#but I have a strange attachment to joel

[tinygarbage]

lock screen, home screen, last song, last pic saved

thank you @nostalxgic for the tag :))

A little Joel content 😵‍💫😵‍💫 also everything matches which makes me happy teehee

npt: @annasinterests @ilovepedro @daydreamingmiller @bastardmandennis

(Sorry if you’ve been tagged or have already done it)

[ribbonskiss]

THE LEANOVER → OP81

Part 2 of 2. Read Part 1 here.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: You come home on uni break to find your brother’s best friend, Oscar, is visiting. You both fall back into old habits, but some things are not the same.

Tags: brother’s best friend, friends to lovers, slow burn, SMUT (18+), masturbation, Jack Doohan is from Melbourne in this one for logistical reasons, not proofread at all hah

A/N: finally!!! The end of The Leanover!!!! Sorry for the extended deadline, this one turned out chunkier than I expected and honestly I don’t know if I’m quite satisfied with it but it is what it is. Anyway, enjoy!

Oscar is a handsome boy. This is a fact you find to be so uncontroversial it may as well be accepted as a universal truth. There has never been a time where girls did not whisper amongst themselves when he would enter a room, where the mothers of his friends would not rave with great emphasis to his about how strong and handsome he’d become, where his presence at a function did not brighten up the place, because not only is he handsome, he is beautiful. Beautiful people are magnetic, you think; their beauty lies in their nature, their fundamental quality of supernatural grace, a gift bestowed by the forces that be towards the lucky few.

You recall his last year of high school. You were sixteen, still growing into your body and learning how to use a felt-tip eyeliner pen. Teenagers are fascistic about social hierarchy; they are greatly cognisant of their standings in the high school pecking order, intensely anal about preserving the rigidity of the structure, and thus you had long accepted your status as the forgotten sibling. Oscar and your brother were athletes, students with clout attached to their names; you were awkward, unaware of your own intensity, intimidating to a fault, but more than happy to lay low. Two individuals of such different standings in the social order should never interact—but for the first (and only) time you were now going to the same house parties and birthday bashes, and here was the greatest display of Oscar’s beauty. You can never forget that image: the figure of him standing on the other side of the room, so broad-shouldered and trim, freckles of sun damage littered over his skin all the way down his neck like constellations, his head turned away from you to reveal his chiselled jaw as he speaks to someone while holding a can of Reschs. And suddenly his eyes would meet yours, catching you in the act, and he’d give you a gentle smile.

You were always so grateful for this. So grateful he would look your way and beam so brightly, a glimpse of his inner calmness, his quiet gentle bliss. You were never under the impression you were the only one to be so blessed by his grace; you were just happy to be around him. Sometimes when he would come over, sprawl himself over your couch or lay on the floor, pissing himself laughing at your brother’s antics into the late hours of the night, you’d ask yourself whether you should feel guilty for being the only witness to this part of his life. This secret of his: that Oscar is so much more beautiful than most people will ever know. Not his fans, not his colleagues, not the majority of the world. This is between you and him.

And now you have him all to yourself. A bit greedy, isn’t it? The past week you’ve spent together has been nothing short of lovely. You find out that he’s strangely disciplined. Oscar’s a dutiful housemate, doing the chores you even forget about without the need to be prompted, unlike most guys his age. He likes to hum to himself when he’s got the vacuum going and he thinks you can’t hear him butcher the tune of “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel. He’s a good cook who prefers careful measurement over eyeballing. He doesn’t read books like you do, but he’s happy to lie on the couch all day and watch a show with you on the telly. And he’s surprisingly touchy—he seems most pleased when you’re both on the couch, your legs crossed and stretched out, resting on top of his, his hand on your foot, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. You don’t speak during these moments. Nothing needs to be said; things just sort themselves out.

At some point in the afternoon you get tired, yawning to yourself, and without even needing to look at you Oscar reaches over, tugs at your arm to tell you wordlessly to turn around. You oblige; your head against his chest, his fingers trail up your forearm to your shoulders and, eventually, the back of your neck, smoothing over the soft, fine hairs that reside there. You’re too tired to mind the goosebumps the feeling of his fingertips on your skin gives you, or the increasing thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat underneath you. You shift in his arms, folding your legs up in a way that makes the hem of your shorts ride up, exposing the curve of your thighs all the way up towards the swell of your—well… It would be so uncouth for him to look there.

It never occurs to either of you that the hardest part of the process is done. The feeling returns: the feeling that arises in you when he looked at you from across the room at those parties all those years ago. The feeling of knowing that person so incredibly well. Of sharing a secret together, and letting that secret grow bigger and bigger until it takes on a life of its own. Of sharing that life together. These things do just sort themselves out, but you would never know until you speak of it.

You are growing increasingly needy. There’s no other way to put it. You’re fucking dying. The heat of the dry, punishing Australian summer is starting to get to you, even with how skimpy your attire has gotten, and having him around twenty-four seven is starting to feel more like divine punishment than intervention. You were wrong all along: Oscar is not an angel, but a demon sent to terrorise you all your life until you give in and the Devil can steal your soul for all of eternity.

He works out every other day. That’s at least three days where he’ll disappear into another room in the afternoon for hours, slips right out just to slip into the bathroom, and then waltz back into the living room as if nothing has happened. But something has happened.

Oscar has a very basic wardrobe at home. He likes his soft, mild colours—dark greys and soft whites, beige tones, navy and olives… It’s very on brand for him, yes. And here he is again, today, emerging from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him out the door as he runs a hand through his slightly damp hair. He’s wearing a crisp heather grey t-shirt, fresh from the pile of laundry you’d folded yesterday. The sleeves can barely withstand the size of his biceps; he’s just gotten new dumbbells in. And god, the smell of his skin, the musk of him mixed with the soft clean scent of soap still radiating off of him. It’s like crisp hot white bedsheets, fresh out the dryer, already crumpling under the weight of two lovers, bodies sticky from tangling into each other; like soft detergent left out in the garden, where the grass is freshly cut, and the warm sun hits your skin.

This is as close to a primal urge as it will ever get for you. The first few times you could just tell yourself to look away, but now the smell of him is unavoidable, overwhelms your senses, and lights your entire body on fire. You stick your nose into your book the entire time and pray he goes away. Oscar retreats into the kitchen and wonders if your book is really so good that you’d be that engrossed by it. He’ll have to start reading again soon.

“The worst thing a woman can do,” you say, hand in the air with great feeling, “is be cut down in her prime by a man.”

Three beers in and you’re starting up your great tirade already. Oscar watches with an amused smile as he sits on the grass, green Peroni bottle in hand. “I know it sounds so pathetic and untrue, but it is true,” you continue, pacing back and forth with a giggle. “It’s true! I’m so much better off now. No offence, Osc, you’re one of the good ones.”

“I’m very flattered.”

“You should be,” you nod.

He reaches over and grabs a fresh beer from the esky, flicks the cap off with the belt he’s taken off, and hands it to you. You thank him; “just trying to stay in your good graces, missy,” he chuckles.

You sigh, taking a swig of it as you look up to the sky. “Frankly, I’m glad that part of my life is over already,” you say. “I’m not happy to admit it, but for a long time, I had just thought of myself as undesirable. Invisible.”

Oscar furrows his eyebrows with great concern, an ocean tide of emotion threatening to wash over him. “Impossible.”

“Possible,” you nod, with a bitter smile that’s less regretful than accepting of your past. “You know. Surely you remember.”

Of course he does. He remembers every little thing, because they’re not little to him. He remembers it all, how he’d scare off sleazy, drunken boys from approaching you at parties. Even after he graduated, the threat remained: you mess with her, you mess with Oscar Piastri, the F1 big shot. Boys never looked your way because of that; he used to hold you by the end of the party, sitting on the porch of whatever house you’re at, you latching onto him in your drunken half-slumber, both of you silently wallowing in your desires. Drowning, suffocating in each other’s warmth. Then he’d stay over at your house and wait until your brother fell asleep to press his ear against the wall, listening to your muffled sobbing. You were always too eager to suffer alone, to make a martyr of yourself and accept the cards you had been dealt.

But you stand tall now, a soft smile on your face suggesting a great deal of growth. It’s what he’s always found so beautiful in you. Beauty, he thinks, lies in the spirit, an ability to have infinite love and bliss in the face of the frustrations of one’s life. You are a complete soul, whole in ways he may never be, capable of learning to love over and over again and of light-heartedness in the face of turmoil. He knows he cannot truly achieve this because you are his Achilles’ heal. He cannot bear to think of you off on your own without him, doing things with other slimy ratty boys, going places he may never know of. Having a life without him in it. Oscar frowns; had he been too selfish in denying you all your opportunities? You had graduated high school without losing your virginity, without ever being in a relationship, and he wasn’t sure your first kiss would even count as a kiss. He can’t imagine how much that must’ve crushed you—and he was away, far away on his stupid little racing circuits instead of being at home, comforting you, as he should’ve been.

You wave it all off, as if you could hear his thoughts. “Well, I’ve done all of it now anyway, and I’m happy to report that it’s not for me.”

He cocks up an eyebrow. “And what exactly is ‘it,’ Tiny?”

“The hookup thing,” you shrug.

Oscar’s chest feels like it could explode; cold flashes wash all over him. “Oh?”

You playfully shush him. “Don’t tell my family, okay?” you chuckle. “But, yes. I tried it. It was good, until it wasn’t. Very quickly I realised I’m kinda, like, spiritually forty. I need to stretch in the mornings and tuck in by eleven.”

“And kick-ons aren’t until at least one,” he tuts. “You’re always been a sleepy girl.”

“That is true,” you nod, taking another sip of your Peroni. “Anyway, it was worth it, at the very least just to get it all out of my system. I’m very comfortably single now.”

The sky is darker than it should be. The sun has already tucked itself away, and it’s not even evening time yet. “You know, it’s so cliché,” you continue. “That Sally Rooney quote, it’s just like that. I went to uni and got pretty. And all of a sudden men saw me—I mean, I was pretty much invisible before. Before in school, when you and my brother were still around, guys used to do this stupid, horrible thing where they wouldn’t speak to me, they’d just speak to you instead. Even when the topic was about me. Well, no one knows I grew up with Oscar Piastri when I’m at ANU. I’m just me, and I’ve got a nice haircut and a decent rack of tits. And they see me, they see me now and I realise now that they’re all just sort of stupid. I’m very sorry, Oscar, but boys are stupid.”

“No need to apologise,” he snickers softly. It makes you smile a little wider. “But surely they were not all so bad?”

“No, I really don’t know how to pick ‘em. They really were all that bad,” you chuckle, eyes creasing as your cheeks push up in laughter. “Think the best one might’ve been the guy I lost my virginity to.”

Oscar’s eyes widen. He hums, pretends to be normal about it. “Tell me more,” he says.

You nod and oblige. “It was early in the school year. I went on four dates with him,” you start. “He seemed right on paper. Double major, worked for a diplomat, spoke two languages and was well-travelled. Maybe a bit pedestrian in his taste in music and films, but it didn’t bother me so much. We talked okay. He knew what to do, how to be courteous, held doors open and shit—I didn’t know what the whole dating thing was meant to be like, and I was easily impressed. He took me back to his after the fourth date and we listened to his vinyls: corny 70s Greatest Hit compilations and his favourite Kanye albums.”

You take a break, pulling out a thing of lip balm and unscrewing the cap before squeezing it out. “He told me he used to take ballroom lessons for some weird high school thing he did, and he twirled me in his arms, and it made me feel so light and small and girlish that I felt like I was floating.” Your finger spreads the balm over your lips, the feeling cool and tingly on your skin. “He told me I was funny. He kissed me, and his stubble was so sharp and gritty against my skin that it gave me traction acne the day after. He held my hand the whole time. He was an awful kisser. Just kept jamming his tongue in. But it was sweet enough. No one’s first time is good, anyway.”

Oscar tries to swallows down the lump stuck in his throat. His fingers and toes are tingling, chest tight and contracting still. You take another swig. “I’ve had too many of these,” you say.

“You’ve had three, Tiny.”

“That’s more than enough for me,” you shrug, yawning as you set the bottle down on the wooden table outside in your garden. “I think I’d better fuck off to bed now. Sleep tight, Osc.”

He doesn’t sleep in your brother’s bed that night. No, he takes out the spare mattress again and drapes the spare velvet blanket over himself, because he could never forgive himself if he jerked off in his best friend’s bed to the thought of his best friend’s sister. No, there would be no good excuse for that, but tonight is one of those nights where a man simply cannot hold himself back anymore. The alcohol is still burning in his stomach; when Oscar shuts his eyes, all he can see is these elaborate images crafted by his mind’s eye of you, placed in all the scenarios you’d described to him, only replacing that dirty fucker was him, being so gentle and delicate and loving, just how you deserve it. It should have been him there instead to do it all right; it is true that losing one’s virginity is often an awkward affair, his own experience was no less lousy, but if anyone were to have a perfect instance of it it should be you. Oscar can see it all now, how he’d go about it. Holding onto your soft curves as he pushes himself in slowly, the little gasps that would escape your honey-sweet mouth, so warm and wet on his lips. He would die happy, he thinks to himself, as his hand roughly palms his length, hair dampening from sweat in the blistering summer night heat. Cicadas sing outside his window; he heaves wildly, chest rising and falling dramatically as his hand gets slicker with each stroke. He had no idea he could even leak that much.

Thank god you’re sound asleep. He grips tightly onto the soft blanket, balling it in his fist as his eyes shut again tightly, the guttural noise he lets out much louder than he intended. Then Oscar collapses; his limbs go slack, heart beating out of his chest still as he lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, hand now sticky with his spent. The mattress is damp with his sweat. If he wasn’t before, he’s royally fucked now.

Your parents called; they’ll be home on Christmas Eve, but only in the afternoon, and they’re picking your brother up as well. Which means the two of you have some shopping to do; the house should be looking festive in time for their arrival. Oscar pushes the shopping cart, following you deep into the maze that is Kmart. He helps you haul the Christmas tree box in and out of his car. And he watches as you pull its branches down, giving it shape before littering it with baubles and tinsel. And when it comes time to finish the tree, you look him with bright eyes. He smiled at you, takes the Angel Gabriel out of your hands and places it on top of the tree carefully. You put on your silly little Santa hats and poorly bake gingerbread men.

You never end up throwing the rager Oscar jokingly suggested, but you do hold a small get-together after running into some old schoolmates at the shops. So it turns out that a few girls you used to do drama class with are in town, and of course anyone Oscar invites is going to show up—he’s Oscar fucking Piastri—so here you are, with a decent turnout of people currently congregated in the back garden and the living room. You’re thankful enough of them showed up on such short notice, with Christmas Eve only a few days away, and you’re thankful everyone seems to have gotten more civil and mature since you’ve left school.

The doorbell rings more than once, and you peel yourself off of the couch to go answer it, Balter tinnie in hand now that you’re all out of Peronis. Your eyes widen once you fling the door open, revealing a familiar face, standing with a smile on his face and a couple guys behind him.

“Surprise,” Jack chuckles.

“Doohan in the flesh,” you quip with a smile. “You cheeky boy. Since when were you in town?”

“Since yesterday,” he shrugs, and the guys behind him file past you into the house at the sight of some of their mates. “Heard you were throwing a thing with Big Shot Oscar. Hope you don’t mind that I’m crashing—I come bearing gifts.”

You shake your head. “Of course not, no, I’m glad to see you,” you say, though you sigh at the sight of the twelve-pack he’s got in his hands. “Mate, Strong Zero? It’s not that kind of party.”

“Some of us can handle our liquor,” Jack laughs, putting the pack in your arms before smoothing his hair back. “Don’t spoil the fun for the rest of us.”

You roll your eyes, turning your back to him as you walk down the hallway back to the kitchen. “Congratulations, by the way,” I say. “I’m glad to see two of our finest graduates succeeding.”

“I can tell. You’re beaming, clearly,” he jokes, following you in. “It was never in doubt for Oscar, anyway, so I think I deserve a bigger congratulations for making it, no?”

You peel apart the drink packaging, the tins of drink coming loose on the kitchen counter. “Let me get this straight: you want me to be more proud of you for being a worse driver than Oscar?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I’m just repeating your words, Jack-Jack.”

“Never said I was a worse driver,” he snickers, shaking his head as he folds his arms over his chest. “You snuck that in yourself. But I always knew you were biased, so I won’t take offence to that, Tiny.”

You turn over your shoulder, glaring at him. Dramatically, he throws his hands up in a display of surrender, but your conversation is cut short.

“Well, well, well,” Oscar grins, strolling into the kitchen and approaching Jack with wide arms. “Fancy seeing you here, F1 driver.”

“Fancy seeing you here, F1 driver,” Doohan beams, dapping Oscar up before pulling him into a hug. “How you been, mate, good?”

“Nah, yeah,” Oscar chuckles, glancing back to you with a smile. “It’s been a splendid break for me. You been good? Didn’t realise you were back.”

“Yeah, just landed yesterday,” Jack nods, a hand on the back of his neck. “Heard you two were doing a thing, thought I’d be jet lagged out of my mind but nah. Wouldn’t miss this.”

You notice Jack’s a little taller than Oscar, who’s having to tilt his head up a little. “Appreciate you showing up, mate,” the older one says. “I’m gonna go catch up with some of your mates, but stick around, yeah?”

“Absolutely, man,” the younger one says with a smile. “Good seeing you again.”

Then Oscar leaves, fingers gliding over the skin of your cheek in passing, a gentle action of tenderness, as if to say goodbye wordlessly. Doohan wiggles his eyebrows. “What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” you exclaim, eyes avoiding his gaze as you snatch a Strong Zero for yourself.

“That,” he presses on, finger extended now to point to where Oscar had put his hand on your cheek. “The little hand-cheek-look thing. The fuck? Do you have something to tell me, pal?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Please mate, just be normal—”

“Don’t gaslight me,” Jack says, as stern as he can be.

“He’s been living in my home!” you gasp. “Of course we’re a little close!”

“Living in your home—”

“Not by choice,” you roll your eyes. “Just—my family’s all out of town right now. He’s kind of all I have at the moment.”

“Agh!” Jack groans, smacking himself on the forehead. “Genius move. Fuck, I should’ve locked you two in a room myself years ago—”

You put the tin back onto the counter and slowly turn to face him. “Excuse me?”

He frowns. “Oh, man,” he pouts. “You don’t mean to tell me you two are still doing the thing?”

“What thing?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“You know, the thing,” he says, eyes innocent and wide as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “The weird game you two play. I thought you guys would have gotten over it already.”

Your breath hitches in your chest, making you stammer and go red in the face as your confusion worsens. Jack notices this. “What, you really don’t know?”

“No, Jack, I do not,” you manage to breathe out. “Please, enlighten me.”

He shakes his head, lets out a strange chuckle as he leans back against the wall, having taken a tinnie off the counter. “This would be funny if it weren’t so tragic,” he starts, grimacing. “Oscar used to push guys on the soccer team around for talking about you. He’d go silent whenever you were around and get clammy in the hands. He got weird whenever he’d even hear your name. And I’m sure I don’t have to list out your incriminating actions.”

Needless to say you’re taken aback by this. Eyes wide and blank, you look at him with shock as your mind oscillates between delight and horror, hand resting on your chest as if your heart needs the help. Jack sighs, and after a moment of tense silence he speaks again. “I take it that’s enough proof for you.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“We thought you knew,” he shrugs. “And it wouldn’t have been my place to meddle, and also, it was kind of amusing to watch.”

You scoff bitterly. “Amusing.”

“Well, not so much now,” Doohan nods.

Silence fills the kitchen again, the chatter outside quiet against the deafening quietness inside. “You do like him, don’t you?” he asks earnestly.

You don’t answer, but all he has to do is look at your solemn face and see the emotions threatening to spill out of you. He comes closer, puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey. Just take your time, mate.”

You nod, but you hear Oscar’s distinct timbre in the distance, speaking rapidly to someone. You turn your head and see him standing in the living room near the couch, and then—like magnets—he seems to feel your eyes raking over his figure, and meets your gaze as his head turns a little. Suddenly you’re sixteen again. He’s smiling at you like he used to, so fondly and sweetly, all the way from another room. Everything has changed but this feeling is the same. Oscar nods his head gently, as if to tell you ‘I’m doing okay over here, and I hope you are too,’ and you realise he’s dropped out of his conversation now just to look at you. He has always done this.

The hard part is over, but you didn’t know until it was spoken of.

You sweep the crushed cans off the table and into the garbage bag, back starting to hurt from all the cleanup you’ve had to do. Thank the lord they all left early; you haven’t been able to enjoy yourself fully since that talk with Doohan. Since then his words have just been eating away at you the whole night, but you can speak to Oscar just fine, you think. You’re trying your best, at least.

“Jesus, have the lights always been this bright?” he says, and by the way he’s stumbling onto the couch and slurring his words a little, he’s probably more tipsy than he’d like to admit.

You shake your head, turning around to face him. The cans inside the bag you’re holding clank against one another. “Fun night?”

“Not particularly,” he says, eyes shutting as he throws an arm over his face, lying down flat on the couch. “Just, those fucking Strong Zeroes, man.”

“I told Doohan he shouldn’t have!”

“He really shouldn’t have.” Oscar groans, eyes shutting tighter as he tries to push his face into the couch, and you chuckle before going back to cleaning up, moving towards the pile of cans on the kitchen island.

“Don’t leave,” you hear him say behind you.

You turn around, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What?” you say. “I’m not. I’m just going into the kitch—”

“No,” he whines quietly, muffled by the fabric of the couch. “That’s too far. Stay.”

You stand still, still holding the bag in your hand, visibly confused.

“We should always be in the same room,” he continues. “I don’t want to be away from you.”

You flush at his words. You’re not sure if he quite grasps the implications of what he’s saying, but you chalk it all up to his current state—surely he’s just a clingy drunk. You put the garbage bag down against the wall, approaching the couch as he pulls his legs back to make room for you.

You sit down. “Are you feeling alright, Osc?”

“No,” he replies, too quickly for your liking. Oscar shuffles back onto his back, eyes still shut as his tone is reduced to grumbling. “I had this really awful thought the other day that we’re so far apart. I’m off doing my races and now you’re off at uni doing whatever.”

You cock your head to the side, clearly about to protest, but he starts up again. “I just want to know what you’re doing all the time,” he admits. “And how you’re feeling. I miss you all the time, and I wanna know you’re okay.”

“Oscar,” you frown, putting a hand on his arm tenderly. “If you want to stay in touch more, of course we can—”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t want to stay in touch. I wanna be with you.”

You pull your arm back. He winces, missing your touch. “Tiny, this must sound so crazy.”

“No,” you assure him, though you’re struggling to comprehend his words. “I just don’t know what you me—”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your blood runs cold even as your stomach shatters and explodes into a million butterflies that feel hot like lava inside of your body. “I know it must sound so crazy,” Oscar chuckles bitterly. “I know it must be so crazy…”

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think it’s crazy. I just, I wonder how you’ll feel in the morning.”

“It’s not the alcohol.”

He opens his eyes only to look at you, pupils darting around slowly to find you, the only soothing sight when the lights are still killing him. Oscar smiles a little at your familiar face. “I spoke to Doohan,” he explains.

“Ah,” you mumble, flushing. Of course he did.

He pauses a bit, tries to find the courage to speak again. He finds it in how your eyes seem to shine a little brighter where you’re sitting, mesmerised by how beautiful you are tonight. “He’s right, you know. I feel a bit silly, or stupid rather, like I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“Well,” you chuckle timidly, looking down at your hands. “I would have some explaining to do myself, too.”

Oscar smiles to himself. He takes a moment to catch his breath; he didn’t even realise he’d been holding it in this whole time. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that.”

At his words, you look up to meet his eyes again, to see how he’s smiling now, and it makes your chest expand with warmth, heart pumping fast. “I’ll feel the same in the morning,” he says, sitting up clumsily now just to look at your face better. He doesn’t want to look away ever again. “I promise you that. I’ve felt this way since forever—I just didn’t know the word for it yet.”

Your eyes widen just a little more at his words; you don’t recognise the inexplicable feeling that’s captured your body, but you think this is what he means. The thing he didn’t know the word for. But you know the word for it now.

“I think I love you too,” you say.

Oscar lets out a quiet noise of relief. He finds your hand in your lap, takes it in his, and just holds it. You look at each other for a long while, taking in the details of one another’s faces. “You don’t look a day over seven,” you chuckle, and it makes him grin softly.

“That’s alright. Did you feel then how you feel about me now?” he asks.

“I think you sealed the deal when you helped me get up on my feet after falling off the slide,” you quip with a smile, and he squeezes your hand a little approvingly.

“You remember that.”

“The little things aren’t little to me, either,” you say, and his heart soars at your words. Oscar can’t resist it anymore; he tugs on your hand a little and pulls you into his arms, hands latching onto your waist as he holds you tightly. You fall into each other like magnets. It just feels right, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but nothing in this world is truly given this way. You had been working for it your entire life, but you’re only knowing this now.

His lips hover over your cheek, and it makes you shiver, but it shouldn’t be like this. “I don’t want our first kiss to be when you’re drunk,” you tell him, pulling away from his flushed face. “It’s… You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. It just has to be right.”

Oscar swallows dryly, but he nods. “You’re right,” he says, with a gentle smile that tells you he’s being sincere. “You’re right. Not like this.”

He pulls you in again, holding you even tighter this time. You feel his heart beating out of his chest against yours, his warm breath against your skin, the warm his arms keep contracting as if he’s afraid to let you go. A warm waft of air filters through the window, left ajar, and swirls around the two of you, bodies now entangled. Neither of you can find a reason to leave, so you don’t. You never end up cleaning the kitchen that night.

The sun’s starting to filter through your blinds now, and you know you have no excuse to stay in bed anymore, but you don’t have the heart to wake him up. Your brother’s bedroom is probably collecting dust already; ever since that night, Oscar’s been sleeping in your bed now, and you both sleep so much better with a cuddle buddy by your side. He likes to be big spoon, but he’s happy to hold you face to face as well, duh! Why would he upset with getting to see your face, eyes shut so peacefully in slumber? He likes to wake up before you because of this, just so he can catch a glimpse of you so soft and pliable in his arms, comfortably happily asleep, but today you’re the one who wakes up first, stirred awake by the birds chirping outside your window.

You try to slip out of his grasp, but he just tightens his arms around you, furrowing his eyebrows in his sleep. You try again and he does it again, this time with a grumbling noise that makes you chuckle.

“Oscar,” you smile, press a gentle kiss onto his forehead. “They come home today.”

“So?” he grumbles back, eyes still shut as he pulls you in, tucking your head under his chin. “What’s it got to do with us?”

“We’ve got to make them brekky, babe,” you chuckle. You press a kiss to his neck now, before deciding you can’t really resist littering them all over his skin. “They’ll be starving by the time they get here.”

Oscar makes a strange, hushed noise. “Well, doing that certainly won’t get me out of bed.”

You’re confused, but then you realise something’s been pressing up against your thigh, worsened by how he keeps pulling you back into his arms. “Oh my god, Osc,” you yelp. “Just from a few kisses?”

“And maybe a very good dream,” he mumbles back. If he were awake, he’d surely be laughing, pleased with himself.

“You dirty, dirty pervert,” you snicker, but you’re tutting at him in a way that sends a tingle down his spine, and your fingers inching down the trail on his stomach is making him shiver. “You’re shameless.”

“Yeah, but something tells me you like it,” he says, but he can barely finish the sentence before you tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, shimmying them down. His length springs free; your eyes beam a little too brightly at the sight of it, making him laugh.

“Someone’s eager.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been dreaming about riding you into the bed for actual years,” you chuckle, long fingers wrapping around him. “You look delicious in the morning, you know that? All sleepy and dishevelled. It’s very sexy, Osc.”

“Ah?” he says, a moan disguised as a word. Your hand starts to move and he can barely hold himself back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your mouth is hovering over his cock now, warm breath making him shiver before your tongue makes contact with his tip, swirling all around the head in a way that makes his eyes roll back. “Holy shit,” you hear him mutter to himself, and you smile as you drag your tongue all over the length of him.

“Babe, I love the teasing,” he breathes out. “But I don’t think I can quite take it this morning.”

You hum to yourself, biting back a cheeky smile as a thought pops up in your head. “You know, you’re right,” you say. “We’re running on a tight schedule. And we could use something that saves time, so… if you’re getting head, you could give it too, no?”

Oscar’s face lights up at your words. “You wanna sit on my face? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.”

“Fuckin’ hell, any day of the week, missy.”

With that, he puts his hands on your head and pulls you up for a kiss that deepens into a little more. His lips are soft, mouth hot and wet; you feel yourself dampen a little against the cotton of your panties, something he feels too as his hands travel all the way down to your ass, fingers reaching past the fabric of your shorts inside to find the wet patch growing at your cunt. Your fingers hook into the waistband of both layers, tugging them off eagerly as he steadies his hands on your hips again. You turn around, and now Oscar’s got your pussy hovering right over his face. He think he’s salivating at the sight of it. Is that too crude? Jesus christ, it’s just so much fucking better than he could have ever imagined, waking up with you by his side, having the girl of all of his dreams with him now, eating your pussy first thing in the morning.

“You’re not so tiny anymore, hey? You’re a big girl now.”

You flush at his words. “Just get to it, Piastri.”

He needs no further encouragement, hands on your hips pulling you down to his face, tongue flicking a long stripe all the way down your cunt. You cry out at the sudden contact, and you realise very soon that he is very good at what he is doing, soft wet tongue sliding between your folds carefully, lips wrapping gently around your sensitive clit, hands gripping onto the meat of your ass, an action that signifies a clinginess you’d never know from how soft-spoken he is. He eats you out like a hungry man, lapping up the wetness that soaked your panties before eagerly. When you wrap your lips around his cock, taking all of him in until he hits the back of your throat, it makes him groan against your pussy, and it feels so strangely good that you keep throating him just like that every once in a while, just to feel him shift underneath you and thrust into your mouth a little. He wants to be gentle with you so badly, and he is, but he just can’t resist it when you’re doing that.

“Fuck, babe,” Oscar gasps out, pulling away as his fingers continue to rub at your clit. “If you keep doing that thing, I won’t last very long.”

You can tell by his tone he’s slightly embarrassed about taking such little time to get there. “We’ll get there together, I promise,” you say. “Just—ah!—keep using your fingers.”

He smiles, happy to oblige. This time he dips a finger inside you, tongue now swirling around your clit as his finger curls, finding that cushiony spot inside you that makes your back arch a little. There it is. He slips another finger in, tongue flicking fast against you, fingers pumping at a steady pace as you suck his cock sloppily, drool pooling at the base, fingers still wrapped around his length, lazily moving up and down. It’s all too much for the both of you, both moaning and whimpering against one another as your bodies start to get more and more sensitive, responding to each motion with a little more volume. Your back arches, his hips thrust; you know you’re both getting to that climax.

“Babe, fuck—”

“I know,” you gasp, a long mewl drawing out of you as his fingers, soaked in your slick now, keep thrusting in and out of you. “I’m—hah—almost there, too.”

He nods his head eagerly and latches his wet mouth back onto you, eating you out desperately as his hips start to move on their own, filling your mouth and muffling your increasing cries of pleasure as your eyes shut and roll back.

“I can’t take it,” he moans loudly. “Babe, I—oh my god!”

Just as Oscar starts to flood your mouth, you collapse onto him as your orgasm washes over you, leaving you breathless, body slack and limp. “Jesus,” you heave out, flipping onto your back off of him, swallowing all of his load down your throat. The sight of it makes him whimper. You take a good look at him; he’s got your slick all over his face, glistening from his lips down to his chin.

“Christ, I made a mess of you,” you chuckle, embarrassed, but he seems proud of himself.

“A souvenir, yeah?” He jokes, and you push his chest, rolling your eyes, but he pulls you into his arms. “God, that was fuckin’ amazing. You’re fuckin’ amazing.”

You pull the duvet back up over the both of you as you lie down once again, resting your head on his chest now as you look up at him with a smile. You wipe at his mouth with your hand. “There.”

“Aw,” he frowns playfully. “I quite liked it.”

“You fuckin’ pervert,” you say, going to push his chest again but he catches your arm with his hand.

“Don’t get feisty,” Oscar chuckles, shaking his head before pecking you on the forehead. “Let’s just lay here for a bit. And you know, I’ve been thinking.”

Your finger traces shapes on the freckled skin of his bare chest. “About what?”

“About you, coming to see me,” he says. “You know… I was thinking, maybe you could schedule your classes with me in my mind? You know, money’s not an issue. Transport, accommodation, passes, I can take care of all of that. I just need to know you can see me. Not for every race, obviously. But some of them. It’d mean so much to me, Tiny.”

You look up at him now, smiling. “Of course I can,” you nod gently. “It’d mean everything to me too, Osc.”

His face blooms into a smile, eyes raking over the details of your face, savouring it as if he hasn’t a million times before. “Then it’s done,” he says, bringing your hand up to kiss it. “You can’t escape me now.”

“Like I’d ever want to,” you roll your eyes.

Before Oscar can counter with a snarky remark, the door flies open.

“Piastri—seriously? My fucking sister?”

That’s the end! Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Leave em all in my askbox, and again, thank you so much for reading!

[orcasoul]

Joel Miller Headcanons:

Joel's And Your First Time

Warnings: Smut (under 18's DNI), fluff.

Word Count: 1,703

Joel can't remember the last time he felt a connection this strongly with a woman. He finds himself lost in your enigmatic pull, noticing every little thing about you, from the way your nose scrunches when you giggle, how you become so passionate when talking about a subject close to your heart, the way you hold yourself with grace, your playful and witty personality and how your natural beauty radiates without even having to try.

Sometimes he can't fathom how someone like you could want someone like him, yet here you both are, seven months into your relationship. That word still sound so strange to Joel. In a brutal world of cordyceps and lawlessness he'd never even wanted a romantic relationship. For the longest time he was fine with no strings attached hookups, never daring to invest any emotion in a woman who could be torn away in the blink of an eye. It was better that way.

But then you waltzed into his life and pulled the rug from under his feet, sending his walls crashing to the ground. A few months of flirting, subtle gestures and stolen glances was all it took before the two of you confessed your mutual love for one another and you've both been inseparable ever since, even gaining the nickname 'The Lovebirds' by some of Jackson's residents.

Sitting on the setee, watching your eyes sparkle in the light of the fireplace as you tell Joel yet another story of your life 'Before', he realises how much he hangs on your every word, the sweet lilt of your voice is something he'll never be able to get enough of. Setting his whisky glass on your table, Joel turns back to you observing how you suddenly seem nervous. "You okay?'" Joel asks, his voice soft with concern. "Yeah... um... I'm good," you answer sheepishly, then put your glass next to his.

Before Joel knows what's happening, you're straddling his lap, kissing him deeply and sensually, your hands delicately gripping his hair, while his own find their way to your waist, pulling you tight against his body. Your sudden moan into his mouth electrifies Joel's entire body, arousal coursing it's way south. "Joel?..." his name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, as you pull away slightly, noses still touching. "Mmhmm," Joel hums, lost in the haze of you. "I want you to make love to me." Oh, that cleared his foggy mind!

He pulls his head back, quickly, assessing your expression to see if it's what you really want, if maybe you'd just let it slip out without thinking, but all he can see is love and want written all over your face. "Are you sure?" he asks, just to be thorough, "I told you I don't mind waiting." Hell, he'd wait until the end of time if that's what it took just to be with you. He knows that to you, sex is a very emotional and intimate act, never being one for hookups and he respects the hell out of that. After all, everyone is different.

He let's out a deep groan as you rub your core over his very obvious hard-on. "I want you, Joel. I want all of you," you purr seductively into his ear, "I'm ready, take me to bed, baby." Joel chuckles at the little yelp you give as he grips both of your arse cheeks and effortlessly stands up, carrying you up the stairs with ease. He gently sets you down on the bed, lifting your chin to look ardently in to your eyes. "You really want this?" "I do," you smile up at him with the biggest heart eyes, "I want to feel the man I love inside me."

Joel wastes no time in pulling your top off, followed by your bra, all of your clothes, until you are fully naked before him and what a fucking sight you are! "So beautiful," Joel gushes as he takes in the sight of utter perfection. Moments later, his own clothes are a discarded pile on the floor and he watches as your roving eyes greedily drink him in, staring at his hardened shaft, while biting your bottom lip. You eagerly pull Joel on top of you as you lay back on the bed. Hands wander, seeking out bare flesh as you both fully explore each other's bodies for the first time.

Joel trails wet, languid kisses down you neck, feeling your pulse quicken under his tounge, until he reaches your breasts. He gently latches his mouth to your breast, swirling his tounge around your pebbled nipple. A grin spreads over his face as you arch your chest upwards, seeking more of his mouth. Joel releases your nipple with a 'pop' and a devilish smirk. "I'm gonna take good care of you, sweetheart," he croons while slowly moving his fingers to your soft folds. "So wet already," he marvels, "All this for me, huh?"

His fingers then find your clit and he starts to rub in circles, gradually building speed, resulting in a spectacle he'll never forget; Your head tipped back, mouth in the shape of an 'o', your chest heaving and the melody of your euphoric cry as he draws the first orgasm from your trembling body. He allows you to catch your breath for a minute, enjoying your blissed out appearance. "Think you can give me another one, sweetheart?" he asks in a sultry tone. "Mmhmm...," you nod, deliriously.

Joel's thick fingers slide down to your entrance, carefully parting your lips. Slowly and delicately, he pushes one finger into the warmth of your tunnel, followed by another, stroking your spongy spot until he can tell you're close. He kisses down your belly as your moans grow louder, finally settling on your clit. Between pumping his fingers in and out and licking and sucking your sensitive bundle, he has turned you into a writhing mess beneath him, griping his hair and bucking up into his mouth.

Every obscene moan, pant and wail coming from you is music to Joel's ears, causing him to smile against your sex. He's the one making you feel this good. With a shudder of your thighs and a scream of his name, your second orgasm crashes over you, coating him in your juices. Joel laps at your release like a man parched, the sweetest nectar to ever grace his tastebuds. "You still with me, darling?" Joel teases as he moves up your body to kiss you, giving you a taste of your own release. "Yeah... Joel, that was.. wow!" you pant as you begin to come back down from your high.

Joel's painfully hard cock presses into your hip, a testament to just how much he wants you. "Your turn," you smirk as you reach down, wrapping your soft hand around his girth, slowly pumping, while spreading a bead of pre cum over his glistening head. Joel knows he won't last much longer if you keep this up. Reaching down to lightly grab your hand, he stops your ministrations. "Darling, I'm not gonna last much longer like this and I want to feel your pussy around my cock, now," he groans. " Then take it," you purr, nipping his neck, "It's all yours."

Good god! He feels ready to blow his load from your words alone. Lining himself up at your entrance, Joel gazes into your eyes as he slowly sinks into your heat, causing both of you to gasp as he bottoms out. Your arms and legs wrap around his body, holding him in place, both of you remaining still to relish in this new intimacy. After a few moments you whine, "Fuck me, Joel!", your hand grabbing his arse cheek. He dosen't need to be told twice! Pulling out to the tip, he pushes himself back in, with just the right amount of force to begin with, thrusting harder and faster as your moans become louder and your nails dig into his shoulders. "oh, Joel! Right there, baby!"

He knows there'll be little crescent shapes over his back for a few days. He'll wear them as a badge of honour! "Fuck, sweetheart! So...ugh... tight,... ugh... so perfect!" He's getting close now, wishing it would never end; The velvety soft warmth enveloping his dick, squeezing and pulsing with every thrust is intoxicating, heightening all of his senses. The downright sinful sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin, accompanied with your cry of his name may just be Joel's new favourite sounds.

Joel reaches between your bodies to circle your clit once again, determined to draw one last orgasm from you before he reaches his own climax. It only takes several seconds before you are clamping down on his cock, thighs gripping him like a vice, voice shuddering as you gush all over his pubic area. Chasing his own release, Joel asks, "where do you want me?" "On my... tits," you reply breathlessly. Another few thrusts and Joel quickly pulls out, painting your heaving chest in thick ropes of hot cum.

He flops down beside you as you both catch your breath. Pressing his forehead to yours and gently stroking your arm, Joel whispers, "You okay, darling? Wasn't too rough?" The blissfully fucked out look on your face alone tells Joel you're okay. "I'm great, baby. More than great!" Joel gazes adoringly at you while you cup his cheek in one hand. "That was everything I hoped it would be. How was it for you?" Joel smiles broadly, "Fucking amazing, sweet girl!" He presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your nose, then to your lips.

"Be right back," he says as he heads to the bathroom. Moments later he returns with a warm, wet towel and tenderly cleans you up. Laying back down beside you, he takes you in his arms, bringing your head to rest on his chest as you both bask in the afterglow of your actions. Joel can tell by your slow, even breathes that you've fallen alseep. He takes this moment to appreciate everything about you, his heart aching with how much love he holds for you. You are IT for him, The One, and you were absolutely worth waiting for.

[tubbytarchia]

I know your main is smallidarity but what are your thoughts on smalletho? Asking because I'm smalletho main but all the stuff you smallidarity fans create is so lovely that I know ship them too. Wondering what it's like for you guys. Have a nice day!

HIII I like Smalletho!! But you might not be a fan of how I regard it personally haha. To be honest I'm a little bit terrified of smalletho fans because of the specimens I have encountered and heard of so please don't burn me at stake...

I primarily view it as mostly one-sided. This makes more sense if you know of my thoughts about Joel being closeted and combative/troubled at the idea of being into men. He's been weird about Jimmy for a damn long time but he's never enacted on those feelings past jokes he proclaims not to be taken seriously. And then he's put together with this Etho guy in DL, soulbound to him, and because he's all weird he develops a crush and acts more questionably around him and more impulsively in general. And I think Etho would have picked up on it but he's. Etho. His response to everything is oh snap

Etho did do a callback during SL as if he were reminiscing, and he engaged with the "neck kisses" bit and some other less egregious ones, but Joel draws much more attention to Etho and the obsession claims. In fact the neck kisses thing started with Jimmy and yet Joel attached it entirely to Etho and comments on it either to make Etho sound weird or to make a slightly more rowdy joke than usual (Joel is plenty weird with his homoerotic jokes but this one is notably more intimate in a physical sense, as opposed to emotional. Not even the babymaking in ESMP2 compares because he acted like a clown who's never heard of sex before for those). Hmm strange behavior to have chosen to do that... I think Joel's become less insane and mostly gotten over his crush but clearly still likes Etho and Etho likes him too, but in a less weird way. His regard for their relationship to me is so well exemplified by the interaction where Jimmy went "Joel called me babe earlier" to try and prod him and Etho gives the most nonchalant "oh snap" known to man in response. He loves a little tomfoolery though so he entertains the banter

Joel just imo acts so weird about him half the time and then completely deadpan the rest of the time, compared to Jimmy who he has also been really weird about but also grown more comfortable with (but only very slightly because he is a loser) in regards to his feelings. I just think contrasting them brings out my reasoning better haha. I like smalletho as a ship in general and I really like their dynamic, but Etho in more of a mentor role (not that he's teaching much of anything but the experience Joel had with him has probably helped Joel become less homophobic about himself). It's similar to what I also really like about Bdubs and Joel, where I'm not sure I really see it as a romantic dynamic but they're definitely not normal about each other by any stretch of the imagination

[elsweetheart]

can u make a little drabble about fem reader x ellie in which the reader is inexperienced and they heavily make out for the first time i need this 😩

i can … i can do tht ….. this is a prequel to this fic i wrote :)

barnyard beauty — slow burn prequel

🎀 ellie + reader freshly in relationship together, a little smutty but not too much, ellie being cocky AGAIN

you were giggling so much it was starting to feel a little pathetic. ellie just drew that kind of reaction out of you every time, even though she was finally all yours you couldn’t help but feel like you were still harbouring a demure school girl crush on her. she was always flirty with you, but now even in a relationship she would still act like she was trying to win you over. she’d open doors for you, kiss your knuckles when she’d greet you, go out of her way to hunt for gifts you’d like. you were being totally wooed, and you didn’t feel like she was going to be stopping anytime soon.

“els stop you’re making my tummy hurt.” you laughed, clutching your side as the two of you sat on the floor of the barn. it was night time, and everyone was at movie night — so the two of you had snuck in to chill and hang out away from all the noise. the two of you had been in a relationship for three weeks now, so the pair of you were even more joint at the hip than usual.

“what? no, okay — it’s a serious question. say i turned into a horse right now. right this second— okay—” she cut her hypothetical question off by joining in with your laughter, hand grabbing yours when you thoughtlessly swatted at her. “what would you do? like i just become a horse. you blink and i’m just standing there as a horse. realistically what would you do?” she chuckles, urging you to answer through your breathless chortles.

“why would you ask that? in what world is that possible?” you clutch your stomach.

“just— fuckin’— hypothetically, okay?” ellie was always asking the silliest hypothetical questions, and you always put it down to her hilariously inquisitive personality. truthfully, she asked them because she knew it always made you laugh and god she loved your laugh — she also found that your answers were strangely insightful.

“i don’t know — i guess, i’d have to tell joel i mean — he’d be wondering where you went. and then i suppose i’d tell jesse and dina, ‘cos i think jesse especially would get a kick out of it.” you chuckled, staring off pensively across the barn at the other horses lined up minding their business. she stared at your side profile, her laugh dying down into a soft smile as she watched you contemplate. “aaand, yeah. i guess i’d just have to adapt. couldn’t date you anymore, cos that would be weird but… i’d take care of you… and ride you.” you shrugged innocently, breaking ellie out of her loving gaze to snicker at the last part.

you turn your head to look at her, her face closer than you remember it being. “what?” you smile in anticipation for whatever hilarious comment ellie was about to make. she was smirking, clearly proud of whatever it was about to come out her mouth.

“oh you’re gonna ride me?” she teased, poking your waist. you wasn’t quite sure what that would entail but you knew it was sexually charged, forgetting that sometimes words have a double entendre attached. you felt your face get hot, scrunching your nose.

“whats wrong with that?” you ask innocently, hoping she’d maybe explain what it meant. you didn’t quite know why you wanted to know so badly, a warm molten feeling dripping down into your stomach at the prospect of being sexual with ellie. she stretched her arm around you with a laugh, smoothing her hand over the back of your head kindly.

“nothing. you’re cute.” her eyes were on your lips now. you smiled, setting aside your curiosity as the thought of kissing her now clouded your brain. as if she could read your thoughts, ellie leant forward, pressing a kiss to your lips, hand sliding around to cup your jaw. it was a simple act, but it was the small acts of dominance that always got you. you allowed her to deepen the kiss, beginning to explore your mouth with her tongue as you shared breath. with your limited experience, something about it just felt so erotic and you sighed against her mouth — body alight with pleasure.

you couldn’t tell if it were you or her that quickened the pace, the kiss getting more and more desperate like you couldn’t get enough of eachother. she recalls that you were so sweet in the moment, kissing her just how she liked— having taught you how to kiss after all. one hand came down to stroke your hip with her thumb, the small act making you whimper ever so quietly into her mouth.

you didn’t quite know what you wanted, but you knew you wanted more. everything about you felt dialled up to ten suddenly. the air was too hot, your nipples beneath your shirt were too sensitive everytime her hand would ‘accidentally’ brush against them, your core felt tight and achey. you were sensitive to touch everywhere, and you became aware of how itchy and uncomfortable the hay you were sat on was against the backs of your thighs and ass. why had you decided to wear a skirt again?

ellie, who’s hand was now stroking the soft supple skin of your thigh, sensed your discomfort with the hay from your shuffling. the two of you were meant to be sat on her jacket that she’d laid down to share but with your fidgeting it must have been pulled slightly from beneath you. almost frantically, to fix the problem ellie pull you by your thigh trying to move you closer to sit on her jacket, all whilst shuffling backwards herself to make space for you. at the sudden movement, and ellie not quite realising her strength she tugged you and she toppled back onto a lower hay bale, you landing directly on top of her with an ‘oof!’

the two of you looked at eachother for a moment, ellie on her back with you laying directly on top of her— one leg cocked up, your skirt totally flipped up, exposing you from the back, before you burst into a fit of giggles.

“what just happened?” you clutched her gleefully.

“i don’t even know.” she chuckled, again the laughs dying out when she pulled you back in to kiss her again. her hands were on your waist now, not making any kind of move to push you off her body. you could barely ignore the feeling of her jean clad thigh pressed between your legs and you trembled against her, wonder how it would feel if she moved it. ellie’s hand slid up the back of your bare thigh towards your ass, just encouraging you to move your hips when—

“you girls in here or— oh.” maria’s voice sounded from the barn door, probably getting a view directly up your skirt as you laid on a handsy ellie. you fumbled, rolling off her clumsily with a gasp, face feeling so hot you could cook an egg on it. ellie sat up after you, unsurprisingly very little sign of embarrassment on her face, stifling a laugh at the awkward situation. the two of you looked disheveled, straws of hay sticking out your hair.

“uh—” maria coughed awkwardly, averting her eyes and she wiped her hands on her jeans. “ellie, joels looking for you. said’e wanted to go over something regarding the supply hunt. he’s round the corner.” she recited, sending you a polite nod before heading out the barn. ellie’s smirk revisit her face once more as she turned to look at you, your hands covering your hot face.

“m’gonna die. she totally just saw that. and my skirt was practically bunched up around my waist.” you whined, taking your hands off your face to stare up at ellie as she laughed, standing up and dusting herself down.

“can’t imagine anyone complaining about that view.” she teased, holding her hand out for you to grab. you took it and she pulled you up, stumbling into her slightly at her strength (and perhaps just your own weakness.) making her slightly raise an eyebrow. “are you… okay?” the smile was not only evident in her face but in her voice too, as if she was holding back a laugh.

“yeah! m’fine. just… a shame it got cut short.” you looked away from her. she eyed you, stepping closer to you when you stepped back to give her space. your wide eyes flickered up to hers, thinking she might kiss you again. instead, she reached up, pulling a straw of hay out of your hair, before reaching down without breaking eye contact and untucking your skirt that was tucked into your waistband, humiliatingly so without your knowledge. “there ya go. good as new.” she stepped back, holding out her hand for you to take. she knew what she was doing. “lets go.”

you took her hand dumbly, your body undergoing a million overwhelming emotions a second as you let her lead you out the barn.

[justagalwhowrites]

Lavender - Ch. 21

When someone you dread comes to the QZ, Joel takes matters into his own hands. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-20 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Description of past SA, PTSD response, torture. No use of Y/N. 18+ only, minors DNI!

Length: 7.2k

Friday, April 17, 2015 - Four Years Later 

“So you’re not going to be Dr. And Mr… Fuck, what was his name again?” Andrew snapped off a bite of jerky. 

“His first name was Simon,” you said. “I’m not actually sure if I ever got his last name.” 

“So you’re not going to be Dr. And Mr. what’s-his-name why?” 

“Because he had a weird problem with the fact that he’d sometimes have to share a bed with my best friend,” you shrugged. 

Jess groaned. 

“He was fine with it at first when he assumed the best friend had a vagina and he thought he could finagle a three way out of it,” you said, taking a drink of water. “Got a little less OK with it when I said the name Andrew…” 

“You guys don’t even do that much anymore!” Jess said. You and Andrew both looked at her for a moment. She sighed. “You do that every time I go outside the QZ don’t you.” 

“It’s like you don’t know me at all,” Andrew kissed her temple. She sighed, leaning into him. 

“Almost like he’s attached to his wife and has a hard time coping when she’s out dealing with the end of the world,” you said. “He’s just strange that way…” 

She rolled her eyes. 

“Who knew I’d be a part of the codependency club…. Well, hopefully now that the new batch of guards are coming in they won’t need me as much,” she sighed. “They’re supposed to be getting a few other people who are equipped to go help with field psych evaluations with this bunch…” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Andrew muttered. “They’re only after muscle, they don’t give a shit about anything else.” 

“Isn’t this group supposed to be pretty big, though?” You asked. “We’ve got Marta coming in to help with processing for health screenings in like an hour…” 

“You say that like it’s not going to just be more goons,” Andrew said. “With all the shit that’s going on… There was a shoot out just a few blocks away the other day. FEDRA’s losing their grip.” 

“They ever bug the clinic break room we’re going to be next on the executioner’s block,” you muttered. 

“Makes me nervous, talking about this stuff here,” Jess said. “No one likes it but…” 

You were quiet for a minute. 

“Any other dates coming up soon?” Jess changed the subject. “I still liked Sean…” 

“He did stick around for a bit,” Andrew nodded. “He lasted, what, four months?” 

“Yup,” you nodded. “I liked him, too. But, you know…” 

They didn’t respond. They didn’t need to. Sean had said “I love you” and had expected to hear it back. You just weren’t comfortable lying to him. He didn’t stick around long after that. 

“Nothing on the books yet,” you shrugged. “We’ll see what happens.” 

“You’re just going to end up fucking Tommy again,” Jess narrowed her eyes at you. 

“Yeah, I don’t know if I should be proud of you for figuring out how to have casual sex or if I should be frustrated with you figuring out how to do it with just one person,” Andrew said. You glared at him. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s very on brand for you…” 

“Hey,” you cut him off. “Why are we talking about my sex life? I don’t get to talk about your sex life…” 

“Ours is boring,” Jess shrugged. “Yours is way more fun.” 

You weren’t sure if fun was quite the word you’d use for it. 

Yes, you’d managed to branch out a bit since your split with Tommy. It took a few months but, when a guy in line for rations had asked if you wanted to hang out sometime, you’d said yes. Sure, you ended up having nothing in common with him but it was a start. Something you were now comfortable doing. Now you were having dates somewhat regularly. Even if you weren’t always sure you understood the point of it. 

You’d only been broken up with Tommy a few months when he showed up at your door late one night, just before curfew. You were already in bed when he knocked on your door. You frowned. Even months later, you recognized the knock. You all but jumped out of bed and tore the door open. 

“Hey Kid,” he gave you his signature, cocky smile. His bicep was bloody. 

“Of course you’re bleeding,” you sighed, opening the door. He smiled sheepishly but came inside. “You’re always fucking bleeding.”

He sat on your bed where he always had as you’d stitched him up and shrugged out of his shirt, hissing as the fabric passed over the cut on his arm. You gathered the supplies and turned on enough lights that you could see what the fuck you were doing. 

“Who’d you piss off this time?” You asked, cleaning the knife wound. It was jagged. 

“The usual,” he said. “Believe it or not, this isn’t how I wanted to see you again…” 

“Weird that you still go out and get into trouble then,” you muttered, checking the wound before starting to suture. 

“I’ve been thinking about coming by, saying hi for a few weeks,” he said. “Missed you. Weird not seein’ ya all the time. This was just… the push I needed.” 

“Everyone else OK?” You asked, glancing up at him. 

“Fine,” he said. “Tess made it out unscathed. Joel’s leg is better. He just got decked in the face this time out, which he probably deserved for somethin’ else stupid he’s done lately.” 

You laughed a bit at that. 

“Probably did.” 

By the time you’d stitched him up, it was past curfew. 

“I can take the couch,” he said, but you waved him off. 

“We shared a bed for a year,” you replied. “Just shower first, you’re gross.” 

You were reading when he climbed into bed beside you. 

“Kind of a weird place to ask it but, think we could be friends?” He said. “Meant it when I said I missed you. Don’t expect anything else but I’d like to be friends.” 

You looked at him for a second, the shadow of familiar longing in you. You ignored it. 

“I’d like to be friends, too.” 

And you were just friends, for a while. It took some adjustment but you liked Tommy as a friend. He was funny, he shared a lot of the concerns you had about FEDRA and what was going on in the world, he was unfailingly kind. 

A few weeks after you broke up with Sean, the two of you were sitting on your couch, watching a movie Tommy had found on his last trip outside the QZ, Cruel Intentions, something you’d never bothered to see before. You liked it well enough but the sex scenes… you hadn’t had sex since the split with Sean. The scenes were making you fidget on the couch, rearranging yourself to try to get some kind of relief from the ache between your legs. 

The movie finally, mercifully, ended and Tommy looked at you. 

“Proposition,” he said. 

“Shoot.” 

“We have sex.” You raised your eyebrows, he pressed on. “As friends. We’ve already done it, I have a good time, you have a good time…” 

“You’ve just got a one track mind,” you rolled your eyes at him. 

“No,” he said. “I can just tell when you’re turned on and I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman.” 

You glared at him. 

“No strings, no pesky feelings, just sex when we both want it,” he said. “That’s it.” 

You thought for a second. Could you do that? You supposed the last time you’d had sex with Joel it had been just sex. You’d kind of hoped it would be more but you knew that it wouldn’t be. 

“Just sex?” You asked. 

“Just sex,” he nodded. 

Just sex with Tommy turned out to be pretty damn fun. It wasn’t something you did all the time but it was enough to you from being too focused on the sex part on the rare occasions you did try to date someone new. It was easy enough to cut off when he found someone he was interested in or you did and easy enough to fall back into when you were both single again. 

It was during one of the “just sex” periods that Tommy brought you to meet some of his… friends. 

He’d just gotten back from a smuggling run and had a pack full of stuff when he showed up at your door with a broken finger. 

“Figured why try to fix it myself,” he teased you. You just rolled your eyes and let him in. 

“So I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly as you set his finger. You just raised your eyebrows at hm. “I’ve got to run this stuff to a meeting tomorrow night. You should come.” 

“What kind of meeting?” You frowned. 

“Just some like minded folk,” he shrugged. 

“You’re being awfully cagey, Miller,” you said. He shrugged again. You smirked a little. “I’m not going to a swingers club with you…” 

“Damn, killing all my dreams here, Kid,” he teased back. 

The next night, he came by the clinic as you were finishing, the pack on his back, and led you across town to a building that FEDRA hadn’t done anything with yet. 

Your body tensed. It reminded you of being outside the QZ, like a clicker or a raider was going to jump you at any second. 

“You’re OK,” he said quietly, leading you down a hall. There was a firefly insignia painted on the wall where he turned.

“Tommy,” you hissed. “Are you mixed up in…” 

“Just listen to what they have to say,” he said quickly. “It’s not what you think.” 

“Don’t know what the hell kind of death wish you have,” you muttered. He ignored you. 

The meeting was informal. It was Tommy, a handful of other people and a woman named Marlene who seemed to be running things. They didn’t seem to want to talk openly with you there, but they seemed to have enough understanding of whatever the fuck it was they were doing to not need to say much explicitly. Something told you that Tommy had mentioned bringing you along before. 

After the meeting, you hung back with Tommy and waited until Marlene was alone. 

“This is the friend I told you about,” he said, nodding at you. Marlene looked you over. 

“So you’re the doctor,” she said. 

“So they tell me.” 

“Tommy says you’re doing some research,” she said. You glanced at him. “I’d be curious to learn more.” 

“Not a lot to say at the moment,” you shrugged. “I’m trying to use some preexisting research on slowing the growth of fungal infections to see if I can develop a way to stop cordycep progression after transmission. Like an emergency injectable or, maybe someday, a vaccine. So we can have time to excise or amputate the infected tissue. I haven’t found anything that works yet, though.” 

“What if you thought a little bigger,” Marlene said. 

“Bigger.” 

“Bigger,” she nodded. “Bigger like a cure. Like it doesn’t matter if you’re bitten beyond needing some stitches. Bigger like we get our fucking planet back.” 

You laughed for a moment before you realized that she was being serious. 

“You’re talking about developing a cure for cordyceps,” you looked at her. 

“I am,” she said. “And I’d like your help. You don’t have to only develop what FEDRA wants…” 

“FEDRA barely tolerates the work I’m doing now,” you scoffed. “I’m not developing this for them, I started doing this on my own and my boss was willing to let me use some facilities to do it in…” 

“But a cure…” 

“A cure is so far beyond unlikely,” you said. “We have nothing to build a cure off of. Right now, I’m looking for a bandaid…” 

“Bandaids don’t do much for bullet holes,” she replied. 

“When you’re the one patching people up, you come talk to me about bandaids,” you snapped. “Until then, let the professionals handle it.” 

She laughed darkly. 

“Didn’t think you’d be such a supporter of FEDRA,” she said. 

“I’m not,” you replied. “I’m just a realist. I wish FEDRA just didn’t exist but they do and we’re stuck in the reality we’re stuck in. I’m not going to sit here and wait for some magical cure to manifest, I’m going to work with what I have and try to do what I can to make it better.” 

She considered you for a moment. 

“If your research pans out,” she said. “Would you consider sharing the formula with us?” 

“Yes,” you said. “Of course. I plan to give it to anyone who asks for it. A hope for survival shouldn’t be a tool for power, I don’t intend on just giving it to FEDRA to leverage as they see fit.” 

“We have a lab,” she said. “Out west. We could provide you all the support you’d need…” 

“No,” you shook your head. “No, I’m not going out there with infected and raiders if I can help it. And my life is here. My friends are here, the clinic, the kids at the school… I’m not going anywhere.” 

She sighed. 

“Well, Tommy knows how to reach me,” she said. “If you change your mind. Which I hope you do. You would be an asset to our mission.” 

Tommy walked you back to your place in silence. He stopped outside your door and you just sighed. 

“You’re being an idiot with them,” you said. “Don’t let it get you killed.” 

You doubted he listened to you.

Marta poked her head into the break room. 

“Just got word from the front gate,�� she said. “They’re heading our way.” 

“That’s my cue,” Jess said, getting up and stealing a kiss from Andrew. “See you when you get home. Try not to wear yourself out.” 

“I make no promises,” he said. She rolled her eyes, waved by to you, and left. 

Andrew looked at you. 

“Ready to get fucked by FEDRA?” He asked. 

“Sounds like your average Friday to me,” you replied, cracking your neck, downing the rest of your water and heading to the exam area. 

Things went smoothly at first. Marta and Andrew divided the men up, each of them handling intake for half of the 100 or so troops FEDRA was sending in from other QZs and training facilities. Then, the men went back to the exam area where you and the other doctors and nurses did quick exams and sent them on their way. You were on your 14th exam when you knocked once on the exam room door and went inside, without paying much mind to the name on the chart. “Hello,” you said, opening the file. “I’m…” 

“I remember you.” 

You looked up. Your stomach clenched. You had to swallow to keep from vomiting. Your heart pounded. Your hands shook. It took everything you had to not run. 

You looked down at the file in your trembling hands, skipping over the first name and going to the last, even though it was burned in your memory, just like his face. 

McCarthy. 

“Always wondered if you’d made it through,” he smirked at you. “You look good, hardly know it’d been 12 years. How old were you then?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” your throat was dry. “I’m just here to do a quick exam.” 

“Oh, c’mon now, I know what we had was more memorable than that,” he said, looking you up and down. Your stomach turned. “Know it was for me. You had… Well let’s just say, been looking for a girl to measure up since.” 

“I just need to take some vitals,” you managed, getting the blood pressure cuff off the wall. 

You barely remembered taking his vitals. Everything sounded like a high pitched whine, you could hardly hear or register anything he said. You were hyper aware of the feel of everything in your body, of every blood vessel, every muscle, every function. Breathing took conscious effort. So did blinking, swallowing. All you wanted to do was throw up. 

After what felt like an eternity, you stepped back from him. 

“You’re all set, Officer McCarthy,” you said. 

“Have to look you up now that I’ll be in town,” he smirked. “Good to know that I can just start here.” 

You knew your eyes must look like dinner plates, so wide and afraid. He seemed to like that. 

“See you around, Doc.” 

He winked, closing the door behind him. The second he was out of the room, you locked the door and doubled over the trashcan, throwing up. Your body just rejected everything you’d eaten that day, coughing and choking in its rush to expel it. 

You’d spent the last 12 years pretending that McCarthy didn’t exist. That it had never happened. When he came to mind, you tried to shove the thoughts down, tried to avoid them, deny that there was anything to think about to begin with. 

You rinsed your mouth out in the sink and tried to keep your tears under control before you rushed out of the exam room to find Dr. Lee. 

Thankfully, he was just stepping out of an exam room when you did. 

“Lee,” you said quickly. “I need you to cover for me, I have to go home.” 

He groaned. 

“Come on, we’re slammed…” 

“I know,” you said, looking up at him. “But how often do I ask to go home early? I have to go home, I can’t…” 

He looked at you and frowned. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Get out of here.” 

You all but sprinted for the door and out into the sun. You took moment when you got outside, doubling over with your hands on your knees to catch your breath before starting your walk home. You needed to curl up under your blanket, feel safe in your own space. It seemed like you might snap in half if you didn’t. You’d just started to calm down, to get your heart to stop racing, when McCarthy stepped out from an alley and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back down it with him. 

You froze as he put your back against the wall, his arms caging you in. 

“Now I know you remember me, pretty thing,” he smirked. “I’m the guy who saved your life, the lives of those kids you were with, you wouldn’t forget a guy like me…” 

“You have me confused with someone else,” you could barely talk. He ran his nose over your cheek, smelling you. 

“Bet you still feel the same,” he said. “Bet I could find out…” 

“Please,” you choked. “I just…” 

“Hey!” 

Suddenly McCarthy’s body was pulled away from yours and Joel was in front of you. 

“The fuck is this?” He asked, facing McCarthy. Your hand went to your chest, clutching the fabric of your shirt, desperate to get your heart to slow down. “Because it looked an awful lot like you were hasslin’ this girl.” 

“No trouble,” he said. “Just… an old friend. We go way back, all the way back to the outbreak. Don’t we, Sugar?” 

Joel looked over his shoulder to you but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Joel snapped. “Catch you botherin’ her again you’ll regret it.” 

“Careful who you talk to,” McCarthy tried to step up to him, but Joel had several inches on him. “Probably don’t want to piss off a FEDRA officer.” 

“I don’t give a shit who I piss off,” he growled. “Get the fuck out.” 

He stood there and watched him go before he turned to you. 

“Hey, Baby,” he said gently, reaching for you. You flinched back, your stomach turning. 

“Please don’t touch me,” you managed. 

“I just want to help…” he began but you cut him off. 

“I know,” you said. “But just… don’t touch me, please don’t touch me, just don’t touch me…” 

“Won’t touch you,” he said, hands up. “Promise.” 

You nodded quickly, trying to not hyperventilate. 

“Want to talk about it?” He asked, standing close enough that he could catch you if you fell, far enough that you didn’t feel like you needed to cower away from him. You managed to shake your head. “Want me to get someone? Like Andrew or Jess or… I could get Tommy.”

You just shook your head again, holding onto the wall, trying desperately to ground yourself. Joel hovered, watching you. 

“I’ll be fine,” you glanced up at him. “You don’t need to stay…” 

“Not going to just leave you here like this,” he said, voice gruff. “Especially if you won’t tell me why.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” you said, standing up straight and leaning back against the wall. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and focusing on your diaphragm, pushing it low in your stomach to draw as much air into your lungs as you could. You breathed out slowly. 

“You left work early for it,” he said. You lifted your head off the wall and opened your eyes, looking at him. He shrugged. “I try to stay away from you. Usually safe over here right now.” 

You scoffed a little. 

“Didn’t know I made it unsafe for the big bad smuggler,” you tried to smile but you weren’t sure that it worked. Judging from Joel’s expression, it didn’t. “Really, it’s fine. I’m just going to go home, have a drink, put on some music. Maybe take a bath. I’m fine.” 

“Who was the asshole?” He asked. 

You winced. 

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Joel,” you said. “I just really don’t, OK? Please don’t make me. And please don’t say anything to anyone about it, I’d just rather pretend this never happened, OK?” 

“Tell me who he is and I’ll drop it,” he said. “Won’t tell anyone.” 

You searched his face for a moment. 

It had been a long time since you’d been this close to Joel. Probably since the night you’d walked him back to the QZ with his broken leg. 

It hadn’t been as complete of a shut out as the year before, at least. Not this time. You’d occasionally bumped into him when out running errands. He’d give you a nod of acknowledgement, which was better than you’d really expected. He’d come into the clinic once - you saw him in the waiting room - but Andrew put him with another doctor. You’d even seen him once at his apartment. You’d come by when Tommy said to meet him there, he’d said not to worry about Joel. But Joel came home as you stood in his living room, waiting for Tommy to grab the last of whatever it was he needed for whatever it was you were going to do - you’d since forgotten all that, too distracted by seeing Joel. He’d just stood there for a second, frozen, looking at you. You’d smiled tightly at him. He just went to his room, brushing past Tommy on his way by. 

His hair was starting to gray, but otherwise, he looked the same as he had for as long as you’d known him. His picture was still on your bedside table. You slipped it into a drawer if you were having Tommy over or you were seeing someone but outside of that, you had a reminder of what he looked like before beside you all the time. It still killed you to look at him, made your heart ache with missing him and who he was to you once. 

In spite of everything that had happened between you, you didn’t think he would hurt you on purpose. 

“I don’t know his first name,” you said, looking down at his feet. “His last name is McCarthy.” 

You managed to look back at his face. 

“Please, Joel,” you begged. “Don’t tell anyone, please don’t tell anyone. I just want to pretend like it never happened and I can’t… if people know I…” 

You were starting to hyperventilate again. You closed your eyes and forced yourself to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment before releasing it slowly. You looked back at Joel. 

“I’ll do just about whatever you want, just please don’t tell anyone,” you said quietly. 

“Won’t tell anyone,” he said. 

You nodded, relieved. 

“I’m walkin’ you home though,” he frowned. “In case that fucker shows up again.” 

You just nodded, not feeling up for fighting with him. You tried to gather yourself for a moment and then started off, Joel staying an almost awkward distance from you as you made your way through the QZ. Like he wanted to be close but not so close that he might risk accidentally touching you or have someone thinking you were walking anywhere together. He didn’t say anything, just looked over at you every minute or two like you were a bomb he was expecting to explode. 

“Thank you,” you said, stopping at the communal door to your building. “I appreciate your help with him. I wasn’t prepared for that, I will be now.” 

He just nodded gruffly. 

“It was…” you paused. “I don’t know if good to see you is the right word but… It was nice. Seeing you.” 

He paused, looking you over for a moment. 

“You too.” 

He crossed his arms, watching you. It took you a second to realize that he was waiting for you to go inside. You opened the door. 

“Night, Joel.” 

“Night, Kid.” 

***

Joel waited until you were inside to go lean against the building opposite yours, in an alcove where he was tucked away and largely out of sight. He was pretty certain this McCarthy fucker hadn’t followed you but he wasn’t about to take any chances. 

Whatever that asshole had done, it was bad. Joel had only ever seen you that horrified once, when a raider had his hand around your throat. The way you’d panicked when he’d reached for you… 

He ground his teeth. He needed to know what this man did to you so he could make sure it wouldn’t happen again. 

Joel stood sentry outside your apartment for hours. After the clinic closed, he saw Andrew go up, but he was only there for a few minutes. You must have lied to him, he doubted he would have left if you’d told him the truth of it. He waited until curfew was only minutes away and went home, making it inside just in time. 

“Out late,” Tommy observed, sitting on the couch. 

“Got held up,” he said. 

“Trade go bad?” He asked. 

“Turned out OK,” Joel replied. 

Tommy didn’t press. He wondered if you’d ever told Tommy whatever had happened. The two of you had stayed close after breaking up, you might have told him something you’d never told Joel… 

He could think of just one person who would almost certainly know. McCarthy had mentioned the outbreak. Andrew must know, must have some idea. 

Tommy went to bed but Joel stayed up. He’d told you that he wouldn’t tell anyone. You’d begged him not to tell anyone. But he needed to keep you safe and to do that, he needed to understand the threat. But what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. 

The moment curfew lifted in the morning, Joel was out the door, walking quickly to Andrew’s. He had to pound on the door a few times and it took a few minutes for him to answer, looking half asleep. 

“Miller,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Thought I wouldn’t have to deal with your shit anymore.” 

“McCarthy,” Joel said quickly. “FEDRA guard. Name mean anything to you?” 

Andrew’s eyes went wide for a moment before he grabbed Joel by the shoulder and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him. 

“Where’d you hear that name,” he asked. He looked wide awake now. 

“Not important,” Joel said. “Who is he. What’d he do to her.” 

“He here?” Andrew growled. 

“Tell me what he did.” 

He looked Joel up and down before he laughed darkly. 

“God, you never even tried with her, did you?” He asked. “To busy with your own shit so she never told you…” 

“What did he do.” 

Andrew glanced down the hall, making sure Jess was still asleep and looked back to Joel, his voice low. 

“He fucking raped her is what he did,” he spat. Joel’s stomach twisted. “She’s never called it that, she never calls it anything. She likes to pretend it never happened but that’s what it was.” 

“What happened.” Joel’s teeth were clenched. His whole body was coiled like a spring. He needed to hit something, the energy and rage needed to go somewhere. 

“We came to a check point,” Andrew said. “Two guards, both armed, three of us. I was a kid, I was 18 but I was a kid and Jessica… She was trying to take care of us. They had guns and he told her the way to get through, made it clear he’d start shooting if she didn’t listen. She gave me the gun, told me to protect Jessica, he took her to the woods… She never told me what happened, she never talked about it. She just came out different. I should have fucking killed him, I should have shot him the second she gave me the gun…” 

Joel felt like he was going to be sick. He’d left you. You’d been alone with two children and his child inside you and you’d been forced…

“Where is he?” Andrew snarled. “I’m going to rip him apart…” 

“One of us needs to be there for her and it can’t be me,” Joel replied. “Needs to be you. She trusts you. You take care of her, I’ll take care of him.” 

Andrew looked like he wanted to fight him for it but eventually he gave him just a single, stiff nod. Joel turned to leave before he turned back to him. 

“Pretend you don’t know,” he said. “Promised I wouldn’t say anything but… Couldn’t protect her if I didn’t know what I was protecting her from.” 

“When are you doing it?” Andrew asked. 

“Today,” he said. “I’m going to hers now, make sure he doesn’t show up. I’ll get her to work OK and take care of him, dump him somewhere tonight.” 

“He shows up at the fucking clinic and I’ll kill him,” Andrew said, his voice eerily calm. “I don’t give a shit.”

Joel nodded once. This was the first time he remembered ever really liking Andrew. He could leave you in his hands at the clinic and you would be safe, that he knew. 

He all but ran to your apartment, leaning against the building across from yours, waiting for you to come downstairs. He’d been waiting for about an hour when he spotted you. You’d French braided your hair, like you were expecting a long day. You hadn’t put on ribbons. 

He caught you quickly. 

“Good morning,” he said, falling into step beside you. You nearly jumped out of your skin. “Sorry, wasn’t tryin’ to scare you.” 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, frowning up at him. 

“Making sure you get to work safe,” he said. You clearly hadn’t slept, you looked exhausted. 

“I’m fine, really,” you said, continuing on. Joel walked beside you. You frowned at him again but didn’t argue the point. He walked you to the front door of the clinic in silence, you just giving him a tight smile and a small wave before going inside. Joel found a spot near the door he could wait, make sure McCarthy didn’t come in before Andrew got there. 

Andrew spotted him on his way in, stepping over to him and keeping his voice low. 

“He probably came in with the transfer guards that showed up yesterday,” he said quietly. 

“Temp housing,” Joel said. 

“Exactly,” Andrew replied. He looked Joel up and down. “Good luck, Miller.” 

With your friend on site, Joel finally felt safe leaving you. 

Moving to hurt the man who hurt you quickly eased the tightness in his chest. He may have failed you 12 years ago but he wasn’t going to fail you now. 

He went home and got supplies. He didn’t intend to make McCarthy’s death easy. He needed to make sure he had what he needed to make it worthwhile. 

Joel stood at the edge of the small market that was near the temporary housing for FEDRA employees. He figured McCarthy would need to come through here at some point. He was right. 

Shortly after noon, McCarthy came through the stands, pondering what there was to buy. Joel waited until precisely the right moment, reaching out and grabbing the man by his collar and pulling him into a darkened alleyway. He yelped but it wasn’t loud and it didn’t take the man long to recognize Joel. 

“You again,” he smirked. “Here to apologize?” 

“Here for information,” he growled. “What did you do to her.” 

“To who?” The man smirked challenging him. 

It was a dumb move. Joel was so mad he couldn’t see straight. He grabbed the man by the throat and thrust him into the wall, hard enough to make him cough and choke. 

“Tell me,” he demanded. 

Now, the man just looked scared. He punched McCarthy hard across the face, enough to knock him out, and slung him over his shoulder, moving quickly for the abandoned building he’d spotted earlier. 

He ducked inside, going for an interior room where his screams wouldn’t be heard. 

There was a chair in the room, and old folding one. He tied the man to the chair and smacked him to bring him around. 

“What the fuck?” He looked around, straining against his ties, his eyes wide. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with…” 

“I know exactly who I’m fucking with,” Joel said. “I think it’s you who doesn’t know.”

He pulled out his knife and took the second chair and pulled it up close to McCarthy’s, getting right in his face. 

“Tell me what you did to her,” Joel said. 

“Look,” he said quickly. “It was the outbreak…” 

Joel sighed, opening the knife and shoving it into the man’s thigh. He screamed, doubling over as well as he could given his bonds. Joel smiled. 

“You’re going to tell me what you did to her,” he said. “I want to know it all. Tell me what you did to her.” 

“Please,” he whimpering now. “I swear…” 

Joel pulled a pair of pliers from his pocket. He held McCarthy’s head still as the man started begging and pleading. It fell on deaf ears. He pressed the pliers around his one of his middle teeth and pulled. 

It felt good, expending energy this way. He was taking action, doing something. It didn’t even feel like he needed to pull that hard. 

McCarthy screamed, blood pouring from his mouth. Joel gave him a moment to catch his breath, watching him bleed. He liked his blood. He wanted to see more of it. 

“What did you do to her?” He asked through clenched teeth. 

“She wanted it!” He sobbed. 

“Wrong answer,” Joel ripped the knife from his leg and thrust it into his shoulder. The man screamed again. “What did you do to her.” 

“Took her into the woods!” He screamed, panting for breath. Joel gave him a minute to pant. He could wait. 

After a minute he spoke again. 

“How did you get her to the woods, McCarthy?” He asked. The man’s eyes glistened with tears. 

“I…” his voice cracked. “I told her I could give them a code to get through the other checkpoints in exchange…” 

“In exchange for what?” Joel patted the man’s knife wound on his leg. He cried out again. 

“In exchange for sex!” He cried out. “I told her I’d trade sex for safe passage, said I didn’t know the next time I’d see a woman, I didn’t want to waste it…” 

“Did you have a gun?” Joel asked. The man looked confused. He grabbed his face, holding his cheeks harshly in his fingers, forcing him to look at Joel. “When you told her you’d trade for sex, did you have a gun?” 

“Yes,” he sobbed. “Yes, I had a gun…” 

“So you threatened her,” he said. “You threatened her and the children she was with.” 

“No,” he man moaned. “That’s not… I swear, it wasn’t like that…” 

Joel sighed and pulled the knife from the man’s shoulder before he thrust it into his uninjured leg. McCarthy wailed. 

“I threatened her!” He panted, gasping. “I knew what I was doing, I wanted her and knew how I could get it so I threatened her…” 

“And you took her into the woods,” Joel said. The man nodded. “With your gun.” He nodded again. “What did you do then?” 

“Told her to get undressed,” he groaned. “Told her she had great tits… once she was naked, told her to lie down…” 

He choked and cried. Joel sighed, reaching over and smacking his face, forcing him to look at him. 

“Then what,” Joel’s voice was harsh. 

“I…” he swallowed. He looked terrified. “I got on top of her…” His voice broke. “Please….” 

“What. Next.” 

“I put my dick in her,” he groaned. He was crying now. “I fucked her…” 

“That’s not what you did, is it?” Joel grabbed his hair, holding his face close to his own. “Call it what it was McCarthy!” He screamed it. “What did you do to her!” 

“I raped her,” he sobbed it out. Joel released his hair. 

“Where’d you touch her,” he asked. He looked confused. “You touched her when you raped her, right? Where.” 

“Her chest,” he sniffed. “Hips, waist…”

Joel remembered the parts of you that made you freeze when he touched them, parts of you that never made you freeze before. He wasn’t sure you even knew you did it. Now he knew why.

“That it?” Joel asked. He nodded. “You cum in her?” 

“Please…” 

Joel pulled the knife from his leg. 

“You don’t seem to fucking get it,” he growled, getting in his face. “I like hurting you. I want to hurt you. I don’t need much reason to but you saying please? Makes me want to hurt you more. I want to fucking flay you alive every time I hear you beg. So answer the goddamn question,” Joel thrust the knife into McCarthy’s other shoulder. “Or I will do what I want.” 

“Yes!” He cried it out. “I did, I came in her…” 

Joel sat back, panting for breath for a moment, looking McCarthy up and down. He was covered in blood. He was weak, slumped over like he couldn’t hold himself up.  

Joel wasn’t done with him. 

“You know she was pregnant when you did that?” He asked. McCarthy lifted his head just enough to look at Joel. He shook his head. “Well, she was. With my kid.” 

He stood up, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. 

“I wasn’t there to protect her then,” he said, flexing his fingers before curling them into fists. “But I am now. Can’t let you live with what you did, McCarthy. I have to kill you for her. But when I make it hurt? That’s for me.” 

He swung, punching him in the middle of his stomach, knocking the air out of him. 

“And I’m going to like it.” 

***

The clinic had been fairly quiet that day, quiet enough that your mind wandered to places you didn’t want it to. 

Andrew was no help. He was oddly withdrawn, only really responding when prompted, not initiating much conversation himself. But he didn’t fight you when you put on Joni Mitchell, so you were taking what you could get. You were dreading going home but didn’t have a reason to tell Andrew you wanted to sleep over, either. You were debating about how up front you wanted to be when there was yelling outside the clinic. 

“Help!” Someone screamed. You looked to Andrew for just half a second before running for the doors. 

Two FEDRA soldiers were hauling in a third man, holding him by his underarms and knees, the man’s body totally limp. He was so covered in blood you were almost certain he couldn’t still be breathing. 

“Jesus Christ,” you said before yelling over your shoulder. “Kristen! Trauma!” You turned your attention back to the men. “What happened?” 

“Don’t know,” one said. “Just found him like this, he transferred in with us there’s no way someone here hates him enough to do this yet…” 

“Let’s get him back,” you said, Kristen running up to you as you headed back toward the exam rooms and the surgical suite. “We need O-, a lot of it…” She glanced around you to the injured man.

“Not sure that’ll make a damn difference,” she said but she ran to obey. 

“We’ll start him in an exam room,” you said quickly. “Want to try to maintain a sterile area in the OR but I’m sure we’ll need it…” 

They carried him into the exam room and lifted him onto the table. You quickly washed your hands and gloved up before diving in, looking the man over. Kristen ran in with the O- and quickly hung it as you cleaned up a place on his arm to start a transfusion. 

“Do you even know who this is?” You asked the men who carried him in. The man’s face was beaten beyond any kind of recognition. His lower lip was barely hanging on, eyes swollen shut, nose crushed. 

“He had his dog tags,” one man said. “It’s Lewis McCarthy…” 

You froze, your stomach twisting. Your head spun. 

“Doc, I don’t think we can do much here,” Kristen said from McCarthy’s side. “He’s lost so much blood…” 

“We should try,” you said, on autopilot. You tried to find the worst injuries on the man. He was missing teeth. He’d been stabbed numerous times. His whole body was covered in blood and bruises, not a single inch of him left unscathed. You swallowed before pulling down his pants to see what might be on his legs when you saw it. 

“Oh my God,” you jumped back from the table and into Andrew, who’d come into the exam room at some point and you hadn’t noticed. He caught you. 

“What?” Kristen asked before looking herself. “Oh!”

She jumped back, too. 

Where McCarthy’s penis had been, there was nothing. Just an open wound. One of the men who brought him in gagged and ran for the trash can, throwing up. You stared at it, the place where the part of him he’d weaponized against you had been torn away. Andrew held onto you. 

“We’re losing him,” Kristen said, her hand on his neck. “Doc, I don’t think… there’s nothing we can do here, there’s nothing we can do with this.” 

You nodded, shaking as Andrew kept you upright. He looked to the men. 

“You should go,” he said. “Don’t need to see this.” 

They nodded, trembling as they left. 

“I’ll go get a bag,” Kristen said, staring wide eyed at him. “Stuff to start clean up…” 

She left you and Andrew alone with the body. 

“Andrew,” you whispered. “Did you talk to Joel?” 

“He had questions,” he said, voice flat. 

“Oh my God,” you stared at the body. “What did he do?” 

“The right thing,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “The right fucking thing.” 

A/N: AHHHHHHH THE McCARTHY CHAPTER. I've been waiting for Joel to go off on him since chapter 8 and we finally got here. So satisfying to write, hopefully satisfying to read!

There is a taglist for this story! If you're interested in being added, comment below. If I've missed you in the past, please comment and let me know!

Thank you, everyone, for reading and commenting! It's been a dream to see how people feel about this piece while I'm writing it. Love you all, thank you for taking the time to read my work <3

Taglist: @paleidiot@ayamenimthiriel@ginger-swag-rapunzel@drewharrisonwriter@flugazi @pedropascalsbbg@taoyuji@starstruckmusiciansartghost@splendsay@bigboiseason123@jpbplvr @ashleyandring @mrsyixingunicorn10@sloanexx@ninaminaromina @lady-bellyn

[hundredandsix]

inner child headcanons ✩ [ellie williams] ✩

✩ wc: 1.2k

✩ Just thinking about Ellie's inner child and helping her heal it. She's so cute. I want to give her a hug and make her cookies.

✩ cw: none. only fluffy cuteness overload.

✩ As with any happy relationship, you are going to see all parts of Ellie. You will see the newborn whose mother did anything she could to save her, the happy-go-lucky girl that had a useless feud with Bill, the angry teenager who felt betrayed by Joel's actions, and the young woman who got a tattoo to cover her scar. But you will also see the child whose first love was ripped away traumatically and who was manipulated by an evil man who promised to help her.

✩ She obviously had a very fucked up childhood, but she might not register it as that because most people her age went through similar experiences (besides the whole having immunity and almost being killed for it kinda thing). The person that helped her discover her sexuality was taken from her in a very violent way, and she likely had to be the one to kill her. We're not even going to talk about David because he doesn't deserve a second of my thoughts.

✩ So it's kind of obvious to you but she likely wouldn't see it that way. Joel played a part in her healing initially. I don't see him as a parental figure for her, but having an adult that she trusted in her life helped her make some progress. That is until she found out the secret he kept from her. Then she spent so much time running away from it and away from him because she felt it was her fault.

✩ And that's why it's really confusing for her when she gets so attached to you. She never thought of herself as the clingy type, but after you get together, she wants to be with you all the time. This is not to say it's her self-esteem that's lacking, but she feels so safe and validated when she's around you. Like she's useful and needed.

✩ In short, it creates a lot of confusion for her. She doesn't understand why she always falls asleep when you two are alone. She's a chronic insomniac, but even when she feels well-rested, she gets so sleepy from the heat of your body and the curve of your smile. She feels so safe and knows that with you is where she's meant to be. Her nervous system finally relaxes and she gives in to the simple pleasure of your body against hers.

✩ Physical contact is important to her, but it can't be something she feels used for. Touching you in a way that is tender and not at all sexual is healing for her. She can be gentle. She can be soft and loving. You just need to help her prove that to herself.

✩ She's used to the attention being on her for the big things. Like when she found out she was immune and when she finds something useful on patrol. But the way you notice the little things about her sends her heart racing and warmth flooding through her body. You notice when she parts her hair on the other side and when she pulled the string out of her hoodie because she chewed off the ends. You notice when she doesn't eat because she's "not hungry" and when she changes her soap. Those little things drive her crazy because it feels so strange to be noticed on a deeper level like that.

✩ She finds a lot of comfort in what some would consider "childish" activities and hobbies. She collects cards and action figures because these were never things she could keep as a kid. They'd get stolen or broken. So now that she has her own space, she likes having these little items to make it truly hers.

✩ I'm just imagining finding her a little stuffed dinosaur that has mostly survived the elements of the apocalypse. She will pretend she finds it silly, but the fact that you remembered her fascination with dinosaurs and thought of her when you saw something so cute and soft made her feel what can only be described as childlike joy. She names it after you and cuddles it when you're not around. Otherwise, he sits politely on her lopsided couch in her little shack.

✩ Having her own space is very important to her, and she wants to create a shared solitude between the two of you. That being said, sometimes she just wants to be alone and she needs you to respect that. She didn't have this as a kid, so it means a lot to her that she can decorate her space as she chooses and do whatever she wants in it.

✩ She doesn't understand that she's seeking someone that comforts her inner child like this, and she may never realize it. She's just so angry about the childhood she never got to experience and the parents she doesn't know how to miss. So finding someone that knows how to hug the hurt, exhausted little girl who doesn't want to be alone would be monumental to her.

✩ She's great with kids. It almost feels like they seek her out because they just have that innate understanding between them. Ellie knows what it's like to feel unwanted and hopeless and she never wants any other child to feel like that.

✩ She finds spending meal times with you so comforting. Sometimes, she feels like she can actually get something down. You help take her mind off of the texture of the food and how it feels. It's just so intimate because she's used to eating on the go, but being vulnerable in front of each other and talking about your days makes her so happy.

✩ She gets so lost in her thoughts that she needs you to physically pull her out of them sometimes. Whether it's grabbing her hand or running your fingers through her hair, she needs that distraction. Ellie needs someone to remind her that going over a thought, again and again, is not going to change the outcome.

✩ She won't show it, but words mean a lot to her. She is the type of girl that will think about arguments for hours afterward and roll the conversation over her mind, thinking of what she should have said. She can take things very literally, so she might misunderstand what you are saying as something hurtful. That seems to be the default to her, so that's what she expects from others.

✩ When she feels safe with you, she will rant to you. She's so quiet at first, but once you've established that sense of trust, she wants to tell you about all her interests, and what she found on patrol, and the joke Jesse told her yesterday. She has no problem reciprocating this. She wants to listen to you rant and rave as well. But if she even gets the slightest idea that you are growing annoyed or irritated at her words, it'll be hard to get her to open back up again.

✩ She looks most at peace when she's sleeping. Her face relaxes and the years of running and scavenging seem to disappear. It makes you want to cuddle her deeper into your arms and never let her go <3

[bambiiboop]

Beastly: Raider Era Joel Miller x Reader (Part 2)

Summary: you live in a small commune protected by a strong force of raiders. Every season, your people pay tribute for their protection. After lapsing in payment, your abusive father offers you as a human sacrifice. What you don't expect is for the leader of the gang, Joel, to not be as much of a beastly man as first thought.

A Raider Era Joel fic, loosely inspired by Beauty & The Beast.

CWs: references to abuse (physical), implied fear of SA, canon typical violence, implied age gap, sexual references, coarse language, smut for later chapters. (List will update with chapters)

Chapter Word Count: 3.3k

Tag List: @serenaxpedro @miller--trash @joelsgirl @gab-thelamb-onthemoon @mydailyhyperfixations @dreamingofdaddydin @luvrking @msecho19 @koshkaj-blog @hufflepuffriver @yunonaneko ( & anyone I've missed)

Index: Part 1 /

It’s not a terribly long ride back to the raider commune, another small town that barely counts as a town that’s been repurposed. 

Trenches surround it. A few men and women with rifles on makeshift guard towers. Honestly it’s not much different to home. Your heart jumps when you remember this is your home now. For as long as Joel decides to keep you alive. 

You still can’t get a read on him. The entire four hour ride was spent mostly in silence, but when he did speak, it was to ask your name. Ask a few questions. You wonder if he’s trying to remind himself that you’re a human being, rather than just an animal, a sacrifice. 

“Quiet as a mouse, aren’t you?” He’d said finally, then laughed softly and muttered something about that suiting you more than your actual name. 

Joel doesn’t like using your name. The idea makes you more human to him, and he already feels stupid for accepting a goddamn human sacrifice to pay the debt your home owed. Mouse it is. It gives him the sense of ownership, of control, that he needs in all manner of things. 

He’d been almost polite in helping you down off the horse before turning you over to a man who vaguely resembled him. 

“My brother, Tommy.” He’d said by way of introduction, then sloped off to oversee the unloading of the truck, leaving you standing next to the younger man with no idea what the hell to do next. 

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to know what to do with you, either, so you just stand there awkwardly together until Joel seems to notice you again, comes over. 

“Christ, Tommy, let her freeze to death? You take over the unloading, I’ll take her.” 

You follow him automatically, towards one of the houses, wondering vaguely if he means to take your fathers advice and beat you into submission. Or worse. 

Somehow, you don’t think so. He’s been cold, sure, the entire ride back, but you don’t get the feeling that he’s planning on doing anything sinister to you, which is strange. Raiders have a reputation, after all, but he doesn’t give off the violent rapist vibe that some have. 

He unlocks the door, leads you up the stairs to a small bedroom. It has a bathroom attached. Pleasant. Nondescript, though it has the air of not being lived in. 

“Make yourself at home,” Joel is aware of how monumentally stupid the sentence is, but he says it anyway. 

“Am I confined to this room?” You ask, still not daring to look at him, in case it makes him snap or something. You’re used to that sort of thing. 

“No, the entire house - minus my room, or Tommy’s, of course - is free game. I wouldn’t leave the house without one of us, for your own safety. You’re welcome to explore the house. One of us will come and get you when it’s dinner time.” 

Then he turns around and walks out, leaving you standing there feeling confused. You’d been bracing yourself for violence of some sort, and now it hasn’t come? You’re not sure what to make of it. 

You can hear his heavy boots on the stairs, the front door slam behind him, the bolt locking into place behind him. You’re not stupid enough to consider trying to make a run for it; a four hour ride is even longer on foot, and in this weather? It’s a death sentence. Besides. The retribution for trying to escape would probably not be pleasant, and while you’re not exactly eager to go back to your father, you don’t want the other people from your settlement to be punished because of you. 

So fine. You’re stuck here. 

You may as well explore your new cage. 

The bedroom isn’t too bad, actually. Double bed, the mattress not uncomfortable. Thick blanket, even if the pattern isn’t what you’d choose for yourself, the main thing is you won’t freeze to death. 

You hope there might be a change of clothes somewhere, something in the drawers of the dresser that might fit, but the drawers are empty. You hope Joel won’t make you wear the same clothes you have on down to rags, but you’re not counting on it. 

The carpet is old, but not uncomfortable under your feet. 

Then there’s the bathroom. Small, compact, but still functional. You know there’s still plenty of house to explore, but you’re also aware you’re going to be locked in here for an indefinite amount of time. Exploring can wait. You’re exhausted, and the bed is comfortable. A nap won’t hurt, surely. 

If he was going to hurt you, he’d have done so by now. It’s not very comforting, but it’s all you have, and it’s enough to lull you into an uneasy sleep. 

—

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel, what the fuck?” 

Tommy is never usually this vocal with his older brother, and it surprises them both. Still, it’s a fair question. 

“The man’s a misogynistic piece of shit, I couldn’t just leave her there. Chances are if I’d refused, I’d go back next season and he’d have beaten her to death. Made it her fault.” 

“Oh, so we’re saving people now?” Tommy raises an eyebrow. It’s a cheap dig; he knows why Joel does what he does, why he is the way he is. 

Maybe it’s not fair to be a sarcastic bastard, but then again, he hadn’t expected Joel to come back with a human sacrifice, for fuck’s sake. 

Joel sighs. Pops open a beer. The kind one of their men makes in a keg in his garage. It’s still fucking good, because beer is beer, even after the end of the world. 

“Look, she’s harmless. I’m not gonna lay a hand on her, and neither is anyone else in this little community.” Joel says it firmly, with enough authority that Tommy believes him. 

Pretty much anything goes in their group. Violence is to be expected. But any sort of violence against women, especially sexual, is punished by death. 

“Maybe she can make something of herself here.” He continues, before he stands and checks on the food that’s cooking on the stovetop. “In the meantime, do me a favour? Try not to scare the shit out of her.”

Tommy snorts in spite of himself. 

“You’re the scary one, big brother.” 

There’s no bite to it, but there doesn’t need to be. Joel understands. Knows there’s a part of his younger brother that’s afraid of him. Maybe that’s another sacrifice he’s had to make. 

“Yeah. Well. I’m gonna go tell our new house guest that food’s done.” 

It’s his way of avoiding the conversation. Better to just leave, walk away, than open that can of worms. 

Instead he heads upstairs, towards what’s probably a completely different can of worms but still unpleasant. When he gets to the door that’s now yours, he hesitates. Should he knock? In reality, you’re his prisoner, disguised as a guest. No matter how polite he is to you, Joel is aware that you’ll probably always hate and resent him. 

Still, he isn’t sure what you’re doing in there, and there’s a part of him that’s still somewhat of a gentleman, so he knocks first. No answer. Well, he tried. 

He opens the bedroom door, finds you half asleep; the sight of him jolts you awake, and you startle, sit bolt upright. He can practically smell how afraid you are, almost hates himself for it. He has no intention of hurting you. No more than he already has by taking you from your home. 

“Dinner’s ready. Come and eat.” It’s not a request. He retreats again, stomps back down the stairs, pissed and unsure why. Maybe it’s the way you look at him. Maybe it’s the understanding of why you’re so fearful to begin with. Or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s feeling anything at all, after so long. 

—

You have two options. One, you follow the direction given and go downstairs to eat. That’s probably the smarter choice. You’re hungry, and you can smell hot food. You doubt he’ll poison you. 

The second option is you stay right here, make an attempt at defiance. That doesn’t appeal to you; you know that Joel has a temper. Has the ability to be incredibly violent at the drop of a pin. Tommy is a wild card, but you don’t like the idea of making enemies of the men you’re stuck in this house with. 

Still, you’re reluctant to drag yourself downstairs, having wanted more time to wallow in your own misery and misfortune. Unfortunately, the lure of a hot meal wins out, and you find yourself in a small dining room, seated at a plain wooden table with a few knife scrapes in the top, a bowl of stew in front of you. 

You’re almost surprised. You might have thought raiders, especially ones like him, would eat better. Steak or something. But this is simple. Carrots and potatoes and onions in gravy, with rough cut bread on the side. 

Tommy clocks your thoughts almost immediately. 

“What, you thought we ate like kings or something?” 

“I-“ you aren’t sure how to answer him; he’s a raider, sure, but there’s something about the way he avoids his older brother’s gaze that makes you warm to him a little faster. 

Maybe it’d be good to have… not a friend, but an ally? In this place. 

“It’s not poisoned. We have to eat too, you know.” Joel comments, without looking at you. 

You don’t argue, just poke at your food with your spoon until Tommy speaks again. 

“We’re just people. Even Joel, though he likes to pretend otherwise.” 

You decide to go right ahead and like Tommy, even if it’s against your better judgment. The casual way he says it is almost reassuring. Like you can breathe, your suspicions that Joel isn’t going to turn into a monster and lay hands on you reassured by the casual way Tommy banters with him. 

It’s like a small weight lifts off your chest, enough for you to stop poking at your food and actually eat it. 

Joel drinks, barely speaks the entire meal. When you’re done, Tommy collects the dishes, throws a sideways glance at Joel, who’s refilled his beer once again. 

“Go back to your cage, little mouse. I’m tired of you jumping whenever I move.” There’s a bite to his voice that wasn’t there before, fuelled by drink and whatever demons plague him. 

The way he says it unsettles you, your hands shaking slightly as you pass your empty bowl to Tommy. 

Joel is back to not looking at you, but as you leave the room, Tommy makes eye contact with you, and mouths for you to lock your door. 

—

Joel drinks. Heavily. He’s used to only having to deal with Tommy, who’s used to it by now. It doesn’t even occur to him that his intoxication, the way he’s sharper, colder in this state might scare you. 

Doesn’t even consider it until he hears you take the stairs two at a time, the sharp thud of your bedroom door closing. 

“That went well.” Tommy crosses his arms over his chest, surveying him. 

Joel doesn’t answer. He supposes he could go upstairs, unlock your bedroom door and try to apologise, but somehow he thinks breaching your privacy would make it worse. And besides. Why the hell does he care so much about scaring you? About apologies?

You’re nothing but a goddamn tribute. A human sacrifice handed over to him by a shitty excuse for a father. A mistake he shouldn’t have made, but now he has to live with the consequences. The consequences being your presence. 

—

You take Tommy’s advice and lock your door. Not because you think Joel will come upstairs and decide to hurt you, but because it makes you feel a little better. 

You can hear them arguing downstairs, at the very least, raised voices, but nobody comes up the stairs. Nobody breaks down your door. Eventually you can breathe a little easier, don’t have to consider locking yourself in the bathroom. 

Eventually you hear Joel’s heavy boots coming up the stairs, hold your breath again, but he goes right past your door, slams his own behind him. Shortly after, a softer tread that must be Tommy’s comes upstairs too, and another door closes behind him. 

Nobody’s going to hurt you. Not tonight, anyway. Nobody’s making you warm their bed, or using you as a punch bag. You’re alone, sure, but you’ve always been alone. 

At least this time you have a comfortable bed and a locked door. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to keep you from panicking, for now at least. 

— 

When you wake, winter sunlight is streaming through your window, creeping through the shutters without a singular care. 

Your clothes are a little mussed, but not dirty, so you suppose you’ll have to make do until one of the men notice and decide to find you a change. You hope to god they decide to. 

There’s no sign of either of them in the house; a few dishes in the sink, and a note on the table the only evidence that other people live here at all. 

Make yourself comfortable. Don’t try to leave the house. I will arrange new clothes for you today - J. 

“That’s friendly.” You mutter to yourself, then busy yourself for ten minutes washing the dishes. Joel might technically own you, but you still feel a bit guilty that he’s taking time out of his day to find you new clothes. The least you can do is wash some dishes. 

Hell, it won’t hurt to see what food is in the house, either, but you aren’t sure where to look, so you open pretty much every cabinet in the kitchen, taking inventory. 

There’s not much, which doesn’t surprise you. You assume whoever lived here originally left the place pristine or something, but it’s since been cleared out. The Miller brothers have done a decent job tidying the place, but it still doesn’t have that sense of being a permanent home. 

Maybe they planned on moving on at some point, but never got round to it?

You aren’t sure. Easier not to think about it, instead moving onto the next room. You can come back to the kitchen later, reheat the stew from last night. Maybe if you do little things like that, they’ll be kinder to you. 

It’s not that they’ve been cruel, or even really unkind. Joel is harsh, blunt, and seems cold and closed off, but he hasn’t been outright mean to you. Tommy’s been wary but friendly enough.

Perhaps it’s stupid, but you want them to be friendly to you. If you’re stuck with them for the foreseeable future, until you die or something… well, it’s not a crime to want to be friendly, right?

The next room holds a few more things of interest; a television, a stack of movies. Obviously there’s no live television anymore, but the Miller brothers have managed to salvage a handful of movies that you suppose they liked from before. 

Most of them are action movies, the occasional western that you presume is Tommy’s preference. Somehow it comforts you that there aren’t any slasher movies among the pile. Not that you’re naive enough to think that they aren’t killers. They’re raiders. You’ve seen Joel kill a man before. That they’re violent goes without saying, but somehow you think their brand of violence is purely to survive, not out of some psychopathic desire to inflict pain. 

At least. You hope so. 

Deciding not to dwell on that, you keep moving through the house, exploring room by room. The windows have all been reinforced, the place relatively secure. It’s surprising how easily you feel safe in this house, in spite of being a prisoner. Perhaps it’s because the house is big, compared to your old home. Maybe it’s the fact that you don’t have to jump whenever you turn a corner. 

You ignore the two bedrooms along the hallway with yours upstairs, as instructed. That’s not to say it isn’t tempting to peek; of course it is, but you’re a little afraid that they’d know somehow, and that it would make Joel angry. 

He hasn’t really given you many rules; don’t leave the house, don’t go in his room or Tommy’s room. Even if you are a prisoner, a possession, it feels rude to break those rules, so you stifle your curiosity and only open the other door. 

Bathroom. Boring. 

Heading back downstairs, you’re considering exploring the rest of the rooms off the downstairs hallway, but decide to save them for tomorrow. If you’re housebound, you may as well save yourself some excitement, or as close to it as you can get, for another day. 

—

Joel doesn’t really have anywhere to be. The group operates pretty well without him overseeing everything. If there’s a dispute, it either ends in a fight or they come to him. 

The spoils from yesterday are already being divided up, a few people out patrolling for more supplies, smaller weaker camps they can take out. 

Unpleasant, yes, but it’s survival of the fittest. 

His errand today has nothing to do with survival. Joel is well aware he’s brought you to the commune with nothing but the clothes on your back, and in spite of being, objectively, a terrible person, he feels bad for you. 

In retrospect, he should have let you at least pack a bag. But somehow, with the way your father offered you up like bait, Joel doesn’t think you probably had many possessions to begin with. 

The women in the commune are tough as nails, mostly. Survivors through and through, either by the skin on their knuckles or by giving themselves over to the men for protection. Joel doesn’t judge either way; he knows it takes a particular sort of grit to survive that way. 

While violence is rampant in the group, what with the testosterone and the high stakes of survival, nobody ever lays hands on the women. As a result, they’re kind, happy to help anyone new. 

It doesn’t take long to find clothes in roughly your size among the women. A few shirts, two new pairs of jeans. Newish boots. 

Impulsively, he trades a week’s extra firewood and a bag of jerky for a winter coat for you, too. It’s a deep purple, with a fake fur lined hood, long enough to reach your knees. 

He doesn’t know why, but it’s important to him that you’re not uncomfortable. At least, no more than to be expected. Besides, he’d rather you didn’t freeze to death. That would just be annoying to deal with. 

Or so he tells himself as he fills his pack with the clothes he’s found and traded for, before heading back towards the house. 

Usually, on trade days, he’d stop and grab a few bottles of beer, too, but he’s still a little embarrassed about how he behaved last night when intoxicated. 

It wouldn’t normally bother him, to be seen as scary and intimidating. Hell, it doesn’t. But there’s a small part of him that feels ashamed when he remembers how fast you bounded up the stairs and bolted the door. 

He’s not used to having anyone beside Tommy in the house, and frankly he doesn’t give a shit whether he scares his brother or not. Tommy knows everything he does is to keep them safe, to keep them alive. He doesn’t have to like it, just accept it. 

Having you react the way you did has brought him back to earth a little, and he doesn’t like it. The last thing he wants is a reminder that he’s human. So fine. He’ll give you the clothes, but that’ll be the first and last favour he does for you. 

Or so he tells himself. 

[hexxedundead]

Spoiler warning for anyone who hasn’t seen it — This is my person thoughts on the movie and my own Movie Review.

Feel free to comment and give your thoughts too.

Trigger Warning: SA/R, Violence, Blood, Drug Use

Movie Review-ish (more so my thoughts and opinion) :

I just wanna say, this move truly was great.

I’m not sure why but watching the trailer I felt like it wasn’t gonna be great. I had low hopes for it for some reason but obviously my thoughts have changed.

At first, when watching the trailer, I thought that casting choice for the men were so strange. I felt it was weird Channing Tatum was playing such a creepy dude. But while watching the movie… I get it. It was on purpose. They guys were suppose to be a weird choice and now I really liked that they casted them. Men that people were fond of. My personally, I love Channing Tatum. I have watched his movies for a long time. I watched Haley Joel Osment movies when he was a child. Simon Rex from scary movie 3, my favorite out of the franchise. Men who I loved watching. Men who felt “safe”.

Just like the main character, Frida (Naomi Ackie), who was fond of Slater King (Channing Tatum). She was essentially a fan of his who she felt an attachment for. She felt safe enough around to accept his invitation to go to his private island.

It was sad and scary… as much as the movie didn’t really seem like it throughout, once it got to the relieving of what’s actually been going on… it was very sad and scary to know that people seem one way and are totally not how it actually is. I think it truly had a great message.

I also loved the change in Sarah (Adria Arjona) who was very much about herself and trying to get the man and against other women; then coming to the understanding that women can be there for other women and sometimes that’s all you have to help you are the other women. That you need to stand will women to help them.

Another thing I liked that they added were the other characters that weren’t exactly part of the abuse, but sat back and watched. Slater King’s assistant Stacy purposefully chose to forget. Stacy representing women who stand by and let men do bad things to other women. The same thing with the character Lucas. He didn’t do anything to the women but he also didn’t do anything to help the women.

I think this movie was a wonderful representation of abused and power some men have over women. I love the symbolism within the movie and each character. It truly was a great movie.

Questions I still have:

I do wonder what the red symbolized or if it was just a creative touch throughout the movie. There was a lot of white and placements of red in just about every single shot.

What did the raspberry’s symbolize? They were constantly being shown and I felt they were a part of a bigger picture that maybe I just didn’t get.

Maybe I’m just reading into things more than I should 😂

I also am confused how Frida was there on the island before, I believe a year prior. Similar things happened and she obviously got out and didn’t remember the whole trip. Obviously the time she was on the island was lost and when she was back at home… where does she think that time went? I wish they would have explained that. She was there once before, she was brought back… but where does she, or anyone else in her life, think she was? Especially her job.

Im big on movie breakdowns and “let me explain” type videos after watching a movie. Finding things I might of missed or seeing it from another perspective. Here are a few that I enjoyed.

[cowgurrrl]

Kiwi

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: as I was writing this, I proclaimed in the most southern accent, “now we’re cookin’ with peanut oil!” so do that with that

Summary: Joel goes home for a month. You stay in California to work. What could possibly go wrong? [3.8k]

Warnings: HEAVILY implied casting couch culture, brief allusion to creepy Hollywood producers, yearning, I can’t think of anything else!!

Boarding my flight now.

Thanks for letting me know?

Well, I texted my mama to let her know, and she told me to text "that girlfriend of mine."

Doesn't sound like she's a huge fan.

She'll live.

You like the message and go to put your phone away when it buzzes again.

Is it weird that I kinda miss talking to you?

You smile and ignore your name being called over the intercom for another beat.

There are a lot of weird things about you, Joel Miller, but that one feels the most normal.

Text me when you land in Austin. Tell your mom I said hi.

You tuck your phone away, fighting the stupid smile on your face, and look up to see a pissed-off PA walking towards you. You apologize and half jog to the sound stage where Ryan is waiting. 

"The perfect punctual queen is late for once? Is the world going to shit?" He asks, and you slap his arm.

"People are allowed to be late."

"Does your lateness have anything to do with your boy toy?"

"Are you ever gonna call him by his name?" You ask. He senses that you're stalling his question and take a deep breath. "Joel is flying home to Texas today to visit family and get some work done. He'll be gone for a month."

"Oh, how will you ever survive?" He pouts, and you give him a look. The director calling for places stops you from responding, but you threaten him with the promise of picking up the conversation later. 

You don't ever get to tell him off for suggesting that you can't live without Joel being in the same state because of how late shooting goes. It might've been exhaustion, but you swore that you saw the sun starting to rise over the horizon by the time you finally got to leave. You knocked out a good chunk of the scenes you were still working on, which is great news, but you were mentally and physically drained. You slept most of the next day and missed Joel's messages from one whole time zone away. 

Landed.

Jesus Christ, I forgot how hot it is here.

My mama told me to ask you if you go to church since she doesn't believe me.

Attached: Two photos

You laugh as you sleepily scroll through his texts when you wake up mid-afternoon, feeling a little bit better from your long night. One of the pictures he sent is of him sitting in the cab of an old truck with the caption, "This was my first car. I can't convince my dad to sell the damn thing." The second is a blurry photo of a blue-looking weed on the side of the road surrounded by what looks like thousands of other blue weeds. "Turns out the state flower will literally grow anywhere besides in a pot in my house."

A) I'm glad you made it in safely. B) Isn't Texas the armpit of the South? C) I don't go to church, and I never have, but please feel free to lie to her. D) I can imagine a young, emo Joel Miller driving it now.

He reads your messages almost as soon as they deliver, and your screen lights up with his initials as he calls you. You yawn as you pick up and hear chatter in the background of wherever he is.

"First of all," he starts in a determined tone. "Texas ain't the armpit of the South. That's South Carolina." He says. He hasn't even been in Texas for forty-eight hours, and his accent is already thick again.

"My mistake," you laugh. "Did you have another point, or was that it?"

"Second of all, why d'you sound so tired?"

"Obviously, I was out partying with strange men all night."

"Really?" He asks, and you scoff.

"No, Joel. Filming went really late yesterday. I don't think I got home until six this morning."

"Sounds intense." 

"Not as intense as being interrogated by your mother," you say, and he hums. You hear someone laughing in the background and relish in the joy that you're not there to witness. He doesn't say anything for a minute, and you wonder if the line dropped, but when you pull the phone away from your face, you see the call is still active. "You really miss me so much that you called me just to sit on the line?"

"Maybe I did." He says. You take a deep breath and glance at the clock on your bedside table. He's two hours ahead. The sun must be setting by now, casting gorgeous rays onto his skin and making his eyes look amber. You wonder what Texas air does to Joel's soul. Maybe it soothes him like only an old baby blanket can. Maybe it makes him jumpy, like he's waiting for a clap of thunder that never comes. Maybe it makes him wonder why he left in the first place. You wish you could be there to read his expression and try to decipher what he's thinking. Someone calls Joel's name in the background, and you hear him shuffle with the phone, probably covering the microphone with his hand because the voices become muffled. When the phone comes back to his ear, he takes a deep breath, and you do the same. "I gotta go. Can I call you tomorrow?" He asks. 

"I'm counting on it, Miller." You say, and he laughs before mumbling a good night and hanging up the phone. 

After that, it becomes a habit for Joel to call you every day from Texas. He'll tell you different stories about his parents, how Austin has changed since he left, and update you on how the newest album is coming. He listens to you rant about work, how tired you are, and how frustrated you always get toward the end of a project. Sometimes the conversations last ten minutes, and sometimes they last hours. One night, you fell asleep on the phone with him because he was trying to get your opinion on a new song, but you had spent the day filming the scene of your character giving birth, which was tiring in its own right. He doesn't chide you for it. He just sends you a goodnight text and promises to call you the following night.

You hate to admit it, but production speeds up with Joel out of town. You end up wrapping your scenes a week early while Ryan still has another couple of days of filming his scenes. You'll probably get called back in for reshoots in a few months, but you feel really good about the work you put out there, and you finally get the chance to rest before Melanie sends you more scripts to read over. You send Joel a photo of your open laptop and a glass of wine next to it as the California sun sets over your balcony. 

Wrap parties are looking different as I get older.

Don't worry. I'm sure you'll still be a drunk, no matter how old.

Asshole.

Lashing out is the first sign of a bigger problem. I think I should call Melanie.

You laugh and search for the middle finger emoji when he sends you another text.

Paul got me on the list for some charity event this Saturday. Want to come with me? He said it'd probably be better to get some more dates in sooner rather than later.

The reminder that this is all fake shifts your entire mood. Of course, it's always lingering in your mind, but the texting didn't feel fake. The late-night calls didn't feel fake. He didn't feel fake. In fact, this is the first time you feel like you have a sliver of an idea as to who Joel Miller actually is when he isn't selling out world tours and recording platinum albums. It's stupid for you to feel this way. You have no reason to. No right. You take a deep breath and type out a message.

Sure.

On Friday, you drive to the airport to pick Joel up, creating an over-the-top scene of you running and jumping into his arms. His hat falls off his head and onto the ground as he catches you and kisses you sweetly. When he sets you back on the ground, he doesn't let you go right away. He lingers in your arms, and even though your feelings are still hurt and you're still trying to remind yourself that this is all fake, you let him. He smells like a detergent you don't recognize, but underneath that, you catch a whiff of the cologne he always wears. You rub his back as you hold him in the middle of the airport. 

"'S really good to see your face," he says into your neck, and you nod. 

"You too."

As you drive him home, he brings you up to speed on how the album is coming along and how different Texas was when he was there. You tell him about the last few days on set and an upcoming press junket in New York City. He lights up when you tell him the dates as you maneuver through LA traffic.

"I'm scheduled to go to New York to work with my sound mixer that same time. He's got his own studio out there now and knows more about it than I do," he says. "Maybe we can fly together? Make it look like a couple's trip?"

"Sure," you say. He furrows his eyebrows at your lack of excitement, and you scramble for something else to talk about. "How are your parents?" You ask. The rest of the ride to his house goes off without a hitch, and he kisses you again as he gets out of the car, both of you highly aware of the car full of paparazzi that's been tailing you since you left the airport. He promises to pick you up at five the following night, and you just nod. When you get home, you walk calmly into your house, lock the door, and scream.

Joel's hand is in yours as you wait for your turn to walk the carpet. You're not sure why there's a red carpet at a charity event, but you're not about to throw a fit about it. Joel is wearing a sleek black suit, and you're matching with a long black dress. It's a low-cut backless dress, and a sparkly necklace your stylist picked out rests against your sternum. Joel taps your hand, and you look at him.

"You okay?" He asks. He looks worried as he steps between you and the wall of photographers waiting for you to stand and pose perfectly for their photos. "You've been quiet the past few days."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. I think I'm still recovering from that last week of filming." 

"Are you sure you're not gettin' sick?" He asks, raising his other hand to your cheeks like he's checking your temperature. You smile half-heartedly and swat his hand away.

"I'm sure," you say. He tries to say more, but someone with a clipboard gets your attention and asks if you're ready. You nod and step onto the carpet, holding Joel's hand. The press erupts into a cloud of noise, startling you and making Joel laugh. You slap his chest and plaster on your rehearsed smile. You do your best to look where all the photographers are yelling at you to look and try different poses so they can get what they need. Everyone has to make a living, you suppose. You just wish their salary wasn't at the expense of your privacy. 

You get halfway down the carpet, taking pictures as a couple and some solo shots, before one of the photographers yells a new command. "Can we get a kiss?" He shouts. You pretend not to hear him and show off how the dress dips down your back, hugging you in all the right places. Still, the photographer is demanding a kiss, and now others have joined in too. It feels very "dance, monkey, dance," but you do your best to grit your teeth and smile. You catch Joel staring at you when you turn. It could be the flashing bulbs of cameras or how he's looking at you, but his eyes are sparkling, and the creases in the corners make you melt just a little. 

You hold out your hand for him to join you, which he happily obliges, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close enough for him to kiss your temple. "You alright?" He asks against your skin as you rest a hand on his chest and look up at him. You nod and glance between his eyes and his lips. The chorus of people practically begging for a picture of you two kissing is growing, and you raise your eyebrows at him. 

"You gonna keep them waiting, or are you gonna kiss me?" You ask, the playful lilt reserved for him returning to your voice. He gives you a look and smirks before leaning down a pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Everyone ooh's and aw's at you two, but you only care about how fast his heartbeat is against your palm. You want to blame it on the anxiety of walking the carpet and having people scream at you to do whatever they want. No, you have to blame it on that. There's no other option.

When you finally get inside, Joel gets you a glass of wine and a mixed drink for himself. The event is sweet and goes by quickly as you listen to people talk about something they're so passionate about. You decide to donate some money under an anonymous name once you are all excused to the reception, where there's food, more alcohol, and dancing. Joel leaves your side to catch up with some musician buddies, kissing your cheek before disappearing into the crowd. 

You nurse your wine as people you've never met start conversations with you. They're all polite and ask about your newest project, how LA's been treating you, and what's up next for you. You can't reveal much due to the NDA you signed at the beginning of shooting, but you tell them how excited you are for them to be able to see it and admit you've got some auditions lined up in the coming weeks. You've probably given the same answers to a handful of different people when you realize you're out of wine and Joel is still missing. You scan the room for him, but you can't find him. That's fine, you think. It's not like he's obligated to stick to my side at all times. He can have his own life.

You sigh as you belly up to the bar and order another glass of wine. You almost make it a double when someone taps your arm, making you turn. "I don't mean to interrupt, but you look exquisite tonight. I just thought you should know," ultra-famous producer Richard Pike tells you. You blink at him, your brain struggling to catch up with the fact that one of the men who's made the most award-winning films in the past twenty years just noticed you. "I know everyone has probably told you that tonight, but-"

"Oh, no. Thank you. I'm sorry. I was just a little starstruck right then," you apologize before holding your hand out to introduce yourself. He takes your hand and kisses the top of it. It's very dramatic, but this is Hollywood we're talking about. Your glass of wine arrives, and he pays the bartender before you can even reach for your purse. 

"Women as gorgeous as you should never have to pay for a drink. Ever." He says, and you laugh.

"I mean, I won't argue with you on that," you say, taking your glass in your hand to clink it against his glass of scotch. "Thank you, Mr. Pike."

"Please, call me Richard," he insists. "You just finished another movie, didn't you? You're a very busy girl."

"Yes, sir. I'm already looking for new projects to audition for." 

"Oh, I remember when I had actors audition. See, that was before I started writing roles for specific actors. Some people call that crude or playing favorites, but it hasn't failed me yet." 

"No, sir, it hasn't."

"So formal! Yes, sir! No, sir! Are you like this with everyone?" He asks as he takes a big swig of his drink.

"Just people who can cast me," you say. You're partially joking, but it's enough for him. He laughs, and his hand lands perfectly on your exposed back as he cackles loudly. You force yourself to laugh along with him and suddenly get that sinking feeling in your chest. Everybody seems to strategically look away from you two at the bar, and you want to be anywhere but here. 

"You know, I've seen a few of your movies," he says, getting close to your face like he's telling you a secret. "I think you've got a lot of potential. With just a little coaching and one great role," his hand dips lower down your back, and you freeze. Ice water runs through your veins, and everything is screaming at you to run away, but your heels stay planted against the expensive hardwood. "We'll make an Oscar winner of you yet."

"Excuse me," a familiar drawl says behind you. You both turn and make eye contact with Joel. "May I steal my girlfriend for a dance? I promised her one on the way over." He asks, but he's already wrapping an arm around your waist, ready to pull you away. The hand on your back disappears and claps Joel on the shoulder.

"Of course! You take good care of this one!"

"Yes, sir," Joel says as he pulls you to the dance floor. Your heart is still beating in your throat, and you feel like you could cry, but Joel's looking at you with such kindness. You find safety in him as you wrap your arms around his neck and slowly sway with him, the soft material of his dress shirt calming you down. He waits until Pike is out of earshot to lean down to talk in your ear. "Now, I know you don't need me savin' you like that. Are you sure you're okay?" 

"He's one of the biggest producers in Hollywood. He could tank my career in a single email. You want to be the one to yell at him?" You ask. "If I said or did something, he would've doubled down, but he respects you more. He backed off because, in his mind, I belong to you."

"How do you know?"

"I've dealt with people like him before. They're all the same old men who think they can offer you a legacy on a silver platter if you fuck them. I've gotten enough advice from other actors to know how to handle them. Let them get touchy but find an out before it can go too far. Stroke their egos so they feel good about themselves. Basically, do whatever to keep you and your career safe."

"I thought stuff like that didn't happen anymore."

"You and everyone else in the world. Things don't just magically change because one guy goes to jail." You sigh. 

"I'm sorry," he says, and you shake your head. 

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. You shouldn't have to deal with that."

"It was one of the first things people told me when I started. They said it was something I might just have to… endure but that the weight would get easier to carry. One actress even told me that it was the price we have to pay because everyone wants to be us," you chuckle. He doesn't interrupt you; he just stares at you with apologetic eyes like he would take this burden from you if he could. You almost believe him. "I don't think that's true. I think most people would hand this lifestyle in the second it got too real."

"What would you do if you weren't an actor?" He asks, and you shrug.

"I always thought about being a teacher. Sure, the pay is shit, and the work is thankless, but kids are our future, you know? There's something really special about shaping young minds."

"Sounds nice."

"What about you? What would you do if you weren't doing this?"

"Probably something with my hands. I worked as a mechanic for a while, and I really liked that. I liked how it was a big puzzle that needed to get sorted out and fixed up."

"Why'd you stop?" You ask. 

"I needed to grow up. My dad owned a contracting company, so I worked with him until I saved up enough to record my first album. And that was that."

"It's crazy how we fought so hard to get to where we are, and now that we're here, it's..." You trail off, trying to figure out what you want to say.

"Terrifying?" He suggests, and you nod. "Yeah, I'm terrified every second of every day."

"You don't act like it." 

"I don't act like a lot of things that I should," he says. He stares at you so intently that the rest of the world fades away. You don't hear the song die down or the applause erupt around you as the band takes a bow. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest. You know how crazed it is. He wets his lips before stepping back and trailing his eyes down your dress and back up to your face like he's taking you in for the first time. "You really do look beautiful tonight." You swallow around the lump in your throat and smooth your hands down your dress, suddenly self-conscious. 

"Thank you." You mumble. 

Pictures of you two kissing on the carpet and dancing inside are circulating online before you even leave the event. You wake up to a huge batch of texts— one from your mom, two from Joel, six from Ryan, and one from Melanie about your trip to New York that you barely read. You would've stayed in bed wallowing in your own bad luck if there wasn't a sharp knock on your door. You groan the whole way down the stairs like it will help you greet whoever has decided to show up at your house at eight in the morning, but nobody's there when you open the door. 

Instead, a bouquet of flowers in a lovely vase sits on your mat with a note sticking out. You glance down your street and barely catch a delivery truck turning down the block. You carefully take the flowers into your kitchen before plucking the note between the petals. 

Pretty flowers for a pretty girl - JM 

(PS bought these of my own volition)

"Goddammit," you mutter under your breath as you think about his lips on yours, his soft shirt, and his stupid fucking, "I don't act like a lot of things I should."

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part twenty-seven

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you reach Kansas City, things don’t go exactly as planned.

a/n: remember when I said this was gonna be up what a week ago? MY BAD. love you all🤍

word count: 8.6k

warnings: if you’ve been reading this far, you know the drill. a good chunk of violence in this one.

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

Ellie wakes to a strange rattling noise. It sounds almost liquidy, but metallic at the same time, but definitely fucking annoying.

With a quiet groan, she pokes her head out of the sleeping bag, finding the source of the noise. There’s some kind of container on the camping stove, like a taller version of the pot she’d watched you warm the ravioli up in last night, but more narrow, the handle attached at two ends instead of one.

The sun’s up, the ground beneath her isn’t as hard as she anticipated, and slowly, she rolls onto her knees, still encased in the sleeping bag as she shuffles forward to inspect the thing on the stove. The lid looks like plastic, and she can see the liquid inside, dark brown and sputtering as she flips the lid.

The smell hits her like a damn truck, and she groans loudly. “Ugh! What the fuck is that?”

She hears your instant laughter, turning to see both you and Joel standing at the back of the truck, packing things back up. You have the rifle slung across your back, and Joel lifts his brows at Ellie. “You don’t like coffee?”

She makes a face in response, rolling back over and flopping onto her back, and you appear a moment later, backlit by the cloudy sun, hands on your hips. “Up and at ‘em, kid. We need to get a move on.”

Once all the packing is done, you and Joel start to bicker about who’s driving first. Joel keeps insisting that he take the first shift, and you keep reminding him that you took the first watch, so you drive first. Ellie doesn’t miss the way his jaw goes tight when your voice drops and you say something he can’t make out, but then he shoves the thermos of coffee at you, stalking towards the trucks and climbing into the backseat. Your eyes follow him, but then shoot back to Ellie, who nearly flinches, reaching for her bag. “Let’s go.”

It takes Joel all of five minutes to pass out in the backseat, and you shake your head, glancing at him over your shoulder as you pull back onto the highway, the truck wobbling slightly as it goes from grass to asphalt.

“Stubborn as fuck, I tell you.”

Ellie settles deeper into her seat. You leave the radio off to let Joel sleep, and when you reach for the thermos, Ellie keeps her voice low. “Is that seriously what those Starbucks in the QZ used to sell?”

“Hah, they had better stuff than this. Bill had a stockpile, but none of it was as fresh as theirs.”

She wrinkles her nose. “It smells like burnt shit.”

You huff a little laugh. “Used to be able to get it with all kinds of stuff, caramel, cinnamon, hazelnut. Smelled like a damn dream.” You jut your chin towards the little door in front of Ellie’s legs. “Open that, yeah? Get the map out. I think I know where I’m going, but the last thing we need is to get lost.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Ellie agrees, and reaches for the handle. The door drops open when she pulls on it, and fishes the maps out, unfolding it in her lap. “Have you ever been to Wyoming before?”

“Never,” you reply, sipping the coffee again. She watches as you close the cap one-handed, your other braced on top of the steering wheel. “We moved around a bit when I was a kid, but I guess it’s not far from where my sister was born, now that I think about it.”

“You have a sister?” Ellie asks instantly, her curiosity piqued. She’s still not quite sure what it is about you that has her so curious, her questions coming one after another. And she’s no fool, she knows Joel has about had it with the questions, but you indulge her, and it’s…it’s nice.

“Had,” you say quickly, and Ellie bites her tongue, instantly regretting it, wondering if you’re about to make another rule for her, like you had back in Lincoln. “She was in Austin, with our parents, but then Joel found her in Cincinnati. She, uh, she died. She got bit and FEDRA dragged her off.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

You lift a shoulder, moving both hands to the steering wheel. Your eyes are glued to the windshield in front of you.

But Ellie can’t help herself. She wants to know; she has to know. “What about your parents?”

“Remember how I told you they bombed Boston?” you say, and Ellie nods, remembering the story, the craters in the streets, how it looks like a fucked-up moon. “Austin was overrun, and FEDRA levelled the city. My parents were in a shelter when they dropped the bombs, and no one survived.”

The map flutters in Ellie’s grip as her finger curl, the paper crinkling. “I…”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry, kid,” you say, but she can see the strange expression on your face, something she doesn’t have a name for. “It happened a long time ago.”

You both go quiet for a while, and the only sound is the rumble of the truck, Joel’s quiet breathing in the backseat, and the rustle of the map as Ellie tries to figure out where you are, where you’re going. You offer help where you can, splitting your focus between the road and the map. “Right about there,” you point, “that’s where we camped.”

“Okay, so it’s 76 West, and then 70 West for, like, ever.”

“Then Wyoming?”

Ellie nods in agreement. “And then Wyoming. Do we know where in Wyoming, exactly?”

You shake your head. “Joel knows. There’s a radio tower that we used to send messages through it; I can’t remember the city. Last we heard from Tommy, that’s where it came from.”

“Tommy is Joel’s brother?”

“He is,” Joel answers, startling you both. He leans forward from the backseat, reaching for the thermos of coffee. “The tower is in Cody.”

Ellie turns back to the map, ignoring the loud slurp as Joel drinks from the thermos. “Cody…Cody.” She spots it, along the fold in the map. “Ah, man, that is deep up in there.”

“Great,” you mumble, reaching for the thermos as Joel hands it to you.

“Yeah,” Joel grumbles in response, and Ellie sees the way his hand lingers on your shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“And if he’s not there?” she asks.

“Then odds are, he’ll be near a settlement,” Joel replies, “probably close to another city. Ain’t too many of ‘em in Wyoming, thankfully.”

Ellie’s eyes find another city name on the map. “Chee-Yen.”

“Cheyenne,” you correct, and she looks at you.

“Che—really?”

The corner of your mouth quirks and you nod. “Really.”

“Cheyenne,” Ellie repeats, searching for more cities. “Laramie. Casper?” Another question piques, and she turns to Joel. “Is Tommy older than you or younger than you?”

His brow furrows in that way of his and he reaches for the thermos again. “Younger.”

“Why isn’t he with you?”

“Long story.”

“You people and your long stories,” Ellie groans, tipping her head back. “Is it longer than twenty-five hours? Cuz I think that’s what we got.”

Joel sighs, and she sees his eyes flick up, no doubt meeting yours in the mirror. Your grin is gone, your lips now pressed into a tight line.

Another sigh, and then the man speaks. “Tommy’s what we used to call a ‘joiner,’” he starts, fiddling with the cap on the thermos. “Dreams of becomin’ a hero. So, he enlisted in the army right outta high school. Few months later, they ship him off to Desert Storm. It’s what they called that war, it doesn’t matter. Point is, bein’ in the army didn’t make him feel much like a hero. Cut to twelve years later, outbreak happens, and he convinces me to join a group makin’ their way out to Baltimore, which I did, mostly to keep an eye on him, keep him alive. That’s where we met Tess, and her husband. That whole crew. We, uh…”

He trails off, and Ellie sees his eyes flick up again. You adjust your hands on the steering wheel.

“Well,” he continues after a beat, staring down into the thermos, “for what it was, it worked. Until it didn’t. We got kicked outta Baltimore, Tommy convinces us to try Boston, and…”

Ellie looks at you. “And then you found each other again.”

You nod slowly, your lips still pressed together.

“We did,” Joel agrees. “And it worked, again, being in the QZ, keepin’ ourselves busy, keepin’ the smuggling under the radar. Then Tommy meets Marlene, and she talks him into joinin’ the Fireflies. Same mistake he made when he was eighteen.” He shakes his head. “Wants to save the world. Pipe dream. Him, Fireflies, all of ‘em, delusional.”

You inhale sharply.

“‘Course, last I heard,” Joel says, “he quit the Fireflies, too. So now he’s on his own out there, and…we gotta go get him.”

It goes silent in the truck again, save for your quiet swallow as Joel gives you the thermos again. But it’s only a moment before Ellie breaks it. “If you don’t think there’s hope for the world, why bother going on? I mean, you gotta try, right?”

Joel’s brow pinches again. “You haven’t seen the world, so you don’t know.” His eyes flick up again, but yours stay glued to the road ahead. “You keep goin’ for family. That’s about it.”

“I’m not family,” Ellie says, and ignores the way the words make her chest hurt.

“No,” Joel says instantly. “You’re cargo. We made a promise to Tess, and she was like family.”

She turns her head away from him, staring at the world rolling by outside. “What if you don’t find him?”

“We will,” you answer, a strange waver in your voice. “We’re persistent people, Ellie. Capable people. We’ll find Tommy, and we’ll get you to the Fireflies.”

She’s too distracted by the weird tone in your voice to notice the truck rolling to a stop. You push the stick on the middle console forward, and your eyes flick up to Joel’s.

“Outside. Now.” Before Ellie can say a word, you’re getting out of the truck, your eyes flashing to her before you shut the door. “Stay here. I just need a minute.”

Ellie just watches, the truck wobbling slightly as Joel shuffles out after you, slamming his door shut. You walk around to the front of the truck, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, and Joel follows.

+

“Cargo?” you shout, whirling on him when Joel reaches for your arm, your name halfway out of his mouth. “Are you fucking kidding me, Joel?”

“What are you—”

“She’s a person,” you nearly cry, grabbing the front of his jacket with both hands. “She’s just a kid, Joel. You can’t fucking…Cargo?”

“I’m sorry,” Joel grunts, wrapping a hand around your wrist. “It just came out, all right? I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m gonna say it once,” you say, smacking his hand away, pointing a finger in his chest. “Don’t ever call her that again. You hear me? She’s not fucking cargo.”

He just stares at you for a moment, lifting his hand again. When you don’t immediately smack it away again, he curls his fingers around your wrist, tugging on your hand. “Liv, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

He lifts a brow. “I don’t know the last time you snapped on me like this, so maybe you are.” He presses his fingers against your pulse. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

You try to turn away from him, but he sees your bottom lip wobble, and pulls you back. “Last night, I just…I let my mind wander.”

“And?”

“And this feels like some kind of karmic joke,” you say, shrugging your shoulder, your eyes going shiny. “We’ve been hiding what I am for what, almost fifteen years? We could have stopped this a long time ago, and yet somehow, here we are, doing favours for Marlene of all people, putting our asses on the line, taking this kid across the country on a wing and prayer, and for what? To make up for all the terrible shit we did? She could save the damn world, and I’d still feel guilty.”

“Liv, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” you say, cutting him off, lifting a hand in the air. “I know why we made the choices we did, Joel. And I don’t regret them — I don’t regret choosing you over everything else. I never will. Ever. But this kid? She’s not just cargo, okay? It’s more than that. And don’t try to tell me that it’s not.”

Joel swallows hard, the guilt gnawing at his gut, and he pulls you against his chest, his words muffled by your hair. “I made you a promise,” he says, your words from the forest echoing through his head. “No questions asked. And…it is more than that. I know that. I just…”

He pulls back, holding you at arm’s length, and his eyes catch on his watch, just visible past the cuff of his jacket. Your eyes follow his, and you cover it with your hand, brushing your fingers against the band. “Joel.”

“We need to keep goin’,” he says, effectively ending the conversation. He turns on his heel, swallowing down the barrage of emotion that’s crept up his throat. You don’t fight him as you follow, slipping your hand into his as you walk back to the truck. From the corner of his eye, he sees you wipe your cheeks, and you don’t say a word as he gets into the driver’s seat, you taking his place in the back.

Ellie glances between the two of you as he shifts the truck back into drive, the tires starting to roll as his foot comes off the break. “Ya got up pretty early,” he says to the kid. “If you wanna grab some more sleep.”

He can see the flash of protest in her face, but then she nods. In the backseat, you pull your jacket over you like a blanket, curling up on the seat. Joel pushes the gas pedal, the engine revving as he finds a comfortable speed. He puts the Linda Ronstadt cassette back in, keeps the volume low enough, and it’s not long before you’re both asleep. He finishes off the coffee, gripping the steering wheel one-handed as the grey sky starts to darken, but not into night. 

He can almost smell it, the shift in the air, the feeling of rain before it comes. His joints ache, and he can hear your voice in his head: old man. He keeps his eyes on the road, humming along with the cassette, and when she croons out Bill and Frank’s song again, his eyes dart to your sleeping form in the backseat.

His eyes slide to Ellie next, passed out in the passenger’s seat, her head tipped back, mouth wide open. That thing crawls up his throat again, but he swallows it back, shakes his head, clears his throat.

Not now.

The thunder starts first, loud rumbles that echo inside the truck cab. You both sleep through the first few, but as the rain starts to fall, he hears you stirring, one hand reaching for his arm, calling his name softly.

“We might have to stop for a bit,” he tells you, covering your hand with his free one. “Dunno how bad it’s gonna get.”

Not thirty minutes later, and he’s pulling the truck to the side of the road, trying to tuck it amongst other abandoned vehicles. Ellie wakes a little later, clearly confused, and you put a hand on her shoulder as you explain why you’ve stopped. Joel does his best to ignore the twist that forms in his gut, seeing you be gentle with her.

Not here.

Thankfully all the food is in the cab of the truck, so you fish out some dry stuff, trail mix and some semi-stale crackers, a sports drink passed between the three of you. Ellie makes a face at the yellow colour, and Joel shakes his head. “They all taste the same.”

“They do not,” you laugh, taking the bottle from Ellie. “Is it weird to say the yellow ones were my favourite?”

“Yes,” Ellie says instantly, making a face as you take a big sip. “It literally looks like pee!”

“Lemon-flavoured,” you shoot back, waggling your eyebrows. The kid barks a laugh, and Joel chews the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling.

A few more puns are told, Joel shaking his head at you both, and you field a few more of Ellie’s questions. Only one of them has you glancing in his direction, unable to give her an answer. Are all the QZs like Boston?

“No,” he says bluntly, staring out the truck windshield, at the watery world beyond, smudged through the soaked glass, “no, they aren’t.”

It’s answer enough for the kid.

The rain refuses to let up, and it’s getting cold in the cab of the truck. You and Ellie switch places, some artful manoeuvring on your part that ends with you more in Joel’s lap than the passenger’s seat. You linger a moment, and he brushes his hand across your back before you’re folding yourself into the other seat. You’d thought to stick the sleeping bags in the cab as well, and Ellie unzips hers, tucking it around herself as she settles into the backseat. It’s not long at all until she’s passed out again, face buried in the sleeping bag.

You shed your boots, and Joel reaches for your sore ankle again, rubbing the same way he had in the forest. You hum happily, leaning half against the door, half against the seat. The blanket is settled over you both, stretched across the console, and Joel lets his hand snake a bit up your pant leg, fingers seeking your warm skin, massaging your muscles.

“You are damn good at that, Joel Miller,” you murmur, watching him from your spot, your head cocked to the side.

He lets the corner of his mouth lift. “I’m an expert when it comes to touching you, baby.”

Your grin matches his. “Ain’t that the truth.”

You both fall quiet, and the only noise is the patter of the rain on the roof of the truck, the softer noise of it against the windows, and Ellie’s quiet breathing. He doesn’t let up on your ankle, and for a long moment, you just stare at each other, your head still tilted to the side, Joel looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“I’m sorry, for snapping on you earlier,” you say, pushing your head against your fist. Your eyes are shiny again.

He squeezes his hand around your leg, pressing into the muscle of your calf. “You don’t have to apologize, Liv.”

“I do,” you say, your voice insistent, and you reach across the space between you, fingers curling in his sleeve, tugging his hands into yours. “It wasn’t fair of me, I just—”

“You were looking out for the kid,” he says, tangling your fingers together. “I know that.”

Both of your heads turn, looking at Ellie’s sleeping form in the back. Joel doesn’t let his gaze linger, focusing on your linked finger instead.

“What are we gonna do, Joel,” you ask, “when this is all over?” When he doesn’t answer right away, you elaborate. “After we get her to the Fireflies, I mean. After we find Tommy.”

He squeezes your knuckles with his own. “I haven’t really thought that far, if I’m bein’ honest.” His brow furrows as he looks at you, sees something unspoken on your face. “Why, what are you thinkin’, baby?”

You lift your shoulder slowly. “I thought maybe…maybe we go back to Lincoln. Bill’s bunker was still full, even after we took what we did. We could give them a proper funeral, clean the place up again, build the walls up. Have our own place.” Your eyes drop to your lap. “Our own home.”

“Is that what you imagined for us?” Joel asks you, reaching over and cupping your chin in his palm, lifting your eyes to his. You lean into his touch, bending forward to make it easier for him. “White picket fence, big house with a yard…” 

The last part goes unspoken, but it’s loud as hell in his mind.

…kids?

Your face twists, a sad smile on your lips as you cover his hand with yours, keeping his hand against your cheek. “You know, I never actually let myself imagine it after I left Austin. Cuz when I finally let myself want that with you, I had to let you go, and once I let himself start to want you again, the world ended.”

Joel’s throat goes thick. You’ve never told him that before. “Want me…again?”

You nod into his palm. “Our birthday. You called me, and we talked, and you—”

“I asked you if Dean had proposed.”

Another nod. “And I told you if he asked, I would have said no. And you told me that you’d always be there for me. I thought about it the whole way home, and I just…” You turn your head, pressing a soft kiss to the centre of his palm. “I never stopped wanting you, Joel. Never stopped loving you. I can’t ever stop.”

A single tear slides down your cheek, and Joel reaches for you, centre console be damned. “C’mere,” he husks, hauling you into his lap, arranging your limbs until you’re comfortable, the blanket now draped over you both. His words are muffled by your hair. “Love you so goddamned much.”

You tilt your head back to press a kiss to the scruff of his jaw. “Love you more.”

+

The road is clear, until it’s not.

You’re not totally sure where you are. The maps have you a bit turned around, and it’s hard as hell to pinpoint a location on the map. You’re in the passenger’s seat again, Joel behind the wheel, Ellie in the back. You split your gaze between the maps and the outside, trying to find some kind of marker, some landmark that might help you figure out where you are. But too many signs are rusted away, the names snapped in half, the highway signs rotted and scattered in pieces on the highway. 

Eventually, things start to look more…industrial. You’re at a loss; you haven’t been this far out of Boston since the outbreak, and even before, you never went Northwest. An overpass has you squinting at the maps, trying to find the number, but the vehicles have grown more concentrated, and Joel manoeuvres the truck around an abandoned ambulance, but then hits the breaks, seeing an eighteen-wheeler stretched sideways along the tunnel beneath the overpass, effectively blocking the way.

“Stay put,” you tell Ellie, tossing the maps onto the dashboard. Joel gestures to the rifle in the backseat and Ellie hands it to him, while you unholster your gun, sliding out of the passenger’s side. 

You walk towards the blocked tunnel slowly, both of your gazes sweeping left and right, every rustle of leaves in the wind making your sense prickle. You feel…uneasy.

Glancing back at the truck, you can see Ellie through the windshield, leaning between the front seats, concern evident on her face. “Joel,” you call as he sinks to one knee, peering through the small space beneath the eighteen-wheeler’s trailer, “we’re not getting through this. None of these cars are movable.” You gesture around, the smashed cars and rusted-out vans only proving your point. “You even know where we are?”

“Kansas City,” he supplies.

You scratch your fingers across your forehead. “Missouri?”

“Sure as fuck ain’t Wyoming,” he grunts, and reaches out a hand. You haul him to his feet, holstering your gun as you start back to the truck. “I need to look at the map.”

Ellie glances between you as you get back into the truck, instantly handing Joel the map, trying to make sense of one of the smaller ones. “How far back are we gonna have to go to get around this?” you ask Joel, jutting your chin at the map in his hands. He traces his finger across the highway lines, but doesn’t say anything, just sighs. “Joel?”

“Screw it,” he says, and shifts the truck into reverse. Ellie falls back into her seat as Joel tosses you the maps.

“What are you doing?”

“We can jog right around this tunnel,” he says, three-point-turning the truck around, bracing his hand on the back of your seat as he does so, “take the next ramp,” he shifts it into drive, “and we’re back on the road, a minute tops.”

You reach for the map again, not totally convinced as he drives off the on-ramp, leading away from the tunnel.

Somehow, you end up in the city.

“We’re going the wrong way,” you say, shaking your head at him as the buildings start to become more and more concentrated. “Joel, this is taking us in the opposite direction of the highway.”

“Well, then where the fuck is the highway?” he shoots back at you, exasperated. His tone makes you bristle. “Tell me which way to go.”

“I don’t know where it is,” you say, smacking your hand against the map. “I’m all turned around, and I have no clue where the fuck we are right now.”

He glances over you, turning onto the next street. “Don’t look at the state map, Liv, look at the inset.”

“You look at the fucking inset!” You heave a sigh, shoving your hand through your hair. “Sorry, I’ve never been to Kansas fucking City before. We’re going…north. I think.”

“And the highway is—”

“West,” Ellie supplies from the backseat, and when you shoot her a look over your shoulder, she shrugs her shoulders, holds her hands out apologetically.

“Okay, so it’s gotta be the right,” Joel grunts, but then shakes his head, murmuring what the fuck?

“We’re going in a circle,” you sigh, dropping the map in your lap. “We’re just—”

“Stop!” Ellie says suddenly, leaning between the seats. Joel slams on the brakes, the tires screeching as the truck come to a halt. She points out Joel’s window. “Is that the QZ?”

Your heart slams against your ribs as you see the QZ wall. It looks…abandoned, for lack of a much better word. The gate in the wall is wide open, and your hand shoots out, landing on Joel’s leg, curling your fingers in the fabric of his jeans. “Where the fuck is FEDRA?”

“Hey!” someone shouts, and you nearly jump out of your skin. Joel goes rigid. “Please help!”

The man stumbles forward on the street ahead of you, clutching his side, half-draped in a blanket. “Seatbelts,” Joel grits out, and you do as he says, turning to make sure Ellie gets hers on.

She stares at you wide-eyed as Joel grips the wheel, steps on the gas. “Aren’t we gonna help him?”

“No,” you reply, pressing yourself against the seat as the truck accelerates down the road. “No, we’re not.”

The man shouts, diving for cover, and you spot someone on the fire escape of the building on the right side of the road. “Joel!” you shout, the rev of the engine nearly drowning you out, but a moment later, the windshield crunches, a cinderblock splintering the glass. The impact throws the truck of course for a second, but Joel straightens it out, just in time for the tires to roll over a spike strip in the road. You can hear the air hissing from the tires, the truck rocking from left to right across the road. Ellie squeaks from the backseat, and you throw your arm back, your chest going tight when her hand wraps in yours.

Another man blocks the road, lifting a gun and pointing it right at the truck. Joel shouts a curse, cranking the wheel all the way to the right, and the truck nearly slides across the pavement, speeding right through the glass front of a laundromat. The hood crunches inward as it slams into the row of washing machines, and you’re jolted in your seat, your arm bent at an awkward angle, hand still wrapped around Ellie’s.

“You okay?” Joel asks, palm coming down on your leg. “You’re not hurt?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m fine,” you reply, gritting your teeth against the slight pain in your shoulder. “Nothing major. Ellie?”

“I don’t think so,” she answers, a waver in her voice.

Gunshots ring out, and you all duck on instinct. It keeps coming, shattering the glass doors of the machines, and Joel pushes at your shoulder, ripping your hand from Ellie’s. “Belts off, out of the truck!” he shouts, more gunshots cutting him off. You do as he says, reaching for the handle of the door. They keep shooting and you reach for the back door the moment you’re out, nearly yanking Ellie out of the truck. Joel goes for the rifle, and when you shut the door again, you put Ellie between you two, leaning against the truck as Joel loads the gun. She has your bat clutched in her hands.

There are more of them, more gunshots ringing through the laundromat, pinging off the body of the truck, flying over your heads to the back wall. Joel meets your eyes over Ellie’s head, and you draw your gun in one hand, and reach for the bat with the other. Ellie gives it willingly. You look around for something — anything — that might help, and finally, you spot a hole in the wall to your right, a kid-sized hole in the drywall leading to the other side.

“Ellie,” you say quietly, putting your hand on her arm. It makes her flinch. “You see that hole over there?” She follows your eyes, her chin lowering once. “You’re gonna squeeze through it, okay?” Gunfire cuts you off, and she grabs your hand, squeezing it between both of hers, her palms clammy. 

“Last chance!” the fuckers outside yell. It makes your gut twist.

You shake your head, your attention turning to the kid, who now has a faraway expression on her face. “Ellie. When I say go, you crawl to the wall, you squeeze through, and you don’t come out until one of us gets you, okay?”

A bullet shatters the passenger’s side window, glass raining down on you. Out of reflex, you throw yourself over Ellie, protecting her. Her head whips around as more bullets ping off the truck. “They’re not gonna hit you,” Joel tells her. Her eyes are everywhere, and you try to brush glass away as Joel grabs the front of her coat. “Look at me!”

She listens. A bullet skims off the concrete floor beside your hand and it makes you flinch, an unseen mark, the burn of metal making you snatch your hand up off the floor. 

“They’re not gonna hit you,” Joel says, his eyes locked with Ellie’s. “You stay down, you stay low, you stay quiet. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says meekly, with a nod.

“Go!” Joel shouts, and you both swing upwards, aiming your weapons. From the corner of your eye, you can see Ellie slide across the floor. You just keep shooting, training your gun on anything that moves until you know she’s against the wall. You empty your clip, dropping to your knee to reload, and she’s through the hole, behind the wall.

She’s safe.

You and Joel pull the trigger at the same time, your bullets finding new homes, dropping two of your attackers. “Motherfuckers!” someone yells, and you drop back down behind the truck. Your chest is heaving, your eyes darting to the hole in the wall. Joel whispers your name, juts his chin toward an old vending machine at the back of the laundromat. He moves first, and you follow, feeling his hand on your back, pushing you to safety.

The crunch of glass gives the guy away, and you straighten, pushing Joel’s shoulder down and pulling the trigger at the same time. It only takes one shot to drop him. You’re trying to catch your breath, forcing your eyes away from the blood now pooling around the guy’s head. Joel pulls the lever on the rifle, but it’s jammed. He curses, yanking on it hard, just as back doors you hadn’t noticed burst open, a new opponent barreling through.

Without thinking, you throw yourself in the line of fire, angling yourself in front of Joel. There’s a barrel of a shotgun in your face, and your instincts kick into gear. You swing the bat up, knocking the barrel away as the man pulls the trigger, the shot hitting the ceiling instead of you. But it’s not enough to loosen his grip.

The butt of the shotgun cracks across your face a second later, your vision instantly tinging black, and you go toppling, your head hitting the ground hard. Joel screams your name, but the sound is distant. The bat skitters out of your grip, but you have the wherewithal to keep your fingers tight around your gun. Joel, where is J—

You black out for a moment, the world slipping away completely, but a loud bang yanks you back, pained grunting following. “Now you’re gonna fuckin’ pay!” Your head lolls to the side, and you can’t quite make out what’s happening. Your head screams at you to move, and you see Joel’s boots scraping against the floor. Someone’s on him, someone’s—

Another shot rings out. It makes your ears ring. Someone shouts, and Joel starts coughing. He’s gasping, wheezing, crawling on his hands and knees toward you. He grabs your face in his hands, and something on your cheek feels hot, too hot. “Liv,” he calls, his voice hoarse. “Baby, are you okay?”

Slowly, he helps you up. Your head is spinning, but over his shoulder, you see Ellie step forward, her gun trained on your attacker, now sprawled on the floor. Joel’s eyes follow yours, and they widen when he sees her weapon of choice. The realization makes your heart twist; she shot the guy attacking you.

Joel pulls his hand from your face, and you see it’s covered in blood. The man groans, and when he spots Ellie and her gun, he lifts his hands in surrender. “No, no, no, no, it’s okay! It’s over! We’re not fighting anymore.” He wheezes, clearly in pain, and Joel gets to his feet, reaching down for you, his eyes trained on the guy.

He looks young. Too young.

“I’m gonna go home,” he says, “and I’ll tell everyone you’re good.” He starts crying, his voice going high-pitched. “I don’t know what to do! My legs don’t work!”

Even through your haze, you can put two and two together. She must have hit him in the spine.

“My mom isn’t far,” he continues, near sobbing. “If you could get me to her.” His eyes cut to you and Joel, now on your feet. You stumble slightly, but Joel has a tight grip on you. “We could trade with you guys. We could be friends. I didn’t know. I’m Bryan. I’m Bryan.”

Still with a tight grip on you, Joel turns to Ellie. She lowers the gun, and he holds his hand out. You open your mouth to say something, but she sniffs, shaking her head, and hands it to him. One-handed, Joel tucks it into the waist of his jeans.

“Take her,” he says to Ellie, and it takes a second for you to realize he’s referring to you. His grip on you disappears, and for a moment, you think you might topple over, but Ellie fits herself beneath your arm, one arm tight around your waist, tugging your arm around her shoulders.

Joel pulls out his knife. “Wait, wait, wait!” Bryan shouts, and pulls a knife from his belt, letting it clatter to the floor. “You can have it! It’s a good knife.”

“Turn around,” Joel says, nailing Ellie with dark eyes that send a chill down your spine. His tone clears away some of the haze in your head. “Now.”

“No, no, no, no!” Bryan shouts again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Liv,” Joel calls, his tone still shiver-inducing. Blinking hard, you turn Ellie towards the wall, angling yourself in front of her. She’s still holding you upright, and buries her face in your chest. You can feel the tears on her cheeks, and you lift your hand, letting it rest on the back of her head. 

“Please, please, please,” Bryan whimpers.

“Cover your ears,” you whisper to Ellie, propping your chin on the top of her head. Blood drips down your face, sticky and hot, and you ignore it as best you can, though it’s hard to ignore the throb in your cheek.

“I’m sorry, please! You don’t have to! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please!”

Ellie’s breathing gets heavy, the front of your shirt almost damp with it.

You hear Joel take the man’s life. You wait until the gasping stops, and then you tap Ellie’s shoulder. “It’s over.” For a moment, she doesn’t move, squeezing both arms around you. You sway slightly, and Joel’s hand touches between your shoulders. It makes you flinch, and Ellie jumps back, pressing herself to the wall.

He’s got your chin in his hand a second later, turning your head slightly, giving you a once-over. “You okay? Nothing broken?”

“Hurts,” you admit, and he wipes away a bit of the blood with his sleeve. “I’ll live.”

Ellie’s eyes dart past Joel, towards where Bryan lies, and he steps to the side, blocking her view, taking you with him. Joel gestures to the hole. “Need you to find a door or something, we’re not gonna fit through that.”

She nods, her lip quivering, and immediately climbs back through the hole, disappearing from view. Joel grabs your chin again, and you notice how heavy his breathing is, how shaky his hands are. It’s quiet, for a moment, no more gunfire or shouting. “Scared me.”

“Makes two of us,” you agree, sighing as he leans in, pressing a kiss to the uninjured side of your face, right at your jaw. “We need to get out of here.”

He glances over your shoulder at the wrench of the truck and the front of the laundromat. “Truck’s toast, we’ll figure it out. We need to find somewhere safe, for the night at least. High up, find a way out of the city. And get you cleaned up.” He bends slightly, peering through the hole in the wall. “Ellie!”

“There’s some stuff against the door,” she calls back, and you can hear her sigh.

Joel’s jaw goes tight. “Well, can you move it?”

It’s slow-going. Your head throbs with every step, twin shocks of pain in your skull and along your cheek. Joel’s grip is tight around your waist, his head whipping in every direction as he keeps you close to the building, and then he leans you against the front of brick as Ellie pulls whatever’s blocking the door out of the way, Joel pushing hard against it to help. The moment the door swings inward, he rushes you in, shuts the door, and then motions for Ellie to help push the table back into place. “Let’s go,” he says to her. “Fast.”

“Right.”

The door clangs as the table is pushed back into it. The noise makes your ears ring, and you sag against the table, exhaling heavily. Ellie sniffs loudly, and both you and Joel look at her. “I’m okay,” she says quickly, dropping down to grab her backpack. “I’m good.” She sets the bag on the table, unzips it. “I, uh, got some food in here still, and I got your light,” she says, and pulls out Joel’s flashlight, handing it to him. She looks between the two of you, wincing when she sees the blood on your face. “Fuck, Liv, are you—”

“I’ll be fine, kid,” you tell her, ignoring the way the words make your head throb. Your breath hitches, and you glance across at the hole in the wall. “Shit, Joel, the bat.”

His face goes hard, and you know what he’s gonna say. You can’t go back over there. There are bodies, evidence of the violence, and whoever sent the men will come looking. Standing here as long as you have is risk enough. “Liv, we—”

“I’ll go,” Ellie says, already walking toward the wall. “I can grab it and just—”

The distant screech of tires makes you freeze and you flash your hand out, grabbing the back of her coat and hauling her backward. “Leave it,” you grit out, lifting yourself up off the table. “We need to go now.”

“Where?” Ellie asks, and Joel heads to the door in the back of the room, clicking his flashlight on as he pushes it open slowly. Ellie fits herself under your arm again, your forearm resting on her backpack. “What are we gonna do now?”

“We go up,” you tell her, echoing what Joel had said earlier. “See if we can spot a path outta here.”

Joel glances over his shoulder at you, eyeing your arm around the kid’s shoulders. “Stay close.”

She nods. “Got it.”

You follow Joel down a hallway that leads out into an alley beside the building. There are cars scattered, and as the rumble of a truck gets closer, you duck down, wincing as you go, hiding behind an SUV as a pickup rolls past the mouth of the alleyway, followed by a larger armoured truck.

They start shouting Bryan’s name.

Joel signals for you to stay put, and darts across the alley, to the side door of the building across the way. You hold your breath as he pulls it open, peering inside before turning back to you and Ellie, giving a quick nod. You rise slowly, but then push yourself, moving as fast as you can across the pavement to Joel’s side. He leads you inside, and Ellie pulls the door shut behind you.

It’s dark inside, and for a moment, you pause. Joel puts his gun away, and you follow suit. You sag against the wall slightly, and he’s got his hand under your chin. “Look at me,” he commands, and you listen, blinking hard as you stare back at him. “Think it’s a concussion?”

“No,” you tell him, lifting your head out of his palm. “I’m fine, Joel.” It comes out snappier than you intend, and your body gives you away, wobbling slightly with the turn of your head. “Fuck. I just need to sit down a minute, or something.”

As quietly as possible, you make your way through the building. It seems to be some kind of abandoned retail space, a bunch of different stores and shops connected by one main hallway. Right at the end of the block is an old coffee house, and Joel decides it’s a good place to spot, seeing the newspaper-covered windows and dark-painted walls. 

“Are we okay in here?” Ellie asks as you walk in, Joel heading for the front of the shop. You watch as he peels back a small corner of the newspaper, just enough to peer through, and you sink into a chair nearby.

“For now,” you tell her, and wipe some more of the blood from your face. The bleeding’s stopped, as far as you can tell, and something in your chest pangs as Ellie reaches into her bag and pulls out what looks like an old t-shirt.

“Here,” she says, handing it to you. “It’s mostly clean.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “Thanks, kid.”

Silence settles over the three of you as Joel peers out the window. “That wasn’t FEDRA that attacked us,” you say as he sinks back a little.

“Wasn’t Fireflies either,” Ellie says, and you nod. “Then who are they?”

“People,” Joel sighs. “Looks like they’re checkin’ out apartment buildings first.” He shakes his head. “But they’ll be comin’ through these places soon enough.” He rises to his feet, turning and walking towards you. Ellie takes his place, looking through the crack in the newspaper. He taps your shoulder as soon as he’s close enough, and takes the t-shirt from you. You can almost hear the ache in his knees as he crouches down and starts wiping the blood from your face. His face is a hard mask, and you can stop yourself from cupping his cheek, swiping your thumb across his cheekbone. “When he burst through the door back there,” he mutters, shaking his head ever so slightly, “and then I saw you drop. I heard the shot, but I didn’t see where he—”

“Joel,” you murmur, brushing your fingers through his hair. “We’re fine. I’m fine.”

“Cracked you damn good,” he replies, dabbing lightly. You try not to wince. “Lucky it didn’t break your cheekbone.”

Before you can respond, Ellie pipes up. “There’s a really tall building, like, four blocks away.”

“Yeah,” Joel grunts, and hands you the now-stained t-shirt. You hold it against your cheek, watching as he sinks into the chair across from yours. “Saw it.”

“That’s where we’re going?” she asks, glancing at you over her shoulder. “Up?”

Joel nods. “As soon as we don’t hear a truck, we move. Fast as we can.”

He props his elbow on the table, puts his face in his hand, and you reach over, curling your fingers around his forearm. He’s shaking.

You murmur his name as Ellie slides down to sit against the wall, drawing her knees up to his chest. He doesn’t answer you, but drops his hand, catching yours in the process. “Are you okay?” Ellie asks, and when your eyes flick to her, you see she’s addressing Joel.

“I’m all right,” he grumbles, but his fingers twitch against yours, his brow furrowing. Damn that hard mask of his. “Are you…all right?” he asks in return, and you press your fingers against his wrist. His heartbeat races beneath his skin.

“Yeah,” Ellie says quietly, but she doesn’t elaborate.

“Joel,” you murmur again, and he shakes his head, staring down at his boots. You don’t have to see his face to know the guilt, the realization. If Ellie hadn’t done what she had, you’d probably all be laying dead in that laundromat.

“Thing is,” Joel says after a moment, his voice gruff, “is I didn’t hear that guy comin’. And…you…you shouldn’t have had to…you know?”

God, he’s bad at this. You know what he’s trying to say to her, but you can’t try and take over. He needs to say this himself.

“Well, you’re glad I did, right?” Ellie asks, and her eyes dart to you for a second.

“You’re just a kid,” he says, and suddenly your chest feels tight. “You shouldn’t know what it means to…” He trails off, but then lifts a hand. “It’s not like you killed him, but, shootin’ or…I know what it’s like, first time you, uh, hurt someone like that.”

Her eyes slide fully to you for a moment, and you just nod in return, the message silent. I do too.

“If you, uh, w—uh,” Joel tries to continue, but shakes his head, looking at you, a near cry for help in his eyes. “I’m not good at this.”

“Yeah, you really aren’t,” Ellie quips, and you squeeze his hand.

“I mean, it was my fault,” he says, shaking his head some more. “You shouldn’t have had to. And I’m sorry.”

You haven’t had a chance, really, to take in what happened. What Ellie did. Listening to Joel now, feeling his pulse race beneath your fingers, and seeing tears on the kid’s face as he tells her he’s sorry…It breaks your heart.

“I should have heard it,” you say, and Joel’s eyes flick to you. You lift your chin, ignoring the way your gut twists as Ellie wipes her cheeks. “I should have shot first, and I didn’t. I’m sorry, too, Ellie. I am. We’re here to protect you, and we…Joel’s right. You shouldn’t have had to do it.”

She nails you to your spot with those big dark eyes, wet with tears. That thing you’ve been feeling since this kid barrelled her way into your lives screams at you to grab her, to hug her close and tell her everything is gonna be okay, but you feel frozen, stuck in place, unable to move.

“It wasn’t my first time,” Ellie tells you both, and your brows raise. You can see the shock on Joel’s face, too.

Your fingers tap against Joel’s wrist. “Give her the gun.”

His head snaps back to you, one brow lifting slightly.

“It’s hers,” you prompt, lifting your chin slightly. “Give it back.”

Slowly, he moves over, closing the small space between the two of you and her, leaning down on one knee as he pulls the gun out of the back of his jeans. Ellie’s face perks up as he hands the small pistol back to her after pulling out the clip. “Show me your grip.”

She stares up at him as she does as asked, obeying when Joel tells her to take her finger off the trigger.

“Now, who taught you that?”

“FEDRA school,” she answers.

“Figures,” he grunts, and you push your chin into your palm as he reaches for her hands, adjusting her grip, showing her the proper way. The thing in your chest relaxes slightly, watching him with her. “Thumb over your thumb. Left hand squeezes down on the right. You got it?” She nods, doing what he tells her. You hear his voice soften ever so slightly. “There ya go.”

Ellie looks at you over Joel’s shoulder, almost like she’s looking for your approval. You try to blink away the wetness that’s formed in your eyes, and nod at her, giving her a little grin.

“Now, look it,” Joel says, and grabs the top of the gun, trying to pull it away. But she’s got the grip right and the gun doesn’t budge. Joel pulls again, nearly yanking her off the wall, and Ellie laughs. Then she relaxes, the laughter trailing off, but the smile on her face stays in place. “Okay?”

She nods. Joel gestures for the gun back, slides the clip back into place, and Ellie watches his movements. He hands it back to her, handle first, and the triumphant look on her face almost makes you laugh. She goes to put it in her pocket, but Joel stops her.

“Nuh-uh, you put it in your pack. You’ll shoot your damn ass off.” He gets back to his feet with a loud groan, and walks back to you. “How’s your head?”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, and take his offered hand, letting him help you up. You stuff the bloody t-shirt in the pocket of your coat. “I’ll feel better when we find somewhere safe for the night.” As of on cue, your face throbs so hard your eyes flutter shut. Joel squeezes your hip. “I’d murder for an ice pack right now.”

It’s a few more minutes, a few more pauses to determine where the truck that rumbles past goes, before Joel walks to the shop’s front door, starting to pull at the wood that’s been nailed over it. You try to help, but he waves you off. Once the door is free, Ellie comes up beside you, her hand slipping into yours. Joel sees it, and his eyes move from your hands to your faces, one at a time.

“We’ll get through this,” he says to Ellie, and you tighten your grip on her hand.

She gives a little nod. “I know.”

Without another word, Joel yanks the door open, and you step out into the daylight.

PREV | NEXT

[mbirnsings-71]

🪶🪶🪶🥹🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲 can i have more pleassseeee

also 💍 bc i have a bias PELASE

okay okay you can have more <3 Also because it's you I'll deviate from my wedding planner promise for something a little more in line with our chats in DMs. It's still wedding planner I assure you, just not in the present.

Feathers in my hair, got me wishing you were here. (I think this is 9 sentences but I could very much be wrong so like uh you just get an extra treat trust-)

“Yeah, I did. It was getting a little too long to keep up with you know?” Scar replies back because it was partially the truth. His hair really had been getting too long to keep up with in the terms of a death game, and it just made sense to cut it when it was getting in the way… But it’s not the full reason. The other half of the reason is that he needed a change. He was so alone in his sunflower fields and the days were bleeding together all too painfully so he did something impulsive. He cut his hair before he went to tend to the sunflower fields, and while the shadow people don’t make any comments about anything, he likes to think they liked his new look as well. Grian’s silent for a moment before replying with “Mm… Shame it looked nice when it was long.”  “Really?” “Well to me anyways- The short hair does suit you as well though.” Grian seems to try to placate him, confirming that he does like the haircut, but Scar isn’t dumb and he can tell Grian wants to say more about it than he’s letting on. 

"What about a desert Wedding?"

"Alright Jim, fess up." Joel finally speaks up after the dreadfully quiet breakfast they just had. "Fess up?" Jimmy asks back, trying to delay the inevitable answer he'll have to give Joel one way or another. He knows Joel is owed an explanation, but he didn't think his friend would ask for one so soon. "Fess up, because I want to know why it's been months, actually no, close to a year since you last called or texted Lizzie or Me. Not to mention the first thing you do is show up on my doorstep asking for a place to stay with your cousin, who I only met once mind you, while in strange attire at blumming four in the morning. So I want some answers Jim, cause Lizzie and I were worried." Joel states, and Jimmy can tell that he's being genuine with it, no usual sarcasm or joking tone attached to the words at all.

Again love you Ru ru <3

[blueinkscribe]

FOR THE VALENTINES DAY ASK GAME !!!

zedbeans . zedaphbeans zedishbeans . whatever ZEDPAH X SMAMLISHBEANS OLZZDERZIDIZ PLEASE

maybe with god x mortal or scientist x scientist assistant? i have a post with some dynamics of them if u want on my blog . im crazy about them rn

The first time Zedaph meets Joel is on an ordinary Tuesday. One moment, Zedaph is alone in his camp, the next, there's a being of blinding light, a being that seems to be much greater than the body it wears.

Zedaph crooks an eyebrow at him.

Joel introduces himself as God of Heroes, and Zedaph introduces himself and Zedaph, God of forgetting where he put his pickaxe.

Joel seems taken aback at that.

Zedaph counts that as a win against a God.

The second time Zedaph meets Joel is in the heat of a battle.

In a powerful blast that knocks all his attackers to the ground, Joel appears before Zedaph.

Concerned, Joel inquires about his well being.

Annoyed, Zedaph tells him he's handled worse and would have been fine.

Perplexed, Joel stands frozen in place as Zedaph walked away.

The third time Zedaph meets Joel is when he's sick.

It's just a cold, nothing at all dangerous, and yet, one night, Joel appears and with but a touch of his hand, takes away the ache and sleep from Zedaphs body.

Zedaph rolls his eyes and congratulates Joel for officially being as powerful as a cup of tea and a few days of rest.

After that, there's barely a day Zedaph doesn't see Joel.

Joel seems oddly attached to Zedaph, which makes him wonder if he's really doing such a bad job as a hero that he has to permanently be accompanied by a God.

Joel assures him this is not the case, and makes Zedaph immediately regret his word when Joel starts to muse about what he proclaims to be “the tales of Zedaph, hero of heroes.”

Zedaph just wants to sleep.

It doesn't take long for Zedaph to snap, annoyed by the constant looming of the God, hovering over him to the point where he feels he cannot breathe.

Out of nothing but frustration, he asks Joel if this is some strange courting attempt.

This effectively shuts Joel up. Well, for a moment, at least.

“I wondered how long it would take you to notice”

[anhed-nia]

I'm sorry about this post. It's really long and I don't know if I had a point to make! But I didn't realize I was maybe just torturing myself and others until I was neck deep in it, and now I feel obligated to post it due to sunk cost fallacy. Sorry again. I guess this is how you find out who your real friends are.

In the pursuit of my masochistic project of understanding the enduring Phantom of the Opera phenomenon, last night I spontaneously went to a rep screening of Joel Schumacher's Oscar-nominated 2004 adaptation. This was a singalong audience participation type of thing, which I would usually avoid at all costs especially for something I have no emotional investment in, but it was just too strange that it was randomly happening while I'm in the middle of this assignment, so I went! We all got fake roses and Phantom masks and rubber bracelets that say OPERA GHOST and little artificial candles to light up during the big chandelier scenes, and there was a singing contest before the movie started and I almost had a panic attack, but I managed to maintain my sense of humor. Apparently the climate control was totally broken and it was oppressively hot in the house, to the point that I wound up sitting there in a painted-on Uniqlo undershirt for most of the movie, and I couldn't bring myself to get dressed again for about half an hour after it was over. I walked down to the bar attached to the theater where the queen running their drag bingo night and the bartender were laughing about how they should leave the heat blasting because everyone was buying a lot more drinks. The bartender quizzed us drinkers about which theaters were we in and were they hot; I said "This is not an outdoor shirt!" and everyone laughed. I'm so glad I wasn't wearing a weird bra.

Anyway.

It would be too much to say I had high hopes for the Schumacher PHANTOM, but I had a certain amount of optimism about it; he seemed like a really good choice for this irredeemably kitschy product, but the truth is that the movie is completely neutered. It really needed some of that BATMAN FOREVER juice, but the whole thing just has no energy. Apparently Andrew Lloyd Webber had "complete creative control" and I think it really shows, it's very limp and undistinguished, and simultaneously pretentious and stupid. Sometimes things can be described as "lavish" because they are so exquisitely realized, and sometimes they are "lavish" on account of the fact that they are just extremely busy, even though no single detail rises to the surface as memorable or remarkable. Even the chandelier, which is as much a staple of this story as the mask, is just not that impressive. There it is, a big old chandelier, it's round and it's shiny and you know exactly what's going to happen to it.

Any comparison with the 1925 Lon Chaney version is inevitably unflattering; the costumes are bad, the staging is boring--I mean there is just no excuse for a big Hollywood production to NOT go ham on the masquerade ball, WTF?!--and of course, the Phantom himself is really uninspiring. The most important part of any Phantom iteration is the unmasking, and this movie has TWO (2) whole unmasking scenes and both of them suck! We all know that no Phantom design has been remotely as good as Chaney's nearly 100-year old version, but still, Joel Schumacher has worked on movies with some really freaky makeup effects, he should have given us something better than this. The whole thing just feels like they were trying as hard as possible not to surprise or offend anyone. I blame ALW.

I see this image and I hear wind whistling through their ears.

The problem with the unmasking sceneS here (besides the lack of visual impact) is that they both feel really unmotivated. Actually, this is almost ALWAYS a problem. It's the biggest moment in the story and you shouldn't be asking yourself WHY it is happening. Plus, the reason why it is happening lies with the heroine Christine, and if your main character's motivations for doing something so outrageous are unclear or uncompelling, then your whole story is in trouble. As a viewer you can tell yourself that she does it because she is overwhelmed by curiosity, or overpowered by a compassionate urge to see the Phantom as he is, or that she sees the unmasking as a way of defanging her captor...but you shouldn't have to tell yourself all that stuff. The movie should tell you. And who the fuck is Christine anyway, shouldn't we know? In other versions Christine is so devoted to her career that she readily sacrifices her love life and embraces the absurdity of a sort of spirit of opera communicating with her and guiding her path. Some versions dramatize the conflict between her monastic commitment to opera and her desire for real relationships. In the AWL version, Christine is chiefly devoted to getting attention. She falls in love, from minute to minute, with anyone who looks at her long enough. She's in love with her dead dad, so she's just frantically in search of a living boyfriend and she seems pretty indiscriminate about it. It's kind of gross and pathetic and it makes it really hard to care about her or the burning question of which boyfriend will she choose.

I've never said this before in my entire life, but Minnie Driver is the best thing in this movie--followed by the old queens who take over the theater, followed by all of the bit players, followed by, at the very bottom, the main cast. None of the leads are really inspired casting choices, but it's hard to blame them for their output because there is nothing they could possibly do with such empty roles. Who is Christine? The girl who has to pick a boyfriend. Who is Raoul? The guy who wants to be Christine's boyfriend. Who is the Phantom? The other guy who wants to be Christine's boyfriend. I mean there's this brief, grotesque excuse made for what the Phantom's problem is, but it comes far too late and explains too little. It just boils down to ye olde "not getting laid drives you nuts, so we should be afraid of ugly people." There are no personalities to be found here, and casting generically pretty actors of no distinction really hurt things in the characterization department.

Full disclosure though: I'm very faceblind. I have a lot of trouble identifying actors, and sometimes I can't even tell people apart within one movie. So, because I didn't look up very much about this production going in, I was sitting there for at least 90 solid minutes constantly thinking:

Is that Patrick Wilson? That's Patrick Wilson. It is, right? Patrick? Wilson? Yeah no it definitely is. Like for sure. Right? PaTRICK? WILson??? Pa.........Wi........

At a certain point after I finally accepted that it was probably him I just started laughing every time I saw him. But to be totally fair to ME, this presentation barely resembles a real live person:

And that hair is unacceptable. I'm sorry, Patrick Wilson. It's not your fault. I really liked the INSIDIOUS sequel you directed even though no one else did, so I'm sure we can be special friends.

The main effect of the Schumacher/ALW PHANTOM was...making me really aware of how much I like the Menahem Golan one with Robert Englund. Really! I thought I didn't like it. I know I saw it when I was young, when I had major league Freddy Kreuger fever (worse than now, somehow), so it would seem like if it didn't get its hooks in me then, it never would. But now that I have sat through...many Phantom iterations, I have become aware that it is genuinely one of the better attempts on the story. It has a lot of personality! It's trashy and juicy and a lot of fun. It even looks pretty good sometimes! I fondly remember specific costume details, which I cannot say about the big expensive ALW one. I'm not here to tell you that it's a great example of cinema or something, but it is vastly more entertaining than much of what's been done with this story by more reputable people. You'd think it would be hampered by the lack of a proper mask, but the gory unmasking scene is spectacular, AND it gets around the question of why Christine unmasks the Phantom which has not been answered satisfactorily by almost any movie. I was pining for the Englund edition for all 2.5 hours of this ALW debacle. I was even pining for Jill Schoelen as Christine! Not that I have a problem with Jill Schoelen, she's very charming. It's just that I hate POPCORN, which she stars in and which is itself a kind of Phantom adaptation. I'm not watching it again, though, no matter what. My agita.

[iamsherlocked1479]

Chapter 14

A/N: Okay so I know I usually put these at the end but the song i've attached today kinda plays its own role in the story with it being what i wanted the song the reader plays. Music is very important to me and helps me write these stories so i would apreciate if you listened along too! But as always I can't force ypou too but for reference (i'll add it in bractes anyways) Sherlock starts playing at 2:34 and they play together at 2:49. But yeah happy readng and for refernce i only know the parts of the song thans to a tiktok account called joelsvnny so please check him out!

You entered the cafe to find Professor Hiddleston sitting at a table at the corner of the room, his hands clasped in front of him as his eyes bore into the computer screen in front of him. His blonde curls were starting to grow and the sun was in just the right angle to make it look like his hair was glowing, causing you to pause for a moment to stare at him. Since you had been in his class, you had not really paid attention to the professor but you quietly admitted to yourself he was moderately attractive. His ocean blue eyes looked up from the screen and met with yours, a smile playing on his lips almost immediately when he spotted you in the doorway to the cafe, watching him.

“Y/n, it's so nice to see you again.” He smiled shaking your hand “I was sorry to hear about what happened to you, kidnapping, not usually what happens my students.”

“Oh right, yeah I can understand the confusion that would come with that.” You laugh nervously “thank you anyway professor, for asking to meet with me.” You say as you sit down and tuck yourself in.

“Please, no need to be professional, this isn't university. Call me Tom.” He smiled warmly

“Right, so Tom.” You paused it felt a bit weird. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“You, if i’m correct, you write your own work outside of what I assigned to you? Sorry if this seems odd, your friend erm louise came and spoke to me, she uh can be quite convincing when she needs to be.” He laughed rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about her, honestly I didn't know she would do that.” You take a sip of your coffee which was brought to you a second ago.

“Yes, so I read a few of your pieces that she gave to me, again it was more of a forced thing and I thought they had some real potential. So I'm here to propose an offer.” He took a moment to glance at the window furrowing his brow. “I’m sorry but is that Sherlock Holmes?” You turned your head and cursed under your breath as you saw Sherlock peering in through the window gesturing you to come outside.

“I’m sorry, just ignore him, he's uh my roommate and well he’s a bit well, strange. And I would say overprotective after what happened.” You sigh and ignore the now frequent buzzing of your phone

“Right, well I have a few hours between classes every week and I was wondering if you would like to meet up occasionally and I would tutor you to help get your work done. I also have a contact in the publishing industry who could be of use if I could send him your details?” He asked

“Y-yes oh my god that would be amazing.” You jumped in your seat with excitement and at that very moment Sherlock burst through the door.

“Y/n Mrs hudson found some of your old things i thought I’d let you know.” He cleared his throat finally noticing you were with another human. “Oh, apologies uh, Sherlock Holmes.” He held out his hand

“Yes and i am-

“Professor Thomas Hiddleston, a teacher of  English language who lives just outside london.” Sherlock smiled as he gripped you professors hand

“How did you do?”

“Oh well he is a detective.” You laugh trying to cover sherlocks creepy demeanor

“Of course.” Tom laughs nervously “well I suppose I should get going, i have a train to catch.” He got up and you copped shaking his hand “and y/n, if you get stuck im just a call away.” He smiled and put his arm on your shoulder. Sherlock noticed this and grabbed your arm with a scowl and pulled you from the cafe.

“I’m sorry, but what the hell?!” You pull your arm away from him.

“Oh come on, he was so trying to get in your bed.” Sherlock announced 

“He was helping me out, he has a girlfriend for christ sake!” You huff pushing open the front door of baker street.

“That doesn’t mean anything, you’re you!” He gestured to you

“Wow the flattery is real sherlock.” You say sarcastically. You walk up the stairs and find a box of your old things had been placed on the coffee table in the living room.

“Mrs hudson was having a clear out and asked you to do the same, I’ve already looked through some interesting things.” He says tracing his fingers over the box.

“You really have no perspective on personal items do you, or privacy apparently.” You say searching through the box

“Yet you still slept with me.” He smirked. You bite the inside of your cheek while rolling your eyes. You look in the box and smile as you pull out your old violin. “Interesting, what's that?” He asks

“It's an output so I can attach it to amps and loop pedals?” You say back as if it wasn’t obvious 

“Well then it's not a proper violin, mine doesn’t do that.” He says taking the instrument from you

“Well maybe yours isn’t a proper violin.” You joke back

“Anyways, why would one need a loop pedal for a violin?”

“To compose and play songs that weren't exactly made for violins.” You rummage through the box as he continues 

“So you're telling me you played pop songs on a classical instrument.” He huffs “humans are strange.”

“You are human, you are human right?” You joke “oh shit look, my old loop pedal.” You pull out your old loop pedal and brush off the dust.

“Then enlighten me, play something.” He holds out your violin and you stand there just staring at him.

“Well, it might be out of tune, you know it's been a while.” You look at the floor, it's not like you didn’t want to play it. But it's him, for whatever reason he likes you, you didn’t want to lose that. He lifts the violin to his cheek and runs the bow along each string.

“Sounds good to me.” He hands the violin to you again and you take it gently and release a long sigh. “Use the loop pedal.” He adds with a smile, he liked it when you did as you were told.

“Okay then, i’ll do a song I learned a while ago, how about a song called another love. Are you familiar?” 

“Vaguely but yet again I know everything” He replies watching as you plug in the loop pedal, he takes a seat in his chair and watches as you ensure everything works

“Okay, uh so first you have to do the staccato parts, this song has three, so how its done is you play the first one press this. And then you can add more and it will record them.”

“I'm familiar with the workings of loop recordings y/n.” He states as you play the staccato parts.

“Just, let me go through it okay, do you want to hear it or not?” You tut and stare at the way he smiled when he bugged you, you rolled your eyes and lifted the violin to your cheek again. “Then over the staccato I usually add the chords, again there's three in this.” You play the chords and begin to smile to yourself, you missed playing the violin, you missed the feeling of calm it brought.

“And I’m guessing now the bass?” He questions, leaning forward. Your brow raised at his interest, it was probably due to being stuck on a case but a small part of you believed otherwise. He was your boyfriend now right? You think so, what would this agreement include? It's not like you weren't up for friends with benefits but it's not what you wanted. But anyways back to recording, you recorded the base fairly easily only having to redo it once. You played it back smiling to yourself, it was sounding good so far, it's not finished but it was getting there. You stopped going through the steps with Sherlock, you knew he knew what everything was, for whatever reason he wanted to see you play, and if you could please him hopefully he’d please you. You record the pizzicato, flicking your fingers across the strings before being cocky and not even pausing to add the tremolo and adding it almost like instinct. You stopped the recording and created the loop, you turned to look behind you expecting your aunt to be stood recording like she used to, it was almost Christmas so she probably wanted a photo for a card to send to relatives you have no idea exist. But she wasn’t, it was just you and him. He was sat now practically at the edge of his seat eyes locked on the instrument. You exhaled bringing it to your chin and began to play.

He watched you play, he watched every single movement, his chest tightened at the way you smiled when you reached the chorus, the song was sad yet he could tell it brought you happy memories. He’d seen the photos of you and your mother, he could tell christmas wasn’t your favourite time of your after what happened. He must have zoned out because when he looked back your eyes were fixed on his. Your brow pinched together he could see you thought he wasn’t enjoying it, he acted quickly and grabbed his violin, he brought it to his cheek playing the tune he had quickly picked up. (2:34)

You paused watching him play, you gave him his moment, as he often stole the limelight, but you didn’t. He didn’t change the song or play it differently, he played it your way, following your lead. (2:49)You waited for the final chorus to repeat again and joined him and now here you were alone in baker street with him. Recently whenever you where alone with him it involved him pining you down and fucking senseless but now you where together, doing something you enjoyed not taking a moment to watch his muscles tighten around his shirt as he moved or waiting him for notice you. You just saw him, you figured it out, he wanted to see you happy, he wanted to see you or be it he wanted you to see you. The you which even you haven’t seen in a long time. And now the song was over, you stood in silence watching as he slowly put the violin down, you breathless, you don’t know why but you found yourself gasping for air. You just breathed watching as he slowly stepped closer to you. 

Sherlock didn’t understand the force that was pulling him towards you; he could sense your vulnerability and wanted to calm it. He too felt defenceless, he wanted to feel you in his arms, he wanted to hold you and make sure you were safe, the woman never caused him to feel like this, you were not the woman, and she was not you. He had conducted this experiment out of his own curiosity, and now he wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

 He took the instrument from your hand and cupped your chim. He brought your lips to yours and kissed you deeply, he didn’t rush to take off your clothes. He didn’t take them off at all, he just held you close to him, keeping your lips on yours until the moment was ruined by a vibration of his phone on the desk. He sighed and pulled away.

“I’m sorry I put you on the spot like that.” He looked down at his phone. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” He put on his coat and left. You watched him walk down the street, he tucked his collar upwards trying to keep the icy cold breeze off his neck, he still hadn’t got a replacement for the one that ended up being covered in blood. 

“Hoo hoo, oh I see you found your violin dear.” Mrs hudson came in behind you with your laundry.

“I told you, you don’t need to do that.” You kiss her cheek as you take the folded clothes from her arms.

“I know but I was putting sherlocks in anyways” she smiled.

“Oh by the way, we need to take a photo this year’s Christmas card, i have simon coming later to take it if that's okay.” She began tidying the room

“Huh?” You say turning back to the window watching as Sherlock was now nowhere to be seen.

“Out again is he? Yes, business with Mrs Adler's phone again, I saw him take it out the other day. Dangerous business, promise you’ll stay away from all that.” She grabbed your arm making sure you heard her. But all you could focus on was the name, it was the woman. The only other woman you knew Sherlock would obsess over. But he wants you, right?

“I won’t, now I'm going to put this away.” You say taking the clothes. You sigh, kicking open your bedroom door. You instantly notice the package on your bed. It was neatly packaged with a big red bow tied in the middle. You undid it and opened the box revealing a new laptop, you opened the lid and a note fell from it.

“Sorry about breaking the last one, I had some business I had to attend to. See you soon Harley.”  

JM X

Shit, no this wasn’t good, he was gone you thought he was gone. You looked around your room, it felt different, something was wrong. The air was fresher, not the usual scent of coffee and books. 

“Has anyone been in the house today?” You shout down to your aunt

“No dear, only me, you and Sherlock.” She shouts back. He had been in your room, Jim Moriarty had been in your Fucking room.

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A/N: its me agan forgot say that I will be doing weekly uploads of this every Wednesday between 2-4pm Uk time <3

[hypnotisedfireflies]

G’day love. Dying to hear your take on some things that Tio Tommy did for Sarah, that Tio Joel now does for Luke 🥹🥹🥹 & do Tess’s busted ovaries hurt juuust a bit when he’s being all soft with a kiddo?

This is the cutest ask. 🥰

Tio Tommy took being fun very seriously and Tio Joel has done the same. They're both pretty physical and use their strength a lot in play.

Luke (and his little sister 😏) enjoy the following activities with Joel, not unlike Sarah did with Tommy:

Being carried upside down

Holding hands and being spun in a circle till you're airborne

Shoulder rides

Shoulder rides while helping Tio Joel do work around the house/yard

Joel is really good at still managing to get shit done while a kid is attached to some part of his body. Tommy can't manage to even pick up the toys while he's in charge. He's not bad at it, but he's not productive either. Joel can watch Luke and still basically keep doing whatever it was he had on for the day.

He'd like to have sleepovers with Luke but that's out of the question with Tess. He doesn't have to ask about it: he knows it's not possible.

(Tess went through an early cycle of wanting to forget Nico through Dawn, then kind of coming to terms with it and getting better, to shutting it down altogether in her mind again. Strangely, if they'd stayed in Boston she'd be better on that front. It's the peace of Jackson that gives her too much time to remember more than she can cope with).

She's distant with the kids until they're older - definitely past the age of three and then she's able to form a relationship.

I think Tess has mixed feelings seeing Joel with very small kids. She likes seeing him happy and she can appreciate this whole side of him, especially since he wasn't able to do this in Boston with Lottie.

But it's so close to very dangerous territory for her that, if she starts to feel something other than that surface emotion, she has to immediately shut it down.

I can picture her walking into their lounge room and finding Joel and baby Luke fast asleep together and just … being crushed with the good hurt, you know? It's so beautiful and soft and domestic and she'd be overwhelmed. The life lived and never-could-have-been would haunt her for days.

Make one dream come true, you only live twice …

Bonus: Tommy used to practice soccer with Sarah and Joel teaches it to Luke.