didn’t know what was even going on. It hurt how much she actually wanted to take the place of the imaginary woman, but she knew it shouldn’t happen. Especially not if she wanted to have the real you some day. Hopefully soon. With a sigh, Wanda tried to make herself comfortable on her bed, knowing it was probably impossible, when she couldn’t do the things she wanted. She made her clothes disappear with a flick of her wrist, not wanting anything to get in her way and she watched as the woman in your fantasy continued to massage your breasts. “Always so responsive.” The woman spoke, her voice like liquid chocolate, thick and sweet and making you want more. “That’s just for me, isn’t it?” She asked with a sly smile. Enjoying her touch and completely forgetting yourself, or perhaps on purpose, you ignored her words, moaning at her touch and biting your lips in a way that had Wanda wanting to lean down and kiss them herself. To kiss them until they were swollen and sore and all you could taste was her. “I asked you a question.” The woman snapped, a slap landing on one of your breasts swiftly and making you snap to attention. “I expect an answer.” She added, brow rising, although she didn’t seem at all angry at you. “Unless you want me to leave?” “That would be a shame.” You smiled at her coyly. Her slap hadn’t hurt at all, there was no sting to her actions, just efficiency. “I know.” The woman smiled. “So be a good girl. Unless you want me to make you behave?” She suggested, raising an eyebrow at you. “No, I just want you.” You rasped and you watched the woman’s smile grow into a grin. “That’s my girl.” She praises softly, leaning down to kiss you once more. She trailed kisses down your neck next, sometimes biting the soft flesh only to soothe it with her tongue, moving even lower to spread kisses across your collarbones and the tops of your breasts, her lipstick littering your skin in red marks in the shape of her lips. God, Wanda wanted to make them disappear. She wanted to take over and cover you with marks of her own, hickeys and bruises that will linger, so she could admire them long after she’s had her way with you. The woman continued her path down, her lips closing around one of your erect nipples, sucking on it gently and letting it out with a pop, happily running her tongue over it as she watched you. You liked the sight of it. It was almost as arousing as the feeling it caused and she repeated the action with the other, massaging and kissing your breasts, before she made her way down your body. Your tummy was ticklish, so she was careful, her hands holding you down so you wouldn’t escape her as she made her way even lower, skipping the place you wanted her most. She kissed your thighs slowly, but firmly, nipping at them and drawing out pleasured moans and gasps, her lipstick marks, now much fainter, still showing her path across your body. Teasingly, slowly, as if to taunt your need, as if to drive Wanda crazy for having to wait, your mommy played with your panties, running her hands over your clothed pussy and leaving kisses. Her hot breath and the light pressure of her lips against your sex had you squirming with need, an outline of a wet patch forming and getting more prominent by the minute, but she didn’t seem to care. She loved teasing you. And when she had enough, she pulled the fabric to the side, only to find a surprise in the form of a small jeweled butt plug inside you.   Wanda gasped at the sight, her pussy twitching in reaction and she hurried to appease her body, starting slow circles against her clit. So you’d let her have all your holes, she thought happily, smirking at the idea. God, the possibilities. She’d have to buy some more fun toys for you. “Is this for me?” The woman asked in a low voice, her thumb putting pressure on the toy as she looked at you, causing a stifled moan to escape you. “All for you, Mommy.” You confirmed happily and she gave you an approving hum. Not wanting to waste any more time, the woman, swiped her tongue over your clit and sighing at your delicate taste. She lapped up your juices with a devilish smirk, the small plug helping her flood your senses with pleasure. She knew you needed so much more of her and she loved that she got to build you up slowly, only providing real stimulation when she’d licked you clean. “Remember the rules, dear. Good girls ask for permission when they want to cum.” Your Mommy reminded, finally wrapping her lips around your clit and starting to circle her tongue over it, making you arch your back in pleasure. God, you were a tease. Wanda would have made you cum already and she’d be bending you over for round two by now. Waiting for you, she hadn’t gotten any relief and despite her efforts to pace herself, she wanted to cum. But she wanted to do it with you and with all her magic surrounding you, she knew you weren’t there yet and your slow pace was frustrating her. Lost in the throws of passion, you let the imaginary woman play her game, your real body playing along. You stimulated yourself to the images in your head, your orgasm building steadily, until you were at the edge, your muscles tightening in anticipation. “Mommy, can I please cum?” You begged the woman between your legs, ready to explore, Wanda close behind you and waiting for the moment she’ll get her patience rewarded, but the woman pulled away. “No.” She responded simply, licking her lips from your arousal and the real you did as you were told, your hands pulling away from your pussy and riding the edge. Disappointingly, infuriatingly, Wanda pulled her own hands away as well, waiting for that edge to pass as she watched you. You seemed to enjoy the game, but she quickly realized it was because you knew you’d make yourself finish in the end. She’d have to show you what real edging feels like when it’s her turn, but for now she wanted this first time to be on your terms. To reach that moment of bliss and share it with you, so she watched as the woman finally pulled down your panties and started to tease you again, this time using her fingers. The woman used a single finger at your opening, dipping it in your wetness. “Do you want me inside you, pretty girl?” She asked, as if she couldn’t see the way you bucked your hips. “Please, Mommy, please, I want you inside me.” You begged, sighing in satisfaction as she sunk inside you. Your mommy entered you slowly, your pussy gripping her tightly. She worked it in and out of you, watching you moan and squirm, your real hand matching her movements. It wasn’t enough, you needed so much more, but your mommy wanted to stretch you out properly, playing with the plug inside you just as much as she did your pussy, only allowing you two fingers when you begged her. Wanda watched the fingers spread your walls, entering you smoothly, accommodated by your pussy. They fit snugly inside you and she marveled at how tight you were. God, she could only imagine how you’ll feel around her own digits. Or better yet, how well she’ll stretch you with her cock. A spell could even help her feel you through the toy. Oh, you’d feel so good wrapped around her, she just knew it. All doe eyed and full of lust and longing, while she thrust herself deep inside you… Fuck, if you let her do that, she’d never let you go. She knew she could do it, make you feel more pleasure than you’ve ever known. The possibilities were endless for her, she could do things no other lover ever could or would do for you. The voice inside her head, entirely her own, told her that she could ruin you. Wanda could make you beg to be fucked, to be touched, to be hers. As she thought all that, she reached down between her spread legs, playing with her wetness, before she entered herself, just as she watched you get filled up. It didn’t take long for another orgasm to build within you, the woman’s fingers curling deliciously to hit your sweet spot had you on the edge in minutes and Wanda braced herself for it, focusing on you, so she wouldn’t miss the moment. “Mommy, can I please cum? Please!” She heard your sweet voice, begging for release, the anticipation building and making you cry out, when the woman pulled her fingers away. “Not like that.” She said, her voice rough. She waited for the orgasm to subside, tweaking your nipples and rubbing the pad of her thumb over the plug, making you grow needier and admiring the view of you in such a state. You were a desperate mess, your pussy leaking juices and achingly clenching in an attempt to relieve the built up tension within you. “You want to cum?” She asked in a growl, her fingers playing with the plug. “Yes, please!” You begged, your back arching, until she pressed you back down. “I bet you wanted me in your tight little hole as well. Isn’t that why you put that little toy inside?” She asked in mocking pity. “Well, I’m not that nice. You can either have the orgasm you begged me so much for and I’ll keep that toy in there, until I decide I want to use you again, or I’ll play with it now and you’ll stay edged until I decide you deserve to cum. What will it be, honey?”   In her bed, Wanda groaned at the words. As much as she appreciated the twistedness of it, something she herself might have done, she wasn’t going to be able to wait much longer and she hoped to God you wouldn’t make her edge herself yet again, her breath caught in her throat as she waited for your answer. “I want to cum, Mommy, please!” You begged, your voice shaky and uneven and the woman smirked. “Have it your way.” She said, as if this wasn’t what she intended, her fingers returning on your pussy once more, circling your clit a little, before they entered you again, making you gasp. She moved them in and out of you steadily, hitting the perfect spot inside you every time and making you see stars. Your hands gripped the sheets in a futile attempt to ground yourself, but it was useless. The woman leaned down, her tongue joining her efforts and in her bed Wanda did the same, pumping inside herself and circling her clit with her other hand, feeling herself get impossibly close and knowing that you were too. She could feel you. The real you, hidden away in your home, doing exactly the same thing Wanda did and the sorceress found a twisted pleasure in such a connection. She could feel you, feel all that energy inside you, while your mind painted the prettiest picture of yourself getting fucked, a private show just for her and she was beside herself with pleasure. “Mommy, I’m gonna…” You almost screamed, reaching your peak for the third time and allowing yourself to fall over the edge in an orgasm that shook you completely. In her bed, Wanda fell apart as well, having one of the most intense orgasms of her life. A pulsing pleasure that started at her core and spread over her entire body. It kept coming in waves, and she barely stifled her moans at the sheer strength of it, riding it out at the image of your writhing body. When both of you calmed down, she was surprised to see you still inside the little fantasy, your physical body content, but your mind still lingering there. The woman pulled away from your body, looking proud of herself and she crawled up to you, giving you a gentle kiss on the lips, her palm caressing your cheek softly, before she put two fingers under your chin and made you face her. “When I get back, I better find that gem exactly where it is.” She reminded you with a smile, the fantasy starting to slowly disappear as you watched her walk away.                                                    *             *             * Now, fully alone, Wanda sighed. That experience was better than she hoped for. It felt earth-shattering. She felt like she really connected with you, like she really shared something meaningful with you. Yes, that might have been a little delusional, you had no idea she was spying on your private thoughts, but she couldn’t help how she felt. She wanted to be close to you and as she relaxed into her bed, actually weightless and satisfied, she thought that this truly would be a wonderful day. _______________________________________________________ I know I made you guys wait for this one, but the chapter is finally here and I’ll start working on the next one as well.  Wanna tell me what you think of it?

[noahsartt]

My reservations with the 2022 Interview with the Vampire tv series:

My thoughts on amc’s Interview with the Vampire (2022) tv series compared to the 1976 source material and what I liked about the 1994 movie.

Some reflections before the second season airs. I watched the series as it was coming out in 2022, so these thoughts have been sitting for over a year.

This is a subjective critique of the show, not me hating on it. I liked the show a lot & watched it twice. Many of the key changes were extremely creative ways of exploring those characters from new perspectives, instead of just pointlessly remaking something that's been done before. Distinct creative change should be the basis of every remake, no point is making something 'new' if there's nothing new about it. This show knew that, and the changes for the most part were written beautifully. ...But the movie is still my favourite despite its many flaws. Camp classic right there.

Issues with the show:

Making it take place 100 years later, it ruins the specific aesthetic of the book for me. (But I understand they had to in order to re-write Louis & Claudia as black).

Aging up Claudia. The way Bailey Bass played Claudia was amazing, no notes at all for her. I just wish they kept her younger because that was a very symbolic part of what made Claudia’s original character so tragic. She suffers in an entirely different way to Louis because of her age. New Claudia is supposed to be in the body of a 14 year old, but the actress was 18/19 so she looks much older already,  and no matter how well she played it, the age factor can’t be helped. Being stuck eternally in the body of a 5 year old (book) is so different to a 14 year old, who looks much older (tv show). Kirsten Dunst who was 10 in the movie, was able to play the little child - adult vampire progression a lot better. People say Claudia's original age is too 'disturbing' to see on screen... but that's the character...

Daniel being old… WHY?? Just so they could tie together the storyline or him meeting Armand multiple decades before ???? I only read IWTV and some of the TVL so I don't know everything that happens down the line for him, or what amc plans for the character in the show... but I don't understand the aging up except for 'diversity' reasons. Which, ok, but just to check a box? Louis and Claudia's race change make sense as a creative decision. But the Daniel in the book and film is a 20-something year old which is why he's so fascinated by Louis' 'gift', and doesn't understand the message Louis is sending, instead wanting to become a vampire too. Why would old Daniel want those same things? Changing Daniel's age is such an inherent thing... it's like if they didn't make Lestat blond. Eric Bogosian plays him funny though, I will say that. Christian Slater kind of just sat there.

Louis having no money and needing Lestat's financial support for his business ventures????? When it’s supposed to be Lestat leeching off Louis' estate … WHY. Why did they change something so fundamental about their dynamic. Lestat moves in because he needs wealth and Louis has it. And then he starts acting like it's both of theirs and Louis just lets him. Funniest thing ever. But in the show Louis moves in with him instead. That's just wrong.

Louis asking (basically begging) Lestat to make Claudia when Lestat is supposed to be the one to do it in order to ensure Louis doesn't leave him. Another fundamental part of their relationship that just got flipped around completely... and for what? Why did it change the things it didn't need to?

Antoinette... girl why are you there... we don't need more characters. Go away.

The guy that Louis gets with to make Lestat jealous …. why is he there either? In the book they don't need to bring other people in to irritate each other.

One of the most perfect scenes from the film was when Lestat was tormenting that girl and trying to get Louis to kill her. The show’s version with the opera singer wasn’t the same. The original scene is such a good depiction of their dynamic with each other: Lestat's eccentric killing methods and Louis’ shame and guilt. The show’s version didn’t live up to it. That scene was so excellent in what it set out to do. It captured their back and forth in such a simple way. That dynamic follows them forever, even as Louis begins to accept his nature, that spark of annoyance towards Lestat is ready to become a full fire at any moment. That scene is enough to be a full character study. The show has little bits here and there which capture something similar. But they should have recreated that scene at least.

Claudia and Lestat's relationship evolving from enjoying each others company and similarities, to detesting each other and competing for Louis’ affection. They didn’t spend enough time on Lestat and Claudia’s relationship in the show to fully demonstrate that, only a few scenes of them driving together and hunting together at the beginning. Even the two hour movie found a way to intergrade that better. Their relationship and the way Claudia is so starkly similar to Lestat when they move to Paris, is one of the my favourite parts of the book to analyse. Louis leaving Lestat and moving all the way across the ocean, only to be reminded of him in everything Claudia did. The show did have some purposeful parallels between Lestat and Claudia in the dialogue which I appreciate, I hope that continues in season 2.

Louis being in on Claudia's plan to kill Lestat and even being the one to finish off Lestat when it’s supposed to be Claudia’s idea on her own...?? Lestat's death is supposed to be an "ok, I guess that was necessary, time to move on with our lives now," moment for Louis. But he wasn't supposed to have the courage or the want to be the one to do it himself. He was hesitant and regretful in the show, but he still slit his throat... it was supposed to be Claudia alone. Credit where credit is due, the scene was beautifully filmed, the red blood on white cloth looked incredible and the entire scene captured the tone of devastation that the movie didn't. It was all very quick and emotionless in the movie.

Even though I hate Br*d Pitt's acting, his Louis was way more accurate to the book Louis. He basically was the embodiment of book Louis. Just sad and whiny the entire time. New Louis had more to him, I think Jacob Anderson even said in an interview that it was a purposeful decision to give Louis more grit. It's not a change I appreciated because it alters the original character too much. You can't change something that fundamental. Just ugh. In the show, Louis is more angry than pathetically sad, it’s very different to how the character was originally written. 

Sam Reid’s Lestat is pretty on the nose but still more serious than the original Lestat & Tom Cruise’s portrayal which was the perfect level of camp and eccentric. Tom cruise was playing Lestat from just IWTV but Sam Reid is playing him with the baggage of his entire life as written in the other books, maybe that's why he is different. Maybe his performance is even better because of it. I haven't read the other books so I can't really say.

I won't say anything about Armand (yet) because he hasn’t had his time to shine. We’ll see after season 2. I loved Antonio Banderas as Armand, and even though he was very different from how book Armand was, it was a change I liked. New Armand is going to be more accurate to the books I believe, but i didn’t like how Armand was there the entire time Louis was being interviewed… why...

Maybe I am one of the few that doesn't overtly appreciate the 'fresh' take of this story. Many of the things that draw me to the book and the movie have been taken away in this adaptation.

---

I recommend this fan fiction that explores the idea of Louis being a person of colour in the context of the original book's 1700s timeline. It explores the intersectionality of Louis' struggle with vampirism, queerness & race while still being authentic to the book. Go read it.

In the Author's words: This is NOT a rewrite of the AMC TV show, nor does it intend to be. This is us making one (subtextually plausible) change to canon in order to 1) explore underlying issues with the source material and 2) see how it affects the way the events of IWTV played out.

Ok that's it. Will maybe add to this when the second season airs. For months, this was just for me in my notes app but what is tumblr for if not to air out my locked away ideas.

[bengiyo]

Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks....

10 Favorite Characters

You asked a broad question, so I hope you’re okay with answers outside of my daily posting. I post a lot about BL on here, but this list is a mild reminder that I am Black. As I’m putting this list together, I’m recognizing a common thread of ruthlessness in these characters that I will have to unpack at some point.

Omar Little (The Wire)

Omar is one of my favorite characters of all time because he was the first sympathetic gay character I ever watched on TV with my dad. As I got older, my dad decided I was old enough and wanted me to watch what he considered to be one of the greatest shows ever made (NOTE: He is correct). I was obsessed with Omar because of his strict code and how gentle and loving he was with his boyfriends. It was amazing to me that we had this powerful gay character in the middle of a modern Greek tragedy and he is one of the most compelling characters ever created in American television.  

Ender Wiggin (Ender’s Game)

One of the sad thing about growing up queer is the people who wrote a lot of your formative works hate queer people. Orson Scott Card was my first major disappointment in this regard. In the 7th grade, I discovered this book in our school library and ended up reading it and the related books multiple times throughout my adolescence.  I was a weird kid who was too smart for my own good. In middle school I struggled with feeling out of place because I was relatively new compared to most of these kids, and my family had me on a specific life track that meant that I had to perform at a high level constantly. I connected with Ender’s isolation and his brilliance. I also connected to his ruthlessness.

Marco (Animorphs)

Animorphs is a pretty dark series for a bunch of elementary school kids to read, but that was K. A. Applegate’s point. War is horrible, and should be avoided. Reading this series is a reading the perspective of child soldiers. There was something about the way Marco always masked with jokes, but was quietly the most ruthless member of their group that means he’s always the one I remember first. There were also the ways he commented on Ax and Jake that just didn’t read straight, and I’ve been relieved that Applegate and the ghost writers have acknowledged the fan read on Marco’s bisexuality. I just love how from appearances at the end of the series Marco is actually okay after all the war, but he absolutely is not.

Benjamin Sisko (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

He was our first Black captain in Star Trek and I will love him forever. He’s also from New Orleans and cooks our food. He’s a devoted father, which was something Avery Brooks requested for the role to make sure we had a positive depiction of Black fatherhood on TV in the 90s. He has an understated spirituality to him. He has grit from facing the ugly side of maintaining a utopia and has an incredible temper that he holds most of the time. He’s a nerd about baseball. He cares about his people and holds firm as their commander. This isn’t a committee for him. He can be so brutal. I love him.

Ghost Dog (Ghost Dog)

Ghost Dog (1999) is one of my favorite movies of all time, and I’ve always loved the version of masculinity Forest Whitaker put into this character. He has a sense of style and flair, and also follows a strict code of conduct. His adherence to his way earned him the respect of everyone in his community, and gangsters in his neighborhood show him admiration and respect. I loved his friendship with Raymond, in which neither knows what the other is saying and yet they are actually on the same page constantly.

Raymond Holt (Brooklyn Nine-Nine)

Yes, this show is copaganda, but I love Raymond Holt so much. I love that Andre Braugher played the Straight Man role in a comedy as a politically out gay man who has such a serious exterior. Holt was so gay in so many ways and I am obsessed with him. He is so deep into his niche interests (like me) and yet he was actually such a great mentor figure to everyone under him. I loved that he and his husband were so devoted to each other but were never depicted as the perfect couple. I love that he has a petty beef with another colleague. He’s just an incredible character.

Kiram Kir-zaki (Lord of the White Hell)

Kiram is the first time I ever realized how deep the programming in speculative fiction to read the protagonist as a white man with brown hair and brown eyes. Kiram is a dark-skinned Haldiim youth with curly gold hair and light eyes. It took me three readings of this book to perceive Kiram properly, and it’s something that has shaken me for a long time. Kiram is brilliant, snarky, and too gay for his own good. He’s also not stupid. I love reading a smart gay character who generally cannot hide who he is doing the work to blend in to a homophobic setting. Ginn Hale also writes gay sex better than some gay male authors.

Kakei Shiro (What Did You Eat Yesterday?)

Honestly, when am I ever not thinking about this man? I love how, even if he can’t immediately give Kenji everything he might want, he gives Kenji all that he can. He couldn’t say he loved Kenji for a long time, but you could feel the love in his cooking. I’m so happy to have this man and his partner back on my screen again. It is just so hard to be gay. I am so relieved that many of the folks reading my posts didn’t suffer The Knowing, because I know that Shiro and I will never be able to get away from what it did to us.

Chiron (Moonlight)

The terrible intersection of poverty, race, and sexuality has never been better exemplified for me than in this film that has no white people in it. There are just so many fewer choices for us, especially if you can’t hide who you are. I love Chiron so much because we see so much of what he was forced to be pushed onto him. There’s something heartbreaking and beautiful that as an adult he resembles Juan, and that he never got over Kevin.  I find it hard to explain why Chiron means so much to me, but I’m black and gay so I don’t always feel like I have to.

Max (Black Sails)

I love Max because she consistently chose to not be cruel when so many others would have. She is not accumulating power for her own ego or to punish those who wronged her. She holds power as a facilitator. History doesn’t remember the facilitators who keep the lights on and make sure the bread gets made every day, but you notice their absence within two days when they’re gone. Max is also funny to me because she and Flint almost never encounter each other, but have caused the other so much grief.

Thank you for the ask!

[forestmossling]

this is fucking- this is just absolutely fucking-

me, holding a dagger to your throat: READ THIS.

this is absolutely astounding. every part of this series, every pov, they’re all just absolute fucking masterpieces. every relationship dynamic, every plot line, all of it is just absolutely perfect.

robin unwillingly hating eddie for filling the place steve left behind, dustin creating a steve character after his death (that had me in a fucking CHOKEHOLD), and don’t even get me started on lucas’ pov. the way i was full-on ugly crying so much i couldn’t fucking see the screen through my tears. when i posted about getting destroyed by mourning in fics, this series was what i was talking about.

hopper being steve’s dad was probably one of the best things in the entire world. there are a lot of fics where hop acts as a father figure to steve, but this - this is IT. grand fucking prix of dad!hopper fanfiction. and steve-will-eleven sibling dynamic exploration is something i would both live and die for.

and THIS. are you fucking kidding me?

the fact that hop not actually being proud of him and not thinking he was brave was steve’s worst vecna-level nightmare? and hop going from not being able to tell steve to his face that he’s proud of him in gulag but finally telling him (where we can see it) during his breakdown?? literally, with all due respect, i am absolutely demolished.

and vecna being “the kid’s literally deaf, how hard can it be?” and eddie going “not on my FUCKING watch, motherfucker”.

the life they built with each other in the aftermath, the STEDDIE - oh my god, THE STEDDIE. the steddie was sure steddie-ing. steve finally accepting that he deserves love and making the first step, eddie NOT making the first step, because he KNEW something was holding steve back (at least that’s my interpretation and i’m sticking to it), all the awkward flirting and the soft moments. just- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHRDSVIDEDHKBDEDFIDDCHJDJSJABAJCODGAHWK.

the way everybody learned asl for steve and even the kids at the library picking it up (and, oh my god, THE LIBRARY. everything about it was just so precious to me), the world the author built around the party, the way it fit so well while not taking away from the main characters.

el/dustin, being an incredibly unexpected, but just as incredibly cute pairing. also, el and steve bonding over being jocks is just amazing and wonderful (i’m not talking about lucas and steve bonding over being jocks because then i’ll just start sobbing again. i will never be the same after the lucas’ pov)

just, i’m dead. @greatunironic, you fucking killed me and i thank you for it.

95438461926840264531438956/10, GO READ THIS. RIGHT NOW.

[mysticficti0n]

All my attention Part 9

warnings- swearing

words- 887

If you'd like to read the previous parts → All my attention series

a/n- so if you're new here I am British and cannot speak any German, I speak a little French, Spanish and Italian but German- no. I also do not trust Google translate so this is gonna be like an avatar thing (if you've seen the newest one Jake says that their language just became normal or something along those lines) so in reality this is all in German, you as a reader know German but, its wrote in English... make sense? no... oh well

(hey I know this is shitty but I swear it'll get better I just felt like writing something so I could carry on the story, I'm so sorry I haven't updated this since 27th June I honestly didn't realise how Long I'd not updated its but love you all and thank you for being so patient♥︎

I hate hate hate part 9 of all my attention and for the likes it's getting I can see not many people are keen with but I PROMISE YOU it's just a part so I can link the next of the series!

thank you and I am sososoososososososos sorry ♥︎)

┍━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━┑

backstory- you are the 5th member of Tokio Hotel and you always thought the love was equally platonic between you and a certain guitarist... but what if that all changed?

I woke up with the sun shining into my bedroom making my walls glow and glimmer "morning babe" I looked next to me where Tom was lay smiling to me

"good morning" I grinned moving to be closer to him even though his arm was still under my head "sleep okay?" I asked pressing a kiss to his lips

"best sleep of my life, your bed is so much comfier than mine" we laughed, his hand moved to draw lazy shapes on my skin "you feeling okay?" he spoke and I just nodded while still watching his features "good" he hummed kissing my forehead

"this is all so crazy" I giggled staring to the ceiling "like who'd a thought? Tom and Y/n" I sighed "I'm not annoyed its happened though- are you?" he scratched his head trying to hide a smile forming on his face "piss off Kaulitz!" I shoved sitting up and crawling off the bed and standing by the window staring at the back yard where the sun was making the grass shine

"god you're so pretty" he breathed getting up too and hooking his arms around my neck and resting next to my head "what do you want to drink?" he asked letting go and grabbing his shirt from my desk

"erm.. my peach ice tea thing, should be in the fridge and I'll make us some breakfast in two seconds I need to wash my face" he nodded taking my hand and pressing a kiss to it before walking down the hallway.

┍━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━┑

10 minuets later I made my way to the kitchen were I saw his frame leant against the counter watching the tv "babe were on the news" my heart dropped- why? why would we be on the news? I quickened my pace and stood by him and watched as our performance was shown on the tv 'Tokio Hotel are the 5th band who have been put forward for the best band in Germany' I turned to Tom who's jaw had dropped like mine

'HOLY SHIT!" I screamed jumping onto him and cheering "WHAT THE FUCK WERE IN FOR AN AWARD!" he nodded jumping us about until hurried knocking came at my front door and we stopped

'"Y/N!" it was Bill, Tom looked to me and I pointed for him to hide in the cabinet under the stairs "Y/N OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR QUICK!" sprinting I shoved Tom into the tiny room and fled to the door whipping it open "have you seen the news?"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!" I squealed grabbing the boys shoulder "I'm shaking right now like holy shit"

"its crazy! and we've been put on news papers and things already! we might actually win!" Bill laughed coming inside and walking to the kitchen "oh is Tom not with you?" he asked and I panicked remembering that his brother was in the cabinet

"erm no unless he's hiding somewhere, I haven't seen him" the black haired boy laughed shaking his head

"what like he's in here?" his hand went to the door knob of the cabinet and pulled it open 'oh shit' "Tom what the fuck are you doing!" Bill nearly screamed "Y/n you said- what the fuck is going on?" Tom stepped out looking to me but I just stood stunned "did you guys fuck?" I felt my cheeks light up red

"Bill thats enough-" I herd a screech come from the singer and then many loud laughs "man just shut up"

"you guys fucked! oh my god- you slept with Y/n!" I stared at Tom who grabbed his brother and tried to shove him out the house "WAIT NO I'M SORRY DUDE! I WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENED" Tom finally let go with a huff and walked back into the kitchen to the living room and fell to the sofa covering his face "so tell me what happened yesterday then" Bill cooed sitting himself across from his brother who looked to me and motioned me to sit with him

"so we went on a date yesterday- our first date and then I brought Y/n home and you know it just all happened from there" Tom breathed grabbing my hand which I gave him squeeze "I'm not even embarrassed or anything I just didn't want to fucking tell you this early after it happened" I nodded understanding what he was trying to get over

"don't tell the others" I began "I know we'll be picked on or something and we really don't need that for when we start our next shows okay and if I find out you've told them I swear to god Bill I'll rip out your eyebrow piercing and shove it up your arse" the boy laughed saying his lips were locked

"I mean us three knew it would happen at some point I mean Georg won the bet" he almost whispered looking away from us with a grin

"you bet on us?" Tom asked with a laugh "fucking weirdos" we all began to giggle and the idea of being betted on like fucking horses

"so what are you guys now?"

[psalmsofpsychosis]

"#Alfred basically catches a lamb and goes

#''you're a beautiful wolf; i know you are; now you're gonna bite my hand until you draw blood so we both believe it;

#because that's the way we know how to be men.''

#and then 10 years down the line he looks at Bruce and he whispers in horror; ''that's a wolf''

#GIRL YES HE IS; YOU MADE HIM ONE. IT WAS YOU"

Your tags are so- Idk I don't have the words. No wait I DO-

THIS IS FREAKING BEAUTIFUL OMG

The way Bruce wasn't born with sharp teeth and claws to defend himself against the world. The place he was born into removed any need to grow them, but at the same time the place he was born into was the catalyst for him to turn into stone. Hard, unyielding to pressure and with its own jagged edges that you can hit until your knuckels bleed.

But the thing about stone is that you can chip away at it until it looks like what you want.

So Bruce was a lamb at the beginning, possessing talc for a heart, easy to rub to dust, but after the murders, he was molded into something different. He grew teeth and claws so big and strong it became difficult to be gentle, his heart was rubbed to dust and reformed and compressed and rubbed to dust and reformed and compressed until it turned into a diamond.

Alfred taught him how to be a wolf but didn't account on what would happen once Bruce's claws were bigger than his own.

CAN YOU TALK MORE ABOUT BRUCE AND ALFRED'S DYNAMIC PLEASE? You're literally rearranging my brain chemistry as I'm typing, wow. This feels so freaking strange. Thank you so so SO much

I wish you an AMAZING day

GOOD MAD MONDAY NOON TO YOU ANON YOU'RE KILLING ME. Like i'm over here lying face flat on the ground, head fucking full 99 thoughts per second this ride is going straight to hell—

You actually made them sound a lot like the Pygmalion myth, which is so right and true and also a very delicately apt interpretation of the way Bruce and Alfred's dynamic unfolds, particularly in Bruce's childhood, and particularly as portrayed in the Gotham series (which is my all time favourite Bruce&Alfred dynamic anyway, so excuse me for being annoying and immediately nosedive down that rabbithole)

See, to me the thing is, i dont think Bruce and Alfred understand each other at all. They're cut from very different clothes, and Alfred doesn't understand what Bruce /is/, but he understands what Bruce /can become/, maybe even what he's supposed to become, Bruce is the fifth element to him. Combine that lack of understanding and all the love and affection Alfred holds for Bruce and of course he makes a project of perfection out of him; Alfred molds and makes Bruce. Batman as a persona and as a purpose precisely exists *because of the way Alfred raises Bruce*, this is something that Gotham TV puts extra emphasis on. In many ways Alfred does carve Bruce into an idea of perfection, *his* idea of perfection, and Bruce lets him too. This is where stuff get a bit complicated though; Alfred is someone who struggles with his own humanity and darker side. He's so loving and loyal, but he's also bitter and mean with a vicious bite and he handles Bruce with such cold hands sometimes, and he hates every second of it, he hates his own humanity. So he pushes Bruce to get rid of his too, and they have this constant push and pull because Bruce has those exact traits. they're similar not in what they own about themselves, but in their shadows, when the sun shines on them their flawed humanity has the exact same shape and they both don't want a shadow; eventually the way they resolve this is by standing back to back and protecting each other and now they share their shadows and it's not so scary anymore. The Pygmalion myth as a parallel interpretation of their narrative fits so darn well because you are right, Bruce is made into stone and Alfred sculpts him to something beautiful and almost horrifying, almost inhuman, he sometimes forgets that Bruce is a person and not an idea, and it shows. But Bruce breaks mold, he always does, he forces Alfred to live with his own humanity and Bruce's, and this brings up a lot of grief for Alfred, but he loves Bruce so he finds a way to live with it and he does.

The Lamb/wolf metaphor is a different face to this same transformation process; in the early years Alfred has little space for Bruce's terrifying softness, but neither does Bruce. Bruce is scared of his own vulnurability and tenderness, this lamb *wants* to become something else, something less weak and helpless, something that could've saved his parents. He doesn't want to become a wolf persay, but the thing is, he has the makings. This is the reason Alfred can bring it out of him; he very much has the makings of a wolf. to juxtapose it with the pygmalion allegory; you cannot carve out of the stone what is not already in it. (this does bring up the question wether Bruce was ever a lamb at all, but that's a different topic for another day✨️)

anyway yep, i love your mind Anon, and thank you for the question! Hope you have an absolutely wonderful day too ❤️❤️