#firefly's summer challenge

[axelmedellin]

Daily drawing 8 august 2023

August Ladies, day 8, River Tam

[nekoannie-chan]

Sadness memories of a summer part II

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Rumlow!Reader.

Word count: 1135 words. 

Summary: On Y/N's birthday, all are memories.

Warnings: Angst. 

A/N: In this fic Rumlow isn’t HYDRA, neither Reader, so both are Avengers, Civil War never happened but the Snap happened.

Second part of @firefly-in-darkness​‘s Firefly’s Summer Challenge.

You can read part I here.

@the-slumberparty​  Week 2

@saiyanprincessswanie���

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2023

 Hope was blooming in Brock; at last, he could get his sister back. On the other hand, Steve was nervous; soon he would be able to see his beloved again. It wasn't going to be easy, but you were willing to pay any price to get you back.

2015

 "Come on, Steve, walk faster," you said, pulling his arm a little so he would hurry up.

"Wait..." he asked; it was supposed to be a special day.

"Mm, I forgot you're an old man," you said a little disappointed, stopping.

"Hey! "

You smiled, you took a part of the skirt of your red dress, Steve loved you wearing that dress, you started to run, taking him by surprise and he ran after you, without stopping you kept going up the hill, although it wasn't exaggeratedly high, you knew the place very well, since your childhood you visited it, you stopped when you reached the top.

"Finally, we arrived; this is my favorite place; the sunsets are beautiful," you commented when you noticed that Steve had already caught up with you.

"No, I don't think so."

"You haven't even seen it." You turned around a little bit annoyed, you were sure he had never been there.

"I know because you are the most beautiful woman in the world," he answered, hugging you, "will you marry me?" He whispered in your ear while he took out the little box with the engagement ring.

2023

 Every morning for the next few weeks, Steve kept looking at the calendar, counting the days until he would see her again; besides, a part of him kept remembering what had happened the summer before the Snap, since that was when you got engaged; the wedding would have been years earlier if what had happened hadn't happened.

Sometimes he laughed as he remembered the day he proposed, never before had he been so scared as when Brock found out about the engagement, not even when you put the serum in him did he feel such fear, for a moment he thought his brother-in-law would murder him (he probably wanted to, but he probably held back for you), he didn't even remember what Brock had said to him "threatened", however, Steve seemed to have heard something to do with his head and shield if he didn't make you happy or if he ever hurt you.

He swallowed hard as a specific question popped into his head, what was he going to tell him when you asked him about what had happened, he had been five years without you, and although he still had a little time to think about it, he hoped you still wanted to stay married to him.

Steve had the wedding rings in his hands, and on the day of the ceremony, you had forgotten to put yours on because you had to leave in a hurry. He also couldn't forget the feeling the first day he came back and you weren't there.

The house had never been so silent and sad, nothing was the same without you, the first night he cried. You both knew there was always a risk of something going wrong on a mission or even...even losing the other.

However, at least Steve never came to believe that it could really happen; he was always trying to protect you, and he still felt guilty that he couldn't have done something to stop you from disappearing.

Steve felt nervous; his heart was beating very fast. After so long, he was going to see you; everything had to go well, although it seemed a little strange to him that everything was so easy.

But he forgot it as soon as he saw you. He ran towards you and hugged you so tightly that you had to stop him to prevent him from continuing to squeeze you.

"What happened? I don't remember getting to...

Unexpectedly, you were separated, and the battle was just beginning.

After you defeated Thanos, you ran to Steve and began to check his wounds. You didn't seem so serious thanks to the serum, however, and you began to have several questions, mainly about what year you were; you noticed Steve was a little different from how you remembered him, and Brock also looked older.

As you told them what happened, the more questions you had, but you didn't dare to ask them, maybe when Steve and you were alone you would ask them.

"He has a lot to talk about; he left them alone," Brock said, leaving the room.

"Where did you go?" Where were you all this time? Steve asked.

"Darkness," you answered.

"Darkness? "

"I felt warmth and tingling in my limbs, and then everything went dark; then you were there, so I don't know what happened," you continued.

Steve relaxed; at least you didn't seem to have suffered or been in danger but rather to be in some sort of limbo, perhaps unconscious.

"I guess you must have a lot of questions," Steve commented.

"I...well.... "

"Ask them; I know you didn't want to ask them in front of your brother, but we're alone."

"You say you went to the past, and, well, well...

"You don't have to worry, the only thing I was interested in was to somehow or other get the stones to bring you back, that's all I cared about "Steve answered, he knew what your question was.

"Steve, what did you do all this time?" Is there someone else? You felt a lump in your throat as you finished the last question. You could understand if there was someone else; after all, five years had passed and you didn't know if you would ever be able to fix what happened.

"We looked for a way to fix everything that happened, I should have done something else to avoid it, to not... lose you, we looked for many ways until finally, unexpectedly Scott came up with the solution...

"Scott? How? "

"He didn't disappear, but he got trapped in a... well, I didn't quite understand what he explained to us, but, well, it worked.” And as for your other question, there could never be anyone else; it's always been you," he continued, taking your hand.

You smiled; you couldn't believe that he had waited for you all that time, even if you had done the same. Now you knew that not even death was going to separate you.

"What are we going to do now?" We have to make up for all the time we couldn't be together.

"What do you think about going on a second honeymoon? I don't think they'll need us around here for a while," Steve proposed.

"We have a lot of time to make up," you replied, kissing him.

[middlegradeeveryday]

The Firefly Summer by Morgan Matson

Summary: For as long as Ryanna Stuart can remember, her summers have been spent with her father and his new wife. Just the three of them, structured, planned, and quiet. But this summer is different. This summer, she’s received a letter from her grandparents—grandparents neither she nor her dad have spoken to since her mom’s death—inviting her to stay with them at an old summer camp in the Poconos. Ryanna accepts. She wants to learn about her mom. She wants to uncover the mystery of why her father hasn’t spoken to her grandparents all these years. She’s even looking forward to a quiet summer by the lake. But what she finds are relatives…so many relatives! Aunts and uncles and cousins upon cousins—a motley, rambunctious crew of kids and eccentric, unconventional adults. People who have memories of her mom from when she was Ryanna’s age, clues to her past like a treasure map. Ryanna even finds an actual, real-life treasure map!  Over the course of one unforgettable summer—filled with s’mores and swimming, adventure and fun, and even a decades-old mystery to solve—Ryanna discovers a whole new side of herself and that, sometimes, the last place you expected to be is the place where you really belong.

Book Type: Novel

Genre: Realistic Fiction

[gloryofroses19]

It was Inevitable

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x mate!reader

T/W: Sexual themes and allusions to sex

Amidst the ball, the Summer fae’s voice was white noise. She supposed she could figure out his name if she thought hard enough but she felt no need. She had heard enough to know that she was receiving a backhanded compliment about the treaty she helped foster between their courts. That despite the all nighters and negotiating, she was just a pretty puppet at the hands of another. 

The white noise was becoming deafening, but [y/n] supposed she should be thankful for something to focus on. Something that wasn’t the tide of fear pulling her back to the cage Under the Mountain. To the time where she was forced to be a spectacle. A time where some fae chose to revel in it all and how some haven’t forgotten it. 

“I need the emissary.” With such an assertive tone and a high status, there is no room to question. The Autumn Court heir only needed to draw her into his embrace and the interaction was over. 

[y/n] didn’t realize she was shivering until his arms folded around her shoulders, didn’t realize how cold she had become until she felt the heat of him. 

Eris doesn't talk as he guides her from the main ballroom. And for all her tenacity, she does not ask or care where they are going, so long as it was somewhere else.  

Eris had started the evening eager to push her buttons, he had grown to love to ruffle her pristine feathers. Grown hungry for the challenging fire in her [e/c] and the teasing tilt of her words. 

Because Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn court, had wanted to be the one to break her. Break her pretty mask of polite perfection. Break her with his mouth and hands. Break her and make her realize how this was a losing battle, that they were inevitable. Just like she broke him. 

But he did not want it like this, not by the hands of a lesser fae and not with the fear that kept her up at night. Not with a panic that left her trembling and unfocused. 

“What do you need?” His deep voice asked softly, breaking the silence between them and the stillness of the empty room.  “Firefly, answer or I will think you are purposely trying my patience.” 

“I…I think I'm going to have a panic attack.” She whispered, tucking herself into Eris’ arms. Arms that she had never allowed herself to rest in more than the length of a kiss on the hand or the duration of a dance. 

Eris didn’t need verbal confirmation of something he felt in his bones. She had been panicking from the moment that Summer fae approached her. He didn’t need their bond, their fragile yet persistent bond, to carry her fear to him. He knew it from the moment he gazed upon her and saw a fear he knew well.   

“Tell me, I’m okay, tell me they can’t touch me, remind me that I'm safe.” Speaking in shallow  breaths, [y/n] leaned further into Eris’ embrace. The smell of pine and ash never felt like home until their bond snapped and [y/n] was never more thankful for it than in that very moment. 

Their bodies pressed together, one shaped to fit the other perfectly.  

“Breath, Firefly.” The sharp command was softened by his touch. Slipping his hands under the opening in the back, Eris smoothed warm lines down her back. “Nobody will hurt you, I will ensure that.” 

Later, he will recall her shuddering breath and the way her body arched into his touch. In the darkness, he will recall how her cheek was molded for his shoulder and his hands for her waist. 

There were just so many questions to be answered, she thought breathing in the calm Eris brought. Would he come looking for her? Would she ever overcome this? Was this all a game? Why did being in his arms feel right? Would this be their downfall?  

Gripping her chin, Eris guided her gaze back to his.  “What do you need, Firefly?”  

Later, she will recall the way he felt safe and willing to burn the world for her. Willing to make the world nothing but smoke and ash to allow her some warmth. But in that moment, peering into his amber, all she wanted was to be enveloped in his fire. 

And so she did. 

She kisses him with a bruising force. The kiss is sharp and deep, stealing air and thoughts of nothing but each other. 

Eris is there, pressing her forward, until her back hits the nearest wall. And she is there, drawing him in until there is no space between their bodies. Letting him know that he is what she wants, that he is what she needs. 

He tastes like faint traces of woodsmoke, of a fire dying in the dark. He tastes like the forest and somehow, of destiny. 

She tastes like morning dew, of the new dawns and beginnings. She tastes like the first light in the morning and somehow, of home.

The kiss had been a long time coming, they had been testing the confines of their bond for months now. Many sleepless nights of denying their bond had given way to ghosting of hands that they wished were the others. Of touching themselves and allowing the other to know the ways to make them sing with pleasure. 

She had broken the kiss to breath but Eris stole it away. Stole it by searing a line of kisses down the column of her throat. He was an enticement, so willing and eager. She didn’t fully understand why he was doing this now, she had to understand why. 

“Why are you doing this?” she asked breathlessly, moaning loudly as he bit the space where her shoulder and collar bone met. 

“Because you are mine.” He slurs softly, muffled against her skin. Drunk off the intoxication of her, of the elation of how her dreams taught him so much, he lavishes the spot with nips and kitten licks. Marveling at the sounds he can pull from her, he thinks of his foolishness. He had thought that his father’s throne was power but she was power itself. 

Cradling his jaw, [y/n] guides his gaze to hers. Despite centuries of knowing each other and hours of being at the same party, they regard each other as if for the first time. 

“If I am yours, then you are mine.” She says, letting the possessive nature bleed into each syllable. He had once promised her Under the Mountain that she would never be anyone’s toy again and she hadn’t forgotten it. Hadn’t forgotten how his promise had become tattooed on her heart and guided her toward seeking an equal, even unaware that it was to become him. 

“I am yours, [full name],” was the earnest reply. 

Was it true? Was this their breaking? Will they finally learn that some bonds, even when not accepted, couldn't be controlled? That in the darkness of dreams and in the faelight of their teasing, theirs devolved into a passion the more they attempted to deny. As if the Cauldron was warning them that it was a futile attempt. 

And there in the faelight, she sees that peculiar shade of amber. The shade she has begun to learn was associated with her. Was it love? She didn’t know but the care of his gaze was enough for her to close the gap again. 

When their lips meet, it leaves only a burning desire to consume. There is no caution or pulling back, only hunger. They each have kissed many faes over the centuries, but none will ever compare. They know they have ruined each other. 

Grasping her left thigh, he guides it to wrap around his waist. Groaning, he bucks into the intimacy of their sexes meeting. Matching her moans with his own, Eris doesn't remember the last time he was ready to come apart so easily and so willingly. 

It was said that the Autumn fae had fire in their blood and fucked like it too and [y/n] never consider those words until this moment. She felt like she was stifling under the heat of him. The gossamer gown in her court colors resulted in too much fabric between them. His clothes had to go, she decided. Eager to see how deep the fire ran, she began unbuttoning his formal jacket and shirt. 

“If I knew it would only take a well placed bite, I would have bit you centuries ago, girl.”  A feminine lithe voice mused, halting the frenzy before her. 

“Amren.” Despite her hair spilling and bite on her shoulder aching pleasantly contrasting the ache between her legs, she was thankful her voice held strong. She wondered why she felt no shame, she should, this was her family. 

“Run along little fox,” Amren teased, tilting her glass of champagne towards the door. “The adults need to talk.” 

Eris lifts his chin, offering a cruel smile. “I prefer the monsters in my bed rather under them, care to come join us, Oh Ancient One?” 

Matching his cruel grin, Amren regards Eris, a study in disdain. “I can smell the possessive desire for her rolling off you in waves, we both know you wouldn’t share.” 

His own smile stretched and it offered no denial, his claim had been staked. For pure carnal desire or deeper bond, it did not tell. 

With a wave of a hand, Eris’ magic returned himself back to the pristine mask of an heir. “Let us play again, Emissary.” Emissary, her title, a ploy to write this off merely as a game and leave her with the explanation. 

With a deep breath, [y/n] arranged herself looking at Amren’s back as the creature watched Eris swagger off.  “I thought you would have given in to Helion before you touched that fire.” 

“It was just a kiss.” She replied coldly, attempting to use the ice to douse the lava burning inside her. 

“To that dog Cassian, yes.” Amren turned her calculating gaze at her, as if sensing the depth of their desire. “But to you? When is a kiss ever just a kiss?”

With a sigh, [y/n] knew she should have taken a page from Rhys, Az and Cass’ book and slept her way through her youth. Ignoring Amren’s pointed question, [y/n] instead focuses on glamoring the mark on her neck.  “You reek of arousal and him, you do realize? Your magic won’t hide that.” 

With a final check that she was presentable, [y/n] walked toward the door. 

Amren was a creature of nightmares and nightmares didn’t like to be ignored. “I see the ways his eyes follow you!”

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! Special thanks to Bridgette @thedeviltohisangel who is always providing the best inspiration.

[navybrat817]

Around Your Throat

Pairing: Vampire Mob!Bucky Barnes x Gifted!Female Reader Summary: Bucky has the perfect accessory to go around your throat. Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: E/xplicit s/exual content, f/ingering, b/iting, p/ossessive behavior, b/lood, feel (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics , Moodboard - yours truly A/N: Set before Lay Me Down, we're visiting our vampire to kick off Hot Bucky Summer challenge hosted by @buckybarnesevents! Theme - "What should I wear?" ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stood in front of the full length mirror, a frown on your face as you looked over yourself. The black and gold gown you wore was beautiful, the v-neckline and fitted bodice drawing attention to your chest. Bucky had it designed for you, with your approval. He wanted only the best for his bride-to-be.

The fact that he had a matching suit almost put a smile on your face.

But you couldn’t figure out why you weren’t happy with your look. You thought for a moment that the dress was too much for a dinner, especially since you would be one of the only people at the table eating an actual meal. As Bucky’s future mate and your father’s daughter, however, it was the expectation that you’d look your best.

At least I won't have to create an illusion since I'll be amongst Bucky’s friends for the evening.

“I'm not sure about this,” you told your fiancé since he insisted on being in the room as you got ready, admiring your side profile with a sigh. "Should I change into something else?"

"Why would you change when you look good enough to eat?"

You spun around to face him, your breath catching when he stood from his chair and straightened his tie. He slicked his hair back for the evening and you longed to run your fingers through it to make a mess of it. This man managed to steal your heart and he would be the reason you took your last breath.

He was both your ending and your new beginning.

"Just what every girl wants to hear when she goes to feast with vampires," you teased, turning back to the mirror.

"If you sensed something was wrong, we wouldn't attend," he pointed out. He wouldn't risk your safety. He assured your father of that. "Should I tell Steve to play host while we skip it?"

"No, my love, because nothing is wrong," you assured him. You trusted his friends and the only gut feeling you sensed was that your evening would end happily. You looked forward to it.

"Then what's the matter?" he asked as he crossed the room and placed his hands on your hips. Though you couldn't see his reflection in the mirror, you imagined his blue eyes either darkened or glowed at the sight of you. Both stares always set the blood on fire in your veins. “Do you not like the dress? Should I rip it to shreds?”

“Don’t you dare,” you answered, narrowing your eyes when he chuckled. “I love this dress.”

“If you won’t let me tear this gown from your body, at least let me lift the skirt and bury myself in your pussy again,” he said, making you gasp when his cool lips brushed the shell of your ear. Your core throbbed at the idea, tempted to let him bend you over in front of the mirror as he took you apart. Once he turned you, you wouldn’t see your reflection ever again. “And if you love it, why have you stood here for the last two minutes, spinning and frowning at every angle?”

“As much as I’d love for you to ravage me, I don’t think we have time,” you said, gesturing to yourself. “And something’s missing. I can’t figure out what.”

Bucky hummed, gripping your chin to turn your head toward him. “I can get you off quickly," he said, which was true. "And you're missing an accessory. You need something around your throat.”

“Of course,” you smiled softly. Such a simple solution to a ridiculous problem. “What should I wear?"

He moved his hand to your neck before you could go to the armoire, making you moan when his fingers tightened. “I have something perfect in mind.”

“As much as I love this type of necklace,” you said, wetting your lips with your tongue. “I can’t go the whole meal with your hand around my throat.”

Bucky chuckled again, spinning you and pinning your back against the mirror with lightning speed. You trembled when his eyes began to glow, your blood rushing through your veins at the sight of his fangs. The mix of pain and pleasure whenever they pierced your skin brought you to a euphoric state. It was no wonder some begged to become a blood mistress or paramour.

You were lucky enough that you would belong to Bucky forever.

“And just because I can’t ravage you with my cock right this second doesn’t mean I can go through an entire meal without having a taste,” he whispered, pushing the skirt up so his cold hand could slide up your inner thigh. No tights and no underwear so he could have access to what belonged to him. His rule for the evening. “I need your blood and your cunt so I can behave myself."

“You better satisfy your craving then,” you whispered, knowing he’d want more before the sun came up. "And we'll see how well you actually behave."

Vampires had no shame when it came to sex or anyone who witnessed it.

Your wet, warm folds welcomed the cool feel of Bucky's expert touch. Before you could grip his arms, he pinned your hands above your head. His strength turned you on more, which you didn’t know was possible. You were almost in a constant state of arousal around him. “You'll beg for my cock long before you finish dinner,” he whispered against your lips, teasing your entrance as he kissed down the pulse in your neck. “Don't fucking move."

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, closing your eyes to brace yourself for what was coming.

Which would be you coming all over his fingers.

“Mine,” he growled, drawing a cry from you as he sank his fangs into your soft skin and slid two fingers inside your wet walls. You did your best to keep still as he slowly thrust and moaned against your neck. A submissive position he put you in to assert his power, yet you didn't feel weak. Even as he took your life essence and pleasure as his own he empowered you.

Because in return, you’d get every part of James Buchanan Barnes.

“Please, Bucky,” you begged when his thumb toyed with your clit. You wanted to grind your hips down, but he told you to stay still. If you had more time, you would've pushed to see what kind of punishment he'd dish out. But you knew he wanted to get you off quickly, like he said he could. "Please."

“So needy, darling. One of the things I love about you,” he said when he stopped drinking, blood running from your neck down your collarbone and chest as his fingers curled. He pulled back so you could see the red fluid around his lips. The feral look in his eyes as he licked them clean, your head spinning as you teetered on the edge. “Come for me.”

Your body seized up as you gushed around his fingers, your moan of ecstasy lost as he covered your mouth with his. You tasted your blood on his tongue as helped you ride out your orgasm. Days from now you would know the taste of him. Pleasure, eternity, love.

Your new life.

It took a moment for you to realize you were no longer against the mirror as you recovered. Bucky moved you to the bed to rest for a moment and catch your breath. the pinpricks in your neck closed and your dress straightened out. “Thank you for letting me have a taste,” he said, sucking his fingers into his mouth. “Didn’t think anything could make your blood sweeter, but your pussy does the trick.”

“Best combination,” you smiled.

“My favorite,” he agreed, helping you stand once your head stopped spinning. Lust still lingered in his gaze, but you couldn't ignore the concern that shone through. "Are you okay? I didn't take too much?"

"I'm okay," you assured him. He never wanted to lose control and take more than what he needed. No matter what, you were his number one priority. "And you won't have to worry once I you turn me."

"I'll still worry," he whispered. Loving you meant having something to lose. It also meant he had something worth living for. "One more thing before we go."

You smiled when he held up an onyx pendant surrounded by diamonds, like he pulled it out of thin air. Perfect to go with your dress. "It's beautiful," you said, allowing him to put it around your neck. "How did you manage to hide that from me?"

His fingers traced the delicate, gold chain as he smiled. "Because you aren't psychic, but you get feelings. Which is probably why you felt off when you looked in the mirror. You were waiting for me to give you this."

"It's like you know my gifts better than I do," you smiled, touching the pendant before you noticed there was still blood on your neck. "I should clean myself up."

"No," he said firmly, pulling you to his chest. You suspected his heart would race only for you if it could still beat. "You'll wear my mark with the necklace I gave you and your blood on your skin. You're going to be my wife and my mate. I want everyone to see that you belong to me and that there's no shame in my want for you."

You'd wear every brand and claim of his with pride.

"This won't show them that?" you asked, holding up your hand with your engagement ring.

"Vampires don't look at hands," he said, taking yours and kissing it. "They look at throats. And anyone who sees yours will know you're mine."

And I will be until the end of time.

"And when you turn me?" you asked, brushing your hand along his cheek. "Will I get to leave my mark on you and show everyone you're mine, too?"

"You can make an entire path of bites around my throat if that's what you desire," he offered, his icy hand covering yours. "I'll wear them proudly."

Bucky loved with his entire being. Not only were you strong and willing enough to accept it, you'd give him the same love in return. You would always be in each other's care.

My eternal partner.

"I might take you up on that," you smiled, feeling how hard he was through the fabric of his pants. Tempted to drop to your knees and return the favor, you asked, "Do we have time for me to take care of you?"

"We're already running late," he said, giving you a gentle kiss. "But maybe you can keep my cock warm at the table. No one will mind."

"I thought you were going to behave at dinner if you had a taste," you said, your walls clenching with the need to surround him, like he hadn't brought you to orgasm moments before.

"I will behave," he said innocently, but his eyes flashed as he showed his fangs again. "But we'll see how long you last before you try to ride me in front of everyone."

"Well, you did say I'd beg for your cock before I finished dinner."

And you suspected his hand, the necklace, and your blood would be the only things you wore around your neck once he took you to bed for the night.

Who wouldn't want an eternity with Bucky? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[jobean12-blog]

Along for the Ride

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Biker AU)

Word Count: 1,855

Summary: You convince Joel to go to the state fair wtih you..he’s grumpy about it but he’ll do anything that makes you happy.  

Author’s Note: This is for @the-slumberparty June Monthly Challenge-Summer vibes! My item is a popsicle and my setting is a festival/fair. Thank you so much to Navy and Roo for hosting! I have one planned in the same setting for Cowboy!Joel because one my friends are the best kind of support and two it was really too hard to pick between them haha! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️All dividers used are by my lovely Daisy @firefly-graphics

Warnings: lots of fun, fluff and flirting, soft and sweet moments, Joel is grumpy but he’s always perfect for you. 

EDIT NOT MINE: Thank you so much to @pedritosdarling for making this amazing edit with my Biker!Joel in mind, it means so much! I LOVE IT! 😍

Joel Miller Masterlist

“Is it ok if we take my bike darlin’?”

“Of course,” you answer with a quick kiss. “You know I love riding with you…but showing up in your pickup truck would be more on par for the fair,” you giggle.

“Yeah, yeah. I still can’t believe you convinced me to go to this,” he grumbles.

“It didn’t take much,” you tease, batting your lashes.

“Well you had me in a compromising position when you asked. I wasn’t exactly thinking with my brain.  I’m pretty sure I would have agreed to anything princess.”  

He’s trying to suppress a smile but the more you hold his gaze the more his lips twitch upward.

“We’re going to have a great time,” you state as you pack your bag. “Besides, you never tell me no…no matter what position you’re in.”

You wiggle your shoulders haughtily before asking, “and what’s with calling me princess?”

He slides up behind you, pressing into your body so he has you caged along the counter, his arms on either side of you.

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “Mm you’re right, I never tell you no. Made me think of a princess…”

“And you’re my knight in shining armor,” you giggle, willing your body not to react to him.

Warm and soft lips trail down your neck before meeting your shoulder, his fingers pushing the strap of your dress down so he can continue his path of kisses.

“Thought I was your teddy bear…” he murmurs.

His beard tickles your skin, sending goosebumps running down your arm.

“Joel,” you breathe out, trembling in his hold. “Don’t you dare try to distract me. We are going to the fair.”

Your words come out breathy and much less assertive than you wanted and you feel him smile against your skin.

“Whatever you say princess.”

His other hand smooths down the curve of your waist and he turns you around to face him. His kisses continue to move down your neck, across your collarbone, and he traces the thin edge of the top of your dress, the barest of touches but it leaves a burning heat in its wake.

“Joel.”

It’s a warning but comes out more like a whine.

He takes your chin between his thick fingers and brings your eyes to his, kissing you softly before smiling.

“Ok darlin’. Come on. I’m gonna take you to the fair…”

His warm hand closes around yours and he starts to walk you to the door.

“I feel like there was a but at the end of that sentence,” you say, squeezing his fingers.

“Let’s just hope I can behave while we’re there.”

With a cheeky wink he escorts you out the door, handing you your helmet before throwing a long leg over his bike.

You practically skip toward the entrance, one of Joel’s hands in yours and his other stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans as you drag him nearer.

“Come on you!”

He takes too long strides and catches up, releasing your hand only to wrap it around your waist and tuck you into his side.

“What are we doin’ first?” he asks with a kiss to the top of your head.

As you approach the fairgrounds, the air is filled with anticipation and a buzz of excitement. Everything is colorful and vibrant from the bright lights and colorful banners to the lively music playing in the background.

You glance at Joel and notice as he takes it all in that he’s rubbing the back of his neck and looking sort of misplaced.

When he catches you staring he huffs lightly. “I stick out like a sore thumb.”

You do nothing to hide the way you blatantly check him out then grab the front of his tight tee shirt and drag his lips down to yours.

“Who cares,” you whisper when you pull away.

Your fingers sneak under the tight sleeves of his tee before sliding down over his biceps. He flexes and you hum appreciatively, pressing closer.

“Now who’s lookin’ to cause a distraction princess,” he growls.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip and you give him a demure smile.

As you move further onto the grounds, you’re immediately greeted by a plethora of sights and smells. Food stands line the pathways, enticing you with the delightful aroma of freshly cooked and fried treats.

“Somethin’ smells good,” he says, eyeing the ice cream and cotton candy stand.

“Let’s get something!” you cheer as you rush over.

After ordering two popsicles you head over to a picnic table in the shade.

“Do you want some?” you ask as the pop hovers near your mouth.

He keeps his eyes trained on you and waits, watching intensely as you press it to your lips, parting them then sucking it into your mouth.

“Mmmm so good.”

He sits on the bench of the table, his legs spread wide as you settle between them, still working the popsicle in and out of your mouth.

“Princess,” he warns, his eyes dark. “You better stop sucking on that pop like you wish it was my…”

“Joel Miller don’t you dare finish that sentence!” you admonish but make no move to stop the way you’re clearly deep throating your popsicle. “We are at the fair and there are children present.”

Without another word he grabs you around the waist and pulls you down onto his lap, his free hand landing on your bare thigh.

“I’m pretty sure no one would be surprised if I said what I wanted to say darlin’.”

“Yeah, yeah. Big tough guy…tattoos…leather…”

You press your cold lips to his scruffy cheek and then move to take another lick of your popsicle but he grabs your face and turns it so he can give you a proper kiss, parting your lips to taste the flavor on your tongue.

“You done working that popsicle yet?” he asks, brushing his lips lightly along yours.

You push it back into your mouth then pop it out again. “Nope!”

He shifts you on his lap so you can feel how your popsicle eating antics are affecting him.

With a squeak you wiggle your butt and he quickly tightens his hold on your waist to stop you.

“And I thought I was the one who was going to be the problem today,” he simpers.

You shrug like it’s nothing, still sucking on your popsicle.

“Ok, I’m done,” you say, when there’s nothing left but the wooden stick. “Let’s go find a game where you can win me a stuffed animal.”

You hop off his lap and tug on his hand.

“Just gimme a minute princess.”

You giggle and go to sit back down but he blocks you.

“Darlin’,” he grumbles. “That won’t help any.”

When you discover the games you’re eager to find one in particular and you pull Joel along, pointing out all the cute stuffed animals he can win for you.

“There it is!” you shout.

You rush over to the balloon dart game and try to keep your excitement at bay.

“You’re going to be so good at this,” you tell him. “You always beat the guys at darts at the bar!”

The guy working the booth gives Joel the once over before taking his money. You roll your eyes and press yourself into Joel’s side, giving the guy a mocking smile.

Joel lines up his shot and pulls his arm back to let the dart fly. It lands just above a red balloon. You don’t say anything and just wait as he takes the other two shots.

He misses them both.

“Fucking weighted darts,” he grumbles. “They make it so you can’t win this shit.”

His body is tense and his jaw is set in a hard line.

You hang on to his bicep and whisper in his ear, “one more time…for me? Please?”

He looks at you and his expression softens. “Just for you princess.”

He pays for another round of darts and readies himself again. The first two miss but on his last shot he hits a blue balloon and it explodes in a spray of water.

“Fuck yeah!” he cheers and you join in with a whoop of happiness.

“Which one do you want princess?” he asks as he pulls you in front of him and wraps you in his arms.

“THE BIG PINK UNICORN!” you say excitedly.

The guy at the booth pulls it down and hands it to you.

“What are you gonna name him,” Joel asks.

“Joel.”

He raises a bushy eyebrow. “Really princess.”

“Yep,” you reply, popping the p. “Really, really.”

“He can be best friends with the teddy bear you got me,” you explain as you run your fingers over your new unicorn.

Having Joel’s bike was the best idea, especially once it came time to catch the evening sunset before fireworks and the two of you are able to meander through the traffic and find a secluded spot on the grass.

You sit comfortably in his embrace, watching the sky transform into a canvas of vibrant colors, the hues of orange, pink and purple beginning to spread across the horizon.

“This is so beautiful,” you say in awe.

He grunts in response.

After a few moments you turn in his arms and snort.

“That’s all you got? Ungh.”

You mimic the noise he made.

He stares at you. “You’re so much more beautiful.”

You stare back and suddenly your eyes go wide and light up in realization.

“OH MY GOD, you’re still grumpy about losing the darts game!”

He looks offended. “I am not darlin’! And besides, I didn’t lose…I won you the unicorn didn’t I?”

You poke his hard chest. “You are so!” you tease. “And I mean it took you two tries…”

“Whatever you say princess,” he mutters, but you can see the corners of his lips turn up slightly.

“And his name is JOEL,” you add, unable to stop your laughter that bubbles up.

He kisses the smile right off your lips but you feel his own before he presses the palm of his hand to your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin, his eyes soft as he studies your face.

You reach up and lightly drag your fingers across his jaw then run your nose along the same path, your eyes closing as your lips meet in a soft kiss.

The sun descends, its rays illuminating the fairgrounds, casting long shadows and creating a beautiful interplay of light and dark. The rides, food stalls and exhibits start to twinkle, creating a background of sparkling rainbow lights against the deepening sky.

His hands move lower, curling around your waist and sliding you under him until you’re laying back on the blanket beneath him.

As his lips kiss a path down your neck his hand slides up along your inner thigh and he gently pushes your legs part.

“Joel, the fireworks are about to start,” you weakly protest, letting your legs fall open.

“Nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he murmurs, his hand gliding higher. “And besides, think I’ve behaved for long enough princess.”

@sstan-hoe @justkinsey @blackwidownat2814 @beccablogsthings @laineyreads @lorilane33​ @littleseasiren​

[bigtreefest]

Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration Masterlist 🥳🥵😎🍉☀️🏝️

Prompt List and Rules

Thank you to everyone who participates in this challenge! Below is the list of all the fics that were written based off of the prompt list. I appreciate you all for celebrating 300 followers with me!! Much love!💗😘🥳🥳🥳

*warnings should be listed in each individual fic. Please read responsibly and use your discretion

Jake Jensen

Another bad date by @holylulusworld

temperature’s rising (it isn’t surprising) by @buckymorelikefuckme

Fireflies by @thezombieprostitute

Marshmallow Dream by bigtreefest

Such a bad day (with Ari Levinson) by @veltana

Steve Rogers

It’s That Steve - Espresso by @steviebbboi

Yield by @ronearoundblindly

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events Part 2 by @anika-ann

Drugged Delusion of Mrs. Rogers by mercurial-chuckles

Safety Captain by @ronearoundblindly

Last Summer by @nekoannie-chan

Curtis Everett

Drip… and Lick by @bigtreefest

Watermelon Suga’ by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

Stucky

Date Day by @plussizefantasia

Summer Fling Don’t Mean a Thing by @foxgloveprincess

Blissful Summer Bruises by @mercurial-chuckles

Ransom Drysdale

Details by bigtreefest

Last Resort by @stargazingfangirl18

Ari Levinson

Let’s Blow This Popsicle Stand by steviebbboi

Dive Under by @biteofcherry

Such a bad day (with Jake Jensen) by veltana

Bucky Barnes

Momentary by @darsynia

Sweet and Slashy Summer Saturdays by @buckets-and-trees

[late-to-the-party-81]

Love, Lies & Electricity

AN: Hi all - here is my entry for week 5 of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer. This time it’s a Bucky x Reader fic. Thanks to all who voted in my poll a few weeks ago to decide who this reader should be.

Additional thanks and kisses to @drabbles-mc for beta-ing this.

If you would like to be added to my tag list, click here.

Moodboard by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Likes are loved, Reblogs are golden.

Master List | HBS Master List

Challenges and Bingos: HBS week 5 - We’re Exes

Summary: After Bucky Barnes broke your heart several months ago you never wanted to see him again. However, when he turns up and asks you to help him, Sam and Torres bring down a HYDRA base you can’t refuse as it will mean a chance to get payback on those who hurt you worse than he did.

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

CW: Angst, Revenge, Sexual Content

There was a reason why you’d taken solace on the rooftop of an abandoned building in DUMBO - you wanted to be alone. You’d hoped that the omnipresent drizzle would have deterred most of those who might wish to contact you, even if they did manage to work out where you were. Despite this, you weren’t surprised in the least when Bucky appeared. 

Even with your back to him and your gaze unwaveringly fixated on the view before you, you knew he was there. He had an energy about him - probably something to do with the circuitry to his arm - that you’d found easy to pick up on when you’d first met him, let alone after you’d become attuned to it. 

“I told you not to bother me ever again, Barnes,” you stated in a flat tone, still avoiding looking at him.

There was a moment of silence, probably so he could consider his response, although you’d be surprised if he wasn’t expecting this type of reception.

“I know,” he acknowledged, “but I - we - need you.”

Your lips twitched wryly. You should have known he wouldn’t be here of his own accord. You hadn’t had any contact from him since that day three months ago when you’d screamed and shouted and… he’d just stood there. Accepting your vitriol before turning and walking out of your life. The wound still felt raw. 

When you’d first met him, you’d fallen hard and fast. Bucky just seemed to get you - understand you like no-one else, and you thought that you’d known him too. The nights you’d spent together, just holding each other and talking about what you’d gone through in your lives - finding comfort and companionship that transcended the physical connection that you had. However, like every other good thing in your life, it had come crashing down around your ears, but unlike other times, you hadn’t seen it - the hurt and the betrayal - coming.

Bucky hadn’t gotten involved with you because of who you were - he’d approached you because of what you could do - what you could bring to a new team of Avengers. Someone else who saw your value in connection to your freakish abilities. He breached your walls, then shattered them from the inside. You were still rebuilding them.

“What’s the job?” you queried, knowing that if you dismissed him out of hand he’d probably just push harder and you’d end up screaming at him.

“There’s a pocket of Hydra holdouts in a bunker in Massachusetts,” he rumbled and you closed your eyes, trying to control your physical reaction to his presence. “We can’t find a way in, and need the element of surprise. You’ve got the skills we need.”

You snorted. Of course it was all about your powers.

“Who’s asking? The White Wolf or Bucky Barnes?” You couldn’t keep the sneer from your voice.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t rise to it, instead asking, “Would it make a difference?”

A loud sigh left your throat. “I suppose you’re right. You knew I was in from the word ‘HYDRA’.”

You pushed yourself up from the roof ledge and finally turned to face him. The rain had plastered his dark brown hair to his face, making it look black. Droplets of water ran down the divot in his chin, before dripping off the end. Why did he have to be so beautiful? If you were that sodden you’d just look like a drowned rat, so you gave a quick thanks to the small electrical field you’d generated around you that stopped the rain from making contact.

“Let’s get this over with then.” Your voice - and heart - was already weary. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get back to never seeing you again.”

Bucky didn’t answer, instead just giving you a look you couldn’t interpret before turning and walking towards the stairwell. You followed in his wake.

The journey upstate to the compound hadn’t been too arduous. Both you and Bucky had ridden your bikes, which had the dual advantage of making it easy to slip through the traffic and also negated the need for small talk. You hadn’t actually said a word to him since leaving the rooftop and you were totally fine with that.

You’d greeted Sam with a clipped ‘Hello’ and just stared through Torres when he’d shyly raised a hand in your direction. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, you just didn’t know them.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Bucky had let out a small cough and suggested that you all go through to the briefing room and you’d nodded your assent. Now the four of you were gathered around the holographic blueprints.

“Our main issues,” said Sam, “are these gun turrets.” He pointed out the towers at each corner of the building. “Our intel says they are energy-based, which means if they can get disabled from inside the three of us should be able to get in easier.”

“That’s what we’re hoping you can do,” added Torres, his eyes still refusing to meet yours. It almost made you smile. Almost.

Sam continued. “Once we’re in, we aren’t expecting you to hang around. We know you aren’t a big fan of working with us.”

That was an understatement if ever you’d heard one, but there were bigger motivational factors involved. “You really think I’m gonna turn tail and not take the opportunity to get some payback?” you asked with a raised brow. “You don’t know me at all, Sam.”

A look of sympathy immediately took over his face. “I understand why you feel this way, but this isn’t what this mission is about. We need to shut them down and extract all the data.”

You frowned. You don’t know why you expected a different response from the new Captain America. “But you know that if we don’t stop them - neutralise every single one of them - then they’ll just regroup. Reform. We’ll - You’ll - be no better off than you were before and you’ll just have to hunt them down again another day.” The words came out sharply as your frustration grew.

“We’re not going there with the express intent of murdering people.” Sam bit back. “I’m a realist - I understand that there will be deaths - but I’m not going out of my way to create the highest body count possible.”

There was a moment of silence before you said, “You’re a bleeding heart, Wilson. No mercy should be shown to HYDRA because they sure as hell won’t show you any.”

You turned on your heel and stalked from the room, walking along the corridor until you reached one of the glass walls that allowed you to look out over the forest surrounding the semi-secret base. You weren’t even there a minute before you felt a prickle up your spine. Your hands, that had been resting on your ribs where your arms were crossed, curled into fists.

“Fuck off, Barnes,” you ground out between gritted teeth. He moved to stand beside you, leaning on the railing, and you could see him out of your peripheral vision.

“He’s a good man, you know. It’s why Steve gave him the shield and not me. He knew that for the mantle of Captain America you have to have some level of optimism.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. “But it just seems so pointless.”

“You know I get it. We have a different outlook, you and I. As much as Sam can empathise with what we went through, try his best to understand, he will never get it. Much the same way that I can’t ever fully understand what it was like for him, being who he is, to grow up in this America. We just have to stick to our truths, and bend once in a while when it’s prudent to do so.” He turned towards you then, flashing a wry grin and you couldn’t help but turn your head as well. “And besides, what Wilson doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Bucky pushed away from the railing and started to walk back towards the conference room. Part way along he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “You coming? We’ve got some HYDRA ass to kick. And by kick, I mean shoot in the head.”

Large hands spanned your waist, gripping firmly but not cruelly. Your legs were hooked over the arms connected to them, holding you wide open. Your eyes, only open a crack, could see the way his dark hair flopped down in front of his face, could see the way his body glistened with sweat as he pumped in and out of you. His muscles strained and his jaw was set.

“Fuck, honey,” Bucky exclaimed. “Feels so fucking good.” Your only reply was a whine as you dropped a hand down between you to strum at your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself feel good. Wanna feel you come.” If you’d been capable of giggling at his statement you would have, because you’d come twice already - once on his face and once on his fingers. The man was insatiable for your pleasure. You weren’t gonna complain about it.

“Bucky!” you breathed out, not sure what you were actually trying to say, but hoping he could pick up on the tone. The air crackled, its molecules excited by your semi-conscious manipulation of the electric field around you. You could feel yourself rushing towards that peak, your core clenching - pulsing - around where Bucky was filling you with each delicious thrust.

He dropped his head, taking one of your pebbled nipples in his mouth and sucked on it. The sensation pulled tightly on the invisible thread that ran through your body to where the pair of you were joined. Tighter. Firmer. Higher…

You woke with a start, sitting bolt upright as you gulped in lungful after lungful of air. Your hands shook and your skin was sweaty and you silently cursed Bucky Barnes as you flopped back down and pressed one of the pillows over your face. You hadn’t had a sex dream about him in weeks, but it stood to reason that as he was back disrupting your waking hours he’d do the same to your sleep as well.

Frustration welled up inside of you, and with a grunt you threw the pillow across the room, hearing it thud against the generic dresser. You were in one of the ‘guest’ rooms at the compound. White walls. White furniture. Grey bedding, curtains and carpet. It was fucking depressing. You were just glad that you weren’t going to be here for long. Just a few more days of going through the reconnaissance intel and running some training drills in the state of the art suite downstairs and then you’d be on the mission for real. Then, when it was over, you were going to leave - leave New York. Leave the state. Heck, you might even leave the country. 

You flipped over in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to go back to sleep in, but every time you closed your eyes your mind conjured the image of Bucky looking at you as if you were the only thing in his world that had meaning. Sleep was a long time coming.

Three mornings later and you were up early, just finishing getting dressed where there was a knock on your bedroom door. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know who it was. Lightly slapping your hands against your legs, you strode over and opened the door. Bucky stood there, his fingers all twisted around each other until he seemed to jump at the realisation of what he was doing and put them both behind his back. A smile played at the corners of your mouth. The highlight of the last few days had been the discovery that Bucky was as discombobulated by your presence as you were by his. The only difference was that you seemed to be able to hide it better. That knowledge had allowed you to sleep better the last few nights - the schadenfreude was delicious. And if you’d then played up to it - accidentally rubbed past him in small spaces, or laugh and flirt with a sweetly awkward Joaquin? Well it was exactly what Bucky deserved in your opinion.

You looked up at him with a raised brow and leant against the door, arms folded across your breasts, and you noted the minute flicker of his gaze down and then back up. “Can I help you, Buck?” 

He scowled as you over-pronounced the start and end of his nickname. “I came to see if you were ready. We need to leave in twenty.”

“It’s not my first rodeo, Sargent, a fact you well know. As you can see,” you gestured down the length of your body with your hand, “I managed to get dressed all on my own. I can manage to achieve a surprising amount of things without your help.”

You pushed away from the door and snagged your go back from the floor. It didn’t have a lot in it because unlike the others you only relied on your abilities for both offence and defence. No guns, knives, vibranium arms, shields or wings.

Bucky didn’t move away as you exited your room, causing you to brush against him to get by. As you did so, pointedly not looking at him, his right hand shot out and snagged your upper arm. “Honey, please can we t-”

You shook your arm free angrily. “You don’t get to call me that,” you hissed. “You lost that right months ago. And no, we’re not gonna talk. I said it before, and I’ll say it again. After this mission we never see each other again.” With that, you turned your back on him and stalked in the direction of the hanger. He didn’t try to stop you and you wondered why you felt a lump in the pit of your stomach about it.

Chapter 2

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

@christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @crayongirl-linz, @nicoline1998enilocin, @king814318

[acasualcrossfade]

Angel, Baby, Sweetheart, Sunshine

Sicktember Day 22:  Terms of Endearment/Nicknames

Stranger Things: Steve Harrington/ Eddie Munson

Words: 500 | Rating: M | CW: mentions of drug use, sex, and edge play

Summary: Steve loves all the pet names Eddie has for him.

Find me on Ao3!

--

Steve loved the way Eddie used pet names and was surprised at how many there were. 

Big boy was first, and it had caught Steve off-guard. He’d never been called something that left him equally confused and amused. 

Eddie only proved to have more pet names in his arsenal. 

Angel came soon after.

They’d both been insomniacs the night before, sharing joints on the patio as they watched the stars shift to sunrise. The sun’s soft golden light stretched across their bedroom and Steve rolled over closer to nudge Eddie awake. 

The pet name mumble-rolled from Eddie’s mouth. 

A few more minutes, angel

Steve paused at the pet name, relishing in it. Angel. 

Eddie had uttered it with breathy ease, as if the name was meant solely for him. 

And when Eddie woke, he murmured it again, voice still thick with sleep. 

Good morning, angel

Warmth bloomed in Steve’s heart and spread through his chest and he cuddled Eddie closer.

Baby was next. 

Baby, Steve learned, was reserved for the bedroom. 

Baby was whispered in Steve’s ear while Steve moaned through Eddie’s rhythmic thrusts from behind. 

Baby was hushed between soft praises and softer commands as Eddie edged him.

A little longer, baby, so good for me

Steve was a spool of thread, woven with want and need, and Eddie wound him tighter and tighter before finally allowing Steve to unravel and come undone in his arms. And then, Eddie stitched Steve back together with the same pet name and praise. 

I got you baby, you did so good 

And Steve was left delightfully buzzing as the world crackled back to clarity. 

Sweetheart was the Sour Patch Kid pet name, either sweet or snarky.

When Steve came home from his day of teaching, Eddie was immediately on alert as Steve coughed into his elbow. Steve was sick; there was no denying it. 

You sound terrible, sweetheart , Eddie tutted, and filled the kettle to make tea.

When the pet name came snarky, it was complete with Eddie’s best cocky smile and his brown eyes glinting.

Sweetheart, you haven’t seen anything yet , Eddie would challenge, one hand caressing the neck of his guitar while the other fingered his guitar pick. 

Sunshine was Steve’s favorite. 

It was always uttered with intention, and always served with a thick layer of love between its letters. 

Steve loved hearing sunshine woven into songs that Eddie sang to millions. He loved knowing it was him Eddie was referring to when he sang about sunshine warm on his skin. 

You’re mine, sunshine

I bathe in your beams, struck silent, self-aware and sun-kissed

It wasn’t just Eddie’s songs, either.

Sunshine was everywhere.

Eddie breathed sunshine between sunset kisses on the patio, and sunshine on firefly summer evenings at the lake. Eddie enthusiastically declared how much he loved sunshine both onstage and again backstage. 

I love you, sunshine

Each name was endearing and left Steve enveloped in comfort. 

And Steve knew he’d always be Eddie’s. 

Eddie’s angel, baby, sweetheart, sunshine.

[oonajaeadira]

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 2: Summer

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Hunting and skinning squirrels. Chemical burns to skin. Piercing injury. Joel being a dick in a moment of self-preservation. Ellie's still a swear-mouth. Everybody makes some mistakes.

Summary: You solve a problem for Ellie and Joel really doesn't take it well.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

Listen. I know those warnings up there seem like a bit much, but I promise you all of that is in passing, in service to the plot, and not described in detail. (With the exception Ellie's cussing. That will persist indefinitely.) This is stupid fluffy.

Your gut reaction is to fetch your gun and point it at Ellie’s head.

But the girl is calm.

And the bites are healed.

“Wanna shoot me, don’t you,” she challenges with a mismatched set of cocky mouth and world weary eyes. “This one happened before I met Joel. And this one the day after. This is why he took me to the Fireflies. He told me not to tell anyone. That’s why I freaked out.”

Earlier in the day you’d gone looking for Ellie, hoping to show her the honeybee hive you’d discovered at the edge of the meadow. She’d been bathing in the stream, stripped down to nothing. She’d shrieked when she saw you coming near and you’d laughed and kept your eyes averted, understanding the self-consciousness of teenagers, about to tell her to come and find you when she was done.

And then she roared.

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! GO!”

It had been a punch to the heart if not a slap to the face, which you were certain by her tone you would have received had you been close enough.

Saying nothing, and simply obeying her wish, you’d turned and gone back to the Roost. Ellie stayed away so long that her hair was completely dry and her nose was sunburned when she finally joined you.

Every footfall had been an apology on the ladder. And every slow creak along the porch was following an olive branch to the broken down sofa you perched on to keep watch over the north meadow.

Taking a reticent seat beside you, she’d rolled up her sleeve. “I’m sorry I yelled. I didn’t want you to see it. It’s kind of a life and death thing.”

“Obviously,” you answer, shellshocked. “Reaction warranted.” Dropping her arm to her lap and reaching up to pull down her cuff, you stop her, holding out a waiting hand. “Can I?”

Suddenly doe-eyed and struck by your acceptance, she nods and lays her forearm in your palm.

There’s instinctual revulsion at first, but it melts to wonder as you get a closer look at the scars. There’s nothing of skin breakage, no mycelium running underneath, nothing reaching for you through holes as there would be if you were having one of your nightmares.

Immunity. Statistically speaking, it had to exist, but she’s the first you’ve ever seen or heard of.

“I wondered why you’d choose to wear long sleeves in this heat. I see now. Joel was smart to tell you to keep it covered. This’ll get you killed faster than infection, that’s for sure.” The tendons in her arm flex involuntarily when you run your fingers over the marks. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to tickle.” She relaxes as you release her. This time she doesn’t move to cover the skin. “Out in the open with Joel, I can imagine why you were bit the second time. How’d you come by it the first time?”

“Messing around with a friend where I wasn’t supposed to.”

Ah. By the pull at her brow and the same laws of statistics, you’d hazard to guess that friend didn’t make it. Probably another kid like her. Tragic.

“I see. And that’s why you were being smuggled. That’s why they wanted you. Well, what did the Fireflies make of you?”

She clearly catches the way you slather contempt onto the name of the terrorist organization, but answers your question. “They wanted to make a cure from my blood. They had me on the operating table but raiders attacked the hospital and killed everyone while I was under. So I guess we missed our chance.”

A quiet minute passes as you watch her tracing her thumb over the scar, lost in thought, brow twisted, recounting the ordeal of that day. Something doesn’t sit right with her about it.

And neither does it sit right with you.

Doctors don’t put a person on an operating table just to draw blood.

And you’ve heard stories of what Joel’s capable of.

You’ve witnessed just how protective he is over this little girl.

Her reverie dissolves when you lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. “While I’m sorry they never got the chance to find the possibilities, I understand enough about research medicine to know that the likelihood of their finding a cure from just one person is almost impossible. So while they might have been able to study your blood, they most likely wouldn’t be able to get enough of it or keep it stable long enough to find any answers.”

“How do you know that?”

Over the next hour as the sun sinks in the sky and she soaks up your history, you tell her about your sister. How you and her and Maria were a tight-knit team growing up, how in love with Maria she was, how you were certain they were going to get married one day.

Then you tell her how Maria went off to law school and your sister got sick, that the cancer was rare and the treatment was long and expensive, so your parents had opted for research to fray some costs and keep the ranch.

In the end, there were no answers, not without more donors of her ilk.

Your parents took a loan against the ranch, knowing full well they would lose it, but everyone agreed it was worth it for whatever time it would buy her.

And then Jakarta fell. And the world went to hell.

A few of the elderly residents of the Jackson basin came to hole up on the ranch and most of Willa’s family and tribal branch moved over from their land to form a protective new family group. It worked for a few years. It was safe. It was a thriving little commune.

And then the Fireflies came.

“There were Fireflies out here too?”

“Oh yeah, they were in every QZ, spreading their lies and chaos through the telegram towers, recruiting poor young suckers wherever they took root and getting them all killed. You tangled with them and I’d say you’re lucky you’re alive.”

Ellie frowns down at her arm again. “What did they do when they came here?”

Another story then. Now you explain with a little less nostalgia how the Fireflies came to use your ranch as a base. Trucks coming and going at all hours. Gunshots in the night. Catching the attention of roving packs of raiders. People got hurt. People died.

There was one day when two Fireflies went out foraging mushrooms with old Ms. Celia. They brought her body back on a makeshift sled. Just keeled over, they said.

Funny how the same thing happened the week before with old Ms. Margie. What a coincidence that it was happening when the food supplies were running low.

But the last blow came when the ranch was attacked by raiders a third time. There was a plan in place to create a distraction, draw their attention away from the ranch. The Fireflies knew your sister was sick and designated she do the job. They put a gun to your head when you protested.

It’s okay, she’d said, I don’t have much left to lose. If I’m going out, at least the people I love will be safe.

It was a shit plan.

A lot of people died that day. Most of them were raiders, thanks to Willa and her tribe. Some of them were Fireflies thanks to you and your shotgun.

“So did you win?”

“No. The barriers were still broken. And the ranch was burned to the ground.”

The evening sky is a mix of purples and gold now, the flocks of birds swooping over the meadow are starting to vie for their meal of mosquitos and gnats with an increasing number of bats. Ellie watches one in particular as it swoops up and over the roof of the Roost.

“What about your parents?”

“They burned with the ranch.”

She nods solemnly, without horror, the attitude of a child that’s seen too much.

“And your sister died too then?”

"She got away at first. Found her in the woods a week later with a bite like yours, but she was long gone by then. One of Willa’s brothers did the shooting.”

Another quiet nod. “What was your sister’s name?” she asks as an evening bird calls.

It was bound to come up.

“Eleanor. We called her Ell. Ellie, when she was little.” When you can see the unearned guilt building in her face you bump her shoulder playfully. “It was almost twenty years ago. I hold onto the good memories. She was sweet and kind to everyone she met, never backsassed our parents, never disobeyed. So basically nothing like you at all.” You laugh when she shoots you an annoyed look. “Not that she was an angel though! She had her fire; you didn’t want to get on her bad side. And she was whip smart. That’s where the two of you meet I think.”

“Sounds like you lost everything at once.”

“I did,” a fact you aknowledge as you stretch and get up, heading back into the cabin to light the lantern. “But Willa helped me through. And then Jackson got its walls up and Maria found her way home and I had family again.” Once the lantern flickers to life, you grab your bag and start pawing through it. “You keep going for family.”

“That’s what Joel says.”

“Huh. You know what? I believe you. Here,” pulling a tank top out of your pack you toss it at her and it smacks her in the face. “While you’re out here you can wear that and not die of heat stroke in those knit tops. But when you’re out in the sun, put something over your shoulders or use the tsuga paste. Your skin hasn’t seen sun in a while and the last thing I need to do is bring you back cooked like a Christmas goose and have Joel all up in my ass about it.”

“That actually sounds like a good thing for both of you, if you ask me.”

“Watch it.”

“What? I didn’t say anything! Look at the time! We should be spinning wool! How I love spinning wool. Whoopee!”

“Like I said. Nothing like my sister. You little shit.”

________

“Meadowlark to patrol.”

“This is patrol.”

“Starling and I are on the southeast side of the meadow near the chokecherry copse and we’ve found a honeybee hive. I’m going to tie red flags to the surrounding trees. You wanna put the word out that some of these cherries are ready to go and get someone suited out here to scope out this hive?”

“This will make four hives now.”

“I know. We’re getting lucky this year.”

“Will do, Meadowlark. We’ll radio in before we cross borders.”

“Copy. Out.”

On the way back to the Roost you and Ellie stop to greet a group of sheep lazing in the grass, sitting down and sharing cherries with them from a basket between the two of you.

“They can eat these?” she asks.

“Sure. They can pretty much eat whatever we do. Chokecherries are fine. Just don’t give ‘em the leaves or stems. Those are poisonous.”

This means taking the time to pull cherries away from the branches until there’s a handful to feed the sheep. Normally you’d be fending them off during this, they’d be insistent and impatient, but the heat of the day has them lazy and languid.

It’s also working on Ellie as she yawns, stretching her white arms plastered in pine and sunflower paste for protection, her scar marring her otherwise unburned forearm.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” you hand her another branch to start shucking. “Willa does tattoos. She could cover that for you.”

Ellie hesitates. “Maybe.”

“What. You don’t want a tattoo? I thought you might like that. It would be pretty badass. We could cover it with a starling or something….”

“I guess.” You wait for her excuse. It’s a decent one. “I just…It would mean Willa would know too. Joel told me not to tell anyone. I don’t think I should.”

“I understand. That’s kinda why I suggested Willa. The woman’s a vault.” But Ellie’s fingers stop picking berries, as if she doesn’t know what to do or what to say. “Oh. I see. You don’t want Joel to know you told anyone. Even me.”

She nods.

She changes the subject then–something about him wanting to keep her safe, even teaching her to use a shotgun to protect herself–but your mind keeps working on the problem.

It’s only when you make it back to the ladder at the Roost, one foot frozen on the bottom rung, that you find the answer.

“What’s wrong?” she asks from behind you.

Under the posts of the Roost is a load of firewood. And under that wood….

“Ellie…if there was another way to get rid of your scar, would you?”

“What. You gonna give me some kinda bird tattoo yourself? Is it gonna look like a blob or–”

“I mean, do you want it gone at all?”

She pulls herself out of her slouched position to her full height. “I mean…yeah…I think a tattoo is actually a great idea I just…”

“What if Willa didn’t have to know? What if she thought she was covering up something else?” Pulling a few armfulls of wood away from the side of the pile, you uncover a wide plank of wood, once a handsome cedar coffee table top, now a sunken excuse for a forest cellar door. Prying the wood out of its depression, you reveal an earthen pit housing a couple of shovels, a couple pairs of oilskin mittens, and a covered earthen pot.

“This,” you point to the pot, “is lye. We keep it out here in case one of the sheep dies from infection or illness. It’s important to bury the sheep to keep it away from the flock. But even if you bury a carcass, bear and coyotes will come sniffing around and dig it up. We discourage that with this. Lye breaks down organic matter. That’s why we have gloves in here. It burns skin.”

Ellie frowns into the pit, understanding slowly dawning until she asks with a gasp, “Does it hurt?”

“Hells yes it does. It’s a burn, Ellie. It hurts like a son of a bitch, there’s no way I’d lie about that. But it will twist the features of that scar. You’ll never have to dodge suspicion again.”

“Mother. Fucker,” her whisper shakes, but she eyes the pot in steady fascination.

“You know what?” You throw the tabletop back down over the hole, “I saw a whole lot of squirrels around those chokecherries and they’re actually good eating if you get a few of them and throw ‘em in a pot with some potatoes and onion and garlic…. Too bad their skins are too small to be useful. But we can’t just leave ‘em lying around, you know. So if you and I were to go out and get a few and make a stew, and say I was to show you how the lye works with the leavings… well, something might happen.” The girl looks you dead in the eye, her jaw dropping open a little in disbelief. “What do you say? You wanna go out and do some target practice? Get some squirrel for dinner?”

A switch flips in Ellie’s spine and her eyes spark cold and bright, two supernovas in a smiling galaxy.

“Fuck yes. I’ll get the rifle.”

________

“Good shot!” you cheer as a third squirrel drops from a branch and you share a high five. “Wonder who taught you that! Damn, girl! Three for three. Tonight, we feast.”

“So, when are we doing this?” Ellie smiles as you walk back to the Roost, the barrel of the rifle slung over one shoulder, a string of fuzzy dinner swinging from the other.

“Tomorrow morning. Willa will be coming in at noon and that should give us some time to get a good burn in before she arrives. It should be fine, but if anything goes wrong, she can help and that makes me feel better about it. Ellie…. You sure you trust me with this?”

“I can’t die from it, right?”

“No, but you might want to. It’s sure as hell not gonna be pleasant.”

“Lady, I spent half a year walking across the country with Joel. I’m a master at dealing with unpleasant.” By now the sheep are familiar with the sound of Ellie’s laughter and a few perk up on your way past to follow you lazily back to the Roost. “But, like, I don’t understand why we have to go through all this with the squirrels. Don’t get me wrong, I like the target practice and all…”

You take the squirrels from her and set up a makeshift butcher’s block on a stump left waist high specifically for this purpose. “I don’t want to lie to Joel when he freaks out about you getting hurt. We had squirrels. We disposed of the leavings. You got burned with the lye. Truth truth truth.”

“You think he’ll be mad at you?”

“Oh, I’m already counting that into the equation. I know you seem to think he’s fond of me, but not all the evidence leads up to that. You know how to clean a squirrel?”

“Sure do,” she grins as she trades the rifle for your boot knife and, taking the first rodent in hand, she works it skillfully, tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth, skinning the critter in one go. “Thanks, little buddy. You were cute, but you’ll be gooooooood eating.”

“You’re a hell of a kid.”

“Yeah, well, guess who taught me this?” she says as she morbidly slices through another one, making dramatic death noises as she goes. “Why do you think he doesn’t like you? Joel’s stupid about you. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Jesus, Ellie.” With a sigh and a shake of the head, you indulge her question and your own immature angst. “Well, for starters, I can tell he doesn’t think much of some of my conversation.”

“What do you mean?” Another skin lands at her feet.

“He just…doesn’t answer questions sometimes. Ignores comments. Doesn’t like to join in on the joke.”

“This is a big one,” she grunts, tugging at the final squirrel. “What side are you standing on when he ignores you?”

“Huh?”

“Where are you standing when you talk to Joel? He’s deaf in his right ear.”

You blink.

And suddenly a hell of a lot of things make a hell of a lot of sense.

That one time you complimented his shirt and he said nothing, you were on his right.

That one time you poked fun at his scowl. On his right.

You cracked that joke, offered a piece of pie, told him everything would be alright.

Right. Right. Right.

“I…didn’t know that,” you stammer stupidly, flinching when Ellie hands your knife back and heads for the ladder.

“Yeah, that was obvious. I’m gonna go get a bowl.” You’re still in shock as she starts climbing. “Don’t expect him to get down on one knee when he asks you to marry him; he’s got shitty knees too. He’s happy to complain about it if you ask him. Make sure it’s in his left ear.”

________

“Okay, look at me, Ellie. Breathe.”

She nods, her eyes burning with determination over the shirt you’ve tied around her nose and mouth to protect her from inhaling the mix.

As you sit in the grass a few meters from the stream with her arm resting in your mittened hands, you lay the lye-laden cloth over the scar and enclose it with pressure.

Her breath comes heavily. Bravely. Then you hear it change as the lye begins to work.

“Shit. It itches,” she hisses. “Shit. Shit shit fuck fuck ow it’s getting worse–”

“You want me to stop?”

“No shit fuck I can do this I got this shiiiiiiiiiit!”

“I won’t let you go too long but you let me know if you need–”

“I’m fine! FUCK!”

It’s when she screams that you know it’s enough and releasing her, you order, drill sergeant style, “Go! Go! Go! Fifteen minutes! Don’t look at it!”

Ellie bolts into the ice cold stream, sneakers and all, gasping as the water washes the cloth away from her. “Shit. I thought it would feel better. It doesn’t!”

“Does it feel worse?”

“No, it just fucking burns!”

A sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good. Just… just let it rinse. Do you feel woozy at all?”

She just shakes her head, looking down through the water. “It’s getting red. And puffy.”

“No broken skin?”

“No.”

“Good. It’ll probably blister up some.”

Ellie might not be feeling woozy, but you sure are. Was it a reckless idea? Probably. Will it actually work? Hopefully. Do you feel bad that she’s gonna be in pain for a while? Fuck yes. But then you remember when she put on your tank top and just … laid in the grass and smiled. Even if she never wore short sleeves again, at least nobody was going to make a fast decision with a gun to her skull.

You really should have checked with Joel though. No matter what Ellie wants, you know full well it wasn’t your call to make.

Another problem for another day.

“Everything okay down there?” Willa’s black braids glint in the sun as she walks down from the Roost.

“Ellie had a run in with the lye,” you call back.

“Yeah, I see you were composting. I filled in the hole.” She hardly even stops when she reaches you, simply pulls off her boots and heads straight into the water. “Let’s see. Oh yeah. That’s a burn alright.”

As Willa inspects Ellie’s submerged arm, the girl looks up and smiles at you, giving you a wet thumbs up. “Hurts like a motherfucker!"

“I’ll bet,” the woman hums dryly. “That’s going to swell up and scar pretty bad. Why don’t you sit and let the water do its work. Meadowlark and I will go pack your things and I’ll grab the gauze in the first aid kit.”

Willa doesn’t ask questions as you pack up, just the regular routine of information trade off. You tell her that you’ve marked a few sheep with blue dye to keep an eye on for injuries or dehydration. And she lets you know what’s going on in town, including the fact that there’s gonna be a wedding with a reception at the food hall over the weekend.

“Really? Who?”

“Bear and Missy Tippet.”

“Your uncle??? Willa, I can stay; don’t you wanna be there?”

She laughs. “Hell no I do not. You know exactly how I feel about Missy Tippet; same as you. I’d rather be out here. Perfect timing. They’ve been keeping each other warm on and off for years now. Maybe this will finally keep her on. As much as I hate to picture that,” she shivers.

Willa’s such an even-keeled soul and it’s not just anyone she’ll shit talk in front of. “Well, your secret’s safe with me. If it is a secret that is.”

“What’s a secret?” Ellie interrupts as she pulls herself up to the balcony from the ladder with one hand.

Willa takes a little time to show her the correct way to bandage the burn–not too tight–while you pack the horses, as well as instructing you where to find her stash of willow bark if Ellie needs it for the pain.

But something tells you that Eliie’s gonna tough it out. Though she holds her arm gingerly as she rides, fisting the reigns in her left hand, the girl grins all the way back to Jackson like she’s just pulled off the heist of the century.

________

Jackson is busy when you ride through the gates midday, folks passing by on their way to visit, deliver, build. Purpose in Jackson is taken seriously, as is leisure, and both are on display as you pass by the rustic main drag, in many different ways frozen in time–log storefronts and Mickey Mouse tshirts, leather-saddled livestock and Japanese fans.

You spot Joel waiting at the stables before he sees you, distracted by none other than Missy Tippet. Getting herself married or not, the stunning woman is a glutton for attention and a class A flirt, and she’s not the only one in town whose head turned the minute Joel took up residence.

Not that you can blame her, with him in that tight grey tshirt, busting a carpenter’s arms out of its sleeves and contouring it with sweat…. By the dust on his face, he’s been working today. Probably took a break to wait for–

“Ellie. Hey! You decided to come home.”

“Yup,” she says, throwing him the reins to distract him while she gingerly dismounts. “I shot three squirrels!”

You avoid Joel’s questioning glance as you slide down from your own mare and lead her into a stall. “Go on, you two, I’ll stable up. Nice to see you, Cinnamon Roll.”

But they’re already on their way, an engaged chattering, laughing questions and energetic answers…and your teasing goes unheard. Ah. Wrong ear, you realize.

Missy smirks; condescends.“Cinnamon roll, huh? Good try, I guess.”

You don’t rise to her bait. “Just giving him sass. He’s obviously not a fan. You gonna help me with these saddles or keep slobbering all over the men that aren’t your fiancee what come on by?”

Okay. Maybe a little rising.

________

It’s your ritual, first thing back from the meadow. The Roost holds a special place in your heart, but the one thing it can’t deliver is a shower. Great gods of earth and sky, let there be thanks that warm water’s still a thing, even in summer.

You’re still dripping, one head tilted to the side as you drain the last of the water out one ear, when there’s a knock at the front door downstairs.

Well, let’s see. There aren’t that many people who know you’re back yet and Ellie’s come home with a bandage on her arm. It’s easy to guess who’s knocking. Okay. Let’s get this over with.

When you answer the door wrapped in nothing but a towel, it obviously wasn’t what Joel was expecting, and if he walked over here with any ire, it instantly freezes and shatters like a bubble on the tundra when he takes in all the skin on display.

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t invite you in for snacks at the moment.”

Deflated, he simply rams his hands in his pockets, squinting. “You wanna tell me about Ellie’s arm?”

“I had planned on it at a time when I wasn’t wet and naked, but sure.” When he throws his hands up in defeat and turns to leave, you stop him, catching at his sleeve and stretching the fabric so it snaps back against his arm. “Hey. Wait. Yes. I was going to tell you.” As you cross your arms over the towel and lean on the door frame, he does much the same on the other side, averting his eyes and trying not to fidget. And failing. “It happened this morning. She shot some squirrels and we dressed ‘em for dinner last night and buried the bones and pelts. Gotta lye ‘em or animals come digging. I thought she could handle it. Looks like we both got burned, so to speak.” His face is stony. Unamused. You continue. “Willa looked at it this morning, we got it a good rinse. I’m gonna go by her place later and grab some willow bark and show Ellie how to compress.” He shakes his head at his boots. “Hey. She’ll be fine, Joel.”

“I don’t want her getting hurt out there.”

“And I do? It’s a chemical burn, not a clicker bite. She’ll learn from it. Kids can’t be put in glass cages.” It’s here that you pretend not to see the flash in his eye at the mention of bites, meanwhile noticing a bad scrape on his forearm. Seeing your opening, you reach out to draw a finger over it. “Jesus, Joel. Look at this. This. See? We all have occupational hazards. Come on.”

With a sigh you turn and pad into the kitchen to your first aid drawer, taking a chance that pays off--you’re surprised to hear him actually following. It takes a minute to dress the wound and you’re not ginger about it–water, apple cider vinegar, gauze. It’s a quiet minute though, one you thought you could power through, and maybe you could have, if you were in anything more than a towel…or couldn’t hear him breathing…or feel it on your skin. Trying to play it cool and get a vibe check on him, you look up only to catch his eye shifting away from your bare shoulder back to your work on his arm.

It’s time to break the silence, but you don’t feel the need to be on the defense anymore.

“We don’t have a lot of antibiotics just sitting around, you know. Don’t let this stuff fester, okay, cinnamon roll? You and that daredevil kid are a matching pair, you know that?”

He only grunts, half rolling his eyes at you, jaw set, voice at a soft compromise. “Yeah, well, I don’t want her going back out there until she’s healed up. Limited use of both arms is a good path to more accidents.”

“Fair. You win. Summer’s pretty slow anyway. I could use the quiet.” Laying it on thick, you tie up the ends of the gauze before releasing him back into the wilds. “Warm sun, buzz of bees. Sweet smell of grass and lupines. Meadow’s a good place for afternoon naps. Easier to do without an apprentice yapping my ear off.”

He nods thoughtfully at this--your words showing their effect--and slowly turns and heads for the door.

And you smile knowingly as you watch him go.

“You know,” you call out just before he closes the door behind him, “door’s open at the Roost. You can always come out there with her if you’re so concerned. That is, if you don’t mind sleeping on a broke-down sofa on the porch.”

Without looking back, he pauses briefly in the patch of summer glare. Then he silently steps out and pulls the door shut, leaving only the click of the latch and the sunlight through the leaded glass.

Well. That certainly could have gone much worse.

________

At least you’re wearing more clothes when it finally does go worse.

“What happened here, squirt?” Tommy taps his fork on Ellie’s bandage at family dinner.

And Ellie answers with a light jab to his arm. “Ow, you dick! That hurts!”

“Ellie–” a scold in stereo from both you and Joel.

As her teacher, the admonishment was instinctual. But in current context, it may have been a breach of place. The table goes silent as Joel’s head snaps in your direction and everyone else’s eyes bounce between you two, utterly amused. There’s a moment when you’re afraid he might just continue to glare, but then he cracks half a smile, shakes his head, and goes back to shoveling a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth.

It’s a reaction that lets you know Joel’s forgiven you, back to allowing you to be a rearing force in Ellie’s life.

“Meadowlark let me do some target practice and I shot some squirrels for dinner. Had to bury the skin and bones with lye and I got burned. Oops.”

“Oh my god,” Maria chews. “Are you okay?”

Ellie gives her a precocious smile and follows it with sarcastic condescension. “Yes, I’m going to live. As long as some people let it heal and stop hitting me with sharp things because they think they’re funny and they’re not.”

Tommy sticks his tongue out at Ellie and Maria laughs at them both before getting up to go fetch another jar of pickles from the pantry, holding her growing belly and waving off her husband's attempts to help.

“Rabbit’s better eating,” Tommy points out, returning to the subject at hand.

Ellie pops a stringbean into her mouth, clearly in a good mood. “But their hides are useful. Don’t have to bury them.”

The moment after she says this is like a lightning flash, and your reaction matches hers as you both freeze, realizing what she’s just accidentally said.

“Squirrels are faster, smaller, better target practice,” you say, clearing your throat, trying to act casual.

Tommy shrugs and nods, agreeing, oblivious, going to town on his ear of corn.

But Joel’s gone still, staring you down across the table, then casts a glance at Ellie…and her arm.

Shit.

Tommy and Maria are blissfully unaware of Joel’s turn for the quiet during the rest of the meal, not that he’d been very talkative to begin with. But the hesitant glances and shy smiles are gone now, replaced with a restrained patience and a few calculating glances.

It’s Maria’s turn to wash and Tommy’s to dry and yours to clear the table. But with every trip into the kitchen, you glance through the window over the sink into the yard where Joel and Ellie are having a spirited conversation under the tree at the far end.

'Spirited conversation' might be too polite a term. More like a one-sided lecture. Soon enough you have the table wiped down and you’re making a bee-line out the back door while Tommy and Maria argue about the best technique for drying a glass.

“That is not okay,” Joel hisses, trying to keep his voice low, giving Ellie’s shoulder a rough shake. “What if something went wrong? Huh? You could have burned down to the bone!”

“Joel, Joel, hey,” you whisper as you come to complete the triad. “Don’t. She confided in me. It was my idea.”

Nostrils flaring, lips pressed together, head wagging, he glares. “Of all the reckless, stupid….”

“I wanted to!” Ellie pleads, and you shut her down.

“That’s true, but Joel’s right and I knew it. I shouldn’t have–”

“If you tell anyone–” he warns, his eyes going full retribution against you--a hot coil ready to spring--and it petrifies you, takes you by the heart and squeezes.

“She won’t! Joel!”

“She’d better not.”

It’s a tense moment, one that surprises you. Scares you. In the months you’ve known him, Joel’s been a quiet and withdrawn creature, opening up in increments as you’ve done your best to build your trust, taming him slowly week after week, hoping for nothing more than having him someday eating out of your palm, pushing his cheek into your hand for gentle reassurance…

But in one fell swoop you’re back at the starting line–beyond the starting line. The papa bear in him is showing, bearing its teeth, and you’ve spent too much time among sheep, forgetting the valuable lesson that wild animals can never truly be tamed.

“I will burn this place to the ground if you ever hurt another hair on her head.” The quiet threat is feral and stinging and steals your breath before it’s over.

The things he’s capable of...those things are here and now and he could do them all to you before you had the chance to run.

The way he looks at you pulls the heat from the earth.

Before you can break from your paralysis, they’re gone, Joel pushing Ellie out of the yard toward home.

The stars are coming out. If there are crickets, you don’t hear them. Every sense seems to have shifted into neutral. Except breathing. That comes back with a hunger.

“Joel and Ellie take off?” Tommy calls from the window.

“Yeahhhh,” you call back without turning. “Tired. The heat. Think I might head home too.”

“Take a jar of these pickles. We have too many and Maria can't stomach them right now. I’ve got pickles coming out my damn ears.”

“Okay. Thanks, T. Pickles. Will do."

________

The following few days are...confusing. You should go out and grab some supplies on the main street, but actually fear running into Joel or Ellie. It’s stupid, and it makes you angry; it’s not that you’re afraid of him, it’s just…

You’re disappointed in yourself. Because everything’s upset now. Sure, you wanted to get close to them, but you overstepped, put Ellie in danger, made Joel feel unsafe. Everyone should feel safe in Jackson. Everyone should feel safe in the meadow. And you took that away from him.

Joel.

Why him? What about him do you need to have so badly? Why do you feel the need to fix him? To give him that safety?

Because Joel and Ellie so badly need a home. And you have an excess of home within you.

And little else.

You’ve never been lonely before. Why now?

Something about them….just fits.

Or so you thought. Or may have thought. Before you ruined it.

It’s better to just sit home and knit. Winter will be here soon enough and people need sweaters, dammit. You have a job to do.

But you can’t stay hidden away forever, especially not when there’s a wedding in the community.

________

“Bear, Missy, you’ve said your vows in front of all of us here tonight. We are all witness to your commitment. All in agreement, say aye!”

“AYE!”

“And those of you who want to spoil this good time, say nay!”

Bear’s brother pipes up from the side of the mess hall. “Nay!”

“Shut up, you asshole,” Bear laughs.

“Perfection is tempting devils!” his brother teases.

“Let ‘em come,” Bear shouts. “I’ll tear ‘em all down for my lady love, the prettiest girl in Jackson!” There’s applause and laughter as he kisses his new bride and the mood shifts as he roars, “Drinking and dancing!!!”

“Ugh. Good thing Willa isn’t here to see this. She’d be so annoyed.” Maria yells in your ear over the din as you huddle around your favorite table at the back of the hall. “I thought Missy would never settle down.”

“Bear must earn his name in the sack,” you crack back at her, and she clinks her glass against yours in agreement.

Tommy and Joel sit across the table from you, facing away toward the front. But when Tommy turns to join in the conversation, Joel remains facing out to the crowd, watching as tables are pushed to the side to make a dance floor, quietly pulling sips from a frothy cider.

He’s still pissed at you.

“Where’s Ellie?” you ask Tommy, not even attempting to address the wall of Joel-shaped ice.

“Over beyond, with the other big kids.”

You don’t turn to look, but Joel does after hearing the comment, before turning back to watch the crowd.

A band strikes up. Friends stop by and chat. Some of Tommy and Joel’s work friends come and take over the table–the boys all getting loud and rowdy–so you and Maria escape to the edge of the dance floor, beverages in hand, dancing–but not really–in place.

“What’s going on?” Maria finally asks over the music and the general glee.

“Hmm?”

“You two keep watching each other, but you’re not talking. What’s going on.”

You can’t keep from glancing over at the table…again. You weren’t aware of him taking any interest in you though.

“We had an argument the other day. I think I fucked things up.”

She pulls a face, comically surprised. “I would have guessed the other way around, but okay. You push him too hard or something?”

“Something like that.”

Glancing back over her shoulder at Joel and then back at you, Maria gives you her lawyer face. “He’ll come around. Tommy says he’s the last person to apologize for anything and if he does, you know it means a big deal. But if you’re willing to extend the olive branch first, that can go a long way.”

“Well, maybe not tonight,” you sigh, stealing a glance, watching as he drains his glass. “He’s had a few.”

But you can’t even convince yourself, handing your drink to Maria as Joel sets down his glass, slaps the table and pushes himself up, leaning forward to wish his buddies a good night. You follow him out of the mess hall like some lovestruck teenager strung out on a last hope.

“Joel. Joel!” Catching up with him halfway down the block, the light and noise from the party still follows as you get out in front of him. “Joel, stop. I have to apologize to you. Please let me.”

Though he’s backlit, you can still make out his tired glare. “Don’t. It’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is. Ellie’s important to you. You're her guardian. It wasn’t my call to make. I’m sorry.”

He waits a moment before throwing you an irritated prompt. “But?”

“But? I don’t know. She was hot in that long sleeve shirt and she showed me her arm–I can’t imagine what she went through. I just felt for her. But I did have a gut reaction when she showed me, Joel. Anyone would, but most wouldn’t hesitate for long. And those bites could get her killed. All I wanted was for her to be free from that. To be a kid. I’d say I wasn’t thinking, but...I was, Joel. Fuck was I thinking. I was thinking about her just being a kid and not getting killed.”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, I guess. Except… I really don’t want you to punish her for my decision. She loves it out there. She thrives. And if you don’t trust me, my offer stands. Come with us. See for yourself.”

A huffed laugh. “Yeah? Do I get a callsign then?”

Your fatal flaw is jumping to the joke and the playful tease too soon, as you do now, anticipating his forgiveness. “Of course you do, grey fox.”

And that’s when he reaches out, pulls you close with strong hands.

Which would be exhilarating, if it wasn’t too close. And if his breath didn’t smell of cider.

“Why don’t you just take what you want,” he growls, quietly, coldly, jaw set, lips hardly moving.

It’s not fear that pings up your spine–now that you’ve had a taste of his anger and gotten over the initial shock from the other night, you know Joel won’t hurt you, not here, not as part of your found family, he knows better–

It’s bitter disappointment.

“What?”

His grip tightens, digs in. “It’s obvious what you want. Just go ahead. We’re both fucking lonely enough and I’m too old for games.”

He’s right here with you in the dark, his breath on your lips, your fingers twisting into the shoulders of his tshirt…but it’s wrong. It’s so wrong. And it’s hurting.

So you slowly push off his chest.

And the light from the mess hall hits your face again; something there causes his shoulders to drop, causes him to let you go.

A cheer rises up from the celebration that you’ve left behind, that you don’t feel like returning to, but neither can you be alone right now, so it’s likely your only choice.

“I’m not playing games, Joel. I never was. I like you. A lot. Both you and Ellie. I just didn’t want to spook you. But...I also don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. So…maybe I read you wrong. Or maybe we need different things.”

“What do you need?” It almost falls out of him, uncontrolled, unemotional, a gathering of facts.

And your answer comes the same way, surprising you as you’re sure his own question surprised himself.

“A home.”

It’s a quiet night, perfectly warm. You’re sure if you went home right now, the fireflies–the good kind–would be out in the back yard.

Instead, you give him a shellshocked nod–of finality, of punctuation–and follow your feet back toward the light, toward happiness and love that you can’t share at the moment. And you don’t look back.

________

When you don’t show up for family dinner that week, Maria comes knocking the next day.

Knocks, yes, but does not wait for an answer. In sisterly fashion, she makes straight for your wool room and sits calmly on the edge on the daybed there, staring at you as you mend a hole in a sweater.

“Missed you at our table last night.”

“I know.”

It doesn’t matter how hard she stares, you continue to avoid it and concentrate on the work in your hands.

“That was an invitation for you to explain.”

“I’m aware.”

“Girl–”

“I’m not getting along with Joel right now. Ellie has…this thing on her arm that she doesn’t want anyone to know about. You notice how she would wear long sleeves even in the heat? I felt bad for her. So I… suggested…the lye.”

This doesn't faze her. “It was on purpose. And Joel found out. I see.” Leaning back into the pillows with a pregnant grunt, she swings her feet up onto the daybed. “Is hiding helping? You know we all know where you live, right?”

“Are you really putting your muddy shoes on my quilt?”

“So you’re just going to avoid him.”

You squint at the binding. “I’m gonna have to raid the commissary for some better glasses. My eyesight’s getting out of hand.”

“You’re going to avoid us. Me and Tommy and Ellie.”

Letting out a huge sigh, you concede to her tenacity because she won’t stop until she gets what she wants. “For now.” When her tongue clicks, you finally look up. “Listen. I apologized and he’s still mad. I agree with you that he’ll get over it, but he hasn’t yet, and that means I haven’t either. And I’m not as good at turning on my bitch face as that one is.”

“So we shouldn’t expect you next week either.”

“Nope,” you pout, tackling the sweater again with focused frustration. “I traded with Goldie. Going out a week early.”

“You’re running away.”

“I’m stressed out and I need to not be here, yes!” You admit, throwing down the knitting. “What is the big deal? I don’t have to get along with everyone in Jackson! You don’t!”

You understand that flat look from her, known it since you were kids. She’s counting to 10, giving you the chance to calm down so one of you can speak the truth and speak it calmly.

“But you want to get along with Joel.”

Of course she was going to say that. Because it’s what you’re thinking and not wanting to say out loud and she can read you like a book.

“Yeah. I really do. You know I do.”

“Okay,” she says, pushing herself up with effort and crossing the room to kiss her fingers and press–nay, slap–them to your forehead before heading out. “Go on and go to your happy place. Go calm down in your little clubhouse. I was just worried about you is all. Brought you leftovers. They’re on the counter.”

“Thanks. You’re too good to me. As always. Love you.”

“I know. As always. Love you too.”

________

At the end of the week you’re up early, your pack and rations slung over your back, pistol on one hip, making your way to the stables while the town’s still quiet, before anyone can notice you going. Your boots crunch on the dirt road in lieu of the birdsong from those lazy bitches not even up yet, the dawnlight casting Jackson in blues and blacks, like a new-world mid-era Picasso.

The problem is, you know all of these blues and blacks, all these shapes and shadows. There’s a new one this morning, something leaning up against the stable door.

And it’s shaped like a fourteen year old girl with a couple of bags.

As you approach, Ellie tips away from the wall, standing upright, waiting until you come to a stop in front of her.

“Joel said I could go with you.”

“It’s a week early.”

“Yep.”

It’s too early in the morning for exasperated sighs, but here you are. “Maria or Tommy?”

“Tommy.”

“Figures. Big fucking mouth.”

“Yep.”

She waits patiently for it to sink in.

Once it does, you pull the walkie off your belt.

“Meadowlark to Chickadee. ETA 30, towing a Starling in behind me.”

________

“So what did you say to him to get him to change his mind?” Ellie takes your fishing rod so you can pull off your boots and roll up your pants.

“Me? I figured it was you said something.” Wading out into the stream at this little ripple point is harder than it looks. The rocks are sharper here, full of crannys that are equally as good for fish to hide in as they are to turn an ankle. It doesn’t help that the setting sun is throwing shadows that make it harder to determine what’s what. “I haven’t talked to him in weeks. Not since Bear’s wedding. Keep that line taut.”

“According to Maria, you haven’t talked to anyone lately.”

“I had knitting to do,” a dismissal as you follow the line out into the current. “There are hardly any weeds out here; what did this dang hook snag on? A rock?”

“Well, he finally admitted that masking the scar was a good thing. I told him I want to get a tattoo over it. He said no.”

You laugh, tugging at the line, teetering on a flatter stone. “Of course he did. But that’s a good thing. Tattoo’s a permanent mark. Good to have an excuse to think long and hard about what you’d want. Willa’s great with nature stuff. She could probably do you a bird or a tree or something.”

“I was thinking maybe the moon. Or like, a machete.”

“Of course you were. Oh, oh... hang on, I think I’ve found it.” Reaching down under one of the rocks, you follow the fishing line, but it doesn’t seem to have an end. “Well, where the hell?”

“Uhhhhh,” Ellie points to the water at your feet. “I think it found you.”

A fine red ribbon of blood floats away on the current and you follow it upstream to your foot. More specifically, the inner part of your big toe. “Well shit. Did I just catch my own damn self?”

“Catch of the day!” Ellie laughs. “I bet you fry up real tough. Does it hurt?”

“Didn’t even feel it, water’s too cold. Get your knife and cut the line so I don’t get all tangled.”

Once you’re back on shore and take stock, it’s obvious some tools are needed. “Run and get me the wire cutting pliers, the vinegar jug, and the first aid kit, will you?”

Ellie’s off like a shot on youthful legs, making short work of the errand while you keep your foot in the stream and tend to her line. But once she’s back and opens the kit, her face twists into a frown. “Aren’t there supposed to be bandages in here?”

“What?” Snipping the hook in two you slide it out the easy way as Ellie watches in morbid fascination. “There’s not?”

“Nope. Plenty of cleanser and some needle and thread, but no bandages.”

“Shit. I suppose we never restocked it after Willa set you up. Well, I’ll just have to bleed into my sock for the time being and find something up at the Roost.” Ellie moves to help you, but you hold a hand up and go for the walkie. “Hey. Meadowlark to Goldie.”

The walkie comes to life, garbled, full of noise.

“Goldie? Meadowlark to Goldfinch.”

A couple of seconds pass. “Sorry, Goldfinch here. Was in the tavern and there’s an arm wrestling competition in there. Lots of yelling.”

“Really? Who’s winning?”

“Right now it’s Bear. What’s up?”

“Oh, I never restocked the first aid kit after Ellie’s mishap and we’re needing clean bandages. Can you send some along on patrol tomorrow?”

“Sure. Everything alright out there?”

“Yeah, I just stepped on a fishhook.”

“Well, why the hell did you do that?”

“You know, the usual. Shits and giggles.”

“You do you. Don’t ever change. I’ll send some supplies along.”

“Thanks. Put a wager down on Bear for me. Meadowlark out.”

“Will do. Goldfinch gone.”

“Alright, kid,” you groan, hanging onto her shoulder and pulling yourself up, “Bring in your line and let’s take what we got and get a supper going.”

________

The next day, you drop a few old carrots over the balcony railing. “Ellie! Take these with you! You’ll tame that skittish one sooner or later; keep trying!”

The girl scoops up the veggies and trudges out through the pasture, heavy not with the task of doing the rounds by herself but due to the heat. At least she can wear short sleeves now, even if the bandage gets questions. But you suspect she enjoys the clout and attention she gets out of the burn.

Thank goodness she’s here. Your injury gets angry when you walk. So Ellie's tasked with the rounds and taking stock while you elevate the foot and get caught up on some spinning.

Not that there’s any hurry to do so. As you lean on your arms against the balcony railing a little breeze kicks up. Content for the moment, you let it bring you a little coolness, a little movement, the rising and falling music of this year’s batch of cicadas. The meadow's pretty this summer, all purples and reds, festooned with lupine and Indian paintbrush and the air at the Roost smelling like the pines that grow around it.

“Patrol to Meadowlark.”

Damn. You left the walkie on the table inside. Guess the decision’s been made for you to get your ass moving. That’ll be a delivery coming in and you hobble on over to answer.

"Patrol here. You there, Meadowlark?"

“Sorry. Meadowlark here.”

“Sending Joel Miller in with supplies at the north gate.”

That’s…not what you expected. But…wow. Really? Has your heart stopped, or is it just going really fast?

“Put him on the walkie.”

Who cares what you’re heart’s doing, your face is gonna cramp from the smile.

“Hey. It’s me,” he answers, gentle, penitent.

“Me who.”

“Joel.”

So he's olive branching first. Well, he'll have to earn it.

“Yeah, about that, we have procedures around here. Callsign or bust, sir.”

You can almost hear his eyes rolling, but it sounds like he’s up for the challenge.

“Seriously.”

“Sure.”

“Jesus. This is…Grey Fox. Coming in at the north gate. Happy?”

“I will be. Meadowlark out.”

Tottering gingerly back out to the balcony, you land heavily on the old green broke-down sofa. There’s no need to bring the rifle. Even if he was being pursued by a pack of raging clickers, Joel is certain to carry a gun, and certain to use it confidently.

A few slow minutes tick by in the sun and a cicada buzzes in from nowhere to attach itself to one of the balcony supports. The big bug breathes for a minute, its iridescent wings still twitching with the effort of hoisting that bulky little body.

And then, in your eyeline just past the cicada, there’s movement.

Joel coming out of the north woods.

He’s on foot. Green plaid and jeans wading through the flowered fields. With his shirtsleeves rolled up on purpose to let those brown arms and big hands of his swing. With not just the one, but two rifles on his back? Isn’t that a bit overkill?

Wait. One of them’s not a rifle. It’s…a guitar.

Well. Someone’s planned to make himself at home.

Your smile earns more real estate.

Good.

Soon he’s close enough for you to make out his grey curls shifting in the breeze. Then he disappears under the Roost, only to transform into the sound of heavy footfalls on the ladder.

Propping your chin on your forearms crossed over the back of the sofa, you watch through the front windows as he steps into the room and takes it in with a carpenter’s eye. He stops in silent appreciation, gaze scrolling the woodwork, the joints, posts, slope of the peak. The woodstove catches his notice and he taps the tile beneath it with his boot, his interest trailing up the pipe, squinting at the trap around the exhaust. His bottom lip pushes up in approval and he nods, surveying the windows now…and stops when he sees you.

“Hey there, Cinnamon Roll. Welcome to the Roost.”

A half-hidden smile. Without a word, he untangles himself out of his gear, digging through his knapsack and retrieving a box before coming out onto the balcony and making his way over to you. Swiping a hand through the air, he motions for you to move your knee so he can sit beside you, then pulls your foot up into his lap and takes a look over your makeshift bandage–the sleeve of an old blouse–before starting to unwrap it.

It hurts. But you let him.

"Who told you I needed a first aid kit?"

"Was at the tavern when Goldie got the call. Heard it myself. Where’s Ellie?”

“She’s making the rounds. Just left before you came in."

He grunts an acknowledgement, focusing on your toe, moving it so he can assess the wound a little better. A little wince; he can tell it hurts. Grabbing a tiny bottle of cleansing agent and a fresh bandage, he gets to work.

“Just so you know,” he grumbles, “we don’t have a lot of antibiotics just sitting around. You shouldn’t let this stuff fester.”

He must see your smirk from the corner of his eye. He matches it with his own.

“You using my words against me now, Dr. Miller?”

“Not at all. Just passing on some valuable knowledge that was gifted to me.”

He works quietly, carefully wrapping the toe, then your foot, splinting it in a way that should make it easier to walk on. Obviously not the first time he’s cared for a wound. He must have seen a lot out there in his wilder days.

“This one was truly an accident. For real this time,” you attest.

But his smile burns off to the stone underneath.

His sincerity precedes him. “I’m sorry.”

An apology. From Joel Miller. For what? Not trusting you? Keeping Ellie away? Speaking to you the way he did? You assume it’s all of the above. But it isn’t necessary to ask for clarification; you only want to put the missteps behind you and get on with leaning on each other.

“You’re staying, right?”

He nods once to you, then to the sofa. “This where I’m sleeping?”

“I mean, if you want one of our beds, that’s fine, you’ll just have to fight us for it. In which case, you might as well give up now.”

“No, it’s okay. It’ll be like sleeping under the stars.” He stares out at the mountains over the meadow, watching the shadow of a cloud roll over it, your foot warm between his hands, a thumb absently rubbing at the bandage. “This is nice out here. Quiet. I’m not used to it. But it’s good.”

“Yeah, I’ll admit I do better with some wide open spaces. And fewer people to share it with.”

Two lines form above the bridge of his nose. “Ellie told me about your ranch. Your family. I’m sorry to hear it.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth being sorry.”

He's got you there. “Everyone’s lost something. Someone. Several someones. The whole world’s a little sorry. But I appreciate it. It means we’re all in it together, those of us left." You make a study of him, his solemn nod, the way the sun glints off his watch. “I’m glad you took me up on my invitation, Joel. It’ll be nice having you here, being out here together.”

And then he turns to you, making his own study of you, as if watching your clouds roll away too.

“I agree.”

________

“Now, the E7 is the same as the E, you just pick up that third finger. Good. Now let’s do a three-four, E7, A, E.”

As the sun starts to set, your eyes have had enough of the spindle for one day and you’re cleaning up while Joel and Ellie muck around with his guitar out on the balcony. She’s a quick study, even if some of the chords are more difficult than others for her small hands, and it’s obvious he’s been working with her on it for a while.

Using a walking stick that Joel made from a pine branch–stripping the bark and wrapping one end with duct tape for a sliverless handle–you put together a little plate of berries and cheese, sling a thermos full of sun tea under your arm, and head out to the balcony.

“That's it. Thumb, wrist, wrist,” Joel coaches Ellie in a waltz strum as you hand off the treats to him and take a spot at the railing for one last survey of the meadow before the twilight goes. “That’s good. Keep that up, just like that. Hey there, songbird,” he drawls at you, “you know any Hank Williams?”

Rather than turn to him with a smile, you give it to the meadow, but let him hear it in your voice. “Do I? My dad grew up in Montana in the 50s and 60s. What do you think I was raised on?”

“Well go on then. You should know this one.”

Now that you’re truly listening and realize the chords he’s been working her through, you certainly do.

Ellie must have told him how you like to sing out here. So you do.

“Hear that lonesome whippoorwill, He sounds too blue to fly. The midnight train is whining low, I'm so lonesome I could cry.”

Joel encourages Ellie to keep going, and to add a B7 in at the end. “Go on,” he prompts to you when you turn around, smiling blithely as his two girls make him a pretty song to listen to.

“I've never seen a night so long When time goes crawling by. The moon just went behind the clouds To hide its face and cry.

“Did you ever see a robin weep When leaves begin to die? That means he's lost the will to live; I'm so lonesome I could cry.”

“The next verse is the last one, so play her out on some single rising notes and hit the final chord.”

Ellie bites her bottom lip and nods, taking the cue, but she doesn’t need to look at her hands anymore as she’s getting the hang of it, and instead smiles as you take on her favorite subject.

“The silence of a falling star Lights up a purple sky, And as I wonder where you are… I'm so lonesome I could cry.”

Her outro could use a little work, but it suffices and you give her due applause. “How are those fingers doing?”

She takes stock of her hands. “Look. Calluses.”

“You’ve got some work to do before you can call those welts calluses,” Joel teases.

“Well, I think she’s earned a treat. I didn’t bring those out here for you to hoard ‘em.”

Ellie balances the guitar against the arm rest and Joel hands over the plate, stealing a cherry and popping it into his mouth. Bringing her feet up, Ellie rests the plate on her knees and settles against Joel’s shoulder, smiling, content, proud of her progress, eating her reward and watching the night come on.

It’s such an intimate father-daughter scene that you’re about to go indoors and let them enjoy the view together. But then Joel moves his foot slightly as if to block your path. Catches your eye. Drapes his free arm over the back of the sofa and glances pointedly at his free shoulder, then back at you with a jerk of his head as if to say, You too, get in here, this one’s yours.

You do not have to be told twice.

Settling in with a long sigh, you don’t pay much attention as Ellie starts recounting everything she knows and doesn’t know about the first moon landing. You’re more interested in the way your cheek fits into Joel’s shoulder, and how his arm lays heavy and warm over yours, how his chest rumbles when he answers Ellie’s questions and laughs at her sass. How the shadows spill over the butte and pull through everything until they are everything.

And you notice how the moonlight reflects off the plate in Ellie’s hand, off the tuning keys of the guitar…and yet…it’s missing in one place it should be.

Joel’s wrists are bare.

Joel is laughing. And his wrists are bare.

________

Picking up his watch where it’s been living on the little table all week, you pack it into Joel’s knapsack on the last morning before heading out.

“Goldie’ll be here soon. You see Joel come back from the rounds yet?”

Ellie shakes her head as she’s packing her bag. “Nope. Went out an hour or two ago. You want me to go get him?”

Taking his bag and your own to the balcony, you throw them over the side to the forest floor below. “I’ll go. Been on my ass all week. I could use the walk.” You hand her the walkie on the way out, trusting her to take the incoming hail.

Fastest way to find someone on rounds is to walk the opposite direction, so you head south to the stream.

You don’t have to go far.

A group of sheep have gathered in the grass halfway between the Roost and the water, lazing peacefully as if gathered for a little tea party, and you can guess what they’re all discussing.

There, in the middle of their protective huddle, is the man you’ve been waiting for all this time; shoes off, one arm slung above his head, asleep in the sun and the warm, fragrant grass, as if he grabbed your description of the meadow and ran with it, needing the nap of a lifetime.

At first you keep your distance, not wanting to startle him. But then you realize that it might take more than your approach and a couple soft bleats from a lamb to wake him.

Especially with his good ear turned to the ground like that.

Safe. Warm. Content.

Goldie will be coming soon, but you’ll be able to see her from here. No need to wake him yet.

There’s time enough to just sit and shade his face from the sun, watch the steady rise and fall of his hand on his belly, and whisper a little prayer of thanks to the earth and wind and sky–hell, even to the sheep–that Joel and Ellie found their way to Jackson.

And that you found your way to them.

Good. Everyone's got a good reason to keep going then.

________

Lyrics from "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" by Hank Williams

PREVIOUS: SPRING

NEXT: AUTUMN

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

(artwork by @stealyourblorbos)

[headingalaxys-spicy]

I've never read anyone write about a yandere with a lover who just unconditionaly loves them, so can we get just that? For the F.A.C.E fam (seperately), they were taking care of someone who they believed was getting in the way of their relationship. And then his love walked in on them, but instead of freaking out and booking it like any sane woman she just started frantically trying to hep out with the body and telling them to hurry up! Because she's not willing to lose them, even if it means becoming an accomplice of their crime.

Me: Ooooooh me like a challenge! Hope you like!

Warning: TW is kinda violent and mentions blood. So maybe not a read for everyone.

France

The Parisian air still held onto a little more warmth from the late summer sun. A few fireflies accompanied you on your way home. In your arms, you had plenty of sweets to pair with your decadent wines in the home that you and Francis shared, from Charlotte aux Framboises, Eclair geants, Pate de fruits framboise, freshly roasted hazelnuts & more. You wanted to show Francis you thought his affection toward you was sweet. 

So dinner tonight be damned! 

You wanted him to relax tonight & not have to worry about going to the shops to find the best ingredients for tonight's dish. The two of you could just be filled to the brim with sweets and be drunk off the wine and the-

You began to notice there were droplets of blood that got bigger as you approached your apartment. 

‘No. No…He’s hurt!!!’ You almost drop all of your treats in your hassle to get to your lover. You burst open the door to see Francis’ clothes coated in blood. To your relief, it seemed not to be his but that of the overly flirtatious coworker from your magazine label you’d complained about to Francis before.  

When Francis turned his head to see your figure, he was relieved momentarily to see your pleasant face. That moment was short-lived when he realized he would have to explain the gory scene before you. He was going to have to think of a palatable lie, beg, and-

“Darling! Darling!” You rush towards him and caress his face. It had a few droplets of the annoying mans blood on it mixing in with his sweat. You give him a kiss on the forehead & stare him dead in the eyes. 

“How can you be so reckless, Mon Choue?” (My sweetie) You left a trail leading right to you!” 

Very few people in this world could make Francis flustered as you had. Your reaction made him feel light as if he were in a daydream. You weren’t terrified. That means there was nothing he had to hide from you. There was a significant amount of solace that slowed down his quickly speeding heart. 

“You don’t have to explain. I can put 2 & 2 together. But my love, we do have a narrative to create and tracks to cover~” You gently rubbed your nose to his. Your fingers rubbed his stubble as you now could be at ease now that one of your biggest pests had been taken care of. 

“Yo…You’re not mad..or scared… or…” 

You seal his lips with a satisfying pop. 

“I’m not afraid, Mon Choue. I’ll help with the cleanup. I’m just somewhat concerned about….” Your eyes wandered back to the scarlet explosion that led you here. Francis's bright blues eagerly followed. 

You utilized your IT skills to hack into the security cameras that monitored your apartment complex. You erased all of the footage that had Francis dragging that nuisance that had been plaguing your life for the past couple of months. You do the same for any other potential camera that might have held evidence of the murder. 

You bleached the ground and the floors that had the red DNA discreetly. You loved your French man and would do anything to protect him. You assisted him in getting the body to the Seine River and attaching cinder blocks to the body bag so there wasn’t a likely chance it would resurface. 

America

You’d been distracted by nostalgic video games like Nintendogs, Animal Crossing & other saccharine games of the like. It had been 7-hours since Alfred last texted you. That’s the longest he’d gone without sending you cute, witty texts, gifs, memes etc. You sent him another text at around 16:34. Your eyes stared longingly at the small rectangular screen. 

“He must be super busy today, but he’ll text me soon.” You simply wanted him to be home already. You had DoorDashed pizza and burgers from his favorite local joint in case he was extra hungry. Your mind tries to refocus your attention on your video games but to no avail. Something felt off. You could feel unease rise in the pit of your stomach. 

“Maybe I didn’t fill the pantry up enough for the weekend….” You slid on your slippers & made your way downstairs. As you passed the basement door you noticed it was slightly ajar. 

“Hm? Could he be home already? I didn’t hear him come in….” You heard a few bumps & grunts from down below. Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

‘He could be hurt! Or maybe an intruder!’ You quickly grab the hidden 9mm that was hidden beneath a secret compartment from the staircase. You pushed open the door and called out into the dimly lit place. 

“Alfred! Alfred! Are you down here?” 

The hairs on the back of Alfred’s neck stand up on high. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” He cursed under his breath. Alfred tried to hide the mutilated corpse of your creepy “friend” who was in your core friend group for some reason. He was the type that relentlessly flirted with you. What made it worse is the scumbag somehow had a fiance. Alfred believed that not only was he doing your relationship a favor but the entire world. 

He just wasn’t prepared to unveil his darker yandere tendencies to you today. He hastily found a tarp to cover the body. 

“Alfred! Alfred! Are you down here, babe?” Your footsteps cautiously descend the stairs. He could hear the concern in your voice, so he knew he had to answer. He swallowed hard and finally said: 

“Yes, babe! I’m down here! Just uh….working on a project.” You picked up on the nervousness in Alfred’s voice. When your lover was finally in your sight, he jumped a little and stood in front of the table that had the body that was mostly covered by the tarp. 

A dismembered arm had made a mushy ‘thud’ to the concrete floor. There was a pregnant silence that suffocated the both of you for a few moments. As your eyes and brain processed the scene that was before you. You broke out into a boisterous cackle. 

“Oh my god Alfred! Who did you kill?” Still laughing. You knew when you started dating him he had some malevolent quirks hidden beneath his sunny & fun exterior but that’s why you adored him. 

“You know that one asshole, Jason, who was a pest & flirted with you & always tried too hard to be around you and your friends.” 

“Oh my god, yes! Finally! That creepy bastard is dead!” You rush over to him & embrace him warmly. 

“Thank you, Alfred!” You gently peck his lips. You could tell from the sparkle in his deep blue hues that he was pleasantly surprised and relieved. 

“You’re welcome Y/N.” 

“I’ll help you with the body later. Just wash up. I DoorDashed us Pizza and Burgers. And you know those don’t taste great cold.” You give him a final peck on the lips before your phone alerts you that your food has arrived. 

“See you upstairs, my love.~” 

You shoot the body a couple of times to let out some of your former frustrations. You hated this guy as much as Alfred did. So assisting him with disposing of the body brought you a sadistic type of joy. 

The two of you decide to dissolve the body in acid along with any of his personal items. No trace of him would be left in this world. It brought the two of you great joy when he appeared on unsolved mysteries years later. 

Canada

The shovel quickly moved the mushy dirt aside. The freshly falling snowfall made it difficult for Matthew to keep up the momentum. He’d been at this for a few hours now. The sunlight was beginning to fade. Matthew still had a few more feet to dig before the gave could be acceptable. He had to ensure that the body of the pesky bus driver was where his body would never see the light of day ever again. 

Matthew was a mile and a half out in the thick Acadian forest, where he shared a cabin with you. 

He kept digging so he could secure a future with you. It was imperative to him that you were never to know of the heinous acts that he carried out. He wanted nothing more than to protect you and the relationship he cherished with you. That couldn’t happen if that bus driver continued to harass you on the daily. You came home every day stressed out. It hurt his heart when you came home frustrated about his not-so-subtle comments about your appearance.  

Each night, you rambled on about how uncomfortable the interactions made you feel. Some days, you nearly broke down before him, but you quickly rushed to your room. You didn’t always feel comfortable constantly complaining to him. You hated burdening him this much since you knew he didn’t have a family that was incredibly attentive to him. 

Some of Matthews's tears touched the snow while others slid down into his comfy red flannel. It was difficult for him to reconcile his flurry of feelings he had for you. 

“Matthew! Matthew! Where are you?!” He heard your voice call out to him in the darkness. The light from your flashlight slowly approached him. 

His heart turned into a brick of ice. You couldn’t see! You couldn’t know! He halted in his activities in an attempt to avoid being caught. 

‘Oh, Y/N! Just go back home! I’m okay!’ The sound of your boots crunching on the fresh snow got closer. Matthew could see the light from your flashlight touch trees that were only a few feet away from him. 

‘No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Go back Y/N! Go back!’ The fear of you leaving him gripped him intently. He’d have to harm you, possibly even prevent you from seeing the light of day. However, freeze mode kicked in, and he put his back against the large tree behind him. His grip on the shovel's handle tightened. He closed his eyes as he heard your voice from only three feet away. Matthew silently hoped that he and the body would turn invisible. 

“Matthew! Matthew! Sweetheart, it’s getting late! What are you doing out here? Aren’t you cold? Aren’t you hungry? I have maple-flavored hot chocolate and dinner ready at home!” Hoping to entice him to come home with you. 

You knew something was off when you saw the supply closet door was wide open & drops of red had been scattered in various places all over your home. You worried about him being injured from hunting or playing hockey. Either way, you were determined to find out. The large boot prints led you directly to him since you’d made it out in time before the snow began to cover up his tracks. You crouched down to Matthews's level as he cowered beneath the tree. Tears were streaming down his face as he held the shovel close to his chest. 

“Matthew! Thank god! There you are!” You tried to remove the shovel from his hands so you could give him a proper hug.

“No! Y/N NO!” He shouted in defense. 

“Mattie, honey…..” You swept aside some of his wavy blonde hair and stroked his freezing cheeks. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” 

“I….” He sniffed a few times before he continued. “I…” Choking on more tears. “If I …tell you… you won’t love me anymore!” Matthew began to bawl his eyes out as you took stock of the surrounding area. Your flashlight caught a glimpse of the lifeless body of that asshole bus driver. Relief took you over as you finally understood. 

So you began to laugh. 

Matthew was caught off guard by your positive reaction. His tears began to stop flowing. 

“You’re …you’re not angry?” 

“HA! HA! Hell no! You just got rid of a major nuisance to me hahaha!” Your shiny (eye color) orbs met with his reddened violet hues. You give him a reassuring peck on the forehead. 

“Come now! Let’s burn the body and spread the ashes in a lake.” 

Matthew is over the moon, knowing he doesn’t have to hide his dark side from you. You assist him in getting rid of the blood stains, trail, and all signs of struggle. You’d do anything for your teddy bear boyfriend's soon-to-be husband. 

England 

The fine China clinked satisfyingly as you set it out in its perfect places on the table. You were prepping for your late evening tea, which you and Arthur enjoyed doing together. You loved hearing about his day, what new book caught his fancy at the library or the bookstore. You were almost done prepping the various homemade jams. You looked over your shoulder to see how much more time was left before your cookies were done. It read 2:30. The mix of sweet shortbread & chocolate morsels mixing together was intoxicating. 

You were eager to see Arthur’s reaction to your perfected recipe. 

Your eyes wandered to the shed, where a light had been on for the last few hours. It shined brightly against the darkened grass. 

“Hmmm. I wonder what Arthur could be doing in there. Maybe he’s doing some more occult stuff.” You heard thunder begin to roll in from the distance. Just then, a bolt of lightning struck across the midnight blue sky. Tiny droplets of rain began to pelt the kitchen window. 

Finally, your beloved British man emerged from the shed. He looked a little more disheveled than usual. You wondered if he was actually able to summon a demon that he wasn’t capable of controlling. You heard his Oxfords climb the wooden steps that reached the backdoor. 

“Welcome back, Arthur dear~” As you said that, you heard him jump a little right as he rushed past the kitchen and into the laundry room. 

The timer had gone off. 

Your cookies were done. As you went to retrieve them, Arthur finally responded to you from the laundry room.

“Ah! Yes, hello, Y/N, love!” He is not doing a great job of hiding the nervousness in his voice. Concerned, you take off your oven mitts & follow the muddy tracks that you noticed have curious red spots within them. 

“Arthur, are you alright? Did you injure yourself, my love?” Anxiety pierced your heart, and you wondered if you needed to be prepared to rush him to the hospital. When you got to the laundry room, you saw Arthur hunched over the laundry basket. He’d already taken off his sweater that had blood tainting 65% of it, and He was just about to undo his button-up shirt, which wasn’t spared from being touched by the scarlet. 

“Y/N!” He jumped like a frightened cat that came face to face with an angry bulldog. 

“Arthur, what’s wrong, dear? Did you get hurt??!!” Worried and finally catching his bright green eyes. You scanned the rest of his clothing to see that blood you assumed had been splattered all over them. 

“No, I’m not hurt love..just….” He really didn't want to tell you the truth. His eyes hung down to the bright white tiles of the laundry room floor. 

You walked closer to him and took his pale, clammy face in your hand. You stroked his cheek gently to reassure him. You gingerly brought your hand to his chin and made your eyes connect sincerely. 

“Arthur, if it’s something serious…. You have to tell me. We’re lovers. We’re a team. That comes with unwavering trust.” The words that came from you made his heart flutter and sink at the same time like a lifevest being attached to a heavyweight. There was the fear that you would leave him and be afraid. Arthur knew he’d have to keep you quiet by reconditioning you and erasing your memories. Then came the comfort he no longer had to hide his far more morbid side. You loved him for him and all of him. 

“Arthur….” He could tell that you were becoming somewhat impatient. 

“Okay…okay..” He grabbed both of your hands to prevent you from running away & for emotional support. Arthur dragged in a deep breath before he blurted out: 

“I killed Dan! That stupid wanker who kept making passes at you! I hated how he always managed to put his phone number on the side of your coffee cup! I hate how he stalks your social media! And has the bloody fucking audacity to try and stalk you!” 

Your expression was unreadable for a moment until you let out a long sigh of repose. 

“If that’s really all, then you’ve just made my life a thousand times easier.” You peck him on his lips and tussle his wet hair. 

“I love you, Arthur, but we will have to…” You looked at the blood that was on your hand. “Make sure all the evidence is gone. I’ll draw you up a bath & mop up the floor.”

With that, you disappeared from his view, whistling a happy tune as you worked out some creative alibis in your mind.

[nekoannie-chan]

Tristes memorias del verano parte II

Pareja: Steve Rogers X Rumlow!Lectora.  

Palabras: 1019 palabras.

Sinopsis: En el cumpleaños de T/N, los recuerdos aparecen.

Advertencias: Angst.

N/A: En este fic Rumlow no es HYDRA, tampoco la Lectora lo es, así que ambos son Vengadores, la Guerra Civil nunca sucedió, pero el Chasquido si sucedió.

Parte I aquí.

        Si te gusto por favor vota, comenta y rebloguea.

No doy ningún permiso para que mis fics sean publicados en otra plataforma o idioma (yo traduzco mi propio trabajo) o el uso de mis gráficos (mis separadores de texto también están incluidos), los cuales hice exclusivamente para mis fics, por favor respeta mi trabajo y no lo robes. Aquí en la plataforma hay personas que hacen separadores de texto para que cualquiera los pueda usar, los míos no son públicos, por favor busca los de dichas personas. La única excepción serían los regalos que he hecho ya que ahora pertenecen a alguien más. Si encuentras alguno de mis trabajos en una plataforma diferente y no es alguna de mis cuentas, por favor avísame. Los reblogs y comentarios están bien.

DISCLAIMER: Los personajes de Marvel no me pertenecen (desafortunadamente), exceptuando por los personajes originales y la historia.

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Tags: @sinceimetyou​​ @black23​​ @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad​​ @azulatodoryuga​​

2023

 La esperanza estaba floreciendo en Brock, al final podría recuperar a su hermana. Por otro lado, Steve estaba nervioso, pronto podría volver a ver a su amada. No iba a ser fácil pero estaban dispuestos a pagar cualquier precio con tal de recuperarte.

2015

 —Vamos Steve, camina más rápido —dijiste, jalando un poco su brazo para que se apurara.

—Espera… —él pidió, se suponía que iba a ser un día especial.

—Mm, olvidé que eres un anciano —dijiste un poco decepcionada, deteniéndote.

—¡Oye!

Sonreíste, tomaste una parte de la falda de tu vestido rojo, a Steve le encantaba que usaras ese vestido, comenzaste a correr, tomándolo por sorpresa y él corrió tras ti, sin detenerte seguiste subiendo la colina, aunque no era exageradamente alta, conocías muy bien el lugar, desde tu niñez lo visitabas, te detuviste cuando llegaste a la cima.

—Al fin llegamos, este es mi lugar favorito, los atardeceres son hermosos —comentaste cuando notaste que Steve ya te había alcanzado.

—No, no lo creo…

—Ni siquiera lo has visto… —volteaste un poco molesta, estabas segura de que él nunca había estado en ese lugar.

—Lo sé porque tú eres la más hermosa del mundo —respondió abrazándote— ¿Te casarías conmigo? —te susurró al oído a la vez que sacaba la cajita con el anillo de compromiso.

2023

 Cada mañana, durante las siguientes semanas, Steve no dejaba de ver el calendario, contaba los días que faltaban para volver a verla; además, una parte de él no dejaba de recordar lo que había pasado el verano anterior al Chasquido, ya que fue cuando se comprometieron; la boda hubiera sido años antes si no hubiera pasado lo que ocurrió.

A veces reía al recordar el día que le propuso matrimonio, nunca antes había estado tan asustado como cuando Brock se enteró del compromiso, ni cuando le pusieron el suero sintió tanto miedo, por un momento creyó que su cuñado lo asesinaría (probablemente deseaba hacerlo, pero seguramente se contuvo por ti), ni siquiera recordaba que le había dicho —amenazado— Brock, sin embargo, a Steve le parecía haber escuchado algo relacionado con su cabeza y su escudo si no hacía a ti feliz o si alguna vez te hacía daño.

Tragó saliva con dificultad cuando una pregunta en específico apareció en su cabeza, ¿qué le iba a decir cuando le preguntaras por lo que había pasado?, había estado cinco años sin ti, aunque aún tenía un poco de tiempo para pensarlo, esperaba que aún quisieras seguir casada con él.

Steve tenía en sus manos los anillos de matrimonio, el día del Chasquido habías olvidado ponerte el tuyo porque tuvieron que salir de prisa, tampoco podía olvidar la sensación el primer día que regresó y tú no estabas.

La casa nunca había estado tan silenciosa y triste, nada era lo mismo sin ti, la primera noche lloró. Ambos sabían que siempre había un riesgo de que algo saliera mal en una misión o incluso… incluso perder al otro.

No obstante, al menos Steve nunca llegó a creer que realmente podría pasar, él siempre intentaba protegerte, aún sentía culpa por no poder haber hecho algo y evitar que desapreciaras.

Steve se sentía nervioso, su corazón latía muy rápido, después de tanto tiempo iba a verte, todo debía de salir bien, aunque le parecía un poco extraño que todo fuera tan fácil, tenía un extraño presentimiento.

Pero lo olvidó en cuanto te vio, corrió hacia ti y te abrazó tan fuerte que tuviste que detenerlo para evitar que siguiera apachurrándote.

—¿Qué pasó? No recuerdo haber llegado a…

De forma inesperada fueron separados, la batalla apenas comenzaba.

Después de que vencieran a Thanos corriste hacia Steve, comenzaste a revisar sus heridas, no parecían tan graves gracias al suero, no obstante, comenzabas a tener varias preguntas, principalmente en qué año estaban, notabas un poco diferente a Steve de cómo lo recordabas, Brock también se veía más viejo.

Mientras ellos te relataban lo ocurrido, más preguntas tenías, pero no te atrevías a hacerlas, tal vez cuando Steve y tú estuvieran solos las harías.

—Tiene mucho de que platicar, los dejó solos —Brock dijo saliendo de la habitación.

—¿A dónde fuiste? ¿Dónde estuviste todo este tiempo? —Steve interrogó.

—Oscuridad —respondiste.

—¿Oscuridad?

—Sentí calor y hormigueo en mis extremidades y luego todo se volvió oscuro; después, ustedes estaban, así que no sé qué ocurrió —continuaste.

Steve se relajó, al menos no parecía que hubieras sufrido o estado en peligro, sino más bien en una especie de limbo, tal vez inconsciente.

—Supongo que debes de tener muchas preguntas —Steve comentó.

—Yo… pues…

—Hazlas, sé que no quisiste hacerlas frente a tu hermano, pero estamos solos.

—Ustedes dicen que fueron al pasado, y bueno, pues…

—No tienes por qué preocuparte, lo único que me interesaba era conseguir de alguna u otra manera las gemas para traerte de vuelta, es lo único que me importaba —Steve contestó, él sabía cuál era tu pregunta.

—Steve, ¿qué hiciste en todo este tiempo? ¿Hay alguien más? —sentiste como se hacía un nudo en tu garganta al terminar la última pregunta, podrías comprender si había otra persona, a final de cuentas habían pasado cinco años y no sabían si alguna vez podrían arreglar lo que pasó.

—Buscar la forma de arreglar todo lo que pasó, debí de haber hecho algo más para evitarlo, para no… perderte, buscamos muchas maneras hasta que finalmente, de forma inesperada Scott llegó con la solución…

—¿Scott? ¿Cómo?

—Él no desapareció, sino que se quedó atrapado en… bueno no entendí bien lo que nos explicó, pero, pues, funcionó. Y respecto a tu otra pregunta, nunca podría haber alguien más, siempre has sido tú —continuó y tomó tu mano.

Sonreíste, no podías creer que te había esperado todo ese tiempo, aunque tú hubieses hecho lo mismo, ahora sabías que ni la muerte los iba a separar.

—¿Qué haremos ahora? Debemos de recuperar todo el tiempo que no pudimos estar juntos.

—¿Qué te parece irnos de segunda luna de miel? No creo que nos necesiten por aquí en algún tiempo —Steve propuso.

—Tenemos mucho tiempo por recuperar —respondiste y lo besaste.

[writingcold]

Finally! It's starting.

Greetings! I’m so glad to start sharing this story with you - it’s been nearly a year that it started haunting my thoughts. There were a lot of wipeouts, restarts, fist fights against it, tears - before it finally started to come together in a way that made sense. Today’s start harkens back to October ‘23 and a Halloween fic challenge to which was the catalyst for the whole story. The blurb has been updated and has become the prologue to this love story.

Content Warnings:  I need to put this here - this is a work of fiction. There will be imagery of violence, character deaths, inequities, poverty, heavy angst, and adult sexual situations throughout the story. Please read at your own discretion. All characters are fictional, though some of the big events that are shown are historical, but may not be historically accurate. 

Thank you to @edgingthedarkness for all of her help as my all mighty beta for this fiction. She listened to me drone on and on about it for months on end. She really took a bullet for this one! She created the banner for this story as well! Also thank you to @katuschka for her amazing skills in bringing our hero Jakub to life. Divider art by @ firefly-graphics.

The Dead

Jake X Fem!Reader

Prologue word count: approximately 3200

Warnings in this part: None, just a ghost lamenting.

Prologue: The Entity in the Graveyard

     It was a season of newness. Rebirth. I had slumbered for a spell. I was certain. My body, for lack of a better term, swam in the dirt and filth of my grave, feeding off the sludge that allowed for me to rekindle my being. I was aware of the substance and colors around me, more than I was able to see. My vision was as blurred as a newly borne babe. The sounds of life beyond my plot kept me company - the wind in the trees, the stirrings of small animals and perhaps even a deer or two. The hum of a modern vehicle whizzing by polluted the air at times, and even the trod of one who was visiting my graveyard prickled in my ears as if willing my form to rise and be part of the world.

      I slithered from the ground to huddle before my stone. Human time held little meaning. It was more a marker to seasons, but even those had little sway over my attention. That’s not to say that I did not appreciate the tender greens of Spring, nor the long, hazy heated air of Summer. I found myself lingering across thoughts that cherished the crispness of the Autumn and the indiscriminate viciousness of Winter. A swish of lilacs frilled with dew was the first shadow of form I took in. I could almost smell the fragrance as it tumbled across days and weeks. 

      The air did not welcome my presence. Why had I stirred? I should have slept through the years until the time of the Thinning. I climbed up onto my headstone, perching myself like a gargoyle to force my form into the shade of the kingdom. I was alone at the time - the lone wraith inhabiting the space of the dead. The music of the cosmos twisted and twirled amongst the stars. My senses finally began to stretch across the craggy grounds. No new flesh inhabited the land. But there was something…  I felt a metallic bite against my tongue. There was a vibration against my…  How strange. A normal person would say they could feel it in their skin. I stepped from the top of the stone and hovered, allowing my boots to drift across the overgrown blades of weeds and wild grasses. I am aware there had been a time when my feet planted themselves squarely on the Earth. I’m sure I knew at one time the weight of a human form around this construct of a soul - or whatever one would consider me to be in the present.

      I paused to look up at the glow of the moon above. I pretended to breathe in and felt it again - that vibration. Iron. Metallic. Bold. Life. It was life that I could feel beckoning me. It was not far from my plot. It was upon the path. I soared across what I supposed would be no more than ten paces and froze my visage upon the bordering stones - one in particular claimed my attention. I stooped low, passing my wispy digits over an odd stain upon the dull colored mass. I moved my face closer and realized the stain carried the rapacity of cells; the heaviness of iron. It carried life. I became solid enough to touch it with a glee that I seldom felt. There had been life amongst the dead. My body did a little jitter as I recoiled back to the path, eyes cast down as if willing the cells to join me. My vision danced across the cruel looking rock, taking in the faint glow of what once was living.

      My thoughts swirled across who could’ve been visiting upon my plane of existence. Surely it was not him - the caretaker. He would not be so careless. Unless in his age riddled body, he was finally beginning to break. How odd that the idea of him coming to harm made me giddy. A memory that was diminished surely could explain the reaction, but more often than not, those memories refused to return. It had been years since anyone new had been planted in the grounds, and all of the families of the rotten in the graves were long since healed from the loss. So why would… I paused when I reached my stone once more. Youth. The remnants of the stain felt young. Strange.

     I pushed my hand through the headstone that anchored me every day of the human year. The pad of my index finger traced the deep cut ‘J’ in the polished stormy granite that marked the first letter of my name. The letters no longer held the same meaning as they once did. No one was left to mourn me, no matter what form I took. No one was left for me to remember through faded fondness and cooled over warm memories.

      It was an odd feeling whenever it struck. No one was left to remember me. How many ancient cultures believed that if the soul was remembered by those of the living, then in fact the one who was dead lived on? And wasn’t it also believed if the one who was dead, and not remembered, the soul would simply not exist? And yet, I lingered on the grounds of my original death. Chained to the stone my long melted corpse resided beneath. Imprisoned on the grounds that only the dead could dare to know on such an intimate level.

      I was not always alone. So many disappeared; embracing the light or welcoming the fire when the solitude gripped too tightly for too long, or perhaps when their patch of ground grew too putrid and obnoxious that either eternal joy or damnation would be accepted readily. Not for myself, however. The radiance was never offered, while the hellfire never beckoned either. I am what is known as an in-between. Not that it bothered me. The Thinning time was my glory, even though it was rare and erratic.  Each Thinning, she would appear. She was neither of the living nor that of the dead. I wondered if she was a goddess - eternal like time, ethereal like nature. Perhaps she was a forgotten entity, purged to make way for man and his foolish and mostly stupid beliefs that he was any better, any smarter, any stronger.

      Time flowed beyond my attention. The grass began to push through the patches of stubborn snow that clung to the hope that the cold would remain. There was a brightness that curled and sweetened the sky with a life’s breath that only the dead and those of the in-between could appreciate enough to see. Vibrant peach and lavender of the sun’s trail caught my eyes long enough to push wildflowers from the earth to bring forth the swarming of the crickets and bugs of early summer.

      ‘A’. The letter had a chink in the cross where the stone cutter botched it up. I dragged my finger across the flaw for human hours at a time, grimacing over the tortured frame of what it meant to be the letter ‘A’. The fog was growing thicker as the supposed witching hour of the night drew forth. What was the purpose of such an hour? Time never affected the dead or those of the in-between. The so-called witches that the time was meant for never were concerned to wait for the practice of their sacred rituals. Perhaps it was used for those who were of the veil but not of my own likeness. I smiled as my sight passed over those who were my incognizant companions in the graveyard. They never acknowledged my presence, nor that of each other for that matter. It was a point of contention when I first discovered my grounds had been deemed a cemetery. Why would there be such division beyond the veil of the living? Was it the casting of purgatory to punish those who were arrested in the frozen state of death before the larger powers to claim their own dead beings? Baffling.

      I lazed before my stone, my thoughts stretched out beyond the land I was bound to, images of lives I had lived projecting out of me like a film, though I scarcely could remember what I could only identify as vague memories. How could I have sailed the Great Lakes and built ships, and know of the plight felt in a great war of independence? How could I have painted the intimacy of the land, and stained my hands in a vineyard as a farmer and strum the frets of a guitar for the enjoyment of so many? Surely not just in one lifetime. There were overwhelming moments of fragility, pain, love and… ugliness.

      The toil of thoughts became stabbing torture. I moved across the fractured landscape to the wrought iron gates. The chain of my headstone gave me a gentle tug with each inch that I progressed away from it. The air of the living billowing on the other side of the fencing, dancing in the sunlight of the day. Wasn’t it just night? I glanced back to find indeed the sun had risen and passed overhead. A wanton expression tickled at my otherwise unmoving lips.

      I drifted north, following the breaks and twists and flaws of the aging fence as if I could ever leave the boundary of my world. I paused at the edge and forced my vision to dim to darkness so that I might feel nothing. It would be easy enough as only fields of early crops and a singular road stretched out before me in an endless roll of land. 

     A light on the horizon sparkled like a star, but cooled as it drew closer until it faded into a mortal form. A human-shaped woman in all her delicacy and vigor was walking along the broken asphalt of the road. Dressed in a flowing fabric drenched in light, she demanded my attention through her silence. I trailed behind her until finally, we stood face to face as she reached for the cemetery gate. For a moment, I thought she was reaching out for me. Her skin, smooth and without the tarnish of age, shimmered with a perfume that I’m sure smelled of apple blossoms, or perhaps delicate lilacs. Her graceful gait made her appear to be floating over the hidden rocks and fissures of the ground. I was enthralled by the creature as the corners of her eyes began to fade and signs of aging began to whisper across the skin of her hands and throat. Her hair began to thin and lose its luster. I had never come across such a human as to grow old before me. Perhaps she was wraith, untethered and unseeing of my own being.

     I followed her step for step through the graveyard. Her body grew small and bent by gravity. Her face dwindled, becoming ancient and heavily marred by time. Her eyes clouded over as is always the case of the elderly, as if they can take in no more of the world around them. And yet - she was beautiful. Delicate. Alluring. Her light was like light beaconing me towards shore.

      “What are you?”  I whispered into the scraggle of her hair that had loosened from its tether.

     She appeared to nearly tumble across the stone path as I stood in awe as she came to a stop before my own headstone. Her body was fully aged. Her clouded eyes blurred and closed as her breath labored to enter and leave her body. A badly twisted hand snaked out from her shroud and landed against my name. I watched silently as she lowered herself to her knees, resting her forehead to the granite before her. Her breath became shallow…  unmeasured.

     “Are you dying?”  I asked, my eyes wide as I drifted down next to her.

     She stretched out onto the hardness of the ground, her cheek resting upon her brittle arm. I laid down beside her as if I could be of comfort to her. I found myself longing to touch her. To caress the soft satin of her skin; to breathe in the perfume of her hair; to…  to ease her pain as she mumbled a sting of ache. For a span of minutes, there was nothing. No breath stirred within her. No sound slid through her relaxed lips. No life seemed to be before me. I watched in utter fascination as I brought my flaccid digits up to trace along her wisdom battered face, and felt the solid mass of her. I touched her. I felt her flesh beneath my fingertips. 

      “Are you…?”

     My words failed in the mess of shock that I could feel this creature. I could move this being that lay next to me. A note of gauzy familiarity clawed and scratched at my mind like it was trying to force me to remember something that refused to be revealed. I stared at how my hand pressed to her face and was rewarded with a wealth of human emotions that washed up and drowned my brain. The creature gasped and sputtered and choked, startling me to lose my connection with her. One gnarled hand, followed by the other, began to push against the earth. I rose up over her, stunned as in painfully slow fashion, she gathered her knees beneath her once more. Her noises were guttural and deep as she used my headstone to make her way back to standing. I moved around to the back of the monument as she paused to capture her breath once more. I looked into her face and a pang of awareness crashed upon me. I knew her. I knew this woman but all of that knowledge was gone.

     Achingly slow, she began her journey back towards the gate. I drifted around her, unsure if I needed to have her at least acknowledge me, but honestly, I needed to know if she could see me. The breeze tickled shades of blush and orange against her hair and I noticed that the age that had bit and battered her skin was reversing. Her back became straighter with each step. The deep lines of wisdom and life were fading. The full curve of her lip and striking beauty of her skin bloomed before me and fully returned by the time her hand pulled open the heavy gate.

     For the briefest of moments, I stood before her. Her eyes appeared to be locked upon me. I wondered if she saw me as I once was - wisps of chestnut strands that floated across my shoulders and curled around its tie that fell between my shoulder blades. Did she see the coyness of my smile? Did she see the dark swirl of earth tones in my eyes? Or did she see what lay six feet below my headstone, mottled and riddled with decay?

      Her eyes shimmered as I dared to reach my hand out to brush against the plump of her cheek. I pressed my palm to her face and passed the pad of my thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone. For a fraction of a second, she seemed to lean into my hand like a welcomed lover. And then…

.

.

.

     She walked away from me, dragging a light that grew brighter the further away she moved. I watched the glow, beaming like a star until it disappeared beyond the horizon.

     The ‘C’ of my name was the most elaborate, but most shallow of the cuts into the stone. It was scrolled with a flourish that left me to wonder if it was created to remind me of a flamboyant moment that I once lived. Or perhaps the stone cutter thought he was being funny, perhaps cryptic with such a deliberate act. Regardless, it could keep me enthralled for days, tracing the intricate loops and noticing how quickly the craftsmanship faded over the years.

     There was not much of my human self that I remembered. Shades of the larger pieces of life I knew, but the fine details were long gone. I could not recount the number of spirits who cried over their being, only to wail as their loved ones drifted through the tall grass and treacherously uneven earth to mourn their passing. I wondered if time had given me so much distance from my human nature to no longer realize that simple magic of the world and thus, have I been released from mortal memory to allow the wonderment of the dead in.

      The days were stretched to the limit, gobbling up each extra second like a greedy tick. I felt the air shimmering fat around me with a heat and kiss of life that I seldom took the chance to relish. My fingers pressed into the center swirl of the ‘C’ as my thoughts bent towards the creature. She was not present on the mortal daily, but her appearance had become fixture - stretching from the horizon, her light bellowed in like a tidal wave. I could not help but to follow her as she tread through her aging process to stoop before my headstone, lay down, only to rise again and leave me behind. I tried to grab her attention. I tried to test to see if she could see me. Each time, I was left to wonder. Her reaction was always the same, one that could be construed as the human tilt of her head, a longing look to join me, maybe. There was no definitive proof that she knew of my existence that she offered in her visits.

      ‘O’. Never ending. No beginning. No ending. Maybe the ‘O’ was like myself in that manner. How in a blink of an eye I could find myself removed and forwarded by whole earthly seasons. The air had turned. It no longer held the breath of warmth and sunshine of summer. Instead it held the darkening, faded breath of life. The line between those of the living and those of the dead was growing tired. I could feel it where my skin once resided. If I had been amongst the living, I would inhale this air until my lungs could hold no more. I would take it in to the point of it burning and almost painful but the perfume is too beautiful to not relish in such a manner. Alas, my body required no lungs, nor that of skin.

      The creature’s visits were sporadic. I watched her from up close and from afar. I tried to touch and tried to ignore. It did not matter. Her tread was always the same. Her return to the horizon was unfettered by whatever antics I would attempt. To say that it was maddening would be to admit to feeling something of my residual humanness. Was it impatience? Curiosity felt more correct. Whatever it was, I did not like being centered around this being that could come and go, taking my attention and thoughts with it.

      ‘B’. My final letter allowed me to return and finish my own name. The letter resided just as deep as the ‘J’, but the flag at the top bent backwards in a trail that wove through the loop of the ‘O’ and tangled with the flair of the ‘C’, like a tree branch. It skewed the ‘A’ and hovered over the ‘J’, providing a fancy little cap to the name I had known as my own for all my time. Jacob.

      It was not the first incarnation of my name. There were older forms of the epithet that I had known. All meaning the same thing - the supplanter. I wondered if I had been a good man. Or possibly, had I been evil in a good world? The fuzziness of my memories were mere echoes of what could have been but never concrete. Certainly, they were never accurate. 

      The brittle leaves of the few poplars and birch that dotted across the grounds rattled like an old sick man’s breath and were yellowed like his teeth. I tilted my chin upwards, looking into the gray sky beyond the canopy above and caught sight of the swirl of the cosmos that only those beyond the veil were privy to. The stars were dancing and singing, though no human could ever hear the beauty that was always wrapped around them in their ignorance. And yet, I tapped my toe and hummed along like a human would to their most favorite melody. The crinkles at the corners of my eyes deepened over the idiocy of the moment, but then, who was I not to enjoy a little morsel of what it was like to be the human I once was? Music stirred deep within me like nothing else. The notes touched and twirled something within that still could feel emotions and a longing for memories that always seemed to be just beyond my grasp. Had I been dead so long that life was no longer allowed to be remembered? It was then that I realized, I had no idea how long I had indeed been dead.

      The days were shortening. They were becoming like a careworn silk belt on a robe. I enjoyed sitting on my headstone, watching the wind play against the grass. Humans couldn’t see the colors that are pushed around, flying like dandelion fluff, carrying the fallen leaves and bits of life that survived upon its host. Perhaps it was one of those things that were put forth to mesmerize the eyes of the dead to distract from the living. I didn’t much care. If the colors of the world and cosmos of the sky were placed there to keep me from terrorizing the grander scale of being, so be it.

Here we goooooo! I will be posting every Thursday - you can find a sign up for my tag list here.

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[serene-faerie]

Doriathrim (plus Beren and Túrin) as Aesthetics

Thingol— towering pine trees, fireflies, a sharp jawline, stern yet gentle eyes, baroque architecture, glittering caves, majestic stags, hands as strong and firm as stone, sweet pomegranates, red wine and roasted meat, neat handwriting, the smell of pine, a melodic baritone voice, kohl-lined eyes that make them sharper, a raised eyebrow to convey displeasure and anger, silver jewelry, neatly-combed hair, diamonds, hunting boots, hugs that linger, well-loved books with folded pages, loving one’s family, autumn leaves, wolves howling at night, tall grass, a great waterfall, graceful postures, roasted game meat, white horses, flowing robes, piercing gazes, soft humming, classical music, unyielding morals, the color of the sky at dusk.

Melian— clear night skies, knowing smiles, the silver light of a waxing moon, braided dark hair, a clear and crystalline voice, elegant harp music, deep-pink jewels, soft hands, flowing gowns, loving gazes, kisses on the forehead, motherly hugs, laughter that sounds like music, white wine, moonflowers, the smell of earth after rain, forest walks, bird watching, dark eyes filled with ancient wisdom, a gentle spring breeze, the pink skies of dawn, romantic paintings, lavender flowers, always knowing what to say, birds in the trees, a flowing river, a graceful doe, blackberries, whispered singing, eyes crinkling with joy, ever present sorrow.

Beren— golden sunlight, forest bathing, leather boots, sword-calloused hands that touch gently, long, tousled brown hair, hardened yet sorrowful eyes, smiles as warm as summer, green cloaks, the smell of amber and cloves, sleeping beneath trees, hearty laughter, falling in love at first sight, a courageous spirit, a rough but warm voice, promising to protect those he loves, loving despite losing everyone dear, patching up injuries, lingering touches, dancing among the flowers, wild berries, fiery sunsets, warm hugs, brown bears, scarred muscles, hand kisses, vows to protect, the coming of summer, forest meadows, reverent whispers of love, admiring gazes, sweet wine, campfires.

Lúthien— starry skies, soft skin, long and loose dark hair, flower crowns, carefree smiles, eyes full of starlight, a voice like crystal, laughter as warm as summer nights, blue gowns, bare feet, ballet dancing, rosy lips, nightingales in the trees, shimmering purple eyeshadow, loving with one’s whole heart, jasmine flowers, red cherries, the smell of lilacs, the loving warmth of spring, sparkling jewels, meadows in the springtime, gentle hand-holding, butterfly kisses, elderflower cordial, sleeping amidst flowers, breaking out of the shell, soft singing, summer storms, april showers, a light in the darkness, a courageous heart, the pale blue morning skies.

Dior— dark, tousled hair, bright eyes, sparkly jewelry, a rugged elegance, a young fawn, mischievous smiles, blue jays, close bonds with family, witty comebacks, blueberries, sharp teeth dripping with blood, righteous fury, defending one’s home to the death, childhood lullabies, swimming in rivers, stargazing, crackling fires, the smell of musk, challenging death head-on, gleaming swords, blood moons, silver rings on each finger, collecting rain in cupped palms, raspberry tea, cicadas buzzing at dusk, the warm caress of a late spring breeze, thunderstorms, flashes of lightning, violent winds.

Nimloth— flushed cheeks, long silver hair, eyes with a gleam both faint and fierce, cunning smiles, loving fiercely, flower garlands, green gowns, careful hands, the new moon, emerald jewelry, golden earrings, bathing in forest rivers, protecting family with one’s life, sharp blades, a mother bear, white flowers, floral tea, strawberries, thrushes, holly leaves, blood upon one’s cheeks, torn dresses, the cool air of dawn, honey cakes, killing one’s enemy at the cost of one’s life, embroidered sheets, cherry-red lipstick, no regrets, victory in death, dying with a smile upon one’s face.

Elwing— white seagulls, wavy dark hair, eyes that are hardened by grief and pain, glowing gems, blue ocean waves, collecting seashells, waters glittering with starlight, a quiet, firm voice, hands that tremble ever so slightly, thick blankets, a gentle sea breeze, gazing out at the sea, warm honey tea, bread and apricot jam, candlelight by the bed, fingertips stained with ink, counting the stars, a worn plush toy, white feathers, a heart burdened with sorrow, finding joy in the smallest things, whispered lullabies to oneself, the pale blue dawn, the smell of the sea, jewelry of silver and pearls, beachside walks with one’s family.

Daeron— wooden flutes, bookshelves with worn books, cursive handwriting, candlelight upon desks, quiet ambient music, a light, clear voice, quiet humming to oneself, a cool autumn breeze, falling asleep at a desk, a crown of leaves, seasonal poetry, flowing rivers, soft hair, lush green grass, pining silently, wandering the earth, living in solitude, the passing of spring, songwriting, warm tea with spices, trying to do what is right, loving one’s home, loyalty to one’s lord, eloquent fingers, singing at parties, knowing exactly what to say at the right time, midsummer nights.

Beleg— hair in a ponytail, feather-tipped arrows, fingerless gloves, keen eyes, silent footsteps, kind smiles, brotherly hugs, deer hunting, sleeping under trees, silver bracelets, cherishing the bonds of friendship, frost upon tree branches, the chill of winter, brown owls, icicles from rooftops, morning mist in the trees, roasted game meat, thick scarves, falling snow, frozen waters, rainy nights, thunderclouds, forgiving, tragic poetry, suppressing one’s emotions, polished hunting boots, bird calls, carvings in tree trunks, loving someone for their flaws, kisses on hands, goodbye kisses, lips stained with blood.

Mablung— sharpened knives, a silent hunter, worn leather boots, even-tempered, always trying to keep a level head, a calming voice, sad smiles, making tea for others, late night hunting trips, strong hands, caverns that echo, light-footedness, elegant yet broken spears, always being the bearer of bad news, giving advice that is never listened to, windswept hair, the smell of bergamot and ginger, a heart weighed by sadness, bittersweet farewells, the thick morning fog, black ravens, mud upon one's cheeks, riverside walks, horse riding through forests, respect and love for one's superiors, fighting to defend one's home.

Túrin— long dark hair, turbulent scowls, sharp eyes full of righteous anger and pain, alcohol, poor decisions, black tea, bedtime stories, tiny smiles, laughter that is scarcely heard, carving wooden animals with a knife, clothes stained with blood, heart racing with adrenaline, lightning, the rumbling of thunder, a hoarse and deep voice, solitude, abandoned cities, shattered mirrors, unyielding stubbornness and pride, words that can cut deep, quick to anger, loving deeply, passionate about justice, running barefoot across the grass, wilted flowers, withered trees, lucid dreaming, dark colors, restlessness, heavy boots, hooded capes, gleaming black swords, tears of anger and bitterness, cloudy skies.

Nellas— robins, three-leafed clovers, tall grass, sleeping in the trees, daisies, red apples, messy braids, short and loose dresses, walking barefoot, freckled cheeks, eyes as warm as the sun, feeding the squirrels, uncaring of anyone's opinions, loving the woodland creatures, the countryside, herds of deer, clusters of poppies, playing hide-and-seek in the forest, folklore stories of animals that speak, dirt under fingernails, crisp air, muddy feet, stargazing from the tallest trees, shy smiles, red foxes, red maple trees, rosy cheeks, a cute button nose, quiet observation, dried leaves in tangled hair, hushed whispers, secret giggles.

Oropher— tall oak trees, loose silver hair, a heart full of unending grief, glittering deep green robes, memorial shrines carved in stone, rosemary and heather, climbing vines, the smell of incense, loves the forest, anger that quietly simmers, a piercing glare to silence unwanted chatter, firm but gentle hands, the sound of rushing rivers, only trusting those who have earned it, quills dipped in ink, leather-bound journals, a compelling voice, silvery light, vast, old-growth forests, black bears, always keeping promises, grey-blue eyes, a mind haunted by memory, reluctant alliances, firm and unwavering principles, late night reading, being slow to forgive, tales of the past, bitter nostalgia, night skies fading into dawn.

Thranduil— a crown of oak leaves and woodland flowers, sweet and fruity wine, tall and dark forests, the crisp chill of early winter, high ceilings, a gleaming sword with a golden hilt, a silver necklace with white jewels, autumn berries, family hunting trips, joyous feasts late into the night, loving the forest through all the seasons, rings of silver and gold, silver eyeshadow, sharp eyeliner that enhances one's eyes, pale straight hair, a heart weighed with bittersweet melancholy, gently rocking a baby's cradle, long hours in the library, a marvellous deer, shimmering eyeshadow, disdain shown through raised eyebrows, the smell of autumn leaves, silk robes, stories about the forests and the stars, befriending the woodland creatures, loving those who are lost.

[jobean12-blog]

Fair Grounds for Love

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Cowboy AU)

Word Count: 1,772

Summary: Joel takes you to your first real state fair

Author’s Note: This is for @the-slumberparty June Writing Challenge and my item is lemonade and my setting is festival/fair as well as a Summer Bingo Event and Choose your own AU box. I also did one with Biker!Joel and since my friends are super supportive and kind I decided to do Cowboy!Joel too because both are the best! Thank you to Navy and Roo for hosting and thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️ All dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of fun and fluff and sweetness, it gets flirty at the end ;) 

This photo below was taken by Iglesias Mas for Strange Way of Life 😍

Joel Miller Masterlist

Joel insists on picking you up for your date to the state fair, ever the gentleman and loving any excuse to spend more time together.

He knocks and waits, his smile growing when he hears you start to unlock the door.

You open it just enough to say, “close your eyes, Cowboy.”

He takes a step back and pulls his hat off then puts it over his face.

When you step out you rest your hand on his arm. “Okay.”

He takes his hat down and it tumbles from his fingers as he focuses on you, his gaze sweeping from your head to your toes.

“My god,” he says.

You grin and bend down to grab his hat before standing and placing it back on his head.

“Does that mean you like it?” you ask, tone cheeky.

You step closer and press yourself against him. “You look pretty good too…if you can stop drooling and close your mouth.”

He pulls you closer. “You are the sexiest, most beautiful woman I have ever seen darlin’.”

His arms circle around your waist and he kisses you hello, the sweet gesture quickly turning heated as his hands smooth along your curves and he drags your hips into his.

When he releases you he let’s out a sigh, kissing you one more time, quickly, before taking your hand and walking you to his truck.

“If we don’t leave now I’m gonna march you right back into the house and we’ll never make it to the fair.”

You giggle and hop into the truck when he opens the door. The ride is short and it almost takes you as long to find parking.

“Wow,” you whisper as you enter the fairgrounds, “I’ve never been to anything like this before.”

You look around at all the rides, tents and booths, a vibrant array of colors and sounds, and try to take it all in.

“Let’s go have some fun darlin’.”

You nod excitedly and keep hold of his hand as you wander toward some of the booths, stopping at the first game you see.

Joel tips his hat back and gives you a wink before he takes the toy rifle and gets into position to shoot the target.

You try not to giggle when he leaves just a shred of black on the star-shaped target, failing to win you a big stuffed toy and grumbling something about poor mechanics.

“I thought all you cowboys knew how to shoot!” you tease.

“Gimme something with a decent lever action and I’ll shoot the feathers off a duck’s butt at five hundred feet! This thing…”

He looks at the old and rusty toy. “Sucks!”

“Yeah…yeah,” you continue to tease. “And that poor duck!”

You make a pouty face and he smirks, taking your chin between his fingers and pulling you in for a kiss.

“Don’t worry darlin’,” he murmurs against your lips. “It’s just an expression.”

He slips his hand into his back pocket and hands the guy working at the game booth another dollar.

“One more try.”

You keep still, watching the target intently as Joel readies himself and starts to shoot.

With a squeal you throw yourself into his arms. “You did it!”

“Just needed to warm up,” he says with a triumphant grin.

You tap your chin as you try to pick out your new toy. “I’d like the stuffed dog please, the brown and white one.”

The guy at the game booth pulls it down and hands it to you with a smile.

You squeeze the dog to your chest and smile over it at Joel.

He reaches for your hand and you take it.

“Can we go on a ride now?” you ask, tugging on his arm.

“Sure darlin’.”

You spot the Viking swing ride; it’s squealing and creaking motor making Joel grimace as you approach.

“This has gotta be older than me,” he jokes.

“I’m scared but I want to go on!” you tell him.

Pressing yourself into his side the entire time you’re waiting on the line you finally move up to take your seats, suddenly unsure if you want to hold onto the railing or Joel.

“I apologize in advance if I scream really loud and squeeze the life out of you.”

He presses his lips together to stifle a laugh and you narrow your eyes playfully, startling when the ride jerks forward. Without a second through you wrap both your arms around his bicep and smash yourself against his side.

Now you feel his laughter and you would scold him except the ride starts getting into full swing and the only thing you can do is scream with terrified glee.

He tucks his hat away so it doesn’t blow off his head and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

When you step off the ride you lean into Joel’s side to steady yourself.

“Did ya have fun?” he asks.

“Yes!” you squeak. “Everything is a little wobbly though.”

“I got ya darlin’,” he says softly, tucking you under his arm. Let’s get something sweet.”

He leads you over to the food area and you look around the bustling fairgrounds, trying to decide what to get. The air is filled with the aroma of various foods, each one tantalizing and you finally choose something, deciding first to have lemonade.

“The booth is a lemon,” you giggle as you wait on the line. “It’s so cute!”

“Wait ‘til you get a taste darlin’.”

You take a moment to peruse the menu, and your mouth waters with anticipation as you read the enticing choices. Classic lemonade, freshly squeezed and tangy, is available for those seeking a traditional experience. But there's also a selection of tempting twists on the classic, such as strawberry lemonade.

Taking Joel’s advice you go for a classic lemonade, your eyes widening when the vendor hands you a cup so large you can barely close your fingers around it.

Joel takes it from you, the cup looking like a regular size in his large hands.

“Here,” he says, holding the straw up to your lips.

The cool, tangy sweetness dances on your taste buds, instantly refreshing and invigorating. The combination of tart lemons, the subtle hint of sweetness, and the chill of the ice soothes your senses on this warm day, making you feel rejuvenated.

“It’s sooooo good. Oh my god.”

You take a second long sip before he does the same.

“Shit,” he agrees with a chuckle. “I’m almost forgot how good this is.”

You reach for another drink but he swipes the cup away and instead plants his lips on yours.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Sorry darlin’…just need some extra sugar.”

He adjusts his hat and winks.

“Where are we going now?”

You’re back in Joel’s pick-up, resting against his shoulder, your stomach full and your feet tired.

“It’s a surprise.”

He pulls off the road and into a small clearing, stopping the truck at the edge of a cliff.

Before he opens his door he holds up his finger, signaling for you to wait, and jumps out, running around the truck to help you.

“We’re so high up!” you say, peering near the edge. “It’s so beautiful!”

The cliff offers a panoramic view, stretching far and wide. Below, the vast expanse of the earth unfolds, revealing a tapestry of rolling hills, meandering rivers and lush greenery.

While you’re admiring the view he lowers the tailgate and sets down a blanket in the truck bed.

“Come ‘ere darlin’,” he says, placing his hands on your hips to help you hop up.

Once you’re comfortable and resting in his arms he threads his fingers through yours, idly rubbing his thumb across your knuckles.

The sun, now hovering low on the horizon, casts long, dramatic shadows that dance across the landscape. The golden light bathes everything in a soft glow and the distant mountains are silhouetted against the radiant sky.

You stare out at the breathtaking scenery, but every time your eyes slide to Joel he’s looking at you.

Slowly he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your fingertips before releasing them and curling his arm around your waist to tuck you against his chest.

You push his hat off his head and run your hand through his hair then dance your fingers across his jaw and over his beard.

He closes his eyes and hums, leaning into your touch. His hand moves from your waist and he slips it under your top, rubbing softly and slowly, making the heat in your body build.

Your hand drops to the collar of his shirt then slides inside the open buttons, his skin warm and smooth. You move lower, popping open the next button, then lower to the next, revealing more of his skin.

“Darlin’” he murmurs, his lips pressing to your neck, lightly nibbling until they meet the shell of your ear.

With a shiver you hook your thigh over his, the thick muscle settling between your legs and creating the perfect friction as you shift against him.

He reaches forward with his thumb and sweeps it across your lips, leaning in to kiss you. At first it’s tender and soft but when his name falls from your lips, desperation in every syllable, he rolls over and covers your body with his, deepening the kiss until you’re a panting mess beneath him.

When he pulls away for air he rests his forehead to yours and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fuck woman,” he groans as he pushes himself up and slides out of the back.

He extends his hand toward you. “Get in the truck. I’m taking you home.”

You crawl closer and grab the front of his shirt, dragging him back to you and chasing his lips.

“Nope. I can’t wait.”

“Darlin’,” he says softly, but it’s gritty with restraint. “I’m taking you home to bed like a proper fucking gentleman.”

Your hands slide up his chest and wrap around his neck so you can bring his mouth back to yours.

“Right now, I don’t want a proper gentleman,” you whisper along his lips. “I want you, Cowboy, fucking me in the bed of your truck, under the sunset.”

You slip from his grasp and lie back on the blanket invitingly. He sucks in a curse and stares, taking you in, the golden setting sunlight catching like little sparks across your skin, lighting you up like an angel.

With purposeful movements he charges back into the bed of the truck.

“You’re gonna miss one hell of spectacular sunset darlin’,” he simpers as he settles over you. “But I promise I’ll make up for it.”

@sstan-hoe @laineyreads @justkinsey @beccablogsthings @pedritosdarling @lorilane33 @blackwidownat2814 @littleseasiren​

[buckets-and-trees]

Buck's Eleven

Title: Buck's Eleven Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Bucky and Steve with mentions of Bucky x ex!wife Reader Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Going into a job this big, you have to take the house or know the house will hunt you down and swallow you into its belly. Vegas is unforgiving. Good thing they're the best at what they do.

Content/Concept Warnings: Thief/Con Artist AU, smoking, 1960s elements, references to sexual acts

Notes: CONQUERING FOUR EVENTS/CHALLENGES, which is my crowning moment this summer:

@buckybarnesevents WEEK FIVE of Hot Bucky Summer: "When I First Met You..."

Sixth square of @buckybarnesbingo U4: "AU: Historical"Playing Games"

Featuring Lemonade and a Road trip for @the-slumberparty's June Challenge

AND MY FOURTH AND FINAL SQUARE for Connect4 Alternate June-iverse: C4 "Thief/Con Artist" (and including an Alpine sighting so I can collect my TOE BEANS)

This is an MCU homage to Ocean's Eleven drawing direct inspiration from the 1960 and 2001 films. The 2001 has been one of my favorite heist movies since it came out, and I had never seen the 1960s original until this week, but once I started watching it, my jaw dropped with excitement over how ripe it was to adapt for a Bucky (and Steve) AU because in the original, it's 15 years after WWII and the crew is a reassembled group of guys who were in the army together!

I borrowed some dialogue beats directly from the 2001 film, and those are in bold italics.

Story graphic by me, story dividers by @firefly-graphics, reblog graphic by @vase-of-lilies

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“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Bucky takes a seat in the chair across from the penitentiary’s release board and settles his hands casually in his lap.

The man in the center taps his cigarette in the ash tray before returning it to his lips. “Please state your name for the record.”

“James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Thank you. Mr. Barnes, you’re meeting with this board today to answer a few questions so we can determine whether or not you intend to break the law again.”

Bucky nods. Contrition. Congeniality. A touch of charisma, but nothing too memorable. That’s what he must serve up.

“This is your first conviction, but you have been implicated in a long list of other cases for confidence schemes and frauds. Is this a fair and accurate record?”

Bucky glances at the doll off to the side at a small table of her own, clicking away impressively at a typewriter.

“I expect your records to be nothing but accurate, though – as you said – I’ve been implicated but never charged.”

“Mr. Barnes, what we’re trying to find out is: was there a reason you committed this crime, or was there simply a reason you got caught this time?”

“My wife left me. I was upset. I fell into a self-destructive pattern.”

Exactly what he knows they would like to hear.

“If released, is it likely you would fall into a similar pattern?”

Bucky cocks his head almost imperceptibly. “She already left me once; I don’t think she’d do it again just for kicks.”

“Fellas, you know I’d do almost anything for ya, but not… not this,” Banner looks between them, rubbing the back of his neck.

Steve smiles warmly, the smile he knows tricks his friends and his marks into whatever he needs. “Why waste all the little tricks that the army taught us just because it’s sort of peaceful now?”

The din of the night club around them – games of cards, dames performing on stage, drinks being served up all around – gives them all the privacy they need to hold a sensitive conversation around the table, just the three of them.

“We’re trained men,” Bucky adds.

“I know. I know you are, and we always did good work.”

“Better with you on the crew, you keep us careful.”

“You remember a little operation called Stacks back on the Sokovian front?” Steve asks.

“Do I! Eleven of us in and out under the cloaking of the trees at night with more Axis piles of cash than was decent for either side to have stockpiled away.”

“We should have buried it,” Bucky says.

“Speaking of money, you’re going to need an enormous amount of backing to pull this off in Vegas. The city’s not a sleepy little town tucked away near the mountains and off the grid of the main occupation, it’s got a million neon lights glowing on it every night.”

“Fury, easy.”

“None of us are gonna be as easy as you think. You’ll need the best electrician around, and Tony’s out.”

“Got religion?” Bucky asks.

“Naw, he and Pepper have got a kid now.”

Bucky looks to Steve, but he seems unconcerned. “Morgan – she’s cute.” Steve looks back to Banner. “I think he’ll do it.”

Banner shakes his head, but grins. “Pepper’s already unhappy he’s back in the game on the fluffy jobs, but if you think you can convince him… You get Fury and you get Tony, I’ll play ball with you.”

“You can’t do it. It’s impossible. I made it impossible. I invented casino security. When I first met you boys, you were bright young cocky upstarts. Now you’re bright and cocky – and just lucky that most of the time you’re not too cocky. Now I like you boys, but it can’t be done.”

“You know what? You’re probably right.”

“Eyes were too big for our stomachs.”

“You would know better than anyone.”

“Sure, sure. I just don’t want to see you boys behind bars, especially since you’re fresh out, Barnes.”

“Well, we appreciate the lemonade all the same,” Steve says, setting down his now empty glass.

“It’s hand pressed every morning down at the river market.”

“And thank you for taking care of Alpine while I was away,” Bucky scratches the the head of his white cat, who hasn’t stopped purring since being reunited. He scoops her up to his chest, and he and Steve stand to leave.

“It was good to see you, Nick,” Steve says.

“Give Maria your addresses on the way out, she’s got me a good source on Cuban cigars, I’ll send each of you a box.”

Bucky nods. “That’s sure nice of you.”

They turn and start to walk across the terrace toward the patio doors.

Fury looks after them. He sighs. “Tell me the marks.”

They slowly turn back, appearing to casually answer, but knowing this will bring him in.

“The… Sahara–“

“–Sahara, the Riviera, and the Dunes,” Bucky finishes.

“Hold on.” Fury stands. “Those are Pierce’s places. What do you two got against Pierce?”

“Pierce is the king on top of the mountain right now, nothing more than that.”

“I still owe him for how he got me with Project Insight,” Steve adds, “but I could get him back some other way. The golden opportunity to knock over his casinos on the fight night of the year, Thor vs. Starlord in a few weeks? That’s just destiny giving me the gift to make it sweeter that it’ll be his money.”

“And, Rogers, you’re okay with this knowing full well who the dame rumored to be attached to his son’s arm?”

“Yep,” Steve says without hesitation. “It’s not about her. Pierce is the king on the top of the mountain right now, we just want to topple him over. I still owe him for Project Insight. Besides, Buck’s not stupid enough to make this about a dame who divorced him, and like you said it’s only a rumor that she’s his doll.”

Fury turns his stare to Bucky. He shrugs. “She’s made it pretty clear with the divorce papers.”

He studies him for a moment, then seems satisfied.

“And you’re just going to go on your little road trip across the country recruiting your team?”

“Who doesn’t love a summer road trip?” Bucky asks, a full grin on his face.

“Sam’s already in Sin City, picked out a nice house for us to set up and lay low in Henderson.”

“Henderson’s nice and sleepy. Banner will be there by the end of the week, and we just came from seeing Tony.”

“You should swing through Salt Lake City, look in on the Maximov Twins, they’re pulling off some impressive stuff among the locals there.”

“I’ll put them on the list.”

Steve leans up against the side of the convertible while Bucky starts to pump the gas.

“Sam’s not eager about the kid.”

“I know he’s not,” Bucky smirks. “But he’s our grease man. There’s a reason they’re calling him the Spider Boy Wonder now. Besides, he was a kid before I went in, it’s been four years, he’s not a kid anymore.”

“He’s impressive.”

Steve lets silence fall for a beat.

“Tell me it’s not about her. Tell me you are not stupid enough to make this about her.”

Frankly Bucky is shocked and impressed that it took Steve thirty minutes to press him about you now that he knows.

“It’s not about her, it’s about five million cool a piece.”

Steve looks dubious. “Because when we say ‘till the end of the line…’”

“It’s not about her, she just happens to be there, but I’m not ignoring that fact – we’re just going to use it to our advantage because she’ll be a blind spot for him.”

“Because she was a blind spot for you?”

“No, she was never that.” She was fireworks, electricity, what kept him sharp when he was on his game, before he got caught and sulked behind bars.

Steve sighs and his face softens. “I know. Just promise me we don’t do anything stupid.”

"No, nothing stupid. Too much riding on this. Heist of our lives."

As they pulled out onto the street, car aimed for the interstate, Bucky wouldn't spend the duration of the road trip thinking about you, but you would cross his mind frequently, as you always had.

With the miles ahead of them, the memories of you could distract him in peace. Thoughts of when he first met you. Thoughts of sneaking into rooftop parties and pools at places like Fury’s like you two had done when you were both too broke to get in any other way. Thoughts of his hand disappearing under your skirt and up to tease the delicious heat between your thighs. Thoughts of your head falling back and exposing your throat to him. Thoughts of your head falling forward to rest against his. Thoughts of you gasping beneath him as he thrust inside you. Thoughts of you wrapped up in his arms, leaning against his chest as you watched the sun set on your little balcony of that third-floor apartment in the city. Thoughts of the soft mornings and late nights in the bed you had shared together until you didn’t. Thoughts he fights both to hold onto and forget.

But you were unforgettable. You were his. You had to be his again. He's waited for just the right angle to set you in his sights again, and he knows he can get you as sure as he knows they will walk away with over fifty million and without a trace.

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest