#Sorry for the mini rant she was my whole world

[shortkingvince]

I KNOW I HAVEN'T BEEN POSTING, I MAINLY JUST WRITE WHEN I FEEL LIKE IT

BUT I'M GOING INSANE OVER WUTHERING WAVES (ESPECIALLY SCAR HELLO?? Bro is bisexy for sure did you see that fucking wink)

EXPECT WUTHERING WAVES TO BE ADDED TO MY LIST VERY SOON ONCE THE GAME COMES OUT FOR ME (EST)

YOU CAN CONTINUE TO SEND IN REQUESTS!! IT JUST TAKES ME A BIT BECAUSE I CAN ONLY REALLY WRITE WHEN I FEEL LIKE IT OR ELSE IT WON'T HAVE MY LITTLE SPARKLING CHARM IN IT

Sorry for all the caps I'm high energy and I need this excitement after my old school didn't even say the name of my dead best friend at the graduation (When they said they would) (I had to hear it from my step mom since I don't go to that school anymore, I graduated a few days ago myself from a school that actually cared about me and my mental health 🤩) They even debated on leaving a chair open in honor of her

I'd absolutely love to say the name of the school and expose their ass but that's probably not the smartest idea online 🤩

[malt-rants-and-stuff]

this week was probably the most eventful one I've had in the whole year so far. what is up with that. anyways I'm back from being dead gang heyyy I witnessed numerous crimes and got into a street fight but we stay winning pow pow

[cloud-somersault]

so just read your review of s5 and i definitely think that this season wasn’t lmk’s best and tbh the ending falls flat for me

i honestly think it’s the pacing and how everything is fixed with a bow too quickly and there’s not enough time to really process and delve into. which the specials help with, but we didn’t get one here and it just makes me go :/

there were a lot of good moments like you said (and i am latching onto them for my own safety bubble lmao) but omfg yeah when you mentioned the unexplained magic system i could not have nodded harder because HOW???? HOW DOES MK JUST KNOW THE SPELLS????? i can only suspend my belief for so much. i do trust them to explain eventually but how long do i gotta wait ;-;

sorry for the mini rant at the end. i just haven’t seen others also mention lmk’s issue with its magic system and yeah

first off, i love people using the smaller text to appear as if they're whispering. LOVE that. it's so cute.

second, that wasn't my full review. more of my initial thoughts. If I did a full review, it would be 10 pages long with sources and it would be peer reviewed and have footnotes and stuff. I still might do that. LMFAO

but s5 spoilers ahead, ofc.

but! yes. The pacing in LMK has always been quite fast! and that was less noticeable when the stakes were lower. but now that the world's always going to be in jeopardy, apparently, then. the pacing is really too fast for what they want to do.

We don't have time to delve into what the characters are feeling after each major event. Why are we JUST NOW learning about how Mei has the Samadhi Fire still and it's been inside her all along? During s4, there weren't any clues (that I saw) of her still having it, like no emerald swirls of fire, just electricity. So, the fandom, as a whole, thought she lost it, but noooo, it's been there all the time. Like, what??? That's a great way to make your audience feel stupid.

There's no -- like how did Red Son feel being locked in the scroll. What about everyone else. How are people feeling after Azure nearly destroyed the world. What about that aftermath? That part...that part that people largely think is filler is crucial to telling a story like this. We have to have moments where we sit with the characters and check in on them, see what they're thinking, how they're coping. We don't get that. We don't get enough of it. And it makes these characters feel flatter than they actually are.

They sneak in what they can in snippets and one-liners but that's not enough at this point. It's not enough when every season is going to be a world-ending catastrophe. We need to know these characters. And they've had 5 seasons to do it, and I still don't know critical things that I should know by now.

Also, worldbuilding? Can I get some, please? If the worldbuilding was good, we could go without a magic system! Think Lord of the Rings --- such WONDERFUL world building and history baked in, I don't have time to worry about the magic system. I've got so much information to go off of, I can suspend my disbelief because the world is so developed and magic can happen in a whimsical way.

But there isn't any...we travel around but WHERE ARE WE GOING?? How do-- can humans use magic? Can they see it? Have humans stumbled upon the celestial beasts ever? What bout the temples scattered about? NO one has? What if a human gets their hands on an artifact, what then? They fight in areas where humans are; is there no concern about being spotted? Sorry, but if anyone fucking saw a creature that looked ANYTHING LIKE Sun Wukong, he would be swarmed with pictures and selfies like.

And Nezha is just?? walking around??? WHAT??? I know in S3 they did this, too, but at least it was contained to those people on the train. this is a whole ass....city now.

I feel like people are just hearing me whine and complain about the magic system and they don't think it's a big deal. It's a HUGE DEAL. There is so much magic in this show!! There is so much magic that is just flung around by using seals and fancy circles. What do those circles mean??? Does everyone have their own special circle. Why does Macaque not have a circle, is it because he uses shadow magic?? Or chaos magic?? Why are they fucking with the magic now WHEN THEY HAVEN'T EVEN FULLY EXPLAINED WUKONG'S/MK'S MAGIC!!!!

Spoilers for the end of s5. But how. Does. MK. Know the spell. For Wukong's circlet. HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOW DOES HE KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He saw Li Jing cast it maybe 3 times, but that's enough? How, MK? When did you study that magic? When did you learn how to use seals? When DID YOU LEARN HOW TO CLOUD SOMERSAULT??

How can I follow MK anymore when he's going places I can't pinpoint? I started off with him knowing nothing, now he picks up powers whenever he wants. If that's the case, just make him as strong as Wukong then!! Just do whatever. There's no power balance either. How strong is Macaque against MK? How strong is Mei against Macaque? I need a magic system or something so I can measure these values!!

They are never going to explain it to us. You can search through the series and look for clues, but that frustration is caused by the show not telling us crucial information. They want you to suspend your belief over and over and over again, but there comes a point of pure frustration where the audience is so disconnected from what's going on, because there's no rules. Characters can do whatever they want whenever they want.

Think about how that affects the plot. Think about how they came across these stones so easily. Think about how MK suddenly got the power to reach the top of that pagoda. Think about how they just so happen to stumble and find the White Lion and Azure Dragon like!! The plot is suffering! The characters have been suffering! And i'm suffering!!!

Sorry for my SUPER LONG RANT but i'm just so fed up.

[lady-pug]

i'm in love (with an uptown girl) - Part I

Summary: In which Dustin is sure about your feelings for Eddie and Eddie's for Chrissy, but maybe he doesn't know the two of you as well as he thinks he does.

Pairing: Chrissy Cunningham x Reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of period typical homophobia

Notes: I may or may not have accidentally fallen in love with Grace Van Dien and, consequently, Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy was such a good character and she had so much unexplored potential, I wish we could have seen more of her.

This was supposed to be a one-shot turned into a two-shot turned into a three-shot when I realized how long it was getting. The title references Billy Joel’s ‘Uptown Girl’, a song Grace herself has mentioned would probably be Chrissy’s 'Vecna song', so I went with that.

Also also, I know renting ‘Return Of The Jedi’ means absolutely nothing (I myself used to rent Star Wars DVDs in a completely random order when I was younger, would just rent out the one I was in the mood for). I just used that whole interaction in order to help plant the seed about Chrissy, much like the series did with the ‘Fast Times’ scene about Vickie (as a kid I didn’t truly understand the purpose of having Leia wearing that in particular, both in terms of inside the universe and out, but now I do and I don’t like it).

Anyway, that was just me ranting, sorry about that! I really hope you enjoy this story, and if you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated.

Reader is female, but no physical descriptions provided

Reader's gender not specified

Next part | Masterlist | Read on AO3

“She’s so pretty, isn’t she?”

“W-what?” your head snapped up so quickly you were scared you might have pulled a muscle, prompting the boys at the table to snicker.

“I said” Gareth emphasized, a smirk hanging from his lips “that she’s so pretty, isn’t she, Eddie?���

Said boy, who had been staring off into space and just so happened to have his head turned towards the jocks and cheerleaders’ table, snapped out of his trance almost as quickly as you had a few minutes prior.

“Who?” he seemed as confused as you felt.

“Chrissy Cunningham?” Jeff asked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your heart, the poor bastard, clenched painfully inside your chest at the mention of the blonde’s name. 

“Yeah, I mean… sure.” Eddie waved his hands dismissively.

“Come oooon!” Gareth, who had been sitting to the left of Eddie, whined and poked him in the ribs “We all know you’ve had heart eyes for her since, like, 8th grade man. No need to pretend otherwise.”

“Guys…” Dustin’s eyes darted towards you, a concerned frown on his lips.

“I don’t have a crush on Chrissy Cunningham?” Eddie answered, although it came out more of a question, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Dude, seriously? You think we haven’t noticed the way you stare at her at every chance you get? Especially when she’s wearing that cute cheerleading dress?” Grant spoke up, Gareth, Jeff and Mike snickering with him.

“Guys…” Dustin tried interrupting again, but the other boys seemed to pay him no mind.

“Yeah, man.” Mike piped up, his mean smirk making your blood boil slightly “If you stare any longer she’ll go from calling you ‘The Freak’ to calling you ‘The Creep’.”

Your fists clenched under the table, nails digging painfully on your palm. You were about to speak up but Eddie beat you to it.

“She’s not like that!” he closed his hand around the mini pretzel he was eating, crunching it in his fist from the force of his words “She’s kind and gentle and sweet.” he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes before speaking up again, softer this time “She’d never do that.”

“See?” Gareth pointed out “You’re already defending your girlfriend-”

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Mike muttered under his breath.

“So you might as well make it official and ask her out already!” Gareth finished, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

You’ve had enough. Pushing your chair back with so much force it scraped loudly against the linoleum floor, you hastily grabbed your bookbag, stomping away from your usual lunch table and out of the cafeteria. 

“Great going dipshits.” Eddie threw a hard, stern glare towards his friends and quickly followed after you.

“What was that?” Jeff asked, bemused, still staring at the doors which you’d left through.

“I dunno.” Grant shrugged “One moment we were joking around, the next-”

“Guys!” Dustin yelled, startling his friends and earning the attention from other students at the nearby tables. Shrinking his shoulders, he smiled sheepishly, embarrassed, before addressing the other boys again “That was really mean. Even downright cruel.”

“What?” Gareth exclaimed “We were just teasing him!”

“Not to him, dumbass.” Dustin hissed sharply. “To her.”

“Your sister?” Mike asked, a frown twisting his features “What does she have to do with all this?”

“Seriously?” Dustin replied incredulously “You mean to tell me you’ve never noticed?”

The boys shook their heads and Dustin sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

“For people who claim to have it all figured out, you surely are clueless.” he exhaled long and deeply, as if preparing to give a stern scolding to a bunch of four year olds “My sister has the biggest crush on Eddie.”

“What?”

“No she doesn’t.”

“Have you guys never noticed the way she stares at him? How she’s always giddy and happy around him?”

“Yeah, ‘cause they’ve been best friends since they were little?” Grant chimed in.

“No, it’s different.” Dustin tried looking for the right words to explain himself “It’s like… she feels safe with him. Like she knows at the end of the day she’ll always have a safe place right besides him to fall back in.”

“Except Eddie likes Chrissy.” Mike mumbled, the cogs turning in his brain.

“Exactly.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it,” Gareth stared back at Dustin, wide eyed “she also stares at Chrissy a lot. Always with this wistful, dreamy look on her face.”

“Almost as if she wants to… be Chrissy?” Dustin completed, making a lightbulb go up simultaneously in all four boy’s heads “Yeah. She’s head over heels for him, and you teasing him about his crush only serves to remind her of what she’ll never ever have!”

The guys had the decency to look ashamed at his outburst.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, getting up from their table and collecting his, yours and Eddie’s tray “I’m going to go find my sister and lend her my shoulder for her to cry on.”

Gareth, Jeff, Mike and Grant stared at his retreating form, guilt weighing heavily on their stomachs.

Dustin found Eddie in front of his locker, shuffling through the stuff inside, looking for something.

“Hey, Eddie.” Dustin leaned against the door of the locker adjacent to his, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Hey, man.” Eddie answered, without so much as looking over at his friend. He looked annoyed, the boy dared say even slightly pissed.

“Have you seen my sister?”

The younger boy jumped about a foot in the air when the door to the locker was slammed shut, a smal, metallic black lunch box hanging tightly from Eddie’s fist.

“No, Henderson, I haven’t seen her.” he answered, a fed up expression crossing his face as he started walking away.

“Wait up, Eddie.” Dustin held him by the cuff of his jacket, preventing him from leaving “I wanna talk to you.”

The metalhead sighed and turned his attention to the boy, nodding for him to go on.

“I know you like Chrissy-”

“I don’t like-”

“Please, just let me finish.” Dustin held a hand up for him to stop interrupting, to which Eddie rolled his eyes but stayed quiet “I know you like Chrissy. I do, really. Just… don’t break her heart.”

“Chrissy’s?” Eddie seemed confused.

“No.” he said your name hurriedly, desperately trying to get his point across “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but she really really likes you. Like -likes you.”

“She doesn’t like me.” Eddie answered unphased, his calmness making Dustin’s heartbeat pick up in anger.

“Yes, she does! How come you don’t see that?” he rubbed a palm over his face, the pull on his cheeks stretching his lower eyelids so far Eddie worried his eyes were about to pop out of the socket “I just- I… I just don’t want her to get hurt.”

Eddie’s entire demeanor deflated, a small sigh escaping through his lips. As annoying as the young boy could be sometimes, Dustin had an enormous heart, always worrying about others and putting their needs and feelings before his own, and (Eddie felt a twinge of pride anytime he thought about it) he was loyal to a fault. Those were among the first things he noticed about the boy when he started his freshman year, prompting the metalhead to quickly take him under his wing. That and his Weird Al tee.

He laid a hand over Dustin’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I can assure you, with the same certainty that the sky is blue and ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ is by far the best one in the trilogy, I’m not going to break her heart.” seeing a tiny residual layer of distrust fleetingly cross through Dustin’s eyes, he squeezed his shoulder tighter “I promise.”

Dustin nodded thoughtfully, shyly smiling up at his friend.

“Thank you.”

Eddie smiled back at him, giving his shoulder one last squeeze, before he was back to his usual dramatic self.

“Now, I’m going to find your sister and beg for forgiveness. I’ll even drop to my knees and grovel if I have to.”

Dustin laughed at his antics, watching Eddie practically skip down the deserted hallway away from him, clutching the metal lunch box loosely on his hand.

“If you continue to stare at the table like that it’s gonna go up in flames and probably spread all around the woods. And I really don’t want to add crimes against the environment to my ever growing list of felonies, you know?” Eddie’s face morphed into a shit-eating grin as he stared at your slumped form.

You only spared him a half-hearted glare before balling your hands tightly. You slammed your fists against the wooden picnic table in front of you, jumping out of the bench and starting to pace along the leaf covered ground.

“It’s just so annoying, you know?” you huffed angrily “They notice one little thing, one wrong thing might I add, and just believe they’ve got us all figured out!”

“Yep.” he agreed, also mildly annoyed at the situation.

Throwing your arms above your head in frustration, you kicked some of the leaves with the toe of your sneakers.

“Even if you were into Chrissy, how is that any of their business?”

“Mhmm.”

You paused for a moment, wringing your hands together, a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to shake.

“But they are right, you know?”

“How so?” Eddie’s entire face scrunched up in confusion.

“You have been staring at Chrissy a lot recently.” you spoke quietly.

His face softened at the way you seemed to withdraw into yourself, letting your insecurities get the best of you. He stood up from the other bench, the dry leaves on the ground crunching under his white Reebok’s as he closed the distance between the two of you, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder, not unlike how he had done with your brother earlier.

“I’m just looking out for her. She hasn’t been all that well recently and Carver…” he sighed at the mention of his arch-nemesis “They may be dating but the dude still scares me when it comes to her. And she hasn’t been really happy with him for a while now. I don’t want her to get on his bad side.”

Your heart swelled with affection towards your best friend. Eddie had a heart of gold, one he hid behind leather and chains and metal and fantasylands to protect it from being hurt. Only a few selected individuals got to see this side of him, and you were extremely thankful you got to be one of them.

“I do not have a crush on Chrissy Cunningham, okay? You’ve got nothing to worry about.” he squeezed your shoulder playfully as his once soft smile grew mirthful “Besides, from how well we know each other, I’m actually offended you’d even suggest such a thing.”

You giggled at that, eased by both his actions and his words. Sensing you were back to your usual self, Eddie smiled, taking a step back, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You do know that this would all stop if you just told them the truth, right?” he asked seriously “At the very least Dustin?”

You snorted.

“Right, because that is super easy and plausible.” you mocked “What would I even say to him? ‘Hey, little bro! You know how you’re into Suzie, a girl? Yeah, so am I.”

Eddie threw his head back, a loud and full laugh escaping from his wide smile. Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes as he clutched his stomach, almost doubling over at the hilarity of your words.

“Man, oh, man. The way you phrased that-” he hiccuped, trying to regain his breath while wiping away some tears that had escaped down his cheek.

You couldn’t help but giggle as well, his laughter contagious, and a small smile formed on his face at having helped improve your mood.

“Yeah, it sounded pretty weird, didn’t it?” you shrugged your shoulders sheepishly.

He nodded, finally being able to stop chuckling.

“Just tell him you like pussy, can’t be that hard.” he sat back down on the bench, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Edward Cornelius Munson!” you gasped and slapped his shoulder.

“What, so do I!” he threw his hands up in amusement before smirking “That, among other things.”

“I know, it’s just… I’m not about to use such a-” you hesitated as you took in his wolfish grin “foul language with my baby brother.”

“He’s a high schooler!” he almost shouted.

“No matter how old we may be, he’ll always be my baby brother.” you answered, sitting back down on the bench, your smile faltering for just a moment. It was only a moment, but Eddie noticed. He always did when it came to you.

“You should tell him, you know?”

Your face fell completely, smile disappearing as your shoulders slumped.

“You know I can’t.” you said softly, prompting a small sad smile from him “What if-” you swallowed thickly before whispering “What if he doesn’t look at me the same anymore?”

Eddie reached across the table, his hands laying palms up against the old wood. His fingers crooked in his direction, signaling for you to lay your own on top of them.

“He’s your brother.” he squeezed your hands tightly in his own “You said so yourself, he’s your baby brother. That kid worships the very ground you walk on.”

“Eddie-” you shook your head, but his hands closed even more tightly around yours.

“No, listen to me.” he said firmly, his stern voice promptly shutting you up “He’s your brother and he loves you, so very much. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing could ever change that.”

Your eyes prickled, brimming with unshed tears. With a sniffle you squeezed his hands in return, willing yourself not to cry.

“Thanks.”

He smiled at you one more time before dropping your hands, his smile turning mischievous. 

“But seriously, Chrissy Cunningham?” he smirked, a mock disgusted look on his face “How basic can you be?”

“We’ve been over this before, Eddie.” you giggled “It’s just- she’s so-”

“So pretty and kind and nice, yeah yeah, I’ve heard it all before.” he waved his hands dismissively at you “Why don’t you talk to her?”

You snapped your head at him, eyes widening minutely.

“What?” you stuttered “Are you insane?”

“What, why? It was just a suggestion!” he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“I couldn’t possibly talk to her! She’s pretty and popular, she’s-”

“The Queen of Hawkins High?” Eddie completed.

“Yes, exactly. And I’m just-”

“A freak?”

You shook your head.

“-me.” you whispered sadly “She’s everything and I’m just… me.”

Eddie’s eyes softened, something akin to pity and concern crossing behind them.

“That’s not true.” he spoke softly, as if you were a cornered animal and any loud noise would spook you. He sighed at the way you shrugged, realizing he couldn't get past the insecurities that had lodged themselves in your brain.

“Besides, she’s with Jason.”

“Fuck that dickhead! He’s not worthy of her time.” Eddie blew a raspberry “She’s really nice. He doesn’t deserve her.”

Ever since she started buying from him, the two of them had become really good friends. Eddie was very fond of her and would do almost anything to keep her safe. Even fighting her own boyfriend if it came to it.

“Yeah, right.”

“You should talk to her. You have a lot more in common than you realize.” he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant “If nothing else, I think you two would be great friends.”

You smiled at him, a genuine smile this time. You were very grateful for having Eddie in your life. He was always there for you when you needed, always willing to drop everything just to make you smile. For a smile while you were afraid of losing him, having revealed your secret when he confessed to having a crush on you for a while. You were a sophomore, he was just starting his first round as a senior and you had known each other for a long while when he dropped that on you. You were scared, terrified even, that you’d end up losing him completely, but he hadn’t been disgusted nor weirded out, like you’d expected. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had been incredibly supportive and even revealed that he himself wasn’t very conventional when it came to relationships.

“I mean, as long as they love me and treat me AND my friends right… and don’t mind me blasting Black Sabbath on my sweetheart every once in a while, who cares? Guys, girls, people who are neither? Doesn’t matter, man.” 

“Thanks, Eddie.” you smiled at him, giving one of his shoulders a soft punch.

“If you want the teasing to stop, though, you’ll have to tell the boys from Hellfire.”

“And risk Mike Wheeler running his loud mouth around? Then get turned into an even bigger laughing stock for being something even worse than a ‘freak’ in their eyes? Or worse, get beat to a pulp by someone like Jason Carver? No, thank you.”

Eddie agreed. Then, for a moment, he looked up, brows furrowed, deep in thought.

“To be fair, I’m pretty sure Wheeler has a puppy dog kinda crush on me.”

“Oh, no, he does. For sure.” you nodded vehemently “He pretty much stole your style and your mannerisms, there’s no way he doesn’t have at least a small infatuation towards you.”

He chuckled.

“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend, though?”

“Yeah, El. But he also talks about Will Byers almost as much as he talks about her. It’s always ‘Will this, Will that’... you might as well incorporate Will, the Wise into our next campaign.” that made him giggle and shake his head at your antics. No matter how much you teased your brother and his friends, you loved those munchkins very much.

Him, sensing you were finally relaxing, decided to throw in a joke to alleviate the mood even further.

“Soooooo, Henderson… when are you asking her out then?” he said, smirking at your smiling face.

You threw your head back, laughing at his jokester self.

“I dunno, Munson.” you shrugged “When are you going to ask Steve Harrington out?”

“Uh, never?!” his face looked almost offended, a pink tinge dusting his cheeks, but in truth you knew how much he liked the former ‘King’.

“There’s your answer.”

He chuckled, amused.

“See, that’s why I keep myself open to the opportunities. There’s plenty of fish on this sea.” he tsked “Try being more like me, won’t ya?”

“Oh yes” your face turned mockingly serious “I’ll be exactly like you. With at least twice, if not more, as much opportunity and yet you’re still alone.”

With a hand to his chest, he gasped dramatically.

“How dare you?!” he glared at you playfully “Low blow.”

“It’s the truth.”

He chuckled, pulling a laugh out of you, and for a moment, all your worries vanished.

“I swear to you, Max, if he so much as thinks about hurting her I’ll personally break every single one of his fingers so he can never play his precious guitar ever again.” Dustin hissed as he pushed the doors open at Family Video.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, exchanging a suspicious glance with Robin.

“Dustin here is threatening bodily harm.” the red-head explained as she walked towards the horror section, stopping briefly to stare at a copy of ‘Pretty In Pink’ in the romance section.

“To whom?” Robin asked.

Dustin sighed heavily, like the thought gave him an immense amount of pain.

“Eddie.”

Steve stared at Dustin as if he’d grown a second head. Normally Dustin wouldn’t shut up about his Dungeon Master, he basically worshiped the dude, to Steve’s mild annoyance. So for him to be mad at Eddie, something drastic must have happened.

“What did the dingus do?” Robin pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, don’t ask-” Max shouted from over between the shelves.

“I’m glad you asked!” Dustin cut her off, jumping up and sitting over the counter, ignoring the protests of both Steve and Robin “Okay, it’s kind of a long story.”

“Oh, no.” Steve mumbled under his breath.

“So, you guys know my sister, right?”

“Of course we do, she’s one of our best friends. Also works here all other days of the week?” Robin questioned, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, her.” Dustin continued, unbothered “She’s got it bad for Eddie. Like head over heels bad.”

Steve almost choked on air. From the corner of his eye he could see Robin shooting the young boy a funny look, almost in disbelief.

“But the thing is, Eddie has it bad for Chrissy Cunningham.”

Robin and Steve stared at one another, jaws hanging open. 

“Okay, and?” Steve asked.

“And?” Dustin asked incredulously “And she’s bound to get hurt. She’s going to get hurt and-” he let out a shuddering breath “I don’t want to see that happen.”

Both Steve’s and Robin’s gaze softened at the boy’s kind words. 

“If it serves as any consolation, Dustin, your sister does not have a crush on Eddie.”

“Yes, she does!” Dustin practically shouted “She���s my sister and I know her! She is in love with Eddie! It’s so obvious, why can’t none of you see it?”

“Dust-” Robin tried interrupting, but the boy cut her off, offended.

“What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t know my own sister?!”

Robin raised her hands, trying to calm the boy down.

“Okay, okay. Fine.” she sighed defeated.

Steve sensed Dustin was getting upset and tried to placate him into calming down.

“Hey, man. If, by any chance, he ends up breaking her heart, I’ll help you bash that metalhead’s skull in.”

Dustin smiled a toothy grin, reassured by his friend’s words.

“Now!” Steve clapped his hands “I assume the two of you aren’t here just to gossip now, are you?”

Dustin straightened his spine, jumping down from the counter and disappearing behind some shelves. Moments later he came back, dragging a reluctant Max by the wrist.

“Maxine here” he started (to which Max mumbled ‘Call me Maxine again and I’ll break your fucking nose’ under her breath) “has never watched Star Wars.”

Steve gasped dramatically.

“Seriously?! What a crime!”

Robin rolled her eyes.

“You haven’t watched it either, dingus.”

“Yes I have!”

“Sleeping halfway through ‘A New Hope’ doesn’t count as watching!”

“Anyway,” Dustin cleared his throat “Mike and I agreed that it’s about time she watched it and decided on a movie marathon. Lucas is also joining us. So if either of you can get me the tapes for the entire trilogy, we‘ll get out of your hair as soon as possible.”

Robin started typing in Dustin’s file while Steve went out back to retrieve the requested tapes.

“Uh, guys?” Steve came back to the front of the store holding one tape in each hand “Looks like someone already rented one of them.”

“What?!” Dustin’s voice broke as he reached for the tapes “‘Return Of The Jedi’ is missing! Who in their right minds rents only ‘Return Of The Jedi'?!”

Robin looked at Steve, a mischievous smile crossing her features. He knew she could only mean trouble.

“Let me check that out for you.”

“Uh, Rob.” Steve mumbled, concerned “That’s against company policy.”

“Come on, Stev-o, live a little! We do this all the time to find out stuff about people.”

“Oh, and checking the renting log for Star Wars 3 will tell us what exactly?”

Robin smirked. Oh, Steve didn’t like where this was going.

“If we cross reference it with the other two,” Robin started typing on the computer behind the counter “we can check out who rented all three of them together or rented all three of them separately but in the correct order.”

“And those who rented just this one?”

Robin’s smirk only grew. She looked at Steve dead in the eye and mouthed the word ‘boobies’. Steve could practically hear the moment the shoe dropped, his own face morphing into a smirk. 

“Are we missing something here?” Max asked, suspicious.

Robin dismissed her and continued typing. It took about twenty minutes, but she eventually had printed out an extensive list of names after having written down a bunch of names and connecting them on her little white board.

“Okay, munchkins.” she turned to them, swiveling her chair “I have it. After pulling the records of the past six months, I managed to find out all the people who rented ‘Return Of The Jedi’ solo.”

Dustin giggled, and Max rolled her eyes, but a tiny amused smile pulled at her lips. Steve awaited eagerly, hanging from the edge of his seat.

“Let’s see, from oldest to newest.” Robin cleared her throat “Eddie Munson, clearly; me; Vicki; Eddie again; your sister.” 

Steve side-eyed her, his brows furrowing in confusion, but Robin kept going without paying him any mind.

“Vicki again; your sister again; Fred Benson; Eddie; Vickie; Eddie; Jason Carver;” her face scrunched up in disgust (to which Dustin screamed a “Jason Carver likes Star Wars?! ”) before continuing “your sister; Vickie; me; Eddie aaaaaand… oh!”

Everyone froze, startled expressions paralyzing their faces.

“What do you mean ‘oh!’?” Steve asked, incredulous.

Robin’s eyes were wide as saucers, her eyebrows so far up her forehead they disappeared under her short bangs. Her mouth hung wide open and only small stutters came out. Swallowing hard, she exhaled sharply through her nose before turning to her friends, her voice low.

“The last person to rent ‘Return Of The Jedi’ and who currently has the tape is Chrissy Cunningham.”

Multiple things happened at once. Steve’s jaw fell almost to the ground, Dustin let out a loud disbelieving yelp and Max’s eyes widened just a fraction. 

“Seriously?” Dustin asked “Chrissy Cunningham, captain of the cheer squad, queen of Hawkins High, Jason Carver’s girlfriend, rented out a Star Wars movie?”

Steve and Robin glanced at one another. It was clear their incredulity stemmed from a totally different reason then the two kids. 

“Oh, well.” the boy threw his hands up in defeat “I guess our movie marathon is fucked.”

Max looked conflicted, slightly relieved but at the same time kind of bummed. Steve was already pulling the file for ‘Return Of The Jedi’ on the computer again, desperately trying to put a smile back on that kid’s face.

“She’s due to return it tomorrow. Why don’t you come by then? It’s Friday anyway, don’t you have Hellfire today?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Dustin shrugged “We were going to head straight to Mike’s after the club and Max would meet us there.”

“Tell you what,” Steve nodded his chin conspiratorially “why don’t you take something else for today, have a sleepover, and as soon as Chrissy returns the tape tomorrow I’ll drive by the Wheeler’s and deliver it to you, okay?”

“But what if Chrissy doesn’t return it on time?” Max asked.

The sound of keys being smashed on the keyboard pulled their attention back to Robin, who had taken over the computer.

“It says here she hasn’t missed one due date, and she’s been coming here for quite a while now.” she smiled reassuringly “You guys have nothing to worry about, Steve’s got this covered for you.”

After a few more moments trying to reassure Max’s everlasting distrust and restore Dustin’s goofy mood, the two kids left with a copy of ‘Gremlins’, one of Max’s favorite movies of all times. As they were about to set foot outside the door, Robin called out to Dustin.

“Don’t worry about your sister, okay? She’ll be alright.”

Dustin nodded and they left. With a huff, Robin slumped against the counter.

“So, what was that about our dearest Henderson having a crush on Eddie?” Steve asked.

“Trust me, dude, she does not have a crush on him.”

“Dustin seemed pretty adamant that she does.”

“She doesn’t.” the girl hissed.

“How could you possibly know? She might be one of your best friends since forever, but sometimes people rather keep-”

“Because I know!” Robin practically shouted “Because she’s also into the same stuff we both are!”

“You mean…” Steve’s eyes widened, before his confusion gave way to understanding “She did rent that Star Wars a lot.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Robin leaned closer to him and lowered her voice down to a whisper, even though there was no one else in the store at the time “We dated briefly in middle school. We were both going through a self-discovery journey kind of thing and we helped each other out. It’s good talking about your feelings with someone who actually gets it, who also knows exactly what you’re going through. That, combined with the fact we’d been friends for so long, had us both thinking that dating was the natural progression of things.” she smiled a sad, fond smile before shrugging “Don’t get me wrong, she’s pretty cute, smart and all, but we quickly realized it was more like kissing a cousin than anything.”

“Ew.” Steve shrudded.

“Mhmm. So we broke things off about a month in.”

“Wow. That’s nice actually.” Steve smiled at her “It’s nice to know you didn’t have to go through all of that alone.”

Robin nodded in agreement, turning back towards her friend. She found him already staring at her eagerly. She closed her eyes with a sigh.

“Spit it out.”

“So our resident freak has a crush on the Queen of Hawkins High?”

Robin eyed him funny.

“No he doesn’t.” she scoffed “There’s only one person in this town whom Eddie fancies, and it’s certainly not Chrissy.”

“Who’s it?” he asked, like a kid who’s begging their parents to reveal the contents of their Christmas gift in advance.

Robin felt like she could facepalm. Better yet, bang her head on the counter multiple times.

“Seriously, Harrington?! Are you really that dense?”

Steve stared at her like a clueless puppy.

“What?”

She huffed and grabbed a pile of returned tapes to sort through.

“Anywaaay…” Steve sat next to her again “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Uh, duh? The fact that Chrissy rented that movie? You said so yourself and that list was pretty self explanatory.”

Robin smirked at him, a small chuckle climbing out of her throat.

“I think, my dear friend,” she topped her act off with a wink “that there’s more to Chrissy Cunningham than meets the eye.”

[lussterpurge]

Wait, whats your take on how alain is treated by team flare???

Have a nice day and take your time

!!!!

In my head it doesn’t stray too far from canon tbh, it’s manipulation from Lysandre at its finest. I find it interesting when people do darker takes than canon on how Alain was treated but yeah.

The story goes as it does in the anime. Lysandre finds the Ampharosite before Alain, and challenges her to get it. She loses, and goes with him to Lysandre Labs. But Lysandre had been keeping tab on Alain for AT LEAST 4 months by the time they met. Lysandre does the offer with the keystone/charizardite, and manipulates her to cut contact with Sycamore.

As for how he was actually treated, Alain didn’t suffer anything physical, although it would be an interesting turn. Instead, whenever he stepped out of line Lysandre “challenged him to battles” which as expected he easily won. Lysandre believed Charizard getting hurt was enough for Alain to stay in line, considering their bond. Lysandre also overworked her a lot, sending like 5 assignments in different corners of the region per day. This is why Alain stopped caring for himself, as he considered that brushing his hair or painting his nails was just a waste of time.

The mega ring Alain got counted also as a tracker and it kept some tabs on his health state. At first Alain found it creepy how if she took a few hours more to move to the next location she would get a call, but got used to it overtime.

Also, when Mairin’s Chespie got sick, Lysandre used that against Alain. He never tried to heal Chespie, just promised he was doing so to “motivate” Alain.

As for the climax, I finally found a cause for that nose scar. Lysandre’s Pyroar! During the climax, it tried to get him (quite literally), and managed to scratch his nose. It took quite long for it to heal, and the area around it feels slightly numb.

To summarize, Lysandre cared but didn’t care. He just wants his whole world, but has grown to see Alain as … uhm, I’m not sure how to put this. Pet ? Doll ? Lysandre knows that what he says is what Alain does, without a single doubt. So that’s really fucked up I guess.

ALSO MINI OC RANT BC ITS TECHNICALLY RELATED AND I LOVE THEM SORRY 😞😞😞

My oc Aster USED to have a similar relationship to Lysandre, but they realized before the climax what he was doing. So they ran off with their keystone and their charizardite Y. This is why Lysandre gets waay more stricter with Alain.

Ty for asking, you too have a great day !! <3

[ravensmadreads]

UM??????

Sit down and lace up cause im going on a LONG FUCKING RANT-

Ok firstly, im SORRY it took me so long to get to this.. i know i know you're gonna say its fine but hush let me apologize because i feel horrible about letting you and my dust bowl daddy hang for so long. That being said????

TAYLOR???? i dont know how you do it i swear i dont. Every single time. Fucking brilliant, after fucking brilliant-er and it just keeps getting MORE AND MORE BRILLAINT LIKE FUCKKKKK QUEEN FUCKKKKK. HOW TF DO YOU KEEP GETTING BETTER?? SHARE YOUR WITCHCRAFT WITH US MORTALSSSSSS MA'AM PLEASEEEEEE

Before i get all hyper and rambly i just have to say i LOVE the world building you do like?? Its so artistic? So poetic? So vivid? I can legit SEE myself on the supply run with ellie and joel, sweltering in the fields with reader, heart melting in the room with all four of them as they stare at Ellies cake, The Dip with Joel like?? F U C K? You're a genius fr fr fr 💯

and now to the feralness: MY BABIES T_T ILOVETHEMSOMUCH T_T the whole run with joel and ellie is like banger after banger i mean fuckkk offfff because how dare you write their relationship so well you menace im crying over them already and the angst hasnt even reached boiling point yet?!?!

And then the mini little bombs you leave everywhere???

His feet are starting to sting from balancing on that knife’s edge these past few months. - grrrr shut up the poetic imagery of this LINE. HIS ANGUISH, HIS FEAR, HIS TURMOIL, HIS HOPE ALL TANGLED UP IN HIS HEAD AHHHHHHHHH

The silence stretches, a handful of conversations pressing up to the back of his teeth before fading on his tongue. - JOEL YOU EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED MAN LET ME GENTLY HOLD YOU IN MY ARMS AND PET YOUR FLOOFY HAIR CAUSE YOU SO DENSEEEEEEEE T_T

Are calloused hands and thick, ruddy skin – supply runs into ghost towns – all that she wanted for her only child? - IM GONNA LOSE IT TAYLOR ISTG MY MENTAL HEALTH IS HANGING BY A THREAD AND IT'S THE WIDTH OF READERS HAIR

Earning Joel’s trust precipitated a steady climb or thundering fall – you just weren’t sure which yet. - do you hear that banging??? Its me at ur door threatening to break it tf down because HOW DARE YOU?! (also shut upppppp the whole scene with the hand cream had me rolling aroundddddd because fuckkkkkkkk they're so cuteeeeee kiss alreadyyyyyyy)

The chalk clicks as you press a small circle beneath the question mark. - i know this seems so out of place but like im in awe of your mind and i will explain with great rambling why this in particular made me lose my marbles in your dms thanks

“Who’s going on a date?” - when i tell you i SQUEALED AT GLASS BREAKIKG FREQUENCY IM NOT EVEN LYING!!! FOREVER KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH FOR INCLUDING THISSSSSS (also i will pester you like the rodent i am until i get that 🍆 joke :p)

There is so much of you in her, it hurts to accept she is not yours, in any capacity. - sobbed with actual tears throughout this interactions thanks I hate you T_T (also the hint of writer Tommy? And Joel's anger? BAWLING MY EYES OUT T_T)

“Oh, it takes a lot to piss me off. ‘Cause I’m a casual and easy-going kinda guy, y’know.” - THEY'RE TEASING EACH OTHER T_T CAN I CALL THE CHURCH WHEN'S THE WEDDINGGGGG T_T

“No, goddamn it, I don’t!”  - SHUT THE FUCK UP. SHUT UP. SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP. HOW DID IT ALL GO SO WRONG WHEN IT WAS JUST RIGHT A MINUTE AGO. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME. WHY. IM SICK ALREADY WHY MUST YOU HURT ME LIKE THIS WHEN IM VULNERABLE. ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES WOMAN

But he’s also not that kind of man who knows how to navigate the aftermath. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than a father and a worker. Hasn’t cared to be anything else for a long, long time, and the muscle has atrophied. Can’t be a friend. Not a companion. Not whatever paints his dreams with streaks the color of your eyes.  - TAYLOR WHAT THE FUCK????? I DONT EVEN HAVE WORDS??????

They who have been alone together all their lives sit and hold their other half for a long, long time. - excuse me while i have a whole ass breakdown T_T

If talking to animals is the first step in going crazy, talking to holes in the ground must be a pretty bad sign. - ilovethemallsomuchitsborderlineinsane

And then the dancing THE DANCING AND THE APOLOGIES AND THE BAREST HINT OF SPICE IM SWOONING IM CRYING IM DYING IM WAILING IM THROWING UP IM LOSING MY MARBLES IM FUCKING INSANE FUCK YOU FUCK THIS FUCK ME WHEN DO I GET TO HAVE THIS JOEL AND ELLIE AND SARAH BECAUSE FUCK THEY'RE MY FAMILY NOW

And yet for a moment, for a brief moment, you had stepped into his light and, goddamn it, you were right. 

It was warm.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

I'M OKAY IM FINE-

and in their falling, rise again (lover, share your road - part ii) series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i | part iii

chapter rating: T

word count: ~25K

chapter summary: You and Ellie have adjusted to the Miller homestead in your own ways. Much to Sarah's delight, these roots you've planted have grown a bit deeper than any of you initially expected. But figuring out how Joel is feeling about all of these changes is a complicated dance you worry you're stumbling through — except when he takes the lead.

chapter warnings/tags: reader is described as skeletal early on but that is due to food scarcity not her natural body type, psychological/mental effects of domestic abuse, allusions to domestic abuse, underground spaces, one dead body, brief moment of gore, guns, aggressive behavior, father/daughter relationship dynamics, slow burn, praise kink in a trojan horse of "making friends"

a/n: this would have taken months longer (or not at all) without the support and guidance of @toomanytookas. everyone please say thank you! please note the update to the series parts on the masterlist - we're doing four (you have @toomanytookas to thank for that as well!)

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine - Wild Geese, Mary Oliver

part ii:

Dawn comes slowly to Dalhart, a place hardly anyone knows about, the last stop on the railway line where the forgetful or the sleepy end up because they’ve missed their stop somewhere else. The wheat boom made this place swell with life, with the blood of eager men, with the sickness of greed, and now the boom has burst, the guts and blood of hopes and dreams splattered up and down the dusty streets. Still, the next year people believe they can conquer the elements, conquer nature, their own hubris leading the way in the dark, following the guidance of a false sun. So they who came have stayed, mostly — mostly because they follow promises like fireflies, winking in the night with just enough light to convince themselves the darkness won’t last.

It’s for this reason, these stragglers with misbegotten illusions of grandeur, that he moves without light, embracing the dark. The lock on the back door was rusted from the wind and dust storms, easily broken against the butt of his gun, but he moves, low and fast, as fast as his knees will allow, relieved to find the windows still boarded up and threads of curtains still covering the dirt-smeared glass. The office in the back is windowless, which will make rifling through it, checking for false bottoms and loose walls, easier. This building is technically abandoned but getting caught will mean he has to answer questions he’d rather not answer – to himself or anyone else. Which means moving quick through the front reception room and maintaining the utmost silence is paramount to –

crunch

Joel whips around, the grip around his Colt tightening briefly, and locks eyes with the fourteen-year-old behind him, crouched as low as he is. 

A red handkerchief around her neck, she scrunches her nose up in a grimace, teeth stacked in her mouth. Oops. Sorry. My bad. 

Dropping the barrel of his gun lower, he points to her other foot, frozen in the air, inches above another cracked plate of glass. He indicates it with the jerk of his gaze and she nods, hands raised, slowly backing up and off another potential alarm. Shaking his head, he eases forward on protesting knees, his own thick boots shuffling flat against the floor. He feels eyes on the back of him, watching how he navigates the shards littering the ground. 

Briefly listening for movement, he knocks back the office door with his shoulder, rising slowly in spite his screaming thighs, scanning the darkness before flicking on the light. The girl behind him shuffles in and shuts the door after her. 

He sees Ellie blink rapidly against the light, scowling behind her raised hand, before she takes a look around. 

“Shit, man, did a fucking bomb go off in here or something?”

People, like most pack animals, tend to react instead of think in moments of fear. Fear, like when their town’s only doctor takes off in the middle of the night with no warning. A bad omen, an egg forgotten until it starts to stink. 

“Dalhart got all pissed off when Eldelstein split. Came here to either ransack the place or take what they thought they were owed.” Joel moves to slides his gun into his waistband, but the muzzle keeps getting stuck on his belt. 

“Guess they thought they were owed a lot,” Ellie muses as she kicks over a broken plank of wood, adding to the debris that litters the dust-covered floors. She watches him struggle tugging his shirt out. “I can carry the gun, if you want. You know, if you need a hand free.” 

He responds with that glare, the glare that he often reserved only for her. Disapproving, unamused, but . . . Ellie smirks, hands up in the air. 

“Sorry I asked, man, just trying to help.” 

Joel nods sternly. “You heard what your aunt said. Help, but don’t touch. D’you need the list again?” 

She waves him off, wandering over to the overturned couch. “Nah, I know what I’m looking for. And you know she’s no fun anyway.”

He watches her, hesitant, as she crouches down by what used to be a consulting couch and peels back the wood planks and torn wallpaper. This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this – scavenging for supplies – and he is reminded again of the bits and pieces of Ellie’s old life he has picked up on over the past few months. Every time, it knots his stomach. 

Jaw tight in his head, grasping at that relentless focus that seems to be eluding him as of late, Joel overturns what used to be a desk to look for the latch you told him might be there. 

Just by the top drawer.

Your shoulder, then the crease of your arm had touched his as you leaned in towards the rough sketch you make of a doctor’s desk. You smelled like lilac and sunlight. There was a curl of hair on the back of your neck, loose as it curled down your throat, by your pulse. 

It’ll be small. Just a latch.

Your fingers had brushed his wrist, eyes downcast, lashes soft against the curve of your cheek. There was a smear of something green on the sleeve of your dress. Fresh grass, maybe? Herbs from the garden? The light behind you illuminated the thin skin of your ear, the supple drop of your earlobe.

You won’t need much pressure. Just a flick. It should open up under your thumb. You can’t miss it, Joel.

Joel.

“Joel!”

“What?” 

Ellie rolls her eyes at his nearly-bared teeth. “I’m gonna have my aunt look at your hearing, ‘cause there’s definitely something wrong with you.”

With a grunt, Joel kneels down and reaches into the far back of the desk where it is still held together in the corner, resolutely smothering the high flutter in his chest. His fingers touch something metal, something other than that green felt and split wood. He gets his thumb around it and it clicks.

“I found gauze and iodine,” Ellie says, holding up half a bottle and some dirty wrapping. “That wasn’t on the list she put together, but we probably need it, right?” 

He feels something give way, but it isn’t clear where. He eases the desk back further to try and lift it to the light. 

“Iodine is meant for keeping infections out. Wounds clean n’ all that.”

Ellie huffs, more exasperated this time. “I know that. That’s why I was asking.”

“Planning on getting wounded any time soon?”

“Fine, you jackass, I’ll just throw them out –,”

“Put ‘em in your pack if you’ve got room. Otherwise, we only take what we came here for.” 

With a light press, a small drawer eases open. Just a crack and barely enough to get his fingers inside, but he can see the bottle. Clear, made of glass, and filled with little white pills. 

Morphine. 

It had been his first idea when Sarah’s condition started to deteriorate, but the papers and medical journals he ordered in at the supply store about addiction kept him from ever really considering it as an option.  But with you here – and you had already done so much for her recovery – with you here –

I can manage it, Joel. They’ve done wonderful things with rehabilitation and comfort. I promise I will monitor her closely.

He knows a line should exist about what he would and wouldn’t allow for Sarah’s treatment, but as of late, that line has become so blurred he sometimes has to scramble to find it. 

Would and wouldn’t.

Should and shouldn’t. 

His feet are starting to sting from balancing on that knife’s edge these past few months.

He hears the pills rattle as he drops the bottle into the bottom of his canvas rucksack. Ellie’s buckling hers as Joel stands and joins her search of a knocked-over cabinet. Not much there either but cough syrup and penicillin. 

“What else you got?” 

“Some bandaids, a handful of calcidin tablets, and a busted hot water bottle that I think we could melt shut.” She adjusts the straps, her face serious. “Maybe he kept the good stuff for himself upstairs.” 

He nods to the fourteen-year-old with a knife in her sock and a hard scowl on her face. “Yeah, maybe.”

He objectively can see the absurdity of supply stealing with a girl barely older than a child, but in this world, in Dalhart, at the end of the line, there is always more innocence to be lost. He knew Sarah’s own childhood was not a normal one, not one that any fussy school marm would deem appropriate for a young girl, and so if he isn’t working himself to the bone in the fields, he is working himself tirelessly to shelter whatever is left of her youth. But, like so many other things, it feels gone already, passed on in a cloud of dust. 

He thinks, had her life been different – that look in her eyes only comes from being exposed to violence – Ellie might have been a bit softer at the edges, no different from any other teenager. He wonders, briefly, what happened to her that made her believe she has to carry a knife with her everywhere.

“We’ll go check but you’re gonna follow the rules, right?” 

Ellie’s shoulder slouch forward, buffeting air between her lips. “Stay behind you, stay low, and stay quiet. Oh, and help but don’t touch. I got it, I got it. ” 

“And here I thought it was physically impossible for you to listen,” he mutters as he flicks off the light and opens the door again. He crouches low again, easing out into the front hallway as bruised morning sunlight peaks in between the boarded windows. 

“Only one of us is deaf, old man,” she mutters gruffly over his shoulder. 

Across from the reception hall is where Eldelstein would receive and treat patients. Most likely the first place that was ransacked, but there might be things missed. He makes a note to circle back after checking the apartment upstairs, but now with it getting light out, he knows their time is limited. 

The Colt at his side, Joel shuffles up the wooden staircase, dirt and dust sitting heavy between the crevices. Without much surprise, he realizes he can barely hear Ellie behind him at all, as if she took to his flat-footed approach. 

In the few months that have passed, he’s come to learn that Ellie is a very quick learner. 

The second story is almost the exact layout as the office arrangement downstairs. A brief hallway with two doors. He glances over his shoulder, rewarding her trust with an opportunity to lead, and Ellie’s eyes widen in understanding. She frowns at the two closed doors, thoughtful, and then she shrugs. 

“I’ve always felt good about being a righty.”

With a shallow huff, he moves forward towards the right door, hand gently twisting the knob, finger hovering over the Colt’s trigger. The door squeaks open as it swings back, Joel against the doorframe until he can give the space one quick sweep of his gaze. Then he’s opening the door wider and pocketing the gun.

Here the damage is less. Less rage and more morbid curiosity. The few narrow beds are shoved haphazardly around the room as if someone went about kicking them aside. Old gray sheets lay in tangled bundles on the floor and the mattresses. Beat-up infusion stands are rusted and broken in the corner, one halfway stuck in a torn-up chunk of wall. A thin door at the far end of the room shielding a dark bathroom is missing its handle. Drawers are torn open, left hanging like loose teeth, violence as enjoyment. A patient recovery room, most likely, for those needing overnight care and –

She gasps sharply behind him before sprinting across the room, the floorboards shrieking.

“Ellie!”

“Joel, look, it’s a radio!” 

It’s about the size of her head, turned away and tilted on the back of a long shelf below the window, but she drags it forward, setting it in front of her and her fingers immediately fly to the knobs.

“I’m gonna shit a brick if this works–”

A faint crackle and her own gasp of delight. It’s not much, it’s hardly music, but there’s something there. She spins the dial, moving across radio waves, the faint yellow light flickering behind the numbered notches. Just as a voice breaks through the dusty speakers, the box hisses and the radio goes silent. 

“Okay, but you saw that, right? It worked for, like, ten whole seconds! If we take it home, I bet–,”

“No.” 

“Aw – what?” She frowns. “Why? C’mon. It’s one radio.”

“It’s too big and we can’t travel light with it.” 

“But I’ve got room in my pack –,”

“No.”

“Fine!” She flicks one of the broken dials off, scowling. “Whatever.” 

Her back turned to him, Ellie yanks open a nearby cabinet door, the lines of her shoulders tight. Joel watches her rummage around, a heavy weight in his gut, before he rights a fallen bedside table to get to the counter behind it. 

He finds scissors, a stitch kit, and saline solution. Behind him, he hears Ellie load her pack. 

The silence stretches, a handful of conversations pressing up to the back of his teeth before fading on his tongue. Sarah is rarely ever this annoyed with him – especially not as often as Ellie seems to be – and it doesn’t sit well with him, knowing Ellie is over there, stewing. 

He doesn’t want her angry with him, for no other purpose than she made Sarah happy. 

No other purpose at all. 

He’s reaching up, checking above a tall wooden wardrobe, when his hand bumps into something, a jar, and he remembers those comics she told Sarah about. Maybe some of them are around here somewhere. 

“Hey, Ellie, uh–,”

“Why hasn’t anyone found out about your homestead yet?” Ellie asks suddenly, her arm digging around behind a chipped bureau. “Or raided it? It’s just you and Sarah out there and people could . . . how do you keep it a secret?” 

His fingers close around the cool jar and he pulls it down. 

Luxor, the label reads. 

Hand cream. 

His dirty thumb smears brown over the lip of the jar. He thinks of delicate skin, raw pink, a painful pink. The thing he has in his hands would soothe that ache. He thinks this might form the words I thought of you when his own mouth fucking can’t. The muscle between his shoulder blades twinges painfully as he takes off his pack and slips the jar inside. 

The radio really would be too much weight, but . . .

“It’s complicated.” He tells Ellie. Across the room, she stills, turns around and looks at him straight on. This is the niece of someone who almost shot two Texas Rangers, who at fourteen carries a knife in her sock and won’t hesitate to use it. There is something wild in her eyes. 

“I don’t think it is.” Her tone edges the line between curiosity and taunt. Her eyebrows ride high on her forehead and her lips slightly purse, mouth centimeters from a smirk. She speaks quietly, honorifically. “I think it has something to do with why those ranger guys were so fucking scared of you they nearly shit themselves. I think it also has to do with Sarah.”

Eyes narrowed, locked across the recovery room. Careful. Be very careful. The jar offsets the distributed weight of his bag. 

“I don’t think anyone actually knows about her condition or how well the homestead is doing. And I think you’d fuck up a whole squad of those assholes to keep it that way.” The silence stretches but it’s sticky now. Ellie grins up at him, the secret she plucked from him sitting in her smile. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

She smirks with the confidence of youth, a spark of naive innocence.

Joel scuffs his shoe on the ground, his hands going to his hips. “You’re right. I’d do anything to protect Sarah. To protect what’s mine.”

That smile drips off her face when he lifts his gaze. He lets it grow hard, weary – a warning. 

“I have done a lot of things – things I never want her to know about – to keep her safe. Those men, this town – they’re right to be afraid of me.” 

Ellie swallows around the weight of the room, her gaze metallic, bright and sharp. Her mouth is a straight line of barely contained victory. I knew it. 

She lifts her chin, hands curled at her side.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you make them afraid?” 

He can see a flash of bone between her lips – teeth, eagerness. And then in a blink, it’s gone. Wiped clean from a youthfully smooth face. Ellie drops his gaze, deflates, and stares at the floor. 

“I mean – it just seems like a lot – keeping it all a secret.” 

“It’s not. Not when it’s for her.” 

And it’s like he’s pressed roughly on a fresh bruise; she curls further into herself for protection, almost wincing. He suddenly remembers her half-snarl when he said there’d be twice as many mouths to feed if he took them in. A burden, twice as heavy. 

“Yeah, of course, she’s your kid.” 

Her rough voice is as physical and real as she is as she pushes past him, marching out of the room and twisting the handle of the closed door across the hall.

“It’s not much of a choice then, is it?” She says, loudly, the door squeaking as it opens. 

Behind him, over his shoulder, the door to the bathroom slams shut – a draft. His heart pitches in his chest – he’s seen how you and Ellie have reacted before at loud noises and certainly slammed doors before – he hears her soft gasp, her narrow back tight in the frame of the door, but it’s different from one from the one he expects, one of learned skittishness. It’s a boneless sort of horror, wet, sudden, cold – he fights the urge to tug her out of the room by her collar. But she’s already seen it. There’s no taking it back.

The smell is horrendous. The blockage by the door must have masked the stench because with the door open, there is no denying the scent of rotten flesh. 

Someone who was unlucky enough to get caught up in the crazed fervor of the lynch mob meant for Eldelstein? Someone who deserved it, maybe? Whatever and whoever they were, they make up a mutilated shadow beneath the far window, the soft bits of their flesh a home for flies and maggots. The room is dark, drained of sunlight and the sense that anything living ever existed inside its walls. Boarded up and stale, it stinks of a graveyard, but one without coffins, where the bodies are left to ooze and decay and spill out into the wet soil. It stinks of putrefaction, of tainted earth and poisoned air.

But Ellie doesn’t scream. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t run. Doesn’t cry. 

Just stares wide-eyed and inhales. 

Joel watches and waits for her. Watches because he recognizes that hard, blank look on her face, one that is familiar to him and far too old for her. Waits because he doesn’t know how to react because this activation is so unlike Sarah. 

There are not many fourteen year olds who would barely flinch when eye-to-eye with death.

He stands behind her, a physical presence larger than herself, something bigger and scarier than all the flies and maggots in the world. 

“Is this your first time seeing somethin’ like this?”

Her answer doesn’t entirely surprise him: she shakes her head. 

He nods and takes the handle from her. He gently shuts the door, inches in front of Ellie’s face. “I think we got all we needed. Ready to go?”

She nods, then heads for the stairs, not taking another second to look back at the room with the radio.

The metal teeth of the cultivator catch and drag over a large dirt clod and with a grunt, you shatter it with a few good thwaps. When you stand, sweat races down the back of your neck and between the cotton straps of your bra, cooling the heat of your skin. Your muscles throb pleasantly beneath sunlight. It’s a sensation you’d never had before coming here, to Joel’s homestead, but one you had quickly gotten used to. 

You are not the same girl who came here all those months ago.

You first noticed it when stepping out of the bath one summer morning and your eyes caught yourself in the mirror. 

There are no divots in your hips any more. The deflated skin around your ribs has filled in. Your body – a thing that had merely housed you and sometimes betrayed you to slow down and eat, and ached when you didn’t – had changed. Without you knowing, seemingly overnight, your clay sculpture had been remade. Rebuilt and reborn. For the first time in what felt like years, you wondered how you appeared to another person. 

Thin and skeletal, you had offered nothing to anyone because there was nothing for you to give. But, at the homestead, around Joel with Sarah and a kitchen and abundant food, that had changed. Things swelled here, near him, made ripe and sweet. A vitality returned, flooded in, and you, with your thin petals and wilted spine, blossomed. There’s now the inkling of a person in the mirror, one that hadn’t existed with your husband and now you wondered who she might be. 

And yet, while you flourished with regular meals and the stability of Ellie’s safety, the vitality of the land itself had seemingly dried up to a trickle. The last rain was days ago, the downpour offering even less than the previous one. 

You squat to your ankles, balancing the cultivator against your weight, and press your fingers into the ground. Dry. Delicate. An absence, and an unusual one at that. The dirt trickles off your fingers like sand. The sun’s heat prickles your entire back, oppressive and stifling. A drop of sweat slips off your nose, a finger wagging at you: you can’t deny this anymore. 

This is the same baked and dry earth that had been found on the southwest edge of the property, beneath the waves of dust that had blown in, covering the crops and grass in a gnarly, heavy film. Joel decided to cut his losses there and replant what he could, closer north, nearer to the river. But the look in his eyes was beyond frustration or annoyance. He moved with quick, long strides covering the fields with his tools and the horse. Agitated, maybe – a shark rechecking and double checking the edges of its territory. 

And then the next morning, in the blue of dawn, with the smell of fresh coffee drawing him out of his room and down the stairs where you stood trying to decide whether or not you liked the taste, he asked if you knew how to rake crop stripes.

No, you told him honestly. That didn’t seem to surprise him, but he postponed the lesson you had for Ellie and Sarah that day to diligently walk you through the tools that hung on the wall of the barn. He wasn’t satisfied until you knew them all by name, what their purpose was, and how to properly maintain them. Then, he broke down the pieces of the plow – what they’re called, how they connect, and what to check for before loading up the plow onto the horse.

Sarah and Ellie gleefully watched from the porch that following morning– their chores mysteriously done faster than a blink of an eye – as he had you strip down the tack, clean the leather, and reassemble it. Then he made you haul the plow onto Everrett, never once offering to help. But by the set of his jaw, you knew it wasn’t out of cruelty or distaste. By the time sweat was pouring down your back, the afternoon sun beating down on your exposed ears and neck, you realized he wanted to make sure you could do it all on your own.

By the end of the week, you knew as much as any farm hand. In practice at least. 

But another week went by and Joel never mentioned the lesson, or any further ones. 

Until the morning you came downstairs to find a man’s work shirt and pants waiting for you on the kitchen table. 

Your thin dresses wouldn’t protect you from the sun, he posited, his broad back to you as he poured himself a cup of coffee. The hat he left you was a little too big, as were the clothes. You’d never seen him wear them, but you kept your questions about the original owner to yourself. He didn’t seem to mind when you altered the pant’s hemline and brought in the waist of the shirt. 

Who’s Annie Oakley now? Sarah giggled when you tried on the hat for the first time. 

You could hardly recognize the woman underneath it. 

From there your lessons became about crop rotation, polyculture, and agrochemicals. He had you walk beside him in the rows of crops as he pushed Everrett along with the plow, identifying out loud any signs of vascular wilting, necrosis, and soft rot or tumors. Bacterial diseases were particularly devastating to crops, he said, eyes forward and sweat rolling down his temples, the muscles of his shoulders straining beneath the tight straps of the suspenders hooked into his belt loops. The heat of the sun spreading to your cheeks, you were grateful for the excuse to keep your eyes trained on the ground. 

Leaf blight, he warned, was also very common in young crops – caused by the fungus Cercospora carotae. You asked him then if Sarah had been taught any Latin. His cheeks were flushed pink, but that was probably due to the heat more than anything else. 

Over time and at Joel’s side, you eventually felt confident in your new knowledge. Memorization had never been a problem for you and witnessing the theoretical application of the knowledge in real time helped significantly. However, it was the physical application where things got difficult. 

The day he let you push the plow, he wore a familiar expression all morning. Jaw clenched, Jaw tight, nostrils flared, it was the same look he wore when you approached Sarah during her first fit. He was helpless when you angled the share into the dirt and tore the ground apart. The sight of his furrowed brow knotted your stomach, but you pressed on. You pushed forward, one step after another, just as you had seen him do more than a dozen times. You could almost retrace his steps in your mind’s eye.

With him a hair’s breadth behind you, quickly barking out commands if you strayed a centimeter out of a straight line, something occurred to you.This was no longer a job for you. This was living proof you could take something in your hands and make it better. All your life you had been subservient to someone; a doctor at the hospital, your manager at the diner, your husband in that goddamned dug out – they all held power over you and your choices. But you knew this was different. You knew if you could eventually prove to Joel that you were worthy of being trusted with his land, then he would treat you as an equal. So you pressed on. You pushed yourself until your skin baked in the sun, until sweat dripped from your neck, until blood spilled from your cracked hands. 

Under Joel’s supervision, you fed the land with your blood. 

And six weeks later, the blisters on your hands had calcified, proof and reward of your dedication. You had muscles, hard and lean, strengthened joints and flexible tendons. The molten steel of your body, your form, had finally solidified. 

Your days started alongside Joel’s now, instead of divided by domestic spaces. Some days, he lingered inside even longer than you, polarized positions of where you stood weeks ago: you unlocking the barn, loading the horse and driving out into the fields while he stood at the window, a mug of coffee in his hands. He never made you wait for long, usually offering you a full canteen of water for the day, a single nod before you worked opposite ends to meet in late afternoon. 

But there were times – instances, occasions – that you think, you wonder, if, from the window, he still was watching you. 

Thoughts of his face, all lines and dark eyes, as he held your palm up to the heavens that night in Sarah’s room trickle in when you rest idly, in the seconds before you sleep. When you let your unconscious awareness drift. Which, fortunately, didn’t often happen out in the fields, especially not when Joel had told you about another threat to the crops; what to look for and where to find it. 

And worrisomely, you had – again: dry, inhospitable earth. 

You frown at it beneath your hat, the sun’s touch hot around your shoulders and spine, a low skirting wind by your ankles. An infection spreading. Joel won’t like this, not at all, but he’ll know of some way to shelter the crops. An alteration with the irrigation system, maybe? 

Flora huffs at you, eyeing you with a twitching tail. How much longer are we gonna be out here?

“It’s hot, girl, I know, I’m sorry.” You pat her speckled rump. “We’ll be done soon.” 

Whenever Joel gets back. 

Dusting your knees off, you stand and take a small stake with a white flag from the cart. 

Beneath the bag of staked flags sits your handgun. It hasn’t been used once in these past months, but Joel never lets you go into the fields without it. More often than not, he makes you keep it physically on your person – in a pocket, in your socks, somewhere within reach – but the sight of it sickens you, the horror of what you almost had to do that night you met Joel. How easily you were willing to do it for Ellie. How easily you’d do it again, to keep her safe. 

But now he expects you to do the same for Sarah and this homestead in his absence: protect at the cost of violence. 

The longer the gun sits out in the open, glinting sharply in the sun, the guiltier you feel. 

The breeze comes not a moment too soon. It breathes across your clavicle, the muscles of your throat. It draws your gaze up, outward, to the line of white flags peeking out of the ground. Soldiers in a row, surrender fluttering in the wind. Grave markers of failed crops. You forget the gun as your stomach turns at the sight of the fields full of little white flags.

The land is ill. You can’t deny this anymore.

The breeze thickens to a harsh blow and you grab your hat to keep it steady. Under the rush by your ears, you hear your name. By the house, under the wired row of drying clothes, Sarah waves to you – too far away to hear anything distinct, but she’s pointing and waving to the road and a cloud of smoke barreling down it. 

No, not smoke. Dust. Two figures atop a white horse racing through the chalk of the earth. 

Ellie.

And Joel.

Flora lets out an audible groan of relief when you take her reins and pull her back towards the house, the cart of flags clicking behind you. You wonder if he’ll see the line of flags from the road.

The barn is quiet in the late afternoon heat. You hear june bugs chitter in the rafters as you unclip Flora from the wagon and lead her to a stable. Fauna’s big ears flap towards her sister, brown eyes sparkling, almost bragging.

Ha, ha, you had to be in the fields today.

“None of that,” you scold, as you loosen the leather cord around your jaw and let your hat fall back against your shoulders. “You’ll be getting it soon enough, missy.” 

“You know, talking to animals is the first sign of going crazy.” 

Sarah slides silently through the side door and offers you a towel. She smells of soap, her bouncy hair pulled back today, her smile soft and warm, and you take it, rubbing it up behind your neck. 

“Well, at least I get a warning,” you grin. Sarah was no longer the same plagued girl you met those months ago. 

The ground had shifted in more ways than one the morning of Sarah’s recovery. Of course, there was still pain and soreness, but for the first time in months, she felt strong enough to walk around without her braces. She couldn’t run, couldn’t move fast, but standing next to Ellie, there was nothing that would suggest them any different. She seemed taller, hair bouncier, a focused glint in her eye that wasn’t there before, as if she alone had decided something rather vital. 

Her treatments of warm compresses and exercises went from daily to weekly to now every other week. Once she’d seen you walk through the steps of her therapy, she started to do it on her own in her room. Preventative and calculating. 

The days she can now spend outside doing laundry and planting fresh herbs have done her good. Her healthy skin glows. 

But there’s something delicate about the way she does, or rather, does not look at you now in the barn. An energy you can’t quite place, one that seems to hum louder as the months pass. She watches you, a placid smile on her face, her shoulders halfway turned to the barn door as if she wants to be the first one to see them open. 

“Has Ellie come by yet?” She asks breezily, her fingers lightly running against the edge of the stack of towels tucked up under arm. “I saw my dad walk off to the house, but she wasn’t with him.”

“No, I haven’t. But if they’re back, she should be around here somewhere. Is there something wrong? Are you alright?”

Sarah inhales, round eyes widening – caught – but she shakes her head. “No, of course not. I just . . . I’m just wondering if they had a successful trip.” 

If you knew her better than only for six weeks, you’d think she might be anxious. She goes quiet as she watches the barn doors. The arch in her neck belies tension. You realize she has one of your dresses folded over her arm. 

“Sarah, are you –,”

Everett’s irritated whinny cuts you short and the barn door is thrown back as a short figure tugs the off-white horse into the cool half-light. 

“Yeah, I know I smell. It’s not like you’re a bucket of roses either, pal.” 

At least crazy runs in the family. 

“How was the run?” Sarah asks immediately as Everett clops by dramatically, the weight of the world seemingly on his hooves. The kerchief around Ellie’s neck is crusted over with dirt. 

“Good. Really good, actually. Got a shit load of supplies.” 

Ellie, another changed casualty in all of this. Except, instead of shedding an old skin, she’s grown a new one. The original. Something that, perhaps, always was there. 

She removes the saddle with practiced ease, despite it being nearly twice her size, and puts it on the stock post, just as Joel had shown her. She returns to Everett with a brush and a blanket, because the sun is going down soon and the night will be cold – just like Joel had told her. She banters a bit with Sarah, the work almost mindless with her confidence.

She has taken to this life like a fish takes to water, as Anna would have said. 

But what would your sister think of this life you had rushed her daughter into? Are calloused hands and thick, ruddy skin – supply runs into ghost towns – all that she wanted for her only child?

This, among threads of Joel, keeps you up at night. 

But these are the least of Sarah’s concerns about Ellie. Her fingers dig into your dress as if to physically stop herself from lunging forward. 

“What’s the town like? Are there people still there? Has anyone new come in?”

Ellie shrugs as she unhooks Everett’s bridle. “Boring, like four, and I probably wouldn’t know.” Ellie’s eyes widen, a small smile unfurling across her lips. “But we found a radio. Joel said we couldn’t keep it but – oh, wait, Joel said he was looking for you. Had something he wanted to show you.” 

You blink as Ellie and Sarah, in twin movements, glance to you.

“Oh? What was it?”

“I dunno. But he’s up in the kitchen unpacking the supplies if you wanna go ask.” 

“Was there–,” The corners of Sarah’s mouth goes red as she is suddenly seized by a violent, hacking cough. Both you and Ellie move towards her, but she waves you off. She steps back, turning her mouth into her elbow, her back shuddering as she gasps in air only to choke on it again. 

“Must’ve – breathed wrong–,” her eyes are watery. “I’m – fine.” 

In recent weeks, despite the rest of her body prospering, Sarah’s cough had turned rather rough. But every time you check her airways, she’s clear. Still, the concern lingers – you see it in Ellie’s eyes too. It’s not the kind of cough that comes from polio, you know this. You self-soothe with this. But you think of the white flags in the fields and something sour rolls down your spine.

You meet Ellie’s gaze while Sarah’s back is turned. Excitement, agitation, they had been bringing on more and more coughing spells – whenever Sarah tried to breathe too deeply. Ellie shakes her head at you, jerking her head back towards the house. I got this. In a low tone, she offers Sarah some water who drinks it gratefully. 

 It’s not the kind of cough that comes from polio.

The last bit of sunlight drips down below the horizon, lazy and pungent. A quick glance out to the fields, you can barely see the flags in the periwinkle distance. The air is warm, buzzing with a lingering heat from the escaping sun. You inhale, closing your eyes just for a moment, as you slope up the creaking wooden steps to the porch, and exhale, a chaff of tension sliding off your shoulders. 

When you first came here, you could barely stand the thought of being alone in the same room as him, just like with any other man. But eventually you learned that Joel Miller is unlike any other man in the world, unlike anyone you’ve ever met before. The foreign alchemy of his quiet nature, his diligence over the land, and his deep, endless well of love for Sarah was all at once confusing and – strangely – exciting. 

Earning Joel’s trust precipitated a steady climb or thundering fall – you just weren’t sure which yet. 

Despite the lateness of the hour, Joel hasn’t turned on the kitchen lights, coating the kitchen in a film of purple, blurring edges, and spreading shadows. His broad back greets you first, arm still deep in his pack at the table, when you shut the back door and move for the sink. 

“Ellie says the supply run went well. I hope that means you didn’t run into any trouble.” The rushing of the faucet saves him from having to answer, but you feel his eyes on your back, your shoulders, the flat seat of your hat between your shoulder blades. Brown muck runs down the drain. 

“It was fine. Did she mention anything?”

“No.” You shake your head, digging at the dirt under your nails with another hand. “Why? What did you find?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.” 

Joel never rushes unless he means to. He holds everything in before he speaks, each word as deliberate as the sway of his shoulders, the crunch of his knuckles. But this – how he talks now as if the words he says are chosen at the very last second – it feels like he’s hiding something.

In the failing light, you face him, eyebrows tugged down. 

“Joel? What is it?” 

At the table, he’s no longer digging around in the pack. With one hand on the table, fingers lightly pressing into the wood surface, he stands as if bracing for impact. He works his jaw back and forth, eating letter after letter, word after word, until –

“C’mere.” 

The deep timber of his voice strokes the back of your neck, releasing a quiver down your spine, heart suddenly up in your throat. It’s not fear you’re feeling, not exactly, but it makes you break out in goosebumps all the same. 

You go to him without question. 

But like a magnet repelled, he steps back the closer you get. With his gaze, he points to the array of supplies. On the table, in almost a sterile, clinical order, is the cache of medical items you requested. Medicine for Sarah, potential treatments for burns or cuts. The bigger items like splints or canes aren’t there, you didn’t expect them anyway, but you could treat the four of you for months with what they’ve found. You open your mouth, praise and appreciation on the tip of your tongue, but he still hasn’t looked up, hasn’t looked at you. He stares at the pack on the table with trepidation.

Wordlessly compelled, you reach into the nearly empty pack until your hand closes around one single item.

You draw it out, the jar cool against your overheated skin.

Luxor. You can’t tear your eyes away from the glass jar. 

His voice is so rough it barely makes it out of his mouth.

“For burns.” His gaze drops to your hands, which have since healed after the night of Sarah’s fit. Weeks ago, in fact. “It wasn’t on the list, but –,”

Oh, Joel. Your throat is sealed shut. You have to nearly wrench your jaw open to push words out of your mouth.

“No, no, that’s fine – that’s –,” you press the glass to the spread of your clavicle to ease your pounding heart. 

This wasn’t on the list. And yet he . . .

Your choice was either to look at him or shatter apart. 

How can a man almost fifty years old look so boyishly uncomfortable? 

“This . . . I . . . this is wonderful. Thank you, Joel. I mean it. Thank you so much. ”

You can already smell the rose water. You wonder if Joel likes the smell of rose water. His jaw unclenches enough, relieved, and his lips almost form – a memory, a dream, an aspiration of – a smile, and he says: 

“You’re welcome.”

In the half-light, you stare at him far longer than you ever have before – and he stares right back. 

In the half-light, you hear it, louder and more cruel than before:

You can’t deny this anymore.

“Okay, who can tell me the difference between genus and family in biological classification?”

One hand in the air.

“Yes?”

“A genus contains one or more species. A family contains one or more genera.”

“Correct. And how does this relate to our lesson last week?”

“We were identifying different species of crops, but how they often overlap in genera.” 

“Correct again.” 

You bend over and pick up the basket at your feet. In the motion, you can feel your dress unstick itself from the warm dampness clinging to your skin beneath your armpit. The summer day is hot, scorchingly so, and only made worse by the lack of a breeze and the immobile stench of cow in the barn air. It’s a different kind of smell than the one that soaked your husband’s dugout – burnt cow chips –  but it is still gut-churningly familiar. You wonder if Ellie remembers that smell as intensely as you do. 

But if she does, she doesn’t show it. Ellie always could hide her emotions better than you. Head down, she draws circles on the wooden table with her finger, side-by-side with Sarah. The girls’ chairs come from the dining room and the table is an old woodworking mount that Joel repurposed for your classroom. It’s uneven and heavy, but the wood is as smooth as butter. After the harvest, he promised a new one, but you don’t think you could bear getting rid of it.

Ellie jumps when you drop the basket in front of her. You return to the back of the barn, gather up another basket, and leave this one with Sarah, whose eyes grow wide when she catches a glimpse of the contents inside. 

With the single square of chalkboard, made from paint and grout, and a rapidly-dwindling nugget of chalk, you write three words:

Genus

Common name

Poisonous

The chalk clicks as you press a small circle beneath the question mark. 

“You have ten minutes to identify the genus of each of the mushrooms within your basket, as well as its common name and whether or not it’s poisonous.” 

Sarah sits up even further in her chair, eyes bright and mouth a sharp line. She loves pop quizzes. 

You had thought of Ellie’s strokes with her knife outside at sunset, her physicality with the animals, and her near abhorrence for traditional learning when designing this particular test. Despite her resistance to any sort of structure, Ellie had been quick to follow directions and provide support as Anna got sicker and sicker. Ellie would make a good nurse – a good anything – but that potential only simmers, never indulged. Anna would have known how to bring it out in her, you often think. The best you can do is try and adjust your lesson to make this at least partially entertaining for her. 

Her forehead shining, her gaze brushes each mushroom in the basket with slow intention.

“Licking them probably won’t help, right?” She smirks at you as she plucks one out and spins it with her fingers. Smartass, as always, but for once – engaged. You try to muffle the spark of excitement in your fingertips.

“That’s one way to determine if they’re poisonous or not,” you reply just as flippantly. “But you’d better be sure.” 

Ellie’s smirk lightens to a grin, her head tucking down as she starts to rifle through her basket. Sarah already has her basket empty and is sorting her mushrooms into the corners of her table. She hasn’t once looked up from her task since you set the timer. Head down, eyes bright, lips tucked tightly between her teeth, you can almost hear her reviewing her notes in her head as she carefully picks up each mushroom, testing the spongy flesh with her thumbnail, watching if any flakes fall off, and glancing at your handmade chart of the animal classifications every few touches. 

Ellie merely sniffs hers. 

You turn, hiding your grin to catch a glimpse of the outside blue sky.

The timer goes off and Flora groans at the loud noise. Sarah correctly identifies all the mushrooms, while Ellie only knows the poisonous kinds. Close enough and perhaps most practical. 

“Just so you know,” Ellie begins to Sarah, head again in the cradle of her palm, her eyes watching you as you swipe the mushrooms back into the basket, “most pop quizzes aren’t fun like that at a real school. Usually it’s just math and the clock makes an annoying little ticking noise the entire time.”

Sarah’s eyes brighten, I love math clearly on the tip of her tongue, before she settles a bit and she scoffs, sophomorically indignant. 

“Yeah, of course, I know that.”

“So you better hope they keep the school shut down for a long, long time.” Ellie leans back in her seat and presses the soles of her sneakers to the edge of the table. “That place is the worst.” 

Sarah shrugs, practicing some of Ellie’s casual indifference. “You’re probably right. It’s definitely lame. Just . . . it would be kinda cool for a change of scenery or whatever.”

“Um, you’re not gonna get a better change of scenery than this.” Ellie bats her eyelashes with her eyes crossed, tongue out, and Sarah giggles. 

“Oh, whatever,” she swats Ellie across her shin, “like you wouldn’t go crawling up the walls if you had to live here every single day, day in and day out.”

You slow in your collection of your supplies, something she said the day of the supply run scuttling up the banks of your memory to prod you in the back of your head. Ellie concedes by crossing her arms, contemplative. “Still better than school.” 

“How long did you go to the school in Dalhart?” You ask as you erase the white chalk on the board. 

“Since it opened,” Sarah replies. “I hadn’t gotten sick yet and it wasn't anything special. It was kinda far from here, but Dad always made sure I got there on time. He always wanted me to get an education, focus on school and studying. He never wanted me to be a farmer like him.”

That sends the front leg’s of Ellie’s chair to the hard, packed dirt. “Really? Why?”

“I dunno. But I guess it all worked out. I’m better at memorization and trig than I am at carrying a saddle.”

“What’s trig?” Ellie asks, head tilted. 

“It’s a kind of math –,”

“Advanced math,” you interject. 

“Yeah, I guess. But my teacher at school really made it fun! She’d stay after class and show me things that weren’t in the textbooks, or even in the syllabus. And Sam, he’d –,” 

All at once, Sarah’s mouth snaps shut, her eyes diving to the floor. She tugs a bouncy curl behind her ear as Ellie’s frown deepens.

“Sam? Who’s Sam?” 

“No one. He was just – this boy – in my grade and he was really good at trig too and he lived right outside Dalhart for years and sometimes he’d help me when I got stuck on certain problems,” Sarah rambles, her voice a tick higher. “His family left the year they shut the school down.”

You stifle a grin. A crush. Sarah Miller has a crush on a boy. Even at the end of the line, at the end of hope. 

Ellie, however, remains completely baffled.

“Yeah and? He’s just some guy.”

Sarah blanches at the suggestion that she might have to defend him past being “just some guy” while trying to keep her secret of him being “the guy” all at once, so you step in and save her.

“Did you ever spend time with Sam outside of school?”

Sarah shakes her head no. 

“Not even with a group of people?”

At that, she bites the corner of her mouth, the heel of her brown boot circling in the dirt. You know her cheeks are fire-hot.

“No. My dad totally would have found out.” 

Ellie stares at both of you as if you had started speaking gibberish. And then she blinks.

“Oh – you mean like a date.”

“Who’s going on a date?” 

The three of you jump at the masculine voice that breaks out from the back of the barn. Those thick brows furrow in as Joel visibly wonders if he walked into something he shouldn’t have. On the days you have class, he spends his time repairing things around the farm, often taking stock of the cellar in preparation for the harvest and then the winter. Whatever he had been working on has a wet flush peeking out from under his collar – not the heated lather that comes from the fields, but a run-off of the hot summer day. He wipes his brow, mouth parted slightly.

You stand upright, as if the headmaster had just strolled in. Well, to a certain point, he had. 

Ellie, with the least amount of skin in the game, rolls her eyes.

“We were talking about boys.”

One of those dark eyebrows twitch up as his gaze roams from Ellie to you to Sarah, who you think you see sink a fraction of an inch in her chair. 

“Oh.”

“We were learning about poisonous fungi as part of the curriculum on important flora,” you say pointedly to Ellie. “That particular topic came up at the end of the lesson. Both girls scored very well on their pop quiz.”

Joel nods, wiping his hands on his shirt. 

This Joel, the By-the-Light-of-Day Joel, is different from the Joel that meets you on the purple, blurry edge of night and day. The shadows that soften the world soften him too, the hidden planes of his face affording you delusions of further softness regarding his own feelings towards you – feelings of, if not companionship, at least respect. There were times you were righteously sure of how and where you stood in Joel Miller’s eyes – he appreciated you enough to watch over his land and his daughter – and then there were times you could have been on entirely different planets. A twisted Space Family Robinson, alone and lost in the cold vacuum. 

The Joel that gave you the cream for your burned palms is not the same Joel that stands before you. He fidgets with the rag in his hand, weight shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. Sweat leaks into your hairline, and you are suddenly overcome by the desire for him to look at you. 

“Given how close it is to the harvest, I thought having some extra hands who know what we’re looking for might help. Might be useful to you.”

“Yeah.” He nods slowly, as his gaze falls to Sarah. “But I don’t want you overworking anything.” 

Her eyelashes flutter as she rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m not overworking myself. I’ve been studying, like you asked.” 

“And it shows in your work.” You smile. Sarah pins you with her own vulnerable gaze. “You’re an excellent student, Sarah.” 

The tension in her shoulders eases and she sits up straighter, grinning. 

Something flashes across Ellie’s face out of the corner of your eye and she leans forward, mouth twisted with a thick smirk.

“Bet you were a lot better student with Saaam around!”

“Ellie, shut up!” She springs up in agitation, her eyes wide, her jaw tight as she rounds on the other girl.

“Who’s Sam?”

“The boy Sarah’s going on a date with–,”

“I am not!” Sarah snaps, her voice wavering at the end. 

Those dry lips curl up, a smile hidden somewhere beneath that wiry beard, and Joel puts his hands on his hips. “I know that’s right. No dating ‘til you’re thirty.” 

Sarah’s grip tightens around the back of her chair, her mouth tipped down, eyes blazing. 

“That’s not funny, Dad.”

“I’m not tryin’ to be funny,” he replies, very seriously. “Just want you to know the rules.”

Whether or not Joel actually has any rules around Sarah’s dating life, it doesn’t matter. That’s not the point.

The point is that he very clearly, unintentionally or not, brushed up against something that, for Sarah, was very, very tender. 

She stands, awkwardly lurching out of her chair as it catches on the dirt floor. Her delicate fingers clenched into fists, she darts off for the back door.

“It’s not like anything’d ever happen anyway,” and she’s out into the sunlight. 

By the shocked look on Joel’s face, that might be the first teen tantrum he’s ever witnessed. Instinctively, he takes a step forward, an apology in the curve of his lips, but you reach out with a hand, even though he’s several feet from you.

“Joel –,” your fingers flutter close, politely rejecting the implication they know what his skin feels like. “Just give her some time.” You glance at Ellie, whose expression is dark, confused. “Both of you. She needs some time to cool down.”

Joel frowns at you, more at your words, evidently just as confused as Ellie. Of course a man could not fathom why it would feel so ridiculously cruel to a girl to be teased about a boy by her father. You smile at Joel’s instinct, your own father never possessing such a level of concern. A girl could be such a fragile thing after all.

“Would you talk to her? After she, hm, has some space?” 

His thumb anxiously edges the ridges of his forefinger, then his palm. He looks at you, uncomfortable, as if his request is particularly unwieldy, too much for anyone but him to bear. But, to you, this gift is lighter than air.

Joel’s trust makes your heart soar. 

Only to come crashing down. 

You are not capable of this kindness, this nurturing, guiding hand that some women and men ingratiate on instinct alone. You’ve failed Ellie, you know – you feel it in the distance between you and your niece – the best you can offer is a teacher, a thoughtful friend whose insular life is a world away entirely. No more, even when she needs it the most.

Nurture. It’s not what you do. 

“I – I can’t – I don’t know what – would she even listen to me because I don’t think –,”

There’s a conviction in his eyes as he looks at you that wasn’t there when you first set foot on the homestead, an acquired belief that had grown over the past few weeks with you as you learned and serviced the land under his guiding hands. 

That ping of his steel gaze against the porcelain of your skin. It makes something within you sing. 

  “Alright, Joel. I’ll try.” 

Quietly, without much conjecture or fanfare, Sarah has taken over doing the laundry for the whole house.

She rises with the sun. Not the blurry violet light smearing shadows, but the dawn – bold, bright, loud and full of thunderous color. She rises in the gold morning and, arms full of sweaty, dirt-thick clothes, she gathers them all into a white wicker basket and takes them out into the backyard near the spigot and the wide, low-set wooden basin. From the time you see the screen door shutter open until the moment you and Joel guide the heat-lathered animals back into the barn, she scrubs the dirt loose on the metal washboard then pinches the clothes high in the white, dry air.

And then, in the falling darkness, she carries her wicker basket, attached to her hip, around the house, laying out towels in the proper cupboards, and folded shirts smelling of sun-drenched air inside heavy dresser drawers. She tucks her dresses inside the line-thin wardrobe and, occasionally, she lays yours out on the bed. 

So it’s not entirely surprising to find her in the room you share with Ellie – the room that used to hold storage, old suitcases, and paintings, things of Joel’s foremothers and forefathers, where Ellie has now started to store her collection of unearthed arrowheads and snake skins – standing at the foot of your bed, with your yellow dress between her fingers. 

What is surprising, however, is the reverent, almost-delicate way she touches the buttons, strokes the faded lace, pinches the thin fabric between her fingers, like it’s made of threaded gold. Like it’s so much more than just a dress.

You watch her for a moment, from the shadows of the hallway. With Ellie, you never had to pick apart her feelings – either she made them known or would snap and snarl at anyone who dared to coax them out. Anna had eventually stopped coming to you for advice as you both got older, deciding to handle her personal problems all on her own because everything you said turned out wrong. You worked so well with your hands because your mouth couldn’t be trusted to be of any help.

And yet, looking at a girl who is brave and curious, but perhaps as lonely as you are – maybe you could just speak from the heart instead. As you get closer, under the sloshing anxiety, curiosity tugs on you: why did she come here – to your room? 

“My mother gave me that.” Sarah jumps at your voice, the late afternoon sun through the window coaxing the russet out of her curls and her large brown eyes. She drops your dress as if she had been snooping around in your things as opposed to simply doing her self-assigned chores and steps back. 

“I’m sorry – I-I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just . . . it’s pretty.” 

“She made it by hand,” you say. “But you have dresses just as pretty, Sarah.” 

You slide away from the door frame to touch the dress on the bed. It had been your mother’s. You always hated it. You thought, briefly, when she first tossed it to you, that it might be cursed. Might bring down your father’s eye towards you, away from her for once. And you had been right – sort of. He came for you all the same, the dress nothing but a waving flag that to him signaled your own complicity. But Sarah stares at it with a certain fascination, roused into alertfulness by something awakening inside her. 

The conditions of the farm, of being field hand, barely lent itself to the constriction of being beautiful, of being lovely and soft. You, like every other challenge that had been placed in front of you, swallowed that fact whole; an acceptance that Joel didn’t seem to care what you wore because he didn’t care to look at you at all. 

You sit on the bed, watching the young girl in front of you. She’s made improvements, her health not the underlying current in every room for weeks now, but now, sitting so close to her, you can see the weight of that disease. The weight of an unconscious consumption in a conscious body. Sarah’s hand trembles as she touches the dress again. 

“I don’t have anything of my mother’s,” she says simply. “I don’t have anything I didn’t make or my dad bought in Dalhart.” 

The dress means so much to her precisely because it’s your mother’s. Sarah doesn’t know how she fell apart, just that she raised you. Staring at your mother’s dress, you are quite confident that she would hiss and spit at the hard woman you’ve become. For once, and gratefully, this dress no longer feels like hers, or yours because you had avoided the same fate that befell her while entombed in this dress. And you weren’t about to subject Sarah to your family’s curse. 

You stand and pull out a blue pin-striped dress from your drawer, one that you’d had since you were her age, but one that never seemed quite right and over the years had grown too short on your calves and too small around the waist. You take it out and hold it over her shoulders.

“I think this is about your size.” You inspect it thoughtfully. “Have it. Wear it for the next school year. Or, one day, on your first day as a freshman in college.” 

She peels the dress away from her body like it sticks uncomfortably to her skin and laughs – a huff, a sharp release between tight ribs. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“You don’t like it?” Your heart seizes – did you say the wrong thing?

“Oh, no, no, no – I do – it’s beautiful, I’m sorry, I mean – but school – college – I don’t think it’s for me.” 

The dress bunches in her fists as she holds it in her lap. She hasn’t drawn it towards her but hasn’t set it on the bed. You frown. She is capable enough to pass the entrance exams and she knows it too. This is something else, something you could see she didn’t want to address directly, or simply couldn’t. 

Your mother’s yellow dress was a signal for you too: a blazing icon, a silent voice screaming –  you don’t belong with these people with whom you share only blood. You do not belong to them.

The silence stretches thin, lean and taught. You don’t know how to pick up the threads of her denials, so you simply march forward, into the crux of things.

“I was wondering if we could talk about today.” You start over. “An outburst like that isn’t all like you at all, Sarah, and your father and I are concerned. You know he was just teasing you.”

Her hands tighten their grip around the folds of your dress. “I know.” She squeezes her eyes shut. The silence lingers, sitting down heavy on the mattress underneath you. What do you say to a fourteen year old whose girlhood was vastly different from yours? Who has a father that loves her and a safe place to sleep at night – how could you possibly compare? As dozens, if not hundreds, of compassionate but meaningless comforting cliches race through your head, you take her hand and squeeze it and you decide to tell her what you at fourteen always dreamed of hearing.

“It’s okay if he doesn’t understand you, Sarah, but he loves you. He’d do anything for you.”

“I know. “ She repeats in a voice that says she doesn’t. The back of her free hand pressed against her lips, she lets out a sound like a hiccup and sob. Sarah closes her eyes with a sigh. “You’re right. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it. And even though Ellie and I have gotten really close . . . she doesn’t get it either.” 

You scoot closer to her and squeeze her hand again. “Doesn’t get what, darling?” 

Sarah lifts her gaze and you see hope in her shiny gaze. A flame, small, but bright – flickering, building as if swelling under music, a tune that existed without shape or ears to hear it until this moment. 

Until something sang out to it. 

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you see the world?” 

You sit back and she leans forward, the blue dress tighter in her hands than ever before, that spark in her eyes burning.

“I want to be like you and go to Boston. I . . . I wanna see skyscrapers and ride in taxis and take elevators as high as they can go. I wanna ride across the country on a train and eat in beautiful restaurants. I want to go to college, to learn, and carry textbooks, and go to a giant stadium and watch football – and I –,”

She swallows down a gulp of air, hands shaking from the tension in her knuckles, and in the pause, you touch her shoulder, like you would Flora if she were agitated. That completely derails her train of thought and she lets out the air in her lungs with a sigh so fast, it’s almost a hiss.

“Sarah, darling, why do you think you won’t ever have those things? Your dad wants you to be happy, to follow any dream you have –,”

“But I can’t leave him.” 

Sarah’s thumb rubs the thin fabric almost mournfully. When she speaks, her voice is tight, cramped with grief. 

“He’s given everything he has to keep me healthy and safe, especially because it’s just been the two of us for so long. More than anything, I want to make him proud, and so I study, and I study, and I work hard the only way I can –,” she swallows, her long lashes fluttering against her skin. “I can’t abandon him. I won’t. Not for something this . . . silly.”

Calmly, she puts the dress on the bed and stands, her hand and shoulder slipping out of your grasp, the wicker laundry basket still at her feet. 

“Thank you for the dress. But I think it'd be better if we just . . . forget about this.”

There is so much of you in her, it hurts to accept she is not yours, in any capacity.

“Sarah, do you know what rouge is?” 

The resignation melts from her face, those curls twisting towards you in curiosity. 

“I think so? It’s what women wear on their faces, right? To make their lips . . . um, redder?”

“Have you ever worn it?” 

Eyes go wide; a dawning and the enforcement of protection for a vulnerable thing all at once. “No?”

“Would you like to?”

You stand and go to the tan, leather trunk. It’s old, out of time, bears the marks of the frontier before it was settled and it keeps the last few talismans you’ve dragged to the ends of the earth. Your hand goes to a small cloth bag at the bottom.

Sarah is like you in many ways, but then again, she is nothing like you.

The day you and Anna ran away from home was the best day of your life. So much so, it became your escape strategy for everything. Run and hide for cover until the storm has passed. Staring up at you, her brown eyes blazing with hope as you gesture for her to come back into the room, you know Sarah has never run away from anything in her life. So, in this moment, you decide to bring everything else to her. 

“My sister and I lived next to an old woman when we were kids. Our parents were always out working, so we stayed with her a lot. And she always let us play around in her cosmetics.” You sit, the click of blush compacts and mascara loud as you dig through the bag“A girl in school must always look her best.” You pause and pull out what you were looking for. “This is real rouge from Lancome. Would you like to wear it?”

Eyes wider still, she drops onto your bed as if her knees suddenly gave out, her head nodding vigorously. She watchest the small tail of the brush twist in your fingers, around and around the pot, gathering the paste like dust on a wet cloth. 

“Open your mouth. Just a little bit, soften your lips. Yep, just like that.” 

She jerks back, half her mouth as pink as a sunset and curled up into a giggle. “Sorry, that tickled. It’s cold.”

“Feels weird, right?” You wrinkle your nose at her with a smile. She nods, grinning.

“Sorry, I’ll be still, I promise. Keep going, please.” 

You finish her lips and return to your cosmetics clutch. The metal lining is cold, as if it had been left in the dark. With care, you push the realization that you haven’t touched this bag in weeks out of your head. 

“You know, my sister loved getting all dolled up like this. Tilt your head to the window.” 

“Really?” Sarah murmurs. “From how Ellie talks about her . . .”

“Hard to believe, right?”

She doesn’t want to move again, but the eye contact she makes with you is all the sheepish nod you need. 

“By the time Ellie came around, there really wasn’t much time to spoil ourselves like this.” You smile softly, adding a few more strokes of blush against her high cheekbones. “But, a long time ago, Anna was an artist.” 

Sarah hums noncommittally, her gaze hovering around the edges of the window sill. When the blush kit clicks close, she looks at you. 

“My uncle Tommy was – is – that way too.”

“How so?”

“He liked writing stories, which I guess is a different kind of artist. But he’d come up with these crazy fairytales and I always thought he got them from books, but he said he made them up, off the top of his head.” She quiets when you take out the small palette of eyeshadow and tell her to close her eyes. “I think that’s why he left in the first place. He didn’t want to stay on this farm his whole life.” 

Her skin is soft, forgiving, as you dust the powder over her eyelids with your ring finger, the lightest touch you can offer. 

“Have you seen him since he left?”

“No,” she says, staying as still as possible. “Dad says if he wanted to see us, he’d make the effort . . . or he wouldn’t have moved out there at all.” 

Her words slide a stint up into the crevices of your heart, the reasoning behind her hesitancy to leave all the more apparent, but you close the two-color palette without saying anything else. With a few flicks, you finish her glamor with some light mascara.

“Now,” you say as you close the black tube. “Would you like to see yourself?”

Sarah’s eyes spring open, the russet vein of that thrumming, hopeful fire bright.

“Yes. Yes, please.” 

Despite the erosion of the very core of you brought on by the sheer enormity of what it takes to survive in this world, this little tarnished gold disc is the weight of your own vanity in the palm of your hand. Yet every time you open it, you hoped for a glimpse of Anna’s beautiful blue eyes, the curve of her smile, the bounce of a dark curl the way she kept it as a child. The mirror rarely felt like a mirror, more a clear window into the murky cold fog of your past. 

To every cop and ticket-taker on a train who looked through your purse, you kept a compact mirror for vain, silly reasons because, as a woman, you are a vain and silly thing. 

But at the look in Sarah Miller’s eyes, as you reveal the great and powerful secrets of ancient sisterhood to her, this compact is a mirror, and a window, and a weapon all at once. 

“This . . . is what I look like?” Her voice is barely a whisper. She turns her head slowly back and forth slowly, the powder shimmering on her cheeks, a queen surveying her jewels. “H-h-how?” 

“Practice.” You hand her the compact and she takes it, her own hand trembling. She hasn’t looked away from the mirror for an instant. You sit beside her on the bed, her crossed knee pressing up against your thigh and you wait. You wait until she’s had her look, until she’s absorbed her image from every angle, and you slip the cosmetics bag into her lap. She stares at it, and then her eyes widen. “And the right tools. With that, you can do this anytime you want. Do anything you want.” 

“Really?” Small. Hesitant. Hopeful. 

“Really. It’s yours . . . to do what you want with it.” 

“Then I want to do it to you!” Sarah’s smile erupts across her face immediately, her fingers digging into the soft pink material. “I have to practice somehow and I think Ellie will come after me with that knife of hers if I try it on her.” 

You grin, already picturing Ellie’s hackles going straight up if she sees Sarah anywhere near her with that bag. You nod and Sarah actually squeals. You can’t help but grin as she flips through the jars and compacts in the bag.

“Okay, okay – it’s easier to start with any concealer – this one. I didn’t use any on you because you’re far too young and beautiful to need it.” 

Sarah flushes as she unscrews the pot and takes up the brush you hold out for her. With familiar diligence, Sarah’s hand is steady and her dark eyes are clear and focused. She absorbs every instruction you give her, every tip you offer. 

For a minute, there is no farm. No debt to be paid. No pain or disfigurement. Only a bond, one willingly given and one willingly taken. For once in your life, connection is wonderfully easy. 

“Did you know it’s Ellie’s birthday tomorrow?” You ask after a while, mouth stiff as she applies rouge to your lips.

Sarah stops, her eyes widening. “No! She hasn’t said anything!” But then she makes a face. “Actually, I think I’d be more shocked if she did.” 

“I know there isn’t much I can offer her all the way out here. But . . .” And maybe this is where you take it a step too far. All Joel asked of you was to make sure Sarah was alright. None of this had anything to do with the argument she had with her father. Maybe this is incredibly selfish on your part. But, whether you – or Joel – like it or not, you care for Sarah, in a way that was entirely different and exactly like how you cared for Ellie. You couldn’t help but want more than to make sure that Sarah is just alright. You pull away from the brush in her hand and hold her gaze. “I was wondering if you wanted to help me make her a cake.” 

Sarah’s face nearly shines with joy.

Cool. 

A sensation that draws heat, soothes aggravation, exhilarates that which is dry.

Water, fresh and clear, anoints your forehead and sinks into your hair. It pours off your shoulders, catching the soft skin near your hips, your calves. Droplets pepper your toes like embers from a fire. 

Another splash and the water spills over the crown of your head, through the thickness of your already damp hair, threatening to drip onto the back of your neck and send a flood of chills down your exposed skin – 

But a warm hand cups you near the base of your skull and a new sensation flutters awake, this time from within.

“Good?” His voice. You hear it more in your chest. It’s deep, rumbling. Patient. 

You can’t find enough of your body to tell him, yes, Joel, yes, feels so good.

His wide hand slides down your bare back, a warm stone against the river of your skin, and another spout of water drenches you again. 

A second hand joins the exploration of your body, massaging and squeezing all at once. Slow, steady fingers curl around the wings of your ribs, then where your skin thickens and swells, his nails scraping across the low curve of your breasts.

Oh. Oh, Joel. 

“Tell me you want this.”

That voice prickles your ears, the rough scrape of a beard nebulous on your shoulder, just as you had always hoped it would be. Water splashes you again and every inch of your shudders.

“I won’t stop.”

Don’t. Please. 

“I won’t stop. You just have to pick it up.” 

His hands are gone, his warmth evaporated. 

The water is suddenly slick, lichen-drenched, and stagnant. It lurks by your ankles.

Pick it up. 

The stone walls at the bottom of the well ring with coldness. You shiver, naked and alone. Afraid, as frozen as a block of salt. 

Don’t just stand there. You’ll never do it. Just pick it up. That voice. You hate that voice.

The barrel of the gun brushes against the edge of your foot, the head of a snake gliding in the water –

You grab wakefulness by the throat and use it to yank yourself out of the nightmare. 

The familiar silence of the early gray morning in the kitchen that had become comfortable as of late is decidedly – worryingly – not. Your shoulders are taut, straight as a board from end to end. Over the suds and the dishes your hands move mechanically, ignoring the clatter of knives and forks and the rush of water. But above everything else, it’s the expression on your face that concerns Joel the most.

Even when you’ve worked yourself to exhaustion, there’s normally a light in your eyes that settles something restless inside of him, even after hours of labor. A source of strength that he finds himself eager to chase, to let it flood him – but right now, as you stand at the kitchen sink, you’re gone. Elsewhere, disappeared into blackness where that brightness used to be. 

If he were a different man, a man capable of this sort of concern, he could ask you about it. At the very least get you to look at him. During breakfast, amidst the girls’ playful bickering, you hadn’t even noticed he, or anyone, was there. You had eaten as though your spine had been sealed to an iron rod – stiff, painful. Ellie and Sarah had run out a while ago, Sarah leaving to gather up the laundry and Ellie to let the animals out to pasture. He isn’t even sure if you noticed that he stayed behind, but that stirring behind his chest, one that’s become more insistent when you’re around, froze up to a painful knot at the thought of leaving you alone like this. Like you were caught someplace where you might not come back from. 

So, straddling this widening gap he fears slipping off of, Joel lands on the only thing he knows where there is some common ground:

“Don’t think I said anything before, but Ellie’s a pretty brave kid.” 

At her name, you blink. Slow the scrub of soap across the plate, then stop. You look at him and the darkness is not so deep in your gaze. He busies his hands with picking up a rag and beginning to dry the stack of plates to your right.

“Oh?” Recognition flickers over your face as if you’re suddenly aware of who you were talking to. A tender crease appears between your eyes. He dries off another plate and turns to face the sink, to hide the curve of his mouth from you. 

“You’re surprised.” 

You blink, glance down at his hands, and pick up the sponge again. 

“No – I’m not – I mean, I know she’s a good kid, but . . .” You swallow, brow furrowed again. “What did she say to you?”

“Hm, not so much said anything as just listened. Stayed close, kept quiet. Left no rock unturned.” The edges of his sleeves are damp. You have your dress sleeves pushed all the way up past your elbows; it’s Saturday, a brief respite from the cycle of labor in the fields. The skin over your forearm and wrist looked particularly delicate against the breakfast table, now hidden by the soap and the water. Joel dries the cup in his hand with a bit more force. “She’s smart too. Knew all about iodine and what it’s used for. Had some idea how to seal up a hot water bottle. I’s glad to have her with me.” 

You actually snort – without an ounce of respectability – and he stares at you, transfixed by a noise he’s fairly certain he’s never heard you make before. You duck your head as the small smile falls off your face, scrubbing the fork in your hand a bit rougher.

“Sorry. It’s just . . . Ellie doesn’t get along with most people, or . . . anyone for that matter. Sarah – well, Sarah could make friends with a feral cat so I’m not surprised they get along. But you . . .” You trail off and Joel shifts his weight back and forth, all the possibilities of what you meant reverberating in the spaces between his ribs. “I guess I’m just glad she didn’t piss you off.”

“Oh, it takes a lot to piss me off. ‘Cause I’m a casual and easy-going kinda guy, y’know.” 

You freeze again as if he had just tried to convince you the sky was green and you should be looking for some sort of head trauma. He lets a small grin spread over his mouth, even brighter as your eyes widen. A joke. He is teasing you. 

A soft, barely intimate gesture. 

You smile. He feels something shift in his chest. Whatever else happens today, he’ll keep that smile in his breast pocket. He clears his throat.

“Nah, she’s a good kid. Just needs an outlet, I think.” 

You stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him at the sink. The cream lace curtains drawn horizontally across the window block out the brightening horizon. An early morning breeze smooths across the pasture grass, the light weak with the sun still low in the sky. The silence that follows is easier, something he can stomach. In the sink, the water sloshes, silverware clatters, and the plates squeak when he dries them off. The faint curves of your mouth he sees out of the corner of his eyes embolden him further.

“She, hm, ever mentioned any interest in music?”

You shrug. “Ellie and her mother loved dancing to our neighbor’s radio in our apartment in Boston. Why do you ask?”

“She found a radio while we were in town the other day, and she was curious. But with no radio here, the best I can do is a guitar – I know’ve got one around here somewhere and I figured she might like to learn some chords. But I wanted – hm –,” that goddamn tickle in the back of his throat, “wanted to make sure it’d be alright with you if I showed her a couple of things.” 

Eyes wide, soft lips parted – he doesn’t know where to carry the look you’re giving him now. 

“Y-yeah, Joel, that’ll be fine. If you think that’ll make her happy, then . . . of course.”

He nods, slowly, the hot realization that he’ll now have to approach Ellie with an offer for guitar lessons pricking the back of his neck. Her bewildered expression probably won’t look much different from his own.

“‘Least I could do, after what you did with Sarah.” He means going to talk to her, not the immense relief you’ve provided her physically the last few months. He still hasn’t said thank you for that – or that you indulge in her every academic desire or curiosity. There’s no question too outrageous or problem too difficult that she brings to you – and curiously, you seem delighted every time. “She, uh, she’s getting older and I don’t always . . .” It’s an admission of his own shortcomings and it twists his gut. But then that radiant smile returns to your face and he thinks he feels that restrictive choke of guilt ease . . . just a bit.

“She’s very special, Joel. We had fun.” You finish laying out the last bits of damp silverware and a plate or two on the drying rack, your hands all white with soap bubbles. And then you pause. “She . . .”

He catches the brush of your gaze as you look away, shoulders suddenly rigid. You were about to say something, something you assume that he doesn’t already know about Sarah. You have something precious of Sarah’s and you don’t look willing to share.

“What?” It comes out a bit rougher than he means, but his heart rate is up a tick and the corners of his mouth are dry. “She, what?”

You unplug the drain, your movements slow, hesitant.

“She has dreams, Joel, just like every other teenage girl.” 

“Of course she does. I know that.”

The murky water swirls low with a gurgle. You follow it with your eyes, the timbre of your voice low, but firm. “If you want to go out there and ask her what they are, then by all means, go talk to her. But she trusted me to keep her confidence.” 

He swallows, as much as your words burn him – deeper and hotter than he expected – you’re right, of course. But now, for the first time, there is a visible crack between him and his daughter. A wet slippery feeling snakes around the bottom of his spine, tying a knot in his stomach and grinding his voice down to a growl. 

“That is not your decision to make.” 

Your mouth is set firm, but the brightness of your eyes has faded, more distance between you and reality. More space, on the edge of a protective cavern. You step back, about two arm lengths away. 

“Joel,” you begin. “She is entitled to her privacy.” 

The knot in his stomach expands up into his ribs. His heart beats faster, attempting to stretch away from the hot iron in his gut but he can’t escape it. “What did you two talk about?”

“School. Makeup. Clothes. Her life here. ” 

His hands sweat. “What about her life? Is she unhappy?” 

“Oh, God, no, Joel, she loves you and she loves being here with you. She just wants –,”

“What? What does she want?” You stiffly turn to put away the dishes, to close him off, but he steps closer, over the already blurring lines. “Look, I took you and Ellie in off the streets – I hired you – to come here and look out for her – act as her nurse, her teacher – to keep her safe. Not to keep secrets from me.” 

Your spine goes rigid, just like it was at breakfast, as you gingerly put the plates down on the counter. 

“And we’re enormously grateful for your kindness. You know that.” Hands pressed flat onto your hips, you turn and look at him, blank-eyed and drawn thin. You stare at him like he’s a stranger. Something completely foreign and unfamiliar – he hates that look. “Are you asking me as my employer?”

What else are you to me? 

Someone at least worth the weight of a jar of hand cream. 

He shoves back that thought as the fog of a dozen others crowd in to take its place.

“I am. I appreciate your help earlier, but this is the line. Is Sarah alright or not?”

You glance away from him, as if he might find the truth in your eyes. “What she’s experiencing is perfectly normal for a girl her age. You wouldn’t understand.” 

The ground trembles, unsteady, beneath him. Where had he gone wrong? He didn’t feel the earthquake but now can see the broken faultline, the great maw opening its jaws beneath his feet. Fear, so dark and deep – it threatens to swallow him whole, but he gets his hands around it, by the throat, and snaps it clean in two. Joel narrows his eyes. 

“Somethin’ I do understand is Ellie’s been eyein’ my gun since day one. What kind of fourteen year old girl s’after that? ” 

At that, you blanch. It’s like he can see the bile rise up in the back of your throat, sit on your tongue and stay there. You’ve gone totally still, barely breathing. Joel isn’t sure if he’s satisfied or not that the remark landed its blow so thoroughly. 

“She’s just a c-child who wants to pretend she’s an adult. Just like S-Sarah.”

His fist curls around the damp rag in his hand, desperate for something to hold onto, to squeeze until the ground feels solid, but his anger isn’t fortifying him anymore. The next words out of his mouth are disgustingly desperate. 

“Is that what this is about? Did Ellie say something to her?” 

“Ellie? What? No! No, this has n-nothing to do with Ellie.” You look at him, something tender and wounded flashing there and it chills the heat rising in his chest just for an instant. “I would tell you if it was something serious. Don’t you trust me?” 

But you can’t come between him and Sarah. Nothing should.

The black chasm that he feels compelled to claw back against breeches open again. Edges crumbling beneath his fingers. Sarah, Sarah –  is the only one who matters. 

The muzzle runs its clammy tongue up the back of his spine, releasing a landslide of heavy dread across his body. His anxiety peaks in a wave and as it crests, he slams his hand on the counter, a blown fuse. 

“No, goddamn it, I don’t!” 

Jaw locked, he whips his head up. Whatever sits sour on his tongue, when he looks at you, it turns to a block of ice.

Where it bubbles up like black tar behind his chest, a thing that possesses him, you watch him with horror. Eyes wide, lips drawn so tight they’re practically nonexistent, hand around your throat as if to protect it preventively.

The bracing skeleton of indignant rage melts from his body so fast his brain goes fuzzy. He wasn’t thinking – wasn’t thinking about how you flinched, tears in your silver-dollar eyes, at the loud sound that time he accidentally knocked a pot to the floor. He had never seen you so bewildered and terrified – until now.

“Look, I’m–I’m not . . .” he swallows, “I didn’t mean it.” 

He watches your eyes drop to his hand curled around the edge of the counter and he intentionally relaxes the muscle. He stands up right, but leans back from you, giving you space. The tension in your shoulders eases only a fraction. “She doesn’t . . . doesn’t have to tell me everything, but I just wanna make sure that she’s safe, and happy. Can you at least give me that?”

You’re breathing rapidly, eyes watching his hand at his side as if anticipating it curling into a fist. He turns his palms up in supplication – he really, really didn’t mean to lose control like that –  and he steps back until he’s up against the door leading to the cellar down below. The wood is warm against his back, but his shoulder bumps into the hinge and it pinches his skin.  

Your hands are no longer wrapped up in tight fists. With a deep inhale, you close your eyes, as if steadying yourself against a torrential wind. When you breathe out, it’s unsteady and shaky. 

“Physically and m-mentally, she’s fine. She’s j-just . . . just growing up.”

All this time, bits of you have been growing towards the light as the days and weeks pass. He’s watched you transform, can’t take his eyes off you some days, into this woman where before he had seen you as just a tool, another a rake or a trowel. Now you’ve curled back into yourself like nothing had ever happened between you and him – all it took was too-sharp a snap. Sarah always said his bark was worse than his bite. 

Joel takes a half a step forward and you take three steps back. Your hand is over your heart, fingers curling into the fabric, eyes still as wide as they had been the night in the general store, facing down those rangers entirely by yourself. Shit. 

He wants to ask you why you fear loud noises, wants to know who did this to you and why.

He’s not that kind of man who does this sort of thing, someone who scares women.

But he’s also not that kind of man who knows how to navigate the aftermath. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than a father and a worker. Hasn’t cared to be anything else for a long, long time, and the muscle has atrophied. Can’t be a friend. Not a companion. Not whatever paints his dreams with streaks the color of your eyes. 

“‘M gonna go find Sarah, talk to her, like you said,” he mutters, shuffling towards the back door. “If you – need – if you want –,”

His throat finally closes, shame making his gaze slippery and it slides away from your face. He doesn’t stay long enough to hear if your breathing has settled as he shuffles out the door and towards the barn.

The metal of the iron flares to an ugly, angry red, and you wipe your forehead before the sweat can drop onto the stove top and sizzle. With your teeth mashed together so tightly your jaw aches, you lift up the six-pound metal wedge up off the stove, shake it free of as much ash as possible, and then press it down onto Ellie’s collar shirt on the floor. Immediately you sweep up and down the length of the shirt, careful not to linger too long on any one spot, but sure to flatten the wrinkles.

Sad irons, is what Anna called them one day after taking in the laundry from the washing line outside. She had heard a few of the neighborhood bitties tittering about them and found the term hilariously apt. Sad irons because they’re more work than they’re good for. 

Truth be told, you liked ironing, only in certain instances though. Moments when you wanted physical exhaustion to serve as a numbing agent to the battle of emotions building between your ribs. Sweat drips down your neck, your knees aching from pushing into the hardwood floors, your arms and shoulders burning from lifting the hot iron up and down, as you rock back and forth to clear away every last wrinkle. 

Joel’s hand smacking against the counter echoes in your mind again and again and again, as the kitchen and the homestead and reality bends away from you as you tumble through memory after memory – distracted, the iron brushes up against your flesh and bites in.

You yelp, sucking the flat back of your thumb into your mouth to ease the sizzling burn, and you sit back onto your heels. 

Yes, the pain is bright and it stings, but not enough to draw tears to your eyes, and yet they well up all the same.

A single image breaks through the numbing barrier of pain: the jar of Luxor in your room. You want nothing more than to sink your scalded thumb into its cool gel, but instead the image alone threatens to crack a sob out of your chest. 

He wouldn’t have done anything. Nothing like your husband.

You know that, and you hate yourself a little bit that you reacted like that, even after all this time. Why couldn’t you stand your ground, even for Sarah? God, if you had cried in front of Joel – the mere thought of that embarrassment burns hotter than the sting on your thumb. 

He had gotten so close. Too close to the truth. What had Ellie told him about the gun, even by accident? Joel didn’t seem intent on calling the police, but he’d left so fast. He must have been so angry just to leave like that. 

As you open your eyes, a thought occurs to you and the strength of it nearly disconnects you from your body: what if you left?

Your gaze darts to the blue sky just outside the window, too low to see the gold ground but you know it’s there – just as wide and open as it had been that first night in Dalhart. 

What if you gathered up Ellie right now and ran? It had worked before, and this time you didn’t leave the evidence in the bottom of a well. He couldn’t prove anything, just the ramblings of a fourteen year old girl. 

Shit, what the hell did he know?

“Hiya!” Sarah skips in through the back door, arms full of fresh herbs in her basket.

“Be careful!” You snap at her, your thumb throbbing, tears and hasty decisions receding. “Don’t track in dirt – I just mopped.”

She freezes, catches sight of the iron and Elllie’s shirt. You haven’t looked up at her. Slowly she unlaces her boots at the door and steps gingerly onto the wooden floor. You can feel her eyes track you as she walks to the kitchen counter and drops off her basket. The anxiety pulsing beneath your skin ratchets up your heart rate, hot blood pounding in your ears. 

“So, um, anyway, I was wondering if we could talk about Ellie’s birthday. I know she loves chocolate, but Dalhart hasn’t had that in years. But I think we might have a bit of vanilla in the cellar. Do you want me to go look?” You don’t miss the way her eyes flit over her shoulder to you, the question posed as if she was sticking a tree branch through the bars of a tiger’s cage on a dare.

“Um, yeah, that’ll be fine.”

Ellie never had the language to find the source of your anxiety and over the years learned either to leave you to your physical work or silently help you with it. Joel evidently – obviously – was a better parent than that:

“Are you okay?” Sarah asks.

You stop, in daze, then slide the iron off the clothes and onto its side. It seems ridiculous but you can’t remember the last time anyone asked you that. Ellie, your only connection to family, knew exactly what you had to do to keep you both safe, so the question was always irrelevant. So when did you let another person in enough for them to care that much to ask?

“Just, uhm, busy. Need to get this done.” 

Sarah narrows her eyes at you. “‘Cause you don’t sound like you’re okay. In fact, you actually sound really bad. What’s wrong?”

“I’m . . . I just didn’t sleep well. Had a bad dream. That’s all.” 

The lies knot in your throat; it’s insufficient to call it bad – it’s insufficient to call it a dream, the thing that had scared you so badly, even Joel picked up on it. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

You glance up, still on your aching hands and pinched knees. She watches you with those same endless brown eyes as her father’s but immeasurably softer, arms wrapped over themselves, eyebrows furrowed with concern. You had snapped at her when she didn’t deserve it and she just . . . moved on.

“No, Sarah, I-I don’t want to burden you . . . it’s nothing, honestly, I’m just being silly.” 

She rolls her eyes, that wise stare cracking in half. “Fine. Don’t talk to me, but you should talk to someone. Talk to my dad. I know he doesn’t look like it but he’s a really good listener.”

Your cheeks go as warm as the iron beside you, making it impossible to keep looking at her. “Sarah, please, I am his employee. That is entirely inappropriate.” 

“Oh, please.” She swats away your concern and turns back to the herbs. She pulls out canning jars from below the sink and begins to organize by food or medicine. “Fine. Don’t tell me. When do you want to start working on Ellie’s cake?” 

The iron is no longer nearly hot enough to be effective but you run it up the shirt again, to smooth the uneven threads of your own feelings.

“Maybe tomorrow morning, when she’s out with the cows.” You pause. “No, wait, we’re spraying pesticides tomorrow. I can’t.”

Again, in that flippant teenager way, she shakes her head. “Dad’ll let you have a morning off if you tell him what is for.”

Joel’s anger, the smack of his palm – they reverberate in your head again as if someone had struck you with a bell. Your chest tight, you say,

“I don’t think your father wants anything to do with me right now.”

The excited buzz that always follows after Sarah like floating dandelion seeds settles eerily. You bite your lip – why did you say anything? – and watch her back stiffen, rosemary in one hand and a jar in the other. 

She is the daughter of your employer; you cannot forget that, but you had – you had forgotten, and so easily too. She was well within her rights to –

“What did he do?”

You blink. “What?”

She lets out a frustrated groan. “God, I swear that man likes the taste of his foot in his mouth!” Sarah turns around, rosemary and jar back on the counter, her hands on her hips and you feel like you’re the one about to be scolded. “What did he say to you to make you upset?”

“Nothing, Sarah, I swear.” She raises an eyebrow. You break instantly. “We just had a disagreement. He wasn’t . . . pleased with my work, and he told me so. Which is perfectly fine, given that I am his employee.” 

She shoves her palms into her brow, groaning. “But that’s not all –,” she shakes her head. “That’s it. I’m gonna go talk to him.” 

“Sarah, don’t –,”

You struggle to your feet, your knees stiff and popping, hand outstretched after her, but she’s too fast. She opens the back door and lets it slam shut behind her, leaving you blinking on the floor. 

He’s been staring at the back wall of the wooden shed for twenty minutes. Hadn’t made a move to grab a single tool, or pick up a bag of feed. Behind him, the wind dives into the fields, scuttles apart the branches of the oak tree by the river in a soft crackle. In the barn, one of the cows lets out a loud groan.

The back of his neck is starting to grow hot from the sun. Sweat peaks at his brow. His hand on the door, the other by his side, his fingers ceaselessly twitching, taking on physical shapes of his anxiety. But he can’t move away. If he moves, he’ll make the wrong choice again.

He’s angry. He’s still angry.

But that anger is fueled by a churning ball of fear that sits right on top of his chest and lashes at his skin like steel wool. It itches like hell and he can scratch at it all he wants, but it never goes away.

This was all a mistake. He sees that now. He could have handled another season on his own. He didn’t need another farm hand – he’d done it before and could do it again. Sarah was smart enough to read the right books all on her own and if she didn’t have the ones she needed, he’d go get them – wherever they might be. 

Sarah didn’t need anyone either. She’d make friends with kids soon enough, in town or whenever the school reopened. She was smart, always had been. They’d figure it out, together. 

He could have lived the rest of his life without another living soul crossing the boundary onto the Miller lands. 

And yet he hadn’t. 

He’d let someone in. 

As a general rule, he tried not to think of you in any capacity outside of work, education, and medical treatments, but he found that he had no defenses against the presence of someone who lives in his house also taking up residence in his mind. Against someone who cooks his meals and makes his daughter laugh. Who has a fraught relationship with her niece and yet would quite literally kill for her. 

That he understood, even if you and him seemed determined to prevent yourself from relating to one another in any capacity - which was fine with him. But he saw it in you, even if he didn’t recognize it at first in that bar in Dalhart. And then he saw it again the morning you and Ellie saved Sarah. The instinct to protect, to secure. It had been years since he’d seen it on someone else, and had never seen it that strong. 

And that’s what had gotten him into trouble today. That instinct he’d had all his life suddenly butting up against a tender feeling that is so foreign to him he doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know how to hold it, carry it, so it goes everywhere, soaks him down to the bone. 

All his life, he’s only ever enjoyed the company of two people, now one. He knew that if he took care of the land, it would take care of him and his family, so he never needed anyone else. But Sarah had a caretaker and a friend and nurturer but still clearly wanted more. Something he couldn’t give her. Something that never would have come to her otherwise if he hadn’t taken in you and Ellie. 

In his hardest of hearts, he both highly praised and deeply, deeply resented you for that. 

For coming here and upsetting everything. 

Fuck. 

His thumb catches on a splinter from the doorframe, tearing his eyes away from the blank wall, the brief pain causing his anger to flare brightly, the slice of wood embedded deep in his skin. His eyes snap to the back wall, looking for pliers to yank the damn splinter out – but his gaze catches something on the back wall first. 

Your work gloves, on the shelf. As broken in and soft as his. Taking up space beside his own as if they had belonged there all along.

In direct conflict with everything he thought he wanted, everything that he understood about himself and his daughter and the land he protects, you and Ellie had become embedded in the homestead such that now he's not quite sure he could picture it without your presence. It's a permanence that, he could tell, you all had sorely needed.

You, unlike him, did need someone else to survive in this world, one that isn't built for or kind to or willing to value women like you – and yet he got the impression that you never had a soft spot for people either. Been on the receiving end of harassment and cruelty too much and too long to find anyone or anything meaningful outside your family. It was narrow-minded and perhaps selfish, but not a perspective he would ever disagree with.

Ellie, unlike Sarah, had a caretaker but lacked a friend, someone to nurture her emotionally, tenderly, despite her vocal protests. He can see in the dark well of her eyes every time she watches him out of the corner of her eye when he cocks his gun or saddles up the horse. Like you, the ability to share a burden had been beaten out of her.

Now, what does he do with –

“Dad!” 

He jumps, the bark of her voice so loud and brash it rattles his heart for a second. Christ, is that what he sounded like?

He looks over his shoulder to see Sarah striding over to him, fists clenched, eyes blazing, dark hair turned light in the harsh glare of the sun. Sometimes – oftentimes –  he was surprised that a tempest like her came from him. 

“Dad!” Sarah barks again, the smack of her boots in the dirt launching puffs of earth by her ankles. She grinds to a halt in front of him, hands on her hips. “She’s my friend! What did you say to her?” 

“I haven’t seen Ellie since breakfast –,”

“No. Not Ellie.” The pitch of anxiety plummets into his stomach. He knows what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth. “Her aunt. You said something to her that made her upset, and I want to know what it is.” 

Where her fists lock onto her hips, one hand curls onto his hip as it juts to the side. With a sigh, Joel wipes his eyes with his fingers.

“Sarah . . .” 

“Oh, don’t Sarah me! And don’t act like I’m too young to understand, either! You raised me better than that.” Her footing shifts slightly and Joel sees an opening, small, flickering. He sees her pouting at five years old, wanting to stay up past her bedtime not for the sake of being disagreeable, but merely to spend more time with him. 

He tilts his head. “I don’t think you’re too young to understand, Sarah. Come to think of it, I’ve probably let you see and hear too much. Put too much on you.”

Her boiling anger simmers and the frown on her face softens. 

“That’s not . . . that’s not it at all, Dad.” 

With half a sigh, he extends his hand towards her, a peace offering as much as he was capable of. “C’mere, let’s get outta the heat. You and I gotta talk.” 

Her eyes fall to his outstretched hand, lip bitten between her teeth, as if under some obligation not to take it. He lets it fall, as much as it stings a very delicate part of him, and turns back towards the cellar doors. Attached to the house near the water pump, they face west, spending most of the day in the shade. Where he would sit to catch his breath after laboring in the fields all day and she brought him water and they would talk – about anything and everything. 

Joel slides down into the dirt, dust clinging to his shirt, his pants. He looks up at her, waiting, holding his will silently against hers without demand, and with a huff, Sarah drops down next to him. They sit in the shade, like they’ve always done. 

This place has always been a place of safety for him. Not just this land, but this spot, this shaded seat next to her. Joel looks at her, his smile wan. “So, if that’s not it, what is it, baby? ‘Cause I clearly haven’t got a fuckin’ clue what I’m doing. I’m sorry I made you so angry. I promise you, I was just teasin’.”

She always liked it when he spoke softly to her, maybe bringing back memories of when she was small and slept for hours on his bare chest. He turns his gaze to the yellow land, the distant dirt roads, and the sprawling emptiness beyond them. This land, that is his responsibility to keep safe. 

“I know, Dad.” He listens to her scrape the heel of her boot back and forth over a pebble. She feels warm against his side. “I’m not mad about that. I mean, I was, but not anymore.”

“But you’re mad about somethin’?” 

She’s not ready to meet his eye, he knows. That’s okay. He can wait. 

He smells lavender as her hair flutters again, her gaze joining his to watch their fields, the fields held by their family for three generations. The memories of her illness –of so many nights spent in fear, in anguish nearly as painful as death itself, as she cried and cried and cried and he could do nothing to stop it – overwhelm him out of nowhere and, like a fist has settled around his throat, he can’t breathe right for a moment. His hands flex and strain where they hang over his knees.

Air returns to him when she rests her head against his shoulder, and he is suddenly more grateful to you for bringing back his little girl than he’s ever felt towards anyone in his life. But the taste of his words he said to you lingers on his tongue. He had been so terrible.

“I like learning.” Sarah says. The wind tugs on her hair, the hemline of his pants. He resists the urge to press his face into her curls and instead settles for breathing in her scent, her warmth. He closes his eyes. She is his whole world. 

The heat of the sun toasts the air around them as the wind settles. He opens his eyes to the solar star far beyond this planet. Another world entirely. It feels particularly close today.

“I know you do. You’re good at it, always make me proud.”

Sarah lifts her head and he feels the traction of her gaze. His stomach knots, but not as heavily as his heart swells. Her eyes are older than he’s ever remembered seeing when he finally looks at her, and he’s felt a lot of his years recently. Her hands curl around his elbow, like she used to do when she begged him for a new book or a new dress. Pleading with him, to make him see her.

“But I think I’ve learned all I can . . . here.”

Joel breathes through the gaping wound and surge of pride in his chest. She watches him, brown eyes wide, mouth set. The same little girl he’s always known, and nothing like her at all. How had he missed it, this fundamental and irrevocable change? Where had the time gone? 

“I know, baby. You have to go.” 

He expects something like a girlish squeal, maybe little dance, a yelp of joy – throwing her arms around his neck, making promises to be on her very best behavior – 

But instead –

“But not right now.” Her eyes fill with tears, voice small, uncertain. Vulnerable in a way only a child’s can be.

He puts his arm around her shoulder, between her and the dirt-crusted house on the land that is now his, was his father’s, and his father’s before that, and hides his own wet eyes from her by burying his face in her hair. Her arms are wrapped so tightly around his chest, his heart nearly stops.

“No, not right now. But some day.” 

They who have been alone together all their lives sit and hold their other half for a long, long time.

The sun hovers in the late afternoon sky, unwilling to let time march forward, but it always does. It always has to. 

With a gruff grunt, Joel pulls away and wipes at his eyes with the palm of his hand. Sarah sits up more, sniffing, her delicate fingers smearing away the dampness on her cheeks. He clears his throat again. 

“C’mon, enough out here. Ellie’s probably out lookin’ for you, and I need to help, um –,”

“Dad.” He drops back down the half inch he pulled himself up. Suddenly, with a grin and a mischievous light in her still-wet eyes, she looks as young as she is supposed to be. “We haven’t talked about everything yet.”

“What do you mean?”

Her dark eyes flit back to the house, a pointed look. A knowing look. He doesn’t know why but it makes his stomach churn and his heart rate speed up, ever so slightly. That grin on her lips evolves into a full fledged smirk. 

“You were a jerk. Now you have to make it up to her. How are you gonna do that?” 

Joel’s mouth twitches. “I’m out of ideas.” 

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not.” Sarah heaves herself onto her feet, then stands, and dusts the back of her skirt with a few good thwaps. “It’s Ellie’s birthday tomorrow. Me and her aunt are gonna make a cake, so you’re gonna get her a present. You’re also in charge of distracting her while we get everything ready.”

Joel chuckles lightly as he stares up at her, one eye squinting against the sunlight. “Yeah? And what am I supposed to get her?”

She extends her hand and he takes it. Together, they get him on his feet. She dusts off his sleeve, then grins up at him, her smile wide and full and loaded with secrets he knows he didn’t tell her. “I can’t give you all the answers, old man.” 

It’s nerves. 

It’s nerves and that’s why you can’t find the vanilla you know is down here. For the fourth time, you get on your toes and look at the far back of the top row of cellar shelves. Joel had organized the cellar by least perishable to most, and vanilla beans stayed intact for years if kept out of the sun or moisture. Sarah was distinctly confident that they had at least a handful, far more than enough to flavor a cake, and this was Ellie’s cake. You owed it to her and Sarah –and shit, since he’ll be eating it, Joel – to not give up the search. 

But by the time your line of sight got to the second shelf, your mind was already wandering. 

He had taken Ellie out onto the front porch for a guitar lesson. 

After the terrible things he had said to you this morning.

After you acted like he was a cruel man whose viciousness knows no bounds.

He wanted to teach Ellie something, after he had asked you first. 

Came out of the hall closet with it in his hand, and while his dark expression was distressingly unreadable, his voice was light when he offered to teach her some cords. Ellie, who was nose deep in another Space Family Robinson, nearly launched herself off the couch: “HELL YEAH!”

Standing at just an angle that allowed you to see the living room from the kitchen, you could have sworn he smiled. A muffled thing, but it drew up the corners of his cupid’s bow in a beautiful twist, the long expanse of his throat looking warm as he turned his head to give Ellie the guitar, his hair curled in reckless waves at the nape of his neck. He smiled at Ellie and offered her a lesson – 

And you haven’t been able to focus since. 

You stop halfway on your fifth search, press your forehead to the wooden post, and sigh. 

The silence in the cellar is different from other silences on the homestead. More compact, more dense. You suppose that has something to do with it being buried several feet underground, but the strength of it is comforting in a way you’ve never experienced. Since you were sixteen years old, you’ve worked a full time job, sometimes two, sometimes three, for just enough money to eat and keep your sister housed. You often have trouble sleeping because you can still hear the noise of all those people, gears in your mind churning, despite the physical exhaustion of your body, always thinking about tomorrow’s to-dos and where your next meal might come from. You’ve been going so hard and so fast – barely surviving – you forgot what true, thick silence sounded like. How much easier it was to breathe and smother that runaway train of thought. 

Despite your initial apprehension, the cellar had become your most favorite place on the entire homestead. The silence was almost friendly, protective; you could whisper your secrets to it and know they’d be safe forever. Surrounded by abundant food, lovingly grown and cared for, you too sometimes feel as if you too had been raised, had been grown to ripeness, on this earthen floor. 

For the first time in hours, your heartbeat slows. With a grin, you lean into the wooden shelf, its corner sticking into your shoulder like a hand would press into your skin. 

“I’m trying to do something nice for Ellie. You know she deserves it,” you grumble into the silence. The wood is soft, gently carved. If you try hard enough, you think you can still smell the wood grain. “Having some vanilla flavoring would really make her happy, and that kid needs a win.” You shuffle, standing up right, and the toe of your boot kicks the post. It shudders slightly. “I –,”

In the momentum, something falls off the shelf and plops into the dirt to your right.

Vanilla beans.

You grin as you pick them up, trying half-heartedly to find that watchful eye. Just before you click off the light, you affectionately rub the corner of the wall.

“Thanks.” 

If talking to animals is the first step in going crazy, talking to holes in the ground must be a pretty bad sign. 

“‘kay, it’s real easy.” He clears his throat again, shifting, and the wood panel squeaks beneath him. Crickets echo in the shadows beyond the light of the porch. “This is gonna be your C – your A – your G, and your D. There’s only twelve you really gotta know. From there you’ll get the basics and can start to –,”

“Where’d you learn to play?” Ellie asks abruptly. She sits with her back against the wooden post outlining the porch, her knees tucked up to her chest. Joel is reminded of the look Sarah once gave him after he silently helped her chop the rest of the wood before a rainstorm came – he had told her she couldn’t do all of it by herself, and she had adamantly refused, but he didn’t rub it in her face when he came to help. They narrowly avoided the downpour but had enough firewood to last them a week. 

Grateful, was the expression he remembers. 

The heat of the day still lingers in the air, the sun just beneath the horizon. Flies and gnats swarm and tangle around the exposed bulb over the porch, thickening the shadows of his hands over the neck of the guitar and beneath the porch steps. 

Joel’s fingers still, the music of fluttering wings and electrical zaps taking over. “My dad taught me. He taught me . . . and my brother.”

Maybe it was the talk with Sarah that had loosened something, at least temporarily. He doesn’t feel like he’s been torn open, spilling his guts, when he tells her about Tommy. He wonders briefly if Sarah had ever mentioned her uncle and if she didn’t, why. He can see the question build behind her eyes, thoughts shuffling, looking for a memory if he had ever mentioned a brother before. 

“We got pretty good for a time. Played at school, church. Had a guy come through town once and tell us we could really be something.”

“Like a Hank Williams kinda something?” 

Joel eyes her, impressed she knows one of the greatest artists who’s ever lived.

“I dunno what he meant,” he says. “But that’s never why I did it anyway. Just wanted something to do with my little brother. He had some good lyrics too. He was always talented that way, with his head, you know? I think sometimes that’s where Sarah gets it. ‘Cause i'snot from me.” 

Joel smiles and Ellie grins back, an inside joke they didn’t know about yet. He strums quietly.

“I think he wanted to be that Hank Williams kinda somethin'. But it’s hard when you’re no one from nowhere. And I think him leavin’ would’ve broken our mama’s heart.”

“Tommy . . . right?” Joel glances up at her, the name so foreign on someone else’s tongue she could have meant someone else entirely. “Sarah – she, um – she mentioned him, once. And that he left for California – a while ago.” 

Joel nods, again in search of that anger to wield as a weapon, but the guitar digs into the place in his chest where it hurts the most. 

“Is that why the guitar was in the trunk? ‘Cause you’re pissed at him?”

It’s almost funny, the way she needles through to the center of things. He could lie, but what’s the point?

He hums. “I stopped playing this thing long before Tommy left. No time. Even with his help, you gotta fight with this land to grow anything. Then Sarah got sick, and now there’s all this fuckin’ dust . . .” 

He puts a hand on the belly of the guitar to stop the vibrations. He looks up at the stars, blinking into existence as night falls like a dropped curtain, and shakes his head. It felt like an excavation of something haunted, when he pulled the guitar from a trunk in his bedroom closet. Truly, he hadn’t thought about this guitar in months and taking it out again was just asking for something dangerous to befall him. Maybe something already had, given how much he had started to care for the girl who carries a pocket knife in her sock. 

Joel’s gaze drops to that girl now, her wiry little fingers wrapped around her ankles as she stares right back. He had forgotten they still made people like her.

“But it’s good. It’s good to remember.” Joel slides the guitar off his lap and onto the wood step between them. This guitar is older than Ellie and he hands it to her. “Now let’s see if you’ve been paying attention.”

She stares a second after he leans in to point out the chords before she tries to match his fingers on the strings. But then Sarah opens the screen door, out of breath and the tip of her nose pink as if she’d been standing over a fire. 

“Dinner’s ready.” 

Joel stifles the urge to roll his eyes; his girl was many things, but subtle was not one of them. As she disappears back inside, Ellie hands him back the guitar and meets his eyes with a confused look on her face – what’s up with her? Joel shrugs, then tries not to groan as he stands up, his knee acting up again. Odd, given that it only used to ache when a storm was coming, like a warning. But the skies had been clear for weeks.

“Good first lesson, kid. I’ll put this up, you go see what they got cooked up.” 

“You sure?” Her gaze drops to his knee, observant as her aunt. 

“ ‘M fine. Go on.” He knows there’s more affection than gruff in his voice, but at least Ellie doesn’t seem to register that. 

He follows her inside, the air warmer in here due to the oven and a lack of a breeze. When she moves towards the kitchen, he goes to the closet beneath the stairs and opens up the trunk at the back. 

He isn’t entirely sure he can forgive Tommy for what he did, but at least he understands it. Beneath where the guitar laid, there’s a scrap of crumpled paper – a telegram he thought about tossing in the fire when it first arrived. Instead, he is glad he just wanted it out of his sight. 

It is blank except for a few letters and numbers: a forwarding address. 

He can’t pick it up and look at it, not right now, but maybe. Maybe someday, when he needs his brother.

“Holy shit!”

Joel smiles as he shuts the trunk lid and stands. Not today.

When he finally makes it to the kitchen, Ellie stands at the head of the table, her shoulders by her ears, arms out, as if preparing to be tackled to the ground. Her eyes are bigger than he’s ever seen them.

“Happy Birthday, Ellie!” Sarah yells from the other side of the table, the words bursting out of her. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I . . .” Wordlessly, she slides into the chair, her face glowing in the light of the candle sunken deep into the top of the cake. The shadows, thick and heavy around her mouth and under her eyes, blur the emotions on her face. 

“Ellie?” You say, tentative. That crease is back between your eyes and Joel wants to press his thumb to it until it goes away. “Is this okay?”

Slowly, she lifts her eyes. The shadows cannot hide the wet shine there. Joel has to look away, something hot expanding under his ribs. 

“Uh, yea-ahh . . . this is fucking okay.” He hears the slight chuckle in her voice and he looks back. Her smile is stretched from ear to ear. “And this is dinner too, right? We get to eat cake. For dinner?”

You smile, relief and excitement giving your own face a special glow. And then, your eyes fall to him and that hot band in his chest thickens to his throat. He’ll dream of your eyes again tonight, he knows it.

“Mr. Miller has extra storages of flour in the cellar,” you say, gaze slipping away before he can hold onto it. The band in his throat hardens when you refer to him so distantly. “We used just a bit of cream and milk –”

“And sugar!” Sarah blurts out. She is practically vibrating next to you. “We have to really conserve sugar, only for special occasions, and what’s more special than a birthday?”

Ellie tears her gaze up from the candle and, for a second, she looks very small. 

“You used it for my birthday?” 

While Sarah nods vigorously next to you, he watches as your face falls. He knows that look, felt it screw up his face too – you feel like you’ve failed Ellie somehow.

“Of course, Ellie.” You say quietly, your hands knotted in front of you. He watches as the words get caught in your throat, all the right ones and the wrong ones. “You . . .”

“You’re a good kid.” Your eyes jump to him, wide, as he steps closer to the kitchen table. He puts a hand around the knot on the back of Ellie’s chair. “Is what your aunt means to say. Happy birthday, from all of us.”

Ellie’s gaze is so gentle, she looks timid. She glances between Joel, you, then Sarah, and back to you. 

“Um, thanks, guys. I guess.” 

In the soft silence, she takes a brief moment, her eyes closed, and then leans forward over the candle and promptly blows out the flame. The kitchen falls into darkness, a second before you reach for the light. 

Sarah claps her hands, the amber electrical light softening her already smooth skin. “What did you wish for?”

Ellie’s smirk returns, her hard edges returning. “Can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

Sarah rolls her eyes as you gather the plates you and Joel had cleaned just this morning. “I always thought that rule was so stupid. It’s no fun.”

You grin at her as you hand Ellie a plate and then Sarah herself. 

“It’s the secret that gives the wish its magic. All the good things are best kept secret.”

Your hand extends a plate out towards him, but it’s your gaze that meets him first. Mouth slightly parted, you watch him from beneath your long lashes. The light that softens Sarah emboldens the curves of your cheeks, the slope of your nose, the entanglement of your hair against the nape of your neck. A table between you, he hasn’t been this close to you in what feels like days, when it had only been this morning. This morning, when he had never felt further from you, when his own fear had gotten the better of him. 

For so long, the circle of his love ended at the property lines and he had spent years of his life etching in that demarcation, digging in and digging in until the wet earth swallowed him whole. There was nothing else but Sarah and this land because he could not afford to lose either of them, so he held on tight and burrowed deep.

But this deep down, the earth he loved might as well have been a coffin. A tomb. In order to stabilize his daughter, the land, and himself, there had to be less of him. Less to carry. Less to burden. 

Less of him to share. 

He thought – maybe hoped – that those bits of him that had fallen away would always stay gone, another sacrifice in addition to his blood and his sweat into the soil. It was easier to mourn a loss if you never had it in the first place.

But, as he looked at you from across the table in the low light, as your fingers touched his beneath the plate – even for a fraction of a second – the pieces he’d left behind roared to life once again. 

Heat warms him up his arm, down into his chest – and it keeps going. The smell of you, of sweat and sugar and honey and sunlight, invades his head like a dirty wind and the fire inside scorches him as it flushes down his ribs, through his stomach, and right into his groin.

You all but drop the plate into his hand, pulling your fingers away from his touch, gaze diving away. But he can see your nervous swallow, the way your hand shakes when you pick up the knife to cut the cake. 

“Let’s eat.” You smile at the girls, but it’s as weak as your voice, crackling, trembling, overwhelmed. As if you too had been consumed by years of dormant want out of nowhere and now couldn’t possibly put those feelings back into hiding even if you wanted to.

Even if you begged.

The cake is gone in a matter of minutes. 

Ellie lets out a groan, leaning back in her chair, her hands resting over her full stomach. “That was so goddamn good.” 

“It’s inappropriate to lick the plate, right?” Sarah asked, sponging up crumbs with her finger. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Ellie grins. She snatches up her plate and with her tongue flat against her chin, licks up every last morsel. Sarah snorts, laughter bursting out of her, before doing the exact same thing. It’s not long until both of them are making grotesque noises. 

“You girls act like you haven’t had a proper meal in weeks.” Joel sits across from you, his arms folded across his chest, a faint glint in his eye as he glances back and forth between them. He sits low in his chair and his shoulders look especially broad across the back of it. “Y’all are gonna eat me out of house and home.” 

Sarah giggles and wipes her spit-covered chin. “Ellie said she found a really good spot out back to look at the Milky Way. Can we go look?” 

You expect him to ask that they clean up the table first, at least put the dishes in the sink, and not to stay too far into the dark. He’s watching Sarah for a beat too long before he opens his mouth again.

“But then when will Ellie get her present?”

His eyes lock onto you.

“THERE’S MORE?!” Ellie screeches.

The heat in his gaze sends a tangible shock down your throat, across every single one of your ribs, right into your nipples. Your faint gasp is overshadowed by Sarah and Ellie’s yelling – oh my god you didn’t tell me about this what’s wrong with you – please please please can I see it I’ll clean the bathrooms if you just lemme have it please –  but the look is gone a second later when he stands up and jerks his chin over his shoulder to the living room. The girls sprint into the room before he can take his first step. He doesn’t look at you as he follows them, slow, confident, teasing them just a bit.

“What is it?!”

“Is it more comics?”

“More marbles?”

“New clothes?”

“Ew, that would suck.” 

As if deaf to their pleas, Joel slowly walks over to the chest in the corner of the room and just as the girls are about to burst from excitement, he bends down and picks something up from behind it.

A radio. 

The radio.

The same one they had found in town. 

Ellie and Sarah’s eyes widen to the size of the dinner plates sitting on the kitchen table, covered in spit and cake crumbs. They drop to their knees, fingers outstretched like they approached a feral kitten.

“Now, it doesn’t work right.” Joel says, his arms crossed again. “But I thought it might be a good project for you girls. Something to work on together. Maybe learn about magnets and electricity n’shit.” 

His eyes fall on you again, as if you knew all about “magnets and electricity n’shit.” Joel grins again, this time just for you, and something inside of you snaps in half, melts, sparks open; some great weight, one you didn’t even know was there, has been lifted off your shoulders, your heart, and you can breathe properly again. You sink into the blue sofa, hands in your lap to keep them from trembling. 

The idea that you would ever willingly leave this place is laughable.

The idea that you would take Ellie away from this, from Sarah, is agonizing. 

They’re both fiddling with the buttons and twisting the jobs, the novelty of it perhaps the most fascinating. They are silent, more reverent than if they are on hallowed ground. 

“I’ve got some pliers and a screwdriver if you wanna –,”

Perhaps it was the witchcraft of the sisterhood. 

Perhaps they had managed to work out some secret code.

Perhaps they were just lucky. 

The radio lights up and the tear of a trumpet whines out of the speakers. Their yelp of delight is muffled beneath the white-hot music of a jazz band. 

Joel watches with what can only be considered bemusement as the girls leap to their feet and start dancing like no one had ever taught them about rhythm. 

The sofa squeaks, the cushion under your butt tilting up, as he sits down next to you. 

“Not likely to win any competitions any time soon,” he mutters quietly, presumably to you, as you both watch Ellie’s jerky knees and Sarah’s dizzying twirls. You sit, hands in your lap, perched on the edge of the cushion, while he leans into the sofa, arms back in place over his chest. With the way you are positioned towards the radio and him facing straight on, your knees almost touch. 

You wonder if he’s as aware of that chance as you are. 

“Listen, I wanted to say I’m sorry.” His voice is deep enough to be heard over the music. He glances at your hands, and then your face. The sincere regret in his eyes makes the blood in your wrists pound. “You didn’t deserve all of those things I said to you this morning. Both you and Ellie have been . . .” he struggles for the word, his bottom lip moving with the swipe of his tongue, “a good change in our lives, and I regret saying the contrary.” His gaze falls back to your hands, your thumb tucked into the hole made by your other fingers. You wouldn’t look away from his face if it was the sun itself. “The fields have been well taken care of . . . and I know Sarah’s grateful for everything you’ve done for her. You’ve changed her life for the better. You’ve changed m–,”

It’s like his voice crumbles and slips off a cliff. His broad shoulders sag forward and then he looks up at you, a desperate sort of hope in eyes. Hope that you understand what he’s trying to say, and hope that you don’t make him say it. 

Oh, but you want him to say it. You want it so badly. 

You nod, this crumb sweeter than anything on the kitchen plates. On some heady sugar high, you smile at him.

“Well, I meant what I said.” He frowns and your grin widens, but then teeters and topples over. Your wrists ache. You have to lose his gaze for what you’re going to say next. “We are very, very grateful you took us in. I know it wasn’t a decision you made lightly, risking so much of you and Sarah for two complete strangers.” You shake your head with disbelief. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you made the right choice, if I have to.”

You glance up at him – and immediately wish you hadn’t. 

It’s that same look he gave you when you handed him his plate over the kitchen table. Lips pursed, brow slightly furrowed, with a wary uneasiness in his eyes. Like he’s finally figured out what kind of woman you are, and he can’t quite tell what to do with you.

“C’mon you two!” Sarah yells and that hazy bubble that envelopes you bursts. He blinks, as if not remembering where he is. “You gotta dance!”

“Yeah, you old farts!” Ellie pants, red-faced and nearly out of breath. “It’s my birthday so you have to do what I say and I say, let’s boogie!”

You lunge at the chance to be distracted; you turn away from Joel and arch your eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re dancing? Is that what you’re doing? Can hardly tell.” 

Ellie sticks out her tongue while Sarah starts kicking with one foot then bounces to the other, flicking her wrists. “I saw this move on the school’s television!”

Ellie immediately stops the flailing of her limbs and watches her moves. “Teach me!”

Sarah slows it down until Ellie gets the hang of the bounce. Sarah looks much more natural in the rhythm, but at least Ellie is partially on beat. 

“And then I think you do this–,”

Her foot dangling in the air, she loops her ankle around Ellie’s and starts hopping in a circle. Ellie lets out a giggle.

“No way this is a real thing!”

“It is, I swear!”

“You got any moves like that?” Joel asks quietly, but still ensnaring your attention completely. He sunken completely into the sofa, hips low, legs wide. His thumb taps the beat on his thigh. Something about the way he has completely relaxed allows you to unclench your fists and loosen your foot tucked behind your ankle.

“Me?” You chuckle, leaning back on the arm rest. “I never had the time to go to the dancehalls, much less learn complicated moves such as the – Sarah, what is that dance called?”

“Hell if I know!” They’ve switched feet, trying to go counterclockwise this time.

“Complicated moves such as The Hell-if-I-know.” He rewards your terrible joke with a low chuckle. 

“Me neither. I can’t dance for shit.” 

As though he had called her name, Sarah stamps down her foot and rolls her eyes at her father, Ellie trying to follow along with the instructions the singer is giving over the speakers.

“Yes, you can. You taught me The Dip.” 

“That’s not a real move, Sarah–,”

“You can teach her!” Sarah’s brilliant smile extends to her eyes as if she had just announced the best idea in the history of ideas. “Then she’ll know at least one!”

Your fingers return to their fists. Joel stiffens beside you.

“Yeah, you should.” Ellie yells over her shoulder distractedly, one arm raised and the other leg straight out – in complete opposition to what the lyrics said. “Can’t have her embarrassing me in public.”

“C’mon, Dad, just one dance!” Her brown eyes flicker to Ellie and sweat-damp shirt. “It’s Ellie’s birthday!” 

“And for the party, we – must – dance!” Ellie strikes a dramatic pose and Sarah, giggling, swishes her dress with a flourish. With a brief glance at you, she rejoins Ellie, her skirt twirling.

The sofa squeaks as if he’s moving, a soft hand comes to rest high on your back, and panic leaps into your throat.

“Mr. Miller – Joel – you don’t have to – Sarah is just being silly –,”

“Well, it's not like I’m going up there by myself.” 

That rough palm slides over your scapula, then your shoulders, and down your arm. Tugging gently, a soft pinch around the bone of your elbow nearly pulls you to your feet, but sense-memory has you folding your arm back up towards your chest, your knees locked and heels heavy. Immediately he senses your rejection and stops. 

The warm light above threads gold through strands of his silver hair, the ends of his curls long enough to disappear into nothingness, into the halo around him. 

Joel Miller would never, ever hurt you.

Joel Miller is not your husband.

Joel Miller could be your friend.

His light touch releases and just as his fingers drop from your sleeve, your arm unfurls towards him, taking him by the bicep. His eyebrows lift slowly, watching as your fingers curl around his arm. Drawn towards his light like a sunflower, you stand, closer to him than ever before, and smile up at him. Friends go dancing together all the time, right? 

But all the standards and regulations of propriety and social mores were flung out the window the second you, an unmarried woman, stepped foot onto the land of an unmarried man. Nothing about this, about any of this, could be considered conventional.

A step or two away from the sofa, he holds your waist in one hand and yours aloft in the other, fingers interconnected. Respectful. Decent. A good man. No boundary crossing here. 

“Ready for your next lesson?” he asks, a little breathless. Maybe he forgot the steps and he is simply nervous to perform – hm, teach. He does a bit of adjusting, watches his own feet adjust as you stand still in front of him, waiting to be moved.

So, you open your stupid mouth and say,

“See, teaching isn’t so easy, is it?”

You grin and finally his eyes meet yours. Soft as leather, warm as a saddle in sunlight. It’s your turn for necessary air to be drained from your lungs and he decides then to move.

“Gotta lead up to it,” he grumbles, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Can’t just dive right in.” The way he leads is completely out of sync with the music, but you see that it’s intentional, a choice to slow things down. Not quite what you’d expect at the Boston dancehalls, but something far more precious and memorable. He sways with you, as supple as a blade of prairie grass in a warm wind. 

The curve of his shoulder is warm beneath your fingers, your thumb inches from his collar. He is more solid than any other person you’ve ever touched – including Anna. He could stand at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and never be washed away. You cannot imagine what that stability feels like, but you crave it all the same. 

There’s a respectable distance between your hips and his, but you can still smell the sweetness of the cake on his breath, the hot earth he tends to so lovingly, and the tang of sweat. 

“I know you’re a fast learner.” You turn your head towards him, but he gazes straight on. For a moment his face is so stoic you start to wonder if he actually said anything, but then a smile, a small one, flickers across his face. He turns his head towards you, his nose brushing yours, and suddenly you are too close together. Instinctively you pull away – your head, your shoulders, your hands – then find yourself frustrated that this is how you still react. You don’t even mean it. You don’t even want it, this temporary separation. But still Joel stands. He waits for you and sure enough, you sink back into his arms, your palms separating for only a second. “We made a regular farmhand out of you in a handful of weeks. Could get you to a full Dip in days.” 

He’s talking too softly to be easily heard over the banging percussion, the scream of trumpets, the boozy warble of the singer, so you bend closer. Over his shoulder, Ellie and Sarah take turns curtseying and bowing and then locking their elbows together and spinning each other in circles, giggling. 

“They’re alright.” The words hum in your ear, heat warming the air after a flash of lightning, and you fight a full body shudder. You tear your gaze back to him and his smile. His hand hasn’t moved an inch on your back. You worry your palm is getting sweaty. “Just focus on me.” You nod. 

From the radio, the song ends and the band slows to a discordant crash, as exhausted as the ones who danced to their rhythms. Men raucously laugh over the airwaves at their own created chaos and the two girls collapse onto the couch, red-faced and sweaty and laughing. 

“You trust me?” His eyes are brown and dark and smoky, firewood kindling. He really intends to teach you something. You nod slowly. The memory of his hand smacking into the counter breaks apart when his palm slips further down your back, his leg shifting in between yours, and he leans forward to lean you back. Back, back, back, off the edge of the earth. Hair slips off your shoulders as you hang, suspended above the floorboards, cradled by his hand and his thigh, the other hand holding yours to his chest. The world is upside down – in more ways than one. 

When you lift your head, he blocks out the light above for just a moment. Joel, for a moment, is all you can see. He holds you like you weigh nothing, gravity a suggestion to a force of nature like him — and a moment later, he pulls you both upright. 

Your cheeks are burning, your heart roars in your chest, in your ears, and there is no other way this would have ended: you glance at his mouth. He looks at yours. The fingers entwined with yours tighten. 

And then the radio dies. No preamble. No warning. Just ringing silence.

“Welp, it was fun while it lasted.” Ellie huffs, out of breath, smacking her hands against her thighs. 

Sarah wipes away sweat from her forehead with her arm. “Nah, we’ll get it back. I know we can fix it. Right, Dad?”

Joel Miller is still staring at your mouth. 

He’s quiet too long before he drops his gaze and clears his throat. Caught in a daze, you blink and suddenly his warmth is gone. Your hand floats in the air, empty. Joel pulls on the waistline of his pants and turns back to the sofa, nodding.

“Course, we can fix it. But not tonight. Get to bed, both of you.” The gravel of his voice makes his words harsher than they need to be, but Ellie just rolls her eyes and Sarah throws herself onto her feet. 

“C’mon, teenie bopper, I found a mouse skull the other day I forgot to show you.”

Ellie’s eyes widen as she follows Sarah up the stairs. “Like a skull skull? No meat, just bones? Was the rest of the skeleton there?”

Her interrogation continues as they move around the second floor and you can almost hear every word of it. A stark and abrupt reminder that this house echoes – any noises or sounds made can be heard anywhere, in any room, by anyone. 

Your gaze drops to Joel like a stone and with the added weight of whatever he was thinking, it all becomes too much for him. He turns away, denim shoulders nearly up to his ears.

“I’ll clean up.” He waves his hand vaguely to the kitchen. Cake. Plates. Flour on the counter. Oh, that’s right. “You cooked.”

A trade, a sharing of responsibilities between two equal partners. There’s some part of you that knows you should argue, cleaning was what he hired you for, but this is not him telling you as your employer. 

This is . . .

“You did good today,” he says, quickly, his hands on his waist, a step forward, as if he remembered something mid-stride. “It meant a lot, to the both of ‘em. I know you don’t think much of it, but you’re good at this.”

Your face heats, a familiar zing from his words racing down your spine into the bowl of your hips. The next breath you take is a shaky one. “Thanks, Joel. I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

He swallows, then nods. “Night, then.”

“Good night.” 

You might have let yourself believe you had imagined the whole thing, as you walk down the long wood floor to your bedroom, the girls’ chatter now just noise in your head. You might have believed that, after half a decade of being unwanted and undesired, abandoned at the edge of civilization, you extrapolated sentimentality from the first man who looked at you. All your life you doubted yourself; doubted your ability to keep Anna safe, doubted that you’d ever be something more than a pathetic replacement for Ellie’s mother, doubted your own sanity at times when you sat in that dark, dank dug out and listened to the scratchy winds tear apart your husband’s finances. 

But this – this you did not doubt. You did not mistake, or dream up, or lie to yourself. 

Before he let you go, Joel had squeezed your hip, rubbed his thumb against the waistband of your skirt. Let his fingers snag and catch in your blouse.

Whether it was trust or companionship or something ultimately more terrifying, he felt some kind of way about you. 

What kind of way you felt about him, you couldn’t answer honestly. 

And yet for a moment, for a brief moment, you had stepped into his light and, goddamn it, you were right. 

It was warm.

END OF PART II

series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i | part iii

[the-girl-who-cried-wolf]

EMMA, HI! YOU'VE WATCHED BARBIE!!! i cried like a BITCH during the ruth/barbie scene at the end, like full sobbing 😭 it was an ✨experience✨ - barbie felt like an almost cultural phenomenon? i took my younger sister with me and it was really nice to see all the representation and know that she's getting to grow up in a decade with representation like that in media for girls, just really inspiring tbh. also seeing every one dress up and all the smiles and happy faces, and people helping strangers take photos before or after the movie - it was just so filled with humanity, it made me all mushy inside 😭

(sorry for the mini rant - hope you're well! love you heaps <3)

HI AMBER!! YES I'VE FINALLY SEEN IT!!!! i was crying literally during the whole movie, like there were moments and scenes through all of it that brought me to tears when i least expected it. i just constantly had tears streaming down my face it was an AMAZING experience.

yeah seeing everyone dressed in pink and so excited to see it was so sweet 🥺 it was genuinely a beautiful moment of humanity for everyone that went and im so happy i got to see it <3

and you're so right! barbie really has turned into a cultural phenomenon! it's really amazing to finally see a movie made specially for women, that explores the complex experience of simply existing in this world, as a women. it was a really beautiful. annnd it makes me happy to think that more girls are going to grow up being able to watch a movie that can help empower and inspire them 💜

[octoagentmiles]

Alright I've decided to take you up on your dare :›. So. Tell me: what would the octo-agents do if they found you were having a bad day?

@mysticfoxdesigns

>:)

Paani

He's a little socially awkward (aren't we all), but if he noticed you weren't having a great day he'd try to very subtly fix it. He'd try cheering you up with things that would cheer him up—like, he'd start rambling to you about water (how fast that river was flowing, how big that storm was last night, etc), or offering to make some Paani Patties with you. If these don't work, he might ask the Octonauts for advice, and then do whatever Whoever He Asks tells him to do.

Tracker

There's probably a Polar Scout lesson for "cheering up your sad friend" somewhere out there, and he definitely has the badge for it. He likely wouldn't do anything at first (he doesn't wanna intrude on your personal life), but if you mention to him; "man my day kinda sucks :(" He'll be ON IT in a heartbeat. It'd be pretty generic stuff though, like, whatever comes up when you Google "wikihow to cheer someone up" is what you'd get from him. He WILL hug you, and it WILL be awkward. He's trying his best.

Natquik

He is not usually a feelings-talker. Where d'ya think Barnacles gets it from? He will hug you too, if you're comfortable with it, and it'll be nice. Barnacles also gets his top-tier pep-talk skills from him, and yes yes, you will be crying afterwards (in a good way). I believe with all my heart that he's the Great Life Advice flavour of old man, so whatever you're dealing with—he might be a bit blunt, but you will have 99 less problems when he's done with you. He somehow manages to say exactly what you needed to hear, and you will literally not have another bad day for at least a month after.

Calico Jack

Oh, he has had his fair share of bad days. Does this mean he's an expert at dealing with them? Absolutely not <3

He might not be able to relate to anything you're dealing with, but he will try his best. He wants to help you, he really does. He'd move the oceans for you. He's actually pretty emotionally in tune, and knows a great deal of psychology. He'd literally become your new therapist. He'll mostly just sit and listen to you rant, occasionally chiming in with some advice he hopes is helpful (if you want it). I feel like if you were REALLY sad he would share some of his treasure with you. Can't be sad with pirate gold in your hands, it's impossible.

Ranger Marsh

He will drag you through the swamps /pos.

He is such a dad™, you will not end the day without a dad hug (unless you don't want one, then he'd just pat you on the shoulder. you can't avoid that I'm sorry). He'd literally drag you around the Everglades to run errands with him, and introduce you to his critter friends along the way. You'd just get a nice, relaxing day in nature, and if you're still upset by the end of it, he'll show you pictures of Tweak as a kid to make you laugh. Don't tell her.

Pearl

You're probably gonna end up slimy/covered in algae by the end of the day, so hopefully you're into that. She makes you babysit Peri for a few hours, and that alone makes you feel better, but when she comes back she goes into Big Sister Mode and takes you out on a "fun day" (cue the algae), or a mini vacation somewhere in the world, or back home in Scotland. She teaches you a bunch of stuff about plants, and it's actually really cool. You basically end up forgetting about whatever was wrong in the first place.

Min

I can see her pulling out a random old map from Who Knows Where and just. sending you on a quest. She'd plan a whole adventure for you to go on, like some RPG or LARP—she'd lay puzzles, and call Inkling to ask him to send some creature pals to act as passing travelers in need of rescuing, there'd be treasures to collect along the way, and an ultimate reward at the end. She'd go all out (it would actually take a couple days for her to plan tbh), and it would be REALLY fun.

Ryla

Would she notice that you're having a rough day? Maybe. Would her first instinct be to help? Maybe not-

I think she's not really a ""Feelings Person"" unless you're really close, but even then she's awkward about that kind of stuff. But! If you specifically WENT to HER for help, I think she'd at least try. She'd look at it practically, and try to solve whatever/any problem(s) you're having. She'd tell you wild cave diving stories (maybe take you on one if you appear interested), offer you weird food, and maybe gift you a free copy of her book (signed, of course).

*cough* bonus Inkling because I forgot him in the last one:

Such a grampa, he will absolutely read you stories and feed you biscuits. He'll play chill music in the library, dim the lights, and give you some space to read or simply relax for a while. He'll share his tea with you, if you want some. The Vegimals will visit you a couple times, and put on little shows or sing for you, and make you feel less lonely during your alone time. If you decide you want to talk out your feelings with someone, Inkling will be right there, ready to listen.

[goggles-mcgee]

Goggles, I don't mean to insult you in any way when I ask this- Why do you write Alya salt?

No insult taken at all!

I write Alya salt for much the reason I wrote Adrien salt. Both characters have bad writing which gives them bad characterization. Season 1-2 Alya was great and yes she still had her flaws but she was more present as a character I felt. Then what always happens to great characters happened, her writing got stiff and well, to me, she changed and not for the better.

I know people say to those who write salt that we look into things too deeply, we take things to seriously, and you know maybe in some way they are right but on the other hand I can't help but see things too deeply, nor take them seriously. For me that's just how my brain does. My boyfriend, bless his heart, has heard me rant about fantasy worlds and what makes you feel immersed in them and what doesn't. I have a thing about things having to make sense in their universe. I.e. motives, characterizations, if it's a fantasy I even have to be able to see that what aspects make sense in that world.

I don't know why I do this but I've done ever since I was little. It was why I loved the Tinkerbell books because they built the whole world so beautifully and things made sense! Like why Rani gave up her wings. Why Vidia was the fastest Fast Flying fairy. It was the little details and the characters that brought that world to life and, the best part, they taught you lessons in a way that made sense to you even if you weren't part of that world.

I'm a sucker for a show that dishes out life and moral lessons.

An example I will give of a great show that did this was As Told By Ginger.

One of my favorite shows.

Alya is kind of like Dodie in a sense just not a bad. Dodie was a friend when you needed her but sometimes she was not a good friend because of her ambitions. Then season 3 happened and she changed and not for the better. Alya reminds me of Dodie, they are friends with the main character truly but both have ambitions that take priority over everything else, and both were willing to do whatever for that ambition. Both are one track minded and are oblivious to the hurt that they can cause being so. And both are stubborn and that's not necessarily a bad thing until it can be.

Finally, both can be a bit pushy when it comes to goals. These are great character flaws but sometimes shows use these flaws to punish the main character and try and still say it is the fault of the main character that something happens.

This can also be applied to most of the girl squad, an example being when they tease and get mad at Marinette for not being able to confess her feelings for Adrien on 5th name day. Even going so far as to claim they won't be as close of friends if she doesn't do it.

That's not okay, nor healthy.

Sorry I went on a mini rant there, but in short it's how she's written and all in all I write the salt to show people that behavior like some of Alya’s and the girl squad can quickly become toxic and unhealthy if not noticed or stopped.

With Alya yes there may be some more salt than the other girls but I do write salt for a majority of the class. Not just Adrien and Alya.

Alya is more prominent because she's supposed to be Marinette’s best friend but at times her behavior does not reflect that, and much like Adrien, with her flaws, they somehow become Marinette’s fault. Or Marinette had to apologize for something that was not her fault because of something Alya did or because Alya makes her feel bad for something that's really not her fault.

It's not extreme, it's not as bad as some might think reading my post, but it is little things that can fester and my goal with writing salt is as cathartic to me as it is to show readers how little things can become a problem over time if not spoken about, or ignored, or shoved to the side.

But also in my salt stories these characters who get salt grow. It doesn't happen immediately, but they do realize their mistakes and they grow, and so will Alya, I'm not going to be someone who writes off Alya because I genuinely loved her in beginning seasons and I see what she could have been and can be.

So she does get salted but she does grow. Will she become friends with Marinette again? In some stories they might become awkward acquaintances in the future but not full friends again because of lost trust. Another thing I want to show people is that it's okay to forgive and it's okay to not let people back in despite that forgiveness, sometimes we need a change.

And much like Adrien, I had a friend like Alya and yes I project a bit on her. We were friends but our relationship became not so healthy because we both had our flaws. Much like Marinette I have a hard time saying no, and my friend kind of took advantage of that. Then high school happened and we grew apart but guess what, she grew as a person. We never became friends again but we would wave and smile at each other and that was enough. We grew to be different people, better people and of that was separate so be it as long as we grew and as long as we were happy.

I don't know if this made much sense but yeah...

[softhourswithru]

One more chance..

Summary: A rollercoaster of emotions. From friends to lovers to strangers with memories.

Sebastian stan X Reader

Chapters : ONE TWO THREE ???

A/N: it’s been very long since i have wrote. So if i sound really dusty I am so sorry. Eng lit has been killing me inside out. So i do hope you guys like this.

Also all characters in this is all fictional.

> Masterlist <

August 2021

Everyone tends to have a very robust life. Situations erupting from everywhere and consuming every one thoughts. Yet for you it was different now. Everything is quiet and going with the flow. Your routine was the same, your off to uni, or work, you come back home then it’s either clean, cook, Netflix, or work out. Whatever popped up first. This term in university was keeping everyone occupied, so you and your friends could not do much. There wasn’t any signs of anything coming up so you set back to relax.

Yet look at you now, in a clothing shop utterly confused why this girl is blurting out her whole love life to you. You stood there awkwardly, just waiting for the girl to realise that your a complete stranger. Yet she continued to babble on off to her own little world. You tapped on her shoulder and she looked back, her concerned face from her little rant went to a confused one.

“Oh my god.. i’m so fucking sorry.. you looked so similar to my friend and i just threw my whole shit onto you” You laughed at her saying it was okay, and that regardless if you was her friend or not. Whoever she was talking about sounds like a complete dick.

The stranger smiled.

“My name is Mira” “and I'm y/n, now start again cause this is a bit confusing.” Mira chuckled.

Mira went on to tell you about her current boyfriend Sebastian, how he didn’t actually wanted to be in a relationship and there was communication issues. She felt like that there was still hope that she push him to change he keeps playing with her. You gave her a subtle helpless look. The first red flag was the fact he didn’t even want to be in a relationship. However this was was not your relationship so you could not say much.

“I can’t really give a decent solution. I just met you and your boyfriend sounds like a prick. All I can really say is try communicate with him. It’s easier said than done. But if he refuses to then it’s obvious you should just drop the whole thing” Mira's face began to drop. oh shit.

“then again it is your relationship, you can do whatever you want.” reassuring her, she shook her head slightly and looked up with a faint smile. Miras eyes light up for a second her smile becoming more prominent.

"why don't you join me and my bf with his friend for a couple of drinks tomorrow night." You gave her an unsure look.

"We can get to know each other, Sebastian wont interrupt us he will be with his friend. A daily night hang out." It won't hurt plus uni has been draining me out. You looked up and nodded your head signalling you would. Mira hugged you slightly going off with her mini rant on how much fun it is going to be while giving her socials to you.

While this was all fun you had underlying feeling. Then again it could be the fact you was nervous.

______________________________

You looked up at the apartment and down at your phone to make sure the address was right. You hesitated before knocking, but the door suddenly opened causing a rush of panic to go through you. Before you stood a 6 foot man with soft brown hair and rough blue eyes. He looked you up and down yet showed no expression.

"You're Mira's friend right?" His voice coarse. He continued.

"Don't freak out i saw a glimpse of you by my window and guessed it was miras friend and I was right." A smug look painted across his face.

"Yeah sorry, I was just trying to see if I got the right address." You gave him back a polite smile, as that happened Mira appeared behind Sebastian's back but her smile faltering a bit, before you could ask she let you in and led you to the main room. There stood another man more tanned looking with curly hair patiently waiting with a ps4 controller in his hand.

Mira sat you down across from Sebastian and his friend and went to get some drinks for the both of you. You took your time to look around, the main room was nice filled with neutral tones and small flower pots. Probably fake. Pictures of mainly sebastian with his friends and a small couple of him and mira. This is probably his place. The balcony looked nice with two cushioned seats and small table. so peaceful.

"So are you going to tell us your name or.." You lost your track of thought to look towards sebastian and his friend.

"oh..my bad my name is y/n."

"Sebastian.. and this is Antonio, one of my closest guys." Antonio smiled at you.

"You can call me tony for short" you shook your head.

"I like Antonio better.." Antonio gave you a side eye and smirked.

"i see you are all getting along" Mira voice entered with a blunt tone handing you a drink. You took the drink from her and faced towards her.

"You okay Mira" she nodded and began talking to you. She was interesting but also kinda hypocritical. Yet this was better than staying home and doing nothing. You let her talk, laughing at the occasional cussing towards whoever she was talking about.

“Why don���t you let Y/n speak.. after all she is new here and i’d like to know her better.” Sebastian voice interrupted Mira. Sebastian looked at Antonio, who nodded in response but was more interested in the game

“That’s nice, but there isn’t much to say. Plus i’m quite invested in what Mira was saying” you tried easing the nonexistent tension you was feeling.

“yeah see she doesn’t want to talk. Talk to Antonio there’s no need for you to know her. She isn’t your friend.” Mira harshly said. yeah there was the tension.

“Yeah well she is in my house and who said i couldn’t make friends. Plus your barely letting the girl talk. Everything isn’t about you.. you know.”

He looked up from the game and smiled at you. You just looked back at Mira who looks like she was about to burst.

She grabbed her drink and stomped off towards the garage.

"Ah don't worry about her she likes to go through mini bitchy phases." You looked back at Sebastian slightly offended. He shrugged back in response unbothered.

"like you are any better." Mira spat back and shut the door the behind her.

Everything went to an awkward silence.

Yeah i should have stayed home.

You tried going pass Sebastian and Antonio, but Sebastian ended up pushing you down between him and Antonio. Antonio chuckled and whispered.

"Don't worry she will be fine in a few mins." Sebastian dropped his controller on your lap and went out to Mira who facing backwards towards you.

His arms wrapped around her, taking her in a warm embrace. He began giving her small pecks around her face. His last kiss landing on her forehead. Both of them looked perfect and imperfect at the same time. Almost frozen in picture. He took the bottle away from her hand and set it down on the table.

He slowly brought her face up and gave her a chaste kiss. Yet his eyes were focused on you. The moment you both made eye contact he winked.

what the fuck.

Antonio shouts in victory broke the trance you were in and quickly joined in with him.

The last few moments went by in a blur till you felt like it was time to leave. Once you got out of the apartment, mira caught up with you.

"Hey y/n i'm so sorry that i was in such a shit time, something happened earlier and when i saw you at the doorway with Sebastian and you was smiling and all and what happened before. it caused me to overthink and all. But Sebastian said you took an interest with Antonio. Your my new friend and it was wrong for me to think like that." she gave you a hard smile and light pat. Almost as if the speech was to reassure herself.

Before you could even turn away.

"i don’t want to be a bitch but do keep your distance yeah… Get home safely" you nodded but the shock was still settling in. It wasn’t like you asked for this to happen.

But it is better if i do keep my distance.

Your phone went off.

@...Seb has now started following you!

oh god..

______________________________

A/N: This part is very dead, i know but things will start to pace up eventually yk. Everything needs a starting point but i hope this part did interest you. Please do comment if you want another part or what you would like to see next!

There is a taglist for this so if you want to be in the taglist just comment TG :).

Love you all Ru <3.

[cantdanceflynn]

What is your favorite Ferb line

GOD THIS IS SUCH A GOOD QUESTION. UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

TAKE A COLLECTION OF MY FAVORITES(BOTH FOR THE IMPLICATIONS AND JUST HOW MUCH I LOVE THEM) INSTEAD BC I CANT PICK

"Daffodils, third date."

"Klimpaloon doesn't belong to us. He belongs to the ages." (PLAGIARISM FERB SMH)

"I'm petrified beyond all capacity for rational thought."

"Please, Candace, you're being dramatic." (IK ITS 2ND DIMENSION FERB BUT LIKE. BOTH FOR THE REASSURANCE AND THE PROVING THE ONE LINE ISNT A SET RULE AND JUST LIKE. I LIKE IT ENOUGH IT COUNTS)

"I hope that doesn't mean six more weeks of "Nullville"."

"Sorry, Adyson" (I HAVE GONE ON MINI-RANTS ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE HOW HE SPEAKS MORE OFTEN AND TO PEOPLE HE KNOWS LESS LATER ON AND THIS IS JUST THE PEAK EXAMPLE OF THIS. BELOVED BELOVED)

"Well, photosynthesis will start creating oxygen, and then eventually an atmosphere. Our bovine friends will be fine."

"Does anyone else want to be king of the world?" (IT ABSOLUTELY SUITS HIM)

"Skiddley Whiffers is a cruel mistress; cold and unforgiving."

"Actually lads I'm not a Brit or a Yank. I'm just Ferb." (IF YOU WANT AN ACTUAL ANSWER TO WHICH ONE IS MY FAVORITE THIS IS PROBABLY THE CLOSEST LOL)

"The world holds many mysteries, and what seems strange that the one maybe common place to another. The fez was weird though, I mean we're not in Egypt."

"She has a rich internal life." (I ABSOLUTELY THINK ABOUT THIS LINE TOO MUCH LOL)

"If we hadn't been able to invent something soon, I was going to scream."

"At the Yorkshire Athletic School of In Your Face." (I DONT REMEMBER WHO DESCRIBED THIS AS BROTHER-IN-LAW BEHAVIOR BUT YES)

"Wow, they really nailed that name."

"Well, ever since George Shaw wrote the first description of the platypus for highly skeptical European scientists in 1798, this unique creature has become synonymous with the word "impossible"." (THIS ONE IS PROBABLY AN INCREDIBLY CLOSE SECOND. MIGHT TIE FOR THE CLOSEST UR GETTING TO A PROPER FAVORITE. SRY)

"Well, it occurs to me that perhaps not all of the modifications I made are technically 'street legal.'"

"We don't, however, have a licorice dispenser. That was a nice touch."(BELOVEDS BELOVEDS BELOVEDS THEY LITERALLY CREATED AN IMPOSSIBLE FORT AND BLEW EVERYTHING ELSE OUT OF THE WATER AND THEIR FIRST THOUGHT IS TO COMPLEMENT THE OTHER KIDS LICORICE DISPENSER!!!!!!!!!!!!! BELOVEDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

"Her car control has gotten a lot better."

"Phineas: Now, this is a ship. My, she's yar. Is she ready to sail? Ferb: She's ship-shape and Bristol-fashioned. Phineas: What does that mean? Ferb: What does yar mean?" (IK BUT LIKE. THE WHOLE CONVO IS SO GOOD)

"If it's all the same with you, Father, we're going to build the machine."

"And thus, the universe is balanced." (HIS WAY OF GOING "GAYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!")

"Actually, I think ventricles is already included in gross squishy red stuff."

"Give up? Give up?! The day may come when we'll give up on fruitless searches after a mere 11 minutes, but that day is NOT today! The day may come when our favorite reptile may be lost from our memories and his enduring love of mushrooms forgotten, but that day is not today! Today we search! We will search for him in the streets, we will search for him in the trenches, we will search for him in the alleys and the mini-malls and the cul-de-sacs of this fair land. We will search for him in the multi-level car parks and municipal recreation facilities. And we few, we happy few, we small band of brothers - and girl from across the street. We shall not cease 'til he is found!" (YEA :) YEA BELOVEDS WE SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN TO SEE STEVE MORE. IK HES CANONICALLY THERE BUT I MEAN SEE)

"I'm not flooding it!"

"And we believe in you." (CANDACE GOT IT FROM HIM TRANSITIVE PROPERTY OF BELIEF JUST *SOBS* SIBLINGS)

"Well sometimes if you love somebody, you have to meet them halfway."

"Phineas, I know what we're gonna do today." (BELOVEDS BELOVEDS THEY LOVE THEIR DAD SM GOD)

"Often, the most fun can be found in your own backyard."

"Well, don't just stand there, kiss her!" (THAT ONE POST ABOUT HOW CAN YOU NOT GET CHOKED UP JUST A BIT AT THIS MOMENT? YEA. YEA)

"Fun never falls too far from the tree house."

"When he was young, he did a bunch of stuff." (AS IT TURNS OUT I KNOW COCKNEY ABOUT AS WELL AS FERB. HE ALSO DOESN'T GET CONTEXT. THE FLYNN-FLETCHER SIBLINGS ARE JUST PEAK AUTISM THEY RLY R)

"Well, we've had a lot of great days, but we only have one Perry."

"But we'd choose you as a sister every time." (FERB TALKS SO MUCH MORE THEN NORMAL, BOTH AS PART OF A GROUP AND OTHERWISE, IN CATU AND LIKE. THAT JUST MEANS SO MUCH TO ME ITS JUST. SO IMPORTANT)

I WOULD ALSO LIKE TO ADD ANYTHING HE SAYS OR DOES(MOTION LANGUAGE HE INVENTED TO HELP COMMUNICATE BELOVED THEY ONLY USE IT ONCE BUT STILL. THEY USE IT MORE IN SPIRIT) IN MY SWEET RIDE AND SOME QUOTES FROM THE COMICS. ID HAVE SPECIFICS BUT I STARTED READING THROUGH FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME AND GOT DISTRACTED LIKE. FIVE TIMES. SO OH WELL.

[oh-for-fic-sake]

It’s A Match Chapter One

Masterlist

Disclaimer

Summary: Filming is over and Henry returns home to and empty house. And he doesn't like it, things are getting to him and he doesn't want to be alone anymore. Then his brother suggests online dating, it sounds mad but henry decides to give it a shot. If worst comes to worst he just deletes the profile. He has nothing to loose right?

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Cheese, Self Indulgent Fic, Rpf, Plus sized reader.

A/N: so I wrote this before the whole 'girlfriend' shock and everything that has followed. I was of two minds whether to ever post it but honestly, this is my blog and I've clearly stated that i am going to continue writing Rpf. I want to do a little ficlet/mini fic and well here we go. It wont be smutty just  somewhat angsty then fluffy. Enjoy~

Taglist: In Reblogs.

Henry slumped back on the seat in his conservatory and sighed, from here he could see his brothers and their wives outside, each snuggled up on the out door wicker sectional he had got to have the family over. It was the first family get together for over a year. He was happy, god it was amazing to see them but... He couldn't help being a tad envious.

They all had a family, wife and kids to go through this shitstorm in. He had no one, well he ha Kal. But that was it he sighed and looked away sipping from his cup slowly takeing a moment for himself. He needed to just chill, but it was getting hard... This year had really knocked him back he was at an all time low he hadn't felt like this for a long time. He knew he was depressed, he felt stupid there was no reason to be but there we go.

Henry had been getting himself all twisted for a while now, filming the Witcher helped but now that was over and he was home alone. Left with his thoughts in a big empty house.

"Sooo little brother want to tell me what's going on or am I gonna have to get mum in here?" Henry jumped at the voice and spun around to face his brother who was keeping a safe distance at the door. Wiping his hands down clearly just having washed them again.

"I ah its nothing, you know me I'm a worry wart" he said waving off his older brother he didn't want to bring down the mood of the small gathering, it was why he had come in here to take a breather.

"You called us all here for a visit hen, out of the blue when lockdown is still being eased out. Its clear you don't want to be alone, yet your sitting in here alone." His older brother said leaning on the door frame folding his arms trying to figure out what was really going on. He could see his little brother was hurting he wanted to help.

"I've got Kal" Henry said with a chuckle and looked about for the bear only to frown and sigh seeing the room was empty apart fro  him and his brother.

"Kal's outside with the kids hen, what's up? You can tell me you know" henry sided as his sibling  moved sitting in the small seat across from him. He knew that his family would listen but he felt so... spoilt like he was asking too much and was being selfish. It wasn't like him.

He grunted leaning back choosing not to look at his brother instead focusing on the cup in his hand. He spun it slightly then heaved a sigh. He wasn't getting away with not speaking about it, he was going to air out his worries one way or another. With his brother or his mother, and he loved his mother but this was? He wanted to keep this issues close to his chest. So far only Kal knew about his problems.

"I... I've had enough... just had enough of fucking covid and being alone... i felt isolated before all this shit kicked off and now?" He vented releasing all the fears he had. It was tough, he was a family man without his own little family, he hadn't managed to find anyone to share his life with and it got to him. He tried being sincere and polite, he took care of himself and tried staying true to himself but... something was missing it had to be! On paper he was a safe bet a good man! Yet his relationships never worked. There were different opinions or his other half couldn't handle the life style or they tried changing him or they couldn't put up with the way he loved so furiously- so openly wanting to always hold and kiss them. It just never quite worked.

"Its- fuck everything has just caught up with me...worries I've had for a few years now I could ignore them you know? I had other stuff going on, was always out and about meetings and press tours I was busy! But now?" He tried putting his feeling into words but he was conscious, he didn't want to whine or bitch about his life. He loved his work and the life he had made for himself he just? Wanted someone to share it with.

"Now after covid you've got all the time in the world to think?" Henry nodded agreeing with his brother. Covid had made him face these fears head on. He has been alone for the best part of a year with the uncertainty of his work and filming quarantines and isolations.

"Yeah, it hurts I'm... I'm in deep and I? I don't know how I'm getting out of this slump" henry finally said outloud, his brother dipped his head listening to him as he ranted. Started letting out all the frustration and anxiety out but stopped short with another growl closeing his hand around the cup tightly hissing in frustration then looked away.

"And what's caused it? I know you hate being alone but?" Henry sighed shaking his head as his brother tried coaxing more out of him. He drew in a shaky breath wanting to cry, he was just so lost and upset over being upset and alone.

"Two lock downs... Two alone- I? If this carries on for the next few years I don't... I don't want to be alone anymore! I want to settle down, I want an actual personal life! A relationship a family and? How? How am I gonna find all that? They want fame or money or something! Women never seem to want me for me, they say the do then judge me for my hobbies- I'm a geek I like tech and games and fantasy! And women don't like that" he spewed the words like they were venom, half ashamed of being so dramatic but the fear was real. Henry was scared, he wanted love. He wanted a family of his own, and it seemed impossible, now more then ever.

"I want to meet someone who will take me as I am, for me and I just I'm giving up. I'm giving up on it I can feel it, almost forty and look, alone unmarried no kids-I have no one to share my life with, it hurts am I not good enough for that?"  He hung his head as he spoke the final words put loud. He felt so vain and full of himself when he said them out loud, his skin crawled.

But it was how he felt, being the muscular decent looking man he was didn't go with his personality. He was a geek and the woman who were drawn to him didn't want that. And the woman that shared his hobbies normally weren't confident enough to even speak to him. Society's views on acceptable couples had put Henry in no mans land.

"What about online dating?" His brother spoke up but Henry just grunted rolling his eyes frustrated.

"What? No I cant do that I'd be fucking swamped" he hissed in irritation frustrated at the mere suggestion of him trying to date online.

"Whoa hold your horses let me finish I mean come on Hen there's bound to be hundreds of shy sweet women on there, I mean girls that are into your hobbies and stuff aren't usually the ones out and about partying and stuff, so its more likely they will be online" his brother quickly explained before Henry could pop off on one and shut him down.

Henry opened his mouth and stopped himself. That was a good point. Many of the women he would click with weren't going to be in bars or fancy parties. They were normally shy and at home most of the time reading or playing games.

"I... You really think i could meet someone? Meet the one online?" He asked in a small voice warming to the idea. His sibling smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes little brother, your a down to earth guy, just make a profile and have a look, if you don't like what you see you can delete the profile" henry nodded slowly thinking it over. There'd be no harm if he failed well he'd be no worse off, a little disheartened but that's about it.

"Look write down a few things you want in your dream girl, have a pseudo name like fucking I don't know Hank! Or something and say your a runner on set or something" his brother spoke up quickly as Henry sat back and actually thought about it seriously. He was right, henry could tweak things and be careful about what he shared and if he did meet the one then she'd understand... He could explain the predicament he was in. That he just wanted someone who liked him for him. And he would only reveal himself to her if she was the one and he was sure she would understand. As long as he was himself and honest about everything else in his life then there was no harm... and if he used proper photos of himself just... half cropped out then? It wasn't catfishing? Because he was being himself just using the nickname his mother used to call him.

"O-okay so be myself but... Just tweak a few things? So they don't know its me?" He reiterated to his brother still trying to figure out the morality of this whole idea.

"Yes! No full on pictures, no photos of Kal either new photos henry not old, maybe of your eyes up or something? Girls love blue eyed boy- not your right that brown will give you away... you could even fuck em up with a behind the scenes character photo? I mean come on how many men use a superman photo for their profile these days?" He encouraged wanting more then anything to cheer up his little brother.

"I yeah... That could work ,thank you- I'm sorry I got so worked up it... Its just getting to me now" henry apologised but his brother shook his head and chuckled standing up to go back outside to the others that were all happily chatting in the garden.

"I know Hen, look just give it a go, you might be surprized... come on lets get back out there, after all you are the host~ you cant just run off and hide" henry grinned standing and following his brother. It was decided, he'd give online dating a go!

A week later Henry sat at the computer everything was ready, he'd taken some precise photos and had spent the last half hour writing a profile up. He had felt a little guilty about this... Was he lying? Technically it was him, he was going by Hank which was a nickname his parents gave him as a child, luckily this site didn't require a surname because honestly? He had no clue! To fend off some guilt he had thrown in a behind the scenes photo of himself as superman it wasn't much but it helped take the edge off. The other photos were cropped and there were a good few just so that the women knew he wasn't technically a catfish; he even did one with him covering half of his face with a piece of paper with Hank scrawled across it. At the time he felt silly but it helped with his anxiety over the whole thing.

He paused for a second eyeing the screen rereading the profile over and over trying to make sure it was alright and honest. And it was, he had explained a little about himself, his hobbies and interests and his job... Only brushing over he worked for the film and tv industry recently working for Netflix he hadn't exactly explained what he did but there was enough information.

With a deep breath he clicked the button his mouse hovered over going live with the profile. Now all he had to do was wait and hope he caught a good womans eye. Within moments a few profiles popped up, matches. He scanned them flicking through some of the profiles and felt his heart crack. They were all full of badly filtered photos and used slang that to be honest he didn't even understand. What was so hard about using plain English?

He growled growing frustrated clicking through what were clearly a bunch of wannabe sugar babies. Each profile had a main photo a little bit of info then a few more pictures added to them. He scanned each one quickly going through the motions judging each one. 'Too far away... Your clearly not even eighteen?... Oh you like dc? Really hate to break it to you but thor is not a dc character' Henry grunted as he bypassed what felt like hundreds of women each with their own 'duck face' selfie most advertising their Instagram pages some even ballsy enough to add their only fans pages.

'Wait a second who was that?' He paused and scrolled back up and eyed the image on screen. It was a face on photo a cute woman smiling uncomfortably. Unlike everyone else's there was no distorting blur or heavy editing, the only make up was in the form of eyeliner in a set of black slightly uneven cat eyes. A slightly skewed black flicks making a point of no editing on the photo.

She was a full figured woman with proper kissable round cheeks and a sweet nervous grin. Her eyes were what got him, they were kind and genuine he could see she was uneasy about the photo but she was beautiful. She lived about half hour away which wasn't to bad.

Henry clicked the profile and scrolled down she didn't smoke, drunk occasionally and had no children. She did however have a college education in animal care and ran a small business. Centred on dogs by the looks of it. He moved further down reading the profile.

Y/n, 30, business owner, e/c, 5'4, curvy

I'm shy so will take a while to warm up to you. A honest woman, sometimes to honest I don't seem to have a filter 🤗 I'm laid back and tend to be sarcastic and I love animals I'm a kc certified dog breeder as well as run a small successful business that caters to dogs. So if you are allergic or don't like dogs then leave now but thank you for clicking🙃

I spend most of my free time gaming or reading. I enjoy the fantasy genre and love dc and marvel (though I love dc just a tad more🤫)

I have one fur baby in the form of my lovely girl Amii who is a three year old malamute. Yes malamute not a husky or Akita so again if you don't like dogs or big dogs I'm not the girl for you.

I'm looking for someone to have fun and maybe build a life with. Covid has been tough being single and decided that it was about time I tried this whole online dating thing. If you want to chat pop me a message 🥰

I do not have a personal Instagram, snapchat or only fans! Stop asking for pictures!😠😠

Henry's face split into a huge grin. She seemed to good to be true. She was wholesome, successful in her own right and looked fun. She didn't seem to be full of kale and bullshit. Just genuine and? Henry couldn't put his finger on it but there was something drawing him to this woman.

True to her word there was no Instagram link, no only fans or snap chat or anything. He scrolled further seeing photos of her and the biggest fluffiest dog he had ever seen in his life. She was sitting down next to who he assumed was Amii her dog and he melted. Y/n looked happy and content, living her best life.

There was nothing that sent alarm bells ringing, no racey photos or 'Netflix and chill' innuendos. The profile was clean and genuine.  He was right the woman was a little chunky but extraordinarily beautiful. The curves suited her and made her look more... cheerful and he could tell she was strong aswell, you had to be to have a huge dog like that about you.

There were photos of her walking a large pack of dogs in the wood; that he recognised! They were the very same he took Kal to only ten minuets down the road, he even recognised the small logo of her company on the jacket she wore. He had seen dog walkers wearing the same jacket so he knew of her brand. I he remembered correctly the company offered dog walking, grooming and kennel facilities as well as offering Breeding services helping stud dogs and stuff. They also helped advertise registered breeders and took in rescues for rehoming. It was a brilliant little company that he had even used for Kal once or twice to get his teeth cleaned and nails clipped, because Kal was a bugger for his pedicures!

He moved further down seeing more photos of the woman a small section with the games and tv she liked. Witcher was in both the tv and games category aswell as peaky blinders, Vikings and a few other shows.

Henry paused as he saw the chat button. Should he? He but his lip twisting on the spot in he chair rocking from side to side. What harm is there? He could just send a message she looked like a fun loving woman, he shared the same interests and stuff... so why not?

His fingers hovered over the keys ready to type out the words. But he choked. His mind ran blank what does he say? Hi? I saw your profile? Does he ask for a date? What does he do?

He let his hands fall and growled. Then scanned over the side of the message bar seeing a few pre-typed responses.

'It's a match!' 'You look fun, lets chat' 'I like your profile picture'

He winced they all seemed... wrong? Somehow they were polite and all but it- they wasn't personal or anything just... not quite right. He looked down as Kal came padding over and slumped next to him resting his chin on his foot with a loud sigh. With that Henry had an idea typing away a little message and hitting send before he could really think.

You sighed typing away the latest wage slips and added up all the various overtime, you really needed some more staff on now that lockdown was coming to an end. Thankfully animal care was essential so you hadn't been hit too hard a few staff were on furlough as they were extreme high risk and shielding but you were going out of your way to make the premises covid safe. Luckily it wasn't too hard as much of the business was just a few staff and lots of dogs.

You frowned when a chat icon popped up in to corner of your screen. 'Hank?' You though trying to remember if you knew a Hank? Maybe a client or some old friend... but you honestly couldn't recall. You l saved your document and clicked the small icon bringing up a chat and frowned a you read the little message.

'I call my dog bear but he has nothing on Amii, Shes the fluffiest dog I've ever seen in my life she looks perfect for bear hugs😅'

'what the hell?' You cursed scrunching your nose up at the screen rereading the words. That's a bit random... you clicked his icon a small photo of half of his face then froze as a dating profile opened up. 'Oh... shit' you said seeing that your own profile you'd set up a few days ago out of curiosity had garnered the attention of the handsome blue eyed stranger. You swallowed biting you lip thoughts of finishing updating your records now gone as you scanned Hanks profile and a small smile crossed your face.

Hank, 37, works in the film industry. Blue eyes, 6ft, muscular.

Decided to finally try this online dating, unsure what to say other then I'm looking for a life partner. I like to think I'm funny and laid back. I'm fit and active but that doesn't mean you have to be, but maybe my lady could come for walks with me and my four legged son? I promise he's my best freind and a good boy.

My job is tough and I'm away for long periods of time, but when I'm home I like to play games and am into warcraft. I paint miniatures when I can. Fantasy and superheroes are a big part of my hobbies so if you don't like all things geek then I'm probably not for you.

But if they are? Then feel free to message me, I will reply when I can.

You read and re-read the profile And your hands hovered over your chicklet keyboard. Biting your lip, do you respond? He seemed sweet and real... if that made sense. You took a deep breath. What was the worst that could happen? Asking for a plane ticket? You decided to take a chance and typed back a reply hitting send whilst you had your nerve and then flushed.

"And they say fluffy dogs only lure in women~" You giggled to yourself  moving a hand over the huge fluffy girl beside you giving her pets whislt thinking of a reply.

[milkdoie]

mark is jealous of yours and jaehyun’s friendship.

requested: Hi can you do a mark imagine where he’s jealous of the friendship y/n and jaehyun have even though he isn’t fully dating her either? Thank you

warnings (edited): mention of food

“jae~ come here!” mark turned away from the screen of his phone and watched you call over jaehyun, the older man plopping himself right in between you two.

the kitchen was too close to the living room and he was still able to see what you two were doing. was this even allowed in broad daylight? this seems illegal.

“hey, y/n! are you hungry?” the feeling of jealousy was slowly eating away at his chest — it was almost painful to watch you guys be so touchy with each other.

“hey, y/n! are you hungry?” the feeling of jealousy was slowly eating away at his chest — it was almost painful to watch you guys be so touchy with each other.

“i could eat; do you have anything in mind? there’s this new italian place down the street if you-”

“great! i’ll get your shoes for you!” he beelined to the door and picked up your sneakers, rushing back to wear you and jaehyun had been sitting.

“um, mark, we have to order it first. remember? no dine-in anymore.” jaehyun raised a hand in protest for his friend to calm down, but he couldn’t help feeling bad as he watched mark drop the shoes and trudge over to his phone.

you grabbed a hold of jaehyun’s bicep and rested your head on his shoulder while you both waited for the menu to be pulled up on mark’s phone, sighing at the comfort of his hoodie.

“is it just me or is mark acting weird today?” he nudged your head with his shoulder. you nodded in agreement and looked over at your friend; he was acting a little out of the ordinary.

“no, i think so too. he seems a little agitated, but i’m not sure why.” you pouted at the possibility of something being wrong.

“y/n, you never told me what the restaurant was called.” the palm his chin rested in slapped against the counter. “oh! “l’ultima cena,” mark typed the name into his phone and began navigating where to order.

“‘kay, what do you want?” he walked towards you both from behind the counter and kneeled down to rest his forearms against the coffee table. “i heard their penne is really good.. and their garlic bread.”

“so, you want penne and garlic bread?” you nodded at his confirmation, watching as he punched in his own order. you expected to hear mark ask what jaehyun wanted to eat, but he never said anything after that.

“i’ll have what she’s-” jaehyun awkwardly removed his arm from around your shoulder after realizing mark was staring daggers right at it.

mark got up from the floor before jaehyun finished, “it’ll be here in half an hour.” his voice was deep, surely an octave lower than usual, and he was avoiding eye contact with the two of you at all costs.

“hey mark, are you okay?” you called out to him. “i’m fine.” you couldn’t help but think otherwise; he seemed so irritated today, almost like he was trying not to cringe at the world.

the room was then filled with an awkward silence, but luckily it was able to pass the time seeing as though the doorbell rang. mark rushed over to door and picked up the box of food that was left on the ground before walking back inside.

placing the box of food on the kitchen counter, he left it untouched and waited for you to get off the couch.

you walked into the kitchen from the living room and made your way over to the box of food that held the contents of your lunch. you excitedly pulled out the takeout container of pasta followed by a paper bag filled with mini slices of garlic bread.

trying to hand mark his own food was a challenge; he wouldn’t look back at you, gaze completely focused on the man still sitting comfortably on the couch. jaehyun, noticing his antics once again, walked over and placed a hand on mark’s shoulder.

his first instinct was to deny his touch, attempting to shrug his hand off and walk away, but jaehyun’s strength was underestimated.

he rolled his eyes and pulled him through the hallway and into a room on the left (which was mark’s room, now looking over all the decor). “what’s your problem lately? it’s like you’ve been walking through fire around us.” jaehyun crossed his arms against his chest.

“i’m fine, you know this.” throwing his head back in frustration, mark rubbed his hands up and down his face. “mark, it’s me, you can tell me the truth.” he finally made eye contact with jaehyun.

mark hesitated, his breath shaky as he let out a sigh. “okay... well, uh- i’ve just been having a lot of confusing feelings lately, and... i don’t know how to act on them. there’s this person that i’ve been- well- i’ve been kind of, into them. but, i feel like if i confessed, our friendship will be ruined. i’m sorry if i’ve been mean...”

jaehyun’s lips curled up into a smile, his older brother instincts flaring in. “aw~ markie has a crush~” he stopped himself from ruffling up mark’s fluffy head of hair and kept his hands to himself. “well, yeah! i just told you that.” with a roll of his eyes, mark began finding the interior design incredibly interesting.

“who is it, huh? maybe i can put my wing-man skills to the test?” he sat down on mark’s bed and patted right beside him, indicating mark to follow suit. “i don’t think you’d be up to helping me with this certain person.” he shook his head.

brushing the overgrown hair out of his eyes, mark continued. “you guys seem to be getting really close lately.” a tight lipped smile formed. “oh,” jaehyun couldn’t pinpoint who exactly mark was talking about; they don’t have many mutual friends.

two minutes of silence cleared his thoughts, a quiet gasp leaving his mouth as he finally figured it out, “do you like y/n, by chance?” mark nodded in reply to his question, head hanging low and fingers rubbing at his temple.

“hey! that’s completely fine; is it me you’re annoyed with?” mark nodded again, looking up at the man he saw as an older brother. jaehyun made a sound of acknowledgment, “if i would have known, i wouldn’t have been so touchy-feely. i’m sorry, man.”

he dismissed his apology with a shake of his hand, “no! please don’t apologize, you had no idea i was even feeling like this. i should be the one apologizing to you for being such a dick this whole time.” shame filled his doe-like eyes.

“i understand; crushes are complicated. i can help you all you want, just let me know and i’ll be there.” jaehyun smiled, dimples on full display and he whips an arm over mark’s shoulder.

“thanks, dude, seriously. it’s just- i haven’t felt this way about someone in so long- i don’t even think i’ve felt like this about anyone. just... watching you guys act like that around each other hurt more than i thought it would.”

jaehyun let him go on, letting him rant about his feelings and burn off all that extra steam he seemed to have been holding in all this time. but, if they didn’t leave his room soon, you’d definitely start getting suspicious.

“look, now that i know about how you’re feeling, i won’t be as touchy as i was. as long as i have something to do with it, you guys are going to be dating in no time, yeah? now stop sulking and go eat lunch with your soulmate.” mark let out a laugh at his exaggeration, getting up from his bed and pulling jaehyun with him.

now standing up, mark leaped onto him and embraced him in a hug. “ahhh~ okay, okay, get out!” jaehyun pat his back.

“hey! you okay?” you got up from your seat at the kitchen table and walked over to your two friends. “yeah, i’m fine now; we just had some things to go over.” the way mark was fiddling with his fingers made you look at him suspiciously, but you brushed it off. “okay, well, are you planning on eating anytime soon? it’ll be cold soon.”

mark looked back at jaehyun, now remembering he had nothing to eat. “it’s fine! i should probably get going now, anyways. enjoy your food, lovebirds.” he made sure to say the last part as quietly as possible, but mark was able to hear it.

a bright pink hue crossed over his cheeks as he whipped his head towards him, chuckling out uncomfortably and wiping his clammy palms off on his jeans.

“okay, let’s eat, shall we?” mark ushered you back over to the kitchen, turning around once more to shoot jaehyun a warning look.

holding a hand over his mouth to silence the laugh that was threatening to escape, he grabbed his shoes sitting on the welcome mat in front of the door. quickly tying the laces and turning the knob, he exited the apartment.

he finally let out the laugh he was suppressing, “this will be fun.”

[iloveitwhen]

You want angst i have arrived!!!

Please can Adrian find a lost child turms out the child belongs Damien and mari extra salt if the child looks more like mari

So like Adrien doesn't find Marinette's lost child.... I totally forgot about that part of the ask....😭😭 Sorryyyyyy, i hope you still like it!

10 years ago

“I’m fine,” he snaps, “stop dotting on me, what are you, my mother?” He turns and storms away instantly regretting his words but not as strongly as he was annoyed by hers. 

“I don’t understand,” Marinette says so softly that Adrien slows to a stop. “Why are you acting like this?” Marinette walks around to face him, trying to catch his eye. “I mean I thought we were happy, I thought you were happy?”

Adrien can’t look her in the eye, he can’t tell her he only started dating her to get over Ladybug, which had been failing miserably for months. At first he was happy, well she mostly just made him feel not so alone and that was everything he could have asked for, until he realized that that wasn’t enough, it wasn’t love, only comfort. Isn’t love supposed to hit you like a ton of bricks? Isn’t it supposed to take your breath away? Make you feel an abundance of emotions like nothing else ever could? Ladybug took his breath away, made him feel things, and Marinette? She was just a placeholder, he was trying to shove her in the hole that Ladybug had left in his heart, but she didn’t fit. 

“Look at me.” Marinette doesn’t sound angry, just sad, defeated. 

“I don’t think this is going to work,” he blurts, finally looking into Marinette’s eyes just in time to see her breath catch, her hand to fly to her mouth in shock, and her eyes water. Just in time to see her break. 

“What?” she chokes out, “why?” 

He shook his head, he knew even before they started dating it wouldn’t work but he “tried” anyways for Marinette’s sake, even though the object of his affection was really Ladybug. And of course he knew it was bad to flirt with another woman while he was dating Marinette but it wasn’t like it was hurting anyone. Besides, if he actually was able to pull Ladybug then it wouldn’t really matter in the end, sure Marinette would be a little hurt and he’d feel bad about it but it never would have worked out between them anyways.

“I’m in love with somebody else.” Adrien may not be the best person in the world but he at least can be honest, he really does appreciate Marinette, but the longer he stayed with her the more she reminded him of Ladybug, only driving the stake deeper in his heart that he wasn’t with her, only Marinette. 

“Who?” she demands. 

Adrien laughs, even he could hear the arrogance in the sound. “Why? What are you going to do, attack her?” For a moment she looks shocked but it quickly morphs to anger. 

“I would like to know, Agreste, because I think I deserve it after all this time we’ve been together. I can’t believe that you’d really think that I’d-”

“It’s Ladybug,” he cuts off her inevitable rant but immediately regrets it. 

“What?” 

“I’m in love with Ladybug.” No turning back now.

“Adrien, you don’t know Ladybug, how the fu** are you in love with her?”

“We used to meet up,” well it’s not necessarily a lie, “she would always be there for me, she made me feel special, like I was her favorite civilian. We would have long talks about everything and nothing,” that’s how it used to be anyways. 

“You’re lying.” Marinette is no longer crying but her eyes are red and she looks. so. angry. 

Adrien shakes his head even though he is partly lying, “I’m not, but she told me how she was in love with Chat Noir,” oh how he wished that were true, “so I pushed myself away, but clearly it didn’t work. I’m still in love with-”

“Stop. Just stop.” This time Marinette cut him off. Looking up from the ground Adrien sees an expression he’s never seen on her face. Disappointment, contempt, just like the way his father looks at him. “I can’t believe this,” she laughs, empty of any humour, and shakes her head. Heading back over to the table she left her things at, she continues to laugh while repeating, “I can’t believe this.” Swinging her purse around her shoulder she grabs her keys and turns back to him. “This whole time. I can’t believe I've never seen it before now. I was so blind. So blind.” 

“So you believe me?” Adrien knows it’s not really important but she was acting weird, crazy even. 

“Do I believe that you’re in love with Ladybug. No. No, I don’t think you’re in love with her, I think you’re obsessed with her. I think you need therapy. I think you need to take a look at yourself and realize that love goes both ways, Adrien. Ladybug doesn’t love you back, never has, and never will.” Anger swelled in his chest but she yanks the door open and looks back one last time, “I can’t believe I gave my heart to a psychopath. You know, I really hope you get over her, Adrien. Because she will never. Ever. have you and you will never be happy with anyone else.” She scoffs and rolls still red eyes, “turns out I was blinded by you like you were blinded by her,” she says before stepping out and slamming the door shut. 

Marinette never looked at him the same way again, gone was the soft adoration in her eyes and replaced with disgust and anger and disappointment, much like the way Ladybug did, if only she could get over her unnecessary negative feelings over him and love him as he loved her. 

--- 

It was amazing how lonely one person could be, Adrien had only returned to Paris for the 10th anniversary of Hawkmoth’s defeat and it was a bigger celebration than usual and festivities were already beginning; but Adrien only felt a gaping hole in his chest from the memories of broken relationships with friends, his only sense of family, and regret. He took in the decorations hanging above doors and the happy squeals of the children in the park. He sat on the end of a nearly empty bench, flashing the pregnant woman on the other end a quick, polite smile not bothering to really look at her, only to reassure that he only meant to sit and not have a conversation with a stranger. 

As he settled and saw all the happy families bustling about the familiar thought of being alone re-emerged, Adrien had simply accepted that he was built and born to be lonely and had accepted that a long long time ago. He accepted it the night Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawkmoth and out of necessity he had revealed himself to the world to avoid suspicion of any involvement of his father’s crimes. Now he was invited every year to give a speech but every year he declined, holding out that Marinette would join him, would reveal to the world that she was Ladybug, but she had dropped any and all communication with him so he always said no. It was silly thinking back to that night, at first he was confused why Ladybug wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he revealed himself and, according to her, only by the goodness of her word revealed herself to him. Although he suspected it was more to watch him suffer than anything else. 

“Oof!” Adrien’s thoughts scatter when a little girl trips and falls right in front of him. 

“ARGHH I coming for youuuuu!” A man’s voice growls out in a playful manner and Adrien turns his head to look at the source of the sound, it’s a rather handsome man with green eyes that were striking against his dark skin. 

The little girl giggles profusely and scrambles up, quickly hiding behind the arm of the bench and using Adrien as a shield from what he assumed was her father. 

Adrien chuckled and glanced over at the girl, about to make a comment to her when his words died in his throat. The girl had a familiar splitting smile with twin pigtails and blue blue blue eyes. Save for the tan skin she was the spitting image of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng, of Ladybug. 

Adrien is staring at her and she notices and her brow furrows. 

“You’re not my mommy,” she says as if he had somehow replaced her or she was considering her mother really was him and had disguised herself somehow. 

A giggle sounds from the other side of the bench. Adrien whips his head to the woman to find her laughing into her hand. She looked different than he remembered but it was unmistakably Marinette, she had a bun atop her head with bangs that framed her face and a sundress with a very pregnant belly. 

“Marinette?”

A happy squeal right in his ear sounded, he flinched and looked over to see the man had snuck around the bench and scooped the girl up in his arms. “No! Papa put me down! Put me down!” she laughed, trying in vain to get out of his grasp while he placed obnoxiously loud kisses all over her face. The man turned to Adrien with a laugh and an easy smile on his lips. 

“Sorry about that-” recognition flitted across the man’s features as he cut himself off, his face falling to a sneer, as if Adrien was scum of the earth, as if the man could not think of a better pass time than to kill Adrien. It was a terrifying change of demeanor, Adrien desperately felt the need to get out of this man’s sight before he got murdered. 

“Damian,” Marinette’s melodic voice sliced through the tension but the man only walked towards her, not dropping his gaze from Adrien. 

Adrien tried to look anywhere else but unfortunately found that the mini-Marinette had developed the same look and was glaring at Adrien. 

Marinette had stood and placed a hand on the arm of the man to placate him before turning to Adrien with a small smile. 

“Hello, Adrien.” He had imagined this moment so many times. So many times. And this was never in any of his imaginations. Marinette with a family that wasn’t his. “It’s good to see you.”

“Really?” he blurted, he needed to know if it was true, had she really thought of him as much as he thought of her?

“Of course.” 

Of course. Of course. Of course. 

“This is husband, Damian-”

“Damian Wayne,” Damian shifted his daughter to his left hip and thrust his hand out. Adrien reached his hand out and the other man practically crushed his bones with an unnecessarily strong grip. 

“-and our daughter, Bridgette.” Adrien glanced at the girl to give her a polite smile but she was still glaring at him the same way her father was. It was quite unnerving. 

“She’s the spitting image of you,” he tries awkwardly. 

“And she’s got her father’s glare it seems,” she chuckles and Adrien tries to laugh along but it sounds much too forced. “I really do hope you’ve been doing well, Adrien. I know we didn’t leave on the best of terms but I hope you’ve been blessed with happiness as I have.” She contemplates him for a short moment. “We both deserve it after-” she waves her hand through the air gesturing towards the festivities, “-everything.” He knew she was referring to their time as Chat Noir and Ladybug but he only thought of how much he couldn’t have happiness after all the things that happened in his life outside the suit. “We have to get going but it was nice to see you.” She sends him one last smile and turns away, easily slipping into her husband’s side, who was Damian freaking Wayne, CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, and walks away. Again.

Adrien could never compare, and he knew it. 

He lamely calls out, “It was good to see you too,” before collapsing back onto the bench and takimg a deep shuddering breath. 

Ok i know he didn't find a lost child but I don't want to rewrite it😭😭 I hope it still checks the rest of the boxes!

[the-bugs-under-ur-skin]

Yandere Aubrey + Hero HC’s - Omori

(sorry these are so messy, i ended up writing them late at night)

[yandere Aubrey x reader]

-Aubrey is the totally the cliché of being cold and mean to everyone else but soft for her darling

-everyone else is met with harsh words and cold glares, but with you it’s completely different

-she’ll talk a little more quietly so she doesn’t startle you and her eyes will soften ever so slightly whenever she happens to meet your eyes

-Aubrey just doesn’t want you thinking you did anything wrong, you’re never the bad guy

-she thinks of you as a genuine angel

-Aubrey felt like she was completely abandoned, but when you stick around it makes her feel appreciated and loved

-she was just so desperate for any bit of happiness and you’re like her own personal serotonin dispenser 

-my girl carries a bat around with her and you best believe that she’ll strike someone who even looks at you wrong

-unfortunately, she acts on blind rage so she’ll probably just beat someone to death right in front of you

-hopefully you can get used to it, there’s probably nothing that can calm Aubrey down in the moment

-but once again, she wouldn’t hurt you, so there’s really no reason to freak out!

-Aubrey would definitely kidnap you, but only if she knew you would get over it eventually

-she’s wants you and would do anything to have you, but she also wants your love and devotion

-she’s also very cool with not kidnapping because while she would like you to devote every minute to her, she also likes showing you off to everyone

-if she were to go through all of the trouble and hard work of stalking and kidnapping you only for you to completely ignore and reject her, she wouldn’t be able to keep her cool!

-(she might even cry if you refuse to look at her)

-however, Aubrey is still very clever, so she’ll probably be able to prevent that from happening

-she will get stressed if you don’t seem interested at all, though

-everything that she does is for you, and she tries so hard for you

-so if you if you barely give her the time of day she’ll snap

-it’s honestly very easy to make Aubrey snap though

-she has anger issues and is definitely the jealous type

-it makes her completely livid when you spare your attention to someone else

-if you wanted to, you could probably get away with making her jealous if you just want feral Aubrey, but afterwards you need to give her your complete and undivided attention otherwise she’s going to burn the entire neighborhood down

-(on the note of burning the town down, i could imagine her daydreaming about you and her just kissing and holding each other while something completely destructive is happening in the background. it just seems like something that would give her butterflies)

-Aubrey will hover over you 24/7

-in some cases her clinginess is nice, but in most it’s just her smothering you

-on the plus side, you’ll never need to worry about getting hurt or ganged up on

-i can promise you that if any of her gang accidentally messes with you, you’ll never have to even see them again

-she wouldn’t care about the consequences, she no longer cares for anyone in her gang

-but even if she’s with her gang or not, if you’re getting hurt Aubrey will be the one to take them out

-she just cares about you so much, even if you are just getting mildly upset with someone Aubrey will get super worked up

-she loves that your guys’ new reputation is completely destroyed

-no one will come near the two of you, everything can finally be perfect

-it’s like her morbid fairytale ending is finally coming true

-Aubrey wouldn’t know what to do if you suddenly vanished

-she thinks about it a lot, especially since all her other friends left her

-when she thinks about it, she’ll understand why you did it

-she’s honestly kind of insecure and worried that you’ll turn around and completely forget about her

-but she knows she’s not the best, she knows that there are so many better options out there and that you leaving her is kind of inevitable

-unfortunately, if it were to happen in real life it would not go down that smooth

-but it’s fine, right?

-i mean, you would never leave Aubrey, so it’s not like she needs to even think about that

-...right?

[yandere Hero x reader]

-honestly,,,, like he gives me worshipper vibes

-he’s always complimenting you

- whether it’s you looks, talents, or personality, most words that come out of his mouth is just praise

-he just thinks you’re so perfect, he literally can’t imagine anything he doesn’t like about you

-like, with the smallest push in the world, he might actually consider you a deity of some kind

-he’d also probably wait on you hand and foot

-he’s always ready to serve you anyway he can

-if he’s able to, he’ll probably insist on carrying you around everywhere

-he’ll remind you every single day how much he loves you and he has to say it at least 3 times

-every opinion, thought, and feeling that you have, he’ll back you up completely

-Hero also gives me loyal dog vibes

-he follows you around, will do whatever you say, and his life basically revolves around you

-(mini imagine but i think Hero isn’t as involved with his family as a yandere Kel would be. he still loves his family, it’s possible for him to forget about them completely with enough of you in his life)

-Hero will pick up on your cravings or what you frequently want just so he can carry around a little bag for you

-he can cook and i can just imagine him keeping some snacks he personally poured his heart and soul into just for you to munch on

-he’d probably feed you it, too

-he imagines you guys as a loving married couple, to the point where he might accidentally call you his spouse or something

-he’ll get whatever you need, but he’ll feel super insecure if you ask for a store bought snack

-Hero just is super sensitive to everything you do, even if you don’t mean to do anything

-but i can also imagine Hero being super bashful or something

-it’s super easy to make him blush

-like just looking you in the eye makes his cheeks burn

-you get his heart racing from sitting next to him and no matter what you say he’ll always be happy by your side

-and whenever you compliment him, no matter how often you do it, it always catches him off guard

-it’s so unreal too him, even the thought of someone like you praising his heart beat fast

-i think Hero actually would daydream often

-he likes imagining typical romance clichés, like knight x princess or soulmates

-Hero is also protective of you

-i don’t know if he has the heart to kill, but he can do anything else that you want!

-honestly, he’d feel bad if you did want him to kill

-but i just don’t think he’s even a good fighter

-he would give a few good punches, though

-but at the end of the day, the best thing he can do is ramble and rant to you about how much he wants to protect you while holding you close for the whole day

-Hero would be an obsessive texter

-whenever you aren’t around he’ll keep trying to call you and the moment he gets even a little worried about you he’ll spam you with texts

-whenever he texts you, he’ll just do nothing but wait until you respond

-so if you normally leave people on delivered, try to get out of the habit

-since Hero is basically an adult, he’d try his best to get a place to live with you

-it’d be very difficult, considering he’s a college student, but i wasn’t lying when i said this man would do anything for you

-he couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life with anyone else

-and he won’t have to, right darling?

[descendantofthesparrow]

Regained Passion - Harry Hook x Reader - Part 3 - Bonding

=

Welp…there he was…in an intermediate dance class, thankfully Bert taught the class (he actually taught a good handful, he was just the main beginner class teacher) so Harry wouldn’t be thrown into a whole new class with no familiar faces. Harry held down a smile as he remembered the jealous faces of his ex-dance classmates as Bert told him about his ‘level up’ the day before. He had only been at the studio for a month before he was leveled up, his schedule had changed a bit as well, before he was only going to the studio three days a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Now he would be going Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday. His hour-long classes turning to two as Bert led Harry’s fellow dancers through new and much more complicated steps.

The only good thing that had come out of this was that his classes now ended at the same time as (y/n)’s, and now he would be able to go across the hall to pick her up instead of going from the back of the school to the front as he did when he was still in beginner.

Harry sat on the floor as he slid on his ballet shoes, strapping them to his feet and tossing his bag against the wall, standing with a sigh and walking over to where Bert was talking to the dancers.

“Any of ya hear of the ol’ bamboo?” Bert asked, taking a step back and grabbing a long stick, twirling it in his hands. The whole class shook their heads, well minus Harry, who just rose his brow. “well, this is what ya gonna be learning for the end of spring performance next year, the beginners are doin’ Step in time, ya will be doing ol’ bamboo, and the expert class is doing ballet, with miss charming as their star” Harry perked up at that, so that was the performance Esmerelda was talking to (y/n) about huh?

“So!” Bert clapped his hands, grinning at his students “let's start with the lyrics, shall we?! It is a musical performance after all”

-

By the end of the two hours, Harry was kinda exhausted, less exhausted than the rest of his classmate's thanks to his isle-bred stamina but still…very tired and very sweaty. Harry wiped down his face and neck with a cool towel and changed out his shoes.

“Hi~” Harry looked up, unable to keep the smile off his face as (y/n) looked down at him, hanging her head upside down while doing so “How was class?”

“Like usual” Harry simply replied, looking back at his shoes “Wha’ are yeh doin’ here? I thought yer class ended a bit after mine?” (y/n) just hummed, grabbing Harry’s bag and holding it open for Harry to toss his dance shoes in, then handing it to him as he stood.

“Ended early, Esméralda had an appointment…do you want to go get ice cream?” Harry rose his brow as he looked to (y/n), who gave an unsure smile.

“Ice cream?” Harry hummed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he looked to the ceiling “Do I-Harry Hook-want ice cream?” (y/n) rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder gently. “Ice cream sounds good” Harry chuckled, patting (y/n)’s head and offering his arm again, once again ignoring the spark running through his skin as (y/n) hands wrapped around his arm.

“Yay! There's this new place I've been wanting to try! But no one will go with me! I'll drive us there!” Harry smiled at (y/n)’s rambling, leading her to pull him along to the parking lot where her car was.

-

“No-no no no no, the egg travels back in time and it creates a new timeline, and then later it's revealed that there's another egg that was corrupted that ALSO traveled back in time, but that one’s helping the yiga clan.” Harry licked his lips free of his chocolate ice cream, narrowing his eyes as (y/n) finished her mini-rant about one of her favorite games lore.

“So,” Harry started, setting down his spoon and tilting his head “the egg? Is-a time-traveling mini guardian?? And-the princess, Link or whatever-“ (y/n) looked at him with puffed cheeks.

“Zelda! Link is the knight! Zelda is the princess!” Harry made a face.

“But if the stories mostly follow Link, why is it called Legend of Zelda!?” Harry gave a smug smirk as (y/n) huffed and wiped the corner of her lips free of her ice cream.

“Becauseeeee oh! I remember! Well don’t quote me on it, but the first game was originally going to be about Zelda exclusively, then they made Link and they found the new story worked better, they just kept the original title.” Harry hid his smile behind another mouthful of ice cream, (y/n) was pretty cute when she went on her video game rants, Legend of Zelda being one of her favorites. “Okay, at some point you have to play one of the games, especially breath of the wild, you can barrow my switch” Harry chuckled, setting down his now empty cup of ice cream.

“Alright then” Harry started, grabbing a napkin and wiping his mouth “sounds fun?” (y/n) beamed in excitement, dancing in her seat a bit.

“Yes!...I can’t wait to see your ass kicked by a lynel” (y/n) cackled, laughing louder as Harry gave her an odd look.

“From how yer laughing, that tells me it's not a fun thing ta fight?” Harry guessed, smiling as (y/n) nodded through her laughter.

“Lynels are harder to beat than the final boss, which is bullshit but I digress” Harry turned to see Audrey, who was smiling at (y/n)s giggling self “side note; it’s a little odd to see you two hanging out” she waved off Harry’s slightly offended look “not in a mean way, more; you're both from a different crowd and Chad likes to say shit about you to (y/n)…though she” she gestured to (y/n) who was coming down from her giggle fit. “doesn’t like listening to Chad, so I should have expected this.”

“Damn right, hell will freeze over before I actually listen to his dumbass” (y/n) chuckled, finishing off her ice cream and looking up at Audrey, who was picking up her shopping bags again and going to leave “What are you doing here by the way?”

“Oh just some shopping, trying out a new style and all that, good day you two!” Audrey sauntered off, leaving (y/n) and Harry alone once more.

Harry looked back at (y/n) at the same time she did, they both smiled and (y/n) nodded back towards the parking lot of the mall they were at “Wanna get started on breath of the wild?”

Harry smiled, turning to toss his empty ice cream cup in the trash can behind him “Sounds fun”

-

“No! Dodge to the side! YES! Okay, mash the Y button!” Gil and Uma stepped into (y/n)s dorm room, having been looking for Harry for the past two hours after he didn’t return from dance class, and Gil had suggested looking for Harry in (y/n)s room.

Uma had thought it was a stupid idea but humored Gil, only to be surprised to see Harry and (y/n) in bean bags as Harry button mashed the controller he held in his hand, sticking his tongue out slightly in concentration. “Uhhhh Harry?” Uma called out, leaning back a bit as Harry shushed her.

“I’m fighting a lynel and am about to die I need silence!” Harry yelled, leaning forward into his controller, tossing his hands up in shock as the red-maned lynel finally died “FUCKING FINALLY!” (y/n) cheered along with Harry, laughing as he pulled her into his side.

Uma and Gil gave each other a look, Uma smirking before walking towards the two and pulling Harry up to his feet “Awesome, you beat a video game mini-boss, I've been looking for you for two hours” Harry seemed to come down from his victory high and gave a sheepish smile.

“Oh uh…sorry?” Uma hummed and nodded, grabbing his arm and waving to (y/n).

“Say bye to (y/n) Harry” Harry waved (y/n) goodbye as she giggled and saved Harry's game, switching the profile to her game.

“Bye (y/n)” (y/n) beamed at him, waving at him as he was pulled backward by Uma towards the door.

“Bye Harry!”

Uma pulled Harry out of the room, rolling her eyes a bit as Harry continued to wave until he was out of (y/n)s sight. Gil followed them out and closed the door behind him. “You are so smitten” Gil laughed, very much enjoying the way Harry’s face lit up.

“No-no I’m nae” Harry stuttered, pulling out of Uma’s grasp and stomping ahead of them “Yer out a yer mind Gil” Uma and Gil shared another look.

“He’ll realize it at some point, I give it another month or two” Uma mumbled, smirking as Gil patted his pocket where his wallet was.

“Three, twenty bucks” Uma nodded and the two shook hands to seal their bet, jogging forward to catch up with their flustered friend.

-

Jane sat against the wall of mirrors, watching you move about the almost empty room as you practiced your part from the duet Esméralda had assigned you. Jane wasn’t all that knowledgeable in the world of dance but it wasn’t hard to see you were struggling, not in the way of movement but in the way of conveying emotion in your dance.

It almost seemed….stale, if anything, the dance was supposed to convey two people falling in love, but Jane; as far as she knew, knew you had never fallen in love so it would be hard to convey that exact emotion. You had really only known platonic and familial love.

You stopped, collapsing to your knees as you heaved for breath, sweat dripping off your brow. Jane furrowed her brows in concern and stood, grabbing your water bottle and walking over to you, she kneeled beside you and handed you the bottle, staring at you as you greedily downed the water. “Are you okay?” Jane asked, mentally wincing as it was obvious that you weren’t.

You gasped as you finally took the bottle away from your lips, shaking your head “I just-I just can't seem to get this right, Esméralda says if I can't find the emotions I need to convey in this duet then she’ll replace me and-and”  you sighed, letting your head fall between your shoulders. “I can't let them down” Jane furrowed her brows.

“Let who down?” Jane asked, unsure of who you were talking about, as far as she knew your parents didn’t really pressure you about your dancing, they were wholly supportive and understanding through every bit of your journey through dance.

“…I don’t know” you whispered, curling up and resting your chin on your knees. “My parents? Me? Grandpa? Esméralda? I’m not sure…but I feel like if I don’t get this right, I’ll be letting someone down” Jane rubbed your back, unsure of how to comfort you. You stood after a few moments and walked over to the stereo. “One last time, okay? Then I’ll be done for the day”

“Okay,” Jane mumbled, going to sit back down against the wall, starting up the camera on your phone to record you one last time at your request so you could see any mistakes you made.

You stood in the middle of the room, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as the music began.

And you danced.

-end of part 3-

@queer-cosette​ @sephiralorange​ @lunanight2012​

@daughter-of-the-stars11​ @musicarose​ @random-thoughts-003​

@remembered-license​ @thecaptainsgingersnap​ @rintheemolion​

@imtryingthisout​ @verboetoperee​ @jatp-rules-my-life​