#Though my first one was one i found in my grandparents closet

[freebooter4ever]

omg yes hi i love him (thats a serious accomplishment those cube fuckers are tricky!!)

[zepskies]

Never Say Goodbye - Part 1

Pairing: Dean W. x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 2,000 Warnings: Some angst

Part 1: Proximity

You’ve grown up watching your parents. At fourteen, you already understood how rare their relationship was—high school sweethearts, married for sixteen years, and certified soulmates.

Apparently it was even more rare to find your soulmate so early in life, but as Mom said, Sometimes the universe helps you out.

But you just started high school, and after surveying the pool of guys you have to work with, you really hope that “universe” stuff is just wishful thinking.

Because just this morning, Danny Schmitt got his hand stuck in the automatic stapler during Math class. Meanwhile, his friends were collecting bets on how many stitches he was going to need once they finally pried his fingers out.

Dad would call those guys dumbasses. You were inclined to agree.

You looked away from the scene (there was a lot of blood, and now your teacher was trying to free Danny with the only tool in the utility closet: a large hammer). But you couldn’t focus on your busy work like your teacher instructed either.

Sometimes, you still found it hard to believe your parents had met in high school. They had such an easy way between them, and not just because they could hear one another’s thoughts.

Mom was a kindergarten teacher, patient, kind, and encouraging. She came from a family of professors and school administrators, who frankly thought she could’ve done more with her life than “wipe five year olds’ noses.” Last Thanksgiving, she smiled and told Great Aunt Janet, “At least my five year olds can wipe their own asses.”

Smirking, Dad had followed up with, “How’s the incontinence, Jan? Ain’t lettin’ up at all?”     

Dad was a cop, though he wasn’t as strict as he could've been. Or as dumb as cops seemed to be in the movies.

No, your dad could be stern, but he was always fair, even if you…didn’t really hang out with him much. Mom was basically your best friend, while Dad was often too busy to know what was going on in your life.

Really, you just couldn’t see what your parents had in common, other than the dusty, midwestern town where they’d grown up. (Speaking of which, you shivered and zipped your coat higher up on your neck. Even indoors, winter in South Dakota was nothing to sneeze at.)

But your parents would share a look sometimes. Your mom would smile, and your dad’s mouth would quirk up at the corner, his eyes softening in a way they only did for her. And then you’d remember that they had their own world that you couldn’t really understand just yet.

“All right,” your teacher said. He wiped sweat from his brow while Danny’s friends carried him off to the nurse’s office. The stapler was in pieces on the floor, but poor Danny still had two huge staples in his index and ring fingers. “I think we’re done for the day. Just finish workbook pages for chapter three and we’ll cover it tomorrow.”

Yes! Math was not your strongest subject, but even you could finish four more square root problems. The teacher’s desk phone rang while you gathered your backpack and books. You were about to leave the classroom when your teacher called you back. You didn’t like the somber look on his face.

“You need to get to the principal’s office,” he said. “Your dad is there waiting for you.”

You didn’t know it then, but today was the day your childhood died—after Dad sat you down and told you what happened to your mom.

Winter in South Dakota was harsh. It could even be dangerous, especially on icy roads shared with grocery truck haulers.

They buried Mom in the same cemetery as your grandparents and your aunt (not Janet, by the way. You didn’t really remember your Aunt Karen, but your dad always avoided talking about his sister). The cemetery was small, but you guessed that made sense for a smallish town like Sioux Falls.

You stayed there until everyone else who loved your mom was gone, and it was just you and your dad left.

You didn’t bother to wipe your tears—not until your dad set a hand on your shoulder. You tried to wipe them away quickly, even though you didn’t really know why you didn’t want him to see you crying. He just gave you this look. In his eyes, you could see every fathom of his heartbreak. In a way, it told you everything you needed to know about your dad.

So you leaned into his side, and he held you close while the icy winds whipped at both of you.

Snow crunched beneath someone’s feet, and you turned to see a man walking down the row of headstones. He looked kind of familiar…

He had a thick beard and wore a baseball cap, but he took it off once he got close enough to pay his respects—first to Mom…then to Aunt Karen.

“Jack,” he greeted with a nod of respect.

You looked up at your dad, and the free emotions he’d been wearing clammed up behind a more familiar stern expression.

“Bobby,” he said, nodding back. Realization finally dawned on you. Oh, Uncle Bobby?

You hadn’t seen your uncle since you were…ten? Probably since Aunt Karen’s funeral.

“I’m real sorry about Christine,” Uncle Bobby said. He sounded a bit gruff, but his eyes were kind when they met yours sympathetically. “About your mom.”

Another tear fell down your cheek, but you nodded and wiped it away, sniffling.

“Thank you,” your dad said eventually. There was a brief, but awkward pause. Then Bobby nodded to himself and walked away, setting that faded blue baseball cap back on his head. You watched him go curiously.

“You remember your uncle,” Dad said. He didn’t seem happy about it.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Why didn’t he stay?”

He was family, after all.

Dad shook his head. There was a wry downturn to his lips. “He’s got a junk heap to look after.”

You frowned in confusion. But he didn’t explain what he meant. He just steered you back toward the car to go home.

Just as you both crossed under the iron arch to leave the cemetery, Dad reached into his pocket and gave you something. Your mom’s wedding ring.

“You can wear it if you want,” he said. “Or just keep it safe. Either way, just remember…she’s still with you. And I’m always gonna watch over you.”

The thought made you feel the slightest bit better, and also worse. Still, you took the ring and held it between your fingers. It was simple sterling silver, but beautiful all the same.

You got into his pick-up truck and he started the drive home. Just as you turned the corner, you hit a red light. You stared out the window as snow started a light fall, flurrying down to the damp pavement. Soon the ground would be icy and wet, and that reminded you of grocery trucks. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you were sick of it. Sick of crying.

It actually annoyed you…or…did it?

A feeling fluttered in your chest. It felt like anxiety and irritation all wrapped up into one. And another feeling, this time attached to a thought. It felt hot in your throat, and a lot like—

It’s not fair!

The thought startled you. Because somehow (and you didn’t know why), it didn’t feel like you were the one that thought it.   

Finally, the street light turned green. It flashed in the corner of your eyes, and then you noticed a sleek, black car coming in the opposite direction. You watched it pass by for a moment, until your dad distracted you with a question.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. You blinked, trying to register what he said while you shook off the weird things you were feeling. Once your brain caught up to your mouth, you were finally able to answer.

“Not really.”

“Come on. I’ll get us a burger.”

You shrugged, but for once you really weren’t hungry.

“Dad, come on,” Dean said in frustration. On one hand, he didn’t want to argue with his dad.

On the other hand, this really wasn’t fair!

He was seventeen already. He’d gone on a handful of hunts with John before, so why not this one?

“Too dangerous,” John said. He looked over at Dean from the Impala’s driver’s seat. His tone boded no further argument. “Djinn are tricky. Even seasoned hunters have trouble with ‘em.”

Dean frowned. “I’m ready, Dad.”

“Do we have to go to Bobby’s house?” Sam piped up from the back seat. At thirteen, he was getting more and more lippy.

“Cheaper than a motel.” John smiled, then glanced at his younger son through the rear-view mirror. “Besides, why not Bobby’s?”

Sam sighed. “His heater doesn’t always work.”  

“Well, I’ll help him take a look before I go,” John replied. Dean stared at the side of his dad’s face for a while, but he knew a lost argument when he saw one.

…Still, he couldn’t help but try.

“Dad,” Dean pressed.

John’s gaze stayed on the road. “Not this time, son. You and Sam’ll be okay at Bobby’s.”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Yeah, bored at Bobby’s. But he knew it was better than being left at a crusty motel room. He was annoyed, but he could deal with it.

Until something else began to creep up in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt since…since his mom died.

It was this ball of lead in his chest, weighing him down and constricting his throat. It felt a lot like…like fear, and sadness. And finally confusion. He was confused?

Maybe.

Sad? Afraid? Not really, no. At least, he didn’t think so. He hadn’t thought about his mom like that in a while…

So what the hell?

Those sensations only lasted for a moment—the time it took them to finally cross the street at the red light and pass a pick-up truck going the opposite way.

But that moment seemed to drag on for minutes. Now he really was confused.

He sat still, hesitating, until the feeling eventually passed.

“Hey, Dean, where’s the Batman comic?” Sam leaned up by his ear to ask.

Dean almost flinched. He played it off though, and turned to look back at his brother.

“It’s in my bag, but wait ‘til we get to Bobby’s.”

“Why? That’s like, a whole ten minutes away,” Sam pointed out.

“Because my bag’s under a ton of stuff back there. Just leave it for a few minutes,” Dean said. He sensed that Sam was about to get all bitchy and not let it go, but then John cut in.

“He’s right, Sam. Just cool it until we get there.”

Sam frowned, slumping into his seat with an annoyed huff. Wanting to tease him out of his kid funk, Dean smirked, reached back and playfully tapped his knee. “Yeah, cool it.”

Sam slapped his hand away. “Stop.”

“Make me, dork.” Accompanied by another teasing flick to his ear. Sam hit him back, and it would’ve devolved into an immature, but not uncommon free-for-all, if not for John’s heavy sigh and a sharp warning.

“Boys, enough!”

Then the car was silent. Sam huffed again and settled back into his seat. Dean tapered down his smile and sat back in his too. He looked out the window and saw the snow beginning to fall. Without meaning to, his mind drifted back to that weird feeling in his chest.

He rubbed his chest absently. But soon enough, he forgot about it. Just like you did.

Neither of you realized exactly what happened that day.

It was the first tug of a lifelong bond, seared into your souls.

AN: Okay, this is my first soulmate AU! Maybe the end was a little melodramatic there lol.

Let me know in the comments what you think! Then keep reading. ;)

Here it is: Part 2.

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[svt-rosalie]

. . . ♡ FAMILY ! ? 🌷 MEMBERS ★ ﾟ๑

ׁ ׅ ୨ ❪ relationships! ❫ ୧ ⊹ ࣪

© 2023 , svt-rosalie rosalie masterlist!

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ NAME — aurore dumont

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ AGE — 49 ❪ march 15, 1974 ❫

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ STATUS — alive

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ FAMILIAL TIES — mother & daughter

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ DESCRIPTION — to say jihye is a mommy’s girl, is an understatement. jihye is her mothers mini me. as a little girl, rosie would take her mothers makeup and dress up in her moms clothes (even though they were a bit too big for her 8 year old frame) and walk down the hall to their living room giving a little runway show, to which her mother would always be her biggest fan and cheer her on.

“oh so gorgeous!” “i have the prettiest daughter in the world!”

as rosalie grew older, her mother became her anchor for teenage years. especially when she became a trainee and was away from her mother for a while (rosalie began living with her grandparents for about a year whilst her parents found a decent house and building for the bakery). there was many late night calls that would lead the poor girl to tears, crying out that she misses her mom. aurore was able to life up her daughter on her dark days and laugh with her daughter on the bright ones and that’s all that rosalie needs.

nothing is more important than the love a mother gives.

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ NAME — park hyeonju

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ AGE — 52 ❪ october 18, 1971 ❫

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ STATUS — alive

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ FAMILIAL TIES — father & daughter

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ DESCRIPTION — hyeonju is a father and everything in between, a best friend, a hype man, and a body guard. now valentine is the biggest daddy’s girl but that doesn’t mean rosalie isn’t next in line in wanting all of her appa’s attention. she loves when her dad ask her to join in on activities he knows she doesn’t enjoy, like going to the hardware store or making renovations to the house, but just wants to spend quality time with her one way or another — and he always goes to the nail salon to get their toes done together after wards. you gotta pamper yourself after all that hard work as rosalie says.

hyeonju always attended everyone of rosalie’s daddy daughter school events and made sure she was the most spoiled girl without making her a brat. she’s his first daughter/child so of course he’s going to make sure she knows she is loved both emotionally and physically. anytime the park family is out on a errands or just to spend family time together, rosalie is always holding her fathers hand or his arm (or on the special occasion he’s giving rosalie a piggy back ride).

rosalie couldn’t ask for a better father, he’s the one there to fight off all the monsters hiding in her closet and hold her close when the nightmares hit too close to home.

“it’s okay my rosebud, flowers can’t bloom without a little rain huh? appa’s here, it’s okay.”

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ NAME — park jiyeong, valentine dumont

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ AGE — 13 ❪ february 14, 2010 ❫

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ STATUS — dead ❪ february 12, 2022 ❫

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ FAMILIAL TIES — little sister & older sister

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ DESCRIPTION — valentine is rosalie’s entire heart, literally. when valentine was born all bets were off — rosalie was obsessed with her and wouldn’t let her out of her sight. she told all her friends and teachers at school that she has a new little sister and that she’s the best thing ever even though she’s stinky sometimes.

valentine grew up basically shadowing everything rosalie did. rosalie went for extra lessons for english, valentine would too even though she liked her french classes more; rosalie would put a little bit of lip gloss on and valentine would always pucker up her lips for some as well saying she wants to be just as pretty as her big sister! everything they did was for each other and with each other, you’d think they were twins.

when rosalie became a trainee, valentine bragged to everyone saying she was going to have the bestest singing sister in the world, mind you valentine was around 3 at this time so all she knew was the videos rosalie would play of girls generation and shinee, so she thought rosalie was going to be the coolest person in the world. she was right.

as valentine grew up and rosalie began to get busier with being an idol, nothing in their relationship changed. rosalie still called every night to her mom and dad and asked for valentine within 5 minutes.

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ NAME — sabrina

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ AGE — 5 years old ❪ 2018 ❫

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ BREED — ragdoll cat, female

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ STATUS — alive

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ DESCRIPTION — sabrina is and always has been jihye’s number one girl. she received sabby as a gift when she was 18 as a birthday gift from her appa after she had been begging for years for a cat. sadly her mama is allergic so her parents had to wait till their oldest was out of the house to allow such a big purchase and why not when she becomes an “adult”!

sabrina only likes rosalie and pixie. anybody that tries to pet her she will hide and slap your hand away (claws not out, she’s not that mean). she’s a sweet girl though, to rosalie, and loves to cuddle and make biscuits. she’ll sleep all night surprisingly and be the most active kitty you’ve ever seen during the day time.

rosalie knows she’ll be heartbroken when sabrina gets older but right now sabrina is still just a little baby who loves to be carried around and played dress up with!

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ NAME — pixie

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ AGE — 2 years old ❪ 2021 ❫

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ BREED — black cocker spaniel, female

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ STATUS — alive

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ DESCRIPTION — pixie is just a little baby. she has no thoughts in her head expect her best friend sabrina the ragdoll, her owner rosalie and treats. she’s such a sweetheart but is genuinely just so coocoo.

she doesn’t go crazy like sabrina will but she’s just dumb. . . to put it mildly. pixie will be walking and is only looking up at rosalie instead of straight ahead of her and bump into a wall, she’ll bark at the floor because she thought she saw another being that wasn’t suppose to be there but it was actually just her own shadow coming from the sun shining in the window.

rosalie has a little like baby walker that she puts pixie in for walks and sometimes sabrina as well. when rosie bought that a lot of people thought she was pregnant. . . nope just for her fur babies. pixie is rosalie’s best friend and often goes with her to practices and oversea events when the group is going to be there for a while (sabrina doesn’t do well on planes so she stays with wonwoo’s family).

taglist — @angie-x3 @alixnsuperstxr @allthings-fandoms @peachyaeger @sakufilms @aysxldea @swagcandyfun @wonwooz1 @s4nsmoon

click here to join the taglist!

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Survivor Blues

Part Six: Kitchen Scraps

A/N: I feel like every single one of my author's notes begins with me screaming and apologizing for how long it took me to update the story, so pretend that's what this says. I am very excited to share this part of Survivor Blues because even though there's not a lot of action, it sets up a ton of things to come, and we get a lot more background information on Reader. From the bottom of my heart I hope you all enjoy these kitchen scraps. Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: language, mentions of trauma, death, murder, mentions of illness, some angst but hey that comes with the territory

Word Count: 8,454

Summary: Three months into your new life in Jackson, you start to notice some changes. But how much change, and are you sure you're entirely ready for it?

June - 2037 

With the start of your third month in Jackson came a considerable number of changes. 

Your apartment, for example, began to look like someone actually lived there. 

For the first time in nearly a decade, your pack had been unpacked, your belongings given places of permanence instead of just pockets and pouches. The pair of chipped enamel camp mugs now sat side by side in the cabinet over the kitchen sink. Gavin’s stained and threadbare concert tee was folded and put away with the rest of your clothing. A hook next to the front door held your coat by the hood, the key to your place dangling on another one right beside it. The creased and tattered old envelope you’d carried with you for years that held photos and a handful of notes had been emptied and tossed. The notes, mostly from Gavin but a few from Laura and Kyle, as well as a faded old marker drawing your nephew had done for you when he was six years old, were tucked away in your bedside table.

But the photos you chose to display. 

Because they deserve to be seen. Everyday. 

You’d found some old frames in a box in the hall closet a few days after you moved in, but you weren’t ready to use them then. Now one sat atop your dresser, holding the last picture of you and Gavin taken before the outbreak - incredibly youthful faces smushed cheek to grin-split cheek, Gavin’s inked fingers holding up your wrist as you showed off the diamond ring he’d slipped onto your finger only moments before. Your engagement ring had been sold ages ago, back when you were still in the Philadelphia QZ and people still cared enough about things like diamonds to trade medicine for them. But the photo was worth more to you than a rock ever could be. 

And I still have our bands. Even though we never… 

You were never officially married, and since the bands had been hand-me-downs from Gavin’s grandparents and didn’t fit either of your fingers, you’d only ever worn them on chains around your necks. But you knew that never mattered. Not to you, and not to him. Not since the moment that picture had been taken. Not since you’d joyfully exclaimed the word yes when he asked you to be his wife. 

Another frame sat on the T.V. stand in the living room. That one held a picture of you and Laura from the summer before the outbreak, the two of you sitting on the steps outside her building, cups of brightly colored Italian ice in your hands and Kyle’s father’s arm sticking in from out of sight to add bunny ears to his girlfriend’s head. Both of you were laughing at some long since forgotten joke, but you’d always be able to hear the sound of her laughter when you looked at it. 

There was another picture taken that day, one of just Laura and Dante on those same steps. You’d taken it yourself, with Gavin’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind you as he made faces at his sister to get her to laugh. That one you didn’t have anymore, though. You’d left it with Kyle. It was the only photo you had of both of his parents. It was only right that it stay with him. 

The last two photos that you had in your possession were polaroids taken with a camera you’d found during your time at the farm. One of them was of you, Gavin, Laura and a two year old Kyle, the little boy perched on his uncle’s shoulders, the four of you standing in front of the old oak tree that his family had been taking pictures in front of for generations. Ty had been behind the camera that day, not wanting to be caught on film herself but more than happy to capture moments for the rest of you. The other was a candid she’d snapped of just you and Gavin from the same day, your hands linked together and hanging between your bodies and his face turned in your direction. The expression he wore was one of pure adoration as he watched you watching the sunset. Seconds later he was leaning in to press his lips to your temple, kissing a whisper onto your skin. 

“Love you, Sugar.” 

Memories like those didn’t belong in your backpack anymore. If you were going to build a life here, they deserved to be a part of it. 

Because they’re a part of me. 

Those two, because of their unconventional shape, didn’t fit in the 3x5 frames you’d found. But you had another option in the form of your stark white refrigerator door. Using the plain green circular magnet that had been stuck there when you arrived, you tacked up the photo of you and Gavin. The last thing that you pulled from your pack was what you used to hang the other - the rest stop souvenir magnet that Joel had given you the morning after you’d sewn up his arm. 

It was the first “new” thing you’d brought into the apartment since you moved in. The first new item in your collection of trinkets that tied you to moments and people that mattered to you. It scared the shit out of you to admit, but one of the biggest changes you’d gone through since your arrival in Jackson was allowing things to matter again. When Kyle died you thought your ability to feel anything but emptiness had died with him. You thought life, however much more of it you’d be unlucky enough to endure, would be nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other until you physically couldn’t anymore. No more laughter, no more happiness, no more warmth and certainly no more human connection. Just the hollow feeling in your skull and the involuntary drive to carry on. Left, right, left until you marched yourself into the dirt. Or worse.  

But then Joel and Tommy found you in that split-level not far from town and now here you were, with a refrigerator door decorated with things that mattered. 

You wondered if it would ever be as covered up with kitschy clutter as the one in your and Gavin’s tiny apartment. Photobooth strips and postcards, recipes that you wanted to try, either clipped from magazines or scrawled hastily on scraps of paper, a birthday card you’d gotten one year from your friend Dave that was too funny to take down, the test results from Gavin’s blood work that showed improvement after his surgery which he jokingly slapped up calling it his A+ report card. Magnets from trips you’d taken, a promotional one from your favorite dumpling place, stray letters from one of those colorful alphabet sets, objects you’d simply glued a magnetic strip to to turn into a magnet, like the little plastic stingray you found on the floor in the hallway of your building or the cork from the champagne bottle you popped when you moved in. 

Like a scrapbook. 

That was what Gavin used to call it. A memory pushed its way forward from the back of your mind as you stood there looking at your mostly bare by comparison fridge, a moment you hadn’t thought about in what felt like ages. 

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you scurried from the bathroom to the bedroom, fingers deftly fastening an earring before flipping the strap of your dress to lay it flat against your shoulder. The anxiety of running late and nerves about meeting extended members of Gavin’s family for the first time at his cousin’s wedding popped and jumped like corn kernels in your stomach. As a result, your thoughts tripped over themselves in your head as you stuffed your phone and a tube of lip gloss into a small purse. I still have to sign the card and - shit! The card! We need to stop at an ATM and grab cash for the card! Wait, the place is in Germantown, right?  

“Gav? Where’s the invitation? I need to check -” 

“Hung it on the scrapbook.” He followed you from the bedroom down the short, narrow hall to the kitchen as his slender fingers worked to form the knot in his tie. “Slow down, Shug, we’ve got plenty of time.” You plucked the invite from the collage you called a refrigerator door just as he finished his task, those same long digits now curling around your hips to pull you flush against his long, lean frame. When he spoke again, lips close to your ear and breath warm on your skin, you could hear the smile in his voice. “We��re not gonna be late, don’t you worry.” You closed your eyes as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You look gorgeous.” His murmured compliment made you melt, made the nerves that were just exploding inside you go calm. And then he spoke again and made you snort out a laugh. “Gonna upstage the bride.”

You turned in his arms to see the smile still on his face, his eyes shining softly as he looked at you. You rolled yours playfully, smacking his arm with the invitation as you did to draw a chuckle from his throat. “Oh, stop. I’m sure Maya is gonna be a stunning bride.” 

“Yeah.” He nodded, leaning in to nudge the tip of your nose with his. “Just not as stunning as you.” 

You wondered if you would ever again feel even a fraction of what you felt in that nearly forgotten, long buried memory. Like you were floating. Radiating love. Sure of every part of yourself. Safe in the arms and heart of a man who always put you first. Blinking at the expanse of white, powder-coated stamped steel that surrounded the two pictures and two magnets, you decided it was far more likely that you’d fill up that empty space before someone else filled the empty space in your heart. 

But… it’s not entirely impossible. 

Your focus strayed to the Wyoming magnet, a small, soft swell growing in your chest as you remembered the look on Joel’s face when he handed it to you. Maybe it was possible that you could find both here. You scoffed and shook the thought from your head before you took it too far. You knew you were in no shape for anything like that, emotionally speaking. 

The last time you’d been in anything that resembled a relationship had been a little under ten years earlier, just outside the Chicago QZ, and you’d done everything you could to keep it as stunted and strictly physical as possible. A means to an end. A way to release tensions pent up for too long, a way to feel something other than fear or pain or white hot rage or the soul sucking sadness that clawed at your throat most nights. AJ - a tall, muscular smuggler with a deep voice, far away eyes and a teenaged sister he’d shoot you dead to save if it came to that - was happy to agree to those terms. He understood you and your bricked up walls and your need to keep your broken heart behind them. He understood those things without you ever saying them because he was doing the same thing. 

It lasted three months before he ruined it by offering you more. 

“You know, Gia and I are thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’ Chicago,” he told you one night in the upstairs bedroom of the stash house he let you and your family stay in while Laura rested a badly sprained ankle. In exchange, you kept his cache of smuggled goods protected from raiders. The fucking had just been a mutual bonus. “QZ’s goin’ to shit. Think it’s time we get out for good.” 

You balked instantly at the casual way he dropped his future plans on you. Your clothes were still strewn on the floor, your bare skin still pressed to his. You were too exposed for that kind of intimacy. Shifting away from his hold you felt yourself shutdown, an icy flush running through your veins to kill whatever warmth AJ had managed to put there before he spoke. 

“Oh?” Your voice came out flat as you sat up and reached for your shirt. 

The man in the bed behind you cleared the gravel from his throat and sat up, too. “Yeah.” His large palm landed too gently on your shoulder blade, and you knew he felt it when you flinched at the sweep of his thumb, but he kept going anyway. “I was thinking maybe you’d wanna come with us.” He leaned forward and broke another rule, brushing a stubble-studded kiss to your spine. “You and Kyle and Laura, of course.” 

You stood, putting more distance between you so he couldn’t feel the way your heart was banging on your ribs, telling you it was time to pull up stakes and go. Yanking the shirt over your head, you looked at him with empty eyes and a slight shake of your head. “I don’t know why you’d think that.” You arched one eyebrow and shrugged. “That’s not what this is.” You took another step, bending down to pick up the rest of your clothes so that you could seal yourself away from him. 

He let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh and you heard the bed springs creak as he got up. “It could be,” he answered, reaching for your wrist in an attempt to slow you down, reel you back in, try to coax you into agreeing to let this thing between you go from bare bones and scraps to something more fleshed out and filling. You shook off his loose grip and finished getting dressed despite the click of his tongue and the low murmur of your name. “You could let it be. We can keep each other safe. I can keep you safe, and-“  

A humorless laugh escaped your lips then. “If you think I need you to keep me safe, then you don’t know a goddamn thing about me.” You shoved your feet into your boots and laced them up tight. 

“I know you don’t need it, but-” 

Wheeling on him, you cut him off. “You know what, AJ? I think this has run its course. Laura’s ankle is healed, so-“ You hardened your features against the way his face fell. “We’ll be out of your hair in the morning.” 

And you were.

AJ had tried one more time to get you to stay. One more time to tell you that he wanted you in his hair, that he wanted you in his life. But that would mean him becoming a part of yours. That would mean Gia becoming a part of yours. That would mean two more people to anchor yourself to. Two more people for you to protect. Two more people to weave themselves into the fabric of your heart, and two more people you could potentially lose, causing that fabric to tear in two more places. You’d already worn yourself ragged with responsibility and loss. You weren’t looking for more. AJ was a good man. He could have been good for you. The timing was just wrong. 

But you were safe now. There was no reason to run from companionship or intimacy now. That didn’t mean it would be easy, though. 

Like that’s ever stopped you before, you could hear Gavin tease, a smirk on his face. 

It hadn’t. You had never been one to back down simply because the task at hand might be difficult. You moved out on your own for the first time with only what you could fit in your car. You took your first kitchen job without a lick of experience. You fell head over heels in love with a man with a heart defect, knowing full and well that any chance at forever with him could be cut short by his condition and diving in anyway. Easy wasn’t really in your playbook. 

Again, it was Joel’s face that came to mind. You had no real idea what his story was when it came to relationships, you only knew that he wasn’t currently in one. And with the way you had heard some women in town speak about him when they thought only their closest friends could hear, you gathered that it was by choice. That it wasn’t something he was looking for. 

And though you were almost afraid to admit it even to yourself, a part of you already hoped that you were wrong about that. 

Another change came in the way that you interacted with people in town. For starters, you’d stopped outright avoiding eye contact and dodging conversation when walking to and from your apartment. When people came into the bakery, you smiled and found yourself chatting about things you used to talk to your customers about before the outbreak. 

“Morning, Heather! How was Kaylee’s birthday? Did she like the cupcakes?” 

“Hi, Marty. Didn’t see you yesterday when they were fresh, but I saved you some corn muffins. I know they’re Carl’s favorite.” 

“Hey Nadia, you live next to Allie and Greg, right? How are they doing with the new baby? Can you drop their order off to them on your way home?”

On patrols and trail sweeps you picked up where you left off on topics you’d previously spoken to your partners about. It was never anything truly personal aside from when you were paired with a woman named Jo who still spoke with an unmistakable Pennsylvanian accent, and you shared that you were from Philly. In an extreme case of it’s a small world afterall, she turned out to be from Glenside, a suburb just a few SEPTA stops away. The two of you had spent that shift - an overnight gate patrol - talking about restaurants, bars and other places you missed in the city. Typically you talked about books or movies or music, trading recommendations or trying to recall lyrics to songs you hadn’t heard in decades. Sometimes, like when you were paired with Jesse or one of the other younger volunteers, you brought up a movie they hadn’t heard of and you ended up summarizing or explaining it to them. Like some kind of post-apocalyptic storytime. The Tale of The Men in Black. The Saga of The Breakfast Club. The Epic of Empire Records. 

It never strayed into “opening up” territory, but you were refamiliarizing yourself with being a person again, and not just trying to stay alive for another 24 hour block of time. You were still hesitant to attend one of the Friday night gatherings at the Tipsy Bison, but you had started to eat one or two meals a week in the communal dining hall. You’d sit with people you knew and felt the most comfortable with - Evelyn from the bakery, Tommy and Maria when you saw them, Eugene or Henrik if they waved you over. You rarely saw Joel there but sometimes you caught a glimpse of Ellie surrounded by some of the other teens. You still spent most of your nights alone in your home - cooking small meals for yourself, reading, sewing patches or buttons onto things as needed - but you were trying, and that was new. 

Despite all that had changed though, some things unfortunately remained the same. The nightmares, for example, had proven far more stubborn than your crumbling resolve to not form attachments. They still woke you up every few nights, your breaths coming in greedy gasps as you worked to convince yourself that you were safe in your bed in Jackson and not tearing through the dark woods with a twelve year old Kyle’s hand clamped in your own, a pack of hunters hot on your trail. Or that Gavin hadn’t met a horrific end at the snapping jaws of a horde of infected. Or that those men hadn’t caught you in that warehouse in Kentucky and kept you chained to a mattress in a back room.

But it wasn’t the close call and what if nightmares that were the worst of them. Not by a long shot. The darkest dreams you fell victim to weren’t conjured by your fears or anxieties. They came straight from your actions and experiences. They weren’t dreams at all, just memories played back in excruciatingly high definition. Memories of the worst things you’d ever done. Reminders that you might not deserve this new lease on life. Portals to places where you’d committed the unthinkable. 

Places like that waterlogged and overgrown Walgreens where you crossed the line for the first time - where you became a murderer, taking the life of a human being who wasn’t infected. Who wasn’t even a threat to you. Your mind would floor with details from that fateful day. The squish of the moss covered floor tiles beneath your boots. The odor of rust and mildew that permeated the air. The rustle of things being knocked off a shelf and the terrified hiss of “oh, shit!” that followed. The tilt of your head as you took in the sight of the bottle gripped tightly in the dirty-fingered grasp of the woman, identifying it as the exact drug that you needed. That Gavin needed to stay alive. The way she pleaded with you on behalf of her sick son. “Please, he’s only twelve. He’ll die without them. I’ll split them with you!” The way you didn’t even blink as you shot her dead. The maraca rattle of the pills as you pried the bottle from her hand. The way that shot rang in your ears until you made it back to the farm. 

It vibrated in your lungs, even in the dreams. And when you handed the medicine to Gavin, it was written on your face clear as day for him to read. You’d told him what you’d done, waves of nausea roiling through your belly and adrenaline coursing through your blood to make your hands shake and your breathing turn to sobs and gasps. “Oh, Sugar,” he’d said, opening his arms to wrap you in them, pulling you closer to the weakening, uneven beat of his heart. “Don’t lose yourself over me.” Your hot tears soaked into the old, stained concert tee that hung baggy and loose on his frame as you clutched fistfuls of material. “It’s not worth the toll.” 

You’d tried to argue with him then, because to you, anything was worth it if it meant more time with him. Another year, another few months, fuck, even if it only bought you mere days there was nothing you weren’t willing to do for Gavin. “We both know you can’t buy me much longer,” he said, speaking calmly as he stroked his long, tattooed fingers up and down your spine. “Don’t turn yourself into something you’re not. Stay you, Sugar. Stay you and stay with me.”

In the end though, it was him that couldn’t stay, and that particular nightmare would always end with you sobbing into your pillow. Alone.  

More recently your nightmares took you to that grimey hotel room where you helped Kyle end his life. Where you killed him, your subconscious would remind you. Details you didn’t even realize you’d absorbed would come leaching out once you were asleep. The feel of the dust encrusted carpet against your sweaty, blood soaked palm. The pocked and peeling paint flaking from the walls and piling up in little heaps. The icy draft that came through the broken window to freeze the tears in your eyes. The way your nephew suddenly became so heavy as you held him. And that nagging, illogical thought that burrowed itself into the center of your brain and slammed every cell like a cymbal - He could have been immune. You don’t know that he wasn’t. 

There had always been rumors about the possibility of natural immunity to the Cordyceps infection. You’d heard the whispers whenever you moved through a place that had or previously had a Firefly presence. Genetic mutations are always possible, they’d posit. You’d always rolled your eyes and called it a hopeless hope, a pipe dream. Just something that desperate people told themselves so they could justify what they’d done or give themselves motivation to keep going. Everyone you’d ever known to be infected had turned within a day or two. You weren’t holding your breath for a miracle mutation. 

And even though it was one of the rules you and your family had written for yourselves decades ago, and even though it was what Kyle wanted, and even though you still thought it was easier than having to see your sweet, smart, funny, thoughtful nephew become a snapping, snarling monster, that thought still reverberated in your mind whenever that dream woke you up. He could have been immune. But now you’ll never know. 

There were others, too, but those were the ones that came most frequently. Those were the ones that the firewalls in your sleeping brain had no chance against, the ones there was no falling back to sleep after. 

On those nights you woke shaken and shaking, pulling yourself from the bed and turning lights on as quickly as possible to banish the things that crept into your mind. On those nights you didn’t try to find sleep again, knowing that the ache in your heart and the spike in your adrenaline wouldn’t let you. Instead you’d pad into the kitchen and do what you’d always done when you couldn’t sleep - open the cabinets and preheat the oven and bake something to take your mind off of whatever had just taken over it. 

In college, before you’d dropped out, it was blueberry muffins to distract yourself from the stress of exams. You’d bake dozens of them and give them to your friends as study fuel. On the nights following Gavin’s open heart surgery it was rye bread and cinnamon buns. You’d take them with you to the hospital when you visited him, giving them - along with your unending gratitude - to the nursing staff and doctors that worked on him. At the farm when you worried that you wouldn’t be able to keep your family safe it was potato rolls. And for the few months that you stayed in the Chicago QZ it was a modified oatmeal cookie recipe that tasted more like sugarless styrofoam due to the lack of certain ingredients, but bless their hearts, Laura and Kyle still told you they were delicious. 

Three months into your stay in Jackson, at six in the morning on your weekly day off, it was sourdough and carrot cake muffins. 

By ten o’clock you’d finished baking three loaves of bread - two of which you were planning to take to the community center to be used for meals that day - and were just getting started peeling carrots for the muffins, when there was a knock at your door. 

And as you crossed the room to answer it, wiping your hands on the dish towel that hung over your shoulder, you noticed another change - you hadn’t reached for the knife in your boot. You hadn’t even put your boots on that morning, your feet still only covered by the socks you yanked on before coming out to the kitchen. Your heart didn’t start to race. Your fingers hadn’t even twitched. You’d just heard the sound and moved to respond to it like it was normal. Like you would have before the outbreak. 

Like I would have back at home. 

Unwilling to have that conversation with yourself while someone stood waiting outside your door, you shook your head to clear your thoughts. Not now. Peeking through the view hole, you actually smiled as you saw who was on the other side. I wonder what… 

You unlocked the door and opened it. “Hey, good morning, Ellie. What are you up to? Everything alright?” 

She groaned in dramatic teenage fashion. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Except for the fact that I’m dying of boredom with these lame shifts Maria put me on this week.” 

Maria tried to keep the younger volunteers busy with tasks in the town or on the walls as often as possible, only sending them out when the schedule demanded it to relieve other patrol members, and it seemed that was what had brought Ellie to your apartment. Good. Boring is good and safe. I’m sure Joel loves boring for you, kid. 

“Oh yeah? What’s she got you doing today that’s so terrible?” 

“Compost duty.” She held up a metal pail that you hadn’t noticed at first, nose wrinkled and top lip curled. “I’m here for your rotten vegetables.”   

You let out a laugh in the form of a snort, pushing the door to open it wider. “Well they’re not rotten yet, which is kind of the point, but they’re all yours. Come on in. I’ll grab the jar, it’s in the fridge.”

Closing the door behind herself, Ellie followed you through the small living room towards the kitchen. “Ugh, it smells fucking amazing in here. Are you baking? Even on your day off? Jesus, what time did you wake up?”

You shrugged and looked back over your shoulder at her. “Yeah. You caught me.” You pointed to the counter where the loaves of sourdough sat cooling, moving aside so she could see them. “That’s what you’re smelling.” 

She groaned and slumped against the doorframe. “Oh my god those look so good. It’s making me hungry.” 

Laughing again, you pulled a serrated knife from the block on the counter. “You want a slice?” 

Her eyes lit up as she stood straight. “Are you kidding? Hell yeah I do!” You smiled and turned to saw off a hunk, the knife’s teeth scraping at the thick outer crust before sinking into the soft center. “You know, nothing against Todd or Evelyn, but the bread from the bakery is so much better now that you’re working there.” 

You chuckled, letting her compliment wash warmly over you. “Thanks, Ellie, I take my bread seriously so that means a lot to me.” You handed over the slice and she immediately took a bite. 

“Fuck,” she groaned through a mouthful, eyes rolling closed as she chewed. “So damn good!” 

“Good.” You wiped the blade off and sheathed it in the block again. “I haven't tried it yet, so thanks for helping out with quality assurance.” 

“Literally anytime,” she said around another bite. 

You smiled and already it was hard to imagine that you’d started that morning shaking and in tears. “Hey, if you’re not in a rush I’ll have even more to throw in your compost bucket if you can wait until I peel these carrots?” Picking up the peeler, you used it to gesture to the pile of vegetables on the cutting board. 

She shrugged. “No rush. Peel away.” You nodded and went to work as Ellie leaned against the countertop on the other side of the sink. “So, can I ask you a question?” 

You took a breath and considered the kind of question she might ask. “Um… sure.” 

“You were a baker, like… before, right? That’s what Joel said, and I mean -” She held up the remainder of the sourdough slice as proof. 

“I was.” You answered. “Had my own shop and everything.” 

“Okay, so then… How did you not… I mean, fuck, how do I ask this?” 

Turning in her direction you took a wild guess to help her out of her struggle. “How did I not become infected immediately since the initial cordyceps contamination was spread through flour?” 

She held up one finger, slightly gaping mouth snapping shut. “Yes, exactly.” 

You chuckled and went back to the carrots. “Mine was a little different from a regular bakery. I specialized in baking things for people with common food allergies. Eggs, wheat, dairy, things like that. So the flour I used came from a completely different source than…” You trailed off because you knew she got the picture. 

“Huh. Do you have allergies? Is that why you decided to bake like that?” 

You shook your head. “No, I don’t. I had…” You swallowed. “I knew people who couldn’t eat certain things, so I did it for them.” 

“Well…” She raised one scarred eyebrow. “I guess that was a good choice.” 

Snorting, you nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

She pushed away from the counter and stepped closer to the refrigerator, her head tilting slightly to one side as something there caught her eye. The pictures. She’s looking at… Your grip on the peeler tightened, a pulse of panic seizing you at the thought that you might have to talk about your family. That was something you hadn’t done in a long time, something that you were still just on the cusp of readiness for. Hanging the photos up for your own eyes to see was one thing. You hadn’t thought about the prospect of others in your home seeing them, too. She’s gonna ask about- 

“Hey, Joel has this same magnet.” Reaching out with her pointer finger, she tapped the one shaped like your new home state. 

He… What? You let out a breath and set the peeler on the cutting board next to the pile of long orange carrot skin curls. The flash of panic turned to flurried confusion, Ellie’s comment catching you completely off guard. He took one, too? Clearing your throat, you prepared to respond when she spoke again, this time throwing something that looked like a smirk over her shoulder at you. 

“What, were they on sale or something?” She tapped it again. “Buy one, get one- Oh, shit!” 

The press of her finger must have shifted the magnet, freeing it from the pull that held it in place. You watched as she whipped her head back around and scrambled to try to catch not only the dislodged magnet, but also the picture that was stuck beneath it. She was only successful in saving one from the ground, though, juggling the plastic piece between both hands before closing it in one fist while the polaroid fluttered to the floor. Crouching down she snatched the picture up and reattached it to the door. 

“Fuck! I’m sorry! It- I didn’t mean to…” 

It was then, as she carefully put the photo back in its place, that you noticed the recognition on her face. Like she hadn’t even really seen the picture until that moment, hadn’t noticed anything beyond the familiar magnet. She went quiet, a sadness you wished she didn’t have to know creeping into her expression as she realized that none of the people standing next to you in the photo were there in Jackson with you now. 

“Is this your family?” There was a hollow tone in her typically light and bubbly voice as she stared at the smiling faces on your refrigerator. Like she didn’t want to ask but felt some compulsion to know. Like she already knew but couldn’t keep the question on her tongue. Like she should have been able to do something to change the outcomes for the people you’d lost. 

You recognized it right away and it broke your heart to see it in her, too. The guilt. The deep dark blues of surviving when everyone you loved was gone. When everyone everyone loved was gone. Oh, Ellie. 

Though only moments before you felt panic at the prospect of talking about the people you lost, suddenly, when asked, you were filled with an overwhelming urge to tell her about them. To show her - and maybe yourself, too - that not every memory hurt. That most of them didn’t. 

“Yeah,” you answered around a bittersweet smile. “It is. From about…” You hummed. “Fifteen years ago.” Wetting your lips and blinking back the stinging threat of tears, you stepped closer to where the girl stood. “That’s my-” 

You stopped yourself because you didn’t want to choke on the word you were about to use. You’d never had to explain to anyone who Gavin was to you. For years, the only people who mattered had simply always known. But that’s not the case anymore, is it? Not if you truly were serious about trying to have a life here. Left hand coming up to touch the outline of your chain through your t-shirt, you took a breath and focused on his smile in the photo. Hey, handsome. 

You cleared your throat and started over. “That’s my husband, Gavin.” You pressed the rings to your chest as you spoke his name. “And his sister, Laura.” Dropping your arm back to your side, you raised the opposite one to point at the little boy under the mess of curls that sat perched on Gavin’s shoulders. “And that’s Kyle, my nephew.” 

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, looking at the faces of the people you’d just introduced her to as though committing them to memory. “They look…” She sniffed. “You all look happy there.” 

She’s right. Despite the thick knot forming in your throat, you smiled. “Yeah.” Nodding, you looked down at her. “We were. Those were really good years.” 

The girl looked back up at you, lips pulling to the side before curving back into a small smile. “I’m glad you had those.” 

You took a breath, feeling somewhat lighter than you had in a long time even if it was a bittersweet lightness. “Yeah, me too.” Wetting your lips, you reached for the fridge handle. “Um, let me get those compost scraps for you, yeah?”  

Ellie nodded, lifting one hand up to wipe quickly at her eye. “Yeah. I should get going.” She moved over to the counter and scooped your pile of carrot peels into the bucket, then turned back to let you dump the contents of your scrap jar in as well. “Dina and I are supposed to hit all the apartments on this side of town before noon, so…” 

“So you better get moving, then,” you finished for her. “If I remember the schedule correctly, I think you and I have gate patrol on Wednesday night.” You winked. “I’ll make sure to bring snacks.” 

She grinned, almost all of the sadness that had crept into her expression gone. “You’re the best.” 

That made you laugh. “I’ll see you around, Ellie. Tell Dina I said hi.” 

She told you that she would, adding that she was also going to tell her that she missed out on the best damn sourdough left in the world by choosing odd numbered apartments, which only made you laugh harder. Closing your door after her, you couldn’t help but think of what a kick Gavin would have gotten out of Ellie. She would have made you laugh, too, Gav. 

Over the next hour you finished up the batch of muffins and cleaned the kitchen. Wrapping the two extra loaves in clean dish towels, you stuck them both in the canvas tote bag that you usually used to pick up your groceries from the general store. Once they’d cooled enough to handle, you did the same with the muffins, bundling them up and adding them to the bag. 

That done, you decided to get yourself together, changing your flour streaked shirt for a fresh three-quarter sleeved one, and the sweats you were wearing for a pair of jeans. When you looked in the mirror you were hit by yet another change - you no longer had that lost, wild, withering look that you arrived with. Your eyes had more light in them and fewer bags beneath. Your cheeks were less hollow and the windburn on them was healing well. You looked more like yourself and less like a spectral waif using your name than you had in longer than you could remember. Not that it matters but… Your lips - no longer peeling and chapped - hitched into a small grin. Not terrible. You took a second to adjust your hair, tucking stray pieces into place, and then flipped the lightswitch and left the bathroom. 

Grabbing your bag of baked goods from the kitchen, you shoved your feet into your boots and slipped your knife into place. Some things were unlikely to change after two decades of always needing to have a weapon on you, and you knew that it was the same for many other residents in town. Your gun, though, was left behind with your pack. Those items were reserved only for patrols, trail sweeps and supply runs. They had no place in your daily life anymore. Another small change. 

There was still a lingering late spring chill in the air as you stepped outside your building, but the sun was shining unimpeded in the clear blue sky and you hummed as it warmed your skin. It’s beautiful out today. As you turned onto the main street you were met with the sounds of the town. Windchimes and laughter, barking dogs and the clang of metal on metal from the blacksmith’s shop, birdsong and conversation. It felt like the much more rural version of strolling through your neighborhood in Philly on your way to the farmer’s market that used to pop up in the park on Thursday and Sunday mornings. It made you wonder what it was like here twenty some years ago, and how different things were now. 

The call of your name from somewhere to your right interrupted your thoughts before they could wander too far. You recognized the voice as you turned, eyes widening in surprise to see Joel Miller lifting one hand in greeting from the other side of the street. Oh. Hi. You stopped walking, raising your hand in a return wave and waiting for him to cross to your side.

As he did, you took a few seconds to let your eyes rake over him. He still wore a thin white bandage around his bicep, and it was visible beneath the short sleeves of his faded green t-shirt. As were his muscled arms, the warmer weather letting you see more of them than you had previously. His jeans were worn in but fit him well, the denim broken in to accommodate his movement perfectly. A toolbelt hung at his hips, hammer, tape measure, pliers and several screwdrivers attached to the loops or sticking out of the pouches. Right. He said he was in construction. You drew in a small breath as he came close enough that you could see the sunlight catching the silver in his hair. And then he smiled. Damn. 

“Thought that was you,” he said as he took the last few steps to close the distance. 

Forcing yourself to focus on the conversation at hand and not on how good he looked wearing a toolbelt, you smiled back at him. “You were right, it’s me.” 

That earned you a small chuckle, Joel raising the same hand he’d flagged you down with to scratch at the back of his neck. “How are you doin’ today?”

You tipped your head back, closing your eyes and letting the sun hit your face before responding. “The sun is out and I have a bag full of bread and muffins.” Bringing your chin back down, you shrugged the shoulder that your bag was on. “So I’m doing great.” He didn’t need to hear about the nightmare that preceded the baking. “How are you?” 

“A bag full of bread, huh?” He dropped his eyes to the goods and then brought them back up to yours. “Well I’m doin’ alright but not a bag of bread alright.” 

You laughed and pulled one strap of the tote bag down, reaching inside. “I might be able to help with that.” Pulling out one of the muffins, you offered it to him. “Carrot muffin?” 

He grinned as he took it from you. “If I ever say no to that question you’ll know there’s somethin’ wrong with me.” Nodding, he held your eyes for a second and the rush of warmth you felt had nothing to do with the sun. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Joel.” You cleared your throat and tilted your head in the direction you’d been walking in. “I was on my way to drop this off at the community center. Are you heading that way, too?” 

“I am. Meetin’ up with Tommy’n a few others to do some roof repairs.” You both started walking again, once your mutual destination was established. “Figure by now we won’t be gettin’ anymore snow, so it’s a good time to get up there and poke around.” 

You blew out a huff and shook your head. “The idea of snow in June or even April or May where I’m from is laughable. It’s probably 85 degrees in Philadelphia right now.” 

Joel made a similar sound. “Snow at all is laughable where I’m from.” You figured he was from somewhere in the south due to the slight drawl in certain words that he said, but before you got the chance to ask where exactly, he took a bite of the muffin you gave him and groaned at the taste. “Christ, that’s good.” 

Hoping you didn’t look as flustered as the sound of him groaning like that made you feel, you managed a smile. “Yeah?” He nodded, eyebrows drawn together in a serious expression as he chewed. “Good. You and Ellie make good taste testers, you know.” He tilted his head in question. “She stopped by my place this morning on her compost collection rounds.” 

“Uh huh, and she weaseled baked goods outta you, did she?” He took another bite, the reaction smaller this time but still visible and still making your chest puff up just a little. 

You shrugged. “She said she was hungry and she complimented my bread. What was I supposed to do?” 

“That girl is always hungry,” he said with a roll of his eyes that you could tell was just for show. “And if compliments are all it takes then let me tell you again, this-” He held up the last bite of muffin. “- Is delicious.” 

Letting a small laugh slip through your grin as you reached the community center, you turned to face him. “Well, thank you. If you like those, just wait until I get my hands on some apples or chokeberries.” 

“Lookin’ forward to it.” 

Just then Tommy appeared from behind the building with a ladder hoisted on one shoulder. He lifted his free hand to flag Joel down, calling out to him. “Waitin’ on you, big brother!” 

Joel clicked his tongue and turned to lob his response in Tommy’s direction. “Hold your horses, will you?” He gestured at you with his hand. “Can’t you see I’m havin’ a conversation?” 

“Yeah, I see.” The younger Miller tipped his chin in a nod and said your name. “Hope you’re havin’ a nice mornin’. Can you please send my brother up to the roof when he’s done yappin’ your ear off?” 

You laughed at that, Joel’s grumbles only making you laugh harder. “Will do, Tommy,” you said with a wave of your own. 

He grinned. “Thank you, ma’am. Take care now.” 

You called a “You too!” back at him as he disappeared behind the building again, and then you turned to face Joel once more. “Sounds like you’re needed on the roof.” 

Joel blew a huff through his nose and swatted his hand towards the roof. “He can wait a minute. I, uh…” He drew his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask you if you’d want to come over for dinner some night this week.” What? He dropped his hand to his side again and you tried your hardest not to let the shock you felt at his question show on your face. “Just as a thank you for stitchin’ me up,” he added. 

You blinked and took a breath, trying to process the offer he’d just made. Dinner. He’s inviting me to dinner? What is…  “I…” You shook your head as though your brain was a magic eight ball and shaking it would prompt a valid response to come out of your mouth, but immediately regretted it from the way Joel’s lips turned downward. Shit, he thinks I’m saying no. “That… That sounds nice, Joel.” Your heart hammered at your ribs as his frown faded back into a relaxed smile. “What um… What day were you thinking? I have a gate patrol Wednesday night, but-” 

“How’s Thursday, then?” 

Wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue, you swallowed and nodded slowly. “Thursday works.” Joel’s smile spread a little wider, sending his cheeks up into his eyes and making the skin around them crinkle. “Can I bring anything, or-” 

“Well I was raised to say no ma’am, just bring yourself,” he began, a mischievous glint brightening the depths of his eyes. “But I wouldn’t stop you from bringing something that you baked if you wanted to.” 

You let out a small laugh. “Got it.” 

“Alright then. Thursday it is.” He tilted his head towards the back of the community center, where the sound of the ladder being set up against the wall could be heard. “I better get up there ‘fore he has himself a conniption. You have a good day now.” 

As he turned to go, you reached into your tote bag and pulled out another muffin. “Joel!” He spun back to face you and you tossed the muffin in his direction, leaving him to scramble to catch it in one large hand. “For Tommy. Maybe he’ll be less annoyed at you if you bring him food.” 

He chuckled. “Maybe. See you around.” 

With that he headed off to join his brother and you were left momentarily standing there unsure of what had just happened. I just… He just… 

But then you heard the call of your name from the open door of the community center, and turned to see Maria grinning at you. “You comin’ in, or are you just going to watch my brother-in-law walk away?” 

You could feel the heat spread through your cheeks at her words, and quickly stepped toward the door as she started to chuckle. “Sorry, yeah, I-” 

“Hey,” she said, resting one hand on your shoulder. “I’m teasing.” She winked. “Besides, I think it’s great.” 

You let out a sigh. “Maria, it’s just-” 

“Just dinner, I know.” She nodded and held the door open for you to walk through it. “I still think it’s great.” The door clicked shut behind you and you sputtered for a response only for her to spare you the need to say anything more. “Anyway, what’s in the bag? You’re just in time for lunch prep.”

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know! You can also fill out the form on my masterlist!

Tags: @something-tofightfor​​  @littlemisspascal​​ @mishasminion360​​ @nyctophiliiiiaaa​​ @practicalghost​ @amb11​ @mindidjarin​ @jk7789​ @tentacruels​ @cannedsoupsucks​ @harriedandharassed​ @marauderskeeper​ @joelmillerscoffee​​ @woodlandmouth​​ @swtaura​​ @grfields​​ @valkblue​ @sleepylunarwolf @stealyourblorbos @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @mumma-moonchild @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @Noisynightmarepoetry @Severin-proud @jessthebaker @ael-xander @ashleyfilm

[schmooplesboop]

Pairing: Alex X Male Farmer/Player

Rating and warnings: Teen, mentions of past and present alcohol addiction

---

At first Alex thought the thunderstorm had awoken him, or maybe the TV. He’d fallen asleep in bed while watching a movie marathon.

He’d spilled his veggie chips. He was grumbling and brushing the crumbs off his mattress when he heard a loud knocking. It wasn’t the storm or the movie playing on the TV that had woken him up. Someone was at the front door, in the middle of the night.

Alex grabbed his bat from the closet and went out into the hall. The door to his grandparents’ room was still shut, but that didn’t surprise him. Both of them were hard of hearing, his grandad more than his nan. Nothing short of an explosion could wake them.

He flicked on the porch light and glanced out the peephole. Colton was standing there, drenched in the pouring rain. His skin had a greyish cast beneath the glare of the porch light and his eyes were wide and faraway. Something was very wrong. Alex tossed the bat onto the nearby couch and quickly opened the door.

“Sorry—” Colton said immediately, though his voice sounded faint. “You were the closest—”

“Colt! What happened, dude? Are you okay?”

He just stood there vaguely, looking dazed, so Alex gently put one hand on his shoulder and drew him into the house. Colton’s sneakers squelched as he toed them off, leaving them on the mat by the door.

It felt so wrong, seeing Colton, who was usually so cheerful and full of life, somber and glassy-eyed. Alex kept a hand lightly on the farmer’s shoulder, leading him down the hall to his room.

Colton’s clothes were soaked through and the shoulder beneath Alex’s hand was cold as ice. Colton shivered constantly and his teeth chattered, but he didn’t seem to notice either.

“Here,” Alex grabbed a clean pair of sweats and an old Jumino Kart hoodie. “You can dry off and change in there…” He motioned to his small en suite bathroom.

The farmer nodded, but it took a full minute before his feet carried him through the door into the washroom. Sick with worry, Alex waited, teeth biting into his lower lip.

“Alex,” still that vague, faint voice. So unlike Colton. “I’m stuck…”

He cracked the bathroom door and peered in. Colton was indeed tangled in his soaked T-shirt. A towel had also somehow gotten twisted up in everything as well.

Alex grabbed a dry towel and slung it over his shoulder, helping Colton out of his tangled shirt and the extra towel, hanging them both over the shower door. Even after being freed, Colton just stood there looking lost, like he wasn’t really sure where he was. What happened?

“Here…” Alex gently patted Colton’s skin dry.

He nearly jumped from his skin when Colton’s arms abruptly wrapped around him, pulling him into an icy cold embrace. Alex’s face burned bright red, suddenly all too aware that he was only wearing his boxer briefs and a tatty crop top. And that Colton was shirtless. And hugging him.

“Sorry…!” Colton lurched like someone had pinched him and moved away. “Just needed… to feel someone. Sorry, Alex.”

“It’s alright, dude.” Alex replied, even more worried than before. “I’ll… just… wait for you in my room.”

He fled the bathroom, darting around his bedroom until he found a clean pair of joggers and pulled them on. Something was clearly going on with Colton. Really not the time to be thinking about how undressed they were.

Clad in his dry, warm borrowed clothes, Colton was shivering much less than before when he emerged from the washroom and his cheeks even had a little color to them, but his expression was still hollow.

“Colton…” Alex led him to the bed and sat down with him. “What’s going on?”

“I was— Finn and I were out for a hike…”

Alex jolted; Finn, the farmer’s dog, wasn’t with him. “Did something happen to Finn?”

Colton blinked slowly then looked at Alex like he just noticed he was there, “No. I left Finn with… when I—after—” The farmer seemed to lose his train of thought and Alex felt guilty for interrupting.

“Sorry,” he said, hesitating before setting one hand on Colton’s knee. “You and Finn were on a hike…”

Colton nodded, his hand covered Alex’s and squeezed. His fingers were brutally cold. “Finn and I were on an after-supper hike, wanted to get a little exercise in before the storm got worse… and Finn… Finn found Shane…”

Oh, fuck. Shane’s alcohol addiction wasn’t exactly a secret, especially with it spilling out into the public more and more lately. Alex himself had helped Shane, too drunk to walk, home just last week.

A million questions arose, but he didn’t interrupt again. He waited, rubbing the warmth back into Colton’s hand.

“There were so many beer cans… I couldn’t believe he was still alive… his lips were blue…”

Alex released Colton’s hand so he could wrap an arm around his shoulders instead. The other man leaned into him, still shivering slightly. Alex knew how terrifying it must’ve been for Colton to find Shane like that. He’d had a taste of it when he was a kid, before his dad took off for good. He’d also dealt with his own issues with alcohol in high school. It had never developed into a full-blown Problem, but he’d skated close enough to scare the shit out of himself and Haley. He’d never drank another drop since.

“I was afraid to leave him and of course there’s no cell reception out there… I had to carry him back to Marnie’s.” Colton’s voice was slowly gaining its strength back, his thoughts and gaze becoming clearer the more the words flowed. “Leah came to look after Jas and Finn. I drove Marnie and Shane to Harvey’s clinic…”

Alex waited on pins and needles. Was Shane…? Thunder crackled ominously overhead.

Colton blew out a breath, “Doc says Shane will be fine… physically, but it was a near thing. He’s going to talk to him about the emotional and mental matters when he wakes up. Marnie’s with him, told me to go home and sleep, but I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t go home. You were… you were the closest…” He suddenly sat up straight, pulling away from Alex. “Shit, it’s so late. I didn’t realize! I’m sorry—”

Alex shook his head, gently drawing Colton back toward him. “It’s fine, Colt. I just wish you’d called me; I would’ve walked over with my umbrella.”

“Sorry,” Colton said again. “…Thanks.” The color suddenly drained from his face once more, “I feel dizzy…”

“Lie down. I’ll get you some water.”

He helped Colton lie in his bed and tugged the blanket over his legs. He trod down the hall passed his grandparents’ bedroom (the door was still firmly shut) and got a glass of water from the kitchen.

“…Will you lie down with me?” Colton asked when he returned.

“Y-yeah, of course.” Alex replied, setting the water within Colton’s reach on his bedside table.

Colton folded the blanket back.

It was a tight squeeze. Both he and Colton were tall and his bed wasn’t really meant for two, but with their legs tangled together and Colton’s head tucked under his chin they just fit.

The farmer’s hands, finally warm, slid up his back. “…Thank-you, Alex.”

At another time, in another moment, that simple motion would’ve had him shivering. Alex hugged Colton close, just wanting the other man to know he’d always be there when he needed him.

“Don’t mention it.”

[atinylittlepain]

Of Saints and Sinners - Chapter 8

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

chapter summary: it continues to be a push and pull between her and Joel. Will they be able to overcome each other's steel?

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence and gore, references to smut, angst

a/n | happy TLOU night :) I consider this chapter to be sort of a set up for the next leg of plot to this story, but there's plenty of angst to sink your teeth into here

Spring has pulled her verdant arms over Jackson, and Summer is close on her heels. The days are getting longer and brighter. The greenhouses are dizzyingly full of fresh produce. Ellie brings home a bowl of strawberries one day, and the taste makes Joel’s eyes water. But it’s not just the landscape that’s been set in a full thaw. She has all but officially moved in with him, each week a few more of her belongings finding permanent residence in his space. There’s a stack of her books on his nightstand, a folded pile of her clothes in his closet, two toothbrushes sitting in his bathroom. 

While they go their separate ways in the morning, she is always at his place for dinner, talking easily with Ellie, helping in the kitchen. The first couple of times, Joel had found the scene strange, almost absurd in its domesticity. But, perhaps dangerously, he had easily gotten used to it because he liked it so much. She always spends the night, and when they tangle together, it’s like the first time all over again. He’d devour her if he could, that’s how much he wants her. The way she sighs his name when pleasure strokes down her spine, her nails grazing the expanse of his back, the taste of her and the way she preens into his mouth. They fall asleep most nights bare and slick with the salt of pleasure. 

It’s in this position, a tangle of limbs and sighs, that they find themselves in tonight. She rests her cheek on his chest as he grazes his fingers down the length of her arm. His eyes trace the swirls of ink and scar that laces down her back. She no longer hides from him, and he knows it’s no small gift that she has given him. 

“Can I ask you something?” She hums at his question, craning her neck to peer at him. He clears his throat before continuing.

“Will you tell me about these? All this ink?” He’s still careful about how much he pries, though she’s certainly been more willing to talk, he never knows when he might have pushed a bit too far. For a moment, he worries that he just has, but she offers him a small smile and nod. She sits up, kneeling between his legs. He still has to catch his breath seeing her bare body before him. 

“What do you want to know, Joel?” He tentatively reaches a hand out to brush along the birds that sit below her collarbone, tracing down the swirls of ink on her one arm.

“Do they all have meaning?” Her smile brightens and she nods again. She takes both his wrists to guide his palms to splay back over the birds.

“These I got for my mother. Magpies were her favorite birds. Have you seen magpies before?”

“They’re a kind of crow, right?” She snorts, squeezing his wrists.

“They’re way cooler than crows. Bigger, and smarter. And wickedly loud.” She draws his one palm to her shoulder, down along her bicep where a swirling branch is inked.

“Cherry. And plum on the outside of my arm. My grandparents owned an orchard in Bend. We spent most of our summers there.” She twists in his old, her back facing him as Joel sits up. He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before, but it’s now clear how the branches on her arm twine across her shoulder blades, following into the twisted trunks of trees that span down her spine. For the first time, he wholly takes in the expanse of her back, the twisting, silvery scars that lay under swaths of ink. He traces his fingers down the branches and she shivers under his touch.

“Alex is one hell of an artist.” She huffs out a laugh.

“He’s been working on a new tattoo gun. Putting it together out of scrap parts. Figure I’ll get something over the fresh scar.” His eyes instinctually dart to the puckered skin on her forearm. It’s healed over, but she keeps it bandaged during the day to keep prying eyes out. He draws his attention to her back again, and his eyes catch on a small figure in the one tree.

“Is that a–”

“Squirrel? Yeah, that’s for Jack.” A heavy silence falls after her words. It’s the one thing Joel knows not to ask about, that she’ll tell him scraps in time, when she’s ready. He knows that Jack was her little brother, and he knows she lost him, and that it destroyed her. He doesn’t pry, instead laying his palm over the inked creature.

“What’re you gonna get, when Alex’s gun is ready?” She turns back in his arms, nudging into his lap and drawing her fingers through his hair with a hum.

“Not sure yet. If you have any ideas, let me know.” She presses a chaste kiss to his mouth to seal her words. She seems to be thinking something over, thoughtlessly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Squirrels were his favorite animal.” Joel’s hands still where he had been skating them up her sides, letting them rest at her hips. He tries to keep his expression steady as he searches her face. She won’t quite meet his eyes as she continues.

“I would take him to the park after school and he never wanted to play or run around, he’d just sit and watch the damn squirrels.” She lets out a breathy laugh.

“I was always trying to get a laugh out of him, or just some reaction. So one day, we went to the park and I brought a bag of trail mix and just started throwing nuts and raisins to the squirrels. By the time we left, we had them eating off the toes of our shoes. It was so fucking weird, but it was his favorite thing, I think. We did it all the time afterwards.” She takes a deep breath, her shoulders slumping with the exhale. 

“Anyways, um, yeah, the squirrel is Jack’s.”  Joel knows there’s nothing he can say right now that’d be right. Even as she offers him a small smile, he can see the pain laced through her eyes. He dips his head and lays a kiss to her sternum before pulling her into his embrace. They don’t talk anymore that night.

…

The next morning, Joel is not pleased with what Ellie tells him over breakfast. Her old patrol partner is switching shifts and she’s now been paired up with Roger. He doesn’t miss the way she winces when she hears Ellie say his name.

“He’s not gonna be your partner for long, kid. That boy is an idiot. I’ll talk to Tommy today. Get the partners rearranged.” Ellie just shrugs at Joel, finishing her bowl of oatmeal before hurrying off out the door to get to her shift. Joel glances at her out of the corner of his eye, catching her smirk.

“Roger may be an idiot. But I’ve heard he’s good on patrol. You don’t have to worry about her, Joel.” He huffs, taking another swig of coffee.

“I’m still gonna talk to Tommy, find her a better partner. Would you wanna take shifts with her?” She looks taken aback by his question.

“I mean, do you think that’s a good idea? To have us put together?” Ellie still doesn’t know that she’s immune like her, nor does she know that it had been her immunity that had put her in so much danger previously. Joel hadn’t really even been thinking about that when he posed the idea, but now, remembering that day that Alex rode back by himself, without her, his stomach starts to churn. He shakes his head to clear the thought away.

“No, you’re right. I don’t like that idea at all. What about Alex?” She quirks an eyebrow at him.

“You trying to steal my patrol partner, Miller?” A smug grin settles on his face.

“Well, I may know someone else who’d be happy to fill the position.” That earns him a laugh, a sound that sends a giddy sweep up his spine.

“We did make a pretty good team, huh? Alright, I’ll talk to him about it. Pretty sure he wouldn’t mind.” She slips her palm into his. That’s new, the simple touches that they’re starting to share. Joel thinks it might be better than the sex, or at least a close second. 

“I gotta go. I’m helping Maria with some new security plans. See you tonight?” He nods, watching her stand and clear her plate away. She sweeps back and presses a quick kiss to his lips, rubbing her palm on his chest.

“Be safe, darlin.”

“Bye, Joel.”

…

The sun is starting to set, and Ellie hasn’t come home from her shift yet. Joel is beginning to panic. He’s getting ready to set out looking for her himself when the front door opens, though it’s not Ellie. She looks just as worried as he feels.

“Have you seen Ellie?” “No, I heard that she hasn’t come back though. Joel, it’s getting dark, I think we need to go look for her.” He just nods, grabbing his gun and following her out into the quick darkening evening.

They don’t make it far on horseback before they see a figure cresting over the hill that lays before them. She keeps her gun cocked, but sure enough, it’s Ellie. There’s no sign of Roger. They set off at a gallop towards her, quickly dismounting when they come upon her. Joel’s on her in an instant, cupping her face in his hands and looking her over for injury. She doesn't appear to be hurt, just shaken.

“There was a cluster of them up near the dam. Jesus– they came out of nowhere. Roger’s dead.” Joel thinks to himself that he doesn’t give a fuck about Roger.

“Are you ok?” She just nods, but her eyes flicker down to her leg and Joel sees blood pooling in the ankle of her sock. He knows right away that she must have gotten bit again, trying to hide it in the presence of someone else.

“Ellie, it’s alright, she knows. About you.” Ellie’s eyes go wide and she shoves Joel away, her gaze darting between him and her.

“What the fuck, Joel? You’re the one who told me not to tell anyone. But apparently that doesn’t apply to your lady friend.” 

“Ellie!” She steps forward then, placing a hand on his shoulder before he can bark out anything else, stepping between him and Ellie.

“It’s fine, Joel. Ellie, your secret is safe with me.” The girl scoffs.

“Oh yeah? Why should I believe you?” With that, she’s rolling up her shirt sleeve and unwinding the bandage on her forearm, bearing the still healing bite that wraps around her skin. Ellie is stunned speechless.

“Because I’m like you, kid.” 

…

Ellie is silent the whole ride back. Joel goes to tell Tommy what happened while she hustles the girl home. She grabs their makeshift first aid kit and shuffles her into the bathroom, ordering Ellie to hop onto the counter while she sits on the ground to get a better look at her ankle. She pulls off her boot and sock, rolling up her pant leg, and sure enough, a fresh bite smeared across her calf. She lets out a low whistle.

“Got you good, kid. Let’s clean this up, alright?” She glances up at the girl, still nothing. She sighs and gets to work cleaning the wound. As she’s getting ready to wrap a dressing on the bite, Ellie finally speaks up.

“How did you find out?” She pauses.

“About you?” Ellie shakes her head.

“About yourself, how did you find out you were immune?” She sighs, standing up and pulling the collar of her shirt down to expose the top of her shoulder.

“If you squint you can see it under all that ink.” Ellie’s face draws closer to her shoulder, peering at the skin. She can see it in her face when she finally makes out the scarring, letting out a “woah” under her breath before backing off.

“Is that why you have all those tattoos?” She just nods, sinking back down to the floor to finish wrapping her calf. She considers not saying what she’s about to, but goes ahead anyway.

“You remember a couple months ago when I went missing?” Ellie nods.

“Well, it was because some people found out what I am, what we are. I think you know just as well that we have to be careful about this thing. Ellie, I want you to know that I would never, will never tell anyone, ok?” She smooths out the gauze on Ellie’s leg before standing, patting her knee.

“Now, you keep that clean and covered, and when it’s healed maybe we can see about getting you some ink, if you want.” Ellie grins, and it’s a relief to her.

“Oh, I want. You’re like the coolest person in this town and like forty percent of that is just ‘cause of your tattoos, so, hell yeah. Sign me up.” She snorts at that, squeezing the girl's arm before stepping aside and letting her hop down.

“Are you feeling ok?” Ellie shrugs, eyes settling on her feet.

“I mean, s’never a good day when someone dies on your watch, but I’ll be alright.”

“Hey. It wasn’t on your watch. Your da– Joel was right. Roger was a cocky idiot. He was gonna get himself hurt eventually. I’m just sorry it happened when you were around, kid.” Ellie just huffs, but still offers her a small “thank you” before walking off, headed towards her room in the garage. She feels her shoulders slacken from where they had been pinned up to her ears.

…

When he finally gets home, he finds her sitting at the dining table reading. She cranes her neck around to look at him as he enters.

“Told Tommy. Said he wasn’t surprised that Roger got picked off.” She huffs at that as Joel sits down beside her.

“Well I concur with Tommy. You hungry? I made dinner for Ellie and there’s leftovers.” He just shakes his head, letting out a long exhale.

“Joel? Did something else happen?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive headache rushing in.

“He, uh, wants you and Ellie to work patrol together. Sees you both being immune as a strength. I told him to forget it–” he cuts himself off when he looks at her and sees that she doesn’t seem as repulsed by the idea as he is. She shrugs.

“I don’t know, Joel. After today, maybe Tommy’s right?” 

“You’re kidding, right?” She holds his gaze, steadfast.

“I’m serious. I mean, face it, as long as that kid is going out with people that aren’t like her, the chance that she comes back and they don’t is always going to be huge.”

“And just why is that a problem, so long as she’s coming back?” He can feel the frustration rising up in his throat at this conversation, the exhaustion and stress of the day pushing his limit.

“She may have come back this time, but I’m telling you Joel. Everytime she watches someone else die while she gets to live just because of the dumb luck of her immunity, another part of her is gonna get chipped away until she doesn’t come back at all.” He runs a ragged hand across his face, tugging at the roots of his hair. He can’t believe they’re actually having this conversation.

“You speaking from experience?” Her face twists up at that.

“Lose a lot of partners, huh? Had to come back alone?” He knows he’s being taunting, cruel even, but he can’t help it anymore, too lost in his anger.

“I can protect her, Joel. In a way that other people can’t. She doesn’t have to come back alone ever again.”

“So what, you’re gonna be some power team, huh? You may be immune, darlin, but you’re sure as shit not invincible. Already learned that the hard way.” It’s harsher than he wanted it to be and he can see the slight fall in her expression, but she steels back up.

“Now you’re just being a dick for the hell of it. I’m going to run patrol with her, Joel. Whether you like it or not.”

“No you’re not! Goddamnit! This isn’t some fucking game, don’t you see that? Quit trying to play the hero, trying to make up for the past. You can’t bring any of them back. You can’t bring him back.” It’s a shot in the dark really, an assumption he makes but it seems to hit the target as her face immediately goes slack.

“You can’t bring Ja–” She’s on him before he can even get the whole name out, her sheer strength taking him by surprise as she hauls him by his shirt collar and shoves him against the wall.

“You don’t fucking say his name. I’m taking patrol with Ellie. But you and I? Whatever this was? It’s over. Go find someone else to boss around.” She shoves him, hard, into the wall before turning heel and stomping out the front door before he can even get a word out. 

Joel keels over for a moment, hands on his knees as he lets out a string of sharp curses and he can’t help thinking that he’s been somewhere very similar in the recent past. He slowly rights himself, dragging both his hands down his face. Before he can think better of it, he’s whipping around and punching his fist straight through the wall she had just slammed him against. 

Everything goes silent for a moment as he studies his bloodied knuckles.

“What the fuck?” He swears he jumps a few feet in the air, finding Ellie staring at him like he’s crazy. He feels like he’s going crazy.

“Don’t ask, kid.”

…

Joel’s done caring. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself. He doesn’t look for her outside the childcare center, doesn’t ask Maria how she’s doing. If he sees Steve or Alex in the bar he heads home, not wanting to risk seeing her there. One day, he went out on patrol in the morning, and when he came home that night, all her books, her clothes, even her toothbrush was gone. He had broken two of his knuckles that night when he stupidly punched clean through the wall, and the pain is a constant reminder to keep his head down and mind his own business. 

For once, Ellie doesn’t bug him about it, seeming to sense how torn up he really is. She does start taking patrol shifts with her, but she won’t tell Joel anything about it. He lets it be, so long as she keeps coming home safe. 

A few weeks pass in this fugue state. His hand finally heals. Ellie keeps coming home in one piece. He’s slowly realized that it’s going to take practice, forgetting about her, and so his days are spent trying to forget. He takes on as many shifts as he can, working from sunup to sun down most days. They even elect him onto the town council with how much he’s been working with Tommy on shoring up security. 

Spring has fully rolled over to summer, and Joel is starting to accept this life of forgetting until he’s forced to remember. Once again, Ellie doesn’t come home from her shift on time. He doesn’t wait around this time, immediately going to Tommy who agrees to go with him up into the mountains to look for her. The long summer days are to their advantage, keeping it light out still into the evening as they set out on horseback. Joel’s trying to swallow down the frantic panic in his chest. Tommy breaks the silence.

“You gonna tell me what happened between you and her?”

“Shut up, Tommy.”

“Easy, brother. I’m just trying to understand is all. It seemed like you two had a good thing going, then all of a sudden you’re avoiding each other like the damn plague. I don’t get it.” “Yeah, well neither do I. So just shut up and ride.” For once, his brother complies.

They’ve just made it up past the foothills of the mountain when they come across a horse. Joel immediately recognizes it as Shimmer, the horse Ellie likes to take out. He feels sick to his stomach. They dismount and start looking around, but there’s no one in sight. Just as Tommy goes to say something, the sound of a gunshot rings out through the trees. Joel doesn’t even think, already slinging his gun off his shoulder and getting it loaded as he starts to jog towards the sound, Tommy close on his heels. Another shot rings out, and Joel can just start to hear the sounds of shouting up ahead.

Before they get any further, something, or someone, is running smack into Joel, knocking them both onto the ground. He quickly rolls them over, pinning the person down, but his grip slackens when he sees that it’s Ellie. There’s blood splattered across her face and she’s gasping for breath.

“Ellie? Are you hurt?” She shakes her head hard.

“S-she told me to run. It’s a bunch of raiders. They would’ve already killed us, but– they s-saw the bite on her arm, w-wanted answers, how the f-fuck she was still alive.” Joel’s head is spinning as Ellie speaks, but just then another round of gunshots resounds through the trees. He quickly hauls Ellie up, barking at Tommy to get her back to town before turning back towards the sound of gunfire. 

There’s a break in the trees, and sure enough, he sees her holding her own against a pair of men, two bodies already dispatched on the forest floor. He puts a bullet through the one man’s head, turning his attention back to her where she’s struggling with the other raider. Joel’s trying to aim for him, but they’re too close together in their fighting and he can’t risk it. She finally gets the upper hand, sending her knife up and into the fleshy softness beneath the man’s ribs, letting him fall to the ground with a gurgling moan. When she finally looks at Joel, it’s as if she’s in a daze. Meanwhile, Joel keeps opening his mouth to say something, anything, but promptly coming up with nothing. The relief he feels seeing her alive scares him into a stunned silence.

But then he sees that she’s bleeding. There are slicing gashes across her forearm where her fresh scar had been. The cuts look deep and he thinks to himself that it looks purposeful and it makes his stomach twist. She follows his gaze down to her arm, lifting it up to look at it in the quick fading light. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, but still steely cool.

“Guess they wanted to do a little science experiment.” He could drop to his knees, her words make him feel so sick. She glances at him again.

“Is Ellie–”

“Tommy took her back to town. She’s fine, because of you.” She huffs, not acknowledging his last words as she starts gathering knives and guns off the dead bodies. She keeps her gaze down as she moves. Joel swallows hard around the thick pain in his throat.

“Are you ok?” She freezes where she stands. Joel can see the shake in her hands, the weapons she had been collecting clattering to the ground.

When she looks up at him, there’s tears collecting in her eyes. All she manages is a broken whimper of his name before she’s collapsing to her knees in a sob. Joel is on the ground with her in an instant, wrapping her in his arms as she wails into the evening air. Her words crack, punctuated by gasps and shuddering cries.

“I’m so sorry, Joel– I’m so sorry– I–” She can’t even get the rest of what she wants to say out, heaving breaths wracking her body. He pulls back to hold her by her shoulders, dipping his head to catch her watery gaze.

“No sorrys. It’s ok, you’re ok.” She just shakes her head, pressing her clenched fists into her thighs. He pulls her back into a crushing embrace, trying to press stillness into the way her body shakes with each sob until her shudders start to slow. She murmurs into his shoulder that they need to get back to town. He sighs, loosening his grip but keeping his hands wrapped around her arms as he pulls back to look at her. 

“I’m so tired, Joel. I’m so tired.” Something in him shatters at her words, and he takes a sharp inhale to try to keep it together. It has become painfully clear that he was never done caring for her, that he probably would never be done caring for her.

“I know you are, darlin. I’m gonna get you home.”

…

Once again, Joel finds himself in his bathroom taking care of her wounds. She was quiet the whole way back, the occasional shaky exhale all he heard to let him know she was still with him. She won’t meet his gaze, not even when she winces as he cleans the gashes. It’s coming out of his mouth before he can even think better.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, darlin.” There’s a beat of silence, and then she’s letting out an incredulous laugh, finally looking up at him. For a moment, there’s a ghost of a smile on her face.

“We really do.” Her smile quickly fades, a crease settling between her brows as she looks at him.

“Joel, I’m so sorry. For everything. I just– I’m no good. I’ve tried so hard to just keep moving– to not think about– to not think at all. A-and because of it I hurt you and put Ellie in danger and– I’m just so sorry.” She’s clutching his wrist as she speaks, and Joel slides his hand to twine with hers, squeezing hard.

“Stop apologizing. Because of you, Ellie’s asleep in her own bed right now.” There’s a whole lot more he wants to say, but for now he settles with bandaging her forearm. She lets out another sigh before speaking.

“Been trying so hard to leave you be. You don’t deserve to get stuck with all my shit, not when I’ve been so awful to you.” His hands stop.

“You haven’t been awful to me–” “Joel.” “No, I was out of line that night. What I said– I just– the thought of you and Ellie heading out together– everything I– I lost my head. It was wrong, what I said, and I’m sorry. Hell, if someone talked to me like that about Sarah, I’d probably– I’d–”

“Punch a hole through a wall?” There’s a slight smirk tugging on the corner of her mouth, Joel huffs.

“She told you about that, huh?” Her smile cracks a little wider as she shrugs. He squeezes her hand again, letting out a laugh.

“That little shit.” They’re both laughing now and it feels impossibly good. Joel lets out a sigh, finally letting go of her hand to finish wrapping her arm. His voice is a low murmur as he speaks.

“I don’t mind. Being stuck with you. Long as you’re ok being stuck with me. Don’t think I can really help it, to be honest.” He presses his palm into the bandage for good measure before looking at her again. She slides her hand along the scruff of his jaw and feeling her touch like this again is like finally coming up for air after all these weeks.

“I guess we’re just gonna have to be fucked up together, huh?” He smiles, tilting his head to lay a kiss to her palm.

“I guess so, darlin.”

They strip down to nothing before getting into bed, pressing as close as they can and letting their steady heartbeats slow the ebb and flow of their breathing. 

“Joel? Wanna introduce you to someone tomorrow, can I?” She peers up at him from her place on his chest and he nods.

“Who am I meeting?” Her fingers brush down his arm before taking his hand.

“His name is Will. He lives at the childcare center.”

[1141520851813892291920]

I suppose I'll start with the first one

I was always a fan of small spaces, sitting in my closet, making tiny blanket forts, but when I was really little my Favorite spot was my toy box at my grandparents house, I'd pull all the toys out and sit in there with a book and flashlight for Hours

I was about Fibe when my flashlight died even though I Just got my mom to replace them, now I wasn't Terribly afraid of the dark, but there was a slight fear, what kid was Completely unafraid of the dark

Well I tried to get our and I Couldn't, I thought my cousin must have sat on it, seemed like a thing he'd do, so i sat there yelling his name, and pushing on the lid, the box was always kind of a squeeze, but instead of the normal comfort I found myself Terrified.

When I eventually got out I found nothing that should of stopped me, my cousin wast anywhere to be seen, there wasn't anything piled on top of it. There wasn't a latch that could have got stuck, and I could have Sworn I was in there for hours, but it wasnt even five minutes, even weirder my flashlight suddenly started working again.

You'd think this would have stopped my love of smal spaces, but now I Need them, I need the press of walls around me, I need the weight of something on top of me

~ 🌹

Thank you for your submission.

Once again, there are...symptoms for which I have a frame of reference from Before. Small spaces, the dark, claustrophobia, time distortion...My first instinct is to attribute this to The Buried, but same as the previous statement there are...overlaps here that aren't, shall we say, typical - at least with my present framework.

Of particular concern is your lingering need of containment. While there is absolutely a comfort to being surrounded, or held, or having a gentle weight pressing down on you, the Need for it...

Do be careful, won't you? And avoid any tunnels. Perhaps a walk in the fresh air?

I would hate for your follow up statement to come to me covered in dirt.

[headtripped]

MUN INTRO: hey! my name's peyton [th/th, cst, 21+] & i'll be writing for sverre olsen, lee hyeon, selena palacio & dylan hwang here. you can find me on discord @ #seamonkeydefender & please feel free to add me w/o asking as well! discord is my preferred plotting method. all of my characters are on sideblogs aside from sverre, so i will be dming from @portra400s when necessary... hehe

CHARA INTRO: next up, lee hyeon. he's a 25yr old city boy, currently "visiting" yuseong bay (re: staying here indefinitely) to ride out some bad press, as he was an idol up until his group noisily disbanded in late 2023. he's always been interested in cars/had some mechanic experience so he's now the shop hand at park's garage. you can view his stats here & his pinterest here if interested!

answer the following prompts, either ooc or ic!

when did your muse first arrive in yuseong bay?: has visited a few times before, but moved to yuseong bay indefinitely in february 2024.

what does an average day look like for your muse?: wake up around 6:30 or 7:00am, skincare/brush teeth, go for a jog around town, go back home to have breakfast, go to work, go home to shower and change clothes, go out for a while (probably for a joyride, but maybe somewhere to socialize), go home to spend the rest of the evening helping out around the house or working on music, go to sleep.

where can your muse usually be found?: during the day, he's usually at park's garage. aside from that, he's known to just cruise around in his car; though it is somewhat common to see him in the recreation center's gym or at 88& bar.

how does your muse feel about hanwha resort?: indifferent. it doesn't affect him in any way, but he's currently living with his best friend's grandparents, and he feels a bit sad for them that their quiet little town is becoming a little less quiet. still, he doesn't care a whole lot as it doesn't seem to have done any real harm to the area, and is more just of a nuisance than anything from what he can see.

is there an aspiration for your muse to stay in or leave yuseong bay?: he's waiting out bad press, so he'll probably be in yuseong bay until (a) his location leaks or (b) he can search his name without the disbandment news & articles about him being sued being the first things to come up. he was young when he started training to be an idol & only 18 when he debuted, soooo he's also just now getting a chance to (kind of) relax for the first time in his life—these are his motivations to stay, but he's a city boy at heart & does want to return to being a public figure when the drama dies down, so he'll have to leave sooner or later.

answer the following, ooc!

list your muse's three favorite songs: cleanin' out my closet by eminem, shark attack by limp bizkit, humble by kendrick lamar (honorable mentions: liberation by skyminhyuk & gottasade by bewhy); a fan of hip-hop & heavy rock.

describe your muse's style: simple, straight-forward. a closet full of basics in a dark color palette, but if pay him any mind, you’ll see that most of what he wears is designer—he’ll define his taste as “quiet elegance,” but it’s mostly just his pretentiousness speaking. occasionally wears accent pieces or graphic tees, but mostly stays minimalistic with layered jewelry as the “point”.

color, word, and emoji to describe your muse?: burnt sienna, "noise", 🔥

three strong likes and dislikes for your muse: really likes reptiles, racing, fashion / really doesn't like scifi, having to share anything, being disagreed with.

three positive and negative traits for your muse: positive decisive, hard-working, supportive / negative dishonest, unloyal, volatile.

three talents and shortcomings for your muse: very musically skilled, esp with producing, great at making decisions when no one else can/wants to (he'll never make you choose where to eat), very handy / poor control on his emotions, often acts without thinking, starts shit he can't finish.

what is a book/tv series/movie/video game character that you feel your character relates to?: mostly mac, some dennis (it's always sunny).

a relevant goal or arch for your character to overcome: hyeon's a very self-focused person. he's not quite as bad as he was when he was a little younger, but he's still quite aggressive & quick to use people for personal gain, then ditch them when they have nothing left to offer—doesn't necessarily want to be like this, and he's gained some self-awareness in recent times. so, it'd be nice if he can (start to) overcome this and view people as... people... instead of tools to get himself further in life!!! which will hopefully be easier for him in a place like yuseong bay anyway, where life is a little slower and the people are more genuine than what he's used to. aside from this, he has some inner child healing he needs to do and also needs to rediscover his own personality outside of the public image he's curated.

MORE INFO!

hyeon was the main rapper/subvocalist of a boy group called twi5t. debuted in 2017, disbanded in late 2023. they were pretty popular and believed by the public to be not just coworkers, but very good friends—which amplified this positive, ideal perception the public had of them. tl;dr is that they all hated each other. the only real friendship was between hyeon and one other member, who happens to be from yuseong bay and whose family hyeon's currently staying with.

in his stint as an idol, hyeon was originally the least popular member of twi5t. had an attitude scandal not long after debut, so he was under scrutiny already and it didn't help that he had a rough sense of humor and a tendency to use banmal with people he ought to be respecting. over the years, he gained (some) public favor thru the extensive producing he did for the group and other groups within the industry, solo variety show appearances, community service he was forced into, etc etc. but even as people cut him more slack and started to like him, he was perceived as being the most problematic one in the group which was... not true...

but i digress. he was one of the first members to start releasing solo music, which he "bribed" the company into. basically said "hey i'll let u guys have more of the profits than stated in my contract if u let me do this" because he was like... 21 and stupid as hell JBSDHJVSBDF like... he really thought that if he gave them a leg up, it would prevent them from trying to fuck him over. spoiler: it didn't. ultimately his contract was amended and resulted in the profits from everything with his name as an individual on it being split 60% to the company and 40% to him, but he didn't realize this was a permanent thing until a few years down the line when people who'd featured on his songs were making more money off said songs than he was. atp he was one foot out the door, not caring too much about the company or group 'cause fuck those guys for real...

still tried to be on his best behavior and was gonna wait out the contract, but shit started going extremely south with the group in 2023 and hyeon got sued into the ground for slander & breach of contract over a drunk instagram live he did where he was talking about it. aired out not only the group, but the company's business—basically talking about how the members didn't get along, citing a few instances, bitching about management never helping and just sweeping problems under the rug, mentioning how the company trapped him in an unfair contract, etc etc. so yea... his reputation's in the dirt!

anyway... he's 25 now. his brain's finally fully developed. he's learned from his mistakes. he's a better & smarter man than he used to be, but still has a long way to go. picked up a job at park's garage not longer after moving to yuseong bay, as he doesn't like to have too much time to sit around and sulk—helps that he's extremely interested in cars & had some prior mechanic experience from pre-debut and sidework for friends throughout his career.

speaking of cars........ he has two: a 2008 mitsubishi eclipse spyder, which usually sits @ the garage and his flashy daily driver, a 2022 mclaren 765lt. who's he pissing off when he goes joyriding with the top down?

[up-to-some-good]

Traditions (2/9)

A little later than intended, but here it is: second year, second tradition

Previous Part

Next Part

December 1972

Second year was tough for Sirius. Regulus was finally with him at Hogwarts, but across the castle in a different house and refusing to be seen talking to his brother. They still spoke, but Regulus insisted on hiding in broom closets and leaving separately, lest someone report back to their parents that he had been seen with the traitor.

His parents were getting progressively more insufferable. At first, they had sent him a weekly Howler, bemoaning that he couldn't be more like Regulus and that he kept getting into trouble. Thankfully, that didn't last very long. By his thirteenth birthday, they were completely ignoring him, not even sending a note for the rest of term, even though he knew they'd been told about the Marauders' latest antics.

The next he heard from them was a short note, just one sentence sent by owl the day before winter break began.

"Your presence is neither required nor welcome home this holiday."

He showed the note to McGonagall immediately, added his name to the list of students staying over the break, and watched with resignation as his brother left with everyone else to go home for Christmas.

His only saving grace was that he wouldn't be alone in Gryffindor tower, as Remus was staying over the holiday too. The full moon fell too close to Christmas for his comfort, and his parents were visiting his great-grandparents who he had never met for the holiday, so he had opted to stay at school too.

There weren't any other Gryffindor students staying behind, although there were a few scattered between the other houses, but Remus and Sirius had the tower to themselves. They spent their days playing in the snow and warming up by the fire in the common room, playing endless games of chess. They once again made a gingerbread house and ate the whole thing just the two of them.

The problem came at night, when Remus was already asleep and Sirius found himself wide awake, staring out the window and wondering what was going on at home. Was Regulus having fun? Did he know that their parents had asked Sirius not to come? Or did he think it was his brother's idea? Had anyone asked about him at all?

On Christmas Eve, Sirius found himself in the same place as midnight drew closer. He knew he wouldn't be receiving any gifts from his family, not even Reg, and for the first time wondered if he should just suck it up and try to be a better son.

"Sirus?"

He jumped and turned to see Remus staring at him groggily from his bed.

"Why're you 'wake?"

"Couldn't sleep," Sirius whispered back. "Go back to sleep, Rem. I'll be okay."

Remus shook his head and sat up. He rubbed his eyes before reaching for a book at his bedside and gesturing for Sirius to come over.

He obeyed easily, going to sit next to Remus, leaning against the headboard. Remus pulled the covers over their legs and opened his book to a dog-eared page.

"My mom used to read this to me before bed every Christmas Eve," he explained. "It would help me sleep even though I was overexcited about the next day."

He shifted until he was lying down properly and pulled Sirius, indicating that he should do the same.

"Close your eyes, Sirius," he whispered.

Sirius stared at his friend across their shared pillow for a moment, grey eyes meeting brown in the dark dorm. Finally, he closed his eyes and Remus began to read.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

[briebysabs]

Hello everyone I would like to rant on how Vanitas and mostly Noé, deal with their trauma. Why? Because it correlates with my fic and I find it VERY interesting.

Let me start with Noé bc he’s kinda the main reason I’m writing this. Then Vani will weave his way into it as well. I feel like us as an audience tend to see Vanitas notably as the one that has issues. He has more skeletons in the closet and is definitely more flawed. But when talking about Noé’s character as I have attempted several times in my theories. You realize that his inner turmoil and fear goes deeper than Louis’ death.

Noé has gone through shit. There are a series of things we need to remember before the big tragedy even happens.

1. Noé is an orphan

2. He was adopted by a human elderly couple that passed not long after.

3. He was kidnapped and was on the black market for an unspecified period of time before Teacher bought him.

May I remind you, Noé doesn’t tell Vanitas any of this. Or Louis dying. Domi told Vanitas that his partner is an orphan. Mikhail is the one who tells Vani who Louis even was and how he died in front of Noé.

Think about it. Vanitas is secretive but Noé isn’t sharing a lot either. Hell, Vanitas knew Noé was an Archiviste by I believe from Nox, Count Orlok’s personal guard. Do you notice a pattern here? All the information Vanitas gains about Noé is coming from other people. Why is that?

Well let’s put a pin in this and return to it later. We find out how his grandparents found him, their death and him being kidnapped. All of it is mentioned as like a passing comment. Obviously he’s a child and doesn’t fully understand what’s happening. We don’t know what happened to his eye either. He doesn’t share that with anyone.

But we see he misses them dearly. But he never mentions or thinks about them in present day. At least we haven’t seen that.

Despite the impact they’ve had on his life and why he cares for humans just as much as vampires.

So you’re probably like girl, what are you getting at here? Well I’m going to let this clip speak for my entire point and elaborate from that. Because this is the perfect example/representation of what I’m talking about.

I am also adding this panel bc of it ties back to what we put a pin on and I’ll soon come back to in a moment. But keep this in mind. This is Noé’s final thought that was cut from the anime.

My first bullet point: Noé represses his trauma. This is what differentiates him from Vanitas. Bc instead of pushing it away, Vanitas lets his consume him which is what dictates a lot of the actions he makes. Noé swallows a lot of shit down. That’s why there are several moments he has this sharp outburst of anger. He doesn’t want to confront his past but they affect who he is. That’s why he clings to optimism (looking to the future) bc that’s what keeps him going.

Besides the Book, it’s the other main reason he latched onto Vanitas to begin with. Because he gave Noé that hope.....which is why I’m afraid of the Noé writing these memoirs but that’s a whole other topic.

And here is where the pin comes loose. Noé’s biggest fear is yes, losing the people around him but also himself. Noé is terrified of himself. I won’t necessarily call it self-hatred (though it inevitably kinda boils down to that)

He’s afraid of his appearance seen while fighting Vanitas, he’s afraid of his strength which is why he holds back a lot or underestimates his enemy. He’s afraid of his Archiviste abilities, he’s afraid of how he felt relieved to be alive after Louis’ death.

He’s afraid he’ll never understand this world despite finding the good in it. And he keeps pushing it all down and I just wanna hug him because THIS IS NOT HEALTHY.

FYI this method of coping with your problems or trauma is a recipe for disaster. This is what breaks people. At least from personal experience of what I’ve seen. Eventually, a straw is going to break the camel’s back. Because you can’t stay silent forever, you can’t run away forever and man this has turned into a therapy session 🥲

Bro I barely focused on Vanitas. I’ll make a separate thread about him one day. Needless to say, I am incredibly excited for what Lady Archiviste has in store for us and if it’s a Noé centric arc addressing what’s in this ramble LETS FUCKING GO

[braveclementine]

Chapter 2

Warnings: None. (Will however be a 18+ reader book)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC: Elizabeth Y/L/N (created so you don't get Y/N and Y/S/N consistently mixed up. I do not condone any copying of this.

ONCE IN NEW YORK, you drug your suitcase out of the airport sliding doors and was met with a flurry of bright red hair.

"Hey Ivy!" You said, hugging her back just as tightly.

"I'm so glad you're here." Ivy said, stepping back, a huge smile across her freckled face. She gestured around. "So how's the big city so far?"

"Amazing." You grinned, taking a look at the hundreds of people on the streets, the taxis zipping by, the tall buildings- taller than you'd ever seen them. Electronic billboards seemed to be on every building, flashing bright coloured advertisements in every direction.

"Well c'mon." Ivy said, hooking her arm through yours. "Don't want my car to get towed now, do I?"

Her car turned out to be a small Toyota in a flashy blue colour. You slid into the passenger seat after settling your bags into the trunk of the car.

"So." Ivy said, chattering along as she spend down the road. "The apartment I'm staying at has almost everything you'd ever need around it. Food courts, a small grocery shop, a bunch of clothing malls, places hiring for jobs, a movie theater, a park area, a swimming pool. And! It's two blocks away from the Avengers Tower."

"Really?" You asked in amazement and excitement. You'd always appreciated most of the Avengers good looks and thought that whoever was lucky enough to get even one of them for a soulmate was one lucky bitch. "Have you ever seen any of them?"

"Trust me Y/N." Ivy laughed. "Everyone in New York has seen Tony Stark in person at least once. And James Barnes, Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson all go for morning runs, which makes the walking trails super popular early in the morning. With a lot of the female generation. You know they're all soulmated to each other though?"

"They must pull side ladies in though, right?" You questioned.

Just because you had a soulmate didn't really mean anything. People sometimes found their soulmates and would agree not to see each other again. Even though they technically were the best person to be with- and rejection was extremely rare- it didn't necessarily stop cheating.

Usually, in the case of three guys or girls in a relationship, they would ultimately agree to pull someone of the opposite sex in occasionally to liven things up.

"Maybe." Ivy shrugged, "But if they do, no one has ever been chosen and spoken about it."

"So the Avengers are up here at the tower?" You questioned. Something about other being with the Avengers settled wrong in your stomach. "I thought they had a fancy compound down in like D.C. or someplace."

"They come up here mostly during the summer-ish months. Like late May through early September. Once it gets cold they head south like birds." Ivy laughed.

Pulling up to Ivy's apartment was like a dream come true. It would be something close to almost having your own place.

For so long, you'd stayed in your family's two floor farm house. Despite being two floors, It was a huge place. A lot of the rooms were simply used for guest rooms when your sets of grandparents came around.

Of course, you knew the apartment was smaller than that and you weren't disappointed when you walked in.

It was on the first floor, so you didn't have to go up any steps- thankfully. Off to one side was a small living room space and a kitchen. To the other were three doors. One to Ivy's bedroom, one to yours, and the other to a closet. In Ivy's bedroom was where the door to the bathroom was.

"It's small." Ivy said with a shrug. "But it's pretty good for a New York apartment."

"I agree." You said chirpily.

Ivy pushed open the door to the room where you'd been staying. "I'm going to go and make some Kraft mac and cheese. You want any?"

"Kraft?" You asked.

"Oh right." Ivy said. "It's like boxed mac and cheese."

"Oh sure." You said. You'd never had it before. Living on the farm meant that you only ate what was produced there. Though on a birthday or a celebration your mother would go into town and they'd bring back a cake or a pumpkin roll. Sometimes a cheese and salted meat tray. And of course, your school had brought in pizzas all the time.

You hung up all of your clothes in the closet, except for any underclothes or lingerie, which went in an unused and completely empty except for a Bible in the top drawer of the dresser in the corner of the room. There was no bed in here yet, but there was a blow up mattress at the moment. You had some money already and would soon buy a nice bed to go with the room.

Once you did that, you freshened up in the bathroom, before leaving to go out to the kitchen and you could smell the wonderful food that Ivy had said she was going to make for the two of you.

"That smells great." You said as she set out two bowls of an unnaturally bright yellow pasta. The cheese in particular was bright yellow and you weren't entirely sure it was real.

"Thanks." Ivy said brightly. "You might want to wait a minute before you eat it though, it's pretty hot. Do you drink milk?"

"Yes." You said. That question was a bit weird, why wouldn't you drink milk? You had grown up drinking milk your entire life. "Do some people not drink milk?"

"Well, it depends." Ivy shrugged, pulling out a large gallon jug from the refrigerator. It had a dark blue cap on it. "Some people drink whole milk or two percent or skim. Some people drink soy milk or almond milk or goat milk or vanilla milk or chocolate milk. And some people don't drink milk because they're allergic to it or because they're vegan."

The only one out of all of those different types you'd had was chocolate. Mom and Elizabeth would crush up cocoa beans, put them through a processor, and then create a sort of powder that went into the newly purified milk from your cows and created chocolate milk.

"Thanks." You said as she handed you one of the glasses of milk. "So what new job are you doing now?"

Ivy changed jobs a lot. Almost every year.

"Oh yeah this one is terrible." Ivy moaned, "I already know I'm going to quit it at the end of my contract. Seriously, the boss expects so much from me, its ridiculous. Like, I know I have a college degree, but that doesn't mean I'm supposed to do every single thing in the office, right?"

"Right." You agreed. You were a little bitter that you'd never gone to college, but your parents didn't have the money and you hadn't gotten any scholarships to pay for it. "But at least you have a degree."

"Hmm, guess that's true." Ivy said thoughtfully. "Anyways, do you have a job yet?"

"Yeah." You said. "I'm working at the Starbucks down the street."

"Sweet." Ivy said. "Literally. You can get free coffee."

You laughed. "Exactly why I got the job."

The night grew long outside and Ivy decided that we should go partying- which you heartily agreed to. However, not having any party clothes, Ivy let you go into her closet and borrow something to wear.

She wore a sparkly green sort of mermaid dress that cut off right below her ass and a pair of six inch black heels. She pulled her long red hair up into a high ponytail, curling it so that the ends tickled her shoulders.

You picked out a white strapless dress. It was tight in every area and showed off your best assets. You curled your own hair, but left it down and loose. You heels were just as high and your makeup just as exotic.

"Let's go party!" Ivy cheered. 

⬅️➡️

[einsteinsugly]

Fictober 11. That 70s Show. March 2023. An Old Married Couple.

Jackie and Hyde are racing around their vast walk-in closet, in sheer panic and confusion.

Jackie, quite predictably, is the first to blow off some steam. As she nervously runs her hands through her hair. "You lost it. Well..."

"We lost it," Hyde aptly clarifies, "It's not my fucking fault that you've got a million gifts hidden in that damn closet."

"I plan ahead, Steven," Jackie loudly scoffs, proudly gesturing to her shopping hoard, filled to the brim with kids' toys, clothes, and extra goodies, "And, I have emergency gifts. Donna only gets them stupid books and ugly stuff from Old Navy, and Eric's clueless."

"I moved it to a better place."

Jackie frantically throws her hands in the air, in sheer exasperation. "Where, Steven? Where?"

Hyde awkwardly shrugs, right out of Forman's dorky playbook. "I don't know."

But she barely flinches, in the face of tepid adversity. "That isn't a better place, is it?"

"I've checked all the closets," Hyde laments, digging through Jackie's hoard, "It's gotta be in this one, somewhere."

"Well, we'd better find it, 'cause Old Navy is Gap for cheap people. Like Donna and Eric," Jackie haughtily proclaims, "We have to outshine them with a better gift, or else."

"Or else what?" Hyde openly challenges, "I'm pretty sure three out of four of 'em prefer Forman and Donna, for some fuckin' reason."

Jackie is notably offended at the mere thought. "Even though we buy them better gifts, have a better house, and we're the loving and cool grandparents? And Eric and Donna are the boring, dorky ones?"

But most of the grandkids are in Eric and Donna's camp, unfortunately, so it's not all that surprising. Yes, their house is a much nicer Chuck E Cheese's, and they have everything money can't buy, but Eric and Donna's genes have unfortunately dominated.

So, Hyde states the obvious. "Yep. I think most of the grandkids are boring and dorky..."

Jackie is quick to interject, on behalf of the lone wolf that lingers in their cool corner. Their dojo of coolness, of course.

"Except Abbie. She's cool, like us..."

"Yep. Found it." After digging and digging, he unearths a brand new Nintendo Switch. To replace Caleb's janky old one, but there are now a bunch of unfamiliar so-called "emergency" gifts scattered on the floor. "Are these gifts in the front new?"

Jackie's amber eyes go particularly wide. "...No."

[plant-dad-sulu]

Back in April on a Tuesday morning I got a call from my dad

He asked me if I’d gotten an email from my aunt and when I said no he told me that my uncle was sick. He had gone into the hospital feeling unwell and on Monday they had diagnosed him with cancer and hospitalized him. It was liver cancer they said, he couldn’t tell me what stage just that it was terminal, had already spread by the time they found it. He had tumours in his kidneys and lungs.

I had to work that day so I thanked my dad for telling me and got on with my day. I told one person that my uncle was sick, no one else knew.

On Wednesday I drove to Hamilton for work, or maybe Catham I can’t remember which came first. We spent a week there setting up our show, rehearsing, performing, striking, something we’d been doing every week for 6 months, it was easy by then. I worked and tried not to think about it. I’d already lost family and friends to cancer, I knew what to expect. I told one more person. She told me about her grandparents who had died of brain cancer. I didn’t feel like I had any room to feel sorry for myself so I didn’t bring it up again.

On Monday night I got into my hotel room past midnight, it was Tuesday morning now, we’d just struck the show and I was sore and exhausted and ready to sleep. My coworker I was sharing a room with was already sleeping in the next bed over. I got changed and collapsed into bed and I checked my email before going to sleep. I had an email from my aunt saying my uncle had died.

It took one week.

Seven days from him getting diagnosed to him dying. I’d never known anyone who’d died that suddenly before, everyone else I’d known who had had cancer had had a slow decline, months or even years, sometimes with a remission or two just to give you hope first. I didn’t have time for hope with my uncle. I hadn’t even been home.

We drove back to Toronto the next day, unloaded the trucks, returned them, took the bus home. I didn’t tell anyone he was dead, I didn’t know how. When I got home that night I told my friends I had gotten bad news and needed to talk to someone. One person was free. I told him what had happened and I didn’t know what else to say about it. I just needed someone to know.

He asked if I was close with this uncle. I said no. He asked if I was sad. I said didn’t know. We hung up pretty quickly.

The next email was to tell us there wouldn’t be a funeral or memorial. We couldn’t because of covid. She told us they would hold a “Celebration of Life” once it was safe. We still haven’t done it. We’re doing Christmas this year though, it’s safe enough for that. I’m not going.

After he died, weeks or months, I started to learn about what happened after he’d died. My dad had been helping my aunt, his sister, clean up all my uncle’s stuff, and they found out he’d been hiding a spending problem. His office was full of stuff he’d bought for hobbies he’d lost interest in. Unopened boxes and unplayed guitars - lots and lots of guitars. They found extra credit cards too, ones my aunt didn’t know about. They found so much debt.

My uncle, when he was alive, was one of the only good people in my family. That side of my family isn’t happy. They’re all angry or depressed or tightly wound, they were all on edge around each other, none of them were ever happy when I saw them, not for long, but he was. I loved him for that, I thought he was one of the only people worth the miserable Christmases.

And then I learned that he wasn’t really that. He was someone who hid his spending from his wife and left her in deep debt with closets worth of junk to show for it. He didn’t consider her when he kept getting cards to hide the problem or tell her when things got bad. And I know that’s not his fault, I know it, but it also was.

And suddenly he wasn’t the person I remembered anymore. I remember his smile so clearly and his polo shirts and his little rectangular glasses and the way his whole body shook when he laughed. But now I also had this other understanding of him. And this resentment for how he left things. And resentment too that I never got the chance to say goodbye to the wonderful, lovely, happy man I saw every year at Christmas and Canada Day, who made it worth enduring the other relatives and the crappy turkey stuffing and the decorative nutcrackers that watched you in the bathroom. I didn’t say goodbye before he became a man I didn’t like.

And it’s not his fault. He was always that way and I just didn’t know, nobody did. But I hate him for it. And I miss my uncle. And I’ll think of him anytime I see that guitar in my dad’s office, the one my aunt gave to him because she was in too much pain to sell it. And I’ll think of him at Christmas when I’m not there because as long as I’m not there he is.

Just like I’ll always think of my other aunt whenever I see her daughter. Or my friend Ryan when it’s our birthday. Or Dana when I go to Niagara-on-the-Lake or wear sweatpants on the bus. Remembering them all, too, at the strangest times. Thinking sometimes, by mistake or even when I know it’s not true, that they’re alive.

And it’s almost Christmas and I won’t see that side of the family this year because I’m seeing my mother’s family instead on the west coast. And I don’t know if I’ll ever see that side of the family again at Christmas, those unhappy people. I don’t know if I could stomach seeing that he really isn’t there. If I’m not then maybe he is.

It took one week.

[rustedhearts]

always (boxer!steve x fem!librarian reader)

summary: set after the events of the incident and send her my love, you meet steve in your hometown to catch up after three months apart. has he done the work like he said he has, or is steve’s nature irreversible?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1993) ✶ the library ✶ the record store

tags: fluff, a dash of angst, a lot of comfort!, this literally has been in my drafts since the dawn of time so i’m sorry for the cheesy ending, i just wanted it out!

"what i'd give to run my fingers through your hair, to touch your lips, to hold you near—when you say your prayers, try to understand: i've made mistakes, i'm just a man."

— always, bon jovi

hawkins, indiana. march 1993.

Your luggage sat unzipped and dumped full of clothes, purses folded to fit and closet frantically thrown apart when the phone rang. Your letter wasn't even three days out, barely filling space in the mailbox of your lover before it had been torn open and consumed greedily—and while you were preparing for a trip of your own, Steve insisted he be the one to travel.

So, when you plucked the phone from the cradle on your nightstand, sinking breathlessly onto the edge of the bed for a beat, you were surprised to find his voice on the other line.

"Don't come to California," he rasped into the phone, just as out of air as you. "I'm coming to you."

Mouth parting, you felt your insides tug and lurch at the familiar sound of his syllables. "W-what? Steve?"

"I got your letter, baby. I'm coming to you, don't go anywhere." A beat followed, and while you found your breath and racked your brain for a response, Steve returned to the line. "Please."

Chest blooming with new beats, you let a smile overtake your face and reveled in the way your hands began to shake. "Okay. I'm not going anywhere."

And though he insisted on coming to you, you kept your things neatly packed in your suitcase in the closet. You never made your bed, and you had your favorite pair of slip-on shoes ready near the door. You wouldn't be traveling to Steve right now, but you knew you'd be returning home soon.

✶ ✶

The nicest restaurant Hawkins had to offer was Enzo's, a little Italian place next to a shoe store slowly going out of business. It was the only place in the entire town that required a reservation, and Steve promised to take care of all of it. You wrangled your friends and took a trip to the mall, coming away with a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and a new, sleek black dress. You hung it on the back of your closet door and waited giddily for Steve's return to town.

It felt like ages since you'd been here together, and it felt strange to remember that this was where both of you have grown up and lived your lives before all the fame. Life in Hawkins had become so separate to Steve over the past few months. You had the library, your friends, your family, and what you didn't tell Steve: an application to the University of Indianapolis for the autumn. It was crumpled and weeks old, and absent of pen markings where needed—but you had it.

But now that Steve was returning, you remembered all those cool days spent on the back of his motorcycle, ripping through town. Visiting the old gym at the edge of town that always smelled like burnt tires, sharing chocolate milkshakes on the way home at the same diner you had your first date at. Afternoons in his old, dingy, first floor apartment with the mold in the bathroom ceiling and the green carpet that reminded you of your grandparents' house. Early mornings in the full-sized bed, comparing hands sizes and finding shapes in streaks of sunlight across the foot of the bed.

Steve told you he loved you for the first time in that bed. Reclined on his side, head resting in his hand, watching you scrub at your teeth with a foamy toothbrush through the open doorway, pulling your hair back to spit it into the sink. Dressed in only his sweatshirt, feet bare and toes frozen in the winter weather and an apartment with a broken radiator. When you spun around to return to bed, he confessed. You aren't sure you ever ended up leaving bed that day.

For some reason, as you breezed into the jazz-filled restaurant in your brand new dress, all dolled up and pretty, you could only remember those beginnings. The nervous hand skitters, the back knuckle kisses, the hours spent between your thighs, the hope for the future. You suddenly realized how young you were back then. Just kids, holding out on life working out in your favor.

Steve was seated when you arrived: a round little table in the center of the restaurant. Brown slacks, crisp white shirt, no tie. A silver ring gleamed on his left forefinger, a plain but handsome signet. You bought it for him last Christmas. And as you inched closer, guided by the hostess, the wavering amber candlelight gave way to something else—something new.

A patch of dark hair shadowed over his upper lip.

It curled into the shape of his smile at the sight of you heading his way. The wooden chair beneath him groaned with the relief of weight when he leapt to his feet, hands smoothing down his folded cuffs. You came to a stop at the end of the table, and as the hostess lingered to ask for your drink orders, you found yourself lost in that handsome, hairy smile.

"Hi," he breathed.

A giggle hiccuped from your mouth. "Hi."

Steve was quick to make his rounds to your side of the table, pulling the chair back. You sank down, head tipped back to watch as he pushed you in. His grin broadened with the weight of your eyes on him, following him the whole way back to his seat. Once seated, he inhaled deeply, taking a moment to gaze at your face.

"May I get you something to drink?"

You blurted something out when the hostess's eyes slid to you. You couldn't quite remember when you thought back on it a moment later—too lost in the sight of Steve's hazel eyes grazing over you. When the hostess disappeared, you both seemed to jump.

"You look—"

"You're so—"

The pair of you stopped, words tumbling into each other. Heat flooded your face and Steve chuckled, spinning the band around his finger with his thumb on the tabletop.

"You go," you insisted.

"I was just going to say...you look so beautiful."

More heat settled in your face, though you'd heard it from him a thousand times before. You shifted in your seat, tugging at the end of your dress.

"Thank you. I was going to tell you how handsome you looked, too."

Redness swelled in Steve’s cheeks, rounded with another smile. You’d never seen him show his excitement so blatantly, and something about it now made your insides flutter. He was so happy to see you, and that made you gooey and soft.

When the drinks were set down and the entrees had been ordered, you pressed your lips into a smile and tipped your head at Steve.

“I’ve never seen you with a mustache.”

His fingers immediately swept over the hair on his lip, eyes ducking toward his Coke. “Oh, yeah. Do you-did you-is it alright?”

Eyes softening, you brushed your foot against his under the table. “More than alright. It’s very handsome, Steve.”

His gratitude waned to bashful, eyes returning to the white tablecloth. You leaned forward and took a sip of your water through the plastic straw, welcoming the cool feeling in your mouth. Heat gathered and festered in your body like the surface of the sun. The new fabric of your dress started to itch around your back. You hadn't been this nervous around Steve since your first date.

"How was the flight here?" you tried, placing your eyes on him again.

You couldn't believe how dashing he looked. The mustache somehow softened him. Or maybe it was that lopsided, sideways grin that gushed boyish charm. Either way, your heart couldn't stop hammering.

"Oh, it-it was fine. Paparazzi bullshi—I mean…paparazzi mess in the airport,” Steve stuttered, wiping a hand over his eyes when his usual profanity slipped through.

He was trying so hard to be good—to be better. You wished he would realize that cutting back on profanity wouldn’t alter what needed to be fixed. But if it helped him get there, you wouldn’t protest. You just sort of liked how those crude words rounded at the edges when they came from his mouth. Like swallowing a pill for some, but gulping water for him. Easy, digestible, almost reflex. He made the grotesque seem wonderful.

But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? For you, anyhow.

“Oh, I’m sorry. We should be safe from all that here, though.”

Steve nodded, hands wringing in his lap. “Yeah…m’ not worried about it.”

A flicker of a smile flittered over your face. “Okay.”

You turned to the tablecloth then, the chair beneath you feeling weightless. Like at any moment, you could blow away in the wind. It was still hard to feel steady around Steve. He watched from across the table as you traced a run in the linen. He thought you were glowing.

“How’s Nick? And your parents, how are they?” he asked when the quiet pause surpassed comfortability.

“Nick is…at the age where all he wants to do is go off and do things. He’s getting restless, I think. And Mom is good, um, wants to redo the living room. She thinks it’s too outdated now, but…I like holding onto the 80s.”

Steve’s dark mustache curled with another smile. “Yeah, you always liked old stuff. Or ‘vintage’ as you call it.”

"The 80s are not vintage, Steve, they were only 4 years ago," you giggled.

Steve forgot just how wonderful his name sounded in the soft octave and lovely frequencies of your voice. So particular, how your tongue tapped your teeth against the 't,' and how you sort of grinned around the syllables with ease. He swallowed just at the sound of it.

"Oh, sorry, sorry." He was teasing. It'd been so long since he teased.

Another momentary quiet lulled over the table as the shared laughter fizzled out. You glanced around the restaurant a moment. Most other tables were coupled with middle-aged pairs, clinking wine glasses and holding hands against dinner plates, or gazing at their own menus and sitting as far apart as possible, ignoring the other person like a bad habit. A younger couple, late teens at best, sat at the far end near the restrooms. It must've been their first "fancy" dinner. He whispered in her ear and she looked straight at your table, hand covering her mouth.

"Have you spoken to Eddie?" A swift conversation needed to be found, though you weren't sure this was the best course to go down.

Steve, however, just shook his head down at his empty bread plate. You slipped one from the clothed basket to pluck at mindlessly to fill your fidgeting hands. They needed something to do.

"Uh...no. No, I...I haven't." He was too embarrassed to reach out knowing how he behaved. "Have you?"

You nodded. "Um, yeah, sometimes. When Stella calls, I'll say hello."

Steve's smile was small, a little wary. "I'm glad you two are becoming such good friends."

"Oh, well...she's a movie star, I'm just..." You shrugged.

The edges of Steve's mouth embedded downward, brows pinched together. "Just what?"

Heat swelled in your cheeks and under your jaw. You felt sore with visibility. "Just...I don't know—it doesn't matter. M' not much, is all. I'm certainly not a glamorous actress."

Steve leaned forward on his forearms, eyes swampy and sincere under scrunched brows. "Hey. You're everything, angel. Everything."

The sun, the moon, the stars, the cosmos and everything beyond—you were everything to him. He meant that with every fiber of his being.

And you could see that in those eyes, watching you through the glow of candlelight, waiting to recognize an understanding in your own.

You let a smile overtake your face, bashful and pretty. "Thank you, Steve."

In the next wait, you watched him reach to rub at his temples, only to yank his hands away and busy them with something else. You watched for a few painful moments before pulling your purse around the post of your chair and into your lap, snicking the zipper open to reach inside. Your pill case, a tiny metal container with a floral top, still held all the Steve-approved pain pills of the olden days. You pulled out two and set them on the table.

Steve's eyes slid to the tablets quietly. Then your hands, pushing the container rattling with medicated contents back into your purse. Even after all this time.

As his fingers came to retrieve the pills, he caught your eye. You smiled at him. Sweet and loving and kind. He smiled back, a flash of white teeth with sharp canines. It crinkled his eyes with the faintest crow's feet. You longed to reach out and touch them, feel his warm flesh beneath your fingertips.

"Thank you," he whispered into the rim of his water glass.

You pinched the straw of your Coke. "Of course."

Unable to stomach another small silence, you leaned forward with urgency before it could come, looking to Steve with pleading eyes. "Can we drop the formalities and niceties, Steve? I mean...we know each other too well for it. Let's just...pick up from where we left off."

Steve inhaled sharply, a little pained. "Not...right where we left off."

You nodded, extending your hand for him to take over the table. He did so eagerly, fingers sliding into your smaller palm until they pressed against your wrist. "Then, we'll pick up in the middle of it."

Steve rubbed his fingers over your skin, feeling the ridges and valleys of your veins and bones.

"In the middle of it," he affirmed.

His touch tickled, and another giggle burst forth when tingles sparked down your spine.

He eased forward again, mischief in his eye. "Did I tell you how good you smelled? S' my favorite, isn't it?"

You tipped your head, bashful grin coiling at the corner of your mouth. It made Steve's breath catch in his throat, the frayed edge of his nerves feel like they were on fire.

"How'd you know?"

Steve swallowed, tracing a tiny circle on the back of your hand with his index finger.

"I missed that smell," he admitted.

His written words from the past few months rang through your head. "The paper smelled like you this time. You don't know how badly I've missed that smell. I sort of feel like a hound-dog, tracing for more of it in the ink."

It was your nerves that felt afire this time. You flipped your hand to lie flat and engulfed Steve's atop the white linen cloth. The movement bumped the candle in the center of the table, and the flicker wobbled over the edge of Steve's face with a gentle, orange glow.

You wanted to feel his lips. You wanted to feel the strength of his hands on your face again. Petting you, touching you, feeling you. If there was one thing you missed, it was Steve's touch. The sheer size of his presence around you. How his warmth rang through every inch of your being and every corner of the room when you were together.

"I loved your letters," you declared, the thought of his words still poking at your thoughts.

Steve inhaled. "Really?"

"You were quite...poetic."

Steve snickered, scratching at the silver scar on his brow with his free hand.

"God," he hissed, shaking his head with a grimace. His eyes fell to the candle before slowly bouncing their way to your chin. Suddenly, he couldn't meet your eye. "But you...you really liked them?"

You placed your other hand atop the ones intertwined on the table. The look in your eye appeared sincere—genuine fondness.

"Adored."

Steve exhaled, lips parting in preparation to utter some other murmur of adoration—but then the waitress was suddenly standing at your table, holding two steaming dishes. Steve's eyes found her first, narrowing in disappointment at the interruption. He pulled back from the candlelight where he was crowding to get close to you. Your arm inched backward, heading for your lap but stopped by Steve's grip on your fingers.

You met his eye over the waitress's arm, fingers clinging to each other by the first knuckles. He didn't want to let go. So you stayed.

The fog of Steve's presence must've interrupted your train of thought, because you didn't remember ordering the meal that sat in front of you. But you picked up your fork with your free hand and sank into it anyway, buzzing with giddiness and too lovestruck to care.

It felt like everything in your body and your mind had been windswept by the current predicament. All you could think of were Steve's eyes across the table, and his fingers against your own.

You were four bites and two Coke sips in when Steve spoke again.

"Are you coming home?”

Your eyes traced the distance between the condensation dripping down your glass to the roundness of Steve’s eyes in no time. He took his lip between his teeth and gnawed it, hand off his plate to fall into his lap. You sat back, swallowing the bite of food in your mouth that suddenly grew in size. It scraped your stomach going down.

“Um…”

The table rattled with the incessant bounce of Steve’s knee beneath it.

“I want to,” you said. “I just…don’t want to go back as if nothing happened, Steve.”

He let go of his lip, ringed finger scratching at his scar again. “No, yeah. Yeah, makes sense.”

The scrape of utensils and clink of dishes filled another silence. You took another bite of your dinner. Steve gulped down half his water and tapped his finger on the table. He wished he hadn’t left his Marlboros in his jacket pocket at the coat check.

“What if…”

You looked his way again, fork prongs between your lips. He poked at his steak. The finger curled around yours felt clammy and tight.

“What if you came to New York with me? I have a fight next weekend in the Garden. You could…come for a few days…we could have a do-over.”

You swallowed. The last time you were in New York together, things hadn’t gone well. It was the first time he left a mark. The first time you broke things off and left for home.

“Um…”

Steve had never heard you say um this many times in all the years he’d known you.

“I never got to take you to Tiffany’s,” he said, clearing his throat when your eyes cut his way in surprise. His cheeks were a lovely shade of rose again. “A-and that…that cowboy guy you like—“

“Ralph Lauren.” Your lips pressed into a smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh…we could go there. Anywhere.”

Just come with me, he wanted to say. Please.

But Steve didn’t have to say it. You could see it in his eyes, hazels all round under a set of cinched brows. Like a kitten waiting for milk. A dog sitting for a bone.

“You don’t have to buy me,” you added, just for one last second of strength.

It all went out the window the moment you laid eyes on him.

“I know. I just…wanna show you that I’m here. I’m here, and…I’ll be better.”

You sighed, hand reaching up to fondle the locket that you forgot wasn’t there. The Christmas present from Steve that you tucked away in your jewelry box months ago. The token of a love you were certain was still there.

“I’ll think about it,” you told him.

And Steve smiled, and went back to his dinner with faith. Faith that you would return to him, like they all knew you would.

Your ticket to New York City was booked the next day. Signed, sealed, and delivered with a kiss from one handsome boxer Steve.

[torc87]

Difference between being white passing and white:

So I am a Russian born Jew. What this means is that despite being born in Moscow, my parents being born in Moscow, my birth certificate said Jewish. As did theirs. This also means that the only thing I knew about Judaism till I was ten ( we moved to the US when I was 8) was DO NOT EVER TELL ANYONE YOU ARE JEWISH. My mother told me that when I was 3 or 4. I think I must have told someone in day care? I can't recall but her telling me that, right outside the fence, is one of my earliest memories.

So yeah, not very religious us. I mean, we tried later. I won a year's scholarship and spent 5th grade in a yeshiva - my mother didn't know how else to pick out a school from the random list she got, just figured it shouldn't be a Christian for profit school. Only a year though bc I Was ten - I came home and started asking why we didn't celebrate any holidays. We tried ...first passover seder we did, my great grandparents served pork chops and apple turnovers. Bread and pork, exactly the thing for a seder, right? ( Ok, they knew about the pork, no one actually cared). My mother pulled me from yeshiva after a year bc I was going a bit deeper into the religious aspects than she was comfortable w.

I became Pagan at 16, it fit my beliefs better. I am still Pagan now, altar in my home and everything.

So not very religious, haven't worn a magen david since I was 12. Usually in pants, tank tops, etc. Bright colored red hair. I'm generally assumed to be Hispanic if it's summer - my skin tans dark.

I haven't had much to do w the Jewish community since I became Pagan. Haven't been in a synagogue since my great grandparents died.

Haven't had much to do w antisemitism either - I pass well, as I said. Unless people ask they usually don't realize.

I've had a college classmate ask me where my horns were - in all seriousness. She was Midwestern, hadn't met a Jew before. I looked at her like she was insane, bc who the hell actually believes that medieval drivel these days?

Or a coworker saying her college was controlled by Jews bc they gave major Jewish holidays off. Note that they also gave major Christian ones off too - as does EVERY public college and school in the US. That equality meant to her that she was being discriminated against.

But yeah, otherwise? I interact in the US like any other white person.

Primarily bc I don't participate in the traditions of my ethnicity and religion. It's really easy not to notice that Yom Kippur is a work day when I don't have to take a personal day for it. I don't fast and I don't care about working on it, so I don't have to take it off. See? Regular white person. Same w every other holiday. Same w not dealing w anti-Semitism - if no one knows I'm Jewish, I'm basically white, right? Maybe it would change how they treat me if they knew, but as long as I don't say it and don't act or dress Jewish, they won't know! Problem solved!

That's the difference btwn white and white passing. If people knew, if you did the things your identity usually does ( e.g. if you are gay and went out w men instead of being closeted) would the way people treat you change?

I found out for myself recently.

W all the rising anti-Semitism in the US the last year, I decided to wear a magen david again.

Not bc I'm not scared, not bc I think it's safe - but bc I think it isn't.

Bc I lost family in the Holocaust and while I am fully comfortable changing my RELIGION to Pagan, my ethnicity is and will always be Jewish.

Bc my rule has always been, if asked " I'm Pagan, unless an anti-semite is asking, in which case, fuck yes, I'm Jewish, is that a problem?"

Bc I refuse to be a hypocrite while there are a lot of anti-Semites asking that right now.

Bc I refuse to live in a country where I must hide my race or religion for my own safety. Been there, done that, we Left Russia bc of it. I'm not interested in going back.

So I put on a magen david. Got instant attn from coworkers. Peaceful, so far I hope, though I got a lot of questions on the Israel-Gaza situation that I hadn't gotten before and don't think anybody else has at all.

Not much else so far though.

So basically Jewish is like white w white privilege, right?

I'm in a white majority country, I'm not closeted, I'm still being treated ok, so Jews must be white ?

Except...

That first day I put on my magen david, the purpose of wearing which was to be visibly Jewish, I was visiting my grandfather in the rehab center.

He's in his 90s. WW2 Ghetto survivor. Doesn't speak English.

And I was putting on the magen david to go visit him ...and I realized that while I can cope w discrimination due to it, if I wore it, I could not guarantee his treatment by the staff of the rehab center wouldn't change once they realized he was Jewish.

It's a hell of a helpless feeling, to know your vulnerable family member is dependent on people who could treat him badly or even just w less care the moment they found out his ethnicity.

It is ethnicity, by the way. He is as religious as the rest of us - not very. Lived in Russia all his life. Eats pork. Doesn't keep holidays. But people could chose to treat him badly bc of who he was born as.

Doesn't sound very white to me now, that. Not many white people are treated badly bc of their race in a white majority country.

Don't think many white people had to hide their heritage, as I chose to do, in 2024, in a liberal city that has a lot of Jews, out of fear of the treatment their vulnerable family would receive from staff.

Do ethnically white British people have that experience ? Ethnically Irish or Scottish in Britain maybe, but then Irish/etc weren't considered white by Brits less than a century ago. I know Italian heritage folk don't hide they are Italian to avoid being treated badly.

But the tiny act of wearing a necklace - not changing my clothes, not the way I speak, not my location or birthplace or opinions was enough to create the possibility that people would treat me and him different.

As other.

That is a far closer similarity to white passing African Americans.

The experience of wondering if people would treat your vulnerable family member badly based on their race is what I imagine many African Americans, Asians, Indians, Arabs feel when leaving their child in a daycare for ex. That fear. The knowledge that just being who you are can cause people to treat you differently. The risk.

The risk that would be heightened if I wore traditional skirts, long sleeves shirts, covered my hair, if my grandfather wore a yarmulke on his head or prayed.

In other words, if we didn't pass.

That is the difference. Do you still keep that white privilege of people know your identity? Bc if not, you aren't white. Just white passing.