#fast food boom

[keeps-ache]

chit chat :>

[Tarrit belongs to @euclid-dragon !]

[dantelionwishes]

update: its been almost month since i touched my tablet (she is covered in dust)

[livefromtheyard]

tbh the podcast was confusing for me at first bc bears as slang has only ever meant poop to me. like shitting = making bears. which is apparently a south park thing but i got it from game grumps and now my entire immediate family says it

[wereh0gz]

I forgot how funny dave the intern is

[courseyoulovemeyoudontknowme]

The Founder (2016, John Lee Hancock)

25/08/2024

[lenny-zesty]

you know the headache bad when the lowest brightness of your phone hurts your eyes

[archiverstappen]

the cat sitter (part 13) ✧ max verstappen

max verstappen x fem! reader

previous part | masterlist | next part

loosely inspired by the story on how max lost his cat

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[instagram]

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris and 4.920.557 others

maxverstappen1 My crazy cat lady is finally back

view all 5.782 comments

yourusername GUYS DONT WORRY NO CATS WERE HARMED WHILE TAKING THIS PHOTO 🧎‍♀️

↳ username 🤨🤨🤨 suspicious

↳ yourusername BELIEVE ME PLEASE I WOULD NEVER PUT MY KIDS IN DANGER. I WOULD RISK MAX’S WELL BEING TO PROTECT THEM🫂

↳ maxverstappen1 WOW

yourusername starting to wonder, will there ever be a day where you finally post a decent picture of me 🙍‍♀️

↳ maxverstappen1 No

↳ yourusername there will be repercussions for your action

username I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

danielricciardo Okay now i get where the name ‘crazy cat lady’ came from

landonorris 👀👀👀 hehehe yourusername

↳ yourusername sHHHHHHHHH

sophiekumpen 😁🧡

username ANOTHER NON RACE RELATED POST FROM MAX?!?! WE WON

↳ username and it’s of y/n🥹 HE’S DEFINITELY IN LOVE

username SO WE’RE NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT HOW MAX WROTE “MY crazy cat lady”

↳ username REAL, FRIENDS DONT DO WHAT THEY DO😩

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 and 178 others

yourusername not fast just furious

view all 12 comments

maxverstappen1 SIIIIIUUU

maxverstappen1 Told you I’m a good teacher

↳ yourusername couldn’t see the road properly because my vision was blurry from all the tears that i held

↳ landonorris YOU MADE HER CRY?! maxverstappen

bffusername i jusT KNOW that the driving lessons were chaotic, but props to max for doing something no human being can afford to do 🥹

↳ yourusername iM A GOOD STUDENT!!!!

↳ maxverstappen1 Half of the lessons were filled with her having a breakdown, and the other half were filled with Y/N saying “huh” because she couldn’t hear my instructions through “Tokyo Drift” that was playing in the background

↳ bffusername sounds like the y/n i know 👍

bffusername ANYWAY so excited to finally be yor passenger princess 😘

↳ yourusername i would love to drive you around, but i still don’t know how to park 😁

friendusername Remember that time when you hit my mother’s car in high school? 😂 Look how far you��ve come!!

↳ yourusername THIS STILL KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT!! IM SO SORRY MRS MARTIN 😭

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[messages]

[notes]

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[messages]

[twitter]

[messages]

[twitter]

-

author’s note: IT’S FINALLY HERE!!! i really hope you guys like this one 🧎🏻‍♀️

taglist: : @flwr-stella @reidsworld @myloverjk-blog @debss-319 @hiraethrhapsody @electrobutterfly @love4lando @lunnnix @allenajade-ite @jjsprobablywrong @whoreks @soleilgrec @oscarwildingsworld @christianpulisic10 @thievin-stealing @glitterf1 @elliegrey2803 @trouble-sistar @escapism-writer @cornerofacry @hollie9111 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @ad-astra-again @canyon-lwt @thecubanator2 @lifesuckslife @leclercloml @sunny44 @nmw-am @sachaa-ff @multilovebot @glow-ish @moneygramhaas @whitefireproofs @icarus-nex @iloveyou3000morgan @ccallistata @copper-boom @fictionalcharacterslut @celesteblack08 @maxiel-jpg @slytherheign @lunyyx @series-books-food @coffeehurricanes @shrimpyshrimp @somanyfandomsbruh @justcallmeelli @laneyspaulding19 @ironmaiden1313

pictures (c) to pinterest and instagram

[pygmi-says-hi]

writing tips - sick/poisoning fics

so since you guys ate up the injury thing like holy fuck 1.5k notes in 24 hours??? hello?? I thought I'd do a semi-related one about sickness.

disclaimer because you guys thoroughly reminded me of this: medicine is fucking weird and everybody reacts differently. this is blanket statement information, not the mayo clinic. idc that 'oh my cousin had that disease and he didn't have that symptom' okay whatever like sorry but that's not the point of this post. this is just to eliminate egregious mistakes. I'm not looking into every possible way this illness will show up. chill your tits. the comments on the last post were just like. dude. chill.

aurkay so.

poison-related illness.

okay poisoning is such a cool concept and there are literally so many cool effects it can have. Idk why everyone goes with the holy trinity of hallucinations, fainting and nausea. like yeah those are good but there are so many other things???

like internal bleeding. literally the best. I love it. It's slow but hella deadly and sometimes people can't even feel it/don't know what's happening. that's such a great option for whump or some angst. like they didn't know until it was too late. gold.

also - some poisons are not dissolvable in food or drink. Like certain medicines, they lose effectiveness if digested instead of injected intravenously. obviously you don't have to know that but if you wanna get into it, do a lil bit of research. could bring up some intriguing scenarios.

infection or sepsis

yoooo. sepsis is lowkey terrifying. infections are similar to actual illness but are caused because of an unsanitary wound. lots of interesting symptoms to browse here:

fever, cramps, fainting, hallucinations, dehydration, delirium, nausea, sores, sepsis, organ failure and on and on and on.

infection happens so fast too. like forget to change a bandage once and boom it could be infected. (is that a whump opportunity I hear...?)

sepsis is like the point of no return pretty much. Unless you've got crazy medical technology, sepsis is really really bad. basically, it's when the body overreacts and starts to damage its own tissue. leading to organ failure and then eventually death. spooky.

regular illness

this just means like a virus or something. a key point of viruses is an elevated temperature and dehydration; the body's primary responses. burn the bug out and dehydrate it.

depending on the illness, symptoms will vary. respiratory infections or viruses involve congestion, coughing, sore throats, a rattly breathing sound, and productive coughing (phlegm and mucus). Stomach illnesses include cramps, nausea, dehydration, dizziness, low blood sugar, weight loss, and diarrhea. these can overlap but mostly those are the groupings.

with fevers come achy joints and sensitive skin. fever is inflammation, like mild swelling everywhere because of how intense the antibody reaction is.

dehydration sets in really quick. really bad dehydration induces dizziness, nausea, diarrhea, delirium, lethargy, and fainting. great motivation for a whumper to possibly restrict whumpee's water intake...?

just some prompts! kinda low energy today sorry I haven't been posting, xox

[punkshort]

Swept Away | Chapter 5: Riptide

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: On the last day aboard the yacht, you get to spend some alone time with Joel, and things heat up.

Chapter Warnings: language, slow burn, sugar daddy/baby vibes, food and alcohol consumption, implied drug use, jealousy, angst, flirting, sexual tension, thigh/bulge riding, dry humping

WC: 8.1K

A/N: happy birthday @itsafullmoon 😘

Series Masterlist

Joel's fingers shyly found your knee underneath the table and you held back a smile. Instead, you focused on your breakfast, one that pleased him to see you were actually consuming, while he sipped his coffee.

It was another warm day, the heat already climbing and it was barely nine in the morning. As you looked around the rest of the table, you noticed most of the guests looked just about as hungover as you felt, yet they still insisted on indulging in more mimosas and Bloody Marys.

You chose to stick with water and coffee.

There were some quiet conversations being held around you, but mostly you shut it all out in favor of gazing out over the crystal blue ocean. Joel's thumb brushed over your knuckles and when you breathed in deep, you could smell the salt in the air. It made you feel completely at ease, the drama and your argument from the day before the furthest thing from your mind.

Well, maybe not the furthest. You still side eyed Tammy when you both sat down to join everyone that morning, but you decided to let it go. Joel's admission that he hadn't been with her in a year gave you some peace, and you weren't going to allow her to get under your skin. Instead, you were determined to enjoy the last day out at sea because, according to Glenn, the yacht was planning to dock back on your island rather early the following morning.

"We're supposed to stop in a few hours so we can do some water sports. You ever been on a jet ski? Or they got these aqua toys that'll take you under the water so you can see the fish. You wanna do any of that?" His voice sounded slightly nervous as he rambled, something you found incredibly endearing.

"Both sound fun. Whatever you want to do," you told him with a small smile. He was trying very hard, you could tell. You weren't sure if it was guilt that was driving him, or if it was the way you woke up accidentally wrapped in each other's arms, but either way, you enjoyed this side of him.

Just the thought of that morning made your cheeks burn and you had to look back down at your plate. You had a feeling he might have been thinking about it too because he shifted his weight in his seat and released your knee, draping his arm behind your chair instead while he pretended to listen to something Zachary was saying with the tips of his ears turning red.

That morning, your face had been pressed up against his chest, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, facing one another. Before you even opened your eyes, you could smell him. That distinct scent of hair products, expensive cologne and soap, faded by that point, but still lingering on his skin. One of his legs was slotted between yours. A dangerous place, to be sure. All he really needed to do was roll you both over and his hips would have pressed enticingly against your center.

When your gaze flickered up, expecting to find him fast asleep, you were surprised when you locked eyes. It appeared that he had been awake for a while. Sleep no longer clouded his eyes. So if the way you woke up together was an accident, why didn't he pull away? Why did he continue to stare down at you without withdrawing his limbs from yours? Why did his eyes scan your face and linger on your lips?

And why didn't he kiss you?

"Say, when are you two lovebirds getting married? Set a date yet?" Glenn's voice boomed from the head of the table with a wide smile. His linen shirt unbuttoned halfway down, revealing a mass of grey curls scattered all across his chest.

Joel's grip on the back of your chair tightened and he looked at you affectionately.

"We haven't picked a date yet, but I've always loved springtime," you replied dreamily.

"Then springtime, it is," Joel murmured, then leaned forward to press a kiss against your temple.

"We had a spring wedding," Tammy piped up from across the table. She curled into Scott's side, pulling his arm around her shoulders and you spotted Zoe stifling a laugh next to her. "May 21st. I was so nervous it was going to rain, the forecast called for it all week but when we woke up that morning the sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I told Scott at the time it felt like fate. Right? Remember, honey?"

He smiled and curled his fingers around her arm, his eyes flickering back and forth as if he were scanning his memories, desperately trying to remember.

"Of course I do," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Maybe we should get married here. On the beach," you announced, narrowing your eyes in Tammy's direction. "Then we wouldn't have to worry about rain."

Joel chuckled next to you, his thumb brushing gently over your back. "Whatever you say, baby."

"Now you're gettin' it, Joel," laughed Jack, Lynne's husband.

"Oh, no. You should get married at home. Nobody likes to travel for a wedding," Tammy challenged, and you bristled.

"I don't think anyone would mind traveling to Fiji," Harry interjected, and suddenly it seemed like the entire table was involved, previously private clusters of conversation long forgotten in favor of discussing your fake wedding plans.

"Yes, well," Tammy said, fixing a few invisible flyaways, "even so. Guests prefer to stay near their home. Won't you be afraid of alienating people on your special day if you choose a destination wedding?" she asked, tilting her head to the side questioningly.

You probably shouldn't have let it bother you. After all, your entire relationship was a farce, but you couldn't help yourself.

"It doesn't matter to me," you replied airily with a shrug. "The only one I want there is Joel."

When you looked up at him, you could see the playful glint in his eye. He knew what you were doing. He knew Tammy was bothering you and knew goddamn well why.

And he fucking liked it.

His lips curled up into a smile and he inched a little closer, wrapping his arm around you a little tighter, and you felt a shiver run through your body when his lips met yours once again.

You decided to blame it on the leftover tension from that morning, but you flicked your tongue against his lips, looking to deepen the kiss. Joel only hesitated for a second before parting his lips and slowly sliding his tongue into your mouth. It took everything in you not to moan into the kiss, knowing full well how inappropriate it already was, so after allowing yourself just another moment to enjoy it, you breathlessly pulled away. He smirked at you, his eyes dark and filled with desire, a look you no doubt mirrored back.

"What do you think, Joel?" Tammy asked, clearly trying to crack the tension brewing between the two of you. "Don't you have family you'd want there?"

Family.

Why did she say it like that?

Joel's expression changed instantly. Something flickered across his face and his lips twitched nervously when he dropped his gaze to the table.

Then it clicked.

She knew something about him. Something she was taunting him with in front of the whole table.

You desperately wanted to know what she was insinuating, but your bigger issue was not knowing anything about his damn family whatsoever because as he foolishly told you on the plane, it won't come up.

So you had to think fast.

"Anyone who loves us will make the effort to be there. Right, baby?" you purred, stretching an arm to circle around the back of his neck. He dragged his eyes up to meet yours and you gave him a subtle nod.

That's right, look at me.

"Yeah," he agreed, and you could see his resolve coming back the longer you clung around him.

"Oh, you two are just so cute," Zoe gushed. Your eyes briefly shifted to hers over Joel's shoulder and she shot you a wink.

"Maybe you should get married while you're already here," Glenn suggested. "Do another ceremony when you get home. Problem solved."

Your blood ran cold and for the first time, your mind went blank. You had no idea what to say. You looked at Joel, trying to silently convey your panic without being obvious, but he seemed perfectly at ease when he tilted his head to look at Glenn with a sly smile.

"Nah, I'll wait til my new hotel is built on that nice spot of land you got 'n we'll get married there, instead."

The table doubled over at his comment, some of the men jokingly calling him ruthless and Glenn complimenting how quick Joel was with his face all pink from laughter. You noticed with a jolt of satisfaction that Tammy was the only one at the table not laughing.

When the table finally let the topic of your wedding go, everyone falling back into their own personal conversations once again, Joel leaned into you and whispered in your ear, "good job."

You grinned and tried not to preen too much at his approval. "You, too," you said back. He scanned your face, his shoulders relaxed and the tension gone from his eyes and you swallowed thickly with a flutter in your chest. You really liked this side of him. The side that wasn't glued to his phone or laptop, the side that smiled and grazed his fingers along your back or arm for no reason.

The side that held you close while he slept.

Just then, Brooks flung the door open from the cabin and stepped out onto the deck with an apologetic look to his father. Glancing around the table, you realized then he was the only person missing from breakfast.

"Sorry," he mumbled before pulling up a seat next to Mary. "Had too much fun last night."

You tried not to stare but you couldn't stop yourself from noticing his obvious disheveled state. His clothes were wrinkled as if he slept in them, hair sticking out at all angles, and his eyes looked bloodshot and glassy.

"Sheesh, guess I wasn't the only one who drank too much," you muttered to Joel. He looked over his shoulder at Brooks, their eyes momentarily locking, before turning back to you.

"Think it's more than just booze," Joel told you softly. Your eyes widened when you remembered how fidgety Brooks seemed at Glenn's cocktail party and the pieces began to fall together.

Scott clapped his hands together after he tossed back the rest of his Bloody Mary. "What's the plan today, gang?"

Glenn checked his watch while Brooks hunched over his plate, his focus solely on his food.

"We'll find a spot around lunchtime and drop anchor. Try to find somewhere quiet so we can really open up those jet skis. Then we got a beautiful dinner at sunset. Mary wrote the menu, can't wait to see what you have planned, sweetheart," he said, lovingly curling his arm around her shoulders and giving her a kiss. She flushed and grinned, the cute display of affection making you smile.

The table began to murmur, some people standing and stretching as they discussed what they wanted to do with their last few precious hours at sea.

"Sounds like we got some time to kill," Joel said as he watched people branch off towards different sections of the boat. You spotted Scott and Jack already sidling up to Glenn while Tammy linked arms with Lynne and strolled towards the open part of the deck to sunbathe.

"You should probably spend it with Glenn," you told him, jutting your chin in his direction. When you looked back at Joel, you caught something not unlike disappointment flicker across his face before he caught himself.

"Yeah, you're right," he replied, "you sure you'll be okay? Don't wanna leave you all alone."

You smiled, touched that he was showing some concern. It was a very different Joel than just a day ago, but you had to keep reminding yourself while his delivery left something to be desired, his message was correct: you were there because you had a job to do, and so was he.

"Yeah. Go get that land so we can have our dream wedding," you joked. He chuckled but when he stood, you noticed his cheeks dusting with pink.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, then reached forward and pinched your chin in exactly the same way he did when you were shopping for clothes on your first day there. "Stay outta trouble for me, will you?"

You giggled and nodded after he dropped his hand from your face. And when he tossed you a flirtatious wink over his shoulder as he was walking away, you felt your face warm and your stomach flip excitedly.

It was too late. You were already in trouble.

"Jesus, I shouldn't have drank," Zoe said nervously while you both watched the crew unload the water toys. "One lap around the yacht on a jet ski and I'll be throwing up my lunch."

"Just aim for the big, wide ocean and not Zach," you joked. Fortunately, you had stuck to your word and hadn't had a drop of alcohol all day, but you still felt your stomach drop when you watched Trevor and Brooks fly past on their jet skis, their bodies bouncing violently with each wave.

Zach called out Zoe's name, his round stomach hanging over the band of his black swim trunks, and she groaned before forcing a fake smile and flirty wave.

"Fucking kill me," she muttered before abandoning your observation post. You leaned over the railing, grinning to yourself as Zoe was getting fit for a life jacket with the fear of god in her eyes when Joel sidled up next to you.

"You wanna take a spin on one of those?" he asked, bumping gently against your shoulder with his own. His skin looked bronzed from all the sun and his eyes sparkled as he gazed down at you.

"Uh, if you want to," you replied, biting your lip nervously when you watched Zoe and Zach take off at full throttle, the look on her face telling you everything you needed to know about the experience.

Joel noticed your hesitation and looked around.

"How 'bout we check out the inflatable stuff?" he offered. You frowned and swiveled your head back and forth. "On the other side of the boat. There's a few different ones, I think. Bit more low-key," he said, giving you an adorable shrug when you looked at him with relief.

"That sounds great," you said, then he tilted his head to the side before pushing off the rail, indicating you should follow him.

Joel was right. The crew had been inflating a couple cabanas, a trampoline and a jungle gym for you to use. Glenn and Mary were already waiting for one of the cabanas, joking with you both about how they felt like chickens for not giving the other toys a try.

The cabanas were spaced apart, the trampoline and jungle gym between them and so far you were lucky; the other guests seemed far more excited about the water toys on the other side of the boat, so you were afforded some privacy together for the first time all weekend.

"'M sorry you've been on your own so much," Joel apologized once you both got comfortable on your cabana. "But I'm makin' good progress, I can feel it. Zachary ain't got a chance in hell," he chuckled.

He sat up and gripped his linen button down shirt at the hem, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side with a grunt. You couldn't look away when his lips puckered around a bottle of water, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as he drank. A small noise got stuck in the back of your throat when he finished and a few drops fell from the bottle and trailed slowly down his sun-kissed chest.

"Ain't polite to stare, sweetheart," he said lowly without even looking your way. Your cheeks flared and you fumbled with your sunglasses, but he just chuckled and laid back down.

"Oh! Speaking of Zachary, I have something to tell you," you said, suddenly realizing after your argument the day before, you never told him what you found out.

He rolled his head to the side and squinted up at you. "Oh, yeah?"

You glanced around before leaning in and whispering, "Zoe is a sugar baby."

His eyes went wide and he scrambled to sit up.

"How'd you find that out?"

"She told me yesterday," you shrugged. Joel swallowed tightly, his mind racing.

"Did you..." he trailed off, not wanting to finish his question and insult you, but needing to know the answer.

"No! Of course not!" you exclaimed. "I wouldn't say a word, I promise."

He nodded, visibly relaxing before averting his gaze. "I just didn't... I know you were pissed yesterday, but you should know it'll void the contract if you say somethin'."

"I know," you said softly, "but regardless of the money, I still wouldn't do that to you, Joel."

Something flickered across his face, something quick that you couldn't read before he looked away and slid his sunglasses on, effectively building his wall back up.

"Oh, and another thing," you added, "she thinks he's in a bad place financially. Says if he doesn't get the bid, he might go bankrupt and have to sell his hotels."

His eyebrows raised above the top of his sunglasses and hummed under his breath, looking thoroughly impressed.

"Goddamn, look at you. Feels like I got my own little spy or somethin'," he said, making you giggle. "Might need to hire you to work for me full time when this is all over."

"Oh, yeah? Doing what?" It was impossible to keep the playfulness from your voice. As much as you tried to deny it, you really enjoyed being on the receiving end of his praise.

"Oh, I'll think of somethin'," he replied, winking at you over the tops of his sunglasses, then smirking when he watched you get all flustered.

You settled back in your seat with a sigh, watching as the other guests zoomed by on their jet skis or dove under the water with the sub aqua toys.

Joel had your number before the plane even landed in Fiji. Even though it was taking you a little longer, you were slowly starting to figure him out. One thing was for sure: his good moods were really good, but his bad moods were really bad. He was obviously a man who had grown accustomed to getting his way, a man who had high expectations for the people who worked for him and had zero tolerance for mistakes.

He was a confusing man, made even more confusing by his behavior towards you. One day he was flirting with you, touching you, kissing you, but the next day he was icy and cold and hyper focused on work.

You turned your head in his direction, watching quietly as he basked in the sun with his eyes closed, skin prickling with sweat. Were you reading too much into those little glances and touches? Was it all part of the act? Or did he feel something more? It was clear you were attracted to him. He called you out on it more than once.

So why wouldn't he fucking do something about it?

"Do you wanna go on the trampoline with me?" you asked. He cracked an eyelid and peered at you.

"I think that stuff's made for kids."

You shrugged and flung off your cover up. You caught the way his eyes raked down your body before pretending to look out at something behind you, and you grinned.

"They wouldn't have set it up if adults can't use them."

"I ain't sayin' adults can't use 'em, I'm sayin' it's childish."

You feigned offense before adjusting your bikini and dipping your toe in the water. It was crystal clear and far too inviting to resist sliding in for a quick dip. The warmth of the water engulfing your entire body sent a thrill right through you. When you bobbed back up to the surface, you brushed the hair away from your face with a sharp gasp. Turning around, you saw Joel had laid back down, his eyes closed once again and facing away from you.

"Are you sure?" you called out to him as you began to swim backwards towards the other inflatables.

"Yep," he replied without opening his eyes. A devious smile tugged at your lips and before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned back and kicked your feet wildly, splashing water all over him.

"Hey!" he shouted angrily, but you were already swimming away as fast as you could. Once you got to the trampoline, you pulled yourself up and swiveled around to see if Joel was truly pissed or if he had just laid back down, but unfortunately from your angle, you couldn't see the front of the cabana.

With a shrug, you stood up and took a few hesitant steps onto the trampoline. It was pretty large, in an octagon shape but no walls, so if you so chose, you could bounce right into the ocean. You took a couple small jumps, barely getting any air so you could get an idea of how strong it was before bending your knees and jumping as high as you could go. You laughed when you landed with your legs tucked under you, relaxing your muscles so you could bounce this way and that until you lost momentum and rolled onto your back.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, enjoying the sway of the ocean underneath you. In the distance, you could hear voices from the others on the water sports, mostly squeals of excitement and barking laughs, but otherwise you were completely at peace.

Before you even had a chance to process it, the trampoline dipped and you were suddenly drenched with water. You shrieked and snapped your eyes open, heart slamming in your chest from shock just to find Joel standing above you smirking with an empty plastic drink bucket in his hand.

You swung your leg out, kicking his legs out from under him. The bucket went flying when he collapsed next to you with a loud, deep laugh you weren't sure you had heard from him before. The sound brought a huge smile to your face only to gasp and yelp when he leapt onto all fours and shook his head like a dog, showering you with the water soaking his hair.

You raised your arms in defense, desperately trying to protect yourself.

"Stop!" you half yelled, half giggled from underneath your hands. Finally, the water stopped raining down on you and you slowly dropped your hands from your face.

Joel was smiling down at you victoriously, his arms bracketing you in on either side of your head. The sun shined brightly behind him, making his wet hair and tanned skin practically fucking sparkle.

"No fair," you whispered.

"Never said I play fair."

You swallowed when you saw his eyes darken, his gaze lazily sliding down your face, your neck, your chest, brazenly taking in every bit of you he could see. He swung his leg over your waist, pinning you down into the trampoline when he sat back on your thighs so he could take the weight off one of his arms. To your surprise, he cupped your jaw and dragged the pad of his thumb over your cheek, carefully and tenderly wiping away the droplets of water from your face while you struggled to remember to breathe beneath him. And just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he spoke again.

"Did I make you all wet, baby?"

Fuck. You squeezed your eyes shut, the low tone in his voice making it very clear he knew he was tormenting you, making you squirm and bite your lip while you fought to keep a clear head.

"'S'matter? Dish it out but can't take it?" he tsked, his fingers gliding down to trace your lower lip. Your eyes flashed open, your lips tingling under his touch and breath coming in shallow pants. You locked eyes with him and opened your mouth so you could wrap your lips around the tip of his thumb. It sent a surge of satisfaction through you when you saw his eyes go wide and his jaw fall slack. The corners of your mouth twisted up into a smile around his finger, your tongue flicking suggestively against the tip. All the smugness from a moment before vanished from his face, and the only thing that remained was surprise and undeniable lust.

Joel said your name warningly, his eyes glued to the way your mouth was wrapped around his thumb. He could have easily pulled his hand away, but he didn't. He let you swirl your tongue around him, gazing up at him through your wet lashes, your arms lying limp next to your head, painting the perfect picture of obedience and that was when you felt it: a small twitch against your thigh, one he tried to hide by shifting his weight but it was too late. A look of triumph flared in your eye when you released his finger with a grin.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to make it hard on you."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Funny."

You stared at one another for a heavy moment, Joel still pinning you onto the trampoline. You waited for him to do something, say something... anything to acknowledge the elephant in the room before you lost your mind. And for one brief moment, you thought he just might. His lips parted, his expression softened and you held your breath, waiting for it. Then suddenly it was like a door slammed shut. He rolled off you in an instant, leaving you feeling cold despite the tropical, humid heat.

"I'm gonna get somethin' to drink. Want anythin'?"

You shook your head in a daze, the sharp turn of events sending you reeling.

"No."

Then you heard a splash and listened while he swam back to the cabana, leaving you with a devastating ache between your legs and more confused than you thought possible.

Despite Joel leaving you wanting more, you still couldn't wipe the smile from your face the entire afternoon. And it seemed like he couldn't, either. Something felt like it changed in him that day. He appeared more relaxed and happier than you had seen him the entire week you'd been on the island.

It was the reason you were distracted on your way back to your room. You told Joel you were going to take a quick shower and change before dinner right before he got roped into a game of poker with Glenn and a few others, but not before giving you a quick peck on the lips. After he hurried to catch up with the others, you glanced around and found no one was there to witness your little kiss. It wasn't for show.

Your mind was swirling with images of Joel, replaying everything with a stupid smile on your face when you turned the corner of the quiet hallway.

"Oh!" you cried out when you collided with something, or rather someone, firm and strong walking from the opposite direction.

"Hey, there," Brooks said, grabbing onto your shoulders to keep you steady. You took a step back, removing yourself from his hold, and gave him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. Wasn't watching where I was going."

You moved to step around him when he blocked you with an extended arm and you looked up at him questioningly.

"Having a good time so far?"

"Uh huh," you replied, folding your arms in front of your chest when you noticed his gaze wandering down. "This yacht is amazing, we're having a great time."

Brooks smiled and propped his hand up so he could lean against the wall, fingers tapping rapidly against the wallpaper, effectively blocking your path.

"Glad to hear it. You're welcome to come for a ride whenever you're on the island next."

You smiled back and tried to create a little more distance, but the hallway was narrow enough as it was.

"That's so nice, thank you. I'll be sure to pass that along to Joel."

"Nah, we don't have to tell the old guy, huh? I was thinking it could just be the two of us," Brooks said, "that way's more fun, don't you think?"

You felt a shiver go down your spine at the hungry way he was looking at you and suddenly you realized, aside from the crew somewhere in the depths of the boat, you were the only ones indoors.

"Oh, I don't think that's a good idea," you said, hoping to keep the tremor from your voice. "Joel would be worried."

It didn't seem to matter how many times you reminded him you were with Joel, Brooks still persisted.

"Aw, I'm sure we could work something out," he replied, brushing his knuckles slowly over your bare arm. Your eyes dropped at the contact and the panic began to set in. You knew you should push him away. Hell, you should punch him in the throat and tell him to keep his hands off you, but all you could think of was Joel and how hard he was working to get that plot of land and what a great mood he had been in all day.

So instead, you took a step backwards and pulled your arms tighter across your chest.

"Why don't we talk about it with Joel at dinner?"

You were giving him your fakest smile at that point and he could tell. Slowly, his expression dropped along with the arm that was caging you in.

"Sure," he said, then finally began to slip past you to join the rest of the guests but paused and leaned in to whisper in your ear, "but I see right through you. Everybody's got a price."

By the time you had collected yourself and turned around, Brooks was gone.

"You're missin' an earring," Joel said with a frown the moment you emerged from the cabin, freshly showered but still shaken.

"What?" You lifted your hands to your ears and groaned before removing the one you did have and dropping it in your clutch. "Shit. Sorry. Must've forgot."

His eyes drifted over your face for a moment, concern etching his features. "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah," you said immediately, ignoring the heated look Brooks was giving you behind Joel's back. "Everything's great. How was poker?"

You partially listened to him talk about his card game, joking about how he was lucky they weren't playing for any actual cash because he was fucking terrible at it, but you had a hard time moving past that interaction with Brooks just an hour prior.

He could tell your attention was elsewhere. You looked nervous and distracted but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. He replayed everything over and over since you slipped inside to freshen up. Sure, he knew he left you high and dry after that particularly intense moment on the trampoline, one he knew if he didn't stop, you would both have done something you would regret, but you seemed fine afterwards. The rest of the afternoon you were bubbly and sweet, your playfulness leaving a permanent smile across his face.

So what the hell happened between then and now?

Mary clapped her hands together, sending a wave of silence over the bustling table as everyone turned to give her their attention. Joel's hand found your leg, his instincts telling him you needed an anchor, even if he didn't know why, then twisted around to listen.

"Good evening," Mary began. "Once again, I'm so pleased you could all be here on this beautiful getaway with Glenn, myself, and our boys," she said, giving Trevor and Brooks a loving glance. "I had the pleasure of curating tonight's menu, the theme being Tropical Barbecue."

A ripple went through the table and a pleased smile pulled at Mary's lips. Your eyes flickered down to Joel's hand on your thigh and you slid your own on top, fingers curling around his. After a moment where you felt him still, his thumb came up to brush gently against your knuckles, making you smile at the comfort it brought.

Mary began to describe each course and her inspiration behind her choices, but you were finding it difficult to focus. Everybody's got a price. What did that mean? Did Brooks somehow find out you were hired by Joel to fabricate a relationship and sway his father into selling him the land?

No, that would be impossible... right?

Then Joel uttered your name softly and you snapped out of your trance.

"Huh?"

He fixed you with another concerned look.

"I asked what you wanted to drink."

"Oh," you said, shaking your head a bit, "I'll just stick with water, thanks."

He scanned your movements. Your eyes were darting around nervously, your foot was tapping incessantly on the floor and he hadn't seen you smile once since you washed up.

Joel leaned into your side, hand still firmly planted on your leg, and murmured, "You can drink, y'know. I ain't mad 'bout yesterday."

"Mhm, I know," you replied, tugging your lower lip between your teeth. Joel shifted his weight in his chair and gave a polite smile to the crew member who placed two plates in front of you. He watched you pick up a fork and pick at your first course and he swore he saw your hand tremble.

"Did I do somethin'?" he asked after leaning in again. "If it's 'bout earlier, we can talk -"

"What are you two lovebirds whispering about down there?" Brooks' booming voice called from his end of the table. You each turned to look at him, Joel with politeness, you with dread. When Brooks met your eye, you could see the veiled threat behind his otherwise friendly demeanor: don't you say a fucking word.

"Just talkin' 'bout what a great time we've had 'n how disappointed we are it's comin' to an end," Joel replied kindly. His hand left your leg to pick up his glass of scotch and you instinctively found yourself raising your arm, trying to bring him back to you, surprising yourself with your neediness.

Joel raised his glass for a toast to Glenn and Mary while you forced a shaky smile and raised your water. Zoe leaned into your other side when the volume rose around the table and whispered, "Are you pregnant?"

You sputtered around your glass and you looked at her all wild-eyed.

"No!"

She giggled and shrugged. "You've been drinking water all day and you look like you're about to hurl."

You laughed at the absurdity of it and you finally felt some of your nerves begin to ease. If only she knew how long it had been since the last time you had sex.

"No, I promise you I'm not."

"Not what?" Joel asked when he turned away from talking with Harry on his other side.

"Nothing," you replied sweetly. The tone of your voice made him smile and his hand found your leg again. Then, his brows knit together and he raised his other hand to swipe his thumb gently over the corner of your mouth. When he pulled it back to examine the spot of barbecue sauce he collected, your breath stuttered at the same time his paused. It seemed as though you both realized at the exact same time he was holding up the same thumb you had wrapped your lips around just hours before.

His eyes met yours and his lips parted. Slowly, he raised his thumb to his mouth and you watched with heavy lidded eyes as his soft looking lips spread open across his finger, taking an unnecessary moment to grunt in pleasure when the sweet and tangy sauce was lapped up by his tongue.

"Mmm, you taste good," he teased with a little smirk. His chest flooded with warmth when he saw that playful spark in your eye again. He didn't like it when you weren't yourself, he realized, but he really, really didn't like to see you cry. It only happened once, but he knew he didn't want to see it again. As much as he tried to fight it, he had grown too fond of your sweet nature already. He liked the way you stood in awe of the affluence surrounding you but also found a great deal of joy from a few pink seashells, so delicate and so beautiful.

Just like you.

He noticed the more attention he gave you, the happier you became, and he really shouldn't have liked that as much as he did. Seeing your wide smile and hearing your adorable laugh made him soften. But watching your eyes glaze over or your eyelids flutter from his touch, whether it be your arm or leg or back, did something else to him entirely. Something that made him have to remind himself more than once during dinner that this was all an act, that this wasn't real.

Once dinner finished up, you appeared back to your usual self once again. Your hand fused with his while everyone said their good nights, and they remained that way when you walked together towards your room, the air around you silent and thick.

You swallowed nervously as you picked up your pajamas from where you abandoned them earlier that morning.

Instantly, your cheeks warmed when you remembered how you both woke up, all tangled limbs and hesitant glances. You cleared your throat and kept your eyes cast down while you maneuvered around him to get to the bathroom. As you changed and washed up, you wondered what would happen that evening. Probably nothing, you decided, based on the way he abruptly stopped things that afternoon, but just in case you made sure to apply a little lip balm and spritzed a dash of perfume in your hair.

"All yours," you said shyly before sliding into bed. All yours, all yours, all yours. You listened to the water running in the bathroom while you flipped through the channels on the television before giving up and turning it off.

When he exited the bathroom, you locked eyes and gave him a small smile. He tossed his clothes into a pile next to his overnight bag before turning off the lights and slipping into bed next to you with a groan.

You both laid there for a few minutes, each of you staring up at the dark ceiling, your hearts beating too fast to really find any rest. Finally, you tilted your head to the side and peered at him through the darkness. You could just make out his side profile in the moonlight, his distinctive sharp nose and the little pout to his lips.

"I can't sleep," you whispered. He blinked and turned his face towards you.

"Why?"

Everybody's got a price.

Did I make you all wet, baby?

"I don't know," you lied.

He turned onto his side so he was facing you, then you did the same. You left your hand flat on the mattress between you, not touching, but wishing you were.

"Did you wanna talk 'bout... earlier?" he asked softly. You couldn't really make out his face but you heard it in his voice; he was uncertain.

For a moment, you almost said yes. Yes, please explain what the hell is going on between us. Until you realized you may not like the answer, then you whispered, "No."

You couldn't see it, but he was relieved.

"Okay," he replied. You inched your hand a little closer.

"Can I ask you something, Joel?"

He nodded, then remembered it was too dark to see. "Yeah."

You took a deep breath. "What did Tammy really mean this morning when she mentioned your family?"

He inhaled sharply and you immediately knew you weren't getting an answer. "Don't matter," he replied, then stretched out his arm to loop around your shoulders. "C'mere," he added, giving you a tug and pulling you into his chest.

You burrowed your face against him, arms wrapping around his middle, all thoughts of Tammy and Brooks erased from your mind. Instead, you focused on how warm he felt, how good he smelled, how strong his heart sounded against your ear, and before you knew it, you were fast asleep.

"Hey."

You heard his voice whispering in your ear, but you frowned and ignored it. It was barely light out, too early to wake up, and you were so warm and at peace curled up next to him, you didn't want it to end.

"Hey," he whispered again, this time a little louder. Still, you didn't respond. Then you heard him curse under his breath and shift his weight on the bed.

Finally, your curiosity was enough to make you open your eyes.

He rolled onto his back, his arm still trapped underneath you but the other was stretching down to grip his rock hard erection through the comforter. Your eyes widened when you saw the pained look in his face after he flexed his hand, as if he were trying to seek out some relief without actually jerking himself off. His eyes were screwed shut and his brows furrowed together while he focused on taking long, deep breaths. Then he squeezed himself again and a quiet noise slipped past his lips. The tendons in his neck strained with effort, his skin looked flushed and a little sweaty and the entire visual was enough for you to feel your pussy soften and throb.

He must have wanted you to move so he could get up and take care of himself in the bathroom, but fortunately your deep sleep paid off into what you saw as a golden opportunity.

Before you could overthink it, you slid your hand down his stomach towards his waistband, but right as your fingertips came in contact with the elastic, he stopped you.

"What're you doin'?" he asked gruffly, his hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.

"Giving you a hand," you replied, hoping you sounded sultry like you intended.

"'S not funny," he said, yanking your hand out from under the covers before he looked at you. His eyes were stern but his forehead dotting with sweat and his chest heaving underneath his white tshirt gave him away.

He wanted this.

"I'm not laughing," you said, trying to tug your hand from his grip, but he shook his head. You squirmed next to him under the covers, pressing your thighs together, feeling your arousal soak through your panties. "Please," you whispered, voice breaking on just the one syllable. He shook his head again but you felt his fingers begin to loosen around your wrist.

"Can't," was all he managed to grit out. You groaned and lunged forward, biting angrily at his jaw, then his lower lip.

"Why?" you practically begged, your mouth brushing over his beard, the sharp hairs poking your sensitive lips, leaving them feeling tingly when you pulled away and asked again, "Why, Joel?"

"Ain't part of the deal."

You scoffed and hooked both your legs around one of his, pulling it towards you, towards the heat radiating between your legs. You began to roll your hips, doing your best to torment him into breaking by rubbing yourself on his thigh.

"I don't care about the deal," you replied, narrowing your eyes as you continued to rock your hips against him. "I want you, Joel, fucking please," you whined, then gasped when he dropped your hand and in one swift movement, hauled you up so you were straddling his lap.

"You think you want me, but you don't. Not really," he told you, jaw tense and eyes so dark, you could barely see the sliver of dark chocolate brown you had grown so fond of.

"What does that mean?" you asked. His statement made your hips stall in a moment of clarity.

His eyes dropped to your chest, swallowing when he noticed your nipples poking through your loose fitting tank top.

"You don't know me, darlin'."

"Yes, I do," you cooed, bending forward seductively to play with his hair, but in reality you were just trying to give him a glimpse of your tits.

"No, you don't," he shot back, his eyes glued to your chest, his hands leaving bruises on your hips when he began to shift you back and forth, encouraging you to rub yourself over his clothed erection. "And I ain't gonna fuck you, baby, I'm sorry."

You fought back the sob that clawed its way up your throat. "You want me, too," you tried, tipping your head back and biting your lip when you felt his cock slide perfectly through your folds. He was thick, that much you could tell, and you moaned at the thought of him stretching you open. How delicious that sting would feel at first, the pain that would bleed into pleasure, your mingled breaths and the feel of your skin sticking together that first time.

"This is... fuck," he groaned, bucking his hips up to meet yours. "This is a business relationship, that's it." But his voice held no conviction whatsoever.

"Yeah?" you panted, tilting your chin down to look at him. He was fucking wrecked underneath you. His eyes were all wild, teeth clenching together so hard the muscle in his jaw twitched. You smirked and lunged forward to kiss him, your tongue sliding into his mouth with ease. He whined against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, pressing against your spine as he gave in, his jaw falling open wider, giving you more room to swirl your tongues together frantically while your hips ground down onto his lap, selfishly chasing your high.

"If you do this with all your business partners, I can see how you became so successful," you breathed when you pulled away.

His eyes fluttered closed and you watched his muscles relax, as if he were giving up the fight. You leaned forward and tenderly kissed the corner of his mouth, your thighs burning from the effort as you continued to rut yourself against him. You felt the tip of his cock catch on your clit and you squeaked as a shiver ran through you and your vision began to blur.

"Joel," you whimpered, pressing your nose against his throat.

"Just... just take what you need, sweetheart," he told you, wrapping his arms around your ribs. "I'm hangin' on by a thread here, just - take what you need."

You whined and pushed your face into his neck, too close to your orgasm to fight with him any longer.

"Come with me," you whispered. You could feel his body tremble underneath you at the request, but he replied, "No."

Tears stung your eyes and you weren't sure if it was the confusion surrounding his steadfast rejection or the intensity of your orgasm, but either way you gasped and two tears slid down your cheeks when you fell apart on top of him.

With a shocking amount of speed, Joel flipped you over so you were on your back. He hovered above you, watching your release wash over you, his hips still pressing against your center, still grinding and thrusting and rubbing as he memorized the look on your face when you came. And maybe it was just all too much: too much build up, too much tension, too much begging for his cock from your perfect fucking mouth because he suddenly tensed and groaned.

Your eyes snapped open in surprise when you felt the warmth spreading through his boxers and dampness leaking through the fabric, just barely touching your skin.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned as he continued to come, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He dropped his chin to his chest, mouth forming a circle and his eyes squeezing shut while his body pulsed and shook with an incredible amount of force.

"Oh, shit," he breathed, his eyes finally meeting yours.

You stared at one another, each of you panting for air with your hearts hammering wildly in your chests and heat flushing your faces. Slowly, when you began to come down, reality seeped in. As much as he tried to fight it, and as frustrated as you were with him, there was no denying it now:

A line was crossed, and there was no going back.

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[jinxthequeergirl]

The Ol Switcharoo (pt5)

Stan x reader / ford x reader

Summary: you are forced to question the life you've lived for 30 years.

Warning: none

☆anyone on my tagliatelle who isn't seeing this when I Tag them let me know ik I've been having problems tagging a few of ya'll

~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~

"I'm feeling little over dressed for the occasion." You said stepping into the kitchen wearing one of your best outfits for the date Mable had prepared for you and Stanford.

Stanford stood in the kitchen with a smile. "Are you kidding!? Look at'cha, you're stunning!" Stanford said you smiled as he reached out a hand and guided you to the table, pulling out your seat before pushing you in and sitting down himself.

Mable insisted your first date be at home, Dipper and Soos dressed to a T in fancy waiter outfits the table set with the nicest/ least stained tablecloth in the house. And Mable in a chef hat.

"I promise to take out out somewhere real nice." Stanford whispered as Mable scooped whatever she had on the stove onto plates. You chuckled in response before Dipper and soos presented you with the meals.

Your eyes widened. You looked at Stanford mouthing a thank you for the real date dinner in advance. Stanford managed to get you away from Mable and Into the car for some real food.

"Most fancy places are closed for the night. The best I can offer is burgers." He said, driving down the quiet road. "I love Mable, but anything is better than that." You both laughed. Eventually, you had your food as he pulled up to the lake, and you both sat and ate. Talking Like two teenagers on a first date.

For the following weeks, you found your rooms were now shared, and mornings and evening were greeted with quick kisses. It was a new routine you found yourselves falling into. Mable noted that stan was "a lot less grunkler" since the change. Even when everything was crazy it still worked.

After everything in your lives had finally calmed down, after saving the shack, repairing it, a Zombie apocalypse. You found the house was silent with what felt like the first night of peaceful sleep.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Y/n! I have been trying to reach you for a while!"

The voice that pulled you from your sleep boomed loud enough to startle you awake. You sat up in bed seeing the world around you was greyscaled Stanford fast asleep next to you and a familiar glowing freak above you.

His single eye staring down at you.

"Wh...will?..what are you doing here?"

You asked, sitting up as you did the world around, turned up right, causing you to slide straight out of bed into a chair. "Relax, we're in your dream, and the names BILL though I can't say I blame you, I was a complete and total secret but trust me y/n I know all about you."

You stared at him squinting, you where far to tired to understand what he was saying to you right now.

"What do you want?"

"A truce, I came to apologize for breaking into stans mind and almost killing shooting star and pine tree. And to warn you."

"Warn me?"

"Something big is coming something that will change your life! And I want you to know I'm on your side."

"On my side? Bill, I don't understand what you are talking about!"

"Trust me, you will, and when you do, you'll want a friend to be there for you, I'm offering myself for when everything you know changes. By the way, how well do you really know that stan?" He asked, pointing to Stanford asleep in bed.

"That stan?" You turned back, but as you did, you shot up in bed, clutching a piece of paper, breathing heavy. You looked down at the paper that looked like it had been torn out of something.

"Contact me, BFF!" Was scribbled across the top, and twoard the bottom was a cipher and some sort of incantation. You still fought to catch your breath. Your hand moved to shake Stanford awake, but your hand fell straight through the air and hit the empty space of your mattress.

"Stanford?"

That was a couple of weeks ago. You had folded up the page and tucked it under your mattress, trying to forget about the whole thing.

But every know and then you would get this hotrible feeling, you started to look at stanford weird and did your best to shake off the feeling. Luckily, Stanford had promised to take you out to dinner just the two of you. He told you he had something important to tell you.

"Aaahh, what if he asks you to marry him!?" Mable said excitedly from behind you as you had let her brush your hair. "I highly doubt that. You said clipping your last earring into place.

"Dipper! Doesn't y/n look beautiful! Grunkle stans going to ask her to marry him!" You rolled your eyes and looked at dippers worried face in the mirror.

"What's wrong?" You asked, turning around and crouching to his level. "Y/n There's something important I want to share with you I wanted to come to you first but I went against my better judgment and told stan first now i know you where the right choice."

"Of course you know you can tell me anything, dipper."

"OK you know about how strange and unusual gravity falls is." You nodded thinking to every monster, dinosaur, and ghost you had encountered with the twins even recalling some of the stuff from when you were young. Then the feeling set in again.

"Something big is coming something that will change your life as you know it!"

Rang out in your head. You wondered if what Dipper was about to tell you had anything to do with this. "Ah, c'mon dipdip can't this wait till after y/n and stan get home?" Mable asked, appearing from behind you now covered in makeup. Dipper rubbed his arm. "I guess..."

"Are you sure, Dipper? I can listen." He nodded. "OK, I'll see you in a few hours, ok?" You said ruffling his head. "Call if anything happens.

That was an hour ago already. You sat nervously at the restaurant Stanford promised to meet you at after he finished a few things up at the shack.

You tapped your glass and counted cars as they drove past the window you were sat by and looked at the gifted (more like lifted since it was a stolen antique store in portland) watch on your wrist and saw how late it was getting.

You sighed, resting your head on the table, watching the water droplets race down your glass. And you watched as the glass went up as the hair that fell around your face go cup as well. You pushed yourself up only to find yourself lifting out of the chair into the air before crashing back into your booth.

You paused only for a moment, trying to wrap your head around what that might have been, then ran to call the Pines family.

There was no answer for a long time you hung up and refilled several times before giving up. You grabbed your things and raced to the shack only being stopped by the same phenomenon as before.

Was this part of what Bill was trying to tell you about? Where are Stanford and the kids ok? So many thoughts raced through your head as you ran as fast as you could home.

"WHY would they call him unnamed!?"

"Unless stan isn't really stan"

The two kids looked up at the large painting of their great uncle on the wall behind them in horror.

"But there has to be some explanation as to why he would have all these fake ID'S and why that news paper says he's dead." Mable said trying to rationalize as Dipper continued to pull things from the box

"What about Y/n!? Is y/n even y/n!? What if she's in on this!?"

"In on what?" You asked pushing open the door.

The kids both screamed at your appearance.

"Are you kids ok!? Where is your grunkle and...what is all this?" You asked stepping further into the room to get a better look at what they had laid out on the floor in front of them.

In a different universe, Stanford Pines was an honest man. In a different universe, he didn't lie or cheat. He showed up to his date on time, there was no weird gravital anomalies interrupting your day.

You thought about this alternate reality as you stood over the fake IDs, news paper clipping, pass ports, the screen from the shack security cameras glow portraying a man you only assumed to be Stanford pines carrying gallons worth if toxic waste into the gift shop.

"What is this?"

You asked staring down at it afraid to move. "Is this why there are government vehicles surrounding this place?"

"You mean you don't know why stand has all this?" Dipper asked.

You shook your head.

In another universe, Stanford agreed to visit your family, even to just get away with you. In that same universe, he never changed, you where still hunting monsters and doing science stuff. In that same universe, you move out of the shack into a lovely home you share together, you teach together, and you live a beautiful and adventurous life. And he was still your Frodsy.

You didn't realize, but there was a ringing in your ear that tuned out the two children as they talked. All you could do is let time pass as your brain tried to work out yet another explanation.

Then Mable found the code.

"This isn't like any code I've ever seen before." Dipper said.

"The vending machine." You said quietly.

Your body had a mind of its own as you followed the twins to the vending machine in the giftshop.

"How well do you know that stan?"

This had to be what Bill meant by "that stan"

Without thinking, you typed the code into the vending machine as the kids distracted and fought off Soos, Without thinking...

"He swore he blocked this off..." You going down the stairs you hadn't seen in 30 years.

You felt as though you could throw up. Whe. You saw what was going on in the basement, the portal up and running, and with only a few moments to go. "So this is what's been causing problems... this is where he's been going!?" You half shout half say to the room.

You stare down at the desk seeing two familiar red journal. "The journal..." You and Dipper say at the same time.

"You know about these?" You ask in unison again.

"Your grunkle and I wrote them? How do you know about these?"

"When I said I wanted to tell you something." You watched Dipper pull a third journal from his vest.

"Grunkle stan wrote these?" Mable asked when you took the journal from dippers hands opening all of them to reveal the blueprints for the portal that sat in the room adjacent the one you stood in.

"What is it?" Dipper asked, looking at the pages. You glanced up at the timer and suddenly felt yourself fliat back into your body and realization kicked in "We have no time.We need to shut it off now. Kids stay here. Soos come help me. " You moved quickly. "We can help!"

"No! Please just stay safe! If your grunkle gets back, do NOT let him out of this control room!" You ordered them.

You and soos worked quickly enough to turn off the emergency kill switch just like you rememberd doing years ago. You felt a million emotions trickling inside you. Most of all, you felt angry that he would lie about keeping the portal, lie about working on it, and keep you out of it.

You scanned the room as the portal whipped your hair around you finally spotted it.

30 years never felt more wasted than it did in this very moment the moment it took you to walk from the key switch all the way to the shiny red button.

"Y/n Wait!" You frozen looking over at Stanford in the door way as the kids and now soos pushed him back.

"Don't touch that button, please!"

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!"

the kids couldn't hold him any longer, and he pushed past them running to meet you only to stop halfway, noticing you inch closer to the button as a defense. "Please! Just wait! Don't do anything! I can explain!" You watched Mable and Dipper get up. Dipper made eye contact with you as if he were trying to telepathically tell you something. It only took you spotting Mable trying to sneak around you for you to realize.

You stepped forward, pointing an accusing finger at Stanford. "After everything! You lied to me!? For how long!? When were you going to tell me? DONT YOU REMEMBER ALL THE HORRIBLE THINGS THIS THING HAS DONE!?" You asked poking him in the chest with a finger pushing him away from the button where Mable now stood.

"Yes! I wanted to tell you sooner! I was going to tell you today-"

"Today!? That's why you wanted to have dinner." You were getting off track. Before anyone could say anything else, your feet lifted off the ground, and you were in the air. "Now, Mable, press it now!" You heard Dipper yell.

"Mable, wait!" She froze as Stanford dove through the air for her as she gripped onto the pole.

Dipper soos and yourself took onto the task of catching him and pulling him away from her.

"30 YEARS OF NOTHING! STANFORD PINES! I CANT BELIEVE I WAISTED ALL THIS TIME JUST FOR YOU TO PULL A STUNT LIKE THIS!" He watched your angry tears roll down your cheek then up into the air around you.

"It wasnt waited, just hear me out all of you!" He plead as you held him against the wall. He stared you in the eyes a sad look met your furious gaze.

"I wanted to tell you all, your going to hear some bad stuff about me, some of it's true but believe me everything! Even this is for my family for a of you." He said the last part pointedly at you.

"Hit the button mable!" You yelled.

"Don't trust him!" Dipper followed up.

She looked around at everyone when her eyes locked with stanfords you knew what she was going to say

You quickly made a move to push it before her, but Stanford grabbed your hand and held you back. "I'm sorry! Trust me." You stared at him.

"I trust you grunkle stan!"

~~~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~~

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[moonalumi]

gf ellie and dinosaurs + random silly ellie headcanons

warnings- nsfw towards the end

• you going to ellie’s house for the first time and her bed is covered with dino plushies n you just think it’s so cute

• you going out shopping and buying ellie a crochet dinosaur hat and putting it on her

“babe…i look ridiculous” ellie says looking at herself in the mirror.

“noooo baby you’re so adorable awww look at you” you say smiling at her; kissing her cheek as you adjust the hat

• ellie popping out of corners in your shared house, jump scaring you, shooting you with a fake gun she got at a carnival.

“ellieeee!!! ohmygosh” you shriek and jump back after hearing the fake gunshots the toy makes.

“boom boom, gotchu babe your dead” ellie says giggling.

you roll your eyes and take her gun from her and shoot her too. “you’re dead too now haha”

“babeee that doesn’t count,” she whines

• you know damn well ellie got some dinosaur boxers she’s such a loser i love her i can just imagine you coming home and her running out the bedroom

“babe babe look what i got!!” she says out of breath, all excited with wide eyes

you haven’t even put your bags down yet, “w-what? what el what is it?”

“i’ve been waiting to show you all day” ellie says smiling and she just unties her sweatpants strings and drops her pants and you just see her bright ass neon green boxers with dinosaurs on it

“el-ellie oh my gosh” you say holding back your laugh, “there so cute, there so…you”

ellie furrows her eyebrows and pulls her pants up again “what is that supposed to mean?”

“nothing baby cm’here” you say pulling her in for a kiss. she kisses you so softly then pulls away “did you like them though?”

“yes baby i love them”

• now imagine you and ellie having a daughter and you come home to ellie dressing her in dinosaur onesies or dressing her in flannels that match her own

“ellie stop dressing our daughter like a masc lesbian”

“w-what no i’m not?? she’s just matching me”

“exactly”

• you and ellie play fighting on her bed and she ends up almost falling off the bed but she grabs onto you for dear life

• ellie taking her hoodie off but she somehow gets stuck with it half off and she’s like “babe come help” and your just like ellie wtf???

• i just know ellie devours her food the second she gets it and then complains later her stomach hurts

• ellie forcing you to watch any and ever dinosaur movie ever in existence and when you say you want to watch something else she pouts and says you don’t love her anymore

• you and ellie cuddling; about to fall asleep and she whips her head up to look at you and is like, “what if this bed just exploded right now” n your like “ellie. go to sleep”

• i just know ellie laughs at everything and laughs randomly and when you ask what she’s laughing at you she’d be like “what if i just got up and did a backflip over you”

• ellie about to dine in on some chips or something and you snatch it out her hands and run away and she sprints after you n she’s so fast so she quickly catches up to you and then legit picks you up and carries you over her shoulder

• ellie having trouble putting her hair up and loudly letting out groans of frustration you can hear her from across the house so you walk in the bathroom and your like “do you need help?” but she refuses to admit that so she slightly nods and leans into you n you kiss her head and do it for her awww

• ellie tripping over her own feet while walking in front of you and she stops and turns around and stares at you while your laughing n she’s grumpy the whole rest of the day

• you admiring her cause she’s oh so pretty and she’s blushing like crazy and you tease her for it and stuffs her face in a pillow

• lego sets. i know she loves them but when she leaves pieces on the floor and you step on them and your like

“ellie what the fuck! pick up your stuff”

and she comes out the room like a sad lil baby n mumbles a ‘sorry’

• ellie falling asleep on your chest and she just completely drooled all over you but she’s your baby so you don’t care but then she wakes up and sneezes on you n rubs her nose on you then falls dead asleep again. what a baby

• plus i can imagine ellie falling asleep on you literally everywhere. no matter what

• PLUS i just know whenever you two are holding hands and her nose is itchy she pulls your hands up and uses your hand to scratch it

• when your watching something or reading and ellie comes into the room saying “look what i can do” and then does a fucking handstand???

• when ellie’s so excited to see you and she goes to kiss you and completely misses and kisses your chin or your nose

• ellie playing her video games and she keep dying and she slams her controller on the bed and turns to you with her eyebrows all furrowed and pointing to the screen is like “you see this shit?”

• she’s so grumpy in the morning it’s so cute you could be like “goodmorningg sweetie howd you sleep?” and shed mumble a goodmorning and okay and go back to sleep. plus when she’s grumpy and all sleepy the only way you can cheer her up is by spooning her and kissing her cute face everywhere until she’s smiling

• ellies a big baby whenever it’s just you two but when she’s sick??? oh it’s even worse i swear it seems like she’s actually cry if you left her alone for more than two secs

• speaking of whenever you have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night she’s coming too. she could be dead asleep but the second she felt you get off the bed

“babe where you going?” she asks all confused and still half asleep

“just the bathroom sweetheart i’ll be right back”

“no no i- me too” she says and gets up and follows you to the bathroom holding your hand n she’s so cute with her hair all messy and her eyes half open ohmygod i need her

• anyway when she’s been bugging you all day either making you trip or poking you randomly or fake fighting you or making you repeat what you said over and over again even though she heard the first time and you officially get mad at her n she’s just quiet and behaved and following you around like a lost puppy

and after you’ve ignored her for an hour she’ll legit get on her knees and beg you to forgive her

nsfw 18+

• you an ellie laying in bed and she just looks so good in that grey tank top of hers and sweatpants so you start rubbing up on her and straddling her lap, giving her a bunch of hints on what you want but she’s just… so oblivious because she telling you all these space facts

“oh my god did you know that saturn- wait are you even paying attention to me?” ellie says all hurt

“ellie…. i am keeping going honey” you say wrapping your arms around her neck and looking at her like you’re about to devour her

• everytime you bend down in front of her she’s grabbing your hips and fake fucking you from behind n mimicking your moans

• ellie walking home and you text her a pic of you wearing her shirt and no pants and she starts sprinting home and when she comes all out of breath your like “ellie did you seriously run here?” and she smiles and nods

• ellie being oh so sleepy but she still can’t get enough of you so she begs to eat you out and when she is, she’s so messy and delirious she’s sucking on your inner thigh instead of your clit

• you coming home after a long day and ellie hugs you from behind and feels you up and you push her away a little

“ellie calm down i haven’t even showered i’ve been sweating all day”

“mmm even better” ellie jokes and you gasp and turn around and hit her arm

“ewww ellie your so gross!”

• after sex she immediately passes out on you. i’m talking full dead body weight all on top of you

• n back to the dino boxers imagine during sex you go to take off her pants and see she has those on and you just freeze and ellie notices and her whole face turns red

“oops i forgot i had those on…” she says holding back a lil giggle. “surprise i guess?”

you can’t help to smile at her and laugh a little because she’s still so silly even during this

[hunnidmilly]

not my hair. /jimmy u. +millytober+

yall school has been killing me. i’m in my first semester of my junior year in college, and im so tired everyday. and im working too. i wanna dedicate this to @blacst4r for their RECENT TEXT AU😭😭 it gave me an idea.

than to, @caramelcleopatraa. me and her are both in college and struggling with time rn friends. also, remember to be nice…some of yall anons are fckin bullying people deadass, you need to be popped in your mouth for saying that shit to her <333 ty for being patient with us <3 check out her writing if you haven’t !!! her SMAU’s are my fav 😩

warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up, no kids pls), p in v, hair pulling, cursing.

parings: jimmy (jon) uso x black!reader

-

jimmy’s reaction to you getting your hair done goes a bit overboard…

-

as you unlocked the door to your home, you heard the patter of feet. upon opening it, Bowser, the shared Rottweiler, greeted you enthusiastically.

“hi baby. my sweet boy, you like mommy’s hair? we gotta take you to get groomed next, boy,” you cooed at the dog as he nuzzled his nose into your face “where is your daddy?”

“bowser,” jon’s voice boomed causing the dog to stand at attention “food.”

with a snap of his fingers, the dog darted toward the kitchen. a shirtless jon, wearing only grey sweatpants, walked over to you; pulling you close and nuzzling your neck, leaving soft kisses all over.

“fine ass. you look so fuckin’ good. c’mere.” he takes your hand dragging you down the hall towards your bedroom

“wait! jon, hold on!” you giggled, as you drag your feet on the carpet against his hold

“whatchu mean, holon? it wasn’t no holon for you to run yo ass to ulta. get them clothes off.” jon commanded as he reached for your jacket to yank it off, throwing past his shoulder

“ah!” you squeal as he threw you onto the bed. moving into your neck, starting to kiss and suck on it, while his hands reached for any piece of clothing left you had on before snatching it off you. “baby, lemme get the bonnet.”

“fuck the bonnet, tryna see yo sexy ass when you cummin all over me.” he groaned before pulling his shorts down revealing all his long thickness, standing at attention pointing right at you with a curve.

Jon was blessed. But he can go over board sometimes wanting to partake in overstimulation and being so rough…on your hair. He loved to pull it and make your pussy swallow him whole; you shouting to the celling about how good the dick felt with tears pooling in your eyes. It was his favorite thing to do.

“jon, don’t pull it and i’m deadass.” you rasped out pushing against his chest as he leaned over you kissing the side of your face, and throwing ur legs over his arms.

“ight, I promise…shit!” he grunted running his fat leaky tip through your folds, before surging into you bottoming out.

jon wasted no time before starting to pump that girth into you rapidly, splitting your pussy wide over him. you always needed a minute to get used to his thickness, the stinging sensation combusting all over your body for a moment. you felt that thick vein running from his base to his tip, rubbing against ur spot. He let out a grunt as your pussy molded around his dick.

you let out a sharp hiss as he nearly pulled out before bottoming out again, letting the small thick coarse hair tickle your clit.

tonight was different; his dick was aching ever since you sent him them damn selfies. he needed to explode. he could damn near drill through a brick. the sight of your head thrown back, eyes rolling to the back of your head, hands gripping the sheets, toes curled, moans and cried if ecstasy running through his ear, and your hair spiraled over the bed couldn’t have been more pretty.

he’d make it his lock-screen if he could.

he starts creating a pace, fucking into you. your pussy weaping all over his dick made it an easy ride. you whined and bucked your hips up to match his pace, your clit pressing into him—adding more pleasure. his dick working your pussy with fast, smooth, and deep strokes. his pants and your cries bouncing off the walls creating a song.

“mmm! ba—baby!” you stumbled over your words trying to string together a singular sentence

your push your hand against his chest, “nah. wanna run yo ass to ulta, right? i said bring dat ass home. you wanna be hard headed. lay the fuck back…yea, take this dick. that’s my good girl.”

his mind became clouded at the sight of his dick coated in a sheer white, and your pussy wetting up his lap. each pump causing his stomach to tighten. he knew if he kept going he’d be fucking a baby into you.

he quickly pulled out flipping you onto your knees, sliding back in. he slowed his hips into small circular whines; grinding against your ass to drag out your orgasm.

he was beating the pussy up, all from a damn hairstyle. secrets to be kept; before you arrived he nearly broke his phone clutching it in his hand so hard as he wrapped his hand around his thick base and yanked on the red, leaky, tip till he came on the pictures you sent him…now he was just making up for time.

“look at dat, mama,” he sighed pulling against your shoulder to make you look up towards the mirror on the closet door, “pretty ass…so fuckin sexy. you so fuckin pretty, baby. lemme hear you say it.”

“i’m so pretty…” you softly mewled

“hell nawl. whatchu say?”

your eyes were permanently glued to the sight of jon pushing your neck into the bed, the other gripping your hip to pull you towards his irritate thrust, and his lip tucked between his teeth tightly. the only thing flowed out your mouth was your saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, and incoherent babbles.

you were in the perfect position. face down was down, and your pussy hiked up in his lap being fucked thoroughly. jon felt his dick swell from the sight of your curtain bangs messily sticking against your forehead.

you tightened your pussy muscles around his dick everytime he pulled out, your aching pussy twitches at the feeling of his hot cum spraying inside you. you could see white spots in your vision at the feeling of your stomach tightening.

“you gone make me cum too quick, doin’ that kegal shit, girl.” he groaned out cracking his hand on the side of your ass—a move to tell you to stop.

you let out a gasp as his hand moved into your hair tightening, pulling you upwards.

“jon! you pro—ugh! shit!” you screamed out towards the celling

“you wettin this dick up so fuckin’ good, mama. tell me what i’m tryna hear.” he panted—sweat beads formed on his forehead and his chest, as his balls slapped against your clit

“i’m so pretty! i’m so prettyyy—jon im cummingg!” you cried into the air as your pussy twitched before your orgasm squirted over him—the force nearly pushing him out.

the sensation of your pussy jumping around him trigged his own release, his cum jetting out in thick ropes inside your pussy—mixing with your own.

he fell over ontop of you, leaving wet kisses in the crook of your neck. his hand reaching between your legs to rub small circles on your clit to drag out the effects.

“you’re a fuckin’ liar, jon.” you panted holding yourself up on your wobbly arms

“text me her booking site or sum…i’ll pay for another appointment. can’t promise that shit ain’t gone make me fuck you tho.”

this guy…

🏷️: @caramelcleopatraa @harmshake @msbigredmachine @angiedawn02 @amandairene88 @cyberdejos2 @queeny23

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make sure to reblog, comment, and follow! xoxo <3

[notlhecxzsa]

I Think Your House Is Haunted - N.R

Summary: Time flies too fast, too fast for Y/n to even recognize and realize what was happening behind her back. What would happen? Especially after losing the only person she trusts. Would she feel free from the hands of her father? Or would she feel caged, now in the hands of Natasha?

Author's Note: Pheww, it has been soooo long! Life has been kicking my butt, but I'm doing great now! I hope life always treats all of you well! If no one has told you today, I'm proud of you for making it this far (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Warnings: Physical abuse (heavy), cussing, verbal abuse, Y/n looking like a lost child

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3rd Person's POV:

"But, Dad..." Lucille heard the helpless tone on Y/n's voice, struggling to not interfere on the scene that was unfolding in front of her. After the two heads of the mansion explained everything to their daughter, clearly and completely, the volcanoe of realization inside of the young woman errupted.

Y/n does not want to marry someone she doesn't know, she doesn't even know who Natasha is personally. It was all too much for her little mind to take in, but after a moment of silence, it dawned to her what kind of future she will be having. She will be facing.

She can't marry someone she doesn't love. She can't move in to a whole new country, her life hasn't ever started yet, and now, she's being forced - as always, into something she knows she's not capable of becoming. Fear blossom in her chest as her mind shut down, only thinking about how much she despised what her parents will put her through.

She was not given the chance to go out and explore what is outside the big walls of their abode, now she's being transferred into a whole new country she barely knows, only daydreaming of what it looked like in person.

Her fist clenched onto her dress, fearing what's to come, as she watched her father shook his head in clear disappointment. "No buts, sweetheart..." Leaning forward the dining table towards his daughter, Phoveus caressed her cheek in one hand. "It's for the better." With a small sinister smile, he leaned back, turning his attention to the food in front of him. "Besides, you will - finally, gonna be useful to us. Not some lazy stupid girl pancing around her Mommy and Daddy's mansion, huh? Gonna be a good housewife for you future wife while Mom and Dad makes a whole lot of money, it's for you too, if you could understand my point of view." Phoveus finished. Y/n only stared down on her plater, her fist already turning white as tears clouded her eyes. Mixed emotions settled on her mind, it felt like there was someone opening the bottle of a shakened can of soda, the aerated liquid finally bursting out of the tight space.

"I don't want this!" Her one hand that was holding a fork came down on the plate, the clattering sound as she forcefully let go of the fork made some of the people inside the dining area flinch, including her parents. "I don't wanna go there, I- I don't wanna go anywhere! I wanna- I wanna stay here! I don't want to marry any-anyone!" Her small high pitched voice rang through the ears of many, while Lucille's eyes widen, ready to jump incase anything happens.

A moment of silence enveloped them before a booming sound of human skins creating an impact to each other filled the atmosphere. The slap that was laid upon the softness of Y/n's cheeks made her whole body turned to the side, without even having the chance to register it, she was forcefully being held on her upper arms, gripped tightly that she couldn't even move it around. She stood on her tippy toes, her father standing tall in front of her as she looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.

"How dare you talk to me that way?! Are you out of your mind?!" Her fathers loud voice rang through her disoriented hearing, followed by the muffled speech of her mother.

"Phoveus! Hey!" It came out like a hesitant yell, before Y/n could even look at her mother, a body jumped in and collided with hers before her father's another hand could even came contact with her other cheek.

"What the fuck?!" Phoveus looked straight into Lucille's eyes that held so much courage in them, held so much protectiveness. He pushed her away, but she did not budge, only holding onto his arm that was holding the young woman tightly.

Annoyance and anger filled him, she took all his power to push both of the woman that was in front of her. "Fucking idiots! Get her out of here-" His voice was cut off by his wife's voice. "Phoveus, no! Stop this! You can't kick her out-" Turning the tables, it was now Phoveus' turn to cut her off.

"Oh, I can, Carmilla! Maybe you want to come with her, huh? You and your daughter, you're both fucking dumb, don't make yourself relevant in this." Now, his attention turned towards him, Y/n was almost laying down on the floor, her eyes unfocused as Lucille held her while whispering things in her ear. "This dumb mutt needs to learn her lessons. Think she forget what she's not supposed to do, hmm?" Once again, taking a hold of her daughter, ignoring how much Lucille wanted to take her away from his hands, only ordering two of her guards to lead her out of the mansion.

"L-lucille! N-n-no!" Y/n sobbed out weakly, looking back as she was being dragged down the hallway, already knowing what's to come, but having an idea that this time, it will be different. She heard Lucille screaming back, calling out her name helplessly.

"We can't have you acting like that in your new home, I think it's just the right time you'll be taught for one last time. We'll make this quick, after all, you'll be getting out of here in just a few hours." Phoveus muttered angrily to her before pushing her inside a dark room.

"P-please... No..." Crawling to the far corner of the dark room, she pushed herself against it, trying to get as far as possible from her father.

"L-lucy..."

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

Natasha's POV:

"God, this is so goooood!" I heard Clint exclaimed, a small smirk stretched onto my face a I leaned my head back, closiing my eyes as I let out a satisfied sigh, feeling a couple of hands wandering around my body, caressing every bits of my skin.

"Wanna get out of here?" A sultry voice whispered in my ear, making me look straight ahead the pairs of unknown eye colors, too drunk to even know what hues it is.

Looking ahead, I saw Maria chatting with Carol - a close friend of ours, probably flirting too, looking to the side, there was Steve minding his own business while scanning the area, and up ahead the dancing area was Clint and Bucky, beers in their hands while dancing around.

"Hmmm?" Looking back to the girl that was almost sitting in my lap, I smirked, gripping her hips as I stood up, almost carrying her along.

"Wanna get ruined that bad, huh?" I nipped on the upper tip of her ear, gripping her hips tightly.

"Maybe? Wanna do the honors?" She let out a small giggle, her arms lacing around my neck as she left small hot kissed on the skin of it.

Before I knew it, we were up againt the wall of a secluded hallway, one of the upper floors of the exclusive club of my friend, where expensive roome are lining up, looking like a hotel. We exchange a hot kisses, I could feel my pants getting tight as I lead her backwards to the room that was set on my name.

"Natalia?"

Frowning as I drunkenly look down at the woman underneath me, my vision slightly swaying but still sober enough to know what is happening. I didn't even notice that we're already in bed, but as I looked down to face her, I saw those pair of eyes that held me captive, keeping me awake in the middle of the night.

"Ms. Romanoff?" I snapped out of my trance when I heard a whole different voice calling me out. It did not sound like a melody, it did not sound like it was from an angel up above.

I could feel the adrenaline rush wearing off, the lust deforming from my insides into something unknown. I felt... I don't know. There was an edge in the put of my stomach that almosy felt like a guilt... a longing guilt for someone that I don't know. Hotness bloom inside my chest, burning with an uncomfortable feeling as I sat back up, walking towards the door and opening it.

"Leave." I muttered, with no emotion showing in my facade.

"What?- W-why?" I heard whoever she is called out in confusion, I shook my head and rolled my eyes in annoyance.

"Leave. Before I make you." She stood up scrambling around the bed, taking her slutty top that almost made her boobs pop out. She stomped towards the door angrily.

"Make sure to still pay me-" She started, and I gunted in anger, taking a hold of her forearm and pushing her firmly outside the room.

"Yeah, yeah, just get out." I said, annoyance visible in my voice.

I let out an exasperated sigh, plopping onto the bed before staring at the ceiling. I could feel the alcohol running through my veins, I should be getting laid right now, having my fun and getting my satisfaction. Instead, I was left wondering - questioning what is happening to me.

Am I getting crazy? Should I tell Maria or Clint to get me a therapist?

Maybe, I am?

Maybe, I...

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3rd Person's POV:

Y/n woke up, the sound of airplane rumbling mid-air made her heart jump. She was wearing a long sleeve turtleneck and a black pants, trying to cover up as much bruises as she can. Flying over to a whole another country was already fear settling, but without Lucille by her side, it was a whole another conversation.

After that session with her father, she was left battered and bruised, with 2 of their other maids to pick her up on the cold floor and help her get ready. She did not see her Lucy, she wanted Lucy, not them! But, to no avail, she was met with no presence of the woman who she grown to love and fin comfort on. She had asked the guards and a couple of other maids, they did not say anything, only saying that they don't know.

She looked on the window of the plane, one of her father's private plane. It has been multiple hours, she slept through it all, feeling so tired to even witness the exchange of location outside those windows. Her body aches, but she was already used to feeling that way. Her mind still clouded with fear of the unknown, but she only prayed for one thing, for Lucy to be okay wherever she is, and hope to see her again.

She will see her again.

Sadness and longing settled in her heart, the thought of losing Lucy, the only person she could hold on to, the only person she has, made her heart break into million pieces. Tears brimmed up in her eyes, wanting to get out of the predicament she was forced into. But, how? When even Lucy is not there to help her.

As for her parents, she doesn't know what to feel. Does she miss them or not? She doesn't know. She doesn't feel the longing feeling in her heart at the thought of them. She felt... empty. And the thought of being away from them brought her... peace that she couldn't explain what. She felt her body relaxing at the thought of being away from them and she doesn't know why. Maybe soon she'll know. Maybe, Lucy could explain it to her.

She jumped at the sound of the voice going through the intercoms, saying that they are descending and put their seatbelts on. She frowned, thinking how long she might've been sleeping for them to be already in the destination they'll be going. Without anymore thoughts, she scrambled on her seat, still careful with her movements to not hurt herself.

Gulping, her eyes shut down, thinking of many good things. Lucy. Her dog, Tammy. Her paintings. Her stuffed toys. Every little good thing that she knows and owned was thought of, Lucy's comforting voice was remembered and she repeated them figuratively.

"... It's been great flying with you." The voices were muffled by her hands that was squished in her ears. Opening up her eyes that the sun from aboved cascaded on, she looked up and see a couple of flight attendants walking towards her, ready to assists with warm smiles on their face.

"Are you alright, dear?" A woman said, leaning down to look at her face. Blush spread across her face, golly! she must've looked so stupid at the moment. A helpless child.

Immediately composing herself, she nodded, replying with only a smile as she did not know how to respond. She looked around, not knowing what to do until one of the flight attendants, who is a man, started to talk.

"We will assist you, Ms. Y/L/N. Just follow us if you're all settled. Someone is waiting out there for you who will be taking care of you until you reach other house of Ms. Romanoff, as what your parents had told us. Will there be anything you need for us to assist you with?" The man rambled, and she almost felt dizzy with how neat and fast he talked.

She shook her head, "N-none, thank you." She stammered, standing up slowly and stretching the sleeves of her top clothes, covering herself up more if it's even possible.

"Well then, let us lead the way. Please, follow us. Your things will be taken care of the other staff, so you won't have to worry about that." The woman said, and she looked up at her with a soft smile, giving her a nod. They were so warm and kind. Are the people of New York all like that? She's never been to New York, only wandering around the comfort and vicinity of Hawaii, if she was ever given the chance to.

Golly, what will she be experiencing here, in this foreign love, full of fear and no one to call home.

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"You must be Y/n Y/l/n?" A tall woman with raven hair and hazel eyes approached the young woman as she stood like an ant in front of a very, very tall building. 3 of her bodyguards lined up behind me, the sun strikingly cascaded down on them since it's almost lunch time.

Maria looked at the young woman, noticing how she shifted from one foot to another, seeing how Maria is looking at her up and down. She looks pretty young, she drips with innocence, but Maria silently cringed at how covered up she was. Her clothes of choosing doesn't match well with the weather of June her in New York. Well, maybe she doesn't know?

"I'm Maria, you can follow me." After saying that, she turned on her heels and walked inside the building. The young woman who nodded at her question followed on her trail along with the big bulky bodyguards that Natasha ordered to be with the girl. Days before her arrival.

Y/n looked around the inside of the building in awe, not her first time seeing such a luxurious establishment, but nevertheless, it left her in such a state of mind. It's all so... sophisticated. The design, it was slightly too dark for Y/n's liking, but who is she to say anything?

"Natasha's not here. But she'll come around soon..." She looked at the woman as they step inside the huge elevators, it wasn't that tight for 5 people, but Y/n tried her best to push herself against the wall, looking up at Maria in curiosity. She looks very pretty. Scary and intimidating, but pretty. "You can get settled in once I showed you around. Don't worry, I'll be just hanging around for a couple of hours, so if you will need anything, don't hesitate to come to me." Maria checked on the young girl, noticing her quietness, only to find her looking at her already.

She fought off a smirk that wanted to be let out, instead she gave her a warm small smile, not her usual facade to strangers, but it came off natural. "Don't worry, I'm a friend of Natasha. I'm just here to help and assist." Maria assured, and she could swear that she saw how Y/n's shoulder deflated in relaxation, a small cute smile showing off on her face, replying with a nod.

Maria waited for a verbal reply, sensing that there wasn't any, she continued, "Everything you will need is there. Foods, necessities, and whatever other things that you will need, but if you have other needs that are not present, you can just tell me, okay?" Once again, she nodded, blinking slowly as she tried to take in everything that the older woman had said.

She looked at the elevator's screen that shows off which floor they are in. Her heart thumped a little, looking at the number 41, and they're still not there. Golly, is it that tall? Not wanting to stress herself out, she thought if what she might specifically need.

Hmmm, can I request for her to get Tammy here with me?

"Are you hungry? I can cook something for you... or you could, whatever works for you. I've shown you the kitchen and everything, but if you need anything, just call me up, I'll be at the balcony, just gonna make some calls." Maria rambled as Y/n stood in the middle of her room that Maria had shown her. Everything is... perfect. It's so neat and clean, the colors of pastel pink and white are all mixing together perfectly. Y/n thinks it's perfect, Maria thinks it's ridiculous. Since when did Natasha had taken a liking in this type of color, but as Maria analyzed the young woman in front of her, it is all making sense.

"Thank you, Ms. Maria. I can handle the cooking, you've already done enough." Smiling up shyly, Y/n shifted from one foot to another, her hands entangling together, finding comfort in it.

"Oh, no no, it's fine. It's my job. But, don't feel shy and bothered when asking for help, okay? Anyways, Natasha might be on her way, I'll check on her and I'll update you. You can get settled in." Maria said, backing away, ready to turn on her heels.

Y/n nodded, "Thank you, Ms. Maria." With a smile, she said.

"Just call me Maria, it's all fine. I'll be there." Replying with a smile, Y/n nodded, waving her hand as Maria got out of her sight.

Looking around, her smile turning into a thin line. So far, everything is good, and everyone had been so kind. But, somehow, the thought of meeting Natasha brought something weird circling around the insides of her stomach. Her thoughts got cut off when she saw a door on the side for the wall, her eyes widening... a balcony!

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~^~°^~

As Natasha entered the penthouse she owns that could fit 20 or more family, she did not felt any difference, but as soon as her nose got a whiff of something that is being cooked, she frowned. She knows Maria is here, but that woman knows damn well than to touch her kitchen.

Her head is banging with a headache, she can't even remember what was the reason that Maria had called her earlier to come here. But, even if the weather is bad or not, she may have girls on her bed or having the most gut wrenching hangover, she may be injured or lazy, she will always prioritize her work, over anything and everything.

She walked further inside, her senses calm and in serenity, feeling the comfiness of her home. Before going there, she was already drinking a 3 or more shots of one of her expensive vodka, she doesn't know, she won't ever bother to know.

Her firm steps came into a halt when she heard something - someone, humming. It was a very soft tone, and Maria surely won't have that kind of humming sound. Did Maria hired a helper?

She walked with slow and careful steps as she approached where the sound was coming from. Her frown deepens, questions started to run miles inside her mind.

"Who are you?" She blurted out in question, her voice full of authority.

She saw the woman jumped in surprised, as Natasha scanned the woman, she caught a glimpse of the chicken nuggets wrapper beside the stove. What the hell? Is this one of Maria's girl?

As an audible gasp came out of the young woman, she turned immediately. Natasha's eyes immediately caught a glimpse of those familiar orbs that haunted her in the middle of the night.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

Author's Note: I apologize for the wrong grammars and all, I really did my best to finish thisss! Hope you'll like it, mweheheeh, mwaaa! (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

[chronically-ghosted]

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

chapter rating: T

word count: ~25K

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

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

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

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

part ii:

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

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

crunch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just by the top drawer.

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

It’ll be small. Just a latch.

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

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

Joel.

“Joel!”

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Planning on getting wounded any time soon?”

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

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

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

Morphine. 

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

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

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

Would and wouldn’t.

Should and shouldn’t. 

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

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

“What else you got?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ellie!”

“Joel, look, it’s a radio!” 

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

“But I’ve got room in my pack –,”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

No other purpose at all. 

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

“Hey, Ellie, uh–,”

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

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

Luxor, the label reads. 

Hand cream. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She lifts her chin, hands curled at her side.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you make them afraid?” 

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

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

“It’s not. Not when it’s for her.” 

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

“Yeah, of course, she’s your kid.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just stares wide-eyed and inhales. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could hardly recognize the woman underneath it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whenever Joel gets back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie.

And Joel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah, are you –,”

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

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

At least crazy runs in the family. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? What was it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was fine. Did she mention anything?”

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

“Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.” 

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

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

“Joel? What is it?” 

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

“C’mere.” 

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

You go to him without question. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome.”

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

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

You can’t deny this anymore.

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

One hand in the air.

“Yes?”

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

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

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

“Correct again.” 

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

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

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

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

Genus

Common name

Poisonous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie merely sniffs hers. 

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course, I know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a kind of math –,”

“Advanced math,” you interject. 

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

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

“Sam? Who’s Sam?” 

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

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

Ellie, however, remains completely baffled.

“Yeah and? He’s just some guy.”

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

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

Sarah shakes her head no. 

“Not even with a group of people?”

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

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

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

“Oh – you mean like a date.”

“Who’s going on a date?” 

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

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

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

“We were talking about boys.”

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

“Oh.”

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

Joel nods, wiping his hands on his shirt. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s Sam?”

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

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

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

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

“That’s not funny, Dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel’s trust makes your heart soar. 

Only to come crashing down. 

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

Nurture. It’s not what you do. 

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

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

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

  “Alright, Joel. I’ll try.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think so.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until something sang out to it. 

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you see the world?” 

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

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

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

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

“But I can’t leave him.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah, do you know what rouge is?” 

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

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

“Have you ever worn it?” 

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

“Would you like to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hard to believe, right?”

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

“Have you seen him since he left?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yes, please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” Small. Hesitant. Hopeful. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah’s face nearly shines with joy.

Cool. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh, Joel. 

“Tell me you want this.”

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

“I won’t stop.”

Don’t. Please. 

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

His hands are gone, his warmth evaporated. 

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

Pick it up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re surprised.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A soft, barely intimate gesture. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You unplug the drain, your movements slow, hesitant.

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

“Of course she does. I know that.”

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

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

“That is not your decision to make.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What else are you to me? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, goddamn it, I don’t!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit, what the hell did he know?

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

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

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

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

“Um, yeah, that’ll be fine.”

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

“Are you okay?” Sarah asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna talk about it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he do?”

You blink. “What?”

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

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

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

“Sarah, don’t –,”

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

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

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

He’s angry. He’s still angry.

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

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

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

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

And yet he hadn’t. 

He’d let someone in. 

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

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

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

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

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

For coming here and upsetting everything. 

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

Now, what does he do with –

“Dad!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah . . .” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you’re mad about somethin’?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, baby. You have to go.” 

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

But instead –

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

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

“No, not right now. But some day.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nerves. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you haven’t been able to focus since. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vanilla beans.

You grin as you pick them up, trying half-heartedly to find that watchful eye. Just before you click off the light, you affectionately rub the corner of the wall.

“Thanks.” 

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

“‘kay, it’s real easy.” He clears his throat again, shifting, and the wood panel squeaks beneath him. Crickets echo in the shadows beyond the light of the porch. “This is gonna be your C – your A – your G, and your D. There’s only twelve you really gotta know. From there you’ll get the basics and can start to –,”

“Where’d you learn to play?” Ellie asks abruptly. She sits with her back against the wooden post outlining the porch, her knees tucked up to her chest. Joel is reminded of the look Sarah once gave him after he silently helped her chop the rest of the wood before a rainstorm came – he had told her she couldn’t do all of it by herself, and she had adamantly refused, but he didn’t rub it in her face when he came to help. They narrowly avoided the downpour but had enough firewood to last them a week. 

Grateful, was the expression he remembers. 

The heat of the day still lingers in the air, the sun just beneath the horizon. Flies and gnats swarm and tangle around the exposed bulb over the porch, thickening the shadows of his hands over the neck of the guitar and beneath the porch steps. 

Joel’s fingers still, the music of fluttering wings and electrical zaps taking over. “My dad taught me. He taught me . . . and my brother.”

Maybe it was the talk with Sarah that had loosened something, at least temporarily. He doesn’t feel like he’s been torn open, spilling his guts, when he tells her about Tommy. He wonders briefly if Sarah had ever mentioned her uncle and if she didn’t, why. He can see the question build behind her eyes, thoughts shuffling, looking for a memory if he had ever mentioned a brother before. 

“We got pretty good for a time. Played at school, church. Had a guy come through town once and tell us we could really be something.”

“Like a Hank Williams kinda something?” 

Joel eyes her, impressed she knows one of the greatest artists who’s ever lived.

“I dunno what he meant,” he says. “But that’s never why I did it anyway. Just wanted something to do with my little brother. He had some good lyrics too. He was always talented that way, with his head, you know? I think sometimes that’s where Sarah gets it. ‘Cause i'snot from me.” 

Joel smiles and Ellie grins back, an inside joke they didn’t know about yet. He strums quietly.

“I think he wanted to be that Hank Williams kinda somethin'. But it’s hard when you’re no one from nowhere. And I think him leavin’ would’ve broken our mama’s heart.”

“Tommy . . . right?” Joel glances up at her, the name so foreign on someone else’s tongue she could have meant someone else entirely. “Sarah – she, um – she mentioned him, once. And that he left for California – a while ago.” 

Joel nods, again in search of that anger to wield as a weapon, but the guitar digs into the place in his chest where it hurts the most. 

“Is that why the guitar was in the trunk? ‘Cause you’re pissed at him?”

It’s almost funny, the way she needles through to the center of things. He could lie, but what’s the point?

He hums. “I stopped playing this thing long before Tommy left. No time. Even with his help, you gotta fight with this land to grow anything. Then Sarah got sick, and now there’s all this fuckin’ dust . . .” 

He puts a hand on the belly of the guitar to stop the vibrations. He looks up at the stars, blinking into existence as night falls like a dropped curtain, and shakes his head. It felt like an excavation of something haunted, when he pulled the guitar from a trunk in his bedroom closet. Truly, he hadn’t thought about this guitar in months and taking it out again was just asking for something dangerous to befall him. Maybe something already had, given how much he had started to care for the girl who carries a pocket knife in her sock. 

Joel’s gaze drops to that girl now, her wiry little fingers wrapped around her ankles as she stares right back. He had forgotten they still made people like her.

“But it’s good. It’s good to remember.” Joel slides the guitar off his lap and onto the wood step between them. This guitar is older than Ellie and he hands it to her. “Now let’s see if you’ve been paying attention.”

She stares a second after he leans in to point out the chords before she tries to match his fingers on the strings. But then Sarah opens the screen door, out of breath and the tip of her nose pink as if she’d been standing over a fire. 

“Dinner’s ready.” 

Joel stifles the urge to roll his eyes; his girl was many things, but subtle was not one of them. As she disappears back inside, Ellie hands him back the guitar and meets his eyes with a confused look on her face – what’s up with her? Joel shrugs, then tries not to groan as he stands up, his knee acting up again. Odd, given that it only used to ache when a storm was coming, like a warning. But the skies had been clear for weeks.

“Good first lesson, kid. I’ll put this up, you go see what they got cooked up.” 

“You sure?” Her gaze drops to his knee, observant as her aunt. 

“ ‘M fine. Go on.” He knows there’s more affection than gruff in his voice, but at least Ellie doesn’t seem to register that. 

He follows her inside, the air warmer in here due to the oven and a lack of a breeze. When she moves towards the kitchen, he goes to the closet beneath the stairs and opens up the trunk at the back. 

He isn’t entirely sure he can forgive Tommy for what he did, but at least he understands it. Beneath where the guitar laid, there’s a scrap of crumpled paper – a telegram he thought about tossing in the fire when it first arrived. Instead, he is glad he just wanted it out of his sight. 

It is blank except for a few letters and numbers: a forwarding address. 

He can’t pick it up and look at it, not right now, but maybe. Maybe someday, when he needs his brother.

“Holy shit!”

Joel smiles as he shuts the trunk lid and stands. Not today.

When he finally makes it to the kitchen, Ellie stands at the head of the table, her shoulders by her ears, arms out, as if preparing to be tackled to the ground. Her eyes are bigger than he’s ever seen them.

“Happy Birthday, Ellie!” Sarah yells from the other side of the table, the words bursting out of her. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I . . .” Wordlessly, she slides into the chair, her face glowing in the light of the candle sunken deep into the top of the cake. The shadows, thick and heavy around her mouth and under her eyes, blur the emotions on her face. 

“Ellie?” You say, tentative. That crease is back between your eyes and Joel wants to press his thumb to it until it goes away. “Is this okay?”

Slowly, she lifts her eyes. The shadows cannot hide the wet shine there. Joel has to look away, something hot expanding under his ribs. 

“Uh, yea-ahh . . . this is fucking okay.” He hears the slight chuckle in her voice and he looks back. Her smile is stretched from ear to ear. “And this is dinner too, right? We get to eat cake. For dinner?”

You smile, relief and excitement giving your own face a special glow. And then, your eyes fall to him and that hot band in his chest thickens to his throat. He’ll dream of your eyes again tonight, he knows it.

“Mr. Miller has extra storages of flour in the cellar,” you say, gaze slipping away before he can hold onto it. The band in his throat hardens when you refer to him so distantly. “We used just a bit of cream and milk –”

“And sugar!” Sarah blurts out. She is practically vibrating next to you. “We have to really conserve sugar, only for special occasions, and what’s more special than a birthday?”

Ellie tears her gaze up from the candle and, for a second, she looks very small. 

“You used it for my birthday?” 

While Sarah nods vigorously next to you, he watches as your face falls. He knows that look, felt it screw up his face too – you feel like you’ve failed Ellie somehow.

“Of course, Ellie.” You say quietly, your hands knotted in front of you. He watches as the words get caught in your throat, all the right ones and the wrong ones. “You . . .”

“You’re a good kid.” Your eyes jump to him, wide, as he steps closer to the kitchen table. He puts a hand around the knot on the back of Ellie’s chair. “Is what your aunt means to say. Happy birthday, from all of us.”

Ellie’s gaze is so gentle, she looks timid. She glances between Joel, you, then Sarah, and back to you. 

“Um, thanks, guys. I guess.” 

In the soft silence, she takes a brief moment, her eyes closed, and then leans forward over the candle and promptly blows out the flame. The kitchen falls into darkness, a second before you reach for the light. 

Sarah claps her hands, the amber electrical light softening her already smooth skin. “What did you wish for?”

Ellie’s smirk returns, her hard edges returning. “Can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

Sarah rolls her eyes as you gather the plates you and Joel had cleaned just this morning. “I always thought that rule was so stupid. It’s no fun.”

You grin at her as you hand Ellie a plate and then Sarah herself. 

“It’s the secret that gives the wish its magic. All the good things are best kept secret.”

Your hand extends a plate out towards him, but it’s your gaze that meets him first. Mouth slightly parted, you watch him from beneath your long lashes. The light that softens Sarah emboldens the curves of your cheeks, the slope of your nose, the entanglement of your hair against the nape of your neck. A table between you, he hasn’t been this close to you in what feels like days, when it had only been this morning. This morning, when he had never felt further from you, when his own fear had gotten the better of him. 

For so long, the circle of his love ended at the property lines and he had spent years of his life etching in that demarcation, digging in and digging in until the wet earth swallowed him whole. There was nothing else but Sarah and this land because he could not afford to lose either of them, so he held on tight and burrowed deep.

But this deep down, the earth he loved might as well have been a coffin. A tomb. In order to stabilize his daughter, the land, and himself, there had to be less of him. Less to carry. Less to burden. 

Less of him to share. 

He thought – maybe hoped – that those bits of him that had fallen away would always stay gone, another sacrifice in addition to his blood and his sweat into the soil. It was easier to mourn a loss if you never had it in the first place.

But, as he looked at you from across the table in the low light, as your fingers touched his beneath the plate – even for a fraction of a second – the pieces he’d left behind roared to life once again. 

Heat warms him up his arm, down into his chest – and it keeps going. The smell of you, of sweat and sugar and honey and sunlight, invades his head like a dirty wind and the fire inside scorches him as it flushes down his ribs, through his stomach, and right into his groin.

You all but drop the plate into his hand, pulling your fingers away from his touch, gaze diving away. But he can see your nervous swallow, the way your hand shakes when you pick up the knife to cut the cake. 

“Let’s eat.” You smile at the girls, but it’s as weak as your voice, crackling, trembling, overwhelmed. As if you too had been consumed by years of dormant want out of nowhere and now couldn’t possibly put those feelings back into hiding even if you wanted to.

Even if you begged.

The cake is gone in a matter of minutes. 

Ellie lets out a groan, leaning back in her chair, her hands resting over her full stomach. “That was so goddamn good.” 

“It’s inappropriate to lick the plate, right?” Sarah asked, sponging up crumbs with her finger. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Ellie grins. She snatches up her plate and with her tongue flat against her chin, licks up every last morsel. Sarah snorts, laughter bursting out of her, before doing the exact same thing. It’s not long until both of them are making grotesque noises. 

“You girls act like you haven’t had a proper meal in weeks.” Joel sits across from you, his arms folded across his chest, a faint glint in his eye as he glances back and forth between them. He sits low in his chair and his shoulders look especially broad across the back of it. “Y’all are gonna eat me out of house and home.” 

Sarah giggles and wipes her spit-covered chin. “Ellie said she found a really good spot out back to look at the Milky Way. Can we go look?” 

You expect him to ask that they clean up the table first, at least put the dishes in the sink, and not to stay too far into the dark. He’s watching Sarah for a beat too long before he opens his mouth again.

“But then when will Ellie get her present?”

His eyes lock onto you.

“THERE’S MORE?!” Ellie screeches.

The heat in his gaze sends a tangible shock down your throat, across every single one of your ribs, right into your nipples. Your faint gasp is overshadowed by Sarah and Ellie’s yelling – oh my god you didn’t tell me about this what’s wrong with you – please please please can I see it I’ll clean the bathrooms if you just lemme have it please –  but the look is gone a second later when he stands up and jerks his chin over his shoulder to the living room. The girls sprint into the room before he can take his first step. He doesn’t look at you as he follows them, slow, confident, teasing them just a bit.

“What is it?!”

“Is it more comics?”

“More marbles?”

“New clothes?”

“Ew, that would suck.” 

As if deaf to their pleas, Joel slowly walks over to the chest in the corner of the room and just as the girls are about to burst from excitement, he bends down and picks something up from behind it.

A radio. 

The radio.

The same one they had found in town. 

Ellie and Sarah’s eyes widen to the size of the dinner plates sitting on the kitchen table, covered in spit and cake crumbs. They drop to their knees, fingers outstretched like they approached a feral kitten.

“Now, it doesn’t work right.” Joel says, his arms crossed again. “But I thought it might be a good project for you girls. Something to work on together. Maybe learn about magnets and electricity n’shit.” 

His eyes fall on you again, as if you knew all about “magnets and electricity n’shit.” Joel grins again, this time just for you, and something inside of you snaps in half, melts, sparks open; some great weight, one you didn’t even know was there, has been lifted off your shoulders, your heart, and you can breathe properly again. You sink into the blue sofa, hands in your lap to keep them from trembling. 

The idea that you would ever willingly leave this place is laughable.

The idea that you would take Ellie away from this, from Sarah, is agonizing. 

They’re both fiddling with the buttons and twisting the jobs, the novelty of it perhaps the most fascinating. They are silent, more reverent than if they are on hallowed ground. 

“I’ve got some pliers and a screwdriver if you wanna –,”

Perhaps it was the witchcraft of the sisterhood. 

Perhaps they had managed to work out some secret code.

Perhaps they were just lucky. 

The radio lights up and the tear of a trumpet whines out of the speakers. Their yelp of delight is muffled beneath the white-hot music of a jazz band. 

Joel watches with what can only be considered bemusement as the girls leap to their feet and start dancing like no one had ever taught them about rhythm. 

The sofa squeaks, the cushion under your butt tilting up, as he sits down next to you. 

“Not likely to win any competitions any time soon,” he mutters quietly, presumably to you, as you both watch Ellie’s jerky knees and Sarah’s dizzying twirls. You sit, hands in your lap, perched on the edge of the cushion, while he leans into the sofa, arms back in place over his chest. With the way you are positioned towards the radio and him facing straight on, your knees almost touch. 

You wonder if he’s as aware of that chance as you are. 

“Listen, I wanted to say I’m sorry.” His voice is deep enough to be heard over the music. He glances at your hands, and then your face. The sincere regret in his eyes makes the blood in your wrists pound. “You didn’t deserve all of those things I said to you this morning. Both you and Ellie have been . . .” he struggles for the word, his bottom lip moving with the swipe of his tongue, “a good change in our lives, and I regret saying the contrary.” His gaze falls back to your hands, your thumb tucked into the hole made by your other fingers. You wouldn’t look away from his face if it was the sun itself. “The fields have been well taken care of . . . and I know Sarah’s grateful for everything you’ve done for her. You’ve changed her life for the better. You’ve changed m–,”

It’s like his voice crumbles and slips off a cliff. His broad shoulders sag forward and then he looks up at you, a desperate sort of hope in eyes. Hope that you understand what he’s trying to say, and hope that you don’t make him say it. 

Oh, but you want him to say it. You want it so badly. 

You nod, this crumb sweeter than anything on the kitchen plates. On some heady sugar high, you smile at him.

“Well, I meant what I said.” He frowns and your grin widens, but then teeters and topples over. Your wrists ache. You have to lose his gaze for what you’re going to say next. “We are very, very grateful you took us in. I know it wasn’t a decision you made lightly, risking so much of you and Sarah for two complete strangers.” You shake your head with disbelief. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you made the right choice, if I have to.”

You glance up at him – and immediately wish you hadn’t. 

It’s that same look he gave you when you handed him his plate over the kitchen table. Lips pursed, brow slightly furrowed, with a wary uneasiness in his eyes. Like he’s finally figured out what kind of woman you are, and he can’t quite tell what to do with you.

“C’mon you two!” Sarah yells and that hazy bubble that envelopes you bursts. He blinks, as if not remembering where he is. “You gotta dance!”

“Yeah, you old farts!” Ellie pants, red-faced and nearly out of breath. “It’s my birthday so you have to do what I say and I say, let’s boogie!”

You lunge at the chance to be distracted; you turn away from Joel and arch your eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re dancing? Is that what you’re doing? Can hardly tell.” 

Ellie sticks out her tongue while Sarah starts kicking with one foot then bounces to the other, flicking her wrists. “I saw this move on the school’s television!”

Ellie immediately stops the flailing of her limbs and watches her moves. “Teach me!”

Sarah slows it down until Ellie gets the hang of the bounce. Sarah looks much more natural in the rhythm, but at least Ellie is partially on beat. 

“And then I think you do this–,”

Her foot dangling in the air, she loops her ankle around Ellie’s and starts hopping in a circle. Ellie lets out a giggle.

“No way this is a real thing!”

“It is, I swear!”

“You got any moves like that?” Joel asks quietly, but still ensnaring your attention completely. He sunken completely into the sofa, hips low, legs wide. His thumb taps the beat on his thigh. Something about the way he has completely relaxed allows you to unclench your fists and loosen your foot tucked behind your ankle.

“Me?” You chuckle, leaning back on the arm rest. “I never had the time to go to the dancehalls, much less learn complicated moves such as the – Sarah, what is that dance called?”

“Hell if I know!” They’ve switched feet, trying to go counterclockwise this time.

“Complicated moves such as The Hell-if-I-know.” He rewards your terrible joke with a low chuckle. 

“Me neither. I can’t dance for shit.” 

As though he had called her name, Sarah stamps down her foot and rolls her eyes at her father, Ellie trying to follow along with the instructions the singer is giving over the speakers.

“Yes, you can. You taught me The Dip.” 

“That’s not a real move, Sarah–,”

“You can teach her!” Sarah’s brilliant smile extends to her eyes as if she had just announced the best idea in the history of ideas. “Then she’ll know at least one!”

Your fingers return to their fists. Joel stiffens beside you.

“Yeah, you should.” Ellie yells over her shoulder distractedly, one arm raised and the other leg straight out – in complete opposition to what the lyrics said. “Can’t have her embarrassing me in public.”

“C’mon, Dad, just one dance!” Her brown eyes flicker to Ellie and sweat-damp shirt. “It’s Ellie’s birthday!” 

“And for the party, we – must – dance!” Ellie strikes a dramatic pose and Sarah, giggling, swishes her dress with a flourish. With a brief glance at you, she rejoins Ellie, her skirt twirling.

The sofa squeaks as if he’s moving, a soft hand comes to rest high on your back, and panic leaps into your throat.

“Mr. Miller – Joel – you don’t have to – Sarah is just being silly –,”

“Well, it's not like I’m going up there by myself.” 

That rough palm slides over your scapula, then your shoulders, and down your arm. Tugging gently, a soft pinch around the bone of your elbow nearly pulls you to your feet, but sense-memory has you folding your arm back up towards your chest, your knees locked and heels heavy. Immediately he senses your rejection and stops. 

The warm light above threads gold through strands of his silver hair, the ends of his curls long enough to disappear into nothingness, into the halo around him. 

Joel Miller would never, ever hurt you.

Joel Miller is not your husband.

Joel Miller could be your friend.

His light touch releases and just as his fingers drop from your sleeve, your arm unfurls towards him, taking him by the bicep. His eyebrows lift slowly, watching as your fingers curl around his arm. Drawn towards his light like a sunflower, you stand, closer to him than ever before, and smile up at him. Friends go dancing together all the time, right? 

But all the standards and regulations of propriety and social mores were flung out the window the second you, an unmarried woman, stepped foot onto the land of an unmarried man. Nothing about this, about any of this, could be considered conventional.

A step or two away from the sofa, he holds your waist in one hand and yours aloft in the other, fingers interconnected. Respectful. Decent. A good man. No boundary crossing here. 

“Ready for your next lesson?” he asks, a little breathless. Maybe he forgot the steps and he is simply nervous to perform – hm, teach. He does a bit of adjusting, watches his own feet adjust as you stand still in front of him, waiting to be moved.

So, you open your stupid mouth and say,

“See, teaching isn’t so easy, is it?”

You grin and finally his eyes meet yours. Soft as leather, warm as a saddle in sunlight. It’s your turn for necessary air to be drained from your lungs and he decides then to move.

“Gotta lead up to it,” he grumbles, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Can’t just dive right in.” The way he leads is completely out of sync with the music, but you see that it’s intentional, a choice to slow things down. Not quite what you’d expect at the Boston dancehalls, but something far more precious and memorable. He sways with you, as supple as a blade of prairie grass in a warm wind. 

The curve of his shoulder is warm beneath your fingers, your thumb inches from his collar. He is more solid than any other person you’ve ever touched – including Anna. He could stand at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and never be washed away. You cannot imagine what that stability feels like, but you crave it all the same. 

There’s a respectable distance between your hips and his, but you can still smell the sweetness of the cake on his breath, the hot earth he tends to so lovingly, and the tang of sweat. 

“I know you’re a fast learner.” You turn your head towards him, but he gazes straight on. For a moment his face is so stoic you start to wonder if he actually said anything, but then a smile, a small one, flickers across his face. He turns his head towards you, his nose brushing yours, and suddenly you are too close together. Instinctively you pull away – your head, your shoulders, your hands – then find yourself frustrated that this is how you still react. You don’t even mean it. You don’t even want it, this temporary separation. But still Joel stands. He waits for you and sure enough, you sink back into his arms, your palms separating for only a second. “We made a regular farmhand out of you in a handful of weeks. Could get you to a full Dip in days.” 

He’s talking too softly to be easily heard over the banging percussion, the scream of trumpets, the boozy warble of the singer, so you bend closer. Over his shoulder, Ellie and Sarah take turns curtseying and bowing and then locking their elbows together and spinning each other in circles, giggling. 

“They’re alright.” The words hum in your ear, heat warming the air after a flash of lightning, and you fight a full body shudder. You tear your gaze back to him and his smile. His hand hasn’t moved an inch on your back. You worry your palm is getting sweaty. “Just focus on me.” You nod. 

From the radio, the song ends and the band slows to a discordant crash, as exhausted as the ones who danced to their rhythms. Men raucously laugh over the airwaves at their own created chaos and the two girls collapse onto the couch, red-faced and sweaty and laughing. 

“You trust me?” His eyes are brown and dark and smoky, firewood kindling. He really intends to teach you something. You nod slowly. The memory of his hand smacking into the counter breaks apart when his palm slips further down your back, his leg shifting in between yours, and he leans forward to lean you back. Back, back, back, off the edge of the earth. Hair slips off your shoulders as you hang, suspended above the floorboards, cradled by his hand and his thigh, the other hand holding yours to his chest. The world is upside down – in more ways than one. 

When you lift your head, he blocks out the light above for just a moment. Joel, for a moment, is all you can see. He holds you like you weigh nothing, gravity a suggestion to a force of nature like him — and a moment later, he pulls you both upright. 

Your cheeks are burning, your heart roars in your chest, in your ears, and there is no other way this would have ended: you glance at his mouth. He looks at yours. The fingers entwined with yours tighten. 

And then the radio dies. No preamble. No warning. Just ringing silence.

“Welp, it was fun while it lasted.” Ellie huffs, out of breath, smacking her hands against her thighs. 

Sarah wipes away sweat from her forehead with her arm. “Nah, we’ll get it back. I know we can fix it. Right, Dad?”

Joel Miller is still staring at your mouth. 

He’s quiet too long before he drops his gaze and clears his throat. Caught in a daze, you blink and suddenly his warmth is gone. Your hand floats in the air, empty. Joel pulls on the waistline of his pants and turns back to the sofa, nodding.

“Course, we can fix it. But not tonight. Get to bed, both of you.” The gravel of his voice makes his words harsher than they need to be, but Ellie just rolls her eyes and Sarah throws herself onto her feet. 

“C’mon, teenie bopper, I found a mouse skull the other day I forgot to show you.”

Ellie’s eyes widen as she follows Sarah up the stairs. “Like a skull skull? No meat, just bones? Was the rest of the skeleton there?”

Her interrogation continues as they move around the second floor and you can almost hear every word of it. A stark and abrupt reminder that this house echoes – any noises or sounds made can be heard anywhere, in any room, by anyone. 

Your gaze drops to Joel like a stone and with the added weight of whatever he was thinking, it all becomes too much for him. He turns away, denim shoulders nearly up to his ears.

“I’ll clean up.” He waves his hand vaguely to the kitchen. Cake. Plates. Flour on the counter. Oh, that’s right. “You cooked.”

A trade, a sharing of responsibilities between two equal partners. There��s some part of you that knows you should argue, cleaning was what he hired you for, but this is not him telling you as your employer. 

This is . . .

“You did good today,” he says, quickly, his hands on his waist, a step forward, as if he remembered something mid-stride. “It meant a lot, to the both of ‘em. I know you don’t think much of it, but you’re good at this.”

Your face heats, a familiar zing from his words racing down your spine into the bowl of your hips. The next breath you take is a shaky one. “Thanks, Joel. I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

He swallows, then nods. “Night, then.”

“Good night.” 

You might have let yourself believe you had imagined the whole thing, as you walk down the long wood floor to your bedroom, the girls’ chatter now just noise in your head. You might have believed that, after half a decade of being unwanted and undesired, abandoned at the edge of civilization, you extrapolated sentimentality from the first man who looked at you. All your life you doubted yourself; doubted your ability to keep Anna safe, doubted that you’d ever be something more than a pathetic replacement for Ellie’s mother, doubted your own sanity at times when you sat in that dark, dank dug out and listened to the scratchy winds tear apart your husband’s finances. 

But this – this you did not doubt. You did not mistake, or dream up, or lie to yourself. 

Before he let you go, Joel had squeezed your hip, rubbed his thumb against the waistband of your skirt. Let his fingers snag and catch in your blouse.

Whether it was trust or companionship or something ultimately more terrifying, he felt some kind of way about you. 

What kind of way you felt about him, you couldn’t answer honestly. 

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

It was warm.

END OF PART II

series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i | part iii

[snowywolf1005]

@stuff6969fuckyou : YANDERE STRAW HATS X READER WHO CAN BATTEL SOME TIMES BUT HAS HEALTH CONDITIONS AND CANT STAND VERY LONG AND CAN ONLY BATTLE LOW LEVEL THUGS. But that doesn’t stop the love they have for them! Also Chopper as platonic little brother like yan, who only allows and actually wants y/n to hold him and scratch behind his ear 🤭🤭🤭. Also helps with their illnesses a little too much like the crew. And Luffy and others have to keep convincing them they are worth having on the crew!

You got it!!!!

"(Y/N)! Hold me! Hold me!" Chooper cried, begging you to pick him up. "Okay, for a reward for helping me with my injuries!" You said, picking up chopper and spin around. Chopper cheer happily.

While the other strawhat crew watch, luffy being all jealous, he wants you to hug him. But luffy thinks you'll be great joining his crew, even though you don't know how to fight.

"Dinner ready!" Sanji yelled. You held Chooper and then rushed to the kitchen, "(Y/N)-swan! Here are some meat steaks!" Said sanji, putting the plate in front of you. You smiled and gave him some headpet.

Sanji eyes turn to heart, flustered by your voice, and zoro is pretty much jealous. "(Y/N)! Feed me!" Said Chooper, you smiled, luffy want you to feed him too.

"(Y/N)! Feed me too!" He yelled, you noticed and fed luffy. Zoro saw this and wanted to join in too, he pick a food. "Oi! You should try this! It tastes delicious!" He said, you lean over the table to take a bite, and you did.

Zoro was blushing because he saw your chest, "(Y/N)!" You look over to Nami handing some cake. "Say 'ahh'!" She said, you open your mouth and take a bite, "Ahh! It tastes delicious!" You said with red cheeks on your face.

Making everyone blush, you take out of steak and want to give it to sanji. "Sanji, say ahh!" You said sanji was flustered, "of course! (Y/N)-swan!" He said and took a bite.

You smile happily. Then a boom erup to hit the ship, luffy look outside to see the marine. And they keep shooting, "Usopp! Keep (Y/N) safe!" Luffy order, you follow usopp.

And you made it to the room. "Stay right here till everything is fine! You got that!?" Usopp question, you nodded. Usopp shut the door lock, you turnaround, walk towards to your bed and sat down.

You so tried. It has never been like this. You remember it was yesterday. You were just a coffee owner. You're restaurant owner, but later that day, you were kidnapped by strawhat.

You try to escape them, but it no use. You try to pretend you were happy so that they know you're happy. They even destroy the village, your hometown. You lost everything.

Hey guys sorry interrup but do you remember the first yandere strawhat crew x reader?

That is where you escape from them. The strawhat thought they trusted you, but nope.

Fast forward, you went to the island of wano, you change your looks. And you have your hairpin. You got it from your grandmother when she passed away.

Hairpin:

You thought everything went well,

until...

you saw strawhat.

MORE YANDERE ONE PIECE CHARACTER X READER, JUST ASK ME!!!