#of dust dreams and juno

[meet-me-backstage]

༺ 🐑 ༻

𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ☼ Rancher!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝑇𝑤𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑜����𝑛 𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑜𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠！

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☼ You, a headstrong—bubbly ranch-hand, form a close bond with the reserved ranch-owner, Joel Miller, through two seasons of hard work, warmth, and unspoken longing. You leave to chase your dream, but circumstance brings Joel back into your life. A storm rolls over your land, something between you stirs—unresolved and waiting to burst.

𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ☼ a no outbreak au loosely inspired by Far From The Madding Crowd but it’s set in modern day/Texas, rancher!Joel (🥵), protective!Joel, grumpy x sunshine, bad language, light angst, mention of vomit & there’s blood after an incident with a hammer, age gap (reader is in her 20s & Joel is in his 50s), kinda slowburny, unresolved feelings (until they aren’t hehe), yearrrrrning and SMUUUUT so you must be 18+ to read this story‼️

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬!) ↯

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 (???)

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦!

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐦���� 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 ‘𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 & 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! 🫶

༺ 🐑 ༻

[firsttarotreader]

honey,honey 👉 @beardedjoel

Black Firs👉 @blossomarlia

Shelter in the Storm 👉 @worlds-we-write

Take My Hand 👉 @joelmillers-wife

yellow ribbon on the door 👉@hellothereobiwankenobi

Of Dust, Dreams and Juno 👉 @meet-me-backstage

Long, long time 👉 @meet-me-backstage

falling 👉 @damneddamsy

The F*ck-It List 👉 @auteurdelabre

cherry 👉 @mirrormauve

Always an Angel, Never a God 👉 @irb-pascalito-99 (This one is on AO3. You guys should check AO3 too—there’s lots of good stuff there for fanfics in general.)

The boyfriend act 👉 @capuccinodoll ( this one is Frankie, suprise, she got me addicted to Frankie)

And thanks to all the writers for taking the time out of their lives to share their work. Fanfiction is basically a core part of fandom culture. You guys are amazing and so lovely.🩷

Thank you! Also added!

[jesuisgourde]

A list of all the books mentioned in Peter Doherty's journals (and in some interviews/lyrics, too)

Because I just made this list in answer to someone's question on a facebook group, I thought I may as well post it here.

-The Picture of Dorian Gray/The Ballad Of Reading Gaol/Salome/The Happy Prince/The Duchess of Padua, all by Oscar Wilde -The Thief's Journal/Our Lady Of The Flowers/Miracle Of The Rose, all by Jean Genet -A Diamond Guitar by Truman Capote -Mixed Essays by Matthew Arnold -Venus In Furs by Leopold Sacher-Masoch -The Ministry Of Fear by Graham Greene -Brighton Rock by Graham Green -A Season in Hell by Arthur Rimbaud -The Street Of Crocodiles (aka Cinnamon Shops) by Bruno Schulz -Opium: The Diary Of His Cure by Jean Cocteau -The Lost Weekend by Charles Jackson -Howl by Allen Ginsberg -Women In Love by DH Lawrence -The Tempest by William Shakespeare -Trilby by George du Maurier -The Vision Of Jean Genet by Richard Coe -"Literature And The Crisis" by Isaiah Berlin -Le Cid by Pierre Corneille -The Paris Peasant by Louis Aragon -Junky by William S Burroughs -Absolute Beginners by Colin MacInnes -Futz by Rochelle Owens -They Shoot Horses Don't They? by Horace McCoy -"An Inquiry On Love" by La revolution surrealiste magazine -Idea by Michael Drayton -"The Nymph's Reply to The Shepherd" by Sir Walter Raleigh -Hamlet by William Shakespeare -The Silver Shilling/The Old Church Bell/The Snail And The Rose Tree all by Hans Christian Andersen -120 Days Of Sodom by Marquis de Sade -Letters To A Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke -Poetics Of Space by Gaston Bachelard -In Favor Of The Sensitive Man and Other Essays by Anais Nin -La Batarde by Violette LeDuc -Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov -Intimate Journals by Charles Baudelaire -Juno And The Paycock by Sean O'Casey -England Is Mine by Michael Bracewell -"The Prelude" by William Wordsworth -Noise: The Political Economy of Music by Jacques Atalli -"Elm" by Sylvia Plath -"I am pleased with my sight..." by Rumi -She Stoops To Conquer by Oliver Goldsmith -Amphitryon by John Dryden -Oscar Wilde by Richard Ellman -The Song Of The South by James Rennell Rodd -In Her Praise by Robert Graves -"For That He Looked Not Upon Her" by George Gascoigne -"Order And Disorder" by Lucy Hutchinson -Man Crazy by Joyce Carol Oates -A Pictorial History Of Sex In The Movies by Jeremy Pascall and Clyde Jeavons -Anarchy State & Utopia by Robert Nozick -"Limbo" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge -Men In Love: Masculinity and Sexuality in the Eighteenth Century by George Haggerty

[arbitrary line break because tumble hates lists apparently]

-Crime And Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky -Innocent When You Dream: the Tom Waits Reader -"Identity Card" by Mahmoud Darwish -Ulysses by James Joyce -The Four Quartets poems by TS Eliot -Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare -A'Rebours/Against The Grain by Joris-Karl Huysmans -Prisoner Of Love by Jean Genet -Down And Out In Paris And London by George Orwell -The Man With The Golden Arm by Nelson Algren -Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates -"Epitaph To A Dog" by Lord Byron -Cocaine Nights by JG Ballard -"Not By Bread Alone" by James Terry White -Anecdotes Of The Late Samuel Johnson by Hester Thrale -"The Owl And The Pussycat" by Edward Lear -"Chevaux de bois" by Paul Verlaine -A Strong Song Tows Us: The Life of Basil Bunting by Richard Burton -Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes -The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri -The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling -The Man Who Would Be King by Rudyard Kipling -Ask The Dust by John Frante -On The Trans-Siberian Railways by Blaise Cendrars -The 39 Steps by John Buchan -The Overcoat by Nikolai Gogol -The Government Inspector by Nikolai Gogol -The Iliad by Homer -Heart Of Darkness by Joseph Conrad -The Volunteer by Shane O'Doherty -Twenty Love Poems and A Song Of Despair by Pablo Neruda -"May Banners" by Arthur Rimbaud -Literary Outlaw: The life and times of William S Burroughs by Ted Morgan -The Penguin Dorothy Parker -Smoke by William Faulkner -Hero And Leander by Christopher Marlowe -My Lady Nicotine by JM Barrie -All I Ever Wrote by Ronnie Barker -The Libertine by Stephen Jeffreys -On Murder Considered As One Of The Fine Arts by Thomas de Quincey -The Void Ratio by Shane Levene and Karolina Urbaniak -The Remains Of The Day by Kazuo Ishiguro -Dead Fingers Talk by William S Burroughs -The England's Dreaming Tapes by Jon Savage -London Underworld by Henry Mayhew

[introspectivememories]

jason and juno's relationship is like "you were my mother, why couldn't you have just been my mother? and "i will be your sword and your shield" and "i made you into a hero. you ruined me. it's the same thing!" and "i will spend my lifetime being your dutiful champion" and "everything i am is because of you" and "it was my life! you had no right to take that from me. it was my life" and "a girl will be the daughter of zeus but you, jason grace, shall be mine" and "mom, am i still young? can i dream for a few months more?" and "i love you and i always will and i am sorry. what a useless word" and "i have my father's nose and all his rage, but i have my mother's face and her grief" and "or was my rage my mother's? or her mother's? or hers? an inherited creature?" and "but i am very homesick for arms that have never held me" and "the arms that cradled you are covered in an unfathomable amount of blood. but they cradled me, yes?" and "i will die your daughter and i will die your daughter and i will die your daughter" and "i hate you for what you did and i miss you like a little kid" and "hello? this is your mother. are you there? are you coming home?" and "mother, eat me and give birth to me again. this time around i'll make you proud" and "a fragment of god has been found in my mother's tender, fleeting smile" and "beause i'm my mother's son, i leave the arrow in my throbbing heart. what kills me keeps me alive" and "i have searched for my mother's love in all corners of the world" and "to say that you abandoned me would be very unjust, but that i was abandoned, and at times horribly, is true" and "i've done everything you have ever asked me. everything. i have given everything i've ever had" and "if i let him do this to me, what else will i allow? anything, anything, anything" and "i love you so much i'm going to let you kill me" and "you believe me like a god and i destroy you like like i am" and "i am forever your most devoted believer" and "somebody always needs to go first. i know this. i go first" and "i ache for the idea of it" and "i still loved you. i still have to live with that" and "i forget about you long enough to forget why i needed you" and "i miss you more than i remember you" and "when you find an old picture of us, and you clear away the dust, i hope you miss me sometimes" and "if home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked. i can't remember, i can't remember" and "and i'll dream each night of some version of you, that i might not have but i did not lose" and "it's been a long time since i've been me" and "i am not the person i dream of being" and "i want everything back, the way it was. but there is no point to it, this wanting" and most importantly, "of course the love is there. still, still, still."

[echo-goes-mmm]

Empty

Juno Collection Masterpost

Previous

Companion Piece by Chai (takes place before this)

Next

Warnings: catatonic depression, implied misuse of medication, mentions of throwing up

Juno woke up, and immediately wished he was back asleep. But he was out of medication; had been for a few days.

Hunger gnawed at his insides, but he ignored it. It would fade into the background and be forgotten in about an hour, and then he could doze away the day. It was better. Easier not to try than to be bitterly disappointed with himself.

Juno rolled onto his side, the open curtains of his canopy bed offering him a perfect view of an empty spot on the wall.

“Good morning, Master.”

Panic speared through him. His heart pounded.

He jolted upright, adrenaline pumping through him.

There was a man, a stranger in his rooms-

The man was tall and could hurt him and was poking around in his fireplace-

“W-who are you?” his voice shook. He clutched his blankets, but knew the fabric wouldn’t save him.

The man frowned. “Master? It’s me; Thallos. We met yesterday.”

“A- a maid?” Please just be a maid.

Thallos stepped forward, and Juno shrank away. No, he was supposed to be safe here- it’s supposed to be safe.

“No, Master. I was brought here last afternoon, by your uncle. I am supposed to watch over you,” the man said, his voice soft and calm. “To serve your needs.”

It didn’t make sense. Yesterday was the same as the day before, a gray blur in memory, there was nothing about a-

“Master?”

Juno choked out a sob. “Stay away,” he pleaded. “I don’t- I don’t want-”

Thallos held up his hands. “I ran a bath for you yesterday,” he coaxed. “I washed your hair for you. Do you not remember?”

A flicker of something. Was- was it real?

He brought a hand to his hair, doubting. There was no evidence of grease or dirt or-

Oh. 

Yesterday came flooding back to him. The bath, the disaster lunch. Uncle visiting that evening.

Through his tears, he nodded. “I-” He swallowed, shame curdling in his gut. “I remember.”

The blurry vision of Thallos relaxed, and Juno’s guilt swelled. How stupid was he to not even remember the day before?

He laid back down, curling onto his side. He wanted to be asleep. It was his only escape. Everything was so much less when he was asleep.

Except for the nightmares, but the sleeping drops didn’t let him dream at all. It was so much more peaceful. And he had run out.

Thallos didn’t seem to know what to do, which was fine. Juno didn’t want to give orders. He wanted everything to go away.

He shivered, cold.

Thallos moved back to the fireplace. The soft noises of wood crackling took getting used to, but soon his breathing evened out again and he could doze again.

Vaguely, he could hear Thallos moving around. Cleaning up, perhaps. Removing dirty clothes and putting them in the basket. Dusting.

Whatever.

He couldn’t care less.

___________________

A soft knock woke him late in the morning.

“Your highness?” a familiar voice called. “It’s Healer Wilson. The Emperor said you were out of sleeping drops? I have more for you.”

Oh. Good. He wasn’t supposed to be going through them so fast, but he needed them. One or two droplets on his tongue wasn’t enough.

Juno twitched, his mind yelling at him to get up, to go get his medicine like a functional human being.

The healer would just have to leave them outside, like usual.

But Thallos passed in front of his vision, and went to the door. The healer spoke to Thallos, the words inaudible.

Juno focused on the empty spot of wall. 

“Where would you like me to put this, Master?”

Thallos held up the small glass vial, with its blue liquid and dropper and prescription directions that he’d been ungratefully ignoring.

Juno glanced at his nightstand, and Thallos set the drops in the drawer.

He wanted some, right now, to sleep away the day. But he didn’t have the willpower to open the drawer, twist open the stopper, to measure out four drops, to feel guilty about using twice as much when the label warned him not to-

“Master?” Juno winced. “Forgive me, but I think you should have breakfast.”

Why bother? He was just going to throw it up again like yesterday. He was weak, and pathetic-

“Perhaps just some soup?”

Soup. He could do soup.

“Okay.” His throat hurt. He hadn’t had any tea yet.

Thallos put the kettle on, as if reading his mind. “I will not be gone long,” he promised. “Only fifteen minutes, most likely less.”

Juno stared at the empty wall. He heard the door open and click closed.

He was alone.

And still, he couldn’t care less.

taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979

[ananxiousgenz]

SONG FOR A CAGED LOVEBIRD: PART 13

this took. a while!! life has been busy recently lol. i feel it is important to note that this part 13 also cashed in at 1,666 words. this was not intentional, but uh. definitely has got some evil undertones.

reading some of the stuff peter says might get a lil confusing- just remember he is signing all of this!! i didn't want to write the word "signed" three million times and sign language is literally a language, just not a spoken one, so i used "said" instead

I SUMMON THEE TPP CREW: @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde @demonic-panini @the-private-eye

Way down deep in the pit of Juno’s stomach, a scaly rattlesnake of dread curled up and bared its fangs.

His muscles ached and his shirt was soaked through with sweat, and every few steps came with a cough from the horrible, black-dust air. He’d been searching the walls for hours now, looking for any sign of the tall, knife-thin figure that had sliced his world in half from the moment he walked into it. 

He’d seen a lot of workers. It took a lot of effort for him to not cringe at the sight of them. A hundred thousand faces, laying brick and chipping away at stone, each one looking as bone-tired and hopeless as the next. Some even looked vaguely familiar, distorted into someone he recognized through the dream-like haze in the air. But he hadn’t found anything of Peter Nureyev yet.

The rattlesnake shivered out a tense hiss. He was beginning to question everything. Had Rita remembered what had happened correctly? Maybe he’d missed him somewhere? Was Peter even here?

And suddenly all of Juno’s fear melted away.

There he was. A lone figure against the harsh lava glow of the factories behind him.

Just like he had the first time, he looked tired and disheveled, dirt on his face and a wall around his heart. His overalls were covered in mud and brick dust, his glasses were broken, and his eyes looked hollow and weary. But, gods, he might as well have had a gilded halo around his head for the way Juno wanted to fall down at his feet weeping and praying.

Blessed Saint Peter of the Workers.

Juno broke into a sprint.

“Nureyev?! Nureyev!!”

There was no answer. Peter just kept hacking away at the rock with his pickaxe, head bowed to the ground.

Juno scrambled up the rickety wooden ramp to the top of the wall as the rattlesnake slithered back into his gut. Peter barely noticed him. “Nureyev. Nureyev, please. Peter, please look at me!”

Nothing. Just that steady Hadestown rhythm of breathe, strike, lift. Breathe. Strike. Lift.

Juno grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. Peter’s eyes were completely empty, like the work here had sucked every last ounce of life out of him. Flashes of memory sped by in Juno’s mind. 

Peter laughing. Peter working out logic problems with Buddy. Peter telling stories with Rita. Peter fixing up the bar with Jet. Peter looking at him in wonder. Peter being alive.

He wasn’t alive now. The poorly sutured gash in his neck was evidence enough of that.

Juno was nearly crying now, scared and desperate, the world going blurry through the tears stuck in his lashes. The rattlesnake hidden in his stomach was letting out another steady hiss, it’s teeth bared in warning once more.

“Peter, please, you gotta remember me,” Juno whispered, pulling Peter’s head down to his. “I’m here to take you home.”

And then something strangely extraordinary happened.

Peter blinked. And it was like a miracle.

The hollowness cleared from his eyes in an instant. He squinted slightly through the dim light and broken glasses, and then recognition sparked in his eyes, and a grin more blinding than the sun snuck onto his face, chasing away the despair and melancholy. He looked at Juno, wonder and surprise and love in his eyes, and mouthed a single word.

Juno!

And then they were in each other's arms, holding each other like it was the only thing in the world that existed. Juno realized he was fully crying now, and Peter was crying too. His fist was clenched in Peter’s shirt that smelled like coal dust and sweat and fear but he didn’t care. He didn’t care. All that mattered was that they were here now, and they were holding each other, and he felt whole again. And it was like the world released a breath it barely knew it was holding back.

They stayed like that for a long time, crying and hugging and gently rocking back and forth, until both of them could breathe normally, like the sheer fact of the other’s presence could fix every problem they had ever known.

Juno pulled away from the hug first and kissed Peter hard. “You absolute DUMBASS. What the hell were you thinking, Nureyev? Getting yourself tangled up in the underworld?”

Peter made a slightly sour face and began signing something at Juno, too fast for him to understand.

“Wait, wait, wait. Slow down a minute. It’s been a while since I had to interpret sign, babe. You’re gonna have to sign slower than that.”

Peter sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, but planted a sweet kiss on Juno’s cheek before signing again, slower this time.

"How the hell did you get down here?"

“Jet led me. Apparently he used to work for Hadestown as a psychopomp or something. He wouldn’t go into it too much, though.”

"No, no, no," Peter said, snapping his fingers closed in slight frustration. "How did you get past the wall? No one gets in unless they come by train."

“Ah. Well, that’s interesting. There’s a backroad that I went down. And then when I got to the wall… I just. I sang. I asked it to let me in, said I needed to find you, and the stones just moved aside. I don’t know how.”

There was a pause. Peter was chewing on his lip now, looking at Juno with some emotion akin to reproach on his face. “What’s the matter, babe?”

"I called your name before I… left. And you never came for me."

Juno sucked in a pained breath through his teeth and looked at the rough-hewn ground. “You…. you did. I know.” 

Peter’s expression was rapidly approaching one that looked like it might burst into tears. "You knew? You heard me?"

“No, I didn’t know. Rita saw all of it. She…. she told me the story.” Juno sighed deeply, ran his hands over his face, and squatted down to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Nureyev. All of this is my fault. I should have been paying more attention to you, because you told me that you were hungry and I thought it would be fine, I just didn’t listen, and if I had listened, you wouldn’t be in this mess-”

Juno broke off as he felt Peter’s fingers under his chin, forcing him to look up. 

"Listen to me. This is not your fault," he said gently before giving Juno another kiss. His face had such a soft expression on it, soft like a magnolia petal in early spring with the kind of tenderness and care that only a very deep-rooted love can produce. 

Juno looked at that softness growing through the cracks of Nureyev’s walls and found himself falling in love with him all over again.

“It’s okay, though. I can fix this. I came to bring you home again. I can just sing the song again and the stones will let us back out- what’s the matter?”

Peter had begun shaking his head slowly. "Won’t work," he said, jaw clenched tight and face painted with varying shades of regret.

“What do you mean, it won’t work? It’ll work, I promise, Peter, I can get us out of-”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” 

A booming voice echoed across the wall in response, and Juno watched Nureyev go completely still, eyes wide and face stark white with fear and panic. Juno wasn’t sure who the man in the neat suit walking towards them was, but Peter’s reaction to his voice was enough to set Juno on edge in his defense.

He stood, back straight and eyes narrowed with as much confidence and menace as he could manage. “And who the hell are you?”

The man grinned, and something about his smile made Juno want to punch him. “An old friend of Petya’s. And the man who owns this city. You can call me Slip. You’d best be going, though. This city doesn’t take kindly to strays.”

Juno didn’t move a muscle. The man stared at him, eyes cold and clean and razor sharp.

“I said, you need to leave this city. Now.” 

“I’m not leaving without him.”

Nureyev stood then and turned to face the man, Slip, with a tension Juno had never seen in him before, and began shooting angry words in his direction. His hands were moving too fast for Juno to catch anything more than a few words: “alone,” “deal,” “my voice,” “take,” and “let him go”. Slip’s grin only widened.

“He hasn’t told you, has he?” he asked, leaning slightly to see Juno’s face.

Juno looked at Peter, a sick feeling beginning to snake back into his gut. “Tell me what, Peter?”

Peter looked at him painfully before staring wide-eyed at the ground and chewing on his lip.

The rattlesnake buzzed out a tremor of fear. “Peter, what did you do?”

“I told you I own this city, and that includes the people in it. My darling Petya here signed a contract for a job, and now he belongs to me. I was initially going to keep him from having to work out here, but since he decided he would rather keep company with my workers than me, I decided to let him do some of the work himself,” Slip shrugged, walking forward and resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

It was like the world was collapsing in on itself.

“It isn’t true,” Juno breathed, eyes widening. “It can’t be true. Tell me it isn’t true.”

Peter wouldn’t meet his eyes. He simply nodded and said nothing else.

The rattlesnake’s hiss crescendoed. Juno felt like he might throw up.

“Executives? Would you mind showing this young man here what we do with trespassers?” Slip called.

Suddenly, two large, identical men dressed in brown coats appeared behind Juno. Before he could say a word or move in defense, there was movement, a sharp pain radiating through his skull, and then Juno Steel knew no more.

[bjfinn]

LILY

Barbara looked at the clock on her bedside table -- 1:16am. She sighed, dismayed that she hadn't yet fallen asleep. Of course, being a ghost meant that she didn't actually need to sleep, but it was still a good way to recharge. Besides, what else was there to do at night?

She turned in the bed to face her husband. Adam was fast asleep beside her, snoring softly. A wave of emotion washed over her as she gazed at him in the dim moonlight coming through the attic window. Love, most definitely -- but regret as well. Regret for the life that they could have had together, if it hadn't been so suddenly cut short.

"Adam?" she whispered. "Adam? Are you awake?"

Adam mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over.

Barbara sighed again. At least we're still together, she thought. Together forever.

Forever. A word that the living -- breathers, as Beej called them -- bandied about, with no real understanding of its meaning. To them it meant until death -- how could it not? The living had no real clue about what death really was. She and Adam certainly hadn't.

But death -- that was forever. An unending eternity of existing but not living. An eternity of unfulfilled promises, unattained goals, unmet hopes and dreams. Now that they were dead, she and Adam would never have the children they'd so desperately wanted -- they'd never even know why they'd been unable to get pregnant.

Of course, they did have a family of sorts -- the Deetzes were wonderful people. Charles and Delia, after all was said and done, had welcomed the Maitlands' continued presence in the house, and Lydia was like a daughter to them.

And then there was Beej. Barbara smiled at the thought of the half-ghost/half-demon, unhinged, lecherous, psychotic and potentially murderous, who had unwittingly brought this strange and unusual family together.

Her thoughts returned to the Deetzes, and her smile faded as she realised that she and Adam wouldn't get older, but they'd have to watch as Charles and Delia gradually aged and grew infirm. They'd have to say goodbye to Lydia when she left to begin a life of her own -- would she still come and visit once her father and stepmother were gone? Of course she won't, Barbara thought, unless Charles leaves the house to her in his will. And even if he does, she might decide to sell.

Would she and Adam be able to leave the house then? Or were they bound to this place for all eternity, only able to venture out if a living person sent them on an errand? Beej could come and go as he pleased, now that Juno was gone and her curse on him broken, but that was different -- he'd been born dead in the Netherworld. He'd never been alive -- well, except for the two minutes after he and Lydia had married.

She sighed again and smiled wistfully. In some ways, she and Adam had experienced more in death than they ever had in life, but still ...

"Barbara?" Adam asked.

"Did I wake you?"

"What's wrong?"

"I was just thinking about ... eternity," she replied. "What that really means. Watching everyone else grow old, while we ... stay the same, never changing, no more hopes and dreams, no more plans for the future, just ... this. Death. Till the end of time."

"Bunny --"

"What's the point of it all? I mean, if this is all there is -- if this is what being dead is, then ... why isn't it just the end? We can't do anything! We can't ... everything we planned for our future is ... dust."

"We still have a future," Adam said. "It's not the future we expected, but ... we have our home, and a family. And we still have each other." He put his arms around her. "I know it's not what we planned, or expected, but it's still good -- isn't it?"

"I know," Barbara replied, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I know, but --"

"But you just want to know what it all means."

She nodded against his shoulder.

"I wish I had an answer, honey. I always figured that the meaning of life was for each of us to decide. And for me -- that's you."

Barbara laughed through her tears. "That's so corny!"

"It might be corny, but it's true." He kissed her tenderly. "Maybe ... maybe we were meant to die, so that Beej could be here to stop Lydia from killing herself. And maybe now our purpose is to watch over her, and Charles and Delia -- to be there for them, to help them all to rebuild their lives."

"I ... I don't know that that's enough," Barbara said. "There's so much we wanted to do with our lives -- and now ... now that we have all the time in the world ... we can't do any of it. Because we're dead.

"We'll never get to go to Venice or Florence, or Greece, or Spain -- or even ... I don't know ... Pittsburgh! We'll never ... we'll never meet the children we might've had -- they'll never be born."

"Barb," Adam said gently, "even if we hadn't died, there's no guarantee that things would've gone the way we wanted. The fertility doctor we were planning to see might not have been able to help."

"But at least we'd know why, Adam," she told him. "We'd know what the problem was. We'd have some ..."

"Closure."

"Exactly -- closure." She sighed. "But now it's too late."

Adam was silent for a moment. "Where do babies come from?" he asked.

"What?"

"I mean, their souls? They must come from somewhere, right?"

"What are you getting at?"

"You said that we'd never get to meet the children we might've had. But what if we could? What if their souls already exist, waiting to be born?''

"What if they do? There's no way we could possibly find them."

"Maybe Beej could," Adam replied. "If anyone would know how to find them, it'd be him, right? After all, he is a demon -- and he's family. Maybe there's a part of the Netherworld that's reserved for the souls of those who haven't been born yet."

"Even if there is," Barbara asked, "how could he find our children? We wouldn't be able to tell him anything about them -- none of the souls would have names yet, or ... personalities, or anything. They'd just be ... blank slates. Identical."

"Yeah, you're right," Adam sighed, pulling her close and stroking her hair. He wished there was something -- anything -- he could do ...

"Make love to me," Barbara said softly.

"A-are you ... are you sure?"

She nodded against his chest. "I'm sure," she replied.

*****

"That was wonderful," she said afterwards, snuggling against him.

"Glad I could help," Adam replied with a chuckle. He moved a lock of her hair from her cheek and kissed her gently.

"Mmm -- you were a big help. We don't do that enough."

"Well, it's kind of hard when Beej is here between us half the time." He sighed contentedly. "I'm glad he visits Dewey on a regular basis now -- it gives us some ... quality time once in a while."

*****

The next morning, Beej returned from his latest trip to New York.

"Hey, guys!" he said, materialising in the kitchen just as the family was sitting down to breakfast. "Ooh! Waffles!" he said, licking his lips and reaching for the pastry.

Barbara slapped his hand away. "Fork," she said.

"Fork you," he replied with a grin, sticking his tongue out at her. She drew back her fist, and he flinched. "Okay, okay -- jeez!" He picked up a fork and stabbed it into the pile of waffles, spearing three of them, and then took his seat. "You know, Babs," he said, pouring syrup over the waffles, "you're hot when you're angry."

She frowned at him, but the corners of her mouth curled up in a half-smile. The demon could be crude, rude and lewd, but a compliment was a compliment, after all.

"So," he said around a mouthful of pastry, "what's new?"

Suddenly Barbara leapt to her feet. "E-excuse me," she said in a strangled voice.

"Honey?" Adam said, standing up. "Are you okay?"

In reply, she flapped a hand at him, the other covering her mouth, and bolted for the bathroom. She closed the door behind her, and then they heard the sound of retching.

Her husband knocked on the bathroom door. "Bunny?" He tried the knob, and the door opened. "Barbara?"

She was kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, still vomiting loudly. Adam's nose wrinkled slightly.

After a moment, Barbara took a deep, ragged breath and wiped her mouth with toilet paper. "I ... I'm fine," she said. "I don't ... I don't know what ... i-it happened so fast..."

Adam helped her to her feet. "What happened?" he asked.

"I ... I don't know," she replied shakily. "One second I was fine, and the next ..." She shook her head. "That was weird." She flushed the toilet.

The Deetzes gathered around as Adam led his wife out of the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" Delia asked.

Barbara nodded. "Yeah, I-I'm okay.'' She sighed loudly and smiled. "I must've picked up some kind of bug."

"Can ghosts even get sick?" Charles asked.

Lydia looked at Beej. "Can they?"

"Not as far as I know," he said.

"There are no ... Netherworld viruses?" Adam asked.

The demon shook his head. "Only breathers get sick." Suddenly his brows furrowed, and he approached Barbara, bending down to place an ear against her midriff.

"What are you doing?" she asked, pushing him away.

"Relax," he told her. "I thought I heard something, that's all."

"What did you hear?" asked Delia.

"I-I'm ... I'm not sure," came the reply. He stuck his pinky in his ear and wiggled it around. "Maybe I was imagining it."

"Let's get you to bed," Adam suggested.

"Horn-dog," the demon said.

"Beej!" Lydia exclaimed.

"What? It was a joke -- come on!"

"If you need anything, let us know," Delia said.

*****

Almost every morning for the next week, Barbara ended up in the bathroom, retching violently.

Adam was beside himself with worry. "What's going on?" he asked Beej. "What's wrong with my wife? How can she be sick?"

The demon shook his head. "No clue," he said. "I never heard of anything like this."

"You must know something! "

"Hey, your guess is as good as mine, pal."

*****

Then one morning, Barbara's mysterious illness was gone, just like that. But something equally strange happened.

"How are my clothes too tight?" she asked. "I'm a ghost -- ghosts don't gain weight! What the ... what the hell is going on???"

Beej came into the Maitlands' attic bedroom, saw Barbara struggling to button her dress, and grinned. "You're looking good, Babs -- the extra pounds suit you!"

"Beej! Knock it off!" Adam said with uncharacteristic vehemence.

"Sorry! " the demon shot back. "I was just tryna be supportive!"

"How is this possible?" Barbara asked him.

Beej shrugged. "I don't know -- unless you wanted to put on a couple of pounds, it shouldn't be possible." He looked at her. "Uhh ... you didn't, did you?"

"No! " she wailed.

"Okay, just checking. Uh, can I ... uhh ...?" He held out his hands as if to touch her belly.

Frowning, Barbara nodded. Beej put both hands on her abdomen.

"What is it?" Adam asked.

"Not sure," came the reply. "But something's different."

"What's different? What is happening to me??? "

Beej sighed. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were ... pregnant."

*****

"Pregnant??? " the Deetzes exclaimed in unison when they were told.

"Can ghosts even get pregnant?" Lydia asked.

"Apparently they can," Beej said.

"Ohhh!" Delia squealed, throwing her arms around Barbara. "You're going to have a baby! Congratulations!"

"Uh, yes ... congratulations to you both," Charles said, not knowing what else to say. He reached out and shook Adam's hand. "I'm sure ... you'll both make fine parents."

"Th-thanks," Adam replied. "It's still a bit of a shock."

"I'll say," Lydia added.

"Oh!" Delia said suddenly. "You'll be able to use your crib!"

"Yes," Barbara nodded. "Yes, we will." She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"We'll have to plan a baby shower!" Delia said. "When are you due?"

I-I ... I don't know," Barbara said. "Maybe ... eight, eight and a half months, I guess? It's a ... a ghost baby, so ... I don't know if it'll come sooner, or ..."

*****

"What if ... what if the baby isn't what we're expecting?" Lydia asked. She and Beej were up on the roof, looking at the stars. "What if it's not ... just a ghost baby? What if it's something else?"

"A demon?"

She nodded. "I mean, this has never happened before, right? How do we know what it's gonna be? It could be anything."

"If it's a demon, or anything else, I'll take it back to the Netherworld," Beej said. "But I'm not getting any demon vibes."

"Okay," Lydia said, reassured. After a moment, she looked at him. "How are you feeling about all this?"

"I'm happy for 'em," he replied. "They always wanted a kid. And I like babies."

"What do you know about babies?" Lydia asked with a smirk.

"Hey, I used to babysit Alex's daughter!"

"Alex Medford? The one who wrote your summoning spell?"

Beej nodded. "Yeah -- me and Riley had a lot of fun."

"Huh," she said. "Somehow, I can't picture you as a babysitter."

"I was a great babysitter," he told her. "In fact, I'm the best babysitter ever! "

*****

Within a couple of weeks, Barbara was barely able to fit into any of her clothes.

"What am I supposed to do?" she said morosely. "I can't just walk around naked! "

"I wouldn't mind," Beej quipped.

"Beej," Adam said, a warning tone in his voice.

Beej's hair instantly turned purple. "Sorry," he said contritely. "I was just tryna lighten the mood."

"I'm taking you to the maternity store," Delia told her. "Let's get you a whole new wardrobe." She looked at Lydia. "Would you like to join us?"

Lydia rolled her eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. "I guess -- but I'm only going for Barbara. Just for moral support."

Delia clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, this is going to be fun! Just us girls!"

"What're we supposed to do?" Beej asked.

"You can help me finish getting the crib ready," Adam suggested.

"Okay," the demon agreed happily.

*****

"What are you reading?" Charles asked when he came into the bedroom.

Delia held up the book: Pregnancy for Dummies. "I thought I should learn how to help Barbara through this -- after all, it's not as if she can go to an OB/GYN."

"No," Charles agreed, shaking his head. "No, I suppose not."

"The good news is that her pregnancy seems to be going well -- although it's progressing a lot faster than if she were still alive."

"BJ has said that time moves differently in the Netherworld -- I suppose the same holds true for the dead in our world." He paused. "How long do you think it'll be?"

"I'm not sure," Delia replied. "Maybe a couple of months?"

*****

"A couple of months? " Barbara exclaimed. "I ... I'm not ready -- there's so much to do! A-are you sure?"

Delia shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm not sure -- I'm just going by how fast it's been moving so far. It might slow down."

"Or it might not," Barbara said. "It might start going faster. Oh, God ..."

"It'll be all right," Delia told her, putting an arm around her friend's shoulder. "You have Adam, as well as me, Charles and Lydia -- we're all here to help."

"Don't forget about me!" Beej said, appearing suddenly. "I can help, too!"

Barbara smiled at the demon. "I'm sure you're going to be a big help, Beej," she said. "After all, who knows more about being born dead than you?"

He smiled, his hair turning pink.

*****

"Adam? Come over here."

"What is it, honey?" he asked, immediately concerned. "Is something wrong?"

Barbara shook her head, smiling. "I felt the baby kick. Oh! It happened again!"

"Really?" Adam said, grinning. "Can I ...?"

She nodded, and he put his hands on her belly. "I can't feel -- oh! I felt it!" His face lit up. "I really felt it!"

There was a knock on the door, and Lydia entered. "Hi, guys. I --"

"Lydia!" Barbara exclaimed. "The baby's kicking -- you have to feel it!"

The girl came over and placed a hand on the woman's belly. A moment later, her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, wow -- that's amazing! Does it hurt?"

"A -- a little," Barbara admitted. "But it's not too bad."

"Hey guys!" Beej said, appearing suddenly. "What's going on?"

"You gotta feel this!" Lydia told him. She took his hand and put it on Barbara's belly.

"Oof! " Barbara grunted. "That's the strongest one yet!"

"What was that??? " the demon exclaimed.

"That's the baby kicking," Lydia told him.

Beej scowled, streaks of red shooting through his hair. "You stop hurting your mom!" he told the baby.

Barbara chuckled. "It's okay, Beej," she said. "It's perfectly normal -- it means the baby is healthy."

"Well, okay," he said doubtfully. "If you say so." Mollified, his hair returned to its normal green. "I guess it is kinda cramped in there -- I'd probably kick, too."

*****

"Uhh, Barbara?" Lydia said.

"What?" Then she realised that the girl's attention was focussed on her chest, and she looked down. "I'm leaking??? Oh, God!"

Lydia smiled. "Relax," she said. "It's perfectly normal, right?"

Barbara sighed in exasperation. "I know ... it's just -- it's a pain, that's all. I mean it's one thing after another!"

"Maybe that's the way the universe makes sure that you're ready to be a mother," Lydia told her.

"You sound like Delia," Barbara replied with a smirk.

"Yeah, well -- she's got a lot of out there ideas, but some of it actually makes sense, you know?" Lydia smiled. "I've learned not to automatically dismiss what she says -- I mean, my BFFFF is a demon, after all!

"Now, let's get you cleaned up."

*****

"Hey, guys," Beej said. "Has anybody noticed that Babs is a lot bigger now?"

"She is pregnant, dumbass," Lydia smirked. "It kinda goes with the territory."

"I know that, Lydia!" Beej retorted, scowling comically. "I'm not talking about her belly! I'm talking about her ..." He held his hands up as if he was carrying two melons in front of his chest.

"Beej!" Adam exclaimed.

"Well, I mean I can't be the only one who's noticed! She's huge! And hot!"

Adam nodded reluctantly. "Yeah," he said. "You have a point."

Beej grinned and punched him playfully in the arm. "Bet you're having a lot of fun with 'em, aren't you?"

"Ow!" Adam winced, rubbing the spot. "No, I -- Barbara says they're too tender for ... you know -- that kind of thing."

"Well, that sucks. Hey, maybe they'll stay like that after the baby's born, huh?" the demon licked his lips suggestively.

Adam glared at him.

"Hey, I'm just sayin'!"

*****

"Bunny?" Adam sat down beside his wife and began rubbing her back. "What's wrong?"

Delia came in and immediately went over to Barbara and knelt in front of her. She took both of Barbara's hands in hers. "Why are you crying?"

"I ... I-I don't know," she replied despondently. "I can't help it -- what's wrong with me?"

Delia smiled gently. "It's the hormones," she explained. "Your body is being flooded with all kinds of hormones, and that causes weird mood swings. Think of it like ... uhh, like ..."

"Like?"

"Oh! I know -- like the baby is sharing all of its hopes and fears with you!"

Adam looked at Delia. "That's ... almost beautiful," he said.

"Thanks," she said. "I thought it was pretty good." She stood up. "I'll go make some lemon balm tea -- it'll help you feel better."

A few minutes later she returned with a mug of steaming herbal tea, as well as the geode Dewey had given her for Christmas. "Here you go," she said, handing the mug to Barbara. She set the rock on the nightstand.

"Thank you," Barbara said, and took a sip. "What's with the geode?"

"It's amethyst," Delia told her. "It's very good for calming anxiety and mood swings -- I think you could use it." She held up her hands to stave off any protests. "I know, I know -- crystals! All that woo-woo stuff. But they really do work. Believe me -- crystals have helped me immensely. Besides, it can't hurt, right?"

"Thanks, Delia," Adam said. "That's very kind of you."

"I've got something else for you," Delia said, and produced a necklace of marbled green gemstones. "Malachite," she explained. "One of the best all-rounders for pregnancy."

"Oh, it's gorgeous! " Barbara exclaimed, taking the necklace in both hands.

"And meditation is great for managing emotions, too -- if you're interested."

"Thank you," Barbara said. "You're a ... a wonderful friend."

"Us girls have to stick together, right?"

*****

"Okay!" Delia said, clapping her hands together. "Are we ready for your first session?"

"I don't have to sit on a floor cushion or anything, do I?" Barbara asked. "I ... I don't think I could manage it."

"Of course not, dear," Delia reassured her. "The only thing that matters is that you're comfortable -- you can sit here."

Adam, holding his wife's hand, helped her settle into the armchair and took his seat in the other chair.

Barbara let out a heavy sigh. "I think this baby's going to be gigantic," she said.

Delia lowered herself to the floor and crossed her legs in the lotus position, her hands face up on her thighs, middle fingers and thumbs touching.

"Take a long, deep breath," she said, "and as you exhale, feel the weight of your body connecting you to your seats. Another deep breath ... and another ... and one more.

"Now, as your breathing retuns to normal, I want you to focus on how your breath feels as it enters your nose and exits your mouth ..."

*****

"I'm hungry," Barbara said.

"What would you like, honey?" Adam asked.

"I need ... ice cream. And kimchi. With anchovies and Oreos."

Adam grimaced. "Are ... are you sure about that?" he asked. "That doesn't sound very appetising."

"It's what I want!" she glared at him.

"Okay, okay," he replied. "If that's what you want, that's what I'll get you. In the meantime, you should just try breathing --"

"You try breathing!" she shot back.

Adam hurried out of the bedroom, nearly colliding with Beej on the stairs.

"Wow," the demon said. "Babs sure gets angry when she's hungry, huh?"

"It's just the hormones," Adam replied.

"Oh, yeah. Right. Hey, speakin' of -- I once made a whore moan so loud that --"

"Where's my ice cream??? " Barbara roared suddenly.

"Coming, dear!" Adam called back. "Not now, Beej!"

"Uh, yeah -- I'll tell you later," the demon said as Adam brushed past him. He shook his head. "Yeesh! Poor guy. I'm glad I'm not tied down. Footloose and fancy free -- that's me!" But a tinge of purple threaded its way through his green hair.

*****

Then one morning, Adam was getting dressed when he heard Barbara say, "Oh, God! "

He ran to the bathroom, still pulling on his shirt. "What happened?"

Barbara was just standing there in front of the sink, looking down at the puddle at her feet. She turned and looked at him. "I think it's time," she said. "My water broke."

"Already? It's only been three months!" He gathered himself and put an arm around her shoulders. "Uh, okay ... we need to get you downstairs -- no. I need to get everybody up here. Yeah, that's what I ... but first, let's get you back to bed, okay?

"Beej!"

"What's going on?" the demon said, appearing.

"It's time," Adam told him.

"Time for what?"

"The baby's coming! Go get everybody!"

"Holy crap! Okay, yeah -- you got it, buddy!" He grinned and gave them a double thumbs-up, and disappeared again.

Adam led his wife back to the bed and helped her get settled, and shortly after Beej returned with the Deetzes.

Delia went over to Barbara and took her hand. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Barbara nodded. "Yes -- it's coming. I'm not ready. I --" She grunted suddenly as the first contraction hit her. "Ohh, GOD!!! AAAAAHHH!!!"

"Okay," Delia said. "Remember your breathing exercises."

"What can I do?" Charles asked.

"Get a basin of cool water and a washcloth," Delia instructed. "You can mop her brow."

"I thought it was supposed to be hot water," he said.

"That's for later, when the baby comes -- BJ can heat the water when it's time."

"Just say the word," the demon nodded.

"Lydia," Delia said, "you and Adam can talk to Barbara -- help keep her calm."

Lydia nodded, and she joined Adam at Barbara's side. Charles returned with the basin and washcloths, and took his place beside his daughter and started gently mopping the pregnant ghost's brow.

"BJ, I need you to take Barbara's hand while I centre myself," Delia said.

"Me??? " the demon said, backing away. "Nuh-uh! Nope! No siree Bob!"

"BJ!"

"I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies! "

"Get over here and help! " Barbara snarled between clenched teeth. "Or I swear to God I'll -- AAAAAHHH!!! "

"Ommmm ..." Delia intoned, her eyes closed. "Ommmm ..."

The demon rushed to Barbara's side, his eyes welling up. "I don't know what to do!!! "

He gently took her hand in his and almost instantly regretted it as another contraction began. Beej's knees buckled and his face contorted comically as the ghost squeezed his hand violently.

"Ow ow ow ow ow! " he hissed.

"Don't be such a baby!" Adam told him. "You're a demon -- you don't have to feel pain!"

"I know that, Adam! I ... just wasn't expecting it, is all!"

"Breathe through the pain," Adam said. "Remember? Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo."

Beej began imitating him, breathing in short bursts. "Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo."

"Not you, dumbass!" Lydia said.

Beej glared comically at her. She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Just breathe, Barbara," Lydia told her.

"You're doing great, honey," Adam said.

"OH, GOD!!! " Barbara screamed, as the next contraction began. "I swear to God, Adam -- if you ever touch me again, I'll cut your b-- AAAH! AAAAAHHH!!! "

"OH, FUUUUUCK!!! " Beej moaned at the same moment as she clenched his hand even tighter.

"Okay, PUSH!!! " Delia roared as Barbara bore down. "PUUUSH!!! "

"I see the head!" Adam exclaimed. "Come on, honey -- just a little bit more ..."

"I can't," Barbara sobbed. "I ... I changed my mind -- I don't want to be a moth-- AAAAAHHH!!! "

"You can do it," Delia said. "You have to! Now, woman up and PUSH!!! "

Barbara nodded and took a deep breath, gritted her teeth and gave it everything she had.

Then suddenly Adam was holding a baby in his hands. "Oh my god oh my god ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod! " he laughed. "You did it!"

Beej held his hand briefly over the basin, heating the water as Charles tied off both ends of the umbilical cord and cut it with the surgical scissors, and then Adam handed the baby to Delia and she cleaned out its mouth with a finger. The new arrival took its first breath and let out a wail as she used one of the washcloths to clean the infant.

"What is it?" Barbara asked. "Let me see!"

"It's a girl," Delia told her, placing the now washed and swaddled baby in Barbara's arms. "A healthy ghost-baby girl. Congratulations!"

Barbara began crying, tears of joy and exhaustion streaming down her face as she looked down at the infant. "A girl," she said softly. "Hello, little one -- we've been waiting a very long time to meet you."

"She's kinda wrinkly," Beej noted, but his eyes were filled with wonder.

"What are you going to call her?" Lydia asked.

"Lily," Barbara said quietly, smiling at her husband. "Her name is Lily -- after Adam's mother."

[yonemurishiroku]

Hera calls Percy "my boy", [she would like "my son"].

To hell with Poseidon's displeasure and Zeus' anger.

She loves him with the most tender and maternal love.

Percy is the demigod son she dreamed of, and she's a yearning mother…

Soon Hera will adopt him in a very aggressive form.

the furniture of blue shades in her cabin will not just gather dust.

I have read too much of Hera/Juno bashing fanfics that this weirded me out for a straight 3 seconds but oh well if one would like to be loved by the mother queen of the gods....

[someverygaymoth]

•°!CFK!AU names!°•

Error- Lucia Erastus

Horror- Cerberus

Dust- Varius Marcellinus

Ink- Acacia Fulvanius

Killer- Ether Scipio

Nightmare- Alcippe Drusus

Cross- Lycaon Augur

Dream- Lucetta(Juno) Drusus

Blue- Zephyr Catullus

Reaper- Scylla Rullus

Goth- Ianthina Rullus

Geno- Stacius Rullus

Sci- Attius Gale

Red- Cyprian Libo

[meadowlarksabove]

It is loud. 

The corners of his mouth twitched briefly, something at the far back of his mind clamored in agreement, like an alarm raised across a vast and empty ocean. Two ships signaling to one another in code. Yet he dared not follow their sharp gaze across the table and share in their criticism, lest he too should fall in line for the cutting of their scrutiny. He was not clean of that sin, so comfortably laid on his tongue he worried it exposed the very darkness of his spirit. That his wickedness showed even in the warmth of his worship, every one of his truths tainted by his willingness to serve in deception. A guilty man, a mongrel like any other. 

He had remained in his seat to play the spy, hadn’t he? 

“If truth is the first to die, then hope is the last. And poets only hope their songs might someday come true. Perhaps that’s why they play them so loudly.”

It was the height of desperation. Each one of these men had hopes of some kind of ascension, a way to prove to everyone else, and most importantly to themselves, their efforts had not been in vain. Gabban wondered just how many soldiers had suffered for these men to even reach this table, and how many of them appeared in their dreams to this day. If they could even stomach sleep. 

Quietly, he reached for another piece of the prickly pear, this time taking a moment to relish in its fragrance. “But none will have their wish.” 

How they thought to outmaneuver the tyrant was anyone’s guess. Only an especially egotistical mind could imagine it possible, and so willfully blind they could ignore the fact they lived and breathed by Caesar’s whim alone…

“The Mojave can be quiet.” He turned the fruit between the pads of his fingers. “It’s quiet in the later hours of the night. When Juno’s moon is high on the sky, and if you're still up to listen, you’ll hear nothing but the hiss of sand being dusted off the cliffs and the fire crackling in the torch-lights. The smoke from the metalworks finally clears and the horizon stretches out further than ever before. No longer buried in the haze, but suddenly all around you, and everywhere you look the earth glows softly…It’s peaceful.” 

Gabban’s eyes lit up slightly with the memory, and for a moment he wished for darkness to wash over all of them and for that to be the end of their farce. Cerere forgive him, but his heart wasn’t in the celebration, and he doubted his mind had been there to begin with. He looked back to the Legate who had similarly receded into their own distractions and took to wondering. Perhaps they were also better off by moon and star,--alone with only the whispering winds to bring them news of earthly life. 

The thought of their armor glimmering in the moonlight made him half forget the piece in his hand. How it would shine!

Eating everything makes the dog sick. A dog does not know when to stop eating. He could continue with a metaphorical thought process, yet Lupercus did not particularly feel continuing with throwing-ups of dogs that ate too much and what a waste that would be. Biting off more than one could chew. That phrase existed for a reason and many a man had tasted it upon their very own tongues, legionnaire and profligate alike, because as others had even within their own ranks, every now and then, one fell victim to the taste of power (or the looming promise of it). Resulting very much in the dire need to prove themselves. Which made careless, which made blind, the eyes that should know better and focus on logic and danger.

Having indulged another piece of fruit while listening to the blond man talk, his eyes began wandering at the question directed at him. Slow, lazy almost, as his gaze searched, seemingly tried to take in every little detail of every single man sitting at the table with them, from their attire to their movement to the way they used their hands to emphasize their talk (as if it would make their words any more meaningful, and more heavy) to their faces that each wore its own respective mask. Hard and stiff, the muscle underneath the skin, leaving him wondering whether their faces felt any sore anymore once they would retreat to their tents. Vultures gathering around a feast in the middle of the desert. Imposing and frightening to look at yet the moment you stepped closer they all would scatter and fly away to make space.

His eyes landed on the face of his companion — one of the praetorians he had come with (acting as guard even this very moment. the festivities would not fool him. even if within Legion territory, this was foreign land. tread carefully, thread lightly).

            „It is loud.“ Too much talk. Too many serpentine tongues.

Turning his head his eyes fell back to the frumentarius sitting closest to his side.

            „The voice can be dangerous. In war, truth is the first to die.“ His eyes remained on the young man for a moment, a little expectant perhaps, as though he had just told him something he did not already know. In truth his mind was simply wandering in a direction he rather that it would not. Reluctant he broke eye contact and instead took back the cup into his hand. Watching the wine sway with the subtle movement of his wrist, the brute only fell even more victim to the soothing (lulling) uniformity of the liquid's motion. Entrapping himself.

            „All profligates are liars and lying is a sin. My mother said that this is true, but only because everyone has sinned and needs saving from the Gods. My father says it is different. Profligates are not liars, they are poets. Which is worse, because poets do not even know when they are lying.“

[meet-me-backstage]

༺ 🐑 ༻

𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ☼ Rancher!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☼ You, a headstrong—bubbly ranch-hand, form a close bond with the reserved ranch-owner, Joel Miller, through two seasons of hard work, warmth, and unspoken longing. You leave to chase your dream, but circumstance brings Joel back into your life. A storm rolls over your land, something between you stirs—unresolved and waiting to burst.

𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ☼ a no outbreak au loosely inspired by Far From The Madding Crowd but it’s set in modern day/Texas, rancher!Joel (🥵), protective!Joel, grumpy x sunshine, bad language, light angst, mention of vomit & there’s blood after an incident with a hammer, age gap (reader is in her 20s & Joel is in his 50s), kinda slowburny, unresolved feelings (until they aren’t hehe), yearrrrrning and SMUUUUT so you must be 18+ to read this story‼️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 ☼ 10.9K

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 ☼ bad language, mention of vomit & blood, ranch-owner!Joel, light angst, Joel being a little moody, smutty thoughts, allusion to female masturbation, Joel wearing glasses and unresolved feelings. I think that’s all for today folks.

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 ‘𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 & 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨’ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! <𝟑

⇜ 🐑 ‘𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 & 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨’ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🐑

The Texas sun pours over the hills like golden syrup, unhurried, draping the open land in a haze that shines with the sprightly sounds of spring. Wind ripples through the grass — a breath of the earth itself, bending the wildflowers, stirring the cottonwood trees to whispering.

Joel Miller stands at the edge of his field, one boot heel hooked over the bottom rail of a wooden fence, calloused hands resting on top. The brim of his hat shades sharp eyes, and beside him, George — his loyal old Border Collie — panting in the heat. The sheep are quiet today, specks of white scattered across the pasture, lazy under the sun.

It was shaping up to be another uninterrupted day on the ranch — just how Joel liked it.

That is until a horse appears at the ridge.

Joel’s brows furrow.

A rider — you — sprawled back-down across the broad back of a palomino mare, arms dangling like you were half-asleep. Your boots bounce with each step the horse takes. Sunlight catches on you, wild and free as the breeze. You look… peculiar — to say the least.

Joel narrows his eyes and mutters under his breath. “What in the hell…”

The mare picks her way down the slope, nimble and sure-footed, until you come into full view. You don’t move, staying stretched out — sunbathing. Joel straightens up, arms crossing as he waits.

When you are close enough, you slide off the side of your horse — an elegant sort of flump — and you land with a gasp.

“You Joel Miller?” You ask, brushing dust off your thighs. You are wearing a button-up shirt underneath denim overalls — donning a smile full of mischief.

“Depends who’s askin’,” Joel answers, voice gravel-smooth.

“I’m your new ranch hand.” You stick out a hand. “Well. Hoping to be.”

He blinks at you. Dumbfounded. Making no effort to lift his hand to shake yours. “You’re — lookin’ for work?”

“Mhm.”

“Don’t look like you’re hurtin’ for it.”

“I’m not. I’m just goin’ where the sun takes me, and it took me here.” Joel’s eyebrow quirks up in a sort of ‘don’t give me that bullshit’ sorta way. You awkwardly clear your throat, dropping your hand down to your side. “Fine — I might’ve seen your ad at Troy’s feed store. If you’re still lookin’ for help I’m handy with sheep, and I know my way around horses. Chickens, too, but I don’t take kindly to roosters.”

Joel’s mouth twitches upwards. “That a dealbreaker?”

“I think I can make an exception — just this once.”

You can see that he’s trying to keep up his mean facade, despite his amusement, by looking you up and down. “You ride like that all the time?”

“Only when it’s hot.” You giggle. “It’s the best way to soak up the sun without gettin’ saddle sore.”

He stares a moment longer, then sighs through his nose. George comes to sniff your boots.

You crouch and ruffle the dog’s ears with delight. “Who’s this handsome boy?”

“George,” Joel responds nonchalantly.

“Well hey there, George. You’re a good boy, huh?” You look up at Joel. “So, how ‘bout it? You gonna let me earn my keep?”

Joel hesitates, then nods. “Try not to scare the livestock.” So he has got a few jokes up those worn sleeves of a shirt that had clearly seen better days. The grass stains all over it are camouflaged by the green and red tartan pattern — it’s also littered with straw that had woven itself in the material.

You give a short, meek nod, then look out over the land like it is already yours to explore. “Looks like a fine place to stay a while.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’d forgotten he’d even put a goddamn poster up, that he only did it on a whim of loneliness���weakness… after a fleeting thought of how much easier it’d be if he had an extra pair of hands to help with the monotonous jobs that weren’t a waste of time, no, but took up a lot of time. He was adamant that nobody would dare actually come here anyway. Everyone local knew Joel Miller to be a man of few words—tough to negotiate with. He’d convinced himself that he had been just fine on his own out here… and now you show up, laying on your horse like some desert-wild myth… he isn’t certain the ranch will ever be so quietly empty again.

༺ 🐑 ༻

Your lodgings are small — clean. A cabin that Joel offered to you without much fuss, and you settled in like you’d lived there forever — unpacked a saddlebag full of tattered notebooks, a harmonica, and a few jars of preserves you’d bartered from the last place you worked.

By your second day, George was following you around like a pup. Joel saw, bemused, as the dog would nudge your leg until you gave him a fuss. You talked the dog’s floppy ears off. Truth be told, you talked to everything as if it might talk back — the chickens, the wind, your horse, the rusted tools in the barn.

“I think this shovel’s got a mean streak,” you said one morning, examining a fresh blister on your palm. “Keeps tryin’ to teach me a lesson I don’t wanna learn.”

Joel, beside you, chuckled low under his breath and kept stacking fenceposts.

You turned at the sound. “Did you just — laugh, Mr Miller?”

“Nope.”

“You so did.”

“‘M not gonna make a habit of it — trust me,” he muttered, voice dry as cedar.

You grinned and kept talking. You talked about the constellations you used to track while sleeping under the stars near San Angelo.

“You ever just pack up and ride?” you asked him once too, while the two of you leaned against the fence at sunset, watching the light fade orange and pink over the sheep. “No plan, no map?”

“Why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Joel shifted his weight. “Land needs keepin’. Animals need feedin’. That kind of freedom don’t come easy.”

You were quiet a second. Then you smiled, wistful. “Don’t come easy, but it comes — you just gotta let it.”

He didn’t say anything, but then the next morning, he noticed the sunlight catching in your hair when you leaned over the water trough, the way your lips curved around each word when you talked to your horse, the nurturing tone of your voice when you thought no one was listening.

Joel was though.

༺ 🐑 ༻

By the second week, Joel had learned three things about you.

One: you really did not stop talking. Not in an obnoxious way—just constant, your voice naturally one of the many sounds of the ranch. Like wind through grass, or the ‘baas’ of sheep. You filled the silence the way sunshine fills a room, uninvited but welcome.

Two: you worked like hell. Stubborn, proud, reckless at times. You’d hoist feed bags bigger than you should, would chase stray lambs clear across the pasture without thought. You cursed under your breath when a horse stepped wrong, and you sang while shoveling out the barn.

And three: you loved this place like it was yours already. Spoke to the land like an old friend. Walked it barefoot occasionally, liking the feel of the earth under your soles. “Grounds me,” you admitted, squinting at a storm cloud on the horizon. “Reminds me I’m as real as that storm approachin’.”

Joel was beginning to wonder if he was more real when you were around, too. Not just a ghost wading through his land in solemn solitude.

You still weren’t quite sure what to make of Joel Miller.

He wasn’t rude, not exactly. Just moody — the equivalent of a thunderstorm stuck behind a mountain. You were his opposite — all bubbles and chatter, full of questions and stories and observations… Joel barely answered them — keeping himself to himself, but he had sunken eyes that held so much — you could see that, but you settled for his nods, grunts, smirks — didn’t stop you from filling his silence either.

You told him about Dixie, your horse, who you’d had since she was a foal. About how your ma used to sing to you under the stars, and how your favorite color was the gold of wheat just before harvest.

Joel never asked, but he listened. He always listened.

Days on the ranch fell into rhythm.

Mornings started before the sun. You’d rise, hair loose and boots scuffed, coffee steaming in two tin mugs. George behind you as you made rounds—chickens first, then the sheep, then the slow inspection of the irrigation lines Joel had pieced together.

Together, you and Joel moved through fields, wind and dust on your horses. When the two of you rode out on the lake trail you let the land do the talking. Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you. Heat would flood your cheeks, and when that happened you had a habit of word vomiting… you rambled about your old jobs, the ones you didn’t mind and the ones you hated — then the first horse you ever broke—a gray roan named Myrtle with one blue eye and a spine of spite.

Joel never interrupted. Just let your words sink into him. He told himself it was easier to work while you talked—it kept his mind off the years creeping up on him.

Sometimes he’d catch himself listening too hard.

Like the morning you stood in the sheep pen with your boots soaked in dew, and announced, casually, as you had a sheep bundled in your arms while Joel sheared it. “One day I’ll have my own place. Not too big. Just mine. Some sheep. A few horses. Maybe a milk cow if I’m feelin’ brave.”

Joel’s stone heart jolted. He placed his spare hand over the organ to soothe the pain of your confession.

“Been savin’ for it since I was sixteen,” you added. “Every odd job, every penny tucked away. I’ve got a map, too. Marked the spots where I might buy. This land’s good, though. Yours.”

He clasped the shearers tighter. “It’s old land. Dry.”

“Dry’s not bad,” you mumble. “‘S long as you got lake Isabella.”

Joel didn’t trust his voice so he just grunted and focused on expertly removing the sheep’s fleece.

༺ 🐑 ༻

One evening, you were stacking hay, sweat slicking your neck, arms aching, when Joel came over with two homemade lemonades from lemons you’d picked from the lemon tree behind the ranch-house.

You blinked at him, surprised. “Well, look at you. Bringing gifts. That your way of sayin’ I’m doing a good job?”

He handed you a glass. “You haven’t scared the sheep off yet.”

You grinned, taking a large gulp. “My my - was that a compliment, Mr Miller?”

“You been doin’ good is all.” Joel leaned on the fence, looking out over the field where George was keeping a watchful eye on the sheep. The sky had turned that deepening blue that came just before stars began to poke through.

“Pretty night,” you stated absentmindedly.

Joel nodded.

You looked at him, sideways. “You ever dream of leavin’ this place?”

He thought for a while. Then: “Used to. Not so much now.”

You tilted your head in the manner of a curious puppy. “Why not?”

“I gotta keep this place goin’ for my pa — he put so much’o his time into it, wouldn’t want it all to go to waste — ‘s what he wanted too, f’me to take over after he passed. B’sides, I always liked this life for myself.” Joel looked at you — really looked — and then to the neon sky. “‘Nd — some things are worth stayin’ for.”

Your heart thudded. He didn’t say anything more, and you didn’t press. But you sat there with him, the glass of lemonade slipping due to the sweat forming in your palms.

༺ 🐑 ༻

As the months rolled by, summer deepened. The heat got lazier, the work no easier. But Joel changed. Slowly.

He started talking more.

Not a lot — never a lot. But you’d hear more of that voice, steady and warm like the crackle of a campfire — and you could never get enough of it. He told you about Sarah, his daughter, who was long gone. The ranch was no place for her big dreams — she got herself a job in the city and she was way too busy to give her dad a visit (he never complained about it though, he was too proud of her to ever do that, and figured it was no surprise that she didn’t make more time to travel over for days filled with tumbleweed and chores with her grumpy old man when she could be galavanting about the thriving streets and flashing lights with her friends).

You listened, and didn’t disturb. He heard you, and didn’t judge… he did tease you about how many words you managed to utter in a minute sometimes though, and you’d tease him right back for how few he uttered.

Sometimes you worked side by side in companionable silence. Sometimes he found himself asking you what you were rambling on about, just so you’d keep talking… something you thought he’d never do, not a man who appreciated the sound of silence more than anyone you’d ever crossed paths with.

༺ 🐑 ༻

You’re already in the barn by the time Joel shows up, working a brush through Dixie’s blonde mane.

“You’re early,” Joel announces his presence abruptly, stepping into the dusty light.

“You’re late,” you tease.

“Bullshit.”

You glance over your shoulder and grin toothily. “Gotta go check the lake trail - make sure it hasn’t dried out in all this heat.”

Joel pauses at that. “You goin’ alone?”

“I’ve done it alone before.”

“Not since June you ain’t. Trail might’ve — changed since then.”

Yeah, right — he internally convinces himself that his poor excuse was the truth and not because he’d rather bask in the glow of your rambling, or your humming as you rode Dixie, than to hear nothing but the melodious sounds of bird calls amidst dead silence while he worked alone.

You try not to read too much into the worry laced in his tone, like he’s afraid that if you go on your own you’ll never come back to him. You lift a brow. “You offerin’ to come with me?”

He meets your eyes for a second longer than he typically does when you’re looking at him. Then: “Saddle up Clint. I’ll get the rest o’ my gear.”

“Don’t forget the buckets!”

༺ 🐑 ༻

Clint’s steady gait set the pace, Dixie prancing beside him, hooves light and eager. Somewhere along the trail, Clint found a rhythm all on his own, and Joel let him drift ahead, leading the way through the hills and scattered trees that the stallion knew like the back of his hooves. You don’t mind. Not one bit.

Dixie snorts, flicking her ears as you lean forward, chest pressed against her neck, one hand resting easy on the reins. You start humming — low and tuneless, just something half-remembered from a childhood lullaby or maybe some old country radio song that always played in your granddaddy’s truck.

George sprints in front too, tongue lolling out, ears alert and tail wagging with contentment. Every now and then he checks you’re still following, then returns to his canine patrol up ahead, shadowing Joel’s horse like it’s his duty to protect you both from wayward jackrabbits.

Your eyes are on Joel’s back.

His denim shirt clings between his shoulder blades and he sits in his saddle like he’d been born in it — all quiet control, every movement economical, second nature. His hair catches the breeze now and then, and you gawk at the nape of his neck far longer than is proper. Not that propriety ever mattered much to you.

Your humming trails into a softer murmur, something half between singing and sighing.

Joel hears it— not just the hum, but something in it. Something that tugs at his attention. He pulls on Clint’s reins, slowing him until you come up alongside.

You straighten slightly in your saddle, but your tune doesn’t stop. Joel keeps his lips sealed. But you see his jaw relax, his eyes cutting sideways at you — just for a beat.

Maybe he doesn’t mind the noise, you wonder. In fact... maybe he likes it.

You keep humming — raising the volume a little.

The trail narrows into a small path through tall grass that sways in waves — a green-gold sea. Wildflowers paint the edges in smudges of bluebonnet and goldenrod. In the distance, the low sparkle of water waits — lake Isabella. The lake that kept Joel’s ranch thriving, the one nestled in a little valley like it didn’t want to be found.

The sun has risen higher now, drenching everything in pastel yellow. You can’t help stealing another glance at Joel — at the smooth slope of his nose from the side, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when George barks at a bird and runs even further down the path.

He catches you looking — of course he does.

He notices everything.

“You hum like the world ain’t botherin’ you.”

“That’s ’cause it ain’t,” you answer easily, twirling your pointer finger in Dixie’s mane. “Not when I’m out here. Not when it’s quiet and I’m not being told to hush.”

He gives a small nod, feeling a little guilty for all the times he’d begrudged you in the early days for disrupting the stillness of his ranch because you say it like you’d been told to hush many times — not by him, but by others.

“You don’t like quiet,” he assumes.

“I don’t like empty,” you correct. “But quiet, with the right people... that’s different. Quiet with you? That’s not so bad — I guess.”

Joel’s brow twitches. Not quite a smile, not quite a frown — just that thoughtful crease that meant he was chewing on your words like tobacco, letting them sit under his tongue until they softened.

And the truth is — he’s realizing it too.

That your noise isn’t just noise at all. It fills things… the barn — the long stretches of vibrant greens and yellows alongside outside noises he used to think peaceful, but now just feel hollow when your mouth is closed or you’re elsewhere.

He looks at you again.

You don’t look away.

You don’t need to. There is something about being on horseback under the big sky — the land stretching endless in every direction, the lake glittering a mile in front, George barking joyfully into the wind — it made everything feel simple—truthful.

“We’re close now,” you state, tapping Dixie’s reins.

Joel nods toward the break in the trees. “Mhm — ‘s just down there,” he confirms.

You rode the rest of the way side by side, your knee grazing his every so often when your horses drew too close, your humming quiet now, like a secret between the two of you. The kind of sound that would stick in his head hours later when he’d lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep.

༺ 🐑 ༻

Lake Isabella’s water stretched out like velvet under the sun. The surface is butter-smooth and shining, a perfect mirror of blue sky and swaying pines, dappled with the shadows of dragonflies dancing above it. A faint breeze rustles the grass, making your hair blow backward under your bandana. It smells like damp earth and wild mint.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I thought it’d be dried up,” you murmur, sliding off Dixie with a soft grunt, boots landing in the grass.

Joel swings down beside you. He brings a hand up to block the sun from beaming into his eyes and squints toward the water. “Me too,” he sighs.

You glance back at him, raising an eyebrow. “You kinda sound disappointed.”

“I ain’t,” he murmurs. “Just relieved. Guess my mind went straight to the worst — ‘s been a while since we’ve come out this way.”

“It has,” you hum, recalling the last time you and Joel came here — how you gasped at the sight of the water, how you threw off your clothes until you were left only in your underwear and set a beeline straight for the lake. You remember running into it, the feeling of cold droplets of water splashing onto your feet, then your thighs until you were swimming in it, consumed by it while Joel just watched you floating at the surface from a distance… after he’d gotten over the initial shock at the sight of you happily frolicking about in the water half-naked instead of collecting it in the bucket he gave you (leading him to the realization that the whole reason why you came had gone through one of your ears and flown out the other)… He oozed a protectiveness that made you feel safe enough to do it, somehow you knew that if you suddenly forgot how to swim, he’d be diving in and saving you in a flash.

You also remember trying to persuade him to join you but to no avail. He seemed content enough just to vicariously enjoy it through you.

You walk towards the lake’s edge, grass tickling your legs, the air cooler near the water. The horses follow, their tails flicking lazily at flies.

“You ever swim in it?” you ask, crouching to run your fingertips through the shallows. The water is freezing cold—clear. You can see smooth pebbles lining the bottom.

“Years ago,” Joel admits. He and his little brother, Tommy used to take a dip many times before he left to set up his own contracting business. Last Joel heard from him was he’d found someplace for himself and his wife, Maria, to settle down and start a family. “Back when my bones didn’t click every five goddamn seconds.”

You glance over your shoulder. He’s standing a few feet back with his arms crossed and a wary look in his eyes, just as you suspected. You smile — slow, teasing. “You’ve still got it in you I’m sure.”

He grunts. “I ain’t twenty anymore.”

You slip off your boots, one by one, setting them neatly on a flat rock. “So?”

Joel narrows his eyes at you, but there’s no bite in it. “So what?”

You strip off your socks and your overalls, leaving you, once again, only in your bra and panties. Joel’s throat bobs up and down — awkwardly shuffling on his feet and suddenly finding his boots really interesting to look at. “Sooo are you always this uptight when there’s fun to be had in a perfectly good lake to swim in — especially when the sun is shinin’ down on us so nice?”

“You call this fun?” He mumbles, still avoiding eye contact with you — part of you wonders if he just doesn’t want to look at you, that he sees you only as his ranch-hand, a worker and nothing more.

“It is fun — clearly you thought so too once upon a time.”

He lets out a huffed laugh, shaking his head — you’d got him there.

“Georgie’ll join me then — won’t you, boy?” You glance down at the dog, as always he’s ready to be at Joel’s beck and call, but you notice his head tilting at the high pitched tone of your voice. “Won’t you, Georgie? You know you want to!” You keep beckoning the dog, bending over to pat your knees until you’ve cracked into his loyalty, his tail is wagging and he excitably barks before running in your direction, past you and catapults himself into the water. “That’s the spirit, boy!” You laugh, ignoring Joel’s grumbles under his breath about the smell of wet dog he’ll have to endure in his house later on.

“You gonna join us then or what, Miller?” You ask in a playfully serious tone, spinning on your heel to face Joel again and crossing your arms.

“Think I’m good just watchin’ from ‘ere—” his eyes subtly flicker down to your tits cupped so perfectly by your bra—your nipples poking at the thin fabric…he can’t help it, he internally curses at himself and looks elsewhere a millisecond later before his cock strains too uncomfortably in his jeans to ride back to the ranch… he’s already half-hard as it is, “if that’s er — alright with you.”

“Hm — suit yourself, scaredy cat.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re scared — duh.”

That gets him. His strong jaw ticks.

You feel the urge to soak yourself in the cool water before you melt into a puddle at Joel’s feet. You don’t wait. You step in — a sharp inhale at the cold, the bottom silty and soft beneath your feet. The lake swallows your ankles, then your calves. It jolts you awake. You go in deeper, up to your waist until… “Geronimooo!” You shout, copying Georgie’s movements and cannonballing into the lake.

The uncomfortableness of water bubbles invading your ears and the smacking sensation of water on skin becomes refreshing — addictive once you get used to the sudden drop in temperature. You kick your legs and flail your arms around at lightning speed til your head rises above the surface, causing an avalanche of water to splash not so elegantly as you’d have liked onto you and poor George (although he doesn’t seem to mind one bit). You blow raspberries and wipe the water away from your eyes to see Joel staring, “how was that?!”

He’s hardly moved a muscle — but his hands are on his hips now, the same stormy expression clouding his features — except there’s hint of something almost… fond. “Real nice, sunshine,” he answers, shaking his head and trying real hard to stop the smile pulling at his lips.

‘Sunshine’ — his sunshine — you could get used to that.

“Come on, Mr Miller!” You call.

He continues to observe you. His gaze heavy. Shy and confused even. You’re doing that thing again, having that effect on him — an unusual one that doesn’t come natural to him. He doesn’t know how to act — or what to do with the version of you in front of him: wet, laughing, alive — demanding he remember what it’s like to feel good.

“You’re gonna catch a cold.” He’s unbuttoning his shirt after that, drunk on the fumes of your lust for kicking back and enjoying the quiet life every once in a while.

You float—spreading your limbs—feigning nonchalance at how slowly his hands work down the buttons with practiced ease. You try not to stare at the way the muscles move under his skin, the hair peeking from the hem-line of his jeans and shirt-collar — or to picture those pale scars decorating his shoulders that you’d daydreamed tracing with your fingertips countless times. It’d become a habit of yours to not so discreetly ogle him as he, shirtless and soaked in sweat, worked on the fields with a pitchfork in hand… an image that also plagued your mind when you dipped your fingers in the wetness pooling between your thighs at night.

He peels off the shirt and tosses it onto the same sun-warmed rock you chucked your clothes onto. “Could you—” he clears his throat and you can’t see it from where you are but blood floods his cheeks, “could you — er — turn around f’me?” He gestures a circling motion with his pointer finger. You give him a bemused expression and a subtle side-smirk — he fights the urge to roll his eyes, “please?”

“Sure,” you shrug — saying it more to yourself than to him, swivelling so that you’re facing the tall line of trees looming at the opposite end of the large body of water. You distract yourself from the unbuckling sound of his belt and the grunt that leaves his lips when he chucks his jeans to the side.

The lake laps at his shins, then thighs, until he sinks down with a low hiss. “Christ—” he breathes, “alright — y’can turn back around now.”

When you’re face to face with him again you’re grinning from ear to ear.

He shoots you a look — one part irritation, two part proud exasperation that stems from his own disbelief that he’d actually done what you’d told him to. He runs a hand through his dark hair, slicking it back — the gray speckles in it twinkle, standing out more when it’s wet. He then shakes the water from his face with another grunt. “Bet you’re real proud o’ yourself, huh?”

“Shouldn’t I be?” You tilt your head, all innocent. “Got you to do what I said, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t get me to do nothin’. I was bein’… generous.”

“Never seen generosity look so much like defeat.”

“Don’t push it. Might start thinkin’ you enjoy bossin’ me around.”

“Who says I don’t?”

He wants nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off your lips right now. He can think of a few ways to, one being capturing your lips with his, the other being slowly — steadily feeding his thick cock into your mouth inch by inch until he’s balls deep. The latter he’s ashamed to admit to himself because he swore he wouldn’t succumb to the way his cock hardened—ached and his heart pounded, threatening to break out of his ribcage even at the faintest touch of your hand on his forearm.

Maybe his reasoning for hiring you had been selfish. Good company for a lonely man more than two decades your senior had hardly been a part of your resume but you were a quick learner, better and more dedicated than most ranch owners he’d met.

He swipes water in your direction and you dodge, laughing, spinning away. He smiles. A genuine one. Wide and crooked. It has a similar effect to the sun peeking out through clouds in fluorescent beams.

“You’ve got a pretty smile,” you confess. Breathless. Taken aback by your own boldness. You let your feet drift up behind you in the water.

“Shut up,” he chuckles, displaying his crow’s feet and dimples all the more.

You swipe some water, sending a small wave his way but, like you, he dodges and sends you an arrogant smirk. You instantly retaliate, bringing your arms out as wide as you can and sending a mega wave over him — another loud laugh leaves your lips. “Gotcha!”

“You’re gonna pay for that’,” he mumbles gruffly while he wipes at the water streaming down his face.

You meet his eyes, and it’s there — the hush, the weight of suggestion. The cheeky glint in his dark eyes is evident as his gaze drops to your mouth, then back up, trying to be discreet and failing miserably.

You’re so close now, so close that you can smell the whiskey on his breath that sat beside him last night on the porch while he strummed his acoustic guitar — you’d watched and listened from afar. The water is rocking you both toward one another. One more push and you’d be touching.

Then he swallows, clears his throat, and realization crosses his features at just how near you are to him. He examines the ripples around your body colliding with the ripples around his.

He splashes you.

You splash him.

It becomes a back and forth of crashing waves.

Both of your faces are scrunched up. Laughter bellowing from your mouths - it gets louder and more uncontrollable when George jumps inbetween you and Joel, bouncing and barking to catch mouthful after mouthful of water.

Joel wraps his arms around George, pulling the dog into his chest and messing up the black fur at the top of his head with his knuckles— he keeps going until the laughter fades into synchronized pants, coming out as rapid as the constant droplets of water falling from your chins back into the lake — back to where they belong.

“I’m gonna go — dry off. You comin’?”

You shake your head. “Think ‘m gonna stay here a little while longer.”

“Sure—” he nods, “I’ll wait.”

The moment slips as quickly as it comes. Joel turns his back to you and sheepishly glances over his shoulder, whistling for George to follow — but it’s not lost, just tucked away.

༺ 🐑 ༻

Joel peeks at you over Clint’s saddle before he pulls it off and hangs it over the stallion’s stall. You watch the roll of his shoulders as he goes to pick up his hammer.

“What’re you doin’ now?” you call after him.

He lifts a hand — a lazy wave, dismissive. “Just patchin’ that loose post by the feed pens. Won’t take five minutes.”

You frown. “You always say that.”

He glances back, mouth twitching. He tips his chin and disappears around the corner.

Five minutes, of course, becomes ten. Then fifteen.

༺ 🐑 ༻

An hour passed.

You find him fixing the eastern fence — the opposite end of where he said he’d be — his sleeves rolled up, sweat at his brow, hammer swinging with the precision of a man who’s done this kind of work for decades.

“You’re gonna wear yourself into the dirt,” you say as you approach, boots crunching through the grass — one of your favorite sounds.

Joel doesn’t look up. “Fence won’t fix itself.”

“I brought you water,” your eyes light up and Joel’s eyebrows quirk up a bit, briefly stopping his work to give you an expectant look, which you very quickly translate and add, “aaand some bacon for Georgie.”

That earns a satisfied noise from him. He sets the hammer down long enough to take the water from your hand, fingers brushing yours. Fleeting. Rough. Enough to make the area where they touched to buzz and your stomach to flip.

He drinks, then tips the bottle toward you in a silent ‘thank you’.

You lean on a fence post that Joel had already fixed after dropping the bacon strips onto the ground in front of George’s white-socked paws. You give his head a pat, to which he looks up at you with those big brown eyes — his nose twitches curiously at the treats, then he eats them all in one quick bite. Your eyes feast on the land — a visual lullaby. The sheep are grazing on the freshly cut grass in the field, a picturesque front with the perfect orangey lighting above it.

Bang!

A groan.

Another bang.

Another groan.

A call and response.

“You’re not the only one around here who can swing a hammer y’know — let me help,” You offer, your hands on your hips.

Joel grunts. Keeps hammering.

You arch a brow. “That your way of sayin’ I can help? Or your way of tellin’ me to go do one?”

He glances at you again, squinting against the light. His voice comes as dry as he likes his whiskey — although you don’t miss the amused undertone in it: “Figure if I ignore you long enough, maybe you’ll stay still for once.”

Joel’s arm raises for another swing when you stride right up to him and, without ceremony, snatch the hammer right out of his hand.

He blinks, caught off guard. “The hell are you doin’?”

“Taking over.” You flash him a challenging grin. “You’ve been at this for aaages. Those poor old arms o’ yours need a break.”

“They’re not even tired.”

“Well, mine aren’t either,” you shoot back, already turning toward the fence. “And I’m not made of glass.”

Joel exhales through his nose and takes a step back, arms folding across his broad chest, watching you with that tight-lipped look he gives when he’s debating whether or not it’s worth arguing.

“Y’ever fixed a fence before?” he asks.

“I’ve watched you fix a fence. Same thing.”

“That’s not—” He stops. Shakes his head. “Alright. Go on, then.”

You set your boot against the bottom rail and lean in, pressing a nail into the cracked board with your thumb and holding it steady.

“You’re holdin’ that nail too close.”

“I know how to hold a damn nail,” you mutter, lining up the hammer.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t push you any further, though you kinda want him to — he’s so hot when he’s irritated.

You start rambling as you raise your arm, your voice half teasing, half stubborn: “Back home, I fixed a chicken coop by myself with nothing but a bent screwdriver and an old tire iron. I think I can handle one busted fence board.”

The hammer swings.

Your hand slips.

WHACK!

You go still for a second, blinking down at your hand in shock.

Then: “Goddamn—SHIT!” You drop the hammer with a clatter and double over your hand. “Shit. Shit. Shit. That’s not— that’s not good — you didn’t — you didn’t see that.”

You try to hide it but Joel is already at your side.

He crouches, hands reaching for yours, but you pull away instinctively, cradling your pinky finger.

“Lemme see,” his voice calm but firm.

“I’m fine.” You insist at the same time you’re desperately sucking back the tears pooling in your eyes.

“Uh huh — sure — you know I might’ve actually believed you if you hadn’t been swearin’ loud enough to scare the sheep halfway to fuckin’ Tahiti.”

“I hit it one time. It’s just a little throbby.”

“A little — throbby?” His brow lifts. “Tell that to your little finger.” He gives you a warning glare, “let me see.”

You hesitate, biting the inside of your cheek, and reluctantly offer him your hand. Joel takes it carefully, tilting it so that it’s facing the light.

Blood wells beneath your nail, a bruise already blooming.

He whistles low. “You got one helluva swing, sunshine — I’ll give you that.”

“Oh will you shut up,” you bicker. The mixture of the pain pulsing, your blood boiling over your face and the vulnerability of being under your mentor’s scrutinizing stare frustrates you all at once.

A forced chuckle leaves Joel’s lips. “‘S rich comin’ from the girl who ain’t shut up in her whole goddamn life,” the words spill out like the punch-line of a joke. Unconscious. Harmless. He’s too busy exploring every minuscule detail of your pinky finger to notice that his joke had fallen flat.

You scowl. You’re so fired up that you’re sure there are flames in your eyes and you have to look away — anywhere but at the man whose kind touch contradicted his harsh words, sending your brain into a spiral. “You’re such an asshole,” you whisper — tutting when a tear you’d been too weak to hide trails down your cheek, following the line by your mouth.

Sweet George whines at the same time you sniffle.

Joel finally glances up at you, doing a double take when he sees your glossy eyes. “Hey—” he instinctively reaches up to wipe the tear away, but before he can you do it yourself, messily smearing it with your unharmed hand. “Was just a stupid joke — didn’t mean nothin’ by it, darlin’ — ‘m just impressed you didn’t take your whole damn hand off.”

That pulls a small, forced chuckle from you — it’s better than nothing.

It’s enough for him to resume playing doctor.

He presses lightly on your knuckle, and you instantly hiss through your teeth. “Fuck.”

Joel winces with you. “Yeah, alright. You’re officially banned from fence duty for forever. I tol—”

You shoot him a glare. “I swear I’ll stick that hammer where the sun don’t shine if you start with the ‘I told you so’ bullshit,” you do your best, most moody impression of him.

He stops himself.

At first his cheeks are puffed up, holding in a laugh, but the amused glint in his eyes fades. Instead he looks at you with that unreadable expression — the one in-between stern and soft.

“You don’t gotta prove anything to me — y’hear?” he speaks quietly, only loud enough for you to hear.

You avoid his eyes. He can see that you’re still trying to mask the pain in your finger with a nibble of your bottom lip. “Didn’t realize I was trying.”

Joel doesn’t call you out on the blatant lie.

He just sighs. “C’mon. I got a kit at the house. Let’s get you patched up before you start swingin’ at nails with your other hand.”

You roll your eyes, but when he offers you his hand, you take it.

༺ 🐑 ༻

He leads you back to his ranch-house, his grip on your hand loose but steady, thumb unconsciously brushing your palm every now and then.

You don’t speak.

You let the silence speak.

Joel’s ranch-house is simple but attractive in that weather-worn way. White siding, the paint sun-faded and chipped in spots. Blue shutters frame the windows, cracked and dulled from summers spent in relentless heat. A wide porch wraps around the front, a table and rocking chair sitting idle on one end, a coiled rope and muddy work gloves forgotten on the other.

The screen door creaks open under the hand not holding yours… but to your dismay he drops it anyway to hold the door open. You falter for half a second, then step inside.

The air shifts when you cross the threshold. You’d never stepped foot in his house — you never expected to either.

It’s cooler, darker, and stiller than outside. The scent of tobacco lingers in the walls, mingled with old leather, woodsmoke, and something distinctly Joel. Not cologne, but a combination of pine, earth and coffee beans.

The floors are hardwood, the constant tread of boots visible on them. A runner rug stretches down the hall — its edges frayed. The warm yellow walls are lined with shelves and framed photographs. Most of the furniture is handmade, solid and practical: a sturdy kitchen table with mismatched chairs, a worn leather couch in the next room with a crocheted blanket slung over one arm, and a wood-burning stove tucked into a corner, its iron belly long gone cold.

What draws your eye are the details — the kind of things Joel keeps close to his chest.

There’s an old horseshoe nailed just above the front door’s frame — a stack of old mail held down by a half-carved piece of antler and a row of boots sits to the side of it — Joel’s, a smaller pair that must’ve been Sarah’s once, and a third pair with soles holding onto the rest of the boot for dear life. In one corner, a tall shelf holds paperbacks with cracked spines: westerns, survival manuals, some old copies of Thomas Hardy novels.

On the mantle above the fireplace are family photos — Joel, younger, less gray, his arm around a girl who looks just like him. It must be Sarah. They’re smiling — love written all over Joel’s face, captured even in stillness. Another one shows the pair with Tommy — the trio sitting on a gingham blanket, plates full of barbecue and coleslaw, George as a puppy sitting between them with a floppy ear over one eye. One of Sarah sitting atop a horse with her arms spread wide. The last is of Joel with an older couple — his parents maybe — standing in front of this very ranch-house. The exterior’s walls looked to be freshly painted. It looked like a house where loud laughter was a given.

You don’t realize you’re smiling til Joel’s voice pulls you back to present time.

He’s carrying a dented green metal box in one hand and a damp cloth in the other.

“I said sit.”

You drop onto the wooden chair belonging to the dining table that Joel had already pulled out for you.

Joel is standing tall before you, staring down intensely — your breath hitches — he then kneels so that he’s almost eye level with you and pats your bare knee — your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

“Give your hand over.”

You lay your hand out palm-side up, settling it so that your injured pinky is rested on your kneecap. “You don’t have to make—” you gulp, “such a fuss.”

“My hammer — my problem,” he has a deadpan expression on his face when he says it.

When he takes your hand in his and turns it over again so that he has a clearer view of your injury — you brace for the sting, but he’s handling you with so much care, it never comes.

He holds your hand like it’s made of porcelain, cleaning the cut with the cloth first, wiping away the blood in slow circles. His brow furrows in concentration as he works, mouth pressed into a line like he’s angry at the wound, at the hammer, at himself. “You shouldn’t’ve grabbed it from me like that,” he mutters.

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know.” His jaw tenses. “Still.”

You flinch when he accidentally brushes a sore nerve under your fingernail a tad too quickly.

“Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” your voice small. “You’re — good at this.”

Joel snorts, “that’s ‘cause this ain’t my first rodeo — had to do stuff like this for my little brother all the time — myself too.” Part of you wishes you had been here then to nurture Joel’s wounds, to have the excuse to carefully touch his cuts and bruises. He briefly glances up at you before continuing to attentively tend to you like one of the lambs he’d helped deliver this spring. “Doubt it’ll be my last either — with you around,” he adds fondly, not minding the likely possibility at all — in fact, he welcomes it.

You don’t answer back, which is unlike you, but Joel thinks he knows why.

His spare hand blindly searches for the bandages messily in the first aid kit — it frustrates you to watch it so you grab it yourself with your spare hand, passing it to him. “Thanks.” He eyes you briefly, then works the bandage slowly, wrapping the gauze around your pinky, anchoring it in place with light tugs. When he’s done he smooths his thumb over the edge of the wrap, once, twice—then doesn’t let go right away.

You’re watching him closely — admiring the low light spilling through the curtains catching in his irises, the odd gray hair in his patchy beard, the worry lines etched deep in his brow. His lashes are thick, casting pretty shadows under his eyes. His mouth is ajar.

Joel’s in the midst of having an internal battle between two parts of himself — the part that refused to acknowledge the truth and the other, which wanted you to achieve your dreams — no matter the cost for him… losing you. “You’re gonna be real good at it, y’know.”

You blink. “At what?”

He swallows, jaw tensing before he looks up at you fully—honestly. “Runnin’ your own ranch.”

Your face breaks out into the toothiest grin he thinks you’ve ever given him, causing his heart to palpitate. “You think?”

“I know.” he states assuringly. “Ain’t just the work you put in. Though that’s plenty. ‘S the way you really live ‘nd breathe this way of livin’. The way you talk to the animals like they talk back. The way you take care in noticin’ every little thing about the land — like where the creek bends, which field dries fastest, how the clouds hang when a storm’s comin’.”

Warmth rises to your cheeks, and a pain that only Joel can heal twists in your chest.

“You ain’t ever needed to prove anythin’ to me—” He gently sets your hand back down on your thigh. “This work comes natural to you.”

You don’t even think about it before you're moving. It’s not calculated or careful. It’s just instinct. You lean forward and wrap your arms around him. Joel stiffens under your touch for all of half a second, not at all expecting it — or for him to embrace it as quickly as he does — no one’s touched him like this in a long, long time. He exhales — slow and deep — and he melts into you — blaming it on the infectious toothy grin that drew him in before you physically pulled him in.

“Thank you, Mr Mill—”

“Joel.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

His arms come up around you, folding across your back in that strong, protective way that makes you feel like the world could completely fall apart and you’d still be safe, in his arms. One hand curls around your shoulder, the other presses against the back of your ribs, his thumb sliding slowly up and down your spine like he’s memorizing the shape of you — just in case your dream comes true sooner rather than later… afraid that you’ll vanish any second.

You do the same — resting your cheek against his shoulder, breathing him in — sweat and the subtle scent of soap that had lingered from his morning shower. There’s a beat of silence where neither of you speaks. The world shrinks down to the slow rise and fall of your chests, the creak of the old floorboards under your boots and the distant hum of cicadas through the open window.

“Dinner’s on me tonight, sunshine.”

༺ 🐑 ༻

When the summer began to wane, the light changed. A richer gold — anticipating longer nights.

You started spending more time with your notebooks, sketching land plots, scribbling numbers. You showed Joel your map, interrupting his daily morning ritual consisting of coffee and reading on the porch.

“This one’s up for sale. It’s rough land. But I think I can make it work.” You peeked curiously at the man through your eyelashes, “what d’you think?”

Joel flicked his glasses down from the top of his head, the pads nestling over the tiny scar across the bridge of his nose. He squinted, studying it longer than he needed to. “It’s good dirt. Clay base, though. Think you’ll need someplace with better irrigation.”

“Hm—” you nodded in agreement. “Thought you might say that — maybe you’re right.” Or maybe you wanted to delay your search a little while longer — what was the harm in that?

He wanted to say ‘don’t go’.

He wanted to say ‘stay’.

He resorted to: “don’t worry — you’ll find somewhere that ticks all the right boxes.”

You nodded with pursed lips.

And when you walked off to feed the chickens, humming again, he realized the worst thing wasn’t that you would be leaving one day.

It was that he’d gotten used to you staying — he’d forgotten what it was like not to have you around… and he didn’t want to remember.

༺ 🐑 ༻

The first time you told Joel the land was yours, it wasn’t even yours yet.

You’d just come in from checking the south fence line, dust all up your legs, a ribbon of sweat down your spine, George following you — your second shadow. He loved you as much as he loved his owner — maybe even more, but you’d never tell Joel that. You dropped the newspaper on the porch table between you and Joel, who barely looked up from sharpening his knife.

“There,” you said, pointing. “That one. ‘S mine.”

He glanced at the listing through his glasses.

‘Twenty acres. River access. Needs clearing.’

Joel leaned back in his chair. “Bit wild, ain’t it?”

“Yeah but — that’s what makes it mine I think.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes lingered on your face. “You’re — serious about it — this land?”

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p’ with a sure nod of your head. Determined and unwavering. “This one’s the one.”

Joel was stuck in his usual state of silence — except he didn’t want to be, he wanted to bust out of it and just tell you how he felt about you — he couldn’t though, not when he was so adamant you didn’t feel the same way. The birds sang high in the cottonwood trees. George was already snoring beside him, tail twitching — probably dreaming of herding sheep or his first litter of puppies. You were too excited — too distracted with thoughts of fence lines, soil testing and crop cycles you could try out on your land to feel the coldness radiating from Joel.

The closer your dream came, the more the silence stretched between you.

You’d still talk of course—about feed, about the horses, about the weird habits of sheep—but the quiet between words grew heavier than Joel’s Texan drawl. His hands lingered when he passed you tools. His sad eyes held yours for what felt like an eternity when the wind blew hair across your cheek.

He couldn’t say anything.

Neither could you.

༺ 🐑 ༻

The night you told him you’d be leaving before sunrise, he cooked dinner again.

You watched him move back and forth from the kitchen countertops and the porch table with bowls of food stacked on his forearms. By the time he’d finally lugged it all outside and sat himself down opposite you on his rocking chair, holding two empty plates, you were salivating, having had to endure the delicious mixture of smells invading your nostrils for way too long — you’d offered to help but he insisted you stay put on the chair he’d brought out for you. “What’s with the all you can eat?”

He handed you a plate without meeting your eyes — whether it was on purpose or not you didn’t know but you don’t question it. “‘S a special occasion, ain’t it?” The words come out cold. Distant.

“Guess it is.”

The two of you stayed on the porch afterward, your plates still balanced on your knees long after you’d finished eating — George laid on his back, his head on Joel’s feet and his tail on yours. The moon was a sliver in the sky — promising change.

“I’ll miss this,” you admit.

Joel stared out across the dark pasture. “What part?”

“All of it.” You timidly glance at him. “Mostly the lake — the animals — Clint — George… The quiet.” What you wanted to add was ‘you’.

He gave you a half-hearteded amused look, patiently waiting for you to say more… you don’t. “You’re the one who breaks it every ten minutes.”

You giggled, but then your voice softened to a mumble. “Yeah — but you don’t mind.”

“No,” he confirmed, nervously shifting in his chair — discreetly admiring the way you beautifully blend into your surroundings — into his land. “I don’t.”

You’d guessed as much, but he’d never said it. The solidarity of his words linger dangerously near your heart… you had to go before you did anything reckless.

༺ 🐑 ༻

Joel Miller’s ranch had been the closest thing to belonging that you’d known in a long time. But it was never meant to last.

Joel told himself over and over again last night as he tossed and turned in his bed, that if it was what you wanted, he had to accept it and let his dedicated ranch-hand, his companion — his sunshine — go.

He had to let you go.

What he didn’t know was that you would’ve stayed — would’ve given into your silly little crush on your boss — without a doubt — if your bones weren’t already pointed somewhere else. If you hadn’t always imagined yourself in a place of your own making, hands in your own soil, sky pressing down on your own roof.

You wake up at sunrise just as you’d told Joel you would, and make your way to the stable straight away. You pre-packed your things before you slept. You didn’t want a fuss or farewell — your eyes were already sore from crying… but the large entrance door creaks as you push through — and there he is. Joel. Slouching against Dixie’s stall with George at his heel, like he’d been waiting for you for hours.

“Didn’t think you’d try to leave without sayin’ goodbye,” he speaks, his voice raspy from sleep, or maybe a lack of it judging by his bloodshot eyes.

You look down, awkwardly bouncing on your feet. “I’ve only been here half a year — I just — didn’t think you’d — care all that much.”

“I care more than you think.”

His words freeze you, forcing you to face him.

There is a wooden crate by his feet. It shakes.

He clears his throat, sheepishly following your eyes until they land on the same wooden crate. “I er — brought somethin’ for you.”

Inside, burrowed in a gingham blanket, is a puppy. A Border Collie. All fluffiness and black and white fur, ears too big for her head, a tiny pink nose and bright brown eyes… trusting and kind. Warm too — just like honey when the sun hits them… just like Joel’s. They’re blinking sleepily up at you.

“She’s one o’ George’s,” Joel tells you. “Only female o’ the litter. She’s adventurous ‘nd stubborn as hell — already caught her runnin’ around the sheep’s pastures... reminded me o’ you in the early days.”

You’re rendered speechless. You kneel and lift the crate—she pops her head up—her paws dangling over the crate’s edge. She jumps at you—her heartbeat quick and strong against your chest. She whines, then nestles into the crook of your arm.

You’re her human and she knows it.

“I ain’t named her,” he adds. “Figured you should have that job.”

“Thank you so much, Joel,” you drag your eyes away from the cutest sight you’ve ever seen.

He shifts his weight and nods. He looks out over the fields, then back at you. “‘S nothin’ — thought you might appreciate havin’ a little company on your travels. B’sides, you really oughta have a sheepdog — can’t be ownin’ a ranch full’a sheep without one.”

“No—” You take a baby step toward him. “I mean — yes — thank you for Juno — but also for — everythin’ else.”

“Juno?” He scoffs. “Like the goddess?”

You shake your head with a soft laugh. “Nah not the goddess or the Sabrina Carpenter song. Juno was the name of this old pickup truck — which I did name after the goddess. I learned to drive back when I was fifteen. The truck belonged to a neighbor who let me run errands on his land. It always rattled like crazy and smelled like oil, but it never broke down. She was tough and went through every kind of weather without complainin’—”

“Hang on.” Joel’s blinks, his face blank — he huffs a chuckle. “You’re namin’ the puppy after a damn truck?”

You playfully roll your eyes, scratching behind the puppy’s ear — she yawns. “Not just any truck. The first thing that ever gave me a taste of freedom. Pretty fittin’ if you ask me.”

“Hm. Juno,” he repeats with an approving nod.

The silence that follows is unusually awkward. Thick with brooding tension—more unspoken words that hadn’t found their way out, no matter how long they’d sat on the tongue. You don’t try to fill it either—not with your usual chatter that Joel is craving to hear — not even with a joke to lighten the mood. It isn’t the time for it.

You turn your back to him after reaching down to pet George, bidding him a hasty farewell before he starts whining, knowing you’ll never leave if he does. You step toward Dixie, already saddled and waiting — Joel must’ve done it for you. The mare bucks her head as you approach.

You can feel Joel watching behind you.

The way your shoulders squared like armor—like if you stayed strong enough, you could ride through this and not look back. There is dust on your coat and mud on your boot heel—details so mundane, so ordinary… they gut him now.

You aren’t graceful in the way movies make women look on horseback—you are better than that. You’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—known. You’re solid. Real — you move like you’ve adjusted reins and cinches a thousand times. Who’s weathered storms, heartbreak and uncharted land. Who’s clawed her way toward a future built on the backbone of sheer grit. And he’d had the privilege of seeing it—every inch of it.

You mount Dixie, settling Juno back in her crate and comfortably in your lap.

You’re ready to ride out into the horizon.

Joel isn’t, however — not quite.

“You sure this is what you want?”

“It’s not about want,” you answer, just above a whisper. “It’s about need.” You bounce in the saddle, fingers fiddling with the reins — more to steady yourself than Dixie. “I need to know I can do this. On my own.”

Joel’s teeth clenched. His eyes dropped to the dirt, then rose again, and for a moment he looked like he might say nothing at all. Like he’d let you ride off just like that.

But then—

“Any chance you’d — stay?” His voice full of hope. “Here. With me.”

The question hits you—a kick to the ribs. You stare at him, heart thundering in your ears. “Joel…”

“I know it’s selfish,” he adds, almost defensively, taking a hesitant step to Dixie’s side. “I know you’ve worked so damn hard for this dream. Hell, I watched you bleed for it. So I ain’t askin’ to take that away. I just—” He stops himself, fists balled in his jacket pockets. “Just don’t want to let you go without askin’.”

Your throat constricts. You can’t breathe — seeing him look so sure and unsure. Like he really wants to have the strength to let you go, but has crumbled and is begging you to stay. “I — I can’t.”

“But would you — if it wasn’t about needin’?”

“I’d stay.” The two words he needed to hear. You look down — away. Feeling so exposed. Vulnerable. “Please don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you.” It damn near breaks him to hear you say something like that. It breaks you when you hear him sniffle too — but before you can start sobbing all over again — before you can shatter and scatter into pieces in front of him, Joel reaches up and encases your hands with his — holding you together.

You dreamily gaze at his thumbs caressing over your fingers—accidentally prodding Juno too, who licks his hands incessantly—causing both you and Joel to erupt in harmonious, shaky laughter.

“I’ll write you,” you promise.

He gives your hands a tender squeeze. “You better.”

You share one last look—one last moment to stash away for keeps. Then you click your tongue, nudging Dixie forward — Joel’s hands slip from yours back down to his sides at the same time a tear falls… you don’t see it.

You rode off, heart heavy but certain, leaving behind the man who has come to mean more to you than you ever intended. You don’t look back — but when the fence line and the ranch-house are shrinking with the distance put between you — only then, just once, do you turn in the saddle. Joel is frozen on the spot — watching with tears blurring his eyes as you disappear into the dust like someone who’d just watched the sun set for the last time.

“So long, sunshine.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨 ⇝

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 (𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 <𝟑

𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 ‘𝐅𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝’ 𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐎𝐚𝐤 (𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐨)... 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐮𝐭 — 𝐈’𝐦 𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 (𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞??? 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭).

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ‘𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 & 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨’ 𝐨𝐫 ‘𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ↯

𝑂𝑓 𝐷𝑢𝑠𝑡, 𝐷𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 ＆ 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑜

@dugiioh @monicasblues @millennialeldar @urlivingdeadgirl @julesispunk

𝐽𝑜𝑒𝑙 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟

༺ 🐑 ༻

[blue-mood-blue]

There is a lesson to be taken from Peter Nureyev's life so far, and it can be summed up with a handful of words, easy to recall:

Eventually, everything falls away.

It sounds pessimistic. It isn't; it's solely pragmatism that has Nureyev repeating the phrase in his quiet moments, his peaceful moments. It is an important concept to remember if he wants to survive with any small sliver of himself held intact. Eventually, whatever he holds in his hands will crumble into dust. Eventually, the places he leaves behind will fade and bleed into watercolor nonsense, not worth looking back on. Eventually, he will be alone again. So go the tides: anything given will eventually recede.

Eventually, he has to wake up.

He did on Mars. Not quickly, not all at once, and not with nothing to show for his time - but the treasured and fragile something that Nureyev held onto through handcuffs, through a card game, on a train, in a tomb... that was gone, and it was only what he'd come to expect. It was no great surprise. He opened his eyes to gentle sunlight, a cold bed, and told himself so. No great surprise. It all ends somewhere.

The Carte Blanche is sturdier than most. The halls stay the same, and the people do, too, and its happiness - traitorous, dangerous happiness that always carries just a tinge of unease because that's the warning knell of things that can't be trusted - is grounded by the small dissatisfactions and imperfections that make it real. Vespa sneers, he argues with Juno, he bleeds from his injuries and feels every pinprick of the stitches, and all of it adds to the evidence that he's been dealt a good hand instead of just very good dreams. It's reality, he thinks. It's tangible, he tells himself, reaching out to run gentle fingertips along the edge of Juno's hair, coaxing a surprised smile.

It can't last. It can't stay.

Nureyev... can't stay.

"What happens when I wake up in the morning and all of this is gone?" Nureyev isn't sure why he asks it. He doesn't like the expression the words put on Juno's face, and he can follow the line of Juno's thoughts - all the way to the wrong conclusion.

"It won't be." He's finally stopped apologizing, finally taking Nureyev's word that he doesn't need to anymore even though Nureyev isn't sure that Juno really believes him yet. "I'll be here, along with all the rest of it." He smiles. "And probably Rita hammering on our door because we overslept."

"But will I be here?" Nureyev doesn't ask until hours after Juno's fallen asleep. He already knows the answer. And he waits, hands held loose around a future he is already losing.

[fluffallamaful]

Waking Sleeping Beauty Pt. 2

🦙🦙🦙…

everybody give a big welcome back to ✨lee cc!dream✨ to my blog!!! he’s been missed greatly. (if tumblr glitches it’s not my fault)

Continued on from Waking Sleeping Beauty

Original idea by Juno Anon

Summary: Sapnap happens to find Dream and George in the aftermath of a tickle fight, however it is clear that the fight was rather one sided. Will Dream’s righteous arguments be enough to talk his way out of his impending doom? Or will it actually be his downfall? STUPENDOUSLY PLATONIC

Warnings: tickling

Word Count: 4220

enjoy 😊

🦙🦙🦙…

Afternoon sun streamed through the Dream Team’s living room window, dousing the couches in a warm light, and enticing an elegant waltz to break out amongst floating dust particles caught in the spotlight. Mottled brown fur twisted amongst the cat stand, shifting to reveal the tired, smooshed face of Patches. She yawned, sitting up to adjust her crumpled whiskers, before leaping down and sauntering over to the armchair that now bathed in the warm afternoon glow, chasing the pleasant feeling that came with basking in the rays. Her tail flicked over Sapnap’s phone that lay haphazardly on the arm of the chair, having been abandoned only moments prior.

With a few gentle kneads into the plush chair, and three purposefully spins, Patches resumed her sleeping position from earlier. However, much to her distaste, sleep would not so surely follow, as the desperate screams from her beloved owner rang out through the house.

“NOOO, NO!!! SAHAPNAP HEHE STARTED IT!!” Dream’s voice boomed out of his room, bouncing across the walls of the hallway that he was so desperately trying to scramble to. Stopping him, was his younger roommate Sapnap, whose arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, acting as an anchor to keep him bound to the room.

“You’re not. going. anywhere pyjama boy!!” Sapnap grunted, tugging the taller back towards his bed, the disheveled state of his duvet covers serving as evidence for Dream’s previous attempted escape.

He had been so close, just a second more and he would’ve been out into the open halls, safely locked behind the bathroom door only several leaps away. But he had greatly underestimated Sapnap’s agility, the younger easily cutting him off before he even reached his door frame. Now, he found himself slipping closer and closer across his carpeted floor to the awaiting clutches of George, who sat ready on his bed, a fiery blaze of revenge settled quite comfortably in his brown eyes.

“Bring him here Sapnap~!!” George cooed, his previous flustered state being promptly swapped for one of pure confidence, almost as though he had entirely forgotten that he had just been at the mercy of Dream. Or perhaps, he remembered it all too well. Regardless, the teasy tone kicked Dream’s struggling up a notch, dragging Sapnap a couple steps closer to freedom.

“I’m trying George!!! He’s so stubborn!!” Sapnap strained, tightening his grip around the scrambling blonde, and planting his feet firmly into the carpet to counter the sudden burst of energy. “It’s like trying to gehet a cahat into a bahahath!!” He laughed, the comment causing both wrestling boys to slow their struggles as giggles tumbled out of them.

“Ihihi’m nohot gohohoing bahack!!” Dream assured stubbornly, however he yelped when Sapnap did in fact manage to yank him backwards, the younger apparently recovering from his giggle fit just a second faster. He watched in dismay as the gap between the hallway and him widened, scuffing his feet into the ground in attempt to regain his momentum, but it soon becoming clear that Sapnap now had the upper hand. “NOHONO WAHAIT!!”

“I’ve gohot you now Dreamie boy!!” Sapnap sneered playfully, a triumphant smirk climbing up his lips as the bed approached from behind. “Gogy needs his revenge!”

With one heroic fling, Sapnap and Dream hurtled towards the bed, landing on the springy surface in a flailing pile of pyjama pants and sweats.

“GET HIM GEORGE GET HIM!!”

“NO!! NOHO GEORGE STAY AWAHAY!!” Dream yelled, desperately craning his neck around to locate the whereabouts of his older roommate, while simultaneously wriggling against the strong grip that Sapnap had on him. He was wrapped in a behind hug, both arms around his chest, and a leg flung over his own. He immediately began clawing at the arms, giggles bubbling out of him as he dodged around Sapnap’s grappling hands, before flinching harshly as George suddenly landed heavily on top of him, pinning him back into the mattress.

“GEORGE!!” He yelped, sporadic giggles following his startle as the ravenette cackled manically on top of him. He swiftly abandoned his attention on Sapnap’s arms, desperately wrangling up George’s threatening hands instead.

“Dreeeaaam~!!”

“STAHAP!!” He ordered, the seriousness being sapped from his voice as he giggled wildly at George’s fingers, which wiggled in his grasp.

“I’m gonna get you Dreamie~!!” George cooed, a menacing grin stretching across his whole face. Dream shook his head, gasping sharply when he felt the mattress dip above his head, his neck snapping up to meet the upside-down smirk of Sapnap’s.

“Ready for some revenge Dreamie~” The younger taunted, his hands reaching for Dream’s wrists to pull them away from George’s, but the blonde quickly tightening his hold to anchor himself in place.

“N-NO!! Nohoho no! Sapnap!! Hehe started it!!” He explained desperately, flicking his eyes in George’s direction, and attempting to wrangle down his smile into a more serious expression to appeal to the younger’s sense of just. Sapnap only shook his head, his smirk growing into a mischievous grin as Dream’s hands were pushed towards him by George, his ‘anchor’ now working against him. “NOHO SAHAPNAP HEHE STAHARTED IT!!”

“I don’t care who started it Dreamie.” Sapnap stated, working to uncurl the boy’s fingers from George’s wrists. “I can just see that poor little Gogy is over here with a cute rosey blush and ruffled hair, and yet you have none of that at all! So I don’t know Dream, this seems pretty fair to me.” He shrugged, grinning again when his roommate’s eyes widened.

“NOHO!!” Dream yelped, letting out a giggly whine when George’s already wide grin grew twice the size, a teasy hum serving as his victory cry. “Gehehorge nohoho youhu knohow you staharted this!!” He reminded again, desperately clinging onto the ravenette’s wrists with all his might, however each finger being peeled away easily by Sapnap. George only had to shake his wrists once to free himself completely.

“Here I come Dreamie~!!”

“NOHO!! GEORGE NO- NAHAHAHA THIS IHIHISN’T FAHAHIR!!!” Without even a second to spare, George was already latched onto Dream’s thighs, squeezing up and down the muscles mercilessly as the blonde screeched out beneath him.

“Oo he’s all warm from his beddy-byes still!!”

“STAHAHAP YOUHUHU IDIHIOT GEOHORGE YOUHU WOHOKE MEHE UP!!” Dream cried, shaking his head and bucking his hips in attempt to throw the smaller off.

“Yeah, and then you tickled the crap out of him! So now you’ve gotta pay the price Dreamie-poo~” Sapnap crooned, readjusting Dream’s hands in his lap to prevent them from escaping.

“BUT IHIHI DIHIDN’T GEHet hIHiS THihIHIGHS!!” The boy whined, wheezing when George zeroed in on a particularly sensitive spot on his outer thigh. George let out a scoff, rolling his eyes at his friend’s dramatic nitpicking.

“What? Would you rather me do exactly what you did to me instead??” He inquired, pausing his attack and resting his hands on his own thighs. He watched as Dream immediately shot him a wide-eyed stare, the smile print on his t-shirt rising and falling with his heaving chest, and his mouth opening and shutting uselessly as he tried to find a counter to George’s suggestion. George raised a challenging eyebrow at him.

“Fresh out of protests there Dreamie?” Sapnap jeered, sharing a look with George as their friend began to stutter out nervously beneath them. “Where did he start Gogy?”

Dream looked to George with panicked eyes, his half formed words abruptly dissipating into nothing. He watched in horror as excited sparks ignited into flames deep within his friend’s brown eyes, flickering menacingly as they scanned over his body. He shrunk back into the mattress at the attention, a faint blush forming on his cheeks as he remembered that he was still just in his pyjamas, tugging lightly at his wrists at the sudden vulnerability that he felt. However his embarrassment was quickly swept away as he remembered something even more terrifying than his attire choice.

He had started off with George’s stomach.

“OoOhoohoo~” George’s coo brought him back down to reality, desperate eyes snapping up to his smirking roommate. “Dream~!” He cooed again, causing Dream to immediately burst into nervous giggles. Oh god and George actually remembered.

“Gehehehohohorge wahahaihit!!” He squeaked, squirming in place as George’s hands shifted over to his stomach, a swarm of nervous butterflies twisting their way inside his gut.

“Where was it George?” Sapnap asked again, giggling at the ravenette’s playfulness and Dream’s anticipatory giggles.

“Geohohorge plehehease!!”

“Dreamie started with my tummy~!” He sang, ignoring the blonde’s protests and flexing his fingers above Dream’s t-shirt covered belly, slowly descending towards it. Dream giggled helplessly, pulling at his arms and twisting his body as he watched the slow descent of George’s fingers.

“No!!” He squeaked, tensing his stomach in attempt to remould his melting gut, fists tightening in their hold and a blush swiftly tinting his cheeks with a dark pink. He gasped sharply when George’s hands finally made contact, immediately bursting into soft sporadic giggles as they began scratching lightly over his skin.

“Gehehehohohorge!!” He whined, his giggles being laced with hiccups and snorts as the ravenette fluttered his fingers across the whole surface of his belly, burying himself into his arm to hide his undoubtably red cheeks. His stomach was absolutely his worst spot, and not only that, but lighter tickling like this flustered him more than anything. And his two roommates knew this all two well.

“Nawww he started like this?! What’s that saying about not throwing rocks if you live in a glass house Dream? You really started off with the thing that you can’t stand the most?” Sapnap teased, pulling Dream’s arms away from his face to prevent him from hiding.

“Stahahahap Sahahapnahap!!” Dream whined, his face heating up further once his face shield was removed. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head as his skin jumped and twitched beneath George’s nimble fingers, his thin pyjama top offering him no relief from the maddening feeling.

“Soft belly tickles for Dreamie~”

“GEHEHEHOHORGE DOHOHON’T!!” His eyes flung open at George’s tease, soft giggles disappearing beneath flustered splutters. He slammed his foot into the mattress behind, pulling at his wrists again and twisting on the spot. George and Sapnap cooed above him, causing his giggling to increase and his eyes to squeeze shut again.

“Naww is it too much? Is it too much little Dweamie~?” George continued, his voice high pitched and soft, sending chills down Dream’s spine.

“StAHahaHAP!!”

“Can your little belly not handle my tickly fingies~?”

“GEOHOHORGE YOuhHuHu iDIhIhiot ihihi CAhAhHAn’t!!” He wailed, hiccuping all throughout his protest.

“And you know what’s actually the best part?” George’s voice sounded from above, the silly coo replaced with his own usual taunting tone. Sapnap chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the sight of his giggly roommate.

“What’s the best part George?” He asked, watching as Dream still writhed even once George’s fingers stopped moving, a huge smile replacing his previous panicked expressions.

“Well the next thing he did was this.”

Dream’s sporadic giggles suddenly disappeared altogether, before coming back in loud barks of laughter as George vibrated a clawed hand into his belly.

“NAHAHAHA GEHEHEHEHOHOHORGE!!!” He screamed, his body twisting and thrashing wildly as George massaged up and down his stomach, his legs kicking out and his back arching at the electrifying feeling.

“Wohohow Dream!! You really screwed yourself over here bud.” Sapnap laughed, tightening his grip on the blonde’s wrists as his thrashing picked up.

“GEOHOHOHORGE PLEHEHEASE!!” Dream wailed, shaking his head as ticklish energy pulsed through his nervous system, before being thrown into a long wheeze when George moved down to squeeze at his lower stomach. George smiled, taking his time on the spot to listen to the squeaky hiccups that sounded through Dream’s silent laughter, before migrating his hands around to squeeze at his sides.

“And then he did this.” He explained, giggling at the strangled squawk that leapt from his friends mouth.

“OhoHOho gOhOHod!” Dream cackled, his laugh returning in sporadic bursts as he rocked side to side to avoid George’s squeezing hands. He let out another short wheeze when two thumbs kneaded into his bottom ribs, the mattress springing beneath him as his foot slammed into it once again.

“And then this.”

“gEoHoHorge!!” He choked out, shaking his head as his roommate’s fingers began to travel up his rib cage, the instinct to curl up prompting him to yank at his wrists again, however Sapnap countered his strength easily. “IHihi’M SOHohHoRry!!” He wailed, a beaming smile splitting through his bright red cheeks, bubbly laughter pouring out of him freely and his hair tussled far beyond that of bed hair from his wriggling.

“Well now it looks like it was actually a fair fight.” Sapnap laughed, smiling as Dream tilted his head up to look at him, eyes blissful and happy. “You enjoying yourself there cutie?” He asked, laughing again as Dream’s blush immediately darkened.

“nOhOho!!”

“You’re such a liar.”

“Oh wait! I just remembered the other thing he did!!” George suddenly piped up, dragging his nails back down Dream’s ribs, causing his laughter to melt to squeaking giggles. Sapnap looked over to the ravenette expectantly, watching curiously as a light blush dusted itself over his cheeks. “He ugh- H-he kept giving me raspberries on the back of my neck!!” George explained, the sudden hesitancy causing a smirk to pull at Sapnap’s lips.

“Yeah? It seems like you enjoyed those though Gogy.” He teased, smirking more when his observation earned a pouty glare from his roommate.

“N-no!!” George assured. “No! It was weird!!”

“Mm sure thing Gogs, whatever you say.” Sapnap shrugged, although he couldn’t help the shudder that travelled down his own spine as the memory of Dream doing the same thing to him crept into his mind.

“No I’m serious!”

“Hehehe lihihiked thehehem.” Dream giggled cheekily, earning a scoff and a poke to the belly from George. “nOHohO DoHoHOn’t!!”

“I didn’t!!”

“Well what about you Dream? Do you recon you’re gonna like them?” Sapnap asked, grinning at the gasp and giggle that the question produced.

“nOho!!” Dream squeaked, eyeing his two roommates giddily as they exchanged smirks and eyebrows raises.

“Let’s flip him over~” Sapnap sang, releasing Dream’s wrists and motioning to George which way to start rolling their friend.

Dream immediately tried to sit up and escape, but a swift hand to his chest from George found him pushed back into his mattress before he could even blink, giggling helplessly as the ravenette’s menacing grin from earlier returned.

“Wahahihit Geohohorge!!” He bargained, resorting to flailing and kicking instead. It did nothing to stop the world from turning around him however, and he soon found himself face down, planted firmly into his soft duvet covers.

“Guhuys!!!” He yelped, the chill of the outside air brushing over the back of his neck, enlightening him of his sudden vulnerability. He squeaked when he felt George sit across his back, snapping his arms protectively over his sides and craning his neck around in attempt to negotiate with the older. However he soon found that no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t twist his neck back far enough to meet the eyes of his roommate, resulting in the vulnerable feeling to smother his chest in the form of giddiness. “WAhIhiht GeoHoHorge haHAhang on!!”

“Naww, he’s already so giggly!!” Sapnap remarked, taking hold of Dream’s arms and pulling them above his head again. Dream screeched, his giggling increasing as he buried his warming face into his bed sheets.

“Ready Dreamie~?” George’s voice cooed from above. Dream could feel him reposition on his back to get closer to his neck.

“NOHO!! Geohohorge Ihihi’m sohohorry!!”He tried, scrunching his neck up to protect it from the ravenette’s attack.

“Should’ve thought about that before you did it to me~” George sang, wasting no more time and bending down to plant a large raspberry on the back of Dream’s neck.

“NAHAHAHA GEHOHOHORGE!!!!” Dream shrieked, loud cackles immediately bursting out of him, his fingers flexing and curling in Sapnap’s hands. The feeling was overwhelming, somehow accumulating as many butterflies in his stomach as his soft belly tickles did from earlier. “AHHAHAAAAA NONOHOHO THIHIS IHIHIS- NohOhOhOHo!!” He screamed, giggles still flowing out of him even once George pulled away.

“Ihihihi cahahan stihihihill feheheheel it!!” He whined, melting back into his mattress and blushing as his two roommates giggled from above.

“Hey George, get his armpits.”

“NOHOHO!!”

All Dream heard was a small, high pitched giggle from George, before two fingers wiggled lightly into each of his armpits.

“GEOHORGE!!” He screeched, muffling his squeaky giggles into his duvet. He shook his head, wriggling his body from side to side and pulling as far back as he could go with Sapnap’s hands still wrapped tightly around his wrists. George’s fingers followed him precisely however, causing him to let out a muffled snrk, before sporadic giggles flowed out of him once more. “GEOHORGE IHI DIHIHIDN’T DO THIHIS!!”

“Yes you did! Don’t you remember??” George argued, though Dream could hear the obvious smile in his voice. He could also hear the sarcasm in Sapnap’s overexaggerated gasp.

“Is he lying George?!?”

“IHIHI’M nOHOT!!”

“He’s gaslighting me!!”

“STAHAP YOUHu’RE bOTH BEhIHihinG IDIHioTs!!” Dream complained beneath his giggles, rocking his body to escape his roommate’s stubborn wiggly fingers.

“Gaslighters deserve raspberries!!”

Dream didn’t even get time to process the ravenette’s words before another raspberry was blown into the back of his neck. He shrieked, loud cackles bouncing out of him at varying pitches and volumes, and then falling back into uncontrollable giggles once George pulled away again.

“Ihihihit dohohesn’t eheheven tihihihickle ihihit juhuhust fehehels grohohoss…” He whined, shaking his head into his sheets as cool air stuck to George’s leftover dribble.

“Oh and I suppose that’s why you’re laughing then?” Sapnap queried, voice still laced with sarcasm. Dream continued his head shaking, his giggles picking up at the comment.

“He’s such a little liar. George, get him again.” Dream’s eyes widened, abruptly breaking free from his giggle fit and squirming on the spot.

“NO!!” He yelped, squeezing his eyes shut and scrunching up his neck in preparation for the sensation to return. However it never came.

He was about to crane his neck around when he felt a stream of air being blown over his neck, causing him to scrunch up again with a squeak.

“George.” He warned, swallowing back any stray giggles. He received no response, however a deep breathe from somewhere close behind him alerted him to the ravenette’s plan. “GEORGE DONT DRAG IT OUT!”

“Naw he’s so eager!!” Sapnap cooed, coaxing a giggly whine out of Dream. George giggled from behind, blowing another stream of air over the Dream’s neck, this time making it last long enough for goosebumps to prickle over his skin. Dream squealed, scrunching up his neck again, and squirming on the spot as a shudder travelled down his spine, awakening anticipatory butterflies in his stomach.

“Geohohorge!!” He squeaked, muffling breathy giggles into his duvet. George hummed out an evil, high pitched giggled from behind.

“He can already feel it~”

“STAHAP!!”

“He’s got himself so worked up that he can feel it tickling all over his skin!”

“gEOHoHoRge!!” Dream whined, shaking his head and kicking his legs behind him, letting out uncontrollable giggles into his mattress.

“Where are you trying to run to Dreamie~?”

“GEORGE JUST GOHOHO!!!”

“Ready?!” George giggled, positioning himself right over Dream’s neck. He watched as Dream flinched and giggled beneath him, waiting patiently for him to drop his guard before blowing another raspberry into the nape of his neck.

Dream shrieked, squirming and kicking as the vibrations rippled over him, the butterflies in his stomach taking flight and adding to the tingling feeling that crept over his skin.

“GEOHOHORGE!!” He yelled, balling his hands into fists when the sensation lasted for even a second longer than the last ones. His stomach swirled with a new batch of butterflies, however just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, George’s raspberries morphed into nibbles.

“AHAHAHAHA WAHIHI- GEHEHO- SAHAHAPNAHAP HEHES- HEHEHES BIHIHITING mEhEhHe!!” He screamed, thrashing his body wildly in his limited space.

“Mmm nom nom Dreamie’s yummy neck~” George taunted, the buzz of his voice enhanced the tingly feeling.

“YOUHUHU IDIHIHIOT STAHAHAP!!! SAHAHAPNAP HEHEHELP!!”

“George you weirdo, what are you doing?” Sapnap laughed. George looked up at him with a cheeky smile, sitting up with a laugh. They watched as Dream still giggled out below, appearing to almost sink into his mattress, hiccups inserting themselves into his giggles.

“George I think you broke him.” Sapnap observed, grounding Dream back into the conscious world.

“Thahat wahahahhas ahahawful..” He giggled out, breathing in deep gulps of much needed air. Sapnap released his hold on his wrists.

“He’s so dramatic!” George remarked, a cheeky smile still plastered across his face. Dream rolled his eyes, but a few breathy giggles were his only rebuttal.

“Was that all he did?” Sapnap asked, gaze lifting from their giggling friend to George. He watched as the ravenette thought for a moment, an evil glint slowly forming in his eyes. A teasy high pitched giggle answered Sapnap’s question.

“No it wasn’t~” George sang. Dream’s eyes widened, his mind whirring as he tried to remember what else he could have possibly done to his friend. A nervous smile formed on his lips, letting out a few giggles as an exaggerated gasp was heard from Sapnap.

“Dream!! What else did you do to him?!”

“I-ihihihi c-cahahan’t remehehember- OH WAHIHIT NO!!!” A sudden burst of adrenaline raced through Dream’s body as the memory of his tickly attack on George planted itself into his brain.

“Oh yes Dream~!” George cooed, staying loyal to his sing-song voice. “Sapnap~ We need to flip him again!!”

Dream screamed, however just like before, his kicking and flailing did nothing to hinder his friends’ rolling, and once again he found himself lying in his back with George straddling his waist, and his arms pulled above his head. He attempted wiggle out from Sapnap’s grasp, babbling out incoherent pleas as a giggly panic consumed him.

George also let out a few excited giggles, gently lifting up Dream’s smiley pyjama top, eyes dancing mischievously in the blonde’s direction. Dream let out a giggly whine, throwing his head back to escape the ravenette’s menacing gaze, his stomach flipping as the ambient air brushed over it.

“Oh noho way…” Sapnap laughed, watching as the blonde shook his head into his arms. “Dream, did you give George a raspberry on his tummy?”

A giggly gasp bounced out of the boy in question, more incoherent babbles following his response. He arched his back as George began tracing his stomach, shaking his head desperately.

“Yes he did ehehe~” George answered for him.

“Nohohohohohoho!!”

“Count me down Sapnap.”

“Sahahapnap please??” Dream squeaked, lifting his head up to stare at Sapnap with begging eyes. His hopes lifted when a merciful smile lifted on his friend’s face, but it was all lost once it slowly crept up further into a smirk.

“5.”

“NO SAHAPNAHP!!” Dream screamed, falling into a fit of giggles when George began to reposition himself.

“4.”

“GEOHORGE NOHOHO!! I CAHAHAN’T!!” He begged, sucking his stomach in as far as it would go, but it still bouncing and twitching away as George scuttled his fingernails over it.

“3.”

“I haven’t even started yet dreamie~”

“2.”

“NOHOHO SAHAPNAP!!! GEOHOHORGE!!”

“1!”

As soon as the number left Sapnap’s mouth, George’s lips were rippling over Dream’s belly. He was immediately thrown into a wheeze, thrashing and kicking out as ticklish energy raced over the surface of his body. He tugged at his wrists, shaking his head wildly as tears of mirth rolled down his cheeks. He actually managed to get an arm free from Sapnap, but even with him pushing as hard as he could at George’s shoulders, the ravenette still remained planted firmly into his sensitive skin.

It was only once his silent hiccups returned that George finally stopped, sitting up with a triumphant smile, and pulling down Dream’s shirt. The blonde still giggled hysterically even once George stopped, only calming down once the ravenette rubbed soothing circles onto his stomach, and his arms were wrapped tightly around his middle.

“All done?” Sapnap asked, smiling down at the disheveled heap that was his roomate.

“All done.” George agreed.

“Thahat was nohot fahair.” Dream tittered out, still battling away his residual giggles. George and Sapnap chuckled.

“Should’ve been more grateful for your human alarm then Dreamie~” Sapnap teased, picking himself off the mattress and offering Dream a hand up too. “Come on, there’s still breakfast left over if you want any.”

The reluctance to leave his bed was apparent, but Dream still accepted the brownette’s offer regardless. Together, the three of them padded out to the kitchen, managing to catch the rest of the afternoon sun, and settling comfortably into the living room couches, each with a plate of food in hand. Patches graciously accepted their company, happily climbing onto George’s lap when he offered her a spot to sit.

Dream did end up feeling rather grateful that George had woke him up that day, despite his unwillingness to admit it to his demanding raven haired roommate.

However had he known of the soft smile that his uttered “Thank you” would produce from George, then he might’ve said it a lot sooner.

🦙🦙🦙…

I DID IT 🥳

[ceaseless-watchers-special-girl]

THIS. and the way their homes have hurt them.

Juno was so often alone in Hyperion, the only one who would stand up where he thought it was necessary. Mick and Sasha were there with him too, but at times, it must have felt like the rest of Hyperion was against them. When the whole thing with Captain Hijikata happened, it must have felt like all of Hyperion was against him. The worst moments of his life have happened there, but so have some of the best — but is that because of the city itself, or the people he met there?

With Nureyev and New Kinshasa, it's harder, because he wasn't there for as long. He created a superficial relationship with it in his mind, he dreamt of it and turned it into his home, he dreamt of it so often that when he got there, he forced his dream onto everything he saw, to the point he was convinced he had memories he could never have formed. New Kinshasa was his biggest source of joy, and yet, his biggest source of fear. He must have felt similarly about Brahma itself — he felt the fear and terror there, but he felt joy, too. When Mag offered him a greater, easier joy from New Kinshasa, he abandoned the small, real joy he might have received from Slip and the other pests for the grander, fake joy of being from New Kinshasa.

Hyperion beat Juno down into the dust again and again, and New Kinshasa actively tried to kill Nureyev. Perhaps it's still trying. I don't think they really want to return to these places — what they're homesick for "isn't a place, it's a time" in Juno's own words. Because not only have Juno and Nureyev changed, so has Hyperion, and no doubt New Kinshasa has, too. They no longer fit with their homes like they used to, so these places can no longer be their homes in the way they used to.

Either the places will welcome them with open arms, and they will fit with their homes in a way that allows them to heal, or they will clash with their homes and destroy each other.

I think Hyperion and Juno could heal each other, if they tried. I think there's hope there.

I don't think Nureyev and New Kinshasa have any hope of reconciliation.

ooooh but the way they're setting up for a coming home arc tho.

I mean I'm a little conflicted bc having them Get Out of Hyperion City was such a triumph and even though they've technically been running around the galaxy since S3 the actual running around the galaxy bits felt a little sporadic. and I was really here for the parts where Juno was like 'hey you can miss something without actually wanting it back.' obv the whole 'Always Running Never Looking Back' thing was untenable from day one, but this whole time I haven't been ready to go back to Hyperion City. (for a minute there between WLB1 and Clean Break I'd had my heart set on the three of them following Jet around in the Ruby bc home isn't a place and there are endless menacing institutions to fuck up while in the company of the people you love.)

Going Back isn't necessarily what I hoped for but I'm seeing how that might turn out to be the logical conclusion and it is with gruDgiNG aCcepTAnce that I can see that being the most appropriate narrative choice given how much Home has been a theme this whole goddamn show. I gotta think they're toying with something interesting in the vein of Returning Changed, getting a full-circle parallel to FRP, also curious for a callback or more thoughts on Juno's Andromeda motif. like. can he Go Home? in a way that it's the Right Call? what does it mean if he Can? who's he gonna be if he Does?

and then there's our Thief Without A Home. i mean. I'm also not particularly interested in a 'settling down ever after' type narrative for them bc of who they are as people (they Need Shenanigans your honor). but. i mean they could still go pick fights with cyber-mobsters in Newtown. I could see it working if there's a focus on the idea of belonging and not just falling back on the usual model of domesticity. also i have already pictured This Conversation.

Juno: (scared shitless about the idea that this might be a dealbreaker after Everything) look before we get ahead of ourselves or anything. now that you're out from under their thumbs i need you to know I can't do the whole. running around the galaxy thing. like I should have told you the first time around. I can't actually do that forever and I'm not gonna ask you to stop if that's what you see yourself doing from here on out.

Nureyev (scared shitless that Juno's breaking up with him Now, After Everything): you don't. you don't mean you -

Juno: Rita and I want to go back to Hyperion City. not sure what we're doing yet, but I miss it and she misses Frannie and we're both ready to go home.

Nureyev:

Juno: and. there could be a place for you there too. if you wan-

Nureyev (has already thrown himself to the floor and flung his arms around Juno's knees): oh thank fuck please take me home with you i have been running for twenty years i am so tired

Juno (voice breaks): you're getting your own room to keep your stuff in and you can't hoard all the drinking glasses

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

I wish you'd write a fic that involves BJs dad meeting his kid....

He gets this dream, sometimes, where he's floating.

Not floating the way he does when he's awake, which is more like just simply hanging in the air, motionless, until he directs his body to move, but floating like being fully submerged in water, the natural motion of it making him bob and sway. These dreams are peaceful, to him. Something about them feels familiar, like they're something he knows, if not by memory than by blood, like moments inherited through his DNA. If he tilts his head up, he can see the faintest glimmer of sunlight, shimmering and shining down, casting interesting shapes and patterns of light across his body. If he tilts his head down, he can see a vast chasm, miles down and miles across, deeper and darker than the reaches of space, only made visible to him by the faint glow of his amber eyes. And in the dreams, if he continues to watch, something begins to slither from it, a writhing, dark mass, shifting constantly, ever changing, a form made nearly incomprehensible by it's own nature. It peers at him with a thousand constantly moving eyes. He's not afraid. He knows he'll wake up, before it has a chance to fully rise, and he'll find himself in his bed, or more likely, floating a foot above it, but he'll be home, and safe. And then, one night, the dream is different.

He's underwater, enjoying the motion of the waves as they gently tug and pull him, and he's got enough time to wonder if this whole thing is a sign he should go to the beach more, or something, before the water all drains away, and he's not in the ocean anymore, he's in a room. It's all white, no detail to the floor or walls, no décor, just a featureless white box of a space, and he's standing there, with a man standing in front of him. "Hello," the man says, cheerfully. His hair, his skin, his clothing, is stark white as the room, and he's almost barely visible. "Hey," Beetlejuice nods to him. "Littlest Shoggoth," the man says, affectionately, and reaches out a hand, to touch his cheek, but everything about him has changed in an instant. A different nose, a different chin, different hair, clothes, eyes, age, weight, skin color, height, and it all continues to shift, so fast he can't seem to understand any of it. "You know me?" he asks, and the man, still changing form, nods, and then says, "We know you. We love you. You're safe where you are, and so we left you there. Are you angry?" "I'm not angry." "Are you happy?" "I am happy." The man seems satisfied. "When humanity crumbles to dust, and the things you care about are no more, we will come and retrieve you, little one. If you are safe, and you are happy, then we will not disrupt." "You're my..." BJ tries, and the man fills in the blank. "We sired you, small one. The she-demon bore you, and the humans raised you. Such a wonderful and strange thing, you are. We delight in you." Beetlejuice clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides, overwhelmed by that, before he reaches for the man, who mirrors the action, and he's wrapped up in his father's arms.. His many, many, constantly shifting, growing, shrinking arms. He tries to match it, sprouts his own more stable limbs, to hug the thing in front of him back, and it lets out a noise that might be what passes for a aquatic hell beast's laugh. "And so brave, too," it says. "When you yearn for us, dream of ice and snow. You will find us there. Be well, little one." He opens his eyes, to find himself laying in bed, the covers kicked off, and the smell of salt water lingers in his room, for a moment, before dissipating. He tries to focus on how kind that being was, how good it felt to be held, and how he'd been comfortable, and safe, and happy with his biological father. Yes, he does his best to keep himself focused on that, because otherwise, he's going to have to think about the fact that Juno fucked a tentacle horror.

[ananxiousgenz]

SONG FOR A CAGED LOVEBIRD: PART 14

yaaaay part 14!!! my favorite number!!!! i love this!!! apologies for the delay, school has been kicking my ass lately lol

okay kids, settle in: it's story time!!! this one is a longer one (around 2,000 words!!) which is part of why it took me a while lol

@smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde @demonic-panini @the-private-eye (@gwenlena? idk if you wanna read this? but i can start tagging you if you want?)

The first thing he became aware of was the smell. Coal dust and dry wood and faint fire smoke, like some kind of strange cologne. The air was thick and heavy with it and he struggled to breathe in. The second thing was the dull pain traveling through his skull. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, radiating out from a central point of the back of his skull.

His eye blinked open slowly and painfully to reveal several stacks of wooden crates, a few garbage cans, and the stone walls of some building. He didn’t know where he was.

Juno groaned, and tried to sit up and see more of his surroundings before a wave of dizziness hit him like a sledgehammer, and he fell backwards against the ground. He closed his eye again in the hopes the world might stop spinning long enough for him to be able to get up and escape this place.

Slowly, it all began to come back to him.

Peter’s deal and lack of voice. His insistence to save him. Slip telling him to leave. Juno refusing to go. Slip calling the executives. One of them whacking him on the back of the head. The world going dark.

He wasn’t sure what had happened after that, but he knew his body hurt like hell. After a few minutes, he figured the worst of the damage was probably a cracked rib or two that screamed whenever he tried to breathe normally. Everything else seemed to be a bruise or scrape. They must have beat the hell out of him and then dragged him to this alley.

He lay there for a few more minutes trying to work up the strength to stand, but couldn’t find it in him. 

Suddenly, there were footsteps approaching, quiet and even. He couldn’t tell from where.

The workers? The executives? Slip himself? 

A shot of adrenaline raced through his veins.

He pushed himself into a corner and grabbed the neck of a shattered bottle in defense. It might not have been his preferred weapon, but it was better than nothing.

The footsteps got closer.

Juno’s breathing was painful and shaky.

Even closer.

A figure rounded the corner. They spotted Juno, and raised their hands in defense.

“Whoaaa!! Hey, buddy, I don’t mean any harm! Man, if I had a nickel for every time I found someone in an alley who started pointing a weapon at me...”

Juno’s eye widened. It couldn’t be.

The figure stepped forward, and a little of the orange glow of the nearby metalworks fell on their face. “Hey, are you hurt? Do you need help at all?” they asked, crouching down to just above Juno’s level.

He knew this man’s face. He would know that voice even at the ends of the earth. Both had haunted his dreams for the last 20 years, and still echoed in his waking.

Benten.

His face floated across from Juno, smiling and slightly sheepish, but just exactly as Juno remembered him. Warm eyes, vaguely mischievous expression, gap-toothed smile, gentle hands, hair in neat braids knotted on top of his head. Juno felt his face going pale and the bottleneck slipping from his grip as this ghost looked at him in increasing concern. And suddenly a strange sort of fear began creeping over him.

“I’m dead, aren’t I? Oh gods, I’m dead. I died.” 

The specter of Ben snorted and rolled its eyes. “Yeahhhh, sure, let’s go with that. Pretty much everyone is in Hadestown. Kind of comes with the territory, you know?”

Juno couldn’t say anything in response. His mouth had gone completely dry. He just kept staring, breathing hard and ragged. The bottle clinked to the hard ground and Ben’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Are you sure you don’t need…” Ben’s voice trailed off as he leaned a bit closer to Juno’s face.

His eyes went wider the longer he looked. Ben drew in a sharp breath.

“Oh gods. I don’t……. Juno?” he asked, so quietly Juno barely heard it over the distant clanging of pickaxes and the grinding of factory gears.

“Ben,” Juno choked out.

And then Ben catapulted himself into Juno’s arms, and they were both laughing and crying. Juno didn’t even mind the pain. He hadn’t felt this full of joy in a very long time. His brother was here again, solid and real and warm in his arms. And gods, if it didn’t make him feel like he could tear down this whole damn town with nothing but his own two hands.

“Juno!!! Super Steel!! It’s been so long, did you miss me? How in Hades did you get down here? Did you die? Or did you sneak in? If you did, it’s a little unlike you, because I was always better at getting into trouble and you were better at planning it but not really carrying through. OH, and you’ll never guess who I met! I ran into your HUSBAND. Your HUSBAND, man!! I can’t believe you got married and never told me!” Ben chattered away, eyes glittering with excitement and joy and a few tears he couldn’t stop from rolling down his face.

“Slow down, Ben, give me a second!” Juno hissed through his teeth as a spike of pain lanced his lungs.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“About as good as I can be considering I think I just had the hell beat out of me. Could you help me up? Feels like I got hit by an angry toddler with a brick.”

Ben stood, wrapped his arm around Juno’s shoulders, and pulled him onto his feet before giving him a peculiar look that Juno was in a bit too much pain to decipher.

“What is it, Ben?”

“Nothing, it’s just-” he sighed, “It’s good to see you again. I missed you.”

A smile crept onto Juno’s face. “I missed you too. Loser.”

“Oh come on, I am NOT a loser!”

“Yes, you are. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“If I’m a loser then you’re…. Well, I’m not sure what you are, but at least I’ve never ended up bloody and bruised in a random alley somewhere.”

“You’re acting like you never took a punch when we were kids.”

“The only punches I ever took were from you, and you hit like a feather, Super Steel.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I knocked Mick out once.”

“You and I both know Mick could get knocked out from tripping over his own shoelaces. That does not give you bragging rights.”

Juno stuck out his tongue in response and Ben recoiled, one hand pressed to his chest in mock offense and disdain.

“Really! I thought we were a little more grown up than that! If you keep behaving like that, I won’t be able to take you back to the hideout! You see, we only allow adults in there, and you, Super Steel, are not acting like an adult right now.”

Juno rolled his eye and sighed the deeply exasperated sigh only produced by interacting with one’s sibling. “Okay, fine. I apologize for sticking my tongue out at you.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Aaaaaand for calling you a loser.”

“That’s more like it! I’ll take you back to see Vespa. She’ll be able to do something about those bruises and scrapes of yours. By the way, what happened to the eye? You lose a bet or something?”

—----------------------------------

It was slow going to get back to the hideout. Juno couldn’t walk too fast from a shooting pain in his shin and the probably cracked rib, but Ben was more than happy to spend the time talking and catching up on everything he missed. Juno told him about the bar he worked at, about Buddy and Jet and Rita, about the nasty winter that hadn’t let up for years, about his reason for the journey down here. In return, Ben told him about Hadestown, the work hours, the jobs, the forgetfulness, the cruelty of Slip and the executives.

“Why haven’t you fought back yet?” Juno asked, limping through the door to the hideout before gingerly lowering himself onto a mat on the floor.

Ben shot him a confused look. “What are you talking about, Super Steel?”

“Against the executives. Against Slip. This whole thing is so unfair. Why haven’t you guys tried to fight back yet?”

“Not sure.” A tall person with long white dreads who was seated at the table responded as they entered. “Maybe it’s because they own all of us?” 

“Hey, Vespa? You here? We got someone who needs some patching up!” Ben called into the recesses of the house.

A moment or two later, a woman with short, spiky, neon green hair emerged, rubbing her eyes. “This better be good, Steel. I was in the middle of a nap,” she muttered, shooting daggers at Ben.

“It’s my brother. My twin. He’s got some scrapes and a couple nasty bruises you might wanna look at.”

The woman, Vespa, glanced between Ben and Juno before giving Ben a glare that could have singed wood. “You woke me up for some scrapes and bruises?”

Ben went completely silent and stared at the floor. The person opened their mouth to speak, but Juno beat them to it. “Yeah, he did. I think I got a broken rib, too.”

Vespa’s lazer-sharp gaze turned on him the second he began speaking. Juno stared right back. She looked him up and down for a moment before letting out a small huff and turning back down the dark hallway she came from. She returned shortly after, carrying a small bag filled with medical supplies that she threw down next to Juno.

“Is it true?” Juno asked, wincing occasionally as Vespa began to take a small antiseptic wipe to some of the more prominent scrapes.

“Is what true?” Ben countered, leaning against one wall.

“That Nureyev signed the contract. That there’s nothing I can do to save him.”

“Yup,” chirped Vespa. “We’re all fucked down here.”

“Vespa,” the person at the table said, shooting a warning glance in her direction. “Leave him be. He just lost his husband.”

Vespa sighed. “I know, I know, M’tendere, but if he’s going to be down here, he should at least know what he’s up against.”

“It’s just…. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. None of this is fair!”

“We know, Juno,” Ben sighed. “We also don’t think it’s fair that the world is like this, but that’s the way it is.”

There was silence for a minute as Juno chewed on his lip and Vespa finished bandaging one of the more major cuts.

“It shouldn’t be that way,” Juno finally whispered into the silence. “If I can’t save him, then what’s the point of me even being here? If none of you can ever work your way out of here, then what is the point of working at all?”

Ben, Vespa, and M’tendere exchanged a look. Juno continued staring at the floor, biting his tongue. This was just… so unfair. And he was so sick and tired of having to deal with it. He was slowly losing everything he had to Hadestown: his husband, his brother, his health, and now his ability to change anything for the better. It didn’t work on the surface, so why should it work down here?

But slowly, M’tendere began to nod. “He’s right, you know. Why should we even be working if we aren’t getting anything out of it?”

“You said it yourself! Because they own us,” Ben said as he threw his hands up to the ceiling.

“But there’s more of us than there are of them. Strength in numbers and all that. It isn’t right that a small group should tell everyone what is true and what is right. The many should decide that for themselves.” Vespa stood from where she had been crouching next to Juno on the floor.

“You could bring Hadestown to a standstill if you all just stopped working for a few days,” Juno said, easing himself up off the ground to stand next to Vespa. “Coal miners used to do it back on the surface to get better working conditions and pay. It could work here too.”

Ben was quiet for a minute, and Juno noticed that his face had gone suddenly thoughtful. “Huh. They couldn’t stop all of us, could they? If we partied around and had wine and flowers for a few days?”

A slow grin crept over Juno’s face. “No. No, they could only try.”

A matching grin appeared on Ben’s face. “Well, then. In that case, M’tendere, would you mind drafting some invitations? And Vespa, would you mind spreading them around? It seems we’ve got a party to plan.”