forthelorewick

[forthelorewick]

Blessed with Beauty and Rage

ch. 4 - “Beauties and feelings, such as would have been most sweet to my remembrance”

“This Lime-tree Bower my Prison” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Series summary:

The very core of who you are is hypocritical. Every day is a reminder of what you've lost, of who you've allowed yourself to become. Your walls are built around your heart like the fortress of Jackson, until… a certain man tries to pry his way through. How long can you withstand such intrusion? Will your heart ever open, will your soul ever heal, the way you have helped so many others do? Will you ever learn that you're worth saving too?

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Chapter contents: grief, guilt, kinda fluffy tbh, some cursing.

WC: 8k

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Late March 2024:

The undeniable ache of guilt has become a constant companion. A reminder of those you've lost and those whom you had taken for granted. The unceasing push and pull within your ribcage reminding you that you were alive and they weren't.

So many of your family members remained in the place you detested. You had moved across the country in an attempt to live as far away from your family as you could. The town seemed too small, everyone crammed into one place. Grandparents, siblings, cousins, extended family… the city’s population may have been hundreds of thousands, but to you it was just too small. Stuffy, southern, conservative. It felt as though anywhere you went there was a chance of seeing someone who knew you, or more likely… knew your family.

Your grandparents— the deacon, the choir director, the missionaries, the evangelist… How had you fallen so far from the tree? The only inklings of similarity was your involvement with the choir as a child. Melting into the harmonies and orchestra within the church walls, the blend of hope and repentance echoing from mournful souls. There was an odd allure to it. The hope bleeding from people's vocal cords and lungs, the beautiful symphony of a hope in something bigger than them. The hope something or someone would some day save them from the eternal cruelty of this world.

If only they had known at the time that God had abandoned the human race a long time ago. But you could talk the talk of hope, love, joy and the importance of these things. As if there still was or ever had been an all-powerful, all-knowing creator who had tested the human race so grandiosely for some greater purpose.

You understood the purpose of individual faith, of community, of believing in a higher power… but understanding was as far as it went.

Your understanding and fascination with religion went beyond the music and the compositions. You found yourself drawn to the human condition— which objectively fascinated you with religion as a mere facet of it. That's what led you to studying psychology, which turned to anthropology… which propelled you into psychiatry.

To Jackson, you were practically a psychiatrist although you had never gone to med school. You had finished your bachelor’s at 20, completed a master’s in therapy and counseling, and had been taking a year off before you were to be off to med-school. You were a rare breed in the new world— someone willing to listen to whoever wanted to speak of the horrors brought by the end of the world as you knew it. To see individuality in the midst of widespread destruction.

You were a shrink, that's what they called you in Jackson. You know if you didn't exist they could easily go without. You weren't a necessity, but you knew you could help and so you did in the ways you knew how. Even in this abnormal reality your skills serve a purpose. Yet, you suppose, this is the closest to normal society as this world knows it. There is a familiarity here. Hope, love, and faith remain inextinguishable. Community and support finding their roots as people get reaccustomed to humanity.

This is your primary position in this odd society you've found for yourself. You liked to keep busy otherwise and a shrink wasn't needed all the time. You were mostly upon request, and to evaluate people for patrol and children in school. Your office was made to be cozy and welcoming to your patients.

You are one of Jackson’s youngest founding members. You had learned that you were very fortunate to never encounter a QZ or quarantine zone like so many others you had encountered throughout the years. You had survived out in the vast wilderness for so long and had minimal encounters with FEDRA or the Fireflies. Sure you had encountered brutal groups of raiders and those who would harm you without second thought, but you were careful and you knew the world was “us or them.” You knew that after having to kill that first person or rather infected who had lunged at you on that fateful day of September 26, 2003.

According to those who had encountered these bigger groups, they expressed that it was practically a war for power and leverage— tale as old as time. It wrought destruction wherever society had tried to establish itself and enforce itself amongst its inhabitants. And you knew, because you studied these patterns in textbooks. It was repetitive throughout history. Living through it has been much different than reading about it in your textbooks. Who would've thought. You can hear a familiar voice quip in the back of your mind. You're grateful you've never allowed yourself to forget that voice.

You sit behind your desk across from a particularly wily teen, she is restless and won't look you in the eye. Her eyes wandered throughout your room, scanning the posters you had made, the art you had decorated the walls with.

“You do those?” She finally speaks, her leg nervously bouncing and her fingers gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

You tilt your head and nod. “Mhmm” you hum, watching her as she realizes how intently you are studying her.

“What the fuck are you lookin’ at me like that for?” She snaps, clearly not appreciative of the attention.

“Just asked your name,” you wait for an answer if she's willing to. You're not startled by her harsh language, and you can tell by her sly grin that she's used to people correcting her language.

“If I give you it will you quit lookin’ at me like you're tryin’ to figure me out,” she quips back, her eyes still refusing to meet yours.

“That's my job.” You state, letting out a deep breath and you stop staring, looking down at some papers on your desk.

“Ellie,” her fingers loosen to push a strand of hair out of her face. The movement of warm air through the room makes her baby hairs tickle her nose and she sniffles— trying not to sneeze.

You grin and you look back up at her after you feel her trying to study you right back.

“Ellie, nice to meet you.” You give her your name and tell her the purpose of this meeting.

She slowly nods her head and rolls her eyes.

“You were in Boston QZ before this, correct?” You ask.

She just nods and huffs as she slinks back into the chair.

You try to hide a smirk as the typical teenage mannerisms withstand all tests of time and circumstance.

You schedule her for an evaluation test for children her age, she'd be a sophomore in highschool, fifteen… from what you knew about QZ it would be the equivalent of 8th grade. But you can't expect the same focus on education when everyone is just trying to make it to the next day. You're grateful for any formal education at all for these kids.

You still can't comprehend that it's been two decades since the outbreak, that even twenty year olds don’t remember before. I mean hell, thirty year olds were only ten… you had only been twenty-three. Now you're, fuck… forty-three, nearly forty-four as you inch towards Spring.

“Are we done here?” She huffs again, her arms tight across her body as she watches you jott her information down.

“Yes,” you close your notebook and slot the pen into the binding. “Make sure you're here tomorrow at 10am, and after that we can talk about what you can expect from school here in Jackson. And make sure to tell your dad so he can hold you accountable to be here. I promise… this is a good thing.” You offer her a smile, and she finally looks into your eyes.

“Not my dad,” she mutters under her breath as she grips the arms of the chair and lifts herself up, making her way towards the door. She turns towards you again and pauses.

“So… what are you?” She asks, tilting her head as she studies you. Your desk, your outfit, your hair… A chill runs down your spine as you're being observationally interrogated by this kid. You should be more used to this by now, but you're not. Being seen makes you want to run away and hide, but it's part of the job. Can't just people watch, you have to interact. At least you've learned how to keep your cool under prodding eyes.

“I'm a guidance counselor as of this moment.” You set aside your notebook and sit back in your chair.

She hums in response, pursing her lips in consideration, “So… what, you just guide kids and decide what they have to do in school?”

You nod your head in a ‘you’re half-way there’ kinda way.

“So what else do you do when you're not ‘as of this moment’,” she mocks your verbiage and you fight back a grin. Curiosity is one of your favorite qualities in kids, every topic under the sun you were ecstatic to dive into and satiate some curiosity… well, most everything.

“I'm what they call a shrink, people come to me when they want to talk.”

“About what?” She quickly quips back in, you can see her gears turning. Clearly she had never encountered someone of this occupation before in the QZ, not surprising.

“Anything they want to talk about or want to work through. Troubles they're having, bad dreams, trouble focusing, mental and emotional stuff.” You hope to encourage her curiosity as best as you can, yet grandly simplifying the prospects of what you do.

“So… you just listen to people's problems?” She tilts her head again, leaning against the chair she had been sitting on as she looks at you intently.

You nod your head and smile sweetly. “That's the idea. Doesn't have to be all problems.”

“So if you listen to everyone else's problems, who is left to listen to yours?” She is insatiably curious it seems.

You open your mouth to reply— but you never really pondered that before, you were unsure what might be your reply. Miraculously, knuckles rapt against the open door frame interrupting whatever train of thought either you or Ellie were on.

You both turn towards the door as a brooding figure breaches the room. He just huffs as he looks at you, quickly turning towards Ellie.

“‘M I interruptin’?” He looks between the two of you. His eyes linger on you and his brows furrowed for a split second before he looks back at Ellie. “Tommy told me I'd find y' here.” His stocky form not moving as he waits for a reply.

“We were just finishing up.” You nod your head towards Ellie and she nods back, you hate the look of someone trying to figure you out but you shake it off. You wonder how people deal with you doing that to them. Looking at you and trying to see your bare bones, your spiritual bruises. You wonder what people might see. But your curiosity for the human condition never wandered towards yourself. It was always people watching or observing, listening and being attentive to those around you. It was a one-way street, not for someone to come waltzing in to do the same to you. “You can take a Tootsie pop if you’d like,” you motion towards a glass jar on your desk, a usual favorite for those who visit your office.

“Can’t be the real thing though, can it?” The older man asks.

“Specially made. You’re free to have one as well if you’d like.” Being friends with a baker who enjoyed making candy was definitely a blessing.

He stares at the jar and his jaw ticks, a slight amusement spread on his lips. “Always was a favorite of mine, but not this time ‘round.” He turns back to Ellie.

“C’mon kiddo, dinner.” Is all he says. He offers you a polite nod, but nothing beyond that. A familiar interaction, reminiscent of a time before — when interacting with school officials used to be a normal requirement for parents. Consistent tracking of their child’s progress and social skills— things that seem so foreign now, but Jackson was intent on bringing that focus back to the children.

You can see his back straighten and tense as they turn and leave your office and head towards the exit of the school. A wave of memory passed through you at the oddly out of place familiarity which you had to shake out of your body to move past. Not allowing it to linger.

You tilt your head as the footsteps disappear down the hall. Dad. You saw him and that's what you saw in him, a dad from before. And you already knew that. You’ve known Tommy for nearly a decade, but seeing the man you'd heard so much about was a different side of this knowledge. You suck in a deep breath.

Over-analysing everything and everyone was your specialty, but it was also a fucking curse. You wish it was only offered information, that your brain didn't try to fill in-between, the non-verbal, the body language, the reactions… It was exhausting. You weren't always right, but unfortunately for you, it was very rare that you weren't.

People trusted you professionally, but were wary of you elsewhere. Didn't like that you could read them, and you didn't blame them. You completely understood that, you were lucky that you were the only cursed one in those regards.

But Ellie seemed awfully curious, now that you're thinking back to the conversation— Like she was trying to read you. You shake your head and get up from your desk. She's just a kid, she’s just curious. That's nothing new.

You grab your winter coat, flip off the light switch, and close the door of your office behind you. As if right on queue a familiar voice calls for you from down the street, towards the mess hall.

“Hey, M.C.” you shiver as you adjust to the cold winter air.

“Maria’s been looking for you,” she falls into step beside you as you make your way back to your house.

You merely continue walking, knowing she'll fill you in on whatever the hell she’s on about.

“Says it's a family meeting thing,” she continues, she's got a bright smile on her face and looks up towards the sky, a brand new snowfall is beginning yet again. “Says dinner tomorrow at 7pm if you can make it, that new man and girl will be there.”

You nod again, it makes sense, he is Tommy’s brother after all. Tommy and Maria were family at this point, you'd known Maria and her father for a year or so as they formulated the plan to build this fortress which was now Jackson. Nearly a decade ago now.

You were there when they planned the defenses, outlined the borders, harvested the trees, fixed up the houses. You had a hand in most projects, always wanting to stay busy. You would help cook and prepare the meals for the men who did most of the work. Thankfully, someone else took that role as the town became more established. Lucy and her sisters showing up would be considered heaven-sent if you believed in that.

You helped build the greenhouse which Kristina or Kris took over, she had been a farmer and had the greenest thumb you'd ever known.

The Tipsy Bison was part of an old bar so it already had the right set up, but it quickly became Sean and Leslie’s passion project. A functioning moonshine distillery out back, aged barrels of whiskey being cultivated, and the start of a vineyard about a mile outside of town.

Starting off with a mere forty people, you were now part of a community of around three hundred. By occupation, you knew each and every one by name. And as wary as people were around you initially, they trusted you. You were, what could be considered as, a pillar in the community.

People wanted purpose, they wanted connection, they wanted to make a difference and put their skills to use. No different than you, and at least your purpose continued to be fruitful for those in the community. Not everyone wanted to talk, you never made them. Couldn't stop you from understanding and sometimes that made people uneasy. So, you stayed away unless sought after. The best you could anyways, especially around new people.

It's why the only interaction you had with Tommy’s dark and brooding brother Joel thus far had been those few brief encounters.

You’d admit to yourself at some point that it was merely an excuse which allowed those professional boundaries to continue shielding you, and to keep your own walls up. You were simply better off alone, you preferred the company of the dogs at the kennels or the horses at the stables.

“I think that girl is a real piece of work,” M.C. says as you walk side by side, kicking a chunk of snow which had begun to melt.

You look over at her and raise an eyebrow at her. She always was opinionated. Again, you didn't have to ask, she'd tell you anyway. The air always suspends as she goes on a ramble.

“Asked if I could join her at lunch and she almost launched herself over the table at me with a knife in hand.”

You scoff at the scene in your head, then nod understandably. “She's been through a lot.” You look over at M.C. and sigh, “glad she didn't hurt you.” Satisfying M.C.’s need for that reassurance from you, it's her hook, line, and sinker to get you to admit you care for her, at least verbally. There should be no doubt to be had for how much you cared for her, however, she needed some verbal reminders along with everything else. You could do that.

“Thanks,” she huffs, “reminds me of J.R.”

You turn towards her and wrap your arms around her shoulder, “about that age…” you pull her close as you feel her head hang low for a moment before she pops back up.

“Kinda reminds me of you too, you know.” She smiles up at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh, is that right?” you chuckle, watching the younger woman bend down to scoop a bit of snow into her glove covered hand. She molds it into a ball and pulls her arm back and up, you could tell she was aiming it right for your head. And she's got a hell of an arm on her.

You sigh deeply as she launches the snowball and you manage to easily dodge it. You see M.C.’s eyes widen as she looks behind you in embarrassment, her face already pink from the frigid winter air turning even more red.

“I'm so sorry, I wasn't aiming for you, I didn't know you were behind us, I'm so sorry…” she's stammering an apology and you have to stifle a laugh as you turn to see who's approached from behind you.

It was Joel, holding up his hand, gesturing for her to stop her apologies as he wipes the snow from the collar of his jacket. “Good aim, kid,” is all he says, barely a grumble, but audible from where you were standing.

“Had a great teacher,” she looks at you, indicating who her teacher was. You roll your eyes briefly.

“What can I do for you?” you ask as politely as you can knowing this isn’t a social call.

“Jus’ walkin to my house,” he motions his head towards Ellie who was waiting for him on the porch and giggling, having watched the whole debacle.

You look at M.C. who has quickly shaken off her embarrassment. Never lasts long. “You've finally got a neighbor!” She tries to break the quiet tension.

“Suppose so,” your shoulders draw closer to your head as a winter breeze stings your face.

You had lived on this empty street for nearly two years now. It only had yours and three other remodeled houses, but no one had occupied them. They were bigger houses for those who may come in with larger groups who wanted to stay together, or if someday someone grew a larger family and wanted to relocate.

Maria and Tommy had insisted you stay closer to them, but you had grown particularly attached to this house once you began its repairs. They knew once you had your heart set on something, they would not be the ones to stand between you and it. It was a four bedroom, two bathroom house with a large back deck and a fenced in backyard that you had spent countless hours tearing down and replacing broken boards of the picket fence and deck, repairing windows, deep cleaning the entirety of it and ensuring no dust bunnies remained. Even at the end of the world, your allergy to dust taunts you with its impracticality. You scrubbed the house head to toe, and used the paint Tommy had found on a patrol to paint the master bedroom a soothing light blue. You had painted the door the same color. This was your sanctuary.

“Joel, c’mon it's fucking cold!” You hear Ellie half-yell as the wind whips at us.

You see Joel mumble ‘language’ grumpily under his breath as he walks towards the front porch of the house. Now you know where that look from before in your office had come from, when you hadn't scolded her for her language.

Don't look, don't look. Your brain screams to you as you tear your eyes from the brief, unintentional glance at Joel. You knew if you looked at him you'd see more than you wanted to, more than his broad shoulders… his long, thick legs. The tanned skin beneath greying curls at the nape of his neck. The black toque he wore covered his usual brown hair with streaks of grey which you had caught glimpses of when he wasn't wearing a hat. Just so— him. Everything about him just makes sense to you.

You peel your eyes away again, and turn away from his house to your own. Trudging through the snow of the walkway to get to your front steps. You mentally note to shovel it tomorrow morning so any snowfall overnight will be fresh and easier to move.

“Your type,” you hear M.C. murmur behind you. You elbow her ribs harshly, holding back a chuckle as she huffs in pain but doesn't say anything. It was a common enough occurrence.

“No,” you don't acknowledge her words any further as you step into the warmth of your home. You shed your jacket and take M.C.’s to hang on the coat tree.

“You need to get out and live a little,” she begins shaking the snow out of her hat.

“Not him,” you state, a stern look on your face as she rolls her eyes and kicks off her boots. “Now stop shaking snow all over the place.”

“You're a boring hag,” she grumbles, shivering and collapsing dramatically onto the couch in your living room.

“I'm not,” it’s barely audible as you walk up the stairs to your bedroom to get changed into more suitable clothing for your next shift.

“You are, how long has it been since you've gotten laid again?” She calls, you can hear her footsteps echoing as she walks into the kitchen, brewing coffee as she waits.

“M.C. that's still none of your business,” you peek your head out of the bedroom door so your voice can travel down the stairs.

“I'm thirty now, you know. I'm not an innocent kid anymore, I'm not a vir-”

You cut her off promptly, you've already heard it before. You're the one she talks to about it, after all. “You always will be to me, kid.”

You hear an exasperated sigh as she putts around while you get changed. A few minutes later you're back downstairs, grabbing your own cup of coffee in your most reliable jeans, layered with your soft pajama pants beneath them and thick wool socks you were so grateful for in this weather. Your jeans still had paint stains from when you painted the stables a few months ago.

“So what's on the task-list for today?” M.C. can tell you're not in the mood for further discussion on that matter. Knowing when you're in an antisocial “mood”, that the only thing you'll talk about is work or… no, that's about it.

“Today is Horseshoe day, I'll try to get around to two or three of the horses,” you set your coffee on an end table and pull your boots back on and tie the laces tight.

“And I'm bringing Apollo back home with me today since his paw is still healing from stepping on that nail. Poor little guy.” You bloom when you talk about work, you can't really talk about your other job— what with patient-therapist confidentiality and all.

“Are you ready for winter to be over?” She is trying to keep the conversation light as you finish your coffee, holding the mug tightly against your hands. They always take the longest to warm up.

You hum quietly as you set the mug aside. “What are we doing this year, do you have any plans?” You can see the gears turning in her head as you approach this topic. The beginning of spring always marks another year and another birthday celebration for M.C.’s sister who will forever remain fifteen. It's tradition and the way you commemorate the people you’ve lost. It was healthy, it had been your idea a few years ago. She had just one sibling, whereas you had three, so this time of year seemed the most appropriate to celebrate the lives of those you had lost. The fade into a new season, flowers blooming, the air slowly warming. It was the mark of a new beginning, and you hoped that someday… it could be that for you too.

Your birthday was only six days after J.R.’s, but you had forgone celebrating it since the outbreak and you were stern on that matter.

Over time, the sting of loss and grief morphed its way into a semblance of guilt. Then, it became the one thing that brought you meaning through your survival. The reason you kept going, kept helping others, kept listening. It seemed that M.C. was healthily dealing with those losses, with your guidance, listening ear, and support— she had made strides. It helped that you shared a lot of the same lost loved ones. She was able to mourn and grieve and be at peace. You knew you could never do the same.

You were always a hypocrite, you knew that most of all.

Talk the talk yet never walk the walk. Another curse of yours, regardless of how hard you had tried.

The difference was that you never had any faith. Not in yourself, not in any higher power, not in any other person… your soul was lonely and restless. You were okay with that, you weren't here for you. You were here for M.C. and Maria and Tommy and the town who had come to rely on you to just listen. To just be. You could do that.

“I was thinking of talking to Kris and getting some rose bushes put outside my house,” she says, smiling sweetly.

You smile in return, a sweet sentiment towards both her sister and one of your own. As well as your grandmother. Rose. Jenny Rose. Brittany Rose. And even your own whom you had named directly after your grandmother. Rosemonde. Fittingly so, your grandmother also loved to keep rose bushes.

“I think that would be perfect, just like grandma used to have.” You grab your coat from the coat tree and pull it on. You replace your toque to your head and wrap your plaid scarf around your neck, tucking the ends into your coat.

M.C. nods her head and gives you a shy smile. “Lots of Roses in our family, seems fitting.”

“I love it,” you reassure her again, knowing that she appreciates your thoughts on the matter, even if they’re brief.

“I’m glad I got to meet and know her, you know.”

Your jaw tenses and you take a deep breath, pausing as you reach your hand towards the doorknob. “Yeah,” it’s just a whisper under your breath.

“Normal time?” M.C. stands up from your couch and follows you to the front door, she has her own shift to get to.

“Yep, see ya bright and early,” the two of you leave the house, you hold the door and let her out before closing it behind you.

Going your separate ways, you turn to wave to each other and then head in opposite directions.

At the same time, Ellie emerged from the house across the street with her hands shoved in her pockets, grumbling to herself. She sees you and raises an eyebrow as she sees you walking towards the stables and kennels.

“Where are you headed?” She approaches you— ever curious, this one.

“Stables,” you continue on your way and give her a warm smile. The wind is howling around you as the sun begins disappearing over the horizon.

“You start a shift outside this late at night?” She kicks a clump of snow and giggles as the fresh layer of powder flies everywhere.

“Mhmm, just a few things tonight.” your gloves hands are buried in your pockets as you keep your shoulders hunched to block out as much of the wind as you can.

“Like what?”

“Horseshoes are due for replacin’.” You grin as she walks with you. You oblige her curiosity and guide her to the stables. You grab the new horseshoes and all the materials you will need to complete this task, Ellie is happily following you around asking slews of questions which you oblige as she observes the ease of everything with your practiced expertise.

The stable smells of hay and leather, the rhythmic swish of tails filling the quiet morning air. She watches your every move, absorbing your words like sunlight.

“Why do you talk like a Southerner? You're not Texan like Joel, are you?”

“I'm from the South, but no, I'm not from Texas,” and you leave it at that.

She sighs in disapproval to your brief reply and refusal to give anything else about you away as she watches you closely.

You kneel beside the horse, gently running your hand down its leg. You lift the hoof with a firm yet gentle grip, resting it on your knees and showing her how to cradle it in your hand. “Look here,” you point to the old shoe, “You need to check for any cracks, debris, or signs of infection in the hoof before you start.” She crouches beside you, eyes wide as she studies the sole. “See that?” you gesture to a small stone lodged in the frog. “That’s why we clean them out regularly.”

“Now for the old shoe,” you explain, picking up the pull-offs. “These are what you’ll use to loosen and remove the nails.” You demonstrate, gripping the edge of the shoe and working each nail out carefully. “It’s important to be patient here. Don’t rush it, or you could hurt the hoof.”

She mimics your movements on the next hoof, her hands a little unsure. You guide her, placing your hand over hers to adjust her grip. “Good,” you encourage. “See how it starts to loosen?” She nods, a small smile forming as the shoe comes free.

With the shoe off, you grab the hoof pick. “Now, we clean it thoroughly,” scraping away dirt and debris with one hand, you pick up the nippers with the other, their polished blades glinting in the light, “and then we trim.”

“Here’s the tricky part,” you eye her carefully to ensure she's paying attention. “You only want to trim enough to balance the hoof. Too much, and the horse will be sore.” You take small, deliberate cuts. Then, you hand the nippers to her. She hesitates but follows your lead, trimming carefully under your watchful eye.

“Good,” you nod your head in approval, showing her how to smooth the edges with the rasp. “Feel that? It should be even, not rough.” She runs her hand over the hoof and grins. “I got it!”

You watch her bright smile, her eyes lit up in excitement.

You grab a new shoe from the rack, holding it up for her to see. “Next, we fit the new shoe. Every hoof is unique, so sometimes you’ll need to shape the shoe a bit.” You place it against the hoof, checking the fit. “See? This one’s a perfect fit. Justin and Michael operate the forge and fit the shoes for the horses with my instructions. Then, they bring them back and I replace ‘em.”

“Now comes the nailing,” you pick up a hammer and nails. “This part can be intimidating, but as long as you aim for the white line, you’ll be fine.” You position the first nail and drive it in with a few firm taps.

Handing her the hammer, you guide her through the process, “Keep your hand steady.” She bites her lip in concentration, driving the nail home. “Got it!” she exclaims, her face lighting up again.

You finish the job together, bending and clipping the nails, then rasping the edges smooth. “See how secure it is?” you ask, tapping the shoe. She nods, pride shining in her eyes.

“And you just shoed your first horse,” you beam as she giggles in excitement.

“Last step, though” you lower the hoof to the ground. “Always check the horse’s gait after re-shoeing. Make sure they’re moving comfortably.” You lead the horse in a slow circle, watching closely.

The horse’s steps are steady and even. “Looks good. You did great for your first time.”

She blushes at the compliment and digs her toe in the dirt, brushing her hands off on her jeans, “Thanks for showing me.”

You smile, resting a hand on her shoulder, “Had to get done anyway, happy to show you.”

You take her to the next horse and let her instruct you with what to do, what comes next, what tools to use. You fill in the holes of anything she wasn't sure about or even basic things to remember when doing it. She watches you excitedly and requests to nail the shoe on. You let her and watch her closely. You nod in satisfaction and she bursts with excitement. “I did it!”

“Ellie, there you are. Been lookin’ f’you.” you both turn to face the man who had just entered the stables.

“See, you both are so Southern.”

“Gotta tell me next time you run off like that,” she rolls her eyes at his scolding.

“Just wanted to see what Shrink was up to is all, she taught me how to shoe horses!” Great, now she's calling you that too. You don't correct her.

She leans against one of the swinging gates, rocking back and forth.

“Stop that, damagin’ the hinge…” he glances at you for a moment and nods in acknowledgement to what she had said.

“So bossy,” she groans as she complies, turning back towards you with a wide grin. “This was awesome, I really like being around the horses.”

“Kid’s a natural,” you shrug your shoulders as you go over what you showed Ellie and how she was handling the horses pretty well even though it was her first time working with them.

Ellie runs off for a moment to go talk to the horse you had just reshoed together, gently patting his neck and petting his head.

Joel merely listens, a smile briefly spreading on his lips as he glances at Ellie with the horse as you talk fondly of Ellie's natural skills with animals.

“Thanks for showin’ her, I know she can be a lot with all her questions,” his hands were buried in his pockets. The night was beginning to settle in. Although it was warmer in the stables, the winter breeze at night was enough to chill you deep in your bones.

“No worries at all, it was nice to have the company.” You shiver and do the same with your hands. You were surprised you actually meant that, you usually preferred the solitary work of working with animals. But you always enjoyed fulfilling some curiosity with kids. Especially since you knew Ellie had been having some trouble interacting with others since she got back from wherever she and Joel had gone.

“Gonna need some gloves,” you look over to Ellie who seemed perfectly content since she was in a stall and hidden from the breezy alley of the stables.

He hums in agreement and beckons Ellie over. “Bedtime, kiddo, gettin’ late.”

She huffs, a resting smile on her face and turns with that glint in her eyes that means she's got more questions to ask, always does. “Can I help with the next ones?”

“I'll be back out every night to reshoe until I'm done, you're always welcome as long as it's okay with him.” He nods in your direction, appreciating including him in that decision.

“I don't think we ever formally met,” you extend your hand out to Joel and introduce yourself. You knew of each other previously, of course. You were close with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy's wife, Maria.

You’ve met him before—briefly, in passing. That one night by the stables… then merely a nod here, a wave there. Nothing substantial, just fragments of acknowledgment that barely hinted at what it might feel like to stand face to face with him again. Now, here in the stables, the air is heavy with the smell of hay and leather, and he’s looking at you as though he’s noticing you for the first time. Maybe he is.

He takes your hand and you have to resist the urge to memorize every tiny sensation of him touching you. His grip is firm, his palm calloused, and for a moment, neither of you let go. It’s not awkward—not quite—but it’s long enough for something unspoken to pass between you

He’s not the sort of man who makes introductions easy. There’s a quiet steadiness and intensity to him, the kind of presence that fills the space without trying. His brown hair greys at the temples, and the lines at the corners of his eyes seem earned rather than given. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with hands that look like they’ve known hard work and brutality in equal measure. You catch yourself staring too long at them before shifting your gaze to his face.

“Joel,” the moment seems suspended, at least from your perspective. Your hands finally let go and find their ways back at your sides and then slip back into your pockets.

The deep, chocolate brown of his eyes were mesmerizing in the dim lighting of the stables. Ellie is nearby, fussing with the brushes on the stable wall, completely oblivious—or perhaps pretending to be. She’s good at that, you’ve noticed. Clever and calculating. She’s humming under her breath, an unspoken permission for the two of you to take this moment for what it is. She wants you two to get along, likely to be able to gain his favor in returning to the stables.

It's odd, it should be awkward just standing there even for a brief moment, but it's comfortable. You finally address Ellie after a few moments, clearing your throat gently, “Guess I'll be seeing you around. And don't forget, 10am.”

Ellie nods and smiles at the two of you, but rolls her eyes. “Don’t you want to walk with us? We’re basically going to the same place.”

You glance at Joel, who’s still looking at Ellie, his jaw tight with some unspoken thought.

You shake your head, denying her request to walk back with them, “Headed to the kennels before I head back,” you explain. “One of the pups is healing from an injury and needs some extra T.L.C.”

Ellie scoffs at the phrase. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Tender lovin’ care,” Joel answers before you can, his tone flat but quiet, like the words cost him just enough to make you notice. Ellie’s face scrunches with exaggerated disapproval, shaking her head.

“Weirdos.”

“Takes one to know one,” you retort without thinking, earning a sharp laugh from Ellie. She tries to stifle it, but it spills out, raw and unfiltered. You grin, the sound unexpectedly lifting something heavy in the air.

Joel shakes his head at her, his lips twitching like he’s trying to contain a grin of his own. For a moment, he looks younger, less burdened, though the edges of his warmth feel guarded, like something he’s forgotten how to share freely.

Ellie looks between the two of you, an amused glint in her eye. “Well, thanks again, you can catch up with me, Joel.” She nods her head sternly as if letting you know she’s intentionally leaving you two for a moment. She spins on her heel and heads toward the path leading out of the stables. Joel watches her go, his gaze lingering with a softness that seems at odds with the hard lines of his expression.

“I should get going too,” you say, breaking the silence. The words feel stilted, out of place, like they don’t belong in the charged air between you.

Joel shifts his weight, looking at you now. His gaze is steady, unreadable, yet it carries a weight that makes you want to look away and hold it all at once. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he says, his voice low, his drawl stretching the syllables just enough to make the simple phrase feel layered.

“Right,” you tuck your hands into your pockets as if to ground yourself. “We’re just across the way, so… yeah.”

He nods, his eyes flicking to the space between your boots and back up. “S’how neighbors typically work.” He repeats that sentiment M.C. had mentioned earlier.

It feels like a statement and a question all at once.

“Yep,” a faint smile begins tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Joel doesn’t smile back, not fully, but there’s a shadow of it in his expression, in the slight tilt of his head. He takes a step toward the path Ellie disappeared down, then hesitates, but continues down the path after Ellie.

You stand there for a moment longer, watching his broad shoulders disappear into the moonlight.

Somehow, the space he leaves behind feels different than it should. Like he was always meant to be there.

As you walk with Apollo in your arms the moon rises high in the sky. You approach your front porch and see movement in your peripheral coming from Joel’s house.

Soon, the door swings open and Ellie is pulling on her boots, you can nearly hear Joel scoldingly asking where’s she going and she gives a brief answer you can’t quite hear. “Do you mind if I say hi?” She bounds down the stairs of their house and approaches you.

You raise a brow until you feel the wag of a tail against you from Apollo. “Oh- sure, this is Apollo.”

He sniffs her hand experimentally before happily accepting her hand on the top of his head as she pats him.

Joel watches, the light seeping around him from behind his broadness in the doorway.

His ankles crossed as his shoulder leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Not wearing the coat and flannel layers you were used to seeing him in. Just a long sleeve shirt rolled up his forearms revealing the thickness of his wrists and the bulge of his muscles in the tight shirt. His chest stretching the fabric… Your eyes found their way down to his jeans which stretched tight around his muscular thighs…your gaze travels back to his eyes which immediately bore into yours. His head tilted more than it had been just a moment ago.

You have to peel your eyes away, blinking rapidly and steadying your breath from its momentary lapse of judgement.

Get a grip. You have to demand in your head, focusing back on the wriggly dog in your hands. Ellie fussed over him while his tail continued its rhythmic whack against you as you held him firmly.

You feel your face burn but you refuse to make eye contact with him again. You can feel the sheer heat of his gaze on your face which you have to fight with all your willpower to not meet. You swallow harshly, then a few moments later hear his heavy booted steps coming down the stairs from his house.

Despite the temperature being near freezing, you suddenly feel hot, burning actually. And his lack of jacket with his exposed forearm as he reaches over to greet the puppy definitely doesn’t help.

He hasn’t looked at you since his eyes focused on the dog, you nearly sigh deeply in relief. You could bring yourself to believe he hadn’t really been looking at you, you had just fooled yourself because he had caught you staring and blatantly looking him up and down…

As soon as your heart begins to return to normal his eyes drag up to your face and a smirk is fixed on his face.

“Cute fella,” he addresses the dog as he looks back down at him. The dog is living for the extra attention. “What breed s’he?”

“Australian Cattle Dog,” you reply as smoothly as you can, but a bit of coarseness to your voice betrays you.

What the fuck is going on with you?

Joel’s eyes flick back up to yours, lingering on your lips for a moment before the slyest smile spreads on his own. He swallows harshly in return and steps back from the dog.

“Alright, let’s turn in for the night, kiddo,” he motions his head back to the house and she reluctantly stomps up the stairs.

You stand face to face with him once more and Apollo reaches his head towards Joel for more pats which Joel happily obliges and gives him a scratch behind his ear. Apollo really likes that, his tail thumps harder against you.

“I meant to thank you again for that one night. Turns out you’re right about Valerian root. Couldn’t get my hands on any Chamomile at the dispensary.”

You nod, rooted to the spot you were standing until you hear yourself mentioning that you had some chamomile leaves if he ever decides to give it a try. Your eyes go wide in surprise for a moment as you glance down to the snow, avoiding his eye contact.

Your eyes return to him to notice the nodding of his head and his chest rising and falling in a deep exhale and release of breath.

“You better get out of this cold,” you motion your head towards where Ellie was rolling her eyes from the doorway, waiting for him in the warmth of their house.

He merely nods again and turns to return to his house, before he takes any steps he hesitates and makes a half-turn to make eye contact with you again. “G’night.”

You shiver as the wind whips at you, you hold Apollo a little closer to your chest.

“G’night” you reply, but he’s already disappeared into his house.

You quickly turn to enter your own house, your face feels warm. You walk over to the couch and set Apollo down gently, offering him a blanket from the back of the couch. He curls into your side as you sit beside him and you exhale a shaky laugh of disbelief. Your heart is beating at a quickened pace.

No fucking way- you’ve got a crush.

You lie awake through the night, restless as usual, but this time your thoughts are consumed by the man across the street. You don’t have much to go off of yet, you’d think there wasn’t much to overthink… Yet you’re proven wrong as you replay every glance, every word, every encounter— dissecting each one in search of meaning. You try to convince yourself it was all just harmless neighborly kindness, dismissing any moment that might have alluded to anything more.

It surprised you, though. That he would even spare a glance your way… let alone be neighborly.

You’ve never been so surprised by someone before. He makes so much sense yet none all at once.

Hush now darlings, they have a long ways to go.

[forthelorewick]

Blessed with Beauty and Rage

Chapter 3: “Our own grist down to its bony face..”

“All the Dead Dears” by Sylvia Plath

Series summary:

The very core of who you are is hypocritical. Every day is a reminder of what you've lost, of who you've allowed yourself to become. Your walls are built around your heart like the fortress of Jackson, until… a certain man tries to pry his way through. How long can you withstand such intrusion? Will your heart ever open, will your soul ever heal, the way you have helped so many others do? Will you ever learn that you're worth saving too?

< prev. chap | masterlist | next chapter >

Chapter warnings: violence. Loss of a child, loss of a spouse, grief, rage, PTSD, trauma, raiders.

WC: 1.8k

Flashback chapter - no Joel. He’s comin don’t worry !

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April 2006:

Mary Cate was becoming remarkably observant for a ten-year-old, though she’d remind you at every opportunity that she’d be eleven soon. She knew when to be silent, following your instructions without a word, and she had a knack for identifying edible berries and plants from the books you’d given her. Quiet and resourceful, she was growing into someone you could rely on, even at such a young age.

You had a plan to get to the upper mountain’s cabins by summer. Down in the valley was fine for winter, but as the snow melted and the chances of people starting to venture back out in desperate need of supplies and provisions, you decided it would be best to move you where you doubt anyone would even know to go. It was too out of the way and not much was out there. It was only ski resort cabins, nothing in terms of provided supplies besides a first aid kit or two. On your first trip up there to scout things out you had scavenged what you could and chosen the cabin which would best suit you. It was by a small lake and was flat enough in its secluded valley that it would suit you two perfectly especially with the plans you had to start training her for the new reality of this world.

You brought the horses with your supplies on the second trip, four horses and three dogs were left on the ranch after the outbreak. Ever grateful for the fully stocked kitchen which had been left nearly untouched as only you and Mary Cate had stayed behind that fateful night. You had stayed away from the festivities which occurred down in the lower valley where there had been a big celebration marking the end of the tourist season. It was her fall break and she had begged her parents to let her come spend it at the ranch that you worked on. Her parents, your aunt and uncle, could hardly say no to her even as an eight year old. They had flown with her to Jackson Airport and promptly caught the next flight out… and you had planned to fly back with her afterwards. All the way across the country from where her family was. Where your family was.

Your intentions were as such, to be far away and build your own roots. You had gotten married young and were happy working on a ranch in the summer between your semesters of college at Stanford. That was your first summer you weren’t returning to college, you were about to begin the last phase to become a psychiatrist so you had taken a year off to work your final summer at the ranch.

However, with all of that obsolete, you are riddled with the guilt that if you had stayed closer and not ran so far away from your family, that Mary Cate may still have her parents and sister to be with. And maybe you’d still have your daughter and your husband who had been with you, choosing to enjoy the last few nights on the ranch instead of the social scene which wasn’t appropriate for children anyways.

September 26, 2003 was the last night of that old life. You and your family survived at the ranch together and waited out the first few months of the outbreak. Killing a few infected and adopting an “us or them” mindset. You couldn’t risk it with two young girls. You quickly lost count of how many lives, infected or not, had been taken by yours or your husband’s hands.

And now, April marked two months since your husband and daughter had gotten killed by raiders. In the middle of the night he had gone out to check the crunch of snow he had heard outside. Unbeknownst to him, your little Rosie had followed him. Only four years old, she was her daddy’s shadow. Following him everywhere, no questions asked. It had been too late when you had noticed their absence and found them just in time to watch the light drain from their eyes. Tears streamed down his face as they had forced him to watch as they stole every ounce of potential from your daughter. His eyes met yours as he mouthed I love you, I’m so sorry. Before his blood spilled on the snow beneath him and his body crumpled. The hideous laughs of maniacal men echoing through the now empty cavity from which your heart had just been ripped out of.

But you couldn’t follow your family into that eternal end, you couldn’t abandon Mary Cate and you sure as hell couldn’t let these bastards live another day. Waste any more oxygen or supplies on their worthless existences. Brutalize anyone else, not when you could do something about it.

It was as if every nerve of your body was on fire. You were morphing into something new, something terrifying.

You had instructed Mary Cate to hide in the storm cellar and barricade as best as she could. You had no fear that she was in any danger, but you wanted to protect her from what you were about to do.

You knew that Victor had only given himself up after careful consideration that it was Rosie’s only hope. That this would be the only potential way that they’d let Rosie go. It was never going to happen, but he was a good man and was willing to do whatever it took for even a chance that she might be spared. He would have done anything for any of you. He loved you and your family until his final breath.

That night you tracked down every last one of them. As soon as the sun had set you took your knife, your handgun, and your rifle to finish what they started.

Starting with those who had been sent out to scavenge and resupply, your best option to formulate a plan to infiltrate their camp.

You took your time that night. You became a night stalker, tracking the next kill. The scent of vengeance and rage were the only things you could remember as you tried to recall the events of that night. Blood lust coursing through you and nothing could satisfy it until every last one was dead.

The first man you found had told you how many of them there were. But not before tying him to a tree and filling him with false hope that if he cooperated he wouldn’t have to suffer. Only took a few short minutes to get the number you were after before breaking your promise that he wouldn’t suffer. It was a slow bleed out as you cut his arteries, standing clear from the arterial spray as best as you could. Although, it wasn’t as effective as you had hoped.

You preyed on them, feeding them lies and false promises, only to strip away every ounce of courage or sense of invincibility they had claimed through their own brutality. You crushed their hope, piece by piece, until nothing remained but their fear and regret.

You had become the angel of death as you stormed their camp, a force of retribution with no mercy. How many lives had you saved by ending their reign of terror? You knew your husband and Rosie hadn't been their first victims. The raiders' tents were strewn with trinkets and trophies—grim mementos of other innocent lives they had stolen. A human-sized cage sat on a nearby wagon, mercifully empty, but its presence only fueled the fury that consumed you. Your mind was flooded with haunting visions of what the past few years must have been like for those they had crossed paths with since the outbreak. These monsters had earned every ounce of hellfire you had unleashed upon them.

All you could see was red. Their own violence and ruthlessness had nothing on what you had made of them. Bodies dismembered and blood seeping into every footprint you left behind.

Your body was wrecked, every ounce of blood drained and replaced, transforming you into someone unrecognizable—someone you loathed. A version of yourself forged in agony, cold and twisted.

You scavenged their camp. Every weapon, every piece of clothing you could scavenge— you hauled back to the ranch. Feeling satisfied that these resources were finally being put to good use.

You left their bodies naked in the February snow storms. You piled them in the middle of their camp and left them there to rot. Twenty-three men all double your size, deciding to mess with the wrong fucking woman and killing the wrong fucking man and the wrong fucking kid. Sure, they had nearly made you bleed out yourself; a long gash down your side, a stab wound in your shoulder, your palm sliced as you stopped a swing from a dull machete which cut through your leather gloves. By miracle, your temple was only grazed by a stray bullet. However, you didn’t believe in miracles. It was merely a cruel trick of fate.

Their lanterns and torches flickered weakly against the abyss you’d become. You were no longer bound by light, no longer just a shadow—you were the night itself, born from its deepest depths. Cloaked in darkness, your every step was a promise of destruction, your rage a storm that swallowed their fire whole. You wish you could have known the terror they may have felt that night. Knowing everything they had done led them to this night. They couldn’t fight what they couldn’t see, and they had learned too late that the darkness didn’t just hide you—it empowered you. You had become the darkness.

Your body was a battleground—blood lost, pain searing through every fiber. When it was replenished, something darker took root. A version of you that was no longer weak, no longer human. Someone ruthless, unforgiving. Someone you never thought you'd become. But you didn’t care. You were done with mercy, done with weakness. This new you was raw, brutal, and unstoppable. And there was no turning back. You’d burn everything to the ground before you let go of the monster you’d become.

You took Victor and Rosie’s bodies far away from their camp, burying them next to their favorite tree where they used to sit and watch the sunset while overlooking the vast Rocky Mountains. You sat there for three days until Mary Cate finally had enough and came to find you. Finding you covered in blood and the stench of death.

Tear lines strewn down your face were the only bits that weren’t covered in blood.

She said nothing, only making a fire close by and heating up water in a pot from the Ranch kitchen. She took a washcloth and began cleaning your face little by little. You let her for a few moments before you met her eyes and saw the terror within them. You took the washcloth from her and never spoke about what had happened, but reassured her that nothing would ever happen to her. That she was safe. That Rosie and Uncle Vic were gone, but you would never let anything happen to her.

She insisted you call her M.C. from then on. The reminder of all those you had lost even in her name— too bitter on your tongue. The reminder of who you had once been and the ugly truth of who you had become.

Please feel free to leave comments and interact if you’d like! idk how it all works. I’m just here for fun and any suggestions are welcome!

I only really got into reading and writing fan fiction this past year. Usually I do more OC stuff, but I’ve been enjoying my deep deep rabbit hole of Joel Miller. God I love that man.

Also fair warning, this fic is me indulging in my “omg omg omg they touched hands!” Slow burn love. It’s going to be a long journey.

[forthelorewick]

Blessed with Beauty and Rage

Chapter 2: “I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel”

“The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath

Series summary:

The very core of who you are is hypocritical. Every day is a reminder of what you've lost, of who you've allowed yourself to become. Your walls are built around your heart like the fortress of Jackson, until… a certain man tries to pry his way through. How long can you withstand such intrusion? Will your heart ever open, will your soul ever heal, the way you have helped so many others do? Will you ever learn that you're worth saving too?

< prev chap. | masterlist | next chap. >

Chapter warnings: panic attacks, reader is a workaholic, mentions of violence, PTSD, mentions of loss of a child

WC: 1.8k

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February 2024:

You wake up in a cold sweat, chest heaving, hands clammy…

You shake your head and rub the heel of your hands against your eyes, an elongated groan emitting from you.

You have gotten used to this as your normal morning routine. You haven’t had a good night of sleep since before. But you needed as much sleep as you could get, regardless. Sometimes if you work yourself to exhaustion during the day, the nightmares are less active, your brain having to shut down to maximize your rest. Only sometimes does it truly work though.

You reach your arms up to stretch as you clamber to your bathroom adjacent to your bedroom, turning the knob in the shower to as hot as you know you can stand.

You toss your pajamas into your laundry basket, the sweat having soaked through them during the night even in the winter. The steaming hot water beats down on your sore shoulders and back, you think you nearly threw out your back yesterday while you were breaking one of the yearlings at the stables. You keep having to remember you’re not as young or spritely as you had been when you were young. However, you think you’re in great shape for your age. You’re active and have a lot of physical energy to fulfill your duties daily.

But hell does your back hurt. And your knee… and your shoulder. You were no longer the only one who could break the new horses or yearlings, maybe it was time to retire that responsibility. You had trained three others for a few years on this particular job and were pretty content with the way they could handle the horses. However, you would request them to let you watch them to ensure their safety in regards to procedures and techniques.

On that train of thought, you get ready and exit your house. Down the squeaky steps which you needed to redo again. A spring task to complete.

You trudge through the fresh powder of snow as you make your way to the mess hall. Your shoulders are drawn close to your ears to dissuade the bitterly cold wind from biting at your flesh and sinking into your skin.

You enjoy your morning walks, especially in the winter time. You truthfully don’t mind the bitter cold. It soothes you, in a way. Everyone else is hurrying to and from. Their eyes, sticking to the ground in front of them and occasionally checking that they are going the right way.

It allows you more opportunities to watch people. No one really pays you much mind.

Most of the townsfolk have talked to you at some point, you have conducted countless mental wellness checks after particularly harsh patrols or for newcomers who you had to make the judgement call to see if they were trustworthy and were stable for town life. It was a lot of pressure to be the one to make that judgement, but it was easy when you had so many people you wished to protect. You were very objective and were harshly truthful if you had to be. There was no room for niceties when it came to any potential threat to those in your town.

You have had to refuse admittance to a few people. Who had been caught trying to break into the walls and you immediately knew that they had been sent to steal supplies then report back to their camp to organize a raid. Raiders. Sneaky ones at that, or at least trying to be.

You had been called out of the walls for that evaluation. Refusing to let them see any specifics about the inner workings of Jackson’s defenses.

You were a useful tool. That’s all you thought of yourself as, and you were happy to be as such.

You enter the mess hall and you’re quickly spotted and waved over by M.C. You acknowledge her and go wait in line with a tray, grabbing your breakfast essentials and sitting down across the table from her in the corner of the big cafeteria.

You eat your food as M.C. rambles about her work in textiles. She was the reason you had the articles of clothes which fit you so perfectly and kept you comfortable for all weather. It was a hell of a bonus being related to the head of textiles and upcycling clothing in Jackson. But she provided for all in town, taking specifications for each to have their own tailored winter coat to ensure their warmth and safety and for each to have assigned clothing for work to maintain comfort and productivity without the restraints of ill-fitting clothing.

She was currently excited about a project she had been approached about a few weeks ago. You were always listening, even if idly. There was never any need to ask questions or feign active interest, you knew she’d tell you everything anyways so there was no point in asking questions. You take this time to scan your eyes across the mess hall. The typical early morning people enjoying the warmth of the mess hall and the company of friends.

A newly familiar broadness catches your eye. He and the girl sitting next to him scarfed down their food. Almost as if they did not eat it as fast as possible, they wouldn’t be able to.

Typical behavior for those who had just endured months of traveling on foot and never truly being safe. Food was scarce, merely used as a fuel source and sparsely indulged on since they needed it to last as long as possible. And in the winter time, game such as deer and rabbits were few and far between.

You quickly look away as the man’s head slowly turns towards where he feels eyes on him. You briefly feel his eyes on you as he tries to find the source. As you glance up at him again, you misjudged how long his eyes had lingered on you, then he was the one to quickly look away.

Tommy and Maria were seated with the silent newcomers, they met your eyes and waved enthusiastically and tried to wave you over. You shake your head, signaling that you were nearly done eating anyways and then tilted your head towards M.C. who was still excitedly telling you as many details of her projects as she could off the top of her head, which never ceased to amaze you. She was very talented and had plenty of words to share about it too.

Your mind wanders back to the lingering gaze you had caught from Tommy’s brother, Joel. Just odd. Despite you being the first to let your eyes linger. You couldn’t help it, you were a natural observer. You wanted to understand him as objectively as you could. Him observing you, regardless of his intentions, you just weren’t sure what warranted that. Unless, like you— he just hated being observed and knew it had been you who had let your eyes linger for a bit too long.

That’s exactly what it was, you deduce. Noted.

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The man and girl left town after that, taking a horse, a handgun, and a rifle with them. Tommy told you they were going to find her family in Salt Lake City. Should be a few weeks long of a journey. You made sure they had the most reliable steed and ensured their saddle bag was well-stocked with anything they may need. A first aid kit, extra carrots for Gunner, the horse chosen for this journey. A horse blanket for overnights, an extra knife set, some provisions of jerky, a thermos of coffee and plenty of space for anything they would like to include.

You left before anyone saw you. You gave Gunner a few last pats and reassuring words and left him tied to the post in the middle of the stable, so they knew which one was intended for their journey. You heard Tommy’s brother, Joel, approaching before anyone else and snuck out the back.

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About a month later, as you walk towards your home from a late shift at the kennels, you decide to go towards the stables for a final nightly check which allowed you to take the long way back home on the outskirts of town. You see a man pacing by the stables— visibly distressed and mumbling to himself.

Your professional training kicks in and you warily approach him.

“Excuse me…”

His face turns towards you and you see anger flash in his eyes. His chest heaving as his hand clutches to his chest, you see him nearly double over in pain.

“Oh god. Are you okay?” You tentatively take a step towards him and he holds out his other hand to keep you away.

“Just deep breaths, in and out… lean back…”

You’re surprised he’s following your instructions and after a few moments he is able to regain his composure. As he stands up straight— his eyes, a deep brown, flicker towards yours with acknowledgment that you wanted to help him, then they hardened to restrain any vulnerability from surfacing. No one had been meant to see that. No one was meant to be around while he clearly was struggling, struggling in silence, in solitude. Now that you understand from personal experience.

You turn to walk away, giving him his privacy once more.

“Wait,” his gruff, pained voice extends to you. You turn briefly as he addresses you. He swallows harshly as you make eye contact once more, “Thanks.”

You merely nod and offer a shy smile. “Tea with chamomile helps. Or Valerian Root.”

He ponders your words for a moment and slowly nods while turning his face away, breathing deeply to continue steadying his breath. You can see his breath in the lingering winter air.

“Don’t tell Tommy,” he bites quietly as you begin walking away.

“Safe with me,” you respond. Neither of you realize at the time how true that statement would become.

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Another restless night of tossing and turning, sweating through your sheets until you just gave up and stormed down to your kitchen. Thinking about the man at the stables, wishing you could take your own advice.

You just felt as though you weren’t worth helping, even helping yourself. You deserved to feel the pain, the misery, the anxiety… it was your punishment. To feel so empty, so still and paralyzed when your thoughts get a firm grip on your senses. Sending you spiraling back towards those moments you swore you would never let yourself forget, all you can see and hear are the screams, the gunshots, the blunt objects meeting flesh… the phantom feeling of hot blood running over your hands, through your fingers, and down your arms.

You close your eyes tightly and grip the counter as you boil water in your tea kettle, at least taking your own advice to brew some tea.

You find yourself on your knees, your arms still clinging to the top of the counter as you watch your past self from an out of body perspective brutalizing the ones who had stolen your daughter's potential of anything and everything she would ever be.

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[forthelorewick]

Blessed with Beauty and Rage

Chapter 1: “My sorrow— I could not awaken”

“Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe

Series summary:

The very core of who you are is hypocritical. Every day is a reminder of what you've lost, of who you've allowed yourself to become. Your walls are built around your heart like the fortress of Jackson, until… a certain man tries to pry his way through. How long can you withstand such intrusion? Will your heart ever open, will your soul ever heal, the way you have helped so many others do? Will you ever learn that you're worth saving too?

| Master list | next chapter >

Chapter content: angst, some cursing, reader is a bisexual and an unavailable mess.

WC: 3.5k

Mainly character introductions and some background information, the first few chapters will be a bit slower.

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December 2023:

It had been a while since you'd had new people in Jackson, the winter months approaching usually preventing people from venturing out and even keeping infected at bay.

But alas, the commotion was stirring around the town as the big gates opened to reveal two newcomers. An older man, around fifty to fifty five, and a girl who couldn't be any older than sixteen. They didn't have much similarity in their appearances so they must not be related, not uncommon that odd duos had become reliant on each other. Still, the mystery shrouded these two. An odd gruffness to the man, his eyes frantically searching the crowds, keeping her as close to him as possible.

Until— you see his eyes flash with disbelief, they widen and you swear you see a glimmer in them— a glimmer of hope and relief. The town turns to see who had caught his eye in such a way, and you see Tommy pick up speed and the two men meeting in a tight embrace.

You know who this man is, never thought you'd ever see him and maybe in your mind he had been long gone since that's how this world works. Families don't usually get reunited.

Tears threaten to fall from the older man’s eyes, but they don't. It seems as if a weight has been lifted off of the younger man (but not by much)’s shoulders. Yet, the older still seemed so heavily weighed down. As if the weight had been shifted onto him from his brother’s shoulders.

You didn't need to know them personally to know they were brothers, their features were similar, their hair a similar color and texture. Although, the older brother was greying and the younger was not. You know there's a five year age difference, and although it is not as if the years have been bad to the older man, you could tell it's just heavy on him. The same way it felt heavy to you.

His broad, firm stature quickly resumed its stiffness as Tommy led him and the girl towards the mess hall.

Tommy turns to find you in the crowd and shoots you a smile and brief wave, his eyes lit up and his steps light as they enter the mess hall.

You nod in acknowledgement, returning a half smile, promptly finding your way out of the crowd that had gathered.

The whole town resumed its prior activities, murmuring gossip of the man and girl, regarding what it takes to have lived outside of those walls and the odd timing of their arrival.

Anyone who knew Tommy knew of his brother whom he hadn't seen in nearly a decade. Since he's known you, since around when Jackson was founded.

A familiar voice calls your name and you turn to greet her.

“Hey,” you greet, seeing the way her eyes are lit up and she seems giddy on her feet. “The hell’s gotten into you?”

“Just put aside your grumpiness for like two seconds okay?” She reaches for your arm and squeezes it tightly, unable to control her excitement.

You allow her this physical touch but she quickly releases your arm and shrugs her shoulders offering an unconvincing apology. You grumble, encouraging her to get it out already.

“Robert finally asked me to the dance!”

“About damn time,” which has a dual meaning to you, but is met with an ecstatic response.

“I know, right!” She stills for a moment, finally to look at you. “Are you still not going?”

“Setyr, you know I don't-”

“Yeah, yeah I know, not even Maria can convince you?”

You take a deep breath in and hold it for a moment, glancing up at the clear, blue sky.

“It's on the 26th,” you don't feel the need to further explain, you hope your friend already knows as much as she needs to.

Her eyes cloud in realization. “Right, well, maybe after I can come by and we can listen to some music and we can finally try the wine we just harvested from the vineyard.”

You slowly nod and force a smile. “That would be nice, but you know-”

“Yes I know you don't drink either, remind me again what you do for fun?” She chuckles and gently pats you on the shoulder causing you to tense up once again.

“I do plenty- I- plus, I-” you can't seem to find the words to say, you don't do much besides work. But you enjoy work.

Before you can even think further on how to finish your thought, you are interrupted by yet another woman calling your name and Setyr’s as she approaches.

“Hey, Kris,” her eyes meet yours and you are just mesmerized for a moment, it's a common occurrence when it comes to her. Her natural beauty and grace paired with her dirty knees from where she knelt in the greenhouse and tended to the plants, crops, and flowers— she was as close to a goddess as it came these days.

Her smile is so sweet as her features are highlighted by the sun which was starting its descent in the sky. Her skin is golden and sun-kissed, her hands calloused, yet soft everywhere but her palms.

“Hey, you.” Her lips are soft, always so soft.

You swallow thickly and glance around as people hurry to and from wherever they're going.

“Hellooooo,” you hear fingers snap and you're forced back to focus on whatever Setyr is saying.

You clear your throat to let her know you're present and actively listening.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

You sigh deeply, “You want to host another game night, is that right?”

She smirks at you and nods. “Are you at least coming to that?”

“How could I ever pass up poker or Texas Hold ‘em, any chance at kicking your asses, really” the toothy grin you offer is cocky and sarcastic all at once.

“More like kissing asses,” Setyr teases, you know it’s directed towards you and Kris. You groan quietly and turn to see Kris’s cheeks slowly reddening, your thin-lipped smile widens. Until you see her eyes down-cast, your smile fades into your permanent furrowed brows.

Setyr looks between you two and rolls her eyes, “C’mon now, y'all have got to be the most frustrating people in the world.”

You shrug your shoulders, “Can we not-”

“Never do,” Kris murmurs beside you and you curse yourself under your breath.

“I'm gonna leave you two…”

“Wait, no please— Set!” You call after her as she leaves you two alone.

You slowly turn to Kris and she seems so much smaller than she had when she had approached. “Hi,” she smiles weakly, her arms held tight around her.

“Hi. Listen, I'm sorry—”

“Save it, I know. I'm sorry, I'm the one who kissed you and- and I know how you are. I was stupid to think I'd be the one to change that.”

You just look at her, that's all you can do. This angel, this goddess who you just can't figure out why the hell your heart is so hardened, so unavailable. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt her, but as much as you wish you could feel, you just don't. For anyone. And you hate it.

You hate yourself for being so far away all the time, so lost in the clouds, so enshrined by the grief and the horrors that surround your mind. Your work as a shrink is the only time people see you as any semblance of open and welcoming because it's professional, it's you getting into their minds, not your own. Making them feel comfortable and understood. It's easy– to listen and observe.

To have true friendships and relationships, however, it requires a two way street which you can't quite offer- it still befuddles you that somehow you had people who you could tolerate and were considered friends. Friendships by proxy mostly, but friendships nonetheless. Friendships you had made through your other disconcertingly close friendships with people who at this point were considered family. Blood or not, it didn’t matter, they cared for you regardless of your harshness when they tried to get too close. They knew things about you regardless of you wanting them to or not.

You shouldn't have even let Kris close enough to kiss you, and you knew you were fucking up when you kissed her back.

“It's not-” it's not you, it's never you, Kris. You're wonderful and sweet and charming— all I wish is that I could find a way to let someone in, to be seen, to be known, to share. But I don't know how and I don't know if I ever could. Everyone that has ever known that side of me— has known me- is dead. And I fear those pieces of me died with them.

You can never voice these things, you would just end up staring open-mouthed, expecting anything to come out, but it can't. You are incapable of human connection past anything platonic and even then you fucking struggled.

“I don't deserve you,” you hear your own voice say, and it nearly shocks you.

She looks at you and a solemn smile adorns those soft lips.

“I think you deserve more than you know.” And with that she’s gone, walking back down towards the mess hall for dinner.

You walk the opposite way back to your house, slamming the door and slinking to the floor against it. What the fuck is wrong with you.

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Next day

As with all things, you have filed such an encounter under further reasons to avoid any and all potentially complicated circumstances affiliated with others’ feelings in regards to you personally.

You understood perfectly fine. You can never blame others for the way you make them feel, but you were unable to put your own preaching into practice. Always know, yet unable to do. It was as if you had been cursed with knowledge and understanding only to ever experience what you knew and understood from an observational perspective.

You weren’t surprised when Kris scheduled an appointment with you the day before game night. Your friends were beginning to figure you out bit by bit. It’s surprisingly effective, you’ve found, to communicate when they let you do it as a shrink, not just as you. In the professional space, there’s room for the words to come—unfiltered, clear, and detached from the weight of personal expectations. It’s easier when you're wearing the mantle of authority, of expertise. You don’t have to wrestle with the discomfort of being vulnerable; you can hide behind the training, the methods, the framework. In the office, it’s all just technique—but to them, it feels like you’re being real. And maybe you are. Just in a way that’s easier to digest.

They were merely words to you. Words which serve a purpose, a means to an end. They were people pleasing words.

“Hey, Kris, what can I do for you today?” You motion for her to sit in the designated chair for these sessions.

“Just wanted to talk,” she sits down and crosses her legs, her jeans covered in dirt at the knees, as always.

“That’s typically what coming to a shrink is about. What is it you’d like to talk about?”

She rolls her eyes at you, knowing you knew what she was there for.

“I know you don’t like when your friends take advantage of your work time to talk about personal things regarding well, you…” she clears her throat before continuing, “but I didn’t want to go to the game night with things awkward between us.”

You nod your head slowly as you acknowledge her purpose for being here. “No, I typically don’t-“

She interrupts you, knowing you’ll just shoot off some shrink jargon. “Just let me—”

You clear your throat and gesture your hand for her to continue.

“I know you’re not into me the same way I’m into you and I can live with that fact. But I don’t want our friendship to end because I fucked it up-”

“Kris, please it’s oka-”

“No just please, you don’t need to say anything yet. I want you to know how important your friendship is to me and how I understand you more than you think I do,” she’s leaning forward in the chair as she talks to you.

Your jaw is tense and your leg is bouncing as you anxiously sit and listen. You don’t like the idea of anyone knowing you, but you realize it’s inevitable when you have friends and those you spend time with even if minimally. Still doesn’t mean you’re comfortable with that idea.

“I’m going to move on from this little crush I have on you since I know it will never be returned, unless there is any chance-”

You don’t need to say anything, the gentle shake of your head was returned with a deep sigh. “Then friends?”

“Friends.”

“Don’t get awkward around me now, okay?”

You grin and chuckle gently, “No more than I already am.”

She seems content with that answer and curtly nods her head as she stands up from the chair.

“Thank you for your time, I’ll see you tomorrow at Setyr’s,” she turns to walk out the door.

“See you,” is all you say as she exits your office.

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Game night

“She’s here!” You hear footsteps approaching from the other side of the door before it’s opened to reveal a small group of women. You had been the last to arrive, but you brought treats. Cookies and a pie for the occasion, it was soon to be Christmas, after all. You had even baked some fresh potato chips, fresh and crispy from the oven. A favorite amongst your circle, shrink’s homemade snacks.

“Shrink!” Maria was the first to nickname you as such.

“Am I the last one here?” You step into the warm home and shake off the chill of the evening.

“Pretty much, but then again no one else took the time to actually bring baked goods since Set made dinner, you are always so thoughtful!”

You blush at this. The way you show your appreciation and love for those around you is through acts of service. For what you couldn’t say or express verbally or emotionally- you did. Showing up, baking, listening, crafting, fixing, building— whatever your people needed, you were there. You were useful and you had skills that could help… so you did.

“Well, can’t have game night without snacks, can we?”

She grins widely at your nonchalance to your thoughtfulness. Thing is, you couldn’t stop thinking so this was a great way to focus it for a little while in anticipation of this social gathering even if it was a small group of people you knew.

It truly was friendship by proxy. They became close to Maria, who dragged you around everywhere, so they soon became attached to you too. You didn’t necessarily mind, you just weren’t privy to enjoying any form of social gathering. Although, you sucked it up since you really do enjoy game nights. Can’t play board games or card games on your own, at least not most of them anyway. Strategy, wit, and sarcasm were the key components to any good game night.

As everyone gets settled around the card table, Setyr brings around drinks for everyone and for you— freshly pressed grape juice. You can’t help but feel warmth bloom inside you due to her thoughtfulness.

The card table was a beautiful piece of artwork. Handmade by Setyr’s boyfriend, Robert, before they had even begun dating.

After she gives everyone their drink, she sits down in her designated seat at the head of the table.

Around you, the chatter was light and easy, as it always was when the group gathered. It was the same crew—Maria, Kris, Setyr, Olivia, Jenna, Maya, and a couple of others—familiar faces that made these nights feel like a comfortable tradition despite your initial hesitancy to be around people at all . No need for introductions or explanations; everyone knew the rules, the stakes, and most importantly, the game itself. You had done multiple game nights prior, and it was relatively the same group of people each time.

As you get settled into the game, as unsuspecting as ever, your competitive spirit takes over. As per usual, your silent yet deadly strategies begin to take effect. So quiet and unassuming until you’ve quietly won enough hands that Maria quirks her eyebrows at you and Setyr rolls her eyes once again.

You can’t help but grin, you love these nights. Everyone drinking and chatting allows you to sink into your comfortable headspace, focusing only on the game and the tells of those around you.

The air is light and the stakes are high- to the extent of your friends threatening to make you take a day off of work if they win.

Maria tosses her chips in the air, challenging you. "If I win, you’re taking a day off. No repairs, no running errands—just rest. And I mean it. No exceptions." She glances at you, her eyes narrowed, a devilish grin on her lips as she dares you to challenge her hand which she’s gone all in on.

Setyr takes a sip of her drink, her fingers tapping the table in her usual rhythm, pretending to be deep in thought. She’s not fooling anyone, though.

You know all of your friends’ tells. You see the way their eyes shift to the others as they try to assess whether they should be confident in their hand, or the way they blink in thought as they decide their next move. The way Setyr avoids eye contact when she plans to bluff, raising the betting pool. You’re playing a different game—reading them, their moves, their intentions. It’s a language you speak fluently.

Blackjack, poker, Texas hold ‘em… you play them all. A deck of cards is so versatile.

You flick a glance at the cards in your hand, feeling the familiar satisfaction of being in control. You are in your element and your initial hand is going to prove useful. You just lean back, arms crossed, your gaze moving between the others.

Setyr raises an eyebrow. Kris scoffs, clearly trying to figure you out. She throws a few more chips towards the middle of the table, raising the bet. A typical move for her, hoping to get under your skin.

She thinks she’s got you for a moment, but after a few more plays from the others, it’s your turn again. You don’t even flinch. Your hand moves, swift and silent, matching the bet.

“Cute,” you say dryly. “But predictable.”

Maria, frustrated by her earlier setback from when you had bluffed and she had fallen into it, eyes you warily but doesn’t know whether to make a move against you or hold her ground. Setyr’s fingers tap the edge of her glass, her usual sign that she's formulating something, while Kris grins, clearly trying to throw off someone—likely you, if you had to guess.

Setyr finally speaks up, breaking the tension. “Is it just me, or does Shrink always have something up her sleeve?”

You glance at her, offering a brief, sardonic smile.

You place your hand down to display the full house hand you had. The others groan in unison, as if they all knew it was coming but didn’t want to admit it.

Kris laughs, shaking her head. “You’re an absolute menace, Shrink.

You shrug, an almost imperceptible smirk on your face. God you were glad things were mostly back to normal between the two of you.

The group of you play a few games while everyone is gradually getting more and more tipsy as the night goes on. You watch and observe contentedly. No one pressures you to talk more than your sardonic remarks while gaming. You don’t win every game, you can’t always get a good hand, but you are a hell of a people reader. This is the only type of social gathering in which it truly comes in handy without feeling like such a burden or imposition.

The night winds down, the chatter softening as people gather their things and prepare to leave. You stand quietly by the door, watching the others.

The others are busy gathering their bags and coats, the mood light but winding down.

Setyr catches your eye, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "You turning in for the night?" she asks, her voice casual, though she’s more than aware that you’ve already slipped away from the conversation.

You nod, a simple gesture. It doesn’t need to be anything more than that. You don’t need to explain.

With a final glance around the room, you slip out, the door clicking softly behind you. The sound of their laughter lingers for a moment, and then the night is still again—just the way you like it.

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[forthelorewick]

Blessed with Beauty and Rage - Master List

ongoing series

Hello ! Disclaimer, this is my first ever post on tumblr or… anywhere… so just letting you know I’m anxious since I never share my writing, but I don’t care anymore fuck it! Thanks to my friend who is the first and only person I ever shared my writing with and who encouraged the deepest yearning and angsty parts of me so much so that this was created.

Peace and love or lack thereof - Wicker <3

Synopsis:

The very core of who you are is hypocritical. Every day is a reminder of what you've lost, of who you've allowed yourself to become. Your walls are built around your heart like the fortress of Jackson, until… a certain man tries to pry his way through. How long can you withstand such intrusion? Will your heart ever open, will your soul ever heal, the way you have helped so many others do? Will you ever learn that you're worth saving too?

Story Warnings: 18+!!! MDI! • joel x f!reader

- outbreak/jackson au, canon-typical graphic blood/ violence descriptions, anxiety, PSTD, grief, guilt, major character death(s)- (not Joel or reader), reader has nicknames, explicit language, pining/ longing/yearning, ANGST; so soft yet so tortured; emotionally unavailable reader, emotionally unavailable Joel; self-depreciating and self-sabotaging behavior, mentions of sh; shrink!reader Jackson!joel; video game Joel and Ellie; reader is in her early 40s - Joel is late 50s; implications that reader is bisexual; eventual smut, slow burn. - Chapters come with their own warnings.

Oh god here we go ! Chapter titles are from some of my favorite poems. They will be cited with each chapter.

Chapter 1 - “My sorrow—I could not awaken”

Chapter 2 - “I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel”

Chapter 3 - “Our own grist down to its bony face..”

Chapter 4 - “Beauties and feelings, such as would have been most sweet to my remembrance”

Chapter 5 - “Riddled with ghosts, to lie. Deadlocked with them, taking roots as cradles rock.”

Chapter 6 - “Do not go gently into that good night”

Chapter 7 - “I have always been scared of you”

More to come!

[forthelorewick]

at any given moment

[forthelorewick]

Figured it was about time to make a masterlist. Forgive the lack of flair, I'm a writer, not a marketer. I'm good at one and absolutely piss-poor at the other <3

Pedro Fic Masterlist

Discordance The Mandalorian - (Din Djarin x f!reader) - 80k - Completed Adventure story and slow-burn romance. Canon-compliant (-ish) and takes place in the gaps between storylines/seasons. You come across (read: steal) a crate of goods from an Imperial asshole and find a sizeable cache of beskar within. Compelled by an unfamiliar sensation an awful lot like a song, you slip into the tunnels beneath the surface of Nevarro, finding yourself stumbling into the Armorer's forge. The Armorer tasks the Mandalorian to see that you are kept safe. As your story and unique skills are revealed, safety grows harder to come by, and the fates of Din and his foundling become entwined with yours. Spotify Playlist

Jackson aka "The World's a Long Love Letter" The Last of Us - (Joel Miller x f!reader) - 85k - Ongoing Slow-burn romance that explores the relationships among and between you, Joel, Tommy, and Ellie. Canon-compliant and takes place after Joel and Ellie return to Jackson (TLOU2 never happens here). You were one of the first few of Jackson's inhabitants and still wear the many hats that were required of you when the community was still in its infancy. You were a doctor before the world fell apart and one of your patients, a young woman named Ellie, gets it in her head to set you up with her surrogate father, Joel, who happens to be your once-best friend's older brother. Spotify Playlist

Give in Again The Last of Us - (Joel Miller x f!reader) - 62k - Complete Calling this no-outbreak au a slow burn feels almost as out of place as calling it a romance. You've been (somewhat) enjoying a drink with a young architect--cute, if a little boring--and trying to ignore a constant barrage of text messages from the faceless creep you've come to think of as Bar Douche when an intimidating stranger named Joel interrupts and the night takes an abrupt turn. Joel is by turns protective, crass, and completely over-the-top flirtatious, leaving you not quite sure how to respond to him and not quite sure where you stand. You give as good as you get, baring your teeth from time to time, but Joel just seems to enjoy your bite. Fighting his excessive, thick-laid come-ons and wandering hands is too easy at first, but grows progressively more difficult as his tendency to swoop in just in time results in the two of you spending more and more time together. (Not to brag, but this one's based on a dream I had that I would sell my actual arm to get to have again.) Spotify Playlist

Texas Tornado The Last of Us - (Joel Miller x f!reader) - Coming Soon Absolute indulgence that got me through the stress of the last few months before my boards. No-outbreak au where Joel is a single dad to college-age Sarah and 6-year-old Ellie. He was your high school sweetheart, but things fell apart when you left for college. Years later, you reconnect by chance on one of many bouts of work-related travel, falling into a FWB situation that's slowly eating you alive. Tons of pining, angst, and it's not a slow burn in the typical sense of the word--half of the first 10k words are absolute smut--but it's been a slow burn all the same. Spotify Playlist

[forthelorewick]

Pedro Pascal with weapons, this is the post

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Joanna Glenn, from her novel titled "All My Mothers," originally published in 2021

[forthelorewick]

helena & myka, 2x07 “for the team”

[forthelorewick]

[forthelorewick]

Yes! Oh, that came out a bit quick.

David Tennant as the 10th Doctor for @too-funky✨

[forthelorewick]

Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen as Elizabeth Benneth and Mr. Darcy from "Pride and Prejudice" 2005 version.

[forthelorewick]

Myka Bering & Helena G Wells - April 23, 2010 

[forthelorewick]

[forthelorewick]

endless wonder angst and pain

[forthelorewick]

2.09 Vendetta // 4.15 Instinct